by Kristie Cook
“My face is up here, Freckles.”
My eyes flew to his, and heat flooded my cheeks. I rushed into speech to cover my embarrassment. “I, uh, I was just leaving to go to swim practice and … and...”
“I distracted you. Sorry about that.”
He didn’t sound sorry. “You didn’t.”
He cocked his eyebrows. “Didn’t what?”
“Distract me,” I snapped and snatched the mail in his hands. “Thanks. I was checking my text messages when I should have been paying attention to where I was going,” I fibbed.
Amusement flared in his eye, his expression saying he recognized my explanation for what it was: a lie. He had incredibly long lashes and beautiful eyes. Sapphire came to mind but …
Grinding my teeth at my weird behavior, I started toward the driver’s seat, going for that space between us before I did something stupid like reach out and touch him or continue gazing into his eyes like a lovesick dimwit.
“Aren’t you going to tell them you hit their mailbox? I mean, it’s against the law to flee a crime scene and all that.”
I glared at him. “I will talk to them when they come home from work. For now, I plan on leaving them a note. Not that it’s any of your business.” I searched inside the glove compartment for a notepad or anything to write on, but found nothing.
“I could explain to them what happened if you’d like,” he offered in a gentle voice. “You know, share the responsibility. After all, I did distract you.”
Seriously, how could someone so beautiful and tempting be so arrogant and annoying? I counted from ten to one then said slowly, “I don’t need your help.”
“Actually, you do.”
“No, I don’t.” I marched to my house, conscious of Blue Eyes watching me. Sure enough, when I looked back, just before I entered the house, his eyes were locked on me, an amused smile on his lips. What was he so happy about? And why couldn’t he just go away?
I pulled a piece of ruled paper from my folder and scribbled an apology with unsteady hands, then went to Dad’s home office for a large manila envelope. Times like this, I missed him more. My eyes welled.
I blinked hard and put everything from the Petersons’ mailbox into the large envelope before taping my note on the outside. I’d have to figure out how to pay for a new mailbox. Mom didn’t like me working at the shop ever since I broke a few mirrors last summer, and jobs were hard to come by because of the bad economy. Something would come to me once I was calmer. Right now, I just wanted to get my butt to the pool and lose myself swimming.
I paused to calm myself before leaving the house.
Blue Eyes was studying the damaged mailbox like an insurance adjuster. Why couldn’t he go bother someone else? Or at least put on a shirt?
“Excuse me.” I skirted around him and propped the manila envelope against the crooked pole.
“I can fix this before they come home,” he said.
I eyed him suspiciously. “Really? How?”
A weird expression crossed his face, but his eyes were watchful as though he couldn’t wait to see my reaction. “Magic.”
“Magic?” My hands fisted. I was in trouble, and he was messing around. “You know what? Stay away from me, Blue Eyes. Don’t talk to me or even acknowledge we know each other when our paths cross again. ”
“Blue Eyes?” he asked, eyebrows cocked.
“That’s me playing nice.”
He laughed. “Look, Freckles—”
“Don’t call me that.” I hated that nickname. It was a reminder of the hated spots on the bridge of my nose and the teasing I’d endured in elementary school. I slid behind the wheel, started the car, and took off. I was careful not to drive too fast even though I wanted to floor the gas pedal.
I could see Blue Eyes watching me as he grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, until I left our cul-de-sac and turned right. My day had just gone down the toilet.
***
I was twenty minutes late for practice and still pissed off at myself for overreacting to my nosey new neighbor. So he had a hot body and an attitude? Big whoop. He was the least of my problems. I had my family to worry about, my position as co-captain to defend, and a guy I was crazy about to convince I’d make a great girlfriend.
“Did you fix your flat?” Coach Fletcher asked when I walked to the pool deck.
“I’ll take it to DC Tires after practice.” I slid in the pool and joined the thirty members of the Gold Team. Silver and Bronze swam at five.
