by Amy Sparling
"Wow, he left everything to you and you didn't even know him?"
"Well he had no one else in his life," Jace says.
"And you just live here without changing anything?" I pop open my Coke. He's drinking from his can and his eyes dart over to me while the can is still to his mouth. It's cute.
"Nah, I live in California. I just came here for the summer. Take inventory of what is now mine and all…" he trails off and I decide to drop it. Besides, I don't want to know about his dead grandfather anyway. I want to know about him. The living, breathing, super sexy guy sitting across from me.
"So you're from the West Coast and you like dirt bikes," I smile. I try to make it a coy, sexy smile but I don't know if it works or not.
"It's a little more than like, girl. It's my entire life." He sounds way too serious to be joking, but sports can't be people's entire lives, can they?
"What do you mean?"
He flips through the channel guide on the TV. "This movie is hilarious, wanna watch?"
I nod. I'm always down for a funny movie. "So what do you mean?" I ask again. He looks at me in this weird way, like he doesn't trust me. And it's kind of insulting because I'm in his house, I should be the untrusting one here, not the tall muscley guy. The silence gets long and awkward. "Okay fine, don't tell me." I look at the TV and not at him.
He leans forward in his chair, clasps his hands together. "Sorry, I know that's rude of me but I'm not in the habit of telling people about my career right now."
"Career? Yeah you should definitely tell me," I say with a smile and a lighthearted laugh hoping it will make him tell me his deep dark secret. "You can’t possibly be old enough to have a career."
He makes this what-the-hell face and spills, "I race motocross for a living. You can go pro at eighteen. It's my first year of being a pro. You know, getting paid to ride."
"Wow, so you're like really good?" I ask. He makes a half frown and nods, the kind of thing people do when they aren't too sure of themselves. He's modest I guess. "So is it the off season?"
"Not exactly," he says. There's finality in his voice and I know the conversation is over for now.
We watch a movie in what is mostly silence and then he shows me around the house. I wonder if my grandparents are wondering where I am. It's creepy how he has left his grandfather's room completely the way it was before he died, walker in the corner and pills on the nightstand. He says he wants to contact the local church to see if anyone wants to come get the stuff. He doesn't know what to do with it.
Then he shows me his room. It looks more like a teenager's room, minus the suitcases of clothes. He's hung up posters of rock bands, and a few of swimsuit babes. There's dirty clothes all over the place and a silver Macbook on his bed. Next to that is his cell phone. I snap back to reality in a microsecond. Not reality like life, but reality like remembering that I am in this hellhole of a summer of being grounded without a cell phone or computer and there is now both right in front of me.
"Jace, I know we don't know each other very well, but do you think I could please, please borrow your phone to call my friend real fast?" I beg him.
He nods. "Sure, knock yourself out."
I grab his phone and dial Becca's number. "Thanks so much, I'll only be a second. It's just that my phone…broke…and I haven't been able to call my best friend for days."
He smiles, holds out his hand to shush me. "Yeah, it's cool. I'll just be in the living room when you're done."
"Thanks," I say again. Press send. Becca says hello more high pitched than normal, confused about the random number calling her.
"Hey, it's me."
"Bayleigh? Where are you? Did you lose your phone again?" God her voice reminds me of home. I laugh, like a mad woman. I am so happy to hear her voice.
"No, you're never going to believe this shit. Mom took away my phone."
"No fucking way! That's weak."
"It gets worse," I say. "She sent me to my grandparent's house for the whole damn summer." There's silence for a minute, she's totally speechless and I don't blame her. This is almost too shitty to believe.
"Dude," she says. "I'm sorry. I thought you were pissed about Ian and just ignoring the world."
"Nah, I'm grounded. Wait – what do you mean about Ian?"
There is an awful, gut-wrenching pain in her voice. "You don't know yet…"
"I don't know what?" I shout, probably loud enough for Jace to hear. "What don't I know?"
"Stacia, you know that girl from the party?" she says slowly. Very, very slowly.
