When Candace and Andrew entered the living room, their mother was seated on the sofa, staring down at the coffee table. “Mom, what’s going on?” Candace demanded.
“Honey, I don’t know how to answer your question,” her mom said, wiping away a tear before it could escape.
“What do you mean you don’t know how? It’s a simple freaking question. Answer it! Just tell me I’m not adopted!”
“This isn’t . . .” Her mother paused, searching for the words. “This isn’t how I wanted any of this to come out. . . .”
Candace swallowed, horrified. “What?”
As her mother reached for her arm, Candace pulled away. She didn’t even realize she’d done it. “Candace, sweetie . . . you know how much your dad and I love you. . . .”
“I’m adopted?” Candace looked straight into her mother’s eyes, hoping for a different answer this time. Her voice was weaker than it had been before. Her mom hesitated a moment, then simply nodded. Candace felt as if her breath had been sucked out of her. She glanced over at Andrew, who looked like he could barely believe what he was hearing either.
“I wanted to tell you earlier, but—”
“You wanted to tell me?!” Candace blurted out. “Then why didn’t you? How could you lie to me all this time?” In the moment, that was the biggest blow: the fact her parents had lied to her for so many years. Were they going to keep something this big a secret from her forever?
“We didn’t see it as lying to you, honey! We just wanted to find the right way to say it,” her mother uttered, her voice laced with regret as she nervously tucked her blond hair behind her ear.
Candace wasn’t having it. “You lied to me! You made me look like an idiot in front of my entire class! They all figured out that I’m adopted before I did!” Tears began to stream down Candace’s cheeks. She just stood there, hoping her mother would suddenly leap up and laugh and say it was all a terrible joke, but that didn’t happen.
“Am I adopted too?” Andrew asked, scared to hear the truth. The thought hadn’t occurred to Candace. Maybe they had that in common. Deep inside her, there was a tiny flame of hope that both she and Andrew were in the same awful, uncomfortable situation. If they were, at least they were in it together.
Candace and Andrew both stared at their mother, waiting for an answer. After a moment, Shannon shook her head. “No.”
No? So Andrew was their biological child and she wasn’t?
“So it’s just me? I’m the only one who doesn’t belong in this family?” Candace shouted.
“You’re a part of this family as much as your brother,” her mom said, her voice level and heartfelt.
“But he’s yours and I’m not! You should’ve told me the truth!”
Looking like she was consumed with guilt, her mother nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.” Her mom tried to give Candace a hug, but Candace pushed her away.
“Don’t touch me! I hate you! Can’t you see that? I hate you and I hate everyone at that school! I’m never going back there!” Candace took a breath, trying to calm down as her mother looked on. And then it dawned on Candace that if she didn’t belong here, she must belong somewhere else. “Who is my mom? My real mom?”
It took a few moments for her mother to answer. She seemed taken aback by the question.
“I never met her. I don’t know who she is. . . .”
Upon hearing this, Candace abruptly rushed back into the kitchen where she grabbed her backpack and keys. She had no idea where she was going, but she couldn’t stay there. Not one minute longer. She needed to be alone, to process, to think about what it all meant.
Andrew and their mother followed, looking worried.
“You don’t hate me, though, right?” Andrew asked.
“I hate everyone!” There was venom in Candace’s voice as she spun toward him, her eyes narrowing. The self-control she could usually muster to protect Andrew’s feelings was gone. She was angry at everyone and yes, she hated them all: her parents for lying to her every single day that they had pretended to be her real parents. Andrew for having what she’d always thought she had. And Ms. West for teaching everyone about alleles and recessive genes. She hated Joey for being the first person to speak the truth about her adoptive status. Her father for not being there to accuse. And most of all, she hated herself. She hated who she was, but who was that, really?
For years, Candace had observed her parents, subtly spotting characteristics in each of them that she also found in herself. Some were good, some weren’t, but at least she had some idea where they came from. Now, what did she have? Absolutely nothing.
