Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1)

by Bartsch, Carina

“What?”

  Had I missed something?

  “Nothing, nothing,” she said with a grin, which was further evidence I had missed something. I tried but failed to reconstruct what she had said. It had been something with the phrase “purely theoretical,” and I got the creeping suspicion it was just as well I hadn’t heard. I rubbed my temples and tried to calm down before I yelled at her.

  “Since you are evidently not able to keep your mouth shut, would it be asking too much to at least change the subject? Having to even lay eyes on your brother, however occasionally, is already asking a lot; I don’t need to be talking about him in my ‘free time’ as well.”

  God, why did Alex have to move in with him, anyway? There were thousands upon thousands of apartments in Berlin. Even if she couldn’t find one, the city was full of bridges she could have lived under.

  She was lucky I was so good-natured, because rubbing my nose in the existence of her brother was grounds for ending our friendship.

  “All right,” she said, relenting. I didn’t get two more breaths in before I saw the familiar glint in her eyes, the one that always indicated bad news for me.

  “So, that cute friend of Elyas’s was over again yesterday.” She bit her lower lip, and a swirl of awful premonitions filled my head.

  “Alex,” I groaned. “Please don’t tell me you fell for him.”

  Alex’s relationships had all been major disasters, each ending in some terrible drama. She fell in love much too fast, usually with random, sketchy guys anyone else would have steered clear of. But Alex’s big blue eyes turned starry the second it game to guys.

  “No, I don’t know him at all,” she quickly said. “I just think he’s cute.”

  “They’ve all been cute, but maybe you should start taking a closer look at personality?” That was actually a serious suggestion, not a question.

  “I do, and this one’s personality is cute, too. Believe me, Emely. I’ve learned from my mistakes. This one seems different.”

  I groaned again and made a face. I’d heard that line more than once. Every time she met someone, to be exact.

  “You always say that,” I whined, preparing myself for the impending drama. This was so typical of Alex: she had barely been in town for three weeks, and her being-single-sucks antenna had already located a potential victim.

  “Yeah, I know,” she mumbled. “But this time it’s true.”

  “Well there’s a convincing argument,” I said. “So have you given any thought to the fact he’s a friend of Elyas’s? Birds of a feather.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Alex, I don’t mean it like that,” I said. “Just do me a favor and don’t rush into anything again. Be a little more careful, OK?” I gave her a penetrating look and could only hope she would take my advice to heart.

  “Yes, yes,” she sighed in irritation. “But nothing’s anywhere near official yet. You’re making too much of it. I just said I think he’s cute, nothing more. And that he’s different, which is true. When you meet him—which we definitely have to arrange—you’ll see what I mean.”

  Would I? Dewy-eyed Alex seemed unshakable in her conviction, in any case. But I was still skeptical, given her track record. Unfortunately, once Alex got something into her head, it was hard to derail her plans, so I resigned myself to it, for now. Suddenly a soft “pling” from my laptop drew me out of my thoughts. I had a new e-mail, which turned out to be from a sender I didn’t know.

  Hi Emely,

  I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, but unfortunately I can’t muster the courage to speak to you in person. Which is why I came up with the idea—a pathetic one, I admit—of sending you an e-mail.

  I just wanted to tell you that I’d like to get to know you.

  You probably get hundreds of e-mails like this every day, or worse yet, you think I’m crazy. Still, I’m hoping you’ll reply.

  Yours,

  Luca

  After reading each line, my forehead crumpled into tighter and tighter wrinkles, and by the end, my face must have looked as though I were ninety years old. What the hell was this? Who the hell was Luca?

  I scrolled up and saw that the message had been sent to my university e-mail address. All freshmen automatically got an e-mail address, which was then listed in the public directory, so it was easy to look up any student. That didn’t narrow things down at all, unfortunately. To the contrary: it could be anyone at the school. There was no last name. It just said it was from “Luca,” and the account was Gmail. It could be anyone.

  The whole thing was more than a little mysterious.

  “Hey, I asked you a question,” Alex grumbled, shaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Sorry,” I said and blinked. “I just got a weird e-mail. What was your question?”

