Red-rimmed eyes, shiny and glazed.
“Were you crying?”
“Quinn, I’m sorry.”
I sit up, my chair letting out a moan. “Wait. What?” He’s not supposed to apologize. He’s supposed to be an ass, tell me I’m not worth his precious time and break up with me. Leave me alone from this point on.
Staring at the front of the classroom where our professor, Mr. Burk, scribbles Greenpeace, Facebook and wriststrong bracelets on the board, Derek wipes his face with the back of his hand. Blood has pooled in a small purple puddle beneath his skin where Torrin’s fist must’ve made contact with his cheek yesterday. I’ve never wanted to purposely hang out with a guy, but for some reason thinking about Torrin and his gentle smile, soft fingers drawing lines on my arm, sends the urge coursing through me now.
“I said I’m sorry,” Derek repeats in a whisper, interrupting the thought. “For being such a dick. I shouldn’t have threatened you like that. I just…I was—”
“Stop.” He was jealous. The words are practically written on his crinkled forehead. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”
“But I am.”
“You’re not. You hate me.”
“No, I—” He stops, blinks. “Wait. You want me to hate you?”
Ah, maybe he’s smarter than I give him credit for. I pull out my textbook and set it on the desk. “I don’t want you to like me.”
“And you want me to break up with you?”
“Seems the appropriate thing to do. Don’t you think?”
“But—”
Burk cuts him off with the start of class. I turn back to the front of the room and let talk of collective behavior drown out the rest of Derek’s whining. Burk points to the words on the board and explains that collective behavior is not like conformity or deviance. It’s a third form of action that takes place when norms are absent or unclear, or when they contradict each other.
“Don’t you think you should write it down?”
Zoe scowls at me, her heels click-clacking down the driveway. “I can remember.”
I yank open the door to the Cadillac. “Mom just gave you a list of, like, twenty things to get. I’m just saying…you’ll probably forget something.”
She stops, knuckles growing white against her grip on the keys, face scrunched and growing red. “You want to write the grocery list down, Quinn, then fucking go ahead. I’m not writing anything.”
Derek touches my arm. All around, students are zipping up backpacks and shuffling toward the door.
Zoe wasn’t one to jump on the bandwagon, as Burk explained people did in collective behavior. Though toward the end, there were times her norms were unclear. She wasn’t herself.
Derek’s hand squeezes gently and he says, “I’m going to change for you. I promise.”
There’s no point in changing for me. The problem is me, and even if I could change I wouldn’t for him. But none of this I can tell him so instead I stand, swing my backpack over my shoulder and mumble, “Yeah…whatever, Derek.”
At the door, I sneak a glance back. Derek’s still sitting at his desk—not looking at me, not moving. Good riddance.
In front of Garrett Hall, Nikki rushes up to me all out of breath, a huge smile stretching across her face.
“You’ll never guess what I found during lunch!”
“A new vibrator? One that goes faster than the Silver Bullet?”
“Eff off.”
“Whoa!” I laugh. “This’ll be good if you’re almost-cussing.”
“No. I just don’t have time for your BS right now. I’m late for Physics.”
I laugh again, glancing at my watch. She has ten more minutes to walk across the quad. “I’m curious as to how you think cussing is any worse than those novels you read.” She rolls her eyes at me, obviously not in the mood so I add, “What is it?”
A piece of paper falls into my hand and she gives me this crafty look that is all wrong for her pretty little face.
“We’ll go after lunch. Bellamy already said she’d drive.” She starts to walk away then calls over her shoulder. “By the way, you owe me a movie.”
This better be worth it if she’s going to make me sit through Dear John or some other mushy-gushy, make me gag movie again.
I unfold the paper.
JKII=Sal’s Subs.
~*~
“We’re, like, in your neck of the woods,” Bellamy says to me as she carefully parks her Mustang in front of Sal’s Subs. I open the door and climb out, stealing a glance at Nikki to see if she has any idea what Bellamy is talking about.
