by Ali Novak
“The one on the far left,” I said and pointed. “Can you grab it for me?”
Alec reached up and carefully pulled down my most prized possession. As he did, his shirt rose up, giving me a glimpse of his bare skin. My insides flip-flopped, and I quickly averted my gaze.
“Felicity?”
“Huh?” I was still thinking about that flash of stomach, but then I realized he was offering the book to me. “Oh no,” I said, holding up both hands in a you-keep-it way.
“To Kill a Mockingbird,” Alec said, reading off the title. “I think I was supposed to write a paper on that, but I never ended up reading it.”
“You blew off the assignment?” I asked, both amazed and appalled at the same time. I never had the balls to ignore my schoolwork. It made me feel antsy.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t much of a school person.”
“You don’t have to be a school person to enjoy the book,” I told him. “If you ever have the time, you should read it. It’s a classic.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said, inspecting the cover. The main image on the dust jacket was a tree printed against a red-brown background. I always thought it was the most elegant of all the Mockingbird covers, even if it was rather simple.
Although it was worn, my copy was probably worth a couple grand. There were only five thousand first edition first printings in existence. If I couldn’t save up enough money for college, I’d probably have to sell it, and the thought made my heart hurt.
He opened the book, and his lips parted as he paged through it. “How many times have you read this?” Every few pages were dog-eared. It drove my mom crazy when I did that. She liked to keep her novels in top condition, as if they’d never been opened, but I was of the opinion that books were made to be loved.
I smiled. “Once or twice.” In reality, I’d read the book so often I could recite full passages by memory.
“And you don’t mind reading it over?” The upward curve of his eyebrow suggested an unasked question: Isn’t that boring?
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Have you ever listened to a song on repeat?”
His grin was slow and wide, and I could tell he liked my music comparison. “Yes,” he answered. “I suppose I have.”
Alec tucked To Kill a Mockingbird safely back in its spot on my shelf before resuming his typical, quiet state of being. I watched as he continued to explore my room. When he reached my dresser, he paused. The top was dedicated to my jewelry. I had three fake crystal bowls filled to the brim with rings, a huge clamshell to put my earrings in, and mounds of necklaces and bracelets piled everywhere else.
“Did you make all this?”
“Yup.”
He picked up a chunky purple earring, turning it over in his hand. “You’re good.”
“Thank you.” Pride ballooned inside my chest, and it made me feel bold. “Want me to make you something?”
Not waiting for an answer, I sat at my desk and grabbed a spool of brown leather cord. Where are the scissors? My hand hovered in air as I looked around for them, until I finally spotted a pair peeking out from underneath the pile of magazines. After cutting a few pieces, I tied them together at one end and started working. When the back of my neck prickled, I knew Alec was watching over my shoulder.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked without looking up.
“Orange,” he answered.
For some reason I was surprised, but I reached for a jar of faceted agate beads in both amber and a rust color. We were quiet for a couple more minutes, and then Alec cleared his throat.
“Is this your family?”
He pointed to the picture frame hanging above my desk. It was a rare photo of all four of us—Mom, Dad, Rose, and me. In fact, it was the only one I had. The picture was taken when we went to Disneyland for my birthday. I didn’t remember any of the trip, but five-year-old me looked pretty pleased with herself perched on top of her dad’s shoulders.
Shaking my head, I glanced back down at the leather wrap. “It’s just me and my mom now.”
He paused. “I’m sorry, Felicity.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I said with a shrug. “I honestly don’t remember much about my dad. He ran off with an intern when I was six, and they moved to some European country where there’s no international child support enforcement. How clichéd is that?”
Wow. Talk about too much information.
The look on Alec’s face was impossible to gauge, and when seconds passed without him responding, my ears burned. I searched my head for something to say, some way to fix the bomb I’d dropped in his lap, but I couldn’t take back what I’d said. Instead, I concentrated on the to-be bracelet in my hands.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I can top that,” he told me, and my head snapped up at his words. “My parents got divorced three years ago, and my dad is on his third marriage since then. Wife number four is half his age. How’s that for a stereotypical shitty dad?”
Whoa. That was so not what I expected him to say.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a gentle tone. I wanted him to know I meant it, because I knew how it felt to have a screwed-up family. “That must be tough.”
He offered me a weak smile, but his entire body had gone stiff. “It’s fine.”
It clearly wasn’t, but I could also tell that he didn’t want to discuss it anymore. Which made me remember that Alec still hadn’t mentioned why he came over in the first place. I said as much to him.
“Right,” he started, but before he could say anything else, the front door opened and closed with a slam.
“Felicity!” Mom called from the hall. “I’m home. I hope you didn’t cook dinner. I brought tacos from that Mexican place you like.”
I scrambled out of my chair. “Shit!”
“What’s wrong?” Alec asked, concerned.
“You can’t be here. If my mom sees you, she’ll kill me.” As I glanced around my room, I realized there was absolutely nowhere for Alec to hide. My closet was too small, and there was only room for Lord Pugton underneath my bed.
