by Shana Norris
“That’s Jude Westmore,” Ashton said. “He lives a couple blocks over from your aunt. Do you know him?”
I shook my head. “No. I was just wondering what his deal is. Doesn’t look like he’s having much fun.”
Kate and Ashton exchanged a look. Silence passed between them, then Kate said, “Jude doesn’t really talk much to people these days. Not since his brother died.”
Great, now I felt like a complete bitch. “Oh,” I said. “How did he die?”
“He was deployed,” Ashton said. “To Afghanistan. The vehicle he was riding in hit a roadside bomb and . . .” She shrugged. “Jude hasn’t been the same ever since.”
#
Two hours later, I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. It was 9:12. Way too early to call it a night, but the party had long ago lost its appeal.
At least six different girls had already thrown up in various bushes, two guys nearly broke their necks trying to do drunken back flips, and I had avoided the clumsy passes of so many guys I’d stopped keeping count. I would have gladly taken one Gropy Garrett in their place. Ashton was off somewhere, trying to work up the nerve to talk to Carter, while Kate had disappeared with Syke, the guy she’d spoken to when we first arrived.
I wandered around the grassy clearing in the valley, clutching the same beer I’d carried all night. Every now and then, I’d pour a little bit out whenever I thought no one was looking. It was now half-empty. Empty enough that I could say I was drinking it, yet full enough that I could decline any offers for another one from the glazed-eyed wannabe frat boys.
I wondered if I’d stuck around long enough to satisfy Mark on the “expanding my horizons” thing.
But I knew already what Mark would say. I hadn’t really made an effort. I’d stuck with Ashton and Kate, talking only to them until they’d abandoned me, and then I moped around the outer edge of the party alone.
“Did you bring it?” A voice nearby caught my attention. I thought at first that the guy was talking to me, but then I saw him just over my shoulder, standing with another guy.
The second guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small orange bottle. “‘Course I did.” He rattled the bottle at his friend and grinned.
Icy tendrils tickled down my spine as little orange bottles flashed in my memory. Dozens of them, some empty, others still containing a few pills. The shoebox next to my dad’s head, where he lay so still, I thought he was dead. Mom freaking out when she found us, ripping the box out of my hands. Bottles tumbling to the floor, rolling away under my parents’ bed.
Mom had presented an image of perfection as she announced to everyone downstairs that my father wasn’t feeling well. “Probably just the sushi he had last night,” she said, laughing. Everyone had left, telling Mom they hoped Dad felt better soon. I had watched from the landing at the top of the stairs, frozen in place and unable to say or do anything. Once the last guest was out the door, expressing their concern for my dad’s condition, Mom finally picked up the phone and called 911.
Now my teeth chattered and I dropped the beer, sending the liquid splashing across my legs and shoes. I felt sick, and I had to get away. Away from the orange medicine bottles. Away from the people. Away from everything.
Chapter Four
I stumbled up the hill, slipping on the grass and half-crawling, half-running as I scrambled away from the laughter behind me. I shouldn’t have come to the party. I should have stayed in Willowbrook. I should have gone to Paris with Mom like I had originally planned.
It didn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t hide, not in Asheville, not in Paris, not anywhere. I needed an entirely different planet to run to.
Once I crested the hill, I ran down the path, past cars and people, until my lungs felt like they were about to burst. When I couldn’t breathe anymore, I stopped, leaning against a car as I bent over, gasping.
I had ridden to the party with Ashton, so I didn’t have a car to drive myself back to Aunt Lydia’s. I wasn’t even sure that I knew the way from where we were. The party was off of a very dark, quiet two-lane road somewhere in the mountains outside Asheville. Around me were cars parked along the edge of the trees, all of them dark and empty.
“Did you need a ride?”
I jumped at the voice behind me, clutching a hand to my chest. The guy from before—Jude Westmore, the one who had changed my tire—emerged from the shadows of the trees. Once again, the makings of a bad horror film.
“What are you doing, skulking around like that?” I demanded.
Jude looked at me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a plain white T-shirt again, and I could see his tattoo peeking out from under one shirtsleeve. “I was just standing here. Trying to decide whether or not to go back to the party. I saw you, and you looked like you wanted to get out of here fast.” He shrugged. “So . . . do you need a ride?”
“N-no,” I stammered. “I’ll wait for my friend.”
“Ashton?” Jude asked. He shook his head. “Don’t bother. She’ll hang around Carter Hawthorne all night, trying to work up the nerve to ask him out. She’ll finally give up around 1:00 a.m. If you’re lucky.”
I groaned at the thought of hanging out at the party, alone, until one in the morning.
Jude started walking down the path. He didn’t look back at me as he said, “If you want a ride, the offer stands for the next two minutes.”
Dark shapes of mountains and trees rose in the night sky around me, and stars twinkled overhead. I didn’t know which way to go, or how long it would take to walk.
Sucking in a deep breath, I started after him.