“My neck of the woods?”
Nikki flips the seat forward and hops out then points to the building in the corner of the complex—the glass door to Steamers Cleaners opened, a small lady draping plastic over a creased shirt.
How did I not realize John Kingsley II worked in the very complex I was supposed to be spending my afternoons?
“Right. Work,” I say and slam the car door. “So what’s the point of this? I wasn’t serious when I said I wanted to beat him up.”
Nikki straightens her shirt, her expression growing serious. “Quinn, the guy needs to know how he effed up your life. It’s not fair that he gets to carry on without a scratch while you’re trying to pick up all the pieces. Besides, you said you wanted to confront him.”
“Actually, I said I imagined confronting him. Not that I wanted to. And it’d be easier to just forget about it and move on.”
Her hands grip her hips. “It might do you some good to inflict a bit of misery on his backside.”
I head to the door to avoid any more comments about it. It’s easy for Nikki to instigate all this—she doesn’t have to admit her father made a huge mistake. I reach for the handle and, out of nowhere, the door flies open. It throws me back with a mega offset to my balance until I find myself Butt to Ground.
I let out a groan and at the same time a guy says, “Holy cow, Quinn, I’m so sorry.” The name throws me and I look up to see Torrin lowering beside me. Is he always around? “If you want to learn to rebound, I can teach you. It’s not really that hard and you don’t have to practice on innocent doors.” He smiles wryly and holds out his hand.
“Har-har,” I say, taking it. He pulls me up, brushes a few grains of asphalt from the side of my leg with a furtive glance at my wrist. The marks from Derek’s fingers have vanished.
“You okay?” Somehow, I don’t think he’s asking about the condition of my ass. I straighten my shirt.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Nikki clears her throat, a not-so-discrete gesture letting me know I’m to fill her in immediately about this unknown boy who knows my name.
“This is Torrin,” I tell her. Then I meet Torrin’s gaze. “These are my friends, Nikki and Bellamy.” Only then do I become enormously aware that, between the three of them, I am two different people: To my friends I am Quinn Montgomery, daughter of William Montgomery who lamely works at the dry cleaning sweatshop down the way.
And to Torrin I’m Quinn. The girl who takes off her clothes for money and has issues with falling in love because of her dead sister.
I’m not sure which one I like better.
Beside me, Torrin chuckles. “You two must’ve told her Sal was giving away free sandwiches. That why she’s in such a hurry?”
Bellamy giggles and takes a step closer to him, her eyes undressing him as she says, “I think she wanted one of those free cookies he gives the kids.”
“We really should keep a better eye on her,” Nikki tells him, twisting her lips up artfully. “So how do you two know each other?”
I bump Torrin’s elbow, hoping to change the subject before he can answer. “What’re you doing here?”
He holds up a white bag, but for some reason my eyes go straight to his mouth and the ridiculous urge to smooth my finger across it. “Meatball sub,” he says. “Sal won’t tell me the secret ingredient, but they’re to die for.” Then he looks at Nikki. “I met Quinn at
her job.”
“Did she dry clean your pants?” Nikki asks with a grin.
“Dry cleaning?” Torrin shakes his head and suddenly everything slows down. I know what’s about to happen. Torrin will tell her we met at Pacific Rim and Nikki will ask why I was there and then I’d have to explain how I’ve been posing nude at the very school my dad was fired from and I really don’t want to do that.
Torrin’s lips press together, ready to say “Pacific Rim” so I do the only thing I can think of—
Press my dead lips to his.
Right here in the middle of the sidewalk with Nikki and Bellamy behind me, the sound of cars zooming by and afternoon sun on my face. I don’t expect to feel his lips because mine are cold and sort of numb but, after a few seconds, the salty taste and heat of them grow stronger. I inhale a breath—up close he smells like he’s been at practice all day.
Torrin backs off slowly, eyes on me and a crease in the middle of his forehead.
“Oh, wow,” Nikki says.
