“Go. Away.”
“Tiff, please.” She turned the knob and stuck her head through the crack.
“Get out!”
“Tiffany,” she said my name again, softly, and took a step into my room.
“Court, just go away.” Anger bubbled in my stomach, and I welcomed it. I’d been dangerously close to tears.
“I know something happened in Chicago, but you never said what it was.” Courtney moved another step closer.
“Nothing happened.”
“Something did. You came back different.”
“Yeah, well, experiences change a person. Aren’t you the one who always says that?”
She sank down on my bed, keeping her eyes on mine. She looked wary, and I could tell she was waiting for me to erupt.
I let out my breath. Courtney could drive me stark raving insane in five seconds flat, but she could be nice. In fact, if I was honest, she usually was nice. I inhaled deeply. “Court, don’t worry. Everything’s cool. I’ll give Dad a second chance. Well, more like a third or fourth chance.”
She broke into a smile. “Really? You will? Are you sure?”
“Don’t push it. I said I would, didn’t I?”
She got up and reached over to give me a quick hug, her spicy perfume clogging the air. “Thanks, Tiff. It means a lot. Denny will be happy to know.”
“Denny’s going to be fine.”
She nodded. “Right. Right. Of course he is.” She jumped off my bed and hurried back downstairs. I could hear their voices below but couldn’t make out a thing they said.
Like I cared.
Chapter Seven
Courtney spent the afternoon scrubbing everything in sight. Denny and Dad passed an hour outside, washing the car with a hose they’d borrowed from the neighbor to our left. I didn’t even know the neighbor’s name. I had no intention of joining the cleaning brigade, so about two o’clock, I headed down to the ocean.
The sun shone through the thin clouds that dotted the sky, but it didn’t give much warmth. I wore my hoodie and even pulled up the hood. Passing through town, I noticed clumps of tourists. Some of the stores had put out billboards along the sidewalk announcing their sales. Sue’s Seaport Shoppe had tied balloons to its billboard. Balloons!
I was walking through a freakin’ postcard.
When I arrived at the shore, the tide was going out, leaving a large expanse of wet packed sand to walk along. Seagulls padded in the puddles left by the waves, their keen eyes and jerking heads catching every movement on the beach.
I walked slowly, not wanting to disturb them. But as I approached, one of them bugled its cry and took off, causing the rest of them to follow with a joint screech. When I was little, Courtney and I used to rush at them, screaming, and then burst into gleeful laughter as they all took off in a rush of wings.
It felt powerful, and I had loved it.
Mom would be plodding behind us, scolding us, telling us to leave the poor birds alone. Neither Courtney nor I saw any harm in it, but we became more careful to chase birds only when Mom wasn’t around.
Which was often.
Ahead, the flock of gulls settled back down onto the wet sand. I faced the surf and closed my eyes, breathing in the energy of the moving water.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Tiffany Phillips.”
I swirled. Fresh Meat stood there with a half-smile on his face. He wore an open jacket, and I couldn’t help but notice his broad chest and slim waist. I forced my eyes to focus on his face and not travel down his body.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I finally said. I walked around him and down the beach, giving him a sideways glance.
In less than two strides, he was beside me, eyes straight ahead, matching my steps. Neither of us spoke. I kicked at a jellyfish lying dead in front of me, covering its creamy outer edges with sand.
When I walked on the beach, I walked alone. Having him next to me, being able to smell his musk-scented cologne, having his sleeve brush against mine, unnerved me. We’d walked about a half mile when I decided to find out what his deal was.
“Why are you walking with me?”
He stopped. I kept on, figuring he’d catch up, but he didn’t. I turned and walked back to him. “Well?”
He shrugged. “Free country.”
“That’s not even an answer.”
“Sure it is.”
“No, it isn’t. Why are you walking with me?”
He took one step back, turning his body as if he were about to leave. “You want me to go?”
Did I?
I pursed my lips and studied him. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t answer mine.”
I rolled my eyes. We stood still, staring each other down. Then, we both cracked up laughing. As if programmed, we turned together and continued along the beach.
After a hundred yards, Fresh Meat said, “I was drunk.”
I faltered for a split second then recovered.
“A kid was killed,” he continued.
The tenseness of his body radiated to mine. He coughed and wrapped his arms around his stomach. I nodded, but kept quiet, my eyes focused on the rippled sand before me.
“I didn’t do it, but I was there.”
He stopped then, and so did I. He gazed over the ocean, and the muscles around his eyes were tight. “If I’d been sober, I could’ve stopped him. The fool. The crazy, stupid fool.” Tears welled, and he blinked.
I yearned to reach for him and encircle him with my arms. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and breathe him in.
What was wrong with me?
I didn’t move.
“We were in Old Man Carter’s field. Everyone hung out there. That night it was the three of us, Mason, Pete, and me. We were drinking. Nothing new about that. They decided to play chicken. I was flagman. I had no wheels anyway. Mason didn’t swerve. He just kept going.”
Fresh Meat took a gulp of air and pressed his fingers on his forehead. “Stupid. It was so stupid. Pete survived.”
