Switch Stance

by M. E. Carter

  The tension is a little thicker than I’m used to as we both look over the menu. I don’t know why I bother, I get the same thing each time I come here. A classic patty melt is my go-to order at any greasy spoon, but this place blows them all out of the water. When the server returns with our iced teas to take our order, I wait a few beats for Adi to speak. Instead, she looks out across the boardwalk, seemingly in thought.

  Clearing my throat, I watch as she exhales, almost in resignation, as she turns her attention to me.

  “I brought you here because this place is my go-to for a good burger. I only flew in this morning and went straight to physical therapy. I’m pretty sure I’m five minutes from my stomach eating itself. Plus, its great people watching. When we’re done, we’ll head up to Zuma and see if we can find you some inspiration for your story.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” She chews on her lip for a second before quickly adding, “I’m starting to feel hangry, which is a real condition you know, so it’s good. Eating is good. I like to eat.”

  Laughing at the cute blush that crosses her face, I take a drink from my glass as she finally offers me a full smile. This is different than the smile she had at the book event with her readers. That smile is beautiful, but this one, with her across from me with little to no makeup on and her hair unkempt from the ocean wind, is just more. It’s like I’m seeing the real her, not the author her. It’s a look I know well, because I do the same thing when interacting with fans. I bet Adeline Snow and I have a lot in common when it comes to our public persona versus our real self.

  “So, this tour thing,” I say leaning back in my chair.

  Adi scrunches her face in response and mocks my position. “Sorry about that. I’m sure it was my publicist’s idea. She’s always trying to get me to do things that are “new” or “innovative.” She uses air quotes and I laugh at the expression on her face. If Adeline Snow wanted to quit writing, professional poker player would not be a career option for her. The girl has no poker face.

  “Nah, I’d put money on my agent. Freddy is determined to keep me in the spotlight as long as he can. Retirement is not his favorite word, and I’ve been throwing it around a lot lately.”

  Adi’s eyes widen and she’s about to say something when our server appears next to our table, but when she turns to the couple next to us, I watch her shoulders sag in disappointment. Laughing, I say, “Hungry?”

  “It feels like my insides are feasting on themselves.” I watch as she bites her lip like she’s preventing herself from speaking.

  “You bite any harder on your lip and it’ll bleed. What’s got you all in tangles?”

  Sighing, she looks down and begins fiddling with the silverware. “I kind of wish I’d ordered a burger now.” Laughing, I lean back in my chair as we engage in a little more small talk mostly about the pros and cons of hard shell tacos versus soft shell. Just as I’m proving my point on putting the hard shell in the soft, our server arrives with our food. My patty melt looks and smells amazing. Adi opted for the fish tacos and now I too am second guessing my food choice.

  “I’ve got some major food envy over that plate, Adi.”

  “Ditto, Spencer.”

  We dig into our food while talking about everything and nothing. Well, I do most of the talking. It’s clear she’s still nervous around me, but she’s starting to relax. Thankfully we seem to get along because the next few weeks are going to be crazy, and if she hated me that’d kind of suck.

  “Wait. You hate social media?” I ask when she mentions having an aversion to Instagram. “Isn’t that a huge part of your job? My sister went on and on about your online stuff. Full disclosure, Kate is a bit of a stalker when it comes to you. And, shit I hate saying this but . . .” Adi stops with her taco almost to her mouth and raises a brow in question before I continue. “She’s kind of responsible for all of this. She’s the one who posted those pictures originally. Her heart was in a good place, she just didn’t think of the shitstorm that would follow. To my sister I’m just her annoying little brother, not a ‘celebrity’.”

  Instead of responding immediately, Adi takes a small bite of her taco then places it back on the plate before wiping her mouth with her napkin and taking a long drink from her iced tea. Crap, she’s pissed.

  “I do hate social media, but it’s part of the job. I try to limit my time online to just a few pop ins each day. Hence my antiquated phone.” She waves an old school flip phone at me briefly before dropping it back down on the table. “I like comments or photos I’m tagged in and deal with my in boxes when I log in. Otherwise, I avoid it at all costs. Being ‘on’,” she says with air quotes again, “is fucking exhausting. Plus the drama makes me queasy.”

  “I hear ya. Nobody told me when I was eight that being good at a sport was going to mean I have to spend half my life on my phone tapping a little blue thumb or a heart.”

  “Your sister was very sweet, and I could see how much she loves you. I think it’s great she forgets your celebrity status. Besides, it was a great picture.”

  Yeah it was, but the one I sent to myself was better. Adeline uninhibited and not posing. Just her in a moment. Joy in her expression and an obvious love for what she does shining through. It makes me wonder where she got her creativity from.

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  She takes a moment to swallow her bite before answering. “Only child. But I was practically raised with my best friend so it never felt that way.”

  “Were you raised on a commune or something?” I chuckle before realizing she might have been. The smile drops off my face as I wonder if I just stuck my foot in my mouth. “Wait. Were you?”

  “Raised on a commune?” When I nod, probably looking as pale as I feel, a smile crosses her face. “No. But my childhood was not what you’d call, conventional.” She wipes her hands on a napkin and leans into the table, eyes looking off like she’s remembering. “Do you watch the Big Bang Theory?”

