Getting Hot

by Mia Storm

  Mom pokes at her curlers. “Decided my grandniece was more important than my image.” She waves before she drops into the driver’s seat. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  I watch them roll away from the curb. One bullet dodged.

  But there’s another waiting at the bar to take me down.

  I take a deep breath. The night air is cold and helps ground me. Because, despite everything that just happened with Carol, it’s that kiss that’s left me spinning.

  Inside, Lilah is standing at the end of the bar, looking every inch as stunned as I feel. She just stares at me a long second before climbing onto her stool. “You didn’t make her drive herself, did you?”

  I smile. “Mom just got here and took her.”

  I pick up the drink shaker with the girls’ concoction and pour it into glasses, then bring them to the table. They all thank me and the blonde slips a napkin into my hand. When I look, I see it’s got her number scrawled on it. But I can’t find it in me to follow through with what I started.

  Lilah’s playing when I get back to the bar. She doesn’t look at me and I’m not sure what that means. And at eleven thirty, same as every other night, she packs up.

  “’Night, Bran. Hope everything’s okay with Carol.”

  I nod and she leaves. And out the window, a white Mustang passes by.

  Chapter 14

  Lilah

  Jon’s family is scarily well adjusted. He’s got an older sister, Jennifer, who’s the cheerleader I saw at the dance, and a younger brother, Jeff, who’s in junior high. His parents are both home from work by six every night and they eat dinner together as a family, late on practice days and early on game nights. I’ve never seen anything like it, even on TV.

  We’ve spent a lot of time together in the three weeks since the Homecoming dance. He drives me to school, and picks me up on his way home from practice every Tuesday and Wednesday so we can watch The Voice together, because our TV still isn’t fixed. On Fridays, he picks me up at the bar at eleven thirty, and on Saturdays, he drives me both ways.

  But we’ve only kissed three times, and they’ve all been at school, when his friends were watching. And that was all the week after the dance. Over the weeks between, things have evolved into something very un-romantic. We sit and bitch about teachers, and his friends, and he talks about his love of all things Marvel, which makes sense since he’s a little comic himself. He’s turned out to be not so horrible to hang out with.

  We’re sitting at the dinner table and everyone’s taking turns talking about their day. The only one who seems to escape show-and-tell is Jon’s dad, who just sits at his end of the table chewing and nodding at what everyone else has to say.

  When they all look at me I feel myself tense a little. I can sing to a crowded room, but there’s nothing I hate more than talking about myself. “Nothing really happened at school except the algebra test Jon mentioned.”

  “How do you think you did?” Bethany, Jon’s mother asks, all bright eyes and smiles.

  I shrug. “Pretty sure I bombed it.”

  Her face goes all mock disappointment. “Maybe Jonathan can help you study for the next one. He’s a math whiz.”

  I don’t tell her he helped me study for this one. Don’t want to tarnish his “math whiz” status.

  She pats my hand. “I was talking to one of my dearest friends today, and her brother’s family runs Mimi’s, the market on the corner of Main and Sierra. She said he might be looking for stock clerk if you haven’t found anything yet.

  “That would be great. Thanks!” I wonder to myself if there’s an employee discount. Destiny and I are barely scraping by and something for dinner other than ramen would be nice every once in a while.

  She tells me who to ask for when I stop by and we move on to Jeff.

  He talks about his soccer team as we all finish eating and clear the table. When the kitchen is clean—another family activity—Jon and I head to the loft where the kids’ TV is. It’s Wednesday night. The semifinals results show. The Voice is down to its final six and Lo is one of them.

  I’m totally wired as we settle into the couch, and Jon loops his arm over my shoulders to keep me from bouncing off the walls. I’m used to it by now. He’s a touchy feely guy and we spend a lot of time like this.