Candace was so busy grabbing her backpack, she didn’t notice the rejection in her brother’s eyes. “Candy, calm down!” Her mother tried to take control. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. . . .”
“I do mean it! I’m never coming back here again!” Candace yelled back as she raced out of the room, into the entryway, and threw open the front door. Her mother, without missing a beat, went after her, pursuing her all the way to Candace’s car.
“Sweetie! Don’t run off like this! We need to talk!”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone!” As Candace opened the car door, her mom tried to grab the handle to keep her from pulling it shut. Candace managed to get it closed despite her mother’s efforts, and pressed the lock. Shannon banged on the window with the palm of her hand for emphasis.
“Candace! I mean it! Get back in the house right now!”
“Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mother!” Candace spewed, trying hard to be as nasty and hurtful as she could.
From the look on her mom’s face, her words hit the mark. Praying her car would start, Candace twisted the key and . . . yes! The engine roared to life! Relieved, Candace threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the driveway. As she slammed on the brake and shoved the transmission into drive, she saw her mother running down to the curb, waving her arms, hoping to convince Candace to stop. Candace didn’t stop. She pressed hard on the gas and with a squeal of her tires, blasted off down the street. Before she turned the corner, she took one last look in her rearview and saw her mom standing in the middle of the street, holding her head, watching helplessly.
Alone in the car, Candace couldn’t get her mind to stop racing. When the light turned green and the car in front didn’t move as quickly as she wanted, she smashed her fist down on the horn, letting it blare at the car.
“Move it!”
The car rolled forward and changed lanes, allowing her to stomp down on the gas and speed past. She had no real destination in mind, but moving down the road felt better than sitting still. Maneuvering in and out of lanes, taking her anger out on drivers she passed, she grabbed her cell phone and recklessly dialed Avery’s number. After a few rings, Avery’s voice mail came on.
“I need to talk to you” was all Candace could manage to record. There was too much to launch into on a sixty-second voice mail. She needed to vent to her best friend in person. As soon as she hung up, her phone began to ring. Hoping it was Avery, she looked down at the display. Mom. Frustrated, Candace quickly pressed the ignore button and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
Three
Prince Charming with a Few Tattoos
Candace fished seven dollars and thirty-two cents from the bottom of her purse as she headed toward the entrance of the gas station. She was almost out of fuel, and though it wasn’t a lot of money, at least it would get her a candy bar and another twenty or thirty miles. That’s all she wanted right now: to be far, far away.
As she passed the row of pumps, she spotted a guy packing a box of cigarettes against the heel of his hand. Her mother hated smoking. She stepped into his path.
“Excuse me, could I bum one of those?”
The guy, apparently in a rush, let out a sigh and handed her a cigarette.
“Thanks,” she said. The man hurried off toward his car and Candace stood there with an unlit cigarette in her hand, feelin
g awkward.
That’s when she spotted him. A guy she’d never seen before. He’d just come around the corner of the building and was headed straight for her.
“’Scuse me, do you have a light?” she asked. The guy stopped and rubbed his chiseled jaw as he sized her up. At first he didn’t say anything, which made her feel self-conscious, but she also had trouble looking away from his aqua-blue eyes. They seemed to draw her in.
He finally grinned and ran his fingers through his dirty-blond hair. “Rough day?” he asked with a smirk.
“Worst day ever,” she replied, realizing her mascara had streaked down her face. Nervous, she twirled the cigarette between her fingers.
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he asked, and crossed his muscular arms in front of his chest. As stunning as this guy was and as much as she had trouble looking away from his near-perfect white teeth and the hint of stubble that covered his chin, Candace didn’t feel like getting into her life story.
“You don’t have one of those pop-up lighter things in your car? I lost mine. . . .” she said as she nodded toward her Honda. He glanced in the direction of her nod, then pulled a Zippo lighter from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He flipped it open and lit her cigarette with the dancing flame.