Bellamy giggles. “I guess we’ll leave you two alone.” The door’s bell jingles and, as soon as I’m hit with the scent of freshly baked bread and hear the swish of the metal frame against the threshold, Torrin’s hand touches my arm.
“Wasn’t really how I imagined us doing that,” he says in a whisper. Warmth surrounds me. His fingers, his breath on my face. Chills tickle my arms.
Godfuckdammit.
I ease back, putting a safe three feet between us and rub my hands over my face.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He steps forward, grinning.
“I hope it means you were thinking—”
“It doesn’t,” I cut him off, holding up my hand to stop him. His smile fades, which leaves me feeling strangely confused.
“Quinn, if this is about your sister—”
“It’s not, okay? It’s not about her, or Derek, or you. It’s about me.”
A car pulls up beside us. We stand, staring at each other in silence until the grey-haired man gets out, shuts the door and enters Sal’s.
“I like you.” His voice is low and soft, which I don’t deserve. I look away, down the rutted parking lot.
“Don’t…waste those words on me.”
He touches my cheek. “You just need someone to show you.”
“No.” I ease back again. “I don’t. So please, Torrin, stop trying to swoop in and save me. I don’t need saving.”
Silence.
“Okay.” He steps off the curb, gripping the white bag tighter. “Message received.”
“I mean...” Uggh! I don’t know what I’m trying to say. “I’m just not ready,” I tell him, but I don’t think that’s what I mean because something deep down tells me I’ll never be ready. “I wouldn’t be a good girlfriend.” That one’s obvious and I think what I should say instead is, “You deserve someone really great. And I’m not that person.”
He turns for his car. “Loud and clear, Quinn.”
I slam through the door to Sal’s, completely forgetting why I came here in the first place until I see the big, round man behind the counter flinging shreds of lettuce and jalapenos onto a humungous hoagie roll.
“We ordered Sal’s special,” Bellamy says to me from the soda machine. She pulls her cup away and snaps on a lid.
Nikki squeezes my arm then hands me a cup. “You have some explaining to do.”
~*~
“Oh. My. Flipping. God.” It’s the fourth time Nikki’s said this and the fourth time I’ve rolled my eyes at her. “I seriously can’t believe you’d keep a secret lover from me.”
“Stop saying that,” I grumble, still burning inside from the disaster in the parking lot. I don’t know who I’m angrier at: Torrin or me. Obviously he doesn’t get it—I can’t be with him. That I have more baggage than his parents moving into two Ohio mansions.
I also can’t believe I kissed him. Or that he walked away from me. That I let him walk away. Ugh.
Nikki holds her sandwich out to me for a bite. As if I could eat right now. I shoo it away.
“I already told you,” I say. “We’re not together. He’s just a friend.” Or was. I take a sip of my soda and glance across the dingy-floored room again for any sign of the Kingsley boy. A blue apron hangs behind the counter. A gold Employee of the Month plaque is attached to the wall beside it, nauseatingly displaying the Kingsley name in huge engraved letters. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here but Sal.
My chair scrapes the floor as I push away from the table. I tap the glass barrier between me and Sal.
“Is John working today?” I say, blanketing my bitter tone with a syrupy smile. The serrated knife Sal’s holding freezes mid-slice, his other hand squishing the doughy bread. Mustard oozes out and he doesn’t look up.
“John?”
I heave a loud sigh. “Kings-ley?”
He resumes halving the sub. “Just missed him.”
Great. If I just missed Kingsley that means he won’t be back for the rest of the day. So much for my plan to tell him off in person.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Over the next four days I have exactly three conversations with Derek. They all go pretty much like this:
DEREK: I’ll make it up to you, Quinn. Whatever you want. I swear. I’ll never lay a hand on you again.
ME (rolling my eyes): Fuck off, Derek.
HIM: Please. Just give me another chance.
ME (standing up): Fuck off, Derek.
HIM: I think I’m in love with you.