  The question throws me off. I’m not sure what this has to do with the topic at hand, but I just go with it. “I love that show.”

  “Me, too. You know Leonard’s mom? She’s like a neuroscientist or something.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “That’s basically my mom.”

  I freeze mid-bite. “Really?”

  “Really. She’s loving and supportive and kind. But she’s not really . . . I don’t know how to describe it. She doesn’t really understand emotions all that much. No, that’s wrong. She understands them, she’s just genius level smart and doesn’t connect the same way your stereotypical mom does.”

  I think about what she’s telling me and how Adeline doesn’t always seem comfortable around people. It makes sense if her mom doesn’t do emotions the same way mine does.

  “My best friend’s mom, Jan, though, she was all about hugs and kisses and making cookies with us,” she continues. “It was nice having both of them because they did such different things. Like, when we decided to build our first ramp, Jan stocked up on Band-Aids and bought us helmets, while my mom double checked the schematics and made sure we had the right sized screws so it wouldn’t collapse on us.”

  “Sounds like a more balanced childhood than most of us had,” I say, laughing as I lean back in the chair, relaxing as she continues her story.

  “It really was. I got the best of both worlds. Made Christmas cookies and wrote letters to Santa with one, made volcanos for the science fair and got help with math homework from the other.”

  “So I guess you got your creativity from your dad then?”

  She shrugs as she takes another nibble. “I don’t know. I think the sperm donor must have been artistic in some way for me to be like I am.”

  I cringe. In the early days of their divorce, that’s what my mom used to call my dad. She doesn’t anymore, but I remember the anti-term of endearment. “Sperm donor? Sounds like they had as bad of a breakup as my folks did.” I pick up my sandwich, bringing to my mouth as she responds.
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  “Oh. No. My mom wanted a baby but didn’t want to mess with a relationship. He really is a sperm donor. Number four-seventeen in the book of choices.”

  I immediately choke on my sandwich, shocked by her admission. The nonchalant way she mentions her mom using a sperm bank to have her is not at all what I expected.

  “Are you okay?”

  Holding my finger up indicating I need a minute, I clear my throat as quickly as possible. Seriously. Can this woman shock me even more?

  Finally I’m able to pull myself back together. “Sorry. You surprised me, that’s all.”

  A blush crosses her face. “Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. This is why I don’t talk about my family very much.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “No, please don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s really interesting. Unique. Somehow it fits you. I can’t imagine you having a traditional childhood. That seems too bland for you somehow.”

  She clears her throat and sits back. It’s clear that despite my attempt at a compliment, the roll she was on is over. “Moving on to a different topic, you mentioned retirement earlier. As a fan of your sport I’m kind of freaking out.”

  Sitting back, I humor her and contemplate how to best respond. I’m not dead set on giving up my career yet, but I’m close. “I’m not twenty anymore. My body is beat to hell. Every morning, it takes me at least ten minutes to roll out of bed because a different part of my body aches. I am currently recovering from my second knee surgery. Which, by the way, if my doctor or physical therapists knew I was on a board today they would kill me. So mum’s the word, okay?”

  She narrows her eyes playfully. “You do know there were half a dozen people at the park today who saw you, right?”

  “Oh before you got there, I made them all swear on their boards they’d keep quiet. They were just stoked for some coaching.”

  Taking a large bite from my burger, I chew while she peppers me with a few more questions about retirement.

  “You’ve heard of my non-profit?” She nods. “I want to dedicate more time to that. Building these parks and establishing alternatives for kids other than sitting around playing video games and wasting their youth away is important to me. I was lucky to be good at something at a young age and build a career out of it, but I want to do more. I have the means so why not do it now while I can still enjoy it?”

  “Wow. That’s amazing. I feel the same way,” she says, a starry-eyed look crossing her face.

  “How so?”

  “I want to do more than just write books. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. It’s my dream, and I’m so lucky to be what we in the industry call a hybrid. I have a publisher I’m committed to, but I still write and publish independently as an indie author. It’s the best of both worlds, but I’m always chasing a deadline and sometimes I lose the joy of writing by the time I finish a book. And there’s always another deadline just ahead. I’d like to do more. To give back somehow.”

  “Well, Adeline Snow, it sounds like this impromptu pairing may be beneficial for us both. We have an opportunity to talk to people about the things we are passionate about.”

  Smiling, Adi nods her head vigorously before turning her attention back to her taco. We continue talking as we finish our meal and by the time the server returns to clear our table, the sun is setting in the distance, and I look at my phone for the time.

  “Tell me why people care about coffee.” Adi’s focus is in her purse, but she quickly turns to look at me, confusion written all over her face. “My assistant just text me that she’s put reminders in my calendar for me to take pictures of my coffee. This is why I hate social media. Nobody should care how I have my coffee or whether or not I like the yellow jelly beans. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Do you?” She asks as she holds her credit card out for me, but I wave it off as I put my own card in the ticket holder for the server.

  “Do I what?”

  “Eat the yellow jelly beans. You can tell a lot about a person by their jelly bean choices. Maybe that’s why they care?”

