by Piper Lawson
“I’d show him a good time,” Emily voiced. Ava threw a pillow at her.
Chapter 5
“How’re the sketches coming?” I was sitting at my desk the next day. Ava was drawing cross-legged on my bed. Sheets of paper, some covered with half-sketched images, were strewn around her.
“Meh.” Ava wasn’t overly concerned about being helpful. The girl was not known for being focused, but the one thing she could get obsessive about was her designs. I loved that about her.
She always claimed it was easier to draw in my room. And it was probably true. In fact, it was easier to do anything in my room, because you needed a bulldozer just to get from the door to the closet in hers. It perpetually looked like Project Runway had thrown up in it. I figured if I lifted one of the piles, Tim Gunn might leap out and start critiquing my wardrobe choices. But what the girl lacked in neatness and tactfulness, she made up for in loyalty and passion. Sometimes I wondered how we’d hit it off so well being almost complete opposites. Regardless, we’d been inseparable for as long as I could remember.
“If we’re going to get startup capital in time to get Travesty off the ground next year,” I reminded her, “we need investors and seed money. And investors want to see ideas. And maybe, I don’t know, some clothes?”
Travesty, the name of our label, had come from some choice words leveled by my mother after I’d told her about Ava’s and my plans. Her speech about lacking a professional career had made me see red. But we’d latched onto part of it as inspiration for our brand. It sounded cool and would drive my mom crazy. Two for two.
I was teasing Ava but in truth I had started to worry a bit. We were planning to launch by next fall—at least, neither of us had made other plans. We needed to double-down if we were going to launch in the next year because there was a to-do list as long as my arm.
Kirsten, my boss at the magazine this summer, had made us a once-in-a-lifetime offer: to meet with us and some of her industry friends over winter break to discuss Ava’s designs and our business plan for Travesty. When she’d offered it had felt like winning the lottery. But part of that offer meant seeing the goods, and I refused to let her down or let this opportunity pass us by. If I had to drag Ava to New York in a plane and force her to sketch the whole ride, including landing and takeoff, I would.
Kirsten was ridiculously connected and incredibly driven. Basically I wanted to be her. Her department worked with established names like Marc Jacobs, Prada, and Alexander Wang. She had the power to open doors for us. Big ones. With unimaginable opportunities on the other side.
“Chill, Lex. You’re killing my buzz with all your money details.” Ava looked up and narrowed her eyes, breaking me out of my spell.
“Fine, but if we want any money to talk about, Kirsten needs to see the goods in two months.”
“Alright, bossy pants. Anyone ever tell you you’d make a kickass dominatrix?”
“Besides you? Nope.”
She stood up and walked over to me, pencil in hand. Another pencil was holding her hair in a messy bun. A third was sticking out of her thin python-print belt. That was just Ava. The least organized person I knew. But somehow from the messiness could spring the most phenomenal ideas, shapes, and colors that were unexpected yet seemed obvious once you saw them. It was why she was so great at what she did.
Ava pushed a sketch in front of me.
“Oh my God … this is fantastic!” The shape of the dress was contemporary. It was sleeveless, fitted through the bodice and hit above the knee. The skirt flowed like water, just a hint of flounce. I wished it would lift off the page so I could wear it right now.
That feeling was what we were banking on from our clients. That “have to have it” reaction.
“I think I’m going to do it in mint for spring. What do you think?”
“It’ll be perfect,” I said. She truly was talented. “You’ve come a long way since the Purple People Eater skirt.” She stuck her tongue out at me.
If Ava could finish the designs in time and I could get the business plan together, it would be impossible for them to turn us down. Under the neuroticism I felt a hint of giddiness.
My phone buzzed from somewhere to my left. I glanced around absently and picked it up off the desk.
Hey smart girl…blew my last twenty on pastries, hook me up?
The name that popped up next to the text said Bodyguard. Dylan must’ve keyed it in when he had added the number. Cute.
If you’re looking for a loan shark, you’ve got the wrong number. Try the dorms
Actually I was hoping to start with my scholarship. Go from there
Scholarships and bursaries live in Lambton building. Second floor
His reply was immediate.
Thank you financial aid goddess
Then:
What are you doing right now?
Supplier list for Travesty
Taking over the world one miniskirt at a time?
I could picture his face, deadpan.
Something like that. We’re going to make billions
Forget high-end. Sell scrunchies. I hear the 80s are making a comeback
I’ll wait by the door with a bat in case they try
“What?” Ava demanded as she heard me laugh. “That had better be one of your precious investors.” I’d been focused on my phone for a couple of minutes and glanced up at her voice.
“Your brother just wanted to know where financial aid was.”
“And he asked you?” She shrugged it off before I had to explain, already on to the next thing. “I still can’t believe he got a full scholarship.” Ava shook her head. She’d reverted to sketching on the bed. “Mom and Dad were so proud. And when he got the transfer back to California, they forgot he ever put a toe out of line.”
Dylan’s comment about having to get a scholarship to afford tuition ran through my mind. If it was true, Ava was luckier than she knew. I suspected she was more worried her “favorite child” status was being challenged.