“Okay?” he said, still looking confused.
“House rules,” I added, even though it was a lie. There wasn’t time for a real explanation, and even if there was, I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. I didn’t want him to meet my mom. Because then I’d have to explain her ridiculous assumption and judgment, which would not only be embarrassing, but would probably offend him.
“Oh.” He drew his mouth into a straight line. “So…what am I supposed to do exactly?”
My gaze landed on the window. “Quick,” I said, shoving it open. “Go out this way.”
He seemed taken aback for a brief moment, but strode over to the window with purpose. I glanced over my shoulder at the door and willed it to stay closed until he was out of sight. He slung his leg over the sill and carefully maneuvered himself outside. Once he was crouching in the bushes, he turned to face me.
“Bye, Alec,” I said. “Sorry about this.”
“Is there a better time for me to come back?” he asked. “Maybe tomorrow when your mother is home?”
“No!”
Alec frowned.
“I won’t be home,” I explained. “I’m working all day tomorrow.” As the words left my mouth, it occurred to me that work was my solution. Mom never went to the diner, so it was the perfect place for us to talk. I grabbed a piece of scrap paper off my desk and scribbled down the Electric Waffle’s address.
“Meet me here,” I said, shoving the paper into his hands. “We can talk then.”
I slammed the window shut.
• • •
With Alec gone and Mom none the wiser, I went to find her in the kitchen. She greeted me with her usual peck on the cheek and tight hug.
“Honey, do you know whose car is parked in front of the hou
se?” she asked when I pulled away.
My back went stiff. Not knowing what to do, I decided to play dumb. “There’s a car parked out front?”
“Yeah, a really nice one.”
“Mr. Ramirez’s son is a doctor. Maybe it’s his and he stopped by for a visit?”
“Maybe.” Mom didn’t sound convinced, but she dropped the subject, and we sat down to dinner.
Even though the food was from my favorite Mexican place, I pushed the beans and rice around my plate without taking many bites. Oblivious, Mom chattered away about her day at the dentist’s office where she was a receptionist. Why anyone would want to be the gatekeeper to hell was beyond me, but she liked the stability and regular hours. My mind was too focused on Alec to pay much attention.
I didn’t know what to think about him showing up out of nowhere, especially since I was still struggling to come to grips with who he was. It felt strange, seeing and talking to him like he was a normal guy and not a world-famous musician.
What did he want from me?
In addition to my confusion was a swelling pang of guilt. It had started as soon as I stepped into the kitchen and saw my mom’s smile. I shouldn’t have let Alec into the house. Not because Mom’s judgment about him was right—I still thought Alec was a good guy—but because she didn’t deserve to be disrespected. She worked hard for the two of us and loved me fiercely. I might not agree with her about Alec, but that didn’t give me the right to go against her wishes.
“Felicity?”
“Huh?”
“I said, Dave gets home on Friday, so I’ll be spending the weekend at his place. You okay holding down the fort on your own?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Good.” She dropped her silverware and collapsed back into her chair like she’d finished running a marathon. “That was delicious. Whaddaya say we clean this mess up and watch some reruns of Gilmore Girls before that show Asha loves so much comes on?”
Chapter 6
The next morning, the heat wave broke with the arrival of a storm. Which was freaky strange. It hardly ever rained in Los Angeles, and when it did, it was usually during the winter months. A thunderstorm in July? It was unheard of.
But the dreary weather complemented my mood.
The Electric Waffle was deserted, and there was nothing for me to do. After wiping down all the counters and tables, refilling the ketchup and syrup bottles, and mopping the floor to keep busy, I’d run out of chores. Miss Daisy, the owner and manager, had sent the rest of the waitstaff home, and without the chatter of the other girls, my only company was my thoughts.
And they were torturous.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Alec. Yesterday, I’d been so concerned with getting him out of my room that I’d forgotten to set up a time to meet. Not knowing when he’d arrive made me antsy, so when I wasn’t staring at the clock, my gaze was locked on the door. To keep from pacing, I forced myself to sit at one of the counter stools, but that didn’t stop me from jiggling my leg or tapping my fingers. It was nearly two o’clock, so there were a few more hours before my shift was over, but I had to acknowledge the possibility that Alec might not come at all. Considering that I practically shoved him out my window, I wouldn’t be surprised.
What I needed was a distraction.
Thankfully, Miss Daisy stepped out of her office and told me to take a break. After clocking out and pouring myself a cup of coffee, I took a spot at my favorite booth. It was tucked away in the back of the room but still had a great view of the door.
I had my ACT prep book with me, and I momentarily considered studying, but I was too jittery to concentrate. Instead, I dug to the bottom of my bag and pulled out the first three books my fingers touched: a battered edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, my travel copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Great Gatsby. Deciding on the last one, I set the first two aside and dove into the 1920s.