"Yes, I fucking know her, now tell me!" God, I hate being titillated.
"She updated her Facebook to being in a relationship. ."
"And…?" I say, my heart beating rapidly beneath my chest.
Her voice is sad. "With Ian."
"Guuhhat?" Jace's IPhone is a thousand pounds in my hand.
"I'm sorry, Bay, I really am." Her voice seems far away. Three seconds go by and I take a deep breath. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Of course he wouldn't wait for me to get back.
I mumble some kind of goodbye and hang up the phone, using all of my willpower not to throw it across the room.
The wooden doorframe squeaks and Jace leans against it. "Something wrong?" he asks.
I turn to face him, my jaw set tightly so I won't cry. "Nope."
Chapter 9
Grandma notices the extra time I spend in the bathroom the next day. The one and only bathroom has a small mirror so I chose to flat iron my hair in front of a big mirror in the den.
"Why are you wasting so much time on your hair, child?" She's shopping for clothes from a catalogue designed for old ladies. I shrug, taking a seat next to her. There's really no need to lie to Grandma like I would to Mom since Grandma doesn't think I have an ulterior motive to everything I do. She asks if I am interested in any of the blouses on page seven. I am definitely not.
My hair is completely flat. My side bangs perfectly swooped across my forehead. But I keep sliding the flat iron over the locks, as therapy. The Ian thing is bugging me, though the Jace thing is an icing on top of the problem cake. I wish I had my phone and my computer.
My ears start to burn as the flat iron gets too close to them.
"There are some brownies in the kitchen for you. I made a double batch since I know you teenagers can eat a lot."
"Grandma, there's just one of me," I say, wondering if she's noticed the five pounds I put on last year. Regardless, I unplug my flat iron, find them on the counter and start eating one.
"Eddie and I can't eat much sugar, so you make sure to eat them all before they go bad."
Eat them all? There's like two dozen of them and they are roughly the size of my palm. I stuff the rest of my brownie into my mouth, wrap another one in a paper towel and bring it back to the living room.
Carefully, I think of a way to word it so she doesn't realize who I am talking about.
"Grandma, could I take some to my friend next door?" She doesn't look up from her catalog, "Sure honey, that would be fine."
I dive into the kitchen and wrap up most of the brownies. Then I take out a few, because who am I kidding, I will definitely eat them. I had spent most of the night in bed trying to think of a good excuse to go back over to Jace's, and food was the best possible excuse. Boys couldn't say no to food.
Back in my room, I get dressed and assess myself in the mirror. My hair and make up are great. My outfit is iffy, but I still can't wear shorts because my legs haven't faded from the burnt orange they turned when Becca talked me into getting a spray tan with her last week. I check out the window for Jace and am delighted to see him on his back porch working on his dirt bike. It's a little past noon, the perfect time for brownies.
It takes a lot to stop myself from skipping across the yards to his house, but I manage to walk as coolly as possible. When I am only a few feet away, he still hadn't looked up yet and I feel like he should have heard me coming by now. I clear my throat. "Hey, you."
"Morning," he says, leaning in close to the bike's motor. His eyes are squinted as he tightens or loosens something with a tool. I get closer and am only a foot away now and he still doesn't look up. Holding out my arms, I say, "I brought you some brownies."
Now he looks up. Pops off the Tupperware lid and stuffs a brownie in his mouth.
"Mmm…" The huge brownie is gone in twenty seconds flat.
"Wow, fatass, you want another one?" I ask. Being cocky is how I first got Ian's attention. He drops his tool; it looks like a T-shaped wrench. He's smiling so I know he isn't offended.
"Watch it, girl," he says. But he takes another brownie and I laugh. I sit beside him on the porch, grab a handful of screws and play with them.
"Don't lose those," he warns, eyeing me like I'm a child in a museum.
"So what are your plans for the day?" I ask. I throw in a sigh so it sounds casual and not at all like I'm hinting to hang out with him. But I am totally hinting to hang out with him so I hope he offers.
