Love, Lattes and Mutants

by Sandra Cox

  Chapter 9

  He stands in shadows, but I’d know him anywhere. His form is as familiar to me as my own.

  What to do? Pretend I haven’t seen him and take the trail to the house as I normally do? Or go back in the ocean and not surface till he leaves? I opt for door number two. I turn and walk into the surf.

  “There’s no need. I’m leaving.” His pitched voice carries over the restless, lapping waves.

  I force myself to keep going. The muscles tighten as I fight the urge to look over my shoulder. I dive into the water and swim straight out. Paddling, I turn and look back. He’s gone.

  I wait another twenty minutes before I head in. This time, I scrutinize the shore before I get out. I don’t see him. I pull myself out of the water and trot quickly up the trail to the house. When I get to the top, I look around. No, Tyler. I blow out a sigh of relief and trot to the house.

  “Damn it, is he stalking me?” I mumble under my breath.

  The screen door creaks, Gramps calls out, “Pip, is that you?”

  “Yup, it’s me.”

  He comes to the entryway, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Gramps is always reading a newspaper. He reads at least five different papers a day. He’s probably better versed on economics and world events than most college professors.

  “Any critters in trouble tonight?”

  We head for the kitchen.

  “I freed a sea turtle from another one of those blasted fishing nets. I thought she’d drown before I got to her. But she’s fine.”

  “Good for you.”

  I stick my head in the refrigerator, pull out a chocolate cake I’d made earlier in the week and a carton of milk. “Want a piece?” I shut the door with my foot.

  “Your cake? Sure.”

  He gets a couple of plates, glasses, and forks. While he pours the milk, I cut us big slices.

  “I’ve got to tell you, you’re making a lot of fishermen mighty unhappy.” He sits down and shovels a large forkful of the moist, dark dessert into his mouth.

  I take a big bite myself and answer with difficulty, “Can’t be helped.”

  “I know, love.”

  I chug cold milk then set the glass down. “Tyler was hanging around the beach when I came in.”

  “What did you do?” He sets down his fork, waiting for my response.

  “Headed back in the water. He called out it wasn’t necessary, he was leaving.”

  Gramps raises his eyebrows. “Did he?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you going to do, honey?”

  “Keep denying I’m me.” I sigh and make swirls of the crumbs on my plate with the fork.

  He pats me on the shoulder and picks up my plate and fork. “It’s a knotty problem, but things have a way of working out.”

  As he puts the plates in the sink, I walk up behind him and hug him, putting my cheek against his back. “Love you, Gramps.”

  “You too, Pip. Now you better get to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

  The rooster-shaped clock on the wall shows five minutes till ten. “Gosh, I’ll get nearly seven hours sleep tonight.”

  “That’s pretty good for you.”

  “Darn right it is. Sleep tight, Gramps.”

  “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  I grin as I walk out of the kitchen.

  Once in my room, I wriggle into a mint green cami and undies, and plop onto the bed. I take a moment to wiggle my toes and admire my polish before I crawl under the sheets.

  My eyes determinedly closed, I court sleep. Slumber eludes me. I try counting sheep but at one hundred and one, I’m still awake. I switch to lines from Romeo and Juliet. My body grows heavy and my mind wanders. I’m kissing Romeo, who bears a striking resemblance to Tyler. As Tyler-Romeo tells me, “O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Mercutio begins to sing and Friar Lawrence plays an electric guitar.

  My eyes fly open. I sit straight up in bed and fumble with the button on the alarm to turn off the power pop song blaring on the radio. I guess I slept after all.

  I stumble to the bathroom, brush my teeth with minty toothpaste before taking a quick shower. I stand in front of the mirror and comb my hair. Pale gleaming strands fly around my shoulders and accentuate my turquoise eyes. My lashes are long and thick but need mascara to darken them. I sigh. What difference does it make? No one is going to see them other than Gramps.

  I ruthlessly pull my hair back and contain it in a scrunchie before I stick pins in it and make it into a bun. Even though it’s protective covering, I still hate it. I trudge into my bedroom and pull on my clothes.