  I can’t tell if she’s teasing me or serious. Maybe poker would be a good alternative career choice for her.

  “I don’t discriminate when it comes to sugar.”

  “Good man. Why leave a poor jelly bean to suffer alone just because it’s yellow? That’d be sad.”

  We’re laughing at her statement when the server returns for me to sign the receipt. As we’re walking out the door, Adi stops and it’s easy to see the nerves she had earlier return. I thought we were past this, but I guess not.

  “We should exchange numbers,” I suggest.

  “What? Why?” she stammers, and it’s fucking adorable. Yep, nervous Adi is my favorite.

  “Well, I think we’re friends now and I like to have my friends’ numbers. Plus, we both know we’re going to need an ally when we deal with our publicists. And since we’re going on tour together . . .”

  She gulps. Loudly. “Oh. Yeah. I suppose.”

  I hand her my phone and she stares at it in her hand. “Text yourself with my phone. You’ll have my number and I’ll have yours.”

  Once I hear a little beep in her purse, I take my phone back from her and tap her name into the contacts as she does the same, though it takes her much longer with that ancient phone. A small smirk appears on her face and for the briefest moment, I feel like the dude in her books.

  “Let me walk you to your car. We’ll try Zuma tomorrow.”

  Without hesitation, Adi turns and begins walking down the boardwalk. I follow her and have a feeling this is the beginning of a very fun friendship.

  Chapter 11

  Aggi

  First Stop: Philadelphia

  Home of Summer X Games circa 2001 and 2002

  We never did make it to Zuma. Not because Spencer didn’t try. Oh, he texted all right. I just didn’t respond. Instead, I fixated on the fact that I had shared so much personal information and let my nerves take over. Then I allowed myself to succumb to the belief that if I ignore the upcoming tour, it’ll go away.

  Obviously, my spirit animal is an ostrich. Stick your head in the sand and nothing bad can happen, right?

  Wrong. The tour didn’t go away. Over the next few months, my publicist and Spencer’s publicist worked together to get everything finalized. Despite my dread, and maybe a few ugly comments which my team ignored, an itinerary showed up in my email last week. It freaked me out so much, I skimmed it and caught the important parts:

  Three weeks. Six cites. Spencer Garrison and I. Alone.

  Well, not totally alone. The general public will be around. And as always, we’ve be assigned a point of contact at each signing to make sure we’re where we need to be and when.

  But yes, we’ll be traveling together by ourselves. Sitting next to each other on six airplanes. Sleeping next door to each other in six hotels. Standing next to each other at six signings. It is both my dream and my nightmare come true.

  My dream because all six cities are locations where the X Games have been held. It’s an extreme sports lover’s fantasy vacation.

  But mostly it’s my nightmare because I feel like I’m going to throw up all the Christmas turkey I ate over the holidays as I drown in my denial. All the deep breathing exercises I did on the two-and-a-half-hour flight to begin this tour didn’t calm my nerves. However, I have a large collection of barf bags stuffed in my carry-on, courtesy of the flight attendant that thought for sure I wasn’t going to make it.

  Exiting the plane, I swing into the restroom to do my business and a quick touch-up of my makeup. Unbeknownst to me, because I always forget to check, my flight was delayed long enough that I have to go straight to our first signing. No checking in at the hotel. No deep breathing exercises in my room to try and become Zen and one with my inner yogi. No anxiety eating from the minibar. Nope. I had to transform at the airport and take the entire plane ride complete in Adeline Snow makeup and dress. Except for my heels. For good reasons, they are in my
carry-on. No way I was trucking through an airport in anything higher than my bright teal Converse. That’s just asking for me to get my heel stuck on the bottom of an escalator and I have no desire to channel Buddy the Elf.

  Satisfied that Adeline Snow is firmly in place, I roll my suitcase into the terminal and toward baggage claim. I hate having two suitcases. I try really hard to pack lighter than that. But January means winter clothes up north and possibly shorts down south. Not to mention, I have no idea if I’ll have laundry facilities for the next three weeks. I don’t have that many pairs of underwear. I may have to hit up a local VS to buy more if I run out.

  I find my baggage claim and walk that direction when a tall man catches my eye.

  No. No it can’t be. I thought I had another hour to prepare myself!

  But no. Fate is a cruel, cruel bitch and Spencer Garrison is standing right by the carousel while I’m thinking about my undergarments.

  Pull yourself together, Aggi. He’s just a man. A very talented, very sexy man, who is LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU OHMYGOD!!

  Somehow, I stumble over the wheel of my suitcase when he smiles my direction. No idea how that is even possible since the bag is behind me, but I don’t have time to figure it out. Spencer Garrison is walking my way and I have about four seconds to get my heart to stop pounding so hard and breathe again . . .

  Three . . . two . . . one . . .

  “Hi.”

  Looking up into his deep blues, it’s a miracle in and of itself that I haven’t passed out, fallen over, or thrown up on his shoe. So far, so good.

  “Wha-what are you doing here?”

  Hey look at that! A coherent sentence! I mentally pat myself on the back. But not too hard. Wouldn’t want to jinx myself.