"No one ever has plans in this damn town. There's nothing you could possibly do here that doesn't involve having a plane ticket to somewhere else." He takes a screw from my hand, fastens it back onto the bike. One by one, they leave my hand and go back where they belong.
"I don't have plans either." Standing up, I dust off my hands on my jeans. "I brought a stack of DVDs from home, so I'll probably just watch movies all afternoon." I lace my fingers and stretch out my arms in front of me, and then I do the same behind my back. I take a step back, fake like I'm about to leave. He shoves his toolkit away and stands up beside me.
"What kind of movies?" A smile crawls onto his face. He wipes away the sweat from his forehead and my heart beats faster, knowing that I won.
"About a hundred of them actually," I say. His smile is contagious. I tell him about the case of DVDs I've been working on for years and how I toss out the plastic cases because there wasn't enough room for so many movies on my shelves.
"I think you should go get that shit immediately," he says. "I'll order us a pizza and we can veg all night."
I practically skip home, full of excitement and win and awesomeness. I grab my DVD
case, my favorite pillow and run downstairs. Grandma is walking through the kitchen when I get there. She hasn't asked me to keep her updated about what I do, but I feel like it's probably best if I tell her anyway.
"Grandma, I'm going to go watch movies at my friend's house next door, okay?" I'm almost out of breath from taking the stairs two at a time.
She nods. "That's fine, honey." Behind me, Grandpa clears his throat. Turning on my heel, I see him standing in the doorway, solemn look on his face. I probably look like a deer in the headlights when my eyes meet his. He doesn't say anything though, he just stares at me, waiting for me to turn around and disappoint him by hanging out with the enemy.
I force a smile, tell him bye and slip out the back door, doing exactly what he fears.
Jace answers the door with the phone to his ear. "Pepperoni cool with you?" he asks, letting me in. I nod and he finishes ordering the pizza. "We've got twenty-five minutes till they're here." He pours two sodas and hands one to me. "I also ordered cheese bread but I'm in a pretty horrible mood so I might eat it all."
We sit on opposite ends of the couch and watch a movie from my giant selection. When the pizza arrives, I'm starving but only grab one piece so as not to look like a cow. I keep waiting for him to scoot closer to me, put an arm around me, anything. This is what guys are supposed to do when alone with a girl. So far, nothing but small talk. Pointless, stupid small talk. We talk about the movie, how the lead actor just had his second illegitimate child with another mistress in real life. He tells me about California and how pretty it is. I get so sick of small talk. I can't look at his gorgeous lips while they tell me anything else tonight. I want them on mine.
"Do you have a girlfriend back at home?" I ask, freeing myself from the shackles of small talk.
"Nah." He examines his fingernails. "Not anymore at least."
I resist the urge to ask why. It doesn't matter why – he's single and so am I. "Girlfriends are overrated anyhow," I say. He downs the last bit of his drink and crunches on an ice cube. "So you don't have a girlfriend either, eh?"
"Oh shut up." I take a second slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table. It started with eight slices and was now down to two. "So did you come here by yourself? Why didn't you bring friends or something?"
He thinks about my question for a while before he answers. "I don’t have any friends I could spend a summer with…they would drive me insane after a week." He looks over at me but doesn't really see me. His eyes are troubled. "Plus I deserve to spend a summer alone."
"Why would anyone deserve isolation? That's harsh," I say. He shakes his head.
"I'm gonna need a drink if I'm going to tell you this story," he says, getting up and taking his glass into the kitchen. I follow him. He pours another coke and drops two shots of Jack Daniels in it. I slide my glass across the counter, next to his.
"Me too," I say. He glares at me. "You're too young to drink."
"So are you."
"So."
"One shot?"
He sighs. I win. He measures out one shot in a shot glass and then pours it into my drink. We go back to the living room, leaving the bottle of Jack on the counter. I take a few sips and when he's fully immersed in the movie, I excuse myself to go get a paper towel.
Once in the kitchen, I guzzle half of my drink and fill the rest with Jack. I've never drank before, this should be fun. I join him back on the couch, only this time I sit closer.