We had eight lanes, but two were reserved for club members, which meant we shared lanes, taking turns pushing off the wall and looping each other. I didn’t see Eirik. He rarely skipped practice, so that was weird.
Following Coach Fletcher’s instructions, I finished my freestyle warm up laps while the others worked on their backstroke. I attacked the water like it was my enemy, although I wasn’t sure who I was ticked off at, me or my new neighbor. When I started studying the male swimmers and comparing their bodies to Blue Eyes, I knew I was definitely my own enemy.
“Since all of you swim for the Trojans, don’t forget we have Ultimate Frisbee tomorrow afternoon at Longmont Park. We’ll meet in the north field at four o’clock,” Coach Fletcher said at the end of practice. “I sent your parents e-mails last week, so no excuses. This is supposed to be for the team, but we’ll meet some of the new swimmers and discuss a few things. Tryouts start on the seventeenth, which is sooner than we usually start. Why, you may ask?” He grinned and paused for effect. “We’ll be hosting Jesuit High and Lake Oswego on the twenty-ninth at Walkersville’s swimming pool.”
Everyone started talking at once. Others high-fived each other. The two schools produced the best swimmers every year and often won at state championships. We’d never hosted them before.
“In the meantime,” Coach Fletcher continued, “I’ll need volunteers to work with some of the new swimmers. Any takers?”
No one raised a hand. Coach Fletcher crossed his beefy arms and studied us with piercing black eyes. He was a short, stubby man with a receding hairline, who preferred to shave all of his hair, but took extreme care with his beard and moustache. “Come on, guys. I need volunteers.”
I looked around and saw Eel’s hand shoot up. ‘Eel’ was Jessica Davenport, our senior co-captain and our swim team bad girl. Sighing, I raised mine. A few more shot up.
“Good. You’ll each work with a student the last thirty minutes of practice every day. If they need extra coaching and you want more time, let me know and I’ll okay the use of the pool after hours.”
“I have pep band practice every other Friday and won’t make it to practice,” I reminded Coach Fletcher after everyone left.
“We’ll have someone sub for you. Where’s Cora?”
“She wasn’t feeling well when I saw her after school,” I fibbed. Coach Fletcher’s expression said he didn’t believe me. I wasn’t surprised. I sucked at lying.
“Tell her to text me.”
“Sure. Did Eirik text you?”
“Yes. He explained his situation.”
I frowned. “His situation?”
Coach ignored my question and looked at his watch. “If you plan to take your car to the shop, you’d better get going.”
It was six fifteen, and DC Tires closed at seven. I didn’t bother to shower, just changed and raced to my car. The air pressure held up again, thank goodness. At the shop, while they fixed the leak, I checked my text messages and responded to Cora’s, which were funny. The game was close and could go either way, but she sounded like we’d already won. Cora had a way with words.
There were no texts or missed calls from Eirik, which was beginning to worry me. He never missed practice, and he usually answered my messages and calls. Did his absence have anything to do with the ‘situation’ Coach Fletcher had mentioned?
It was seven when I left the shop for home. I looked at my rearview mirror, convinced I’d heard the sound of a motorcycle start, but there were only ca
rs behind me.
I entered my cul-de-sac, and the first thing I noticed was the Petersons’ mailbox. The wooden post no longer leaned sideways, and the tiny house looked normal as though I hadn’t hit it. Weird.
As soon as I parked, I hurried to the mailbox and studied it. There were no dents. No new nails hammered in. Nothing out of place. I touched the surface to see if it had been repainted. It was dry as the day Mr. Peterson had unveiled it. I pushed at it to see if it would lean sideways, but the vertical pole anchoring it to the ground was firm.
Where had my new neighbor found a replacement? The Petersons bragged about ordering the miniature mailbox house from some fancy homeowner’s website, so there was no way Blue Eyes had bought it locally. Had he used magic? Yeah. Right. There was no such thing as magic.
MORE THAN FRIENDS
The scent of food greeted me as I entered the house. Mom was home early, as promised, with takeout. Cooking wasn’t her thing.
