Inside Out

by Lia Riley

  “Hey now.” I covered her hand, tugged her close until we stood hip to hip. “I meant it’ll get where it wants to go eventually.”

  “Think so?”

  She’s going to take the world by storm. “Without a doubt.”

  Names start being announced from the podium, and I’m jerked to the present. Strangers file forward, grab their piece of paper, and pump victory thrusts. The audience whoops. Scott sits beside me. Space is tight and we are pressed together, knee to knee. He gives me a stiff nod just as Talia’s name blasts from the speakers. She hikes her gown and walks up to the podium. I expect her to keep her head down. She gets shy in big crowds, seems uncomfortable with attention. Instead, she turns and gives the crowd a radiant smile that makes my heart swell halfway up my throat.

  “Oh, Talia.” I whisper under my breath. She waves furiously. I’m not sure she can see us or if she’s caught in the moment.

  I stand and clap anyway. Two rows up is Bee, her mom, arms wrapped tight around her middle like she’s holding herself together.

  Talia steps to the edge of the stage and flings her cap into the sky. I half expect it to sprout wings and soar.

  After the ceremony, it takes a while to find her in the crowds. I let her dad go first, give the big hug and proud kiss on the cheek. Her mom hovers like she wants to get in there, but all she can do is offer a brittle smile and encouraging head bob. Right before Talia’s smile falters, I swoop in and swing her around.

  She rubs her nose against mine, laughing. “I did it!”

  My answering kiss is the sort appropriate to bestow in front of parents. One that’s not nearly enough to convey the bone-deep pride vibrating through my body.

  “You did good, Captain.” I want to say more, but I can’t because those words aren’t even born yet. “I love you.”

  She hugs me closer and kisses my eyelids, slow, one at a time. Each strikes me like the sweetest arrow. “Thank you,” she whispers, resting a hand on my jaw. “Thank you for believing.”

  “Thank you for showing me how.” This girl has ransomed my heart, and I never want it back.

  * * *

  We hit up Talia’s favorite pizza joint. It’s a crowded, family-style place with deep booths. Good thing there’s blaring background music and noisy chatter. Our group is awkwardly silent. Somehow Scott ends up squished between Bee and Jessie. Talia and I sit across the scratched table.

  “Wow, everything looks great!” Jessie examines the menu with forced cheer. “What do you recommend, Talia?”

  “All the pizzas rock. I’ve probably had every single one at one point or another. We’ve been coming here since I was a kid.” Talia’s gaze shoots to her parents and the pronounced gap between them. “Dad and I like anchovies.”

  “Oh, Lord, no can do.” Jessie makes a face.

  “I’m with you.” Bee leans around Scott. “Salt and fish flavors do not belong on a pizza.”

  “Worst invention since Smell-o-Vision,” Jessie says wryly, and Bee’s laugh appears genuine.

  Scott’s napkin is even more shredded than Talia’s. Jessie and Bee are both blond; clearly that’s his preference. I got to say that Bee is better looking, but I prefer Jessie’s laugh lines.

  The orders get put in and by the time the pizza arrives, Jessie’s got Bee drawn into a semi-comfortable conversation about different types of yoga, comparing hatha to vinyasa. I pretend to listen, playing footsie with Talia under the table. She relaxes a little and the napkins get a reprieve. Bee reveals herself to be adept at discussing topics other than herself. Her questions to Scott still hold a terse edge, those two are hardly mates, but Jessie’s wide-mouth laughter and open features lend themselves to likeability.

  Somehow everyone manages to eat without choking on tension.

  Talia shovels in a second slice of pizza. “Mmmmm,” she groans, eyes sliding shut with delight. She inhaled the first one. “I haven’t eaten all day,” she says to her mom. Defensiveness undercuts her speech. Talia thinks her mom is always judging her. Fucked-up thing is, from the little I’ve seen of their interactions, she’s not wrong.

  Bee stares at the tray for a few beats. “I think I’ll have another one too.” She selects a fat slice and bites off the tip. The extra cheese stretches, and a piece of pepperoni plops onto her white shirt. “Oh, rats.” She looks at Talia and giggles.