  The show starts and my eyes are glued to the screen as the remaining contestants perform in groups. In between, Carson Daly announces who’s safe and who’s not. They’re down to the last two and they still haven’t put Lo through, and when they finally call her name, they bring her up with the other contestant and tell us one is safe and the other will have to sing for her survival.

  And then they cut to a fucking commercial.

  I scream right out loud and Jon throws his hand over my mouth, laughing. When he stops laughing and his rubber lips pucker up, I realize just in time where this is going.

  “Whoa, there, cowboy,” I say, lifting my hand and pressing it against his face. “You’d take advantage of a girl in a compromised mental state?”

  He shrugs. “It’s been a while. Wanted to try it again.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s so romantic.”

  He looks at me for a long moment. “You don’t put a whole lot of stock in the reputation thing, do you?”

  I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment. “Meaning?”

  He shrugs and watches the talking lizard on TV try to sell us insurance. “You don’t seem to care much about what other people think of you. That’s really brave.”

  “If you say so.”

  “How do you do that? Not care?”

  I look at him again, just now picking up on the fact that he does care, and maybe wishes he didn’t. “What’s going on?”

  He takes a deep breath and unhooks his arm from my shoulders. He watches his hands fidget with the remote as he lowers his voice and says, “I’m not sure I like girls.”

  I take a second to process that before I slip the remote out of his hands and pause the TiVo. “You mean you don’t like them? Like…you like boys better?”

  He shrugs. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Have you ever tested your theory out?”

  He cracks that goofy smile. “I was just trying to, but my test subject rejected me.”

  I kiss him, no tongue, but long and slow. “Anything?”

  He shrugs. “It’s nice.”

  “But no…zing.” I wave at his privates.

  He makes a face. “Not really.”

  “What about the guys you know? Have you…I don’t know, tried doing anything to see how you feel?”

  “I haven’t kissed a guy or anything, but I’m pretty sure I want to.”

  “Have you talked to anyone about this…a counselor or whatever?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He presses his shoulder into mine. “So, this is where it gets a little weird. I’ve only known you a few weeks, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. But I don’t think the guys I really have known forever would take this very well, so…you’re the safest.” He tips his head and looks me in the eye. “Plus, you don’t really know anyone here, so it’s not like you’re going to blab it around, right?”

  “Right.” I slouch into my seat and flick a wrist between us. “This all kind of makes sense now.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes. “I meant what I said about you being hot. I figured if there was any girl who’d do it for me, it would be you.”

  I press my forehead to his. “Thanks. I think.”

  He takes the remote back and starts the program, fast forwarding to the part where Lo and the other girl are standing holding hands, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for their fate.

  And again, I wonder when Lo got so touchy.

  They’ve already dug every ratings point out of the human interest angle of Lo being a foster kid and never knowing any of her blood relatives. All the stupid jokes have been made about long lost
relatives coming out of the woodwork after her notoriety on the show. So instead of beating that dead horse, Carson Daly asks them both a lame question about their inspiration.

  When it’s Lo’s turn to answer, she says. “My best friend Lilah has been through hell. She’s incredibly talented and she should really be here instead of me. Every night when I get up on stage and sing, I’m channeling her. I’m doing this for her.”

  “Holy shit!” Jon says from beside me. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  All I can do is nod.

  And a second later when Carson says, “Congratulations, Shiloh! You and your friend Lilah are through to the final,” I scream again.

  ♫

  My phone buzzes in my pocket just before Jon and I reach the doorway of our last period algebra class. I fish it out of my pocket and my feet stall when I see it’s Lo. She’s been so crazy busy I only hear from her every few weeks. She called the week before last to ask me if I’d written anything fresh. Said some of the contestants had written their own music for the original song performance and she hoped they’d let her use one of mine. I sent her my newest—the one I wrote for Bran—but never really thought it would fly with the producers.

  “It’s happening, Li!” she shrieks in my ear when I connect. “They loved your song!”

  My heart skids to a stop and I can’t answer.