“I’m home,” I called out, closing the door behind me and dropping my gym bag by the stairs. “Mom?”
“Be down in a sec.”
I went to the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge. As I guzzled it, I glanced out the window at my neighbor’s house, my humiliation returning. I had to go over and thank him for fixing the mailbox. My pulse leaped at the thought, and my mouth went dry.
Think about Eirik … Think about Eirik …
I yanked the cord and closed the slats, then sneaked a cookie from the cookie jar. Chocolate chip, yummy. My favorite.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom said as she entered the kitchen.
I shoved the rest of the cookie in my mouth, turned, and almost choked. Her colorful, flowing skirt, gauzy duster, and matching headscarf were way over the top. Mom was a throwback to Woodstock. She had a flamboyant Boho-chic style, which matched her bubbly personality. But at times, I wished she’d dress like regular mothers. You know, wear jeans or normal pants and tops.
Unlike my boring hazel eyes and dark-brown hair, Mom’s green eyes and pitch black hair gave her an exotic appearance. She was also tall with a perfect figure for someone who didn’t work out. Me? How should I put it? My ass had a mind of its own, and my chest quit on me years ago.
“I’m sorry you had car troubles, sweetie.” She kissed my temple and enveloped me in perfume and other scents that defied description but I’d always associated with her. She leaned back and wrinkled her nose. “Eek, your hair reeks of chlorine.”
“I didn’t have time to wash it. You know, I had to take the car in,” I reminded her.
“You drove it after I told you not to?”
“I know I shouldn’t have, but I had to go and the leak was slow. Really.” I braced myself for a lecture.
She shook her head and cupped my face. “Why do you have such little regard for your life, sweetheart? Do you know what could have happened? I’d hate to lose you in a senseless accident, Raine.”
Like Dad. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t think. I drove slowly. I was even late because of it.”
She sighed and stroked my hair. “What did the shop say?”
“They fixed the leak. Did you see the e-mail about Ultimate Frisbee from Coach Fletcher?”
She frowned. “No. When did he send it?”
I sighed. Mom rarely used her computer. In fact, I’d reached the conclusion that she hated technology. She did inventory for the Mirage by hand and had piles of thick ledgers gathering dust in the den. “I don’t know, but it’s tomorrow afternoon at four.”
“Do we need to take something? Drinks? Dessert?”
Smiling, I shook my head. “It’s Ultimate Frisbee, Mom, not team dinner. How was the store?”
“Other than the broken mirror, business as usual. Go shower. I’ll keep the food warm.” She stepped back, reached down, and lifted a large paper bag from her hand-made crocheted bag. “Sweet and sour chicken, your favorite, and beef and broccoli for me.” She dug inside a bag and pulled out an egg roll, which she dangled teasingly.
I snatched it and munched on it as I headed upstairs to my bedroom. After showering, I changed into sweatpants and a shirt and headed downstairs. Halfway down the stairs, I noticed Mom in front of the mirror in the living room. She was muttering to herself while studying her reflection.
“I can’t do it without Tristan. Our daughter needs both of us.” She swiped at the wetness on her cheeks. She’d never cried since Dad’s plane crashed.
“Mom?”
“Ah, there you are,” she said without looking at me. She moved away from the mirror and hurried toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat.”
I frowned, hustling after her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I wish your father would hurry up and come home.”
My throat closed. “Have you heard something?”
“No, sweetie, but three months is too long for him to be missing.”
Even though he was listed as a missing person and his case was still open, he could have been at the bottom of the ocean for all we knew. I hated to be negative, but every time I visited the website the airline had created for victims of the flight and found nothing new, my confidence dipped. I didn’t know where Mom got her optimism.
She removed the boxes from the microwave and poured herself a glass of wine, which she immediately sipped. “So, what do you want for your seventeenth birthday, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. The usual.” I liked my birthday celebrations low key. I hung out with Eirik and Cora, watched my favorite TV series, and pigged out on pizza and cake. “What is it you and Dad wanted to tell me when I turned seventeen? You made it seem like it was important.”