  Talia joins in after a second and hands over her ragged napkin. “Looks like we might be related after all.”

  The rest of the meal isn’t exactly perfect, but the way I see it, it’s a beginning. At the end of the day, that’s all any of us needs, a place to start.

  Bee checks her watch. “I better get on the road.”

  “She hates driving after dark,” Scott says, to no one in particular.

  Talia watches her mom stand, clutch her purse, and regard the table like it’s a place where she wants to fit in, but doesn’t quite belong. “Congratulations on graduating again, honey. I’m so very, very proud.”

  “That makes two of us.” Scott’s voice is gravelly with emotion.

  Bee reaches down and pulls up a bag from under the table. The large one I watched her walk in with. “A graduation gift.”

  “Thank you.” Talia takes the bundle with clear hesitation. She opens the wrapping paper carefully, along the seams. “My baby blanket?”

  “I patched up the tears using fabric from your favorite old clothes, and your sister’s.” She points. “See, there’s her old soccer jersey. Remember how she wore it that whole summer? And this one, here, from your First Communion dress.”

  “You sewed it for me. I felt like a princess.” Talia sniffles and brushes her fingertips over the swatch of her sister’s shirt. “Jesus, Mom.”

  “I have a lot more mending ahead of me. When you feel the time is right, please, call me. I promise to be there.”

  “I will,” Talia replies without a trace of rancor. “And thanks for coming. It meant a lot.”

  Bee gives us all a last uncertain smile before heading out to the door.

  “Well,” Talia says to everyone and no one in particular. “That was weird. Good weird, but also just plain weird weird.”

  “You can tell she really cares about you,” Jessie says, kneading her brow.

  Scott’s attention lasers on Jessie, who is increasingly white-cheeked. I don’t think it’s anything to do with the dinner company. She looks like she’s about to be sick.

  “Another headache. A normal, boring pregnancy thing,” she mutters, before excusing herself to hobble to the bathroom.

  Talia’s phone vibrates on the table and she glances down. “Beth!”

  Her friend lives somewhere in Silicon Valley, works for a big techie firm. All I know is that she hasn’t been my number one fan. Neither has the other one, Sunny, who’s currently not in town. While I’m sorry Talia’s disappointed by her mysterious absence, I’m not exactly broken up.

  “Hey girl,” she says into the phone, beaming. “Hang on, I’m in a loud restaurant. I’ll give you the lowdown but let me go outside.” She covers the phone with one hand. “Do you mind if I have a quick chat? Beth is always so busy. It’s been forever since we caught up.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Scott replies right as I say, “Go for it.”

  She looks between us with a half smile. “Um, that was meant as a rhetorical question.”

  I slide out and make room for her to leave. “Yeah, I know.”

  Her dad drains half his soda in one giant gulp.

  “That stuff will rot your guts.” I point to his glass.

  “Says who?”

  “Have you ever seen what Coke can do to a battery?”

  “No.”

  “Look it up. Shit’s scary.”

  Scott grimaces. “I needed the caffeine. I was up half the night with Jessie.”

  “She still sick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  Scott consul
ts his glass like it’s a Magic 8 Ball. “How do you think it was for Talia today, seeing her mother?”

  “Awkward.”

  “Bee…she didn’t make things easy.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it was an easy situation.”

  For a second Scott gives me a what-do-you-know-about-it look and then he relents. “No.” Another sip. More ice crunching. “It wasn’t.”

  “Talia’s going to be okay, you know that, right?”

  “She’s my baby. Or she was until…” The muscles in his neck cord. “Aw, hell, she’ll always be my little girl.”

  “She’s special.”

  “She is.” He raises his glass to me. “I came down on you hard.”

  “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

  Scott narrows his gaze. “She’s got a big heart.”

  “And I mean to do right by it.”

  He grimaces and leans in, poking my chest from across the table. “If not, I’ve got a gun.”

  I choke on my water.