#
I seemed to have forgotten how to talk. That had never happened to me before. I was president of the class student council my freshman, sophomore, and junior years. I had been voted freshman, sophomore, and junior class queen, and was vice president of Willowbrook High’s math club. I had run campaigns, delivered speeches, talked to almost everyone in school, and had never once ran out of things to say.
But that night in the creaky old truck, with a spring digging painfully into my back, I couldn’t think of a single word to say to the guy sitting two feet from me.
Not that Jude even attempted to start a conversation. He had opened the passenger door for me and then closed it once I was seated on the torn bench seat inside the truck’s cab. Then he’d walked around the front of his truck and climbed in, started the engine, and put it in gear.
Other than the squeaking of the truck’s shocks whenever we hit a bump in the road, we rode in silence.
I looked at Jude from the corner of my eye, studying him in the moonlight. He kept his right hand on the steering wheel, his left elbow propped up on the door while he chewed his thumbnail. His long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but pieces had fallen out of place, the strands slipping over his ears.
He must have felt me looking because he turned to me, meeting my gaze for a moment before looking back to the road.
I cleared my throat. “So,” I said, “I got my tire fixed.”
Jude made a grunting noise in response.
“You were right. I ran over something big.” I was babbling, but I needed to fill the silence. “The tire guy said he had to use the biggest plug they had, the ones they use for really big tires.”
Still, Jude said nothing.
“Um, I’m Hannah, by the way. Hannah Cohen.”
“Jude Westmore.”
“I’m Lydia Montgomery’s niece,” I said. “I’m staying with her.”
Jude nodded. “I know.”
I wondered how he knew, but I didn’t ask.
“So you live near my aunt?” I asked. “That’s what Ashton told me.”
He nodded again and pulled his thumbnail from his mouth. “A few blocks over.”
And we were back to awkward silence.
Was he still mad because I had offered to pay him?
“Look,” I said, taking a dee
p breath, “I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you insult me?”
I gaped at him. “You kind of stormed off when I offered to pay you.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t looking for a reward. I was raised to help people when they need it.”
“I was raised to believe that no one does anything without a reward,” I said. “It’s one of the rules.”
Jude turned onto a street that looked a little familiar. I figured we must have been getting close to Aunt Lydia’s house. “The rules?” he asked.
Heat crept up my neck, and I was thankful for the darkness. “Nothing. Just this list of things that my parents have told me over the years that I put together in my head. Advice.”
“A list of rules,” Jude said. He looked at me with interest, the first actual expression I’d seen on his face all night. “Like what kind of rules?”
Why had I mentioned the rules? I never told anyone about them, other than Mark.
“They’re kind of dumb,” I said.
“Maybe,” Jude said. “Or maybe not. Let me hear them.”
“There’s a lot of them.”
He looked over at me again. “How many are we talking about?”
I thought for a moment. “Last count was thirty-two. I think.”
“Whoa,” Jude said. “Sounds like a serious list of rules. Come on. Give them to me.”
I shook my head. “I’m not even supposed to be following them. My li—Mark says I use the rules as a way of keeping myself stuck in this idea of who I think I should be, rather than who I want to be.”
“So then, you offering to pay me went against the rule of not following the rules.”
I rolled my eyes. “You got me there.”
“So why’d you do it? Why not just say thank you and go on?”
I looked out the window at the lights of houses passing us by. “Old habits are hard to break.”
I desperately wanted to get off the subject and talk about something that didn’t make me seem like a complete freak. “So why were you at that party? You didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself.”
Jude cleared his throat, biting at his thumbnail for a moment. “I wasn’t, but I thought I’d give it a try. Being around other people, you know. But . . .” He shook his head. “They’re still the same as they’ve always been. Self-centered, think they’re invincible.” He was quiet for a moment, then he said softly, “Or maybe it’s me who doesn’t fit in.”
I let out a choked laugh. “It’s not just you,” I muttered.
Jude glanced over at me, his gray eyes studying me as the moonlight shone into the truck, before turning back to face the road. “You look different,” he told me. “More . . . relaxed.”
I opened my mouth to take offense at this. Did everyone think I was uptight? But then I realized he was right. I did feel more relaxed. Maybe it was Ashton’s clothes—I had stopped tugging at the shirt, trying to cover my stomach—or maybe it was Asheville, and being miles away from home. Or maybe it was being in Jude’s old truck, just the two of us on a quiet night.
Jude slowed to a stop in front of Aunt Lydia’s house. The house was dark, and I hoped Aunt Lydia was either asleep or up in her studio. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my night.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, reaching for the door handle.
“You’re welcome,” Jude said. “And you don’t have to pay me for it either.”
I thought it was a jab until I saw the smile curling the corners of his lips. My mouth stretched into a smile before I could help it, and I climbed out of the truck.
“Bye,” I called.
He waved once before putting the truck into gear and pulling away from the curb, the truck groaning in protest.
I tiptoed into the house, careful not to wake Aunt Linda, and gingerly made my way to the guest room. It didn’t feel like “my” room yet, but the bedroom I had at home didn’t feel like mine either. Mom had made a big show of asking what colors I wanted for the walls, and even let me pick out fabrics and wallpaper. I had chosen a beautiful red wallpaper with white fleur-de-lis. The bedding would be white, with red piping, and the curtains red silk.