As with every book in my collection, I’d read Fitzgerald’s masterpiece to the point of memorizing it, but I was still sucked into the story within the first few paragraphs. Just as Nick received his invitation to one of Gatsby’s lavish parties, the bell above the door chimed. I looked up, and there was Alec. It was as if he’d came from a photoshoot for a Burberry campaign. He was wearing a stylish gray trench coat with the collar pulled up around his neck, probably to fend off the rain. I always thought popped collars made guys look pompous, but on Alec it was cool.
I stared at him as he pulled off the coat and proceeded to shake away the water droplets that had collected in his way-too-perfect hair. He must have felt me watching because he glanced up and his eyes locked onto mine.
Crap, totally busted!
I shot out of my seat and crossed the room.
When I reached him, I tucked a loose curl behind my ear. “Hey.”
Alec looked down at me with his beautiful eyes. “Hey,” he said back.
Neither of us spoke.
A magnetic energy of sorts swelled between us. It was charged and electric and impossible to ignore. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I lowered my gaze, and by the time I looked back up, the buzz in the air was gone.
“You came,” I said finally. I was still surprised.
He scratched his temple. “You wanted me to, right?”
“Yeah, totally! It’s just… I thought that you might… Never mind.”
Alec looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, which reminded me of how I felt when Boomer talked about mechanical engineering. Normally, I nodded my head and offered the occasional uh-huh during his rants about heat transfer or energy conversion. Now, I quickly changed the subject.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda? I make a killer blueberry milk shake.”
“Blueberry?”
I nodded eagerly. “I promise it’s good.” In fact, it was my absolute favorite. Mom had a weakness for them, which she’d passed on to me, so whenever blueberries went on sale, we’d fill our shopping basket with as many containers as possible and binge on shakes for a week straight.
“All right. I trust you,” he said, serious as ever. Like we were talking about a life-or-death situation and not milk shake flavors. I waited, expecting him to give me his real order, but he stared back at me. When he raised an eyebrow, I realized he already had.
“Ooh, right! Okay, cool.”
For reasons unknown, seeing Alec rattled me, even more than when Eddie Marks had sat next to me in geometry last year. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening, which left me feeling frazzled. So much so that I was halfway across the room before I realized I’d abandoned Alec by the door.
I spun back around. “Um, you can sit there if you want,” I said, pointing to the booth where my books and bag were. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
In the kitchen, I pulled everything I needed from the industrial-size fridge—ice cream, milk, blueberries, maple syrup—and set it out by the drink mixer. As I worked on digging a huge scoop of vanilla out of the frozen tub, I wondered what Alec needed to talk to me about. Whatever it was, it must have been important if he was willing to meet me in person twice to discuss it. What if he thought I was the one telling the tabloids all those crazy, made-up stories about how we met? Oh crap, maybe that meant he was mad at me.
But he didn’t look mad, I reminded myself. Stop freaking out.
Although I could make a blueberry milk shake blindfolded, I measured the exact amount of each ingredient to give myself a few minutes to calm down. When I returned with two bluish-purple drinks in hand, Alec was listening to his music. He yanked out his headphones and dropped them around his neck as I set both glasses on the table.
“Thanks,” he said, pulling one of the shakes toward him. The tower of whipped cream on top wobbled.
I slid onto the bench across from him and smoothed out my shirt.
“Pre
tty good, huh?” I asked when he took his first sip. “I love blueberry-flavored anything, but milk shakes are my absolute favorite. The problem is most places don’t make blueberry ones, so when I started working here, I convinced Miss Daisy to add them to the menu. There’s this ice cream place down the street from my house that makes them, but theirs were terrible. The ratio was all off—too much vanilla, not enough berry. So I gave them my recipe, and guess what? They totally use it now too!”
Why. Am. I. Rambling?
Alec offered me an amused look when I finally finished. “Your recipe is killer,” he said, using my earlier description.
Too flustered to drink any of my shake, I swirled the straw back and forth, making a mess out of the whipped cream. “Thanks.”
I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or not. Normally, I was good at reading people, but with Alec, it was impossible. I could study him all day long and still not be able to crack his reserved front. The only thing I could make out for sure was the unmistakable intelligence that flickered in his eyes.
And crap. I’d been staring at him for a whole ten seconds.
“So about yesterday,” I said with a start. Might as well swallow my embarrassment and cut to the chase. “You mentioned there was something you wanted to talk about?”
“Right.” He hesitated, and the anticipation nearly drove me mad. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. Both for any trouble the media attention has caused you and for what that one magazine said about you—”
“Not being as pretty as Violet?” I finished, unabashed. I wouldn’t take to heart what some poor excuse of a journalist wrote in an attempt to create drama. I had tougher skin than that.
He coughed. “Er, yeah.” After a quick pause, he added, “It’s not true.”
I blushed. “You drove all the way to my house to apologize?”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, but most people would have called.” After all, I had given him my number…