"So tell me the story," I say, rubbing shoulders with him. "Why do you deserve a summer of isolation?"
He laughs. "I lied. I'm not telling you."
I lift an eyebrow. "You're not like a murderer or anything…?"
"If I was, you wouldn't still be alive right now." His answer doesn't comfort me, but as I take another sip and feel the liquor warming my throat down to my stomach, I stop caring.
A few sips more and I'm rocking side to side in my skull. I'm pretty sure I'm not moving outwardly, but it's getting harder and harder to keep my body still. Jace is slouched in the couch, relaxed and all I want to do is get up and move around. I snuggle closer to him, rest my head on his shoulder.
Images of Ian fade into the background of my mind. "This night is exactly what I needed," I murmur between quiet parts of the film.
His hand grabs my knee and squeezes. "Me too."
Chapter 10
I wake up in my bed the next morning to the taste of vomit rushing up my throat. I trip out of bed tangled in my sheets but manage to find the bathroom before making a huge mess on the floor. It's all watery and tastes like sewer but eventually it's gone and I make my way back to bed. My head throbs with the pain of a thousand concussions. It looks to be about nine in the morning.
Covering my head with my comforter, I pass out again in hopes of waking up better. I don't. I wake up a few minutes later to throw up some more. It tastes even worse this time.
I try washing out my mouth with water, but every gurgle and swish makes me feel sicker.
Grandma knocks on the bathroom door that is cracked open as I sit on the edge of the tub gripping the sides of my head.
"Are you sick?" she asks. I nod and groan. "Let me see if you have a fever." I let her press her hand to my forehead although I know its pointless. I am definitely sick, but its not a fever type of sick. She rests her hand on me for a minute then shakes her head. "No, you feel fine."
"I think I just ate something bad," I say. The perfect excuse. I've used it to skip school a dozen times because there's no way to prove it. She hands me some stomach medicine from the shelf behind the mirror and I gladly swallow the soothing pink liquid. She seems concerned for a moment and then she and tells me a story about when she was a teenager and broke both of her wrists falling out of a tree. I try to smile and pay attention to the story but
the second she's done, I bolt back to my room and close the door, preferring to be sick in privacy.
My bed is a comfortable prison for the next several hours. I drift into sleep for a bit and then get jolted awake with the urge to puke. Grandma doesn't check on me, but I can hear her soap operas on the TV so I'm not insulted by her lack of care. Grandma doesn’t leave the couch at all when her shows are on.
Somewhere between a minute and an hour later, I'm not sure because I keep falling in and out of sleep, Grandma comes to my bedside and hands me the phone.
"Hello?" I mumble.
"Bayleigh? Grandma says you're sick, what's wrong?" It's Mom. Just about the last person I want to hear from.
"Yeah, I'm okay," I say, trying to sound more cheerful than I am. "I think I ate something bad, I just keep throwing up."
"I'm sorry, I wish I was there to take care of you. Grandma isn't one for nurturing." She was right about that, and there was a sympathy in her voice that I hope is regret for grounding me.
"I'll be alright. I'm grounded, so I just have to survive, remember?" It was wrong of me to say this, but at the moment I just don't give a damn. She ruined my summer and she deserves to be given a guilt trip for it.
"Well maybe this will help you remember how to follow the rules at home. Goodbye, Bayleigh." She hangs up and I'm left laying in bed, hangover, with a dial tone droning into my ear. What I wouldn’t give to Google hangovers and how long they take to recover from.
By afternoon, I'm starving. Without a cell phone or television or computer, I have no idea what time it is. Perhaps I should make a fucking sun dial on the balcony, I think. My stomach feels better but my head feels like its stuck in a vise, every pulse of my heart causes a sharp pain in my temples.
It takes a long while for me to psych myself up enough to get out of bed and venture down to the kitchen. Normally, I would have known exactly how long because my cell phone never leaves my hand when I'm in bed. I could have been texting Becca, or even Ian since if I wasn't fucking grounded, he wouldn't have found another girl to occupy his time.