And then, one day, I came home from school to find that Mom had the room finished while I was gone. All of the red and white I had chosen had been replaced by baby blue and cream. Mom’s colors, not mine.
My room at Aunt Lydia’s, with its plain white walls, was almost a relief. It didn’t belong to anyone and it wasn’t a reminder of someone I was supposed to be.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and saw it was flashing. I pressed the button and opened an email from Avery James, my ex-best friend.
Hannah,
How is your summer going so far? Zac and I miss you, and we hope you’re doing okay.
I hope to hear from you soon. Call me or text me or email. I just want to know that you’re okay.
Hugs,
Avery
I didn’t understand why she had been sending me an email every week since school let out. We had been best friends as kids, until that summer after seventh grade when she betrayed me. I had told her about my crush on our other friend, Elliott, and then Avery went behind my back and kissed him. From that day forward, I knew I could never trust anyone, and that it would always be better to keep my secrets hidden to protect myself. Avery and I had barely talked until this past year, and then I hired her to steal my boyfriend, Zac Greeley, so I wouldn’t have to break up with him. Now it was like Avery thought we could be friends again, but she was wrong. I didn’t want to talk to her, or anyone from Willowbrook over the summer.
I hit the delete button, as I’d done with all the other emails she’d sent me. My phone buzzed in my hand, and for a moment, I thought it was another email from Avery, but no, it was a text message from Natalie.
Hey, girl! Living it up N Paris?? How hot R the guys? I hope UR up & not N bed already. Can’t remember how many hours ahead U R.
I had never told Natalie that I changed my mind about going to Paris. Even though Natalie was one of my closest friends, I couldn’t bring myself to trust her. I had learned my lesson with Avery. Don’t let anyone get too close, and they won’t be able to hurt you.
I typed a reply.
Paris is great! Hot French guys everywhere. Going out tonight with guy named Pierre. Long hair, tattoos, kind of quiet, but really hot. Hope to learn the proper way to French kiss. ;) Au revoir!
Chapter Five
The only way I was going to learn how to get around Asheville was to go out and explore it for myself. I couldn’t rely on Aunt Lydia or Ashton for rides, and I was determined not to end up like I had the night before: stuck someplace and waiting to be rescued. I hated feeling like a damsel in distress. Jude had already helped me twice already, and it would not happen again.
Armed with the GPS app on my phone, I set out to explore Aunt Lydia’s neighborhood.
Once again, I was struck by how similar to each other the homes looked, and how much they reminded me of my old neighborhood in Willowbrook, where I had grown up with my old friends: across the street from Avery and next door to Elliott. In the summer, we would spend every afternoon riding our bikes or pretending to camp under the big tree in Elliott’s backyard. My room had been my own, the walls covered with my drawings and notes from Avery and Elliott.
Then my dad’s bank went national and everything changed.
I caught sight of a shirt hanging from the same tree at that corner house again, and I slowed to a stop to study it. It could have been a shirt that was hung and forgotten, maybe leftover from a yard sale. But I could have sworn that the shirt I’d seen before was red plaid. That day, a blue button-up shirt hung from the tree branch, the sleeves flapping back and forth in the wind.
My gaze focused just beyond the tree and I saw a familiar dusty gray truck parked in the driveway of the house. The hood was up and as I watche
d, a figure emerged from the other side of the truck, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
Jude Westmore. Shirtless.
Lightly muscled arms led up to a pair of broad shoulders that met a chiseled chest and abs. He had the kind of tan you got from working outside in the sun. The tattoo on his arm was a band, some kind of tribal design that wrapped around a nicely shaped bicep.
I leaned forward, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my fingers started to tingle.
BEEP!
I jumped back, slamming the back of my head against my seat and pulling my hands up away from the steering wheel. My gaze darted back toward the gray truck, hoping by some miracle he hadn’t heard me accidentally blare my car horn at him.
But no such luck. Jude straightened, shielding his eyes with one hand as he looked directly at me. Would I look too much like a stalker if I sped away? Did he remember that this was my car?
I lifted one hand and gave a small wave. I didn’t know what else to do.
Jude stuck the rag into his back pocket and walked across the dry grass toward me. I pressed the button to roll down the window, growing light-headed as he neared me. It took everything in me not to stare at the lines of his abs.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I gestured at my steering wheel. “Just out for a drive.”
“Doesn’t that require actually driving and not parking?”
Heat flushed up my neck, “I stopped for a minute.”
“In front of my house,” he said.
His chest gleamed with a light sheen of sweat. Don’t look at his chest, I told myself. Don’t look at his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t know it was your house. I was looking at the shirt.” I pointed at the tree, though I couldn’t keep my eyes off his chest.
Jude didn’t look at the tree, but kept his eyes on me. “You keep showing up everywhere,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were stalking me.”
I snorted. “I have better things to do with my time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a city to explore.”