“Maybe he’s changed,” I offered. “It happens.” Though I knew better than to make a big deal of her comments, it seemed wrong to let her disparage his efforts. Probably because I knew what it was like to work your ass off for something.
“Maybe. But I’m not buying it. With Dylan there’s always an agenda.” Ava ripped another sheet off her pad and deposited it in the pile beside her. Started on a clean sheet.
Though I didn’t have any real siblings, I understood the instinct to compete. My step-sister, Chelsea, was five years younger. Part of the reason I didn’t like going home was that it felt like a shrine to the younger, blonder, winninger me I could’ve been. I didn’t bother trying to compete with Chelsea. She’d already won. My mom blamed me for my dad leaving, and there was no way I’d ever climb out of that hole.
“He thinks he knows what’s best—for himself and everyone else. And he’s used to getting what he wants. It always gets him into trouble.”
I wanted to ask more but didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Instead I tried to ignore the cryptic comment.
Judging by my phone, apparently right now what he wanted was my attention. It buzzed again on my desk, but after Ava’s remark, I switched off the ringer and turned it upside down. I was fine with Dylan getting what he wanted, so long as it didn’t interfere with my work.
I pulled up a website on my MacBook that would help us identify possible manufacturers for Travesty who would take Ava’s designs and turn them into garments. “Let’s talk about suppliers,” I suggested.
Chapter 6
The second week of school I dragged my butt downstairs at seven thirty on Monday only to walk into an ambush.
Dylan Cameron, all six-one of him, complete with sleepy eyes and messy hair, was leaning against the railing at the foot of the stairs. The way his eyes connected with mine when I bounded down the stairs gave me the strangest feeling he’d been waiting for me.
“Morning,” he intoned. It wasn’t fair for a girl to be a
ccosted with that visual before she’d even woken up enough to brace herself.
“Hi. Don’t you have a house? This one’s mine.” I blinked for a moment and glanced around. “Isn’t it?”
It turned out he hadn’t been waiting for me. Ava wandered toward the front door from the kitchen, an apple in one hand. “Mom and Dad said Dylan and I could share a car this year.” Evidently whatever irritation she’d felt toward her brother was overridden by the convenience of having her own chauffeur.
“Minor detail?” Dylan leaned toward me to whisper, close enough that I could smell him. “It’s my car.” The future billboard ads sprung to mind: Sin, by Dolce & Gabbana. The willpower I’d summoned was taking its sweet time to kick in.
“Need a ride to school, Lex?” Ava offered, ignoring Dylan’s comment.
I was about to say no, but Dylan nodded as if to say it was fine with him. I didn’t have a parking pass so would be taking the bus otherwise. Although I’d planned on grabbing a coffee downstairs, I was already dressed and somewhat put together.
“Uh, sure. Give me two minutes.”
It turned out that Dylan had agreed to drive Ava only on the days their schedules started at the same time, which were Monday and Thursday. Apparently this deal had been negotiated by Ava over the weekend when she found out their parents had chipped in to help with the work on Dylan’s restored Mustang.
“Which means it’s practically their car,” she whispered to me the same way Dylan had a moment ago. “And since they didn’t buy me one, it makes perfect sense.”
Regardless of whether the argument held water, I was happy to benefit from the situation.
The car in question was a black vintage 1965 Mustang, which I only knew because I asked. For some reason it seemed to suit Dylan perfectly.
Whether it fit me was another question—while the car was great to look at, it seemed built for two. Or maybe two people and two small dogs. It was worth the slightly hurried morning and knees squished to my chin to observe the fascinating dynamics of family relations. I had always enjoyed watching at the Cameron house back when we were young enough to all hang out together. Though Ava’s family had made me feel nothing but warm and welcome at dinners and weekends over the years, I couldn’t quite relate to the way they interacted—like they truly cared and wanted to be in one another’s company.
Ava and Dylan bantered back and forth like most siblings close in age. Though there was sometimes a bit of an edge, underneath it they were still family. But it didn’t mean they ever agreed on anything. From the substantive to the trivial, they were always fighting.
“Now we’re late,” Ava complained. “I don’t even have time to grab a coffee on campus before class. It’s going to screw up my whole day.” I was about to jump in since I was a contributing factor, but she didn’t seem interested in blaming me.
Dylan groaned. “I am seriously underslept. I deserve your sympathy, not your wrath.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Ava demanded.
“I think it means ‘get over it.’” I piped in from the back seat.
Dylan nodded approvingly at my translation.
Ava was quick to jump in. “Then maybe, brother dearest, you should start scheduling your late-night hookups on days you don’t drive me to school.”
I didn’t bother to correct her assumption; it wasn’t my place. Somehow I knew Dylan hadn’t lied to me that first night, but it was entirely possible his … status had changed since the start of school. Girls like Emily were apparently lined up to help him out with just that.
He turned to shoot a glare toward the passenger side of the car, then relented. “You’re only half wrong. Rick has brought a different girl home every night this week. At least, they sound like different girls. Most of them are loud, but they make different noises.” He shuddered. “I’m all for privacy, but last night I thought they’d bring the house down.”
Apparently there was an endless parade of short skirts and dyed hair through the guys’ house, courtesy of their football-star roomie.