  “Just kidding, hate the things. But hurt her again and I’ll kick the everlasting—”

  Jessie returns to the table a trifle pale, but composed. “What’s this about kicking?”

  “Talking about the baby,” Scott says.

  “Soccer,” I respond.

  “Next time you want to fib, coordinate your stories better, boys.”

  Talia returns wearing a puzzled expression. “So Beth wants to know if we could stop by her work tomorrow.”

  Scott shakes his head. “We need to get home. Jessie and I have to teach classes.”

  “I know, that’s what I told her, but she said if Bran and I were dropped in Palo Alto, she’d arrange for a driver to take us back.”

  “A driver?” Scott says, incredulously. “Hell, I should have gone into computers instead of rocks.”

  “Don’t say that,” Jessie pipes in, flashing an adoring smile. “You’re a rock star.”

  He cracks up at the stupid joke. Bloody hell, dude must have it bad.

  “The guy who’s the head of Zavtra, the start-up Beth works for.” Talia gives me a hesitant look that I can’t interpret. “Apparently, he wants to meet you.”

  “Me?” I sit straighter, startled. “What the fuck, er, pardon…” I shoot Scott and Jessie an apologetic glance. “What for?”

  Talia twiddles her straw in her cup. “He thinks you’re interesting.”

  “Sounds dodgy.”

  “He watched the Eco Warriors clip, all right? It’s splattered all over social media. You’re like some kind of an Internet celebrity. Beth said it’s blown up bigger over the weekend. The YouTube clip has almost a million hits. There are Tumblr pages in your honor.”

  “What’s a Tumblr?” I ask, lost.

  “Beth talked a mile a minute and all I gathered is that her boss, who happens to be a billionaire, wants to meet up.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No way.”

  She hesitates, gives Scott and Jessie a furtive glance. She doesn’t want them to witness a tiff. “I don’t know what’s going on, Bran. This is crazy. But I want to see my friend. She is chained to her desk over there.”

  “So make plans. Meet her in the city. I don’t own your time. See her whenever. It would be good for you.”

  “She seemed urgent, like she didn’t want to disappoint her boss. Like our presence would be this big favor.”

  “Bloody hell.” I don’t want to do this. “Fine. But I go for you. Not her.”

  Scott gives me an approving nod, like I’m doing the right thing by his little girl. I inwardly groan. Trapped by the brilliant smile Talia gives me.

  “Thanks.” She rests her hand over mine. “Just a quick visit. It’s not going to change our lives or anything.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Talia

  Dad zips along Highway 17’s hairpin turns. Bran’s silent, but his index finger drums a staccato rhythm on the window. The ocean retreats as redwoods close in. The gloom eclipses the light. Jessie huddles in the passenger seat, hands clasped tight. The seat belt barely stretches over her swollen middle. Whoever’s inside will be my brother or sister. I need to ramp up something approaching affection. It’s a baby, not a betrayal.

  But somehow, it is. This little spawn’s not my sister. I shouldn’t resent it for that fact. But I do and can’t tell anyone. Not even Bran, although with him, I don’t have to. He probably senses it, like he does all the worst parts about me.

  He notices my side eye and musters a halfhearted smile, not really feeling the cheer. He dreads this stopover in Silicon Valley. He agreed to meet Beth’s boss, Aleksander Zavtra, founder and CEO of Zavtra Tech as a favor. I’m grateful and guilty—a mixture that unsettles my stomach. This morning before breakfast, I engaged in a little Google fun while Bran and Dad snuck out for a last surf session.

  Those two.

  I wouldn’t say they’ve achieved BFF 4 eva status but they’ve embarked on a definite bromance. Bran’s skills in the water, plus his devotion to me seems to have brought Dad around. My father says you can tell a lot about a person by how they surf. I hope he’s halfway kidding because otherwise I’m tentative and flailing.

  Oh, wait. Maybe he has a point.

  While Dad and Bran indulged in their newfound love affair, I read what I could about Zavtra. He is young, a multimillionaire by twenty-two and at twenty-four is feted as a leader in a new generation of Silicon Valley wunderkinds. His company, Zavtra Tech, is in development on a social media site that’s generating a ton of buzz and speculation. The new Facebook? Twitter? Anyone’s guess. Besides being ridiculously wealthy, Zavtra is famously reclusive. He doesn’t take part in a flashy lifestyle or do philanthropic activity.