  I manage to find a short-sleeved, shapeless cotton hoodie. I bought a gray one, a drab olive, and a mustard yellow. I pull on the yellow, knowing from experience it drains any possible color from my face. I also manage to find gray-muslin pants that tie at the waist with a drawstring.

  Since I bought them two sizes too big, I have to roll the legs up several times and even with the drawstring drawn tight, continuously haul them back up to my waist. I grab my repugnant pink glasses, and head down the hall.

  I follow breakfast scents to the kitchen where a bowl of oatmeal topped with apples and raisins sits at the table along with a cup of steaming coffee.

  I slump into the chair and take a quick sip. My eyes close and I whimper as I savor the hot, rich-tasting caffeine. My world rights. “Thanks, Gramps.”

  “No problem, baby girl. How’d you sleep?”

  No point in going there. I do what any right-thinking granddaughter would do: I lie. “Like a log. You?”

  He places a bowl across from me and lowers himself into the chair. “The same.”

  Having just lied myself, I find it easy to hear the hearty, false ring in his voice. I look at him and frown. He has bags under his eyes and his skin has a pallor that concerns me. I set down my cup. Coffee splashes on the cheery, yellow flowered placemat. “Are you all right?” I lean forward to study him closer.

  “Of course, I’m all right. I should have gone to bed earlier that’s all.”

  I press my lips together. Come rain or shine, unless he’s waiting up for me, Gramps is in bed by ten-thirty. He watches the ten o’clock news then lights out. If the snores I hear whenever I pass his bedroom are anything to go by, most of the time he sleeps like a baby.

  “Let me make an appointment for you with Doc Johnson.”

  “That old quack? I don’t think so.”

  “How about his partner,” I ask rather desperately.

  “I’m fine,” he says firmly. “Just a little indigestion. Once this oatmeal lines my stomach, I’ll be good to go. Now, you eat, girl.” He waves his spoon at me.

  Beneath lowered lashes, I keep an eye on him. After a few minutes, his color does seem to improve.

  “Stop staring and eat your oatmeal.” Gramps doesn’t look up from his newspaper.

  I’d roll my eyes but he’d see that through his forehead as well.

  After I suck down my oatmeal, I grab my book bag and glasses, give Gramps a quick kiss and dash out the door.

  Humming, I drive down the hill, my monster truck belching smoke and rumbling like a demon. When I pull in the school lot, I’m almost disappointed Fahrenbacher isn’t there. It would be worth the crap I’d take from the asshole to watch him turn white when I park Beulah, the monster truck, next to his sports car…again.

  A couple of pieces of rust crumble from Beulah’s frame when I slam the door. I trot into Rosemont High and reach lit class with seconds to spare. Surprisingly, there’s an empty seat by Tyler. But I keep going and pretend not to see him smile at me.

  As I slide into my seat and plop my bag onto the tablet arm, the bell rings. Holly rushes in, yanks me out of my seat, and whirls me in a circle. “Thank you.”

  My face hot, I drop into my seat. She plops down beside me.

  “Ladies, a little decorum if you please. This is English Lit, not a contact spor
t.” Miss Sweeney smiles when she says it, taking the sting out of it.

  The students titter. Though, in a subdued manner since everyone is still half-asleep and Holly’s a favorite.

  My face flames, but nothing bothers Holly.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Sweeney, but I couldn’t contain myself.”

  I know what’s coming. Don’t say it, Holly.

  “Piper and her grandfather saved my brother’s life this weekend.”

  A murmur of excitement rises in the room.

  I’m ready to die of sheer embarrassment. I glance at Tyler. He looks about as thrilled as I do with his twin’s announcement.

  Miss Sweeney glances at my heated face and takes pity on me. “That’s very laudable indeed, but shall we get down to the business at hand?”

  Works for me.

  I force myself to keep my attention on Miss Sweeney and not let my gaze slide to Tyler. Other than half a dozen times, I succeed. Even though he’s two rows up, he still manages to turn around and intercept a couple of my glances. I trust he can’t tell I’m looking at him through these disgusting glasses.