ME (turning): Fuck off, Derek!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Friday. Moonlight trickles in my window, across the ceiling, rippling in squiggly lines like sand in a riverbed. I’ve been awake so long I’ve actually watched the squiggles slither like snakes from Nikki’s side of the room to mine.
So far, since Mom dropped the three thousand dollar bomb on me, I’ve managed to pull together a total of twenty-four hundred. Which means I still need six hundred by the end of next week. Impossible. Even if I work every day, like I did this week, I’ll still be two hundred dollars short.
I suppose I could ask Hunter for some extra shifts, but that would either mean missing classes or study hours, both of which I can’t afford if I want to make decent grades this quarter.
I’m eighteen for Christ’s sake! Is life really supposed to be this complicated already? Will it get worse the older I get? Is that why adults always look so miserable?
Tiptoeing down the hall to the Commons where I’m hoping to find someone with un-expired milk in their fridge, I hear voices echo in conversation. At first I assume it’s some late-nighters, but then recognize Lindsey’s. She’s laughing at something the other voice has said then it laughs too.
I freeze. Because I know that laugh—even though I haven’t heard it in…it seems like forever.
But it can’t be.
How could he possibly know where I live? And where I go to school? And what time is it anyway? One? Two o’clock in the morning? Why on earth would he be here…now?
My breath hitches as I peer around the corner and see him.
Torrin. Handing a box to Lindsey.
I squint, but in the dim light I can’t tell what it is. Markers? Crackers? I have no idea.
Seeing him, in his faded jeans and blue thermal shirt looking all buff and sexy gives me a funny feeling. I haven’t seen him since that day at Sal’s and looking at him now makes me think I kind of wish I had. That is, until Lindsey says “thanks” and kisses his cheek.
“You’re a lifesaver,” she adds. “I’ll get’em back to you sometime tomorrow.”
He nods, rubbing his face. “I’ll be at the harbor in the morning. Just bring them down there,” he says, heading toward the door. And then he’s gone.
In the morning I wake up to a hand on my shoulder, Nikki shaking me.
“It’s eight o’clock,” she says. “I’m leaving for the library. You going to you
r parents’?”
“No.” Burning from lack of sleep, my eyes don’t function right. I knuckle them.
I won’t admit my tears last night were because of Torrin. I won’t. That’d be disastrous on so many levels.
“Hey,” I roll over and say, just as Nikki opens the door. “You sure you wouldn’t rather skip it? Hang out with me for the day? I owe you a movie, remember?”
“Can’t.” She shoots me a sympathetic look. “Promised Jared I’d help him with our Spanish homework.” She runs over and kisses my forehead. “We’ll hang out tonight, okay?”
I stay in bed a little while longer before throwing on a pair of ripped jeans and a purple flannel and heading out to the dining hall for breakfast. I grab a bruised banana from the fruit bowl and on my way to the cash register, my shoe scuffs over something hard and metal. I look down.
A penny. Tail-side up. Glistening in the fluorescent lighting. Practically staring right at me.
Dammit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You want to be Head of the Harbor?” a loud voice booms across the water. “You want to be at the top? Ain’t gonna get there if you’re rowing like that!”
Fisherman’s Wharf is a small harbor resting on the coast below Pacific Rim. It’s a typical boardwalk with touristy shops and restaurants overlooking the main channel and boatyard. Past the anchorage dock, I spot the rowing crew. They’re kind of hard to miss, even with the glaring reflection of sun on water.
Several boats—which look like canoes, only flatter and longer with pointed tips—glide across the water. The oars are huge, long and skinny, making the whole thing look like an ant lying upside down.
I spot Torrin in the boat furthest from the dock. He’s sitting at the front of the boat—or is it the back? It’s hard to tell because the boat is moving one direction, but the rowers face the other. He’s shouting in short bursts, only I can’t decipher what he’s saying over the guy standing on the dock with a bullhorn yelling something about being head of the harbor. Or ahead of the harbor. Doesn’t matter.
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