“Thanks,” she said, and taking a long drag, started to walk away.
“Hey,” the guy called after her. She turned back. “You didn’t tell me why today’s the worst day of your life.”
“Can’t smoke by the door,” she said coyly, and continued to walk farther from the entrance, where she leaned back against the bricks under a fading lottery decal. She was surprised when he followed.
“Okay. Now tell me why you’re having a bad day.”
Candace was stuck. She’d run out of excuses. And there were worse things than this extremely hot guy standing in front of her, genuinely interested in why her life sucked.
“Well . . . it all started with my boyfriend, who dumped me last week, hanging all over some sophomore skank in the middle of the hall. Then, me getting into a fight with a teacher at school—which happens a lot—but this argument made me look like a complete idiot. I didn’t know I was going to look like an idiot until I got home and my mom tells me she’s not really my mom.” As Candace finished, the guy covered his grin with his hand.
“So that’s your worst day?” he asked. “An ex making out with some girl, a fight at school, and you’re . . . adopted?”
“Go to hell,” she said defensively, and took a drag off her cigarette. Hot Guy was making fun of her now. Of course he was, she thought. Par for the course.
“Whoa, easy there. I’m not making light of it.” His voice dropped a note.
“Yes you were,” she retorted. Who did this jerk think he was, anyway? She’d only known him for one minute and he was already poking fun at her? Screw him.
“All right. A little,” he replied slowly. “But only because I’m adopted too.” He shrugged.
Shocked, Candace snapped her head around to look up at him.
“You’re adopted?” she said, her eyes narrowing with skepticism.
“Yeah,” he assured her. “And it’s not that big of a deal.”
“It’s a big deal for me,” she said, and looked off across the street, eager for the conversation to end. Candace just wanted to be alone to wallow in her sorrow and enjoy her one cigarette. But that wasn’t the only reason she averted her gaze. Every time she glanced up and made eye contact with him, she felt an intensity that she’d never felt before. It was better to look away and play it cool. As cool as she could with black CoverGirl mascara smeared all over her cheeks like some sad, pathetic clown.
“I’m sorry. Y’know, when I first found out, it was a bigger thing for me too. I just forget.”
Huh? What was he talking about? Oh yeah, being adopted. Whatever, Hot Guy. Keep trying. She touched the cigarette to her lips and inhaled.
The guy stood there for a moment, gazing at her. She could tell he was trying to find a way to turn the conversation around. “Listen, I was about to grab some beers and chill a little. You like beer?”
Beer? Uh, yeah, she thought. What better way to forget about everything that had happened than to chug a beer? Candace studied Hot Guy’s face, unsure. He raised an eyebrow.
“I said I’m sorry. Thought maybe you could use the distraction. We’re having a little get-together at my place.” Some booze, new people, maybe Hot Guy was right. The distraction sounded nice.
“I could use a beer.”
“What kind?” he asked, a little more at ease.
“Doesn’t matter.” The truth was, Candace didn’t know much about beer. She’d drank it a few times before, mostly at parties, but it usually came in a keg and she had no idea what the name of it was. She’d also snuck a beer once from the unattended cooler at a barbeque her mom dragged her to, but it was thick and foamy and dark-colored, and it tasted so bitter Candace couldn’t even finish it. She hoped he didn’t get that kind.
Smiling, the beautiful boy reached into the pocket of his faded jeans and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll be right back.” As he entered the store, Candace watched him through the window, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
As Candace watched Hot Guy stroll over to the illuminated cooler where the cases of beer were displayed, she realized he could see her peeking in at him through the reflection in the glass door, and quickly turned away from the window. Embarrassed, Candace stubbed the cigarette butt out in an ashtray filled with dirty sand. She pulled a tube of Passion Pink gloss from her purse, and spread it across her lips with expert precision. Then she glanced, more carefully this time, in the window and saw the clerk accepting cash from the adopted hot guy and handing him a brown paper bag. As Hot Guy turned toward the window to exit the store, Candace put on her best disinterested face.