  “Li?” she says, her voice cautiously irritated. “This isn’t your fucking voicemail, is it?”

  “No,” I finally manage. “I’m here.”

  “I can’t do this without you. I got you and Destiny tickets for the final. They’re in the family section, right up front.”

  My heart skips. “Oh my God, Lo! Are you serious?”

  “You have to get your asses to L.A. by Tuesday afternoon. Please! I can’t sing your song without you here.”

  “I’ll be there.” I change direction and head for the front doors, my heart pounding.

  “Gotta go, Li,” she says, “but this is going to be so fucking epic!”

  She disconnects, but I realize I’m jogging down the hall with my phone still pressed to my ear when Jon calls after me. “Where you going? Algebra is this way!”

  “I’m going to L.A.,” I squeal, waving my phone in the air.

  As I cross the parking lot and start jogging down the hill toward town, I remember that the damn car is broken. I slow and Google bus fares from Oak Crest to L.A. My heart sinks when the numbers pop up. One twenty round trip. Times two, and that will take everything I make this weekend. Maybe more. Destiny will never go for it.

  Destiny’s on shift at Sam Hill, so I head straight there. When I stumble inside, there’s an older woman behind the bar. She’s graying, a swirl of white through her long, dark waves, but her dark eyes are Bran’s. I glance around and find Destiny standing at the end of the corner booth, taking orders. I move toward the bar and slide onto my regular stool to wait for her.

  “Let me guess. Lilah?”

  I look at the woman behind the bar. “Hi.”

  She smiles. “You will never be able to deny your sister. You two are nearly identical.”

  I shrug. “Mom has strong genes.”

  “I’m Vicky,” she says, extending an arm across the bar. “I’ve heard all about you.”

  “Don’t believe anything Destiny says,” I say, smiling and shaking her hand.

  Her eyes flash mischief. “It’s my son Bran who can’t stop talking about you.”

  The smile falls off my face and my heart holds its breath. “What does he say?”

  “Nothing specific, except that I should hear you sing. But the fact that he talks about you at all is impressive. Bran’s not a talker.”

  “Hey!” Destiny says from behind me. “What are you doing here? School’s not out yet.”

  I turn as she hands her order across to Vicky. “Lo got us tickets to the finals. We have to go to L.A. on Tuesday.”

  Her face falls. “Lilah, we have no car.”

  “I checked on the way over. We can take the bus.”

  The faintest hope lights her eyes. “How much?”

  I try not to cringe. “One twenty each. I’ll make that this weekend.”

  She cringes for me. “Li…we need that money for the car.”

  Panic seizes my heart at the realization that this might not happen. “This is once in a lifetime, Destiny! My best friend is about to win The Voice. I have to be there for her!”

  “Who’s doing your car repairs?” Vicky asks.

  I turn and find her pushing Destiny’s full drink tray across the bar.

  “It’s over at D’Amico Brothers,” Destiny answers.

  “What’s he quoting you?”

  “Six fifty,” Destiny says. “It needs a timing chain.”

  Vicky scratches her head. “I dated Wayne for a while. Let me talk to him and see if that’s the best he can do. If you can come up with the cash for the parts, he might let you make payments on the rest.”

  “God, that would be amazing. I’m totally good for it.” Destiny looks at me. “We could probably come up with a hundred a month if we’re careful.”

  “Would we have the car by Tuesday?” I ask hopefully.

  Destiny’s face crumbles. “They haven’t even ordered the parts yet because I wasn’t sure if we could afford to pay for the work.”

  So nothing about Vicky’s solution gets me to L.A. I drop my forehead onto my folded forearms.

  “I’ll try to think of something, Lilah,” Destiny says, rubbing my back.

  I lift my head. “I’ll give up my phone.”

  She shakes her head. “I need mine, Li, and yours is only an additional twenty bucks a month. Giving it up won’t save us much.”