  He’s a freaking Willy Wonka.

  People would beg, borrow, and steal to have a sit-down with Aleksander Zavtra and yet my boyfriend acts like he’s doing the guy a big favor. Bran’s Charlie with the Golden Ticket and a chip on his shoulder.

  Once we reach the South Bay, Dad sets the GPS to the address Beth provided. We reach Palo Alto and an office that is more steel than glass. Zavtra Tech is spelled on the side in massive glossy typeface. There’s a huge parking lot, full of Audis, hybrids, and at least two Teslas even though it’s the weekend.

  This place is so Beth. So not me.

  Or Bran.

  Dad taps the brakes. “This is the right address.”

  “Looks like it,” I say.

  Bran and I climb out of the car. He pushes down his sunglasses. He’s in faded jeans, a striped hoodie, and fitted gray shirt. Once we get inside he’ll look like any other techie—minus the extra few million in the bank. Although Bran had a trust fund, he reneged it because he disagreed with how his family earned its money.

  “We need to hit the road before traffic gets worse. Sure you’ll have a ride home?” Dad gives the building a skeptical once-over. The 4Runner reflects in the one-way glass. Anyone could be staring back at us. Even Oompa-Loompas.

  “Beth says it’s no problem.”

  Bran grabs my hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “I want the full report,” Jessie pipes in, rubbing her belly. Seriously, she looks about to burst. How can she last another two months?

  I wave as they drive away. “Shall we storm the battlements?”

  “As you wish.”

  I fold my hands together, prop them against my cheek, and bat my eyes. “Are you my Westley? I always wanted a Westley.”

  “What’s a Westley?”

  “Even you have seen The Princess Bride.”

  “No.”

  I slap my forehead. “Inconceivable!”

  “It’s a movie, right?” He tilts his head and his hair hangs in his face.

  I smooth back his tousled waves. “Like only the best one on the planet.”

  “We should watch it. I’m curious to see this Westley competition.”

  “As you wish,” I say with a giggle.

  He frowns, missing the joke, then freezes in place. “
This place reminds me of Lockhart.”

  His family’s company.

  “Remember, it’s only a meeting.”

  “Aleksander Zavtra doesn’t invite people round without an agenda.”

  “You’ve heard of him, then?”

  “You should do a better job of cleaning out your search engine history.” His voice is low. Not accusatory, but tense.

  Crap. I also had rechecked Bran’s growing online fandom. “So you saw…”

  “The shit people were posting about me?”

  “The ladies love you.”

  “They don’t know me.”

  “The interwebs are the Wild West. In another fifteen seconds, something else will grab their attention.”

  “There’ve been all these phone calls.” He folds his arms, regards a plane soaring through the sky toward SFO with far too much interest.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I turned the damn thing off because strangers keep contacting me. I don’t even know how they got my number. It’s messed up.”

  “Girls?” I’m aghast.

  “Worse, like television agents and shit.”

  “Television agents and shit, he says.” I have to laugh, because this is bonkers. “What are you talking about?”

  “Hollywood fuckballs. People who want to make a buck off my pound of flesh.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I assume his arched eyebrow is a yes.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since the promo clip aired. The one you watched.”

  “You haven’t breathed a word.”

  “This was your big weekend, Talia. Graduation. Going back home. Us. I didn’t want to distract you with this crap. At first, I figured the call was a fluke and let it ride. The next day there were more. The messages keep multiplying. Shit’s like goddamn rabbits.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  His face hardens. “What?”

  “Did you delete the messages?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Can I check them out?”

  A flush creeps up his jaw as he passes it over.

  I listen to the voice mail, it takes minutes. By the end, my fingers press to my open mouth.

  Bran’s shoulders are practically in his ears. “If you laugh, I turn around and walk out of here, billionaire or no. I don’t give a shit.”