“Act like you don’t care what they do,” Candace had advised Avery on more than one occasion. “They’ll think you’re more intriguing and mysterious that way.” Avery never listened, though. It embarrassed Candace to watch her best friend follow around the guys she was crushing on like some pathetic little puppy.
“How am I supposed to start a conversation with him if I’m not standing close enough to hear what he’s saying?” Avery had said at the last party they went to. It was the same party that Avery’s current love interest, Pablo, showed up to wearing old-school Vans and board shorts under a ripped tank top. Pablo had just moved to LA from San Juan, Puerto Rico, and he had an incredible accent that made everything he said sound profound and sexy. Half of the girls at their high school were in love with him and most were playing it a thousand times cooler than Avery.
“You don’t,” Candace explained as they peeked over at Pablo standing in the corner. “Just laugh and act like you’re having a better time over here and you don’t even notice him and it’ll make him wish he was part of our conversation.” Avery couldn’t pull it off, though. Pablo kept catching her looking over at him and her laughs sounded incredibly fake. Candace finally gave up and told Avery that if she really wanted to go orbit around him like a weirdo, she should just do it. Avery did. And of course, she didn’t end up in any sort of meaningful conversation with Pablo.
Candace knew better. She knew how to get guys interested. Keeping them more into her than sophomore volleyball players, well, that was a different story.
As the hot stranger sidled up next to her, he pulled a tacky chocolate rose wrapped in red foil from the paper bag. There was a green plastic stem attached complete with two plastic leaves, one of which curled up unnaturally. He handed the Frankenstein of a flower to her.
“For you, little orphan Annie. Someone told me that women love roses and chocolate.” There was a gleam in his eye as he said it, oozing with confidence.
“Which one is this?” Candace quipped, trying to be funny. It was, after all, a sad amalgamation of both. Unfortunately, her choice of words made her appear completely ungrateful.
“Fine,” he said, so
unding a little offended as he plucked it out of her hand. “I’ll eat it myself.”
“Hold up there, Romeo.” She playfully snatched it back. Now it was Candace trying to turn the conversation around. She had no idea that under his tough, rugged exterior, this guy was actually quite sensitive. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”
“Romeo?” He raised an eyebrow. The chemistry was real and they could both feel it. He pulled a bottle of vodka from the bag.
“Someone also told me women like vodka. . . .”
“This one does,” Candace responded, pleased with his choice. She reached for the bottle, ready to twist off the cap, but the guy pulled it away.
“Not in public,” he warned, and then made a motion for her to follow him to his pickup truck. As he walked off ahead of her, she hurried to catch up. Maybe, she thought, this day is going to end a lot better than it started. . . .
Four
Crossing the Tracks
Hot Guy’s truck cruised down La Cienega Boulevard, dipping in and out of the glow of streetlights. They were on the way back to his house. Candace sat in front, sipping from the vodka bottle. The barred store windows and abandoned furniture in the alleys made her question whether she should’ve left her car parked at the gas station. I’m sure it’s fine, she thought, sure she’d locked it. Tonight wasn’t about being responsible. It was about forgetting her problems, and stressing over whether someone would break in and steal the change out of the ashtray wasn’t on the agenda.
Candace was semi-aware that Hot Guy’s gaze was lingering on her thighs. She didn’t mind. After all, he was a guy, and guys look. Swallowing the burn, she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket and screwed the cap back.
“Wow.” She coughed. “That’s . . . strong.”
He smiled. “Feeling a little better?”
Candace nodded. Hot Guy was a nice distraction from all the heavy thoughts and confusion that had plagued her mind a half hour earlier. She was already thinking about the question she wanted to ask him. “So . . . how did you find out you were adopted?”
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