  When the bell rings, I jump up. My plan: to beat both the Carlisle twins out the door.

  I have to step over Holly, but since several girls are already flocking around her, I make good my escape. Tyler also has his entourage. But he must manage to fight his way through, because I’m barely out the door when he catches up to me.

  “She was just trying to help, you know.”

  “How do you figure?” Clutching my book bag, I rush down the hall.

  “She wants people to know how brave you are.”

  I skid to a stop. With a bit of difficulty, Tyler does the same. Seething, I poke my finger into his chest. “I just want to be left alone. Is that so hard?” I know he’s right, Holly meant no harm, quite the opposite. But she has no idea what’s at stake. My life is on the line. I can’t get close to people. If anyone discovers what I am and blabs it, I’ll end up like my mom, a lab rat. Locked away like an animal.

  He takes my finger and instead of dropping it, holds it. His gaze tries to penetrate my hideous glasses. I can’t believe he has much luck there. “Why, Piper? Why do you want to be left alone?”

  His gentleness almost undoes me. I snatch my hand back. “Just stay away from me.” I slam down the hall and jerk the locker door open with unnecessary force.

  “Well, well, well, if it’s not the clumsy nerd.”

  And the hits just keep on coming. I turn, ready for a fight. My legs planted, my chin up, I bare my teeth. “What do you want, Fahrenbacher?”

  “Oh, the little nerd has a backbone.” A couple of his buddies snicker.

  If I have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, the devil’s winning, while the angel is wringing her hands, shushing me. “A backbone and a brain, which is more than I can say for you, dumbass.” I lift my chin and fist my hands. I have no idea what I intend to do. Edgar is built like a meat locker.

  An ugly molten-red suffuses his face. Before I can add any more witticisms, he picks me up, shoves me in my locker, and slams it shut with me inside.

  I open my mouth to snarl. Before I have a chance to scream invectives at Edgar the Asshole, a voice stops me in mid-breath.

  “Let her out of the locker.”

  “This doesn’t concern you, Carlisle.”

  “The hell it doesn’t. Let her out, Edgar.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “You and I are going to dance. After school, in the park where there won’t be any faculty to interrupt us.”

  I stare through the slits of the locker door. Tyler has never raised his voice. But the expression on his face turns my blood cold. His eyes are flat, his fists clenched. My mad is gone. Concern for Tyler has taken its place. If his body language is anything to go by, I’m more afraid of his kicking Fahrenbacher’s ass and getting in trouble for it than getting his own tail whipped.

  Then I remember his weekend ordeal. Crap. I bite back a moan and ring my hands. For once, I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut. It doesn’t take a genius to realize interference from me is the last thing Tyler wants.

  Fahrenbacher shrugs and opens the door. “I didn’t realize you and the little geek are an item.”

  “The park at four o’clock. Be there.” Expression grim, Tyler plucks me out of the locker.

  “What’s your problem, Carlisle? I let the geek out.”

  “Maybe I just don’t like you, Fahrenbacher.” Tyler’s voice is soft, his body relaxed, but tension pours off him in waves.

  Fahrenbacher shrugs. “It’s your ass.”

  “Don’t worry about mine.”

  Fahrenbacher smirks. He turns and saunters away, saying something to the two groupies following him that causes them to laugh. One guy looks at me then at Tyler, a puzzled expression on his face. He shakes his head.

  I understand his dilemma. Why is the hottest boy in school with me? I close my eyes and mentally correct myself. Tyler isn’t with me. But for whatever reason he’s taken it on himself to protect me.

  Showing my appreciation, I grab his arm and shriek, “Are you insane?”

  He takes mine, pulls it through his, and begins to walk in the direction of study hall.

  I’m too overset to pull away. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t fight Fahrenbacher.”

  “This has to stop. You don’t rationalize with someone like Fahrenbacher.”

  “You can’t do this. I don’t doubt you’re good”—I ignore that brief moment when the confidence he radiated convinced me he could take Fahrenbacher—“but Fahrenbacher is built like a tree. His biceps look like footballs.”