“Oh, honey.” A haunted look entered her eyes. As though she didn’t want me to see her expression, she put down her wine and unwrapped the chopsticks. “We’ll explain after your dad comes home.”
“Why not now?”
She smiled, reached out, and gripped my chin. “Always impatient. You get that from me. Your father is the patient one.” She let go of my chin, picked up her drink, and sipped. “The story can wait. You’re only seventeen anyway.” She cocked her head, green eyes sparkling. “Let’s do something fun together for your birthday, just the two of us.”
What did my age have to do with anything? I forced myself to focus on her last statement. “Like what?”
“Mani-pedis. I can call Caridee.”
Caridee Jenkins was Mom’s manicurist. I never liked people touching my feet, but maybe this once. “Okay. When?”
“Let’s see. I have to work tomorrow, and you have the Frisbee thing in the afternoon. Do you have plans for the evening?”
“I was planning on hanging out with Eirik and Cora.”
Mom laughed as though to say, what else is new? “Let’s have her come over on Sunday afternoon. We could get facials, too.”
“Can a facial remove freckles?”
Mom’s back stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, I knew that look. It meant a lecture was coming. I braced myself.
“Lorraine Sarah Cooper, you should be ashamed of yourself. Don’t ever do anything to get rid of your freckles.” She touched my nose. “They are beautiful, like a sprinkle of gold dust.”
I rolled my eyes. She was so biased. My skin would be perfect without them.
When we finished eating, Mom yawned and eyed her bulky bag. As usual, I knew she couldn’t wait to disappear upstairs to take a long bath and relax. She worked hard and deserved it. “Go on upstairs, Mom. I’ll lock up.”
“You sure?”
“I have this covered.”
“You do, don’t you?” She kissed my forehead and picked up her bag and wine glass. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Mom.”
Left alone, I checked my phone one last time. Eirik still hadn’t returned my calls or answered my text messages. His silence had pushed me past worry to ticked-off. I sent him one last text, then wiped down the counter and left the house for my neighbor’s.
My heart picke
d up tempo with each step. What if he hadn’t fixed the mailbox? I’d look like an idiot thanking him for something he hadn’t done. Lights were on downstairs and upstairs, but as I got closer, rock music reached me from the other side of the house.
I followed the sounds to the garage, where Blue Eyes sat on a wooden box and tinkered with a greasy thingamajigger that looked like something one pulled out of a robot. I couldn’t tell where the music came from, but I recognized the classic rock tune. Not bad.
He didn’t glance up or move, yet the music stopped. Magic? No, I shouldn’t even think like that. It was illogical. Magic didn’t exist.
“I thought we agreed to stay away from each other, Freckles.”
I’m not letting him get to me. Not this time. “I plan to, but you fixed the Petersons’ mailbox, so I’m here to thank you.”
“Courteous? You? What happened to the snarky girl I met earlier? Raine with an E?” He looked up, a wicked smile curling his lips. “I liked her.”
I ignored the dig. “How did you do it?”
He wiped his greasy hands on a cloth. “Magic.”
“Don’t start. Magic is not real.”
“Says who?”
“Me. Science. Logic.”
“Okay, Freckles. We’ll play this your way. We’ll say I was inspired, and there’re no heights a man can’t reach when...” he got up, leaned closer, and whispered, “inspired.”
I stepped back. He was overwhelming up close. Vibrant. “Uh, well, I just wanted to say thanks and see how much I owe you for replacing it.”
He pulled a folded manila envelope from the back of his pants and offered it to me. It was the envelope I’d used for the Petersons’ mail, but the letter I’d taped on it was missing.
“Where’s my letter?”
“Check inside. It was a very sweet and sincere apology.”
Part of me was outraged he’d read my letter, but I wasn’t surprised. He was rude. “So how much do I owe you?”
He pushed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, giving me a glimpse of skin around his waist. I quickly averted my eyes before he could catch me ogling him again.