  This can’t be happening. “I’ll hitchhike.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Vicky says, and when I look up, she’s at the tap, pouring a beer. “Way too many rednecks and methheads out here.”

  Destiny and I look at each other with the word methhead. There are plenty of those where we came from too. Our parents being two of them.

  Vicky moves down the bar toward her customer and I bolt off the stool, panic fueling my need to move. “There has to be a way! I have to go!”

  “I’m sorry, Li,” Destiny says with a cringe. “The timing’s just really bad.”

  It’s Thursday. I’ve got five days to figure out how to get to L.A. Jon has a car. But I deflate at the certainty his parents would never let him skip school to take me. I could seriously get the gambling going at school like we did at Wells High, but that was really Lo’s thing, and five days isn’t enough time to make any serious bank anyway.

  The press of hot tears tightens my throat, but I swallow them back. Crying is useless and stupid and only serves to make sure everyone knows exactly how weak you are. I don’t cry. Ever.

  But, despite my resolve, I feel my eyes dampen. I turn and shove through the door before anyone notices. When I run smack into a solid wall of cement on the other side, I look up through blurry eyes at six foot plus of dark-haired brood.

  Despite that I’m flailing for balance, I look away. Destiny seeing me cry would have been bad. Bran seeing it is worse.

  He grabs my arms to steady me. When he lifts my chin, I close my eyes. The action forces a tear pooling in the corner over my lashes. He starts to thumb it away, but I yank out of his grasp and scrub it off myself.

  His jaw grinds tight and those dark eyes glow death. “What happened, Lilah? Did someone hurt you?”

  I shake my head. “No. Nothing like that. I’m fine.”

  His expression softens as his eyes scour my face for the truth. “I may not have women quite figured out, but I’m pretty sure when they leak it means there’s a problem.”

  “I just had something in my eye,” I say, pressing my knuckles into it.

  He gives me a slow, skeptical nod. “Okay.”

  I’m usually a really good liar, but with Bran, all my wires get crossed and I forget myself. I blow out a defeated sigh. “Shiloh g
ot Destiny and me tickets for The Voice final, but our car’s in the shop and we’re saving everything we can to get it fixed. We can’t afford bus tickets.”

  “Where and when?” he asks.

  I sniffle and wipe my arm under my nose. “Tuesday in L.A.”

  He glances at the battered wooden door to the bar. “Tuesday’s are slow. Mom can cover the bar for me. I’ll drive you down.”

  The flood of relief nearly drowns me. “Oh my god! Seriously?”

  He smiles this heart-stopping smile. “Seriously.”

  Before common sense kicks back in, I spring into his arms. “Holy shit!” But then I realize where I am and draw back. “Sorry.”

  He lets me go, but his eyes burn into mine. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I think I’ve made it pretty damn clear I’m good with you there.”

  I take a deep breath and chew my lip. “You should date Destiny.”

  He holds my gaze. “I’ve already told both of you that’s not happening.”

  “Why?” I challenge, and I realize on the wave of frustration that word rides that I need to know if it’s because of me.

  “Either you’re into someone or you’re not. I’m not into Destiny. I shouldn’t have slept with your sister. I knew that a minute after it happened. If I could undo it, I would. But if she’s holding out some hope of a thing between us, it’s because she didn’t hear me when I told her it wasn’t going to happen.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “The honest to fuck truth is, if I’d met you first, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, because I would have taken you home that night, and the night after that, and every night since. I’ve never done a real relationship in my life, but you make me think it might be worth a shot.”

  It is because of me. I ruined this for my sister.

  I shake my head and back away another step. “I’ll check Amtrak.”

  His jaw tightens. “You’re not taking the damn Amtrak, Lilah. Tell Destiny I’ll bring you guys down and drop you at the studio. I’ve got a buddy from my unit down there. I can hang with him while you guys are at the show.”

  “Is this going to be weird? You, me, and Destiny?” I already know the answer before I ask. It’s going to be excruciating.