  He clasps his heart. “Your confidence unmans me.” He gives me that quirky smile that normally distracts me, but for once, I’m too rattled to notice.

  I grab his arm again. “Please, don’t do this.”

  He stops and plays with my fingers. “This is the only language he knows or respects. I not only intend to kick his ass, I intend to show you how so when I’m not around, if someone messes with you, you can take them. You aren’t going to end up in a locker again.” The expression on his face has me stepping back.

  He sees it and immediately relaxes. “Come on, you’ll be late for study hall.”

  “You can’t do this. You nearly drowned. And even if you hadn’t, I don’t need or want you to fight my battles.” I face him, my book bag pressed against my chest, all but gnashing my teeth.

  “Want it or not you’ve got it.” He turns on his heel and heads for his class. I slink into study hall.

  There’s a low buzz of excitement as I walk in. Great. So much for anonymity. I keep my head down in hopes no one will try to hold a conversation with me. Since no one normally speaks to me, it isn’t an issue.

  I can hear the whispers and feel the speculative stares. One of the cuter girls I’ve seen flirting her head off with Tyler says, in a voice impossible to miss, “What’s he see in her anyhow?”

  “You’re just jealous, Chris, because he doesn’t pay any attention to you.” I recognize the voice of one of Holly’s friends, who’s started nodding and smiling when she sees me in the hall.

  “That just goes to show what you know. Tyler most certainly does pay attention to me,” Chris spits out.

  “Meow, meow,” A boy two rows over calls out. The rest of the students laugh. The hall monitor walks in and the class reluctantly refocuses.

  Fifty minutes later the bell rings. I jump up as if my pants are on fire and shoot out the door, not that the hall is much better. Holly comes toward me, a look of consternation on her face. “Is it true?”

  No point in playing dumb, I nod.

  “My brother, the idiot.”

  I nod again. At last, a kindred spirit.

  “What is he thinking?” she wails.

  “Like I have a clue. Does he do this sort of thing often?”

  “Never.”

 
; “Why is he now?”

  “My understanding is it has something to do with Fahrenbacher stuffing you in a locker.”

  My face flames. “Well, I can’t say that was fun but it’s no reason to become a human punching bag.”

  “We spent one summer with my cousin. It was educational.” She smiles and waves at one of the cheerleaders who hurries past her. The cheerleader waves back with a toothy smile.

  “I’m happy for you. Does it have any bearing on the matter at hand?”

  Holly giggles. “Oh, yeah.”

  We head for Spanish Class with me no wiser.

  The day passes way too fast. Why couldn’t it move this quickly any other day? I don’t see any more of Tyler. I have a feeling he’s avoiding me.

  When the bell rings, Holly and I join the mass exodus heading for the park two blocks away. The only students who are going to miss the fight are those in detention and I wouldn’t be surprised if they cut out.

  I toss my bag in my truck so my hands will be free to wring. I want to wail like a banshee but bite my lips together to keep from it and bite my tongue in the process.

  There’s a small clearing on the far side of the park, hidden from view by a row of pines. We get there in time to see Fahrenbacher and Tyler circle each other. They wear jeans and undershirts, their shirts and books tossed casually near the base of a tree. Holly and I elbow our way to the front.

  Fahrenbacher flexes his muscles and makes me flinch. They’re as thick as a body builder’s. I look at Tyler and sigh. He’s just so darn pretty. I only hope he’s half as pretty when this is over.

  Tyler’s triceps are partially hidden by his tee. He raises his arm to flick a lock of hair off his face. The sleeve rolls toward his shoulder. Though half the size of Fahrenbacher’s, the smooth skin looks muscled and firm. Maybe he stands a chance. Please, God.

  Tyler flexes his legs and makes a beckoning motion. Fahrenbacher charges him and Tyler steps nimbly aside. Again, Fahrenbacher comes at him. Tyler sidesteps him, his movements as fluid as water. I breathe easier. Maybe he won’t get creamed after all.

  “Stop dancing like a girl and hold still.” Fahrenbacher growls.

  Tyler shows teeth. You can’t really call it a smile.