I stepped to Fresh Meat, pressing my side into his. He shifted, inching closer. “It was a mess. The cops took me and Pete. We went to juvie. My dad tried to get me out of it, but they’d done the Breathalyzer on both me and Pete. There was no getting off.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder.
“It was hell. Hell. When I went back to school, it was worse. Everyone loved Mason.” He raised his face to the sky. “So did I. We’d been friends since first grade.”
“So you ran.”
“The coward’s way out, but Dad forced it. He thought he was doing the right thing. To get us all out of there. My mom and sister hate me for that.” He lowered his eyes to mine. “And now that you know, you can hate me, too.”
“I looked you up on the Internet.”
“We were minors. Our names weren’t in the news. Except Mason’s. It didn’t matter. Everybody knew it was us.”
A large wave crashed to shore, its frothy whiteness bubbling. We jumped back.
“You searched for me on the Internet?”
My eyes widened. Why had I admitted that?
“Maybe.”
He shoulder-bumped me. “You searched for me.”
“I said maybe.”
“Right.”
“We don’t get new kids around here much. I was curious.”
“No, you’d heard rumors, and you wanted the juice.”
I shook my head and drug the toe of my shoe across the sand, leaving a shallow trench. “I don’t care about rumors.”
“So, it was me you cared about.”
I glanced up at him through my lashes. “You’re impossible.”
I saw the change in his expression, the warmth, the interest, and I realized with a start that I was flirting. Flirting.
“I need to get back home.”
I swiveled, but he caught my arm and brought me back around to him. He enveloped me in his arms and pressed me to his chest. My cheek was against
his cool jacket, and I felt the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric. He lowered his chin and rested it on the top of my head. He gave me a hard squeeze and then let go. I stumbled back.
“Later,” he said.
I frowned. I’d been dismissed. I turned and hurried back down the beach, painfully aware of my every step. I knew without looking back that he was watching.
****
A half hour later, I burst through the condo door. The overpowering smell of lemon cleanser greeted me.
“Anyone here?” I hollered.
Nothing.
I pulled off my hoodie and threw it on the recliner. The counters in the kitchen had been wiped down so carefully, they glimmered. Even the front of the fridge was shining. I opened it and noticed all the food was stacked and organized. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it’d been in alphabetical order. I grabbed a snack pack of sausage and crackers and ripped off the plastic cover. I was ready to toss it in the sink, but instead, I tucked it into the trash.
I wandered to the living room and picked up the remote. I rarely watched TV. Mom was the one who had always watched. Since she died, Denny had taken over. I clicked it on, and cartoons blasted through the room.
I took a bite of the spicy sausage that tasted like pure garlic and pepper. I blew out my breath and fanned my burning tongue. I stuffed a cracker in my mouth to calm the heat.
Car doors slammed. Stepping to the window, I saw Dad, Denny, and Courtney loaded down with bags of groceries. Quickly, I jumped back on the couch, settling in like I’d been there for hours.
“Tiff!” Denny rushed through the door. “We went to the store and bought a ton more food.” He dropped his bags on the couch beside me. “Wanna see what we got?”
I peered into the bulging bags. “Who paid?”
Denny’s forehead crinkled. “I don’t know.” He studied the ceiling. “Courtney, I think.”
I stood. “Figures.”
I marched into the kitchen where Dad was unloading groceries onto the counter. Courtney had her head in the fridge, putting celery and carrots into the veggie drawer.
“Court, who paid for all this?” My hands were clenched at my hips.
She straightened and shut the door, sending a whoosh of cold air over me. “I did. Mom had some money in her checking account. This food should last for weeks.”
I stepped over and moved in front of Dad. He put a box of cereal onto the counter and focused on me. His gray eyes had a weird empty look, like part of the color was missing.
“Why didn’t you buy the food?” My voice was harsh.
He blanched. “Well, Courtney said that—”
“What? What’d Courtney say?”
“There was money left from your mom.”
“So you’re mooching off a dead woman?”
Courtney slammed a jar of peanut butter into the cupboard and turned to me. “Tiffany, the money in there would have gone for groceries if she was still here. What difference does it make?”
“It makes a huge difference. If Dad is here, and he’s supposedly the adult, then he should be paying for the food. In fact, he should be paying for everything. Otherwise, why is he here?”
Courtney’s mouth tightened, and her blue eyes flashed. “He’s not here just for the money! Honestly, Tiffany, what’s the matter with you?”
“No, no,” Dad said, raising both hands. “She’s right. I need to pay my way.” He looked at me. “I’m going to look for a job on Monday. But I’ll need a car.”
“You can use our car,” Courtney said.
“No, he can’t. I’ll be using it.”
“What for?” she asked me.
“To get to school.”
“Our bus route is running now, like you told me. You don’t need to drive.”
She was right. Of course, I didn’t need to drive. But I didn’t want Dad to think he could come in here and take over our lives.
“I told Denny I’d drive him on Monday.” Which was a total lie.
“I’ll drive you both,” Dad said. He gave me a smile.
“Whatever,” I said. I stalked out of the room and went upstairs. Maybe they’d won this one, but I wasn’t finished.
Not by a long shot.