“The thumping is bad enough. Then there are the other noises. Last night I thought I heard glass breaking, which freaked me out. But they kept going at it.”
Huh. A nineteen-year-old guy complaining about too much sex. I wondered if I should take a picture. Instead I opted for a diplomatic response.
“On the upside, if they do bring the house down I’m pretty sure your tenants’ insurance would cover it. Earthquake, right?” My gaze met Dylan’s in the rearview mirror. The corners of his eyes crinkled and I could sense the warmth even through the mirror.
“I like the way you think.”
He glanced down at the radio and switched it on, then resumed his focus on the road. We turned off the main drag and into the campus lot a few minutes later. It wasn’t until Dylan’s eyes reconnected with mine in the mirror that I realized I’d been watching him the whole time. “If the auditors ask, I’m pretty sure last night was a 3.0 on the Richter scale.”
I cringed and Ava just laughed.
Chapter 7
By the next week things were finally starting to settle into a rhythm. I was regaining my sense of control post-summer. Jake hadn’t texted lately and I figured he’d gotten the message that I had no interest in rekindling a friendship. Or anything else.
My class schedule was perfectly organized. I built in about three hours of study time daily, and still managed to find time to work on the business plan most evenings and weekends. The odd day I even made it to the gym or to the beach with friends. My world was slowly starting to make sense again.
Even Dylan was becoming part of the rhythm. He continued to make appearances in the mornings and I usually caught a ride at least once a week. I enjoyed his quiet company and was intrigued by the sense of humor that seemed to sneak out when no one was looking. To his credit he’d also held up his end of the bargain so far, ignoring what had happened between us at the party.
The third week of September my mom called out of the blue. It was the first time we’d talked since school started. The message I’d left on their machine confirming my safe arrival from New York probably didn’t count.
“We’ve bought a new house,” she said by way of introduction. “In Park Hill.”
I hadn’t even known they were looking. The house I’d lived in throughout high school was Grant’s house. It was only the second home I’d ever had, the only one after Dad had left us.
Mom was going on about the new place. “It has a hot tub, and a dance studio for Chelsea.”
“Why are you moving?”
“Since Grant made named partner we need more space.” Why, did the firm make partners keep their files in the garage? What Mom probably meant was that she deserved more space, and all the other partners had big houses.
She added that they’d be moving in November and wanted me to come home and clean out my stuff. “We have storage at the new house. If you need to keep a few boxes they can go in the new garage.” Maybe behind all the files.
Mom had met Grant through work when I was twelve. At least, that was when she had started bringing him around. They were both patent lawyers, but he had been further up the food chain. Apparently, given his latest accomplishment, he still was. Grant was well-known and respected in the legal community, and had just come off a divorce with his wife at the time. He and Mom had gotten married six months in, which felt like a whirlwind to me.
If the relationship between me and my mom had been strained before Dad left, it was fractured after. They had fought for a year before he took off. Some of their arguments had been about me. The gist of it was that my dad never wanted kids, a revelation I’d struggled to process at age nine—especially as he’d always been kind and loving. I thought he was the best dad in the world. And that was why my mom blamed me for him leaving. Those years were the worst of my life.
But somehow things changed with Grant and his daughter, Chelsea. Instead of being belittled I was mostly ignored. I had been the
prototype daughter, a mistake acknowledged on holidays and when tuition was due. Chelsea was the refined model, to be indulged and celebrated.
“Why don’t you come home this weekend and go through your room?” I knew better than to think it was a request. If I didn’t comply, my belongings would likely become the property of Goodwill by the next time I visited. While part of me wanted to protest that things were too busy, school was only going to get more demanding with midterms and assignments. So I agreed.
It was clearly a sign from the universe when my car wouldn’t start Friday afternoon on my way to meet up with Jane for a study date. “Perfect.” I banged my hand against the dash.
I got out of the car and walked back inside. The heels I’d slipped on for the day were not put on this earth for walking to the bus stop, so I swapped them out for ballet flats. Ava stuck her head out of her room when she heard me. “I thought you were going out.”
“My car won’t start. Guess I’m not going home tomorrow either.”
Ava looked sympathetic. “I think Dylan’s going home this weekend. You could hit him up for a ride?” The Camerons lived barely a mile from my mom. I used to walk it in high school.
I fired off a quick text to Jane to tell her I needed to catch the bus and would be late for our study date and then closed the front door for the second time in as many minutes. My car was on the receiving end of a dark glare as I passed it and headed toward the bus stop.
My thumb tapped open another conversation on my phone.
Ava said you’re going home tomorrow. Any chance I can hitch a ride?
Dylan’s response came a minute later.
Three empty seats
At least something was going right today.
---
Dylan picked me up Saturday afternoon in the Mustang. He eyed the large suitcase I had in tow as I walked toward the car.
“Is this a one-way trip?”
I told him about the move. “It’s mostly empty,” I explained, depositing it in the trunk. “I need to bring some things back to school with me. My mom wants me to divest them of my earthly belongings so they don’t clutter her new floorplan.” I said it with a smile, but it sounded a little bitter to my own ears.