****
I didn’t go downstairs when Courtney left to return to college. I hung over the bannister from upstairs and listened as Dad offered to take her to the bus station. Courtney declined, saying her friend Amara’s mom was taking her. And her roommate was picking her up at the other end. Denny hardly said a word, so I knew it was killing him that she was leaving.
Before heading out the door, Courtney yelled goodbye to me up the steps. I lurched back just in time or she would have seen me hanging over the railing. I didn’t respond to her farewell.
When Monday morning came, I got up to get breakfast like usual. Mom never did anything in the kitchen, so her being gone didn’t change much in the morning. Breakfast was a toaster pastry or cereal anyway, so it was no big deal.
On the way down the stairs, I smelled eggs and sausage. The lights were on and Dad was standing over the stove.
“Morning,” he said, flipping an egg. “Breakfast is about ready.”
“We don’t eat eggs for breakfast.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Denny plunked down the steps. “What smells so good?” His stubby haircut was smooshed every which way.
“Comb your hair, my man. It looks like a whirlwind.”
“Tiff, what smells so good?”
“Eggs and sausage,” Dad called from the kitchen. “Can you grab the plates?”
“We don’t have time,” I said. “Come on, Denny, we’ll eat a pastry on the way to the bus stop.”
“It’s only seven-fifteen. We got time.” He scuttled into the kitchen and took plates from the cupboard.
“I don’t want any.”
“But you love eggs,” Denny said. “It’ll only take a sec. Look, Dad’s got them all ready.”
Denny set the plates and forks on the table. Dad brought in the skillet and dished out the food.
Denny sat down and started right in. “Thanks, Dad. We never have eggs on school days.”
“Quit talking with your mouth full,” I snapped. I got the toaster pastries from the cupboard and ripped open a package. The eggs and sausage smelled heavenly, but I had a point to make.
“Come on, Tiff, have some,” Denny called from the table.
“No thanks.” I bit into the pastry without toasting it. The dry crumbles scraped down my throat. I loved the stupid things, but that morning they tasted like cardboard.
“Brush your teeth when you’re done. I’ll be at the bus stop.” I went to the living room, grabbed my jacket, and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Your lunch is in the fridge.”
I often skipped lunch. Or I mooched off of Serena. Either way, I didn’t much care. But I made sure Denny’s sack was ready every night — never fancy, peanut butter and jelly and an apple.
“Dad’s driving us,” Denny called.
“Have fun then,” I said and left the condo into the still dark morning. It was cold, and I was half-surprised my breath didn’t hover like a white cloud. I walked to the curb and leaned against the “Slow, Children at Play” sign. Someone had spray painted over it, so now it said, “Blow, Children at Play.”
I hoped the bus would get me before Denny and Dad came out.
“Hey, Phillips!”
I turned to see Avery Rander, a junior at Longacre, coming to the bus stop.
“What are you doing here?”
“Stayed with my uncle last night. Where’s Denny?”
“My dad’s driving him.”
Avery’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head. “Your dad?”
Everyone in Ocean Mist knew we never had a dad around.
“That’s what I said.”
“Didn’t know you had a dad.”
“Everyone has a dad, jerk-face. Didn’t you learn the facts of life?”
I turned and stared across the street. Avery stood with me at the bus stop, but I noticed he kept his distance.
The bus rumbled into sight and came hissing to a stop in front of us. I climbed on and made my way to the very back. Not many kids were aboard. I plugged in my buds, cranked up the music on my phone, and settled in for the twenty-minute ride.
After swinging by the middle school, the bus pulled up to Longacre High. I scanned the steps for Serena. She was nowhere in sight.
Fresh Meat wasn’t around either. I tromped my way up the front steps and pushed through the glass doors. A rush of heat greeted me.
“Hey, Tiff.” Serena waved me over to where she stood against the far wall.
I joined her.
“How’d it go? I expected you to call.”
“Yeah, I know. Wasn’t in the mood. Sorry.”
We headed toward her locker. Serena had pulled her hair back into a straggly bun, using a pencil to keep it up.
“What’s with the hair?” I asked.
She patted her head and smiled with lips lined with purple lipstick. “The pencil’s a nice touch, don’t you think?”
“A nice touch? Who are you?”
We came to her locker. She twirled through the numbers and then kicked it open. Hanging her hand over the top of the door, she faced me. “Okay, look. Mom is coming unglued over my grades. I’m trying to be more scholarly.” She bent over and dug through her jumble of books and dirty PE clothes, retrieving a battered copy of Great Expectations.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
She slammed her locker shut. “Not kidding.”
“So what’d she threaten you with?”
We moved down the hall to my locker. The halls were filling up, the usual yelling, laughing, and head-butting from the show-off athletes. Serena and I pushed our way through. Some people saw us coming and scooted aside before we got there.
“My car.”
I paused. “Whoa. Okay, this is serious.”
She heaved a sigh. “It is serious. Without my wheels, I’ll be stuck at home.”
“Studying,” I said and laughed.
“Not funny.”
“Dad’s taking over our car.”
The Return: Death, Runaways, and Romance (Ocean Mist Book 3) Page 8