  “A weird e-mail?”

  “Yeah, from someone named Luca who apparently wants to get to know me.” I shrugged. “It’s probably just someone trying to make fun of me.”

  Alex’s interest was piqued. She quickly got off the bed and stood behind me to read the e-mail herself. I took the opportunity to read through it again, but I still didn’t know what to think.

  “Oh my God, that is totally cute!” Alex squealed, and I furrowed my brow.

  “Please don’t go all hysterical on me,” I said.

  “How will you reply?” she asked, clapping.

  “You think I should reply?”

  “God, Emely.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you should reply!”

  “Hello?” I said, looking at her in exasperation. “Who knows what kind of psycho that is! I don’t know anyone named Luca. He could be some skinny computer nerd with horn-rimmed glasses and greasy hair. Or maybe a serial killer!” I was starting to get all worked up. “Think about it, Alex. What kind of person decides to write a random e-mail like that? We’re not thirteen years old anymore, passing notes back and forth in class—Oh my God,” I shouted. “He probably is thirteen! He didn’t mention his age anywhere!”

  Alex giggled. A new theory popped into my head. “And what exactly does that mean: ‘I’ve had my eye on you for a while’? Is he stalking me? He’s probably got a telescope for all I know!” In a minor fit of paranoia, I rushed over to the window and hectically scanned outside looking for light that could be reflecting off a telescope lens.

  “Now don’t go all nuts on me,” Alex said, laughing and patting me on the shoulder. “You always assume the worst. The e-mail doesn’t read like it’s from a serial killer.”

  “Ha!” I replied. “The worst serial killers are the ones who don’t seem like sociopaths.”

  “Yes, and you’re a weirdly pessimistic person. What if this guy is the absolute man of your dreams, huh? Luca doesn’t sound like a computer nerd’s name. More like a sexy jock or something.”

  “Sexy jock?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Why would a sexy jock not be able to muster the courage to speak to me?” I crossed my arms over my chest, daring her to explain.

  She thought for a moment. “Because he’s shy . . . ?” Her voice got higher and higher until it faded into nothingness.

  “So much for that theory,” I said, crossing the sexy-jock option off my list.

  “That’s exactly what you could ask him when you reply,” she said. Alex was never stymied for long.

  I sighed. The mere thought of replying to that message sent an unpleasant shiver through my gut.

  “We’ll see,” I finally said. I would have to think about it when I had time to myself, which wouldn’t be until Alex left, but I didn’t want her to go yet. “Do you want to grab a bite in the cafeteria?”

  “That’s a great idea,” she said nodding, so I shut my laptop and we walked down to the cafeteria.

  Alex got a salad that she said didn’t taste good, so she nibbled away at my four-cheese spaghetti.

  E
ven though I was an only child, Alex had taught me long ago how to share—unfortunately I was usually the one doing the sharing when it came to food. Jamming my fork into her hand as it crept over would have been overkill. But, hey. You’ve got to look out for number one.

  As we ate, Alex couldn’t talk about anything besides my ominous e-mailer, and I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder—just to be safe, of course. Alex displayed a level of optimism I definitely couldn’t share. She kept trying to convince me to respond.

  “What do you have to lose?” she asked. My last bit of pride, I thought, but kept that comment to myself.

  The subject didn’t change until we reached the bus stop.

  “You want to hang out tonight?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, I’ve got a shift at the bar later,”

  “Lame!” she mumbled. “Fine. Text me if the bar’s dead and I’ll come by and keep you company.”

  “OK, good idea. Then you could finally meet Nicolas. We’re working the same shift tonight.”

  “You mean Nicolas ‘Jam-it-past-Eva’s-uvula’ Nicolas?” She grinned.

  “That’s the one,” I said with a laugh that quickly subsided as I recalled the scene. Bleagh!

  My disgust didn’t last long, because a sudden noise distracted me from the images in my head. It was the sound of a car engine approaching. Deep. Loud. Roaring. Dirty. Unmistakable. I got goose bumps and stood there thunderstruck. I turned my head slowly and realized my ears had not been mistaken: a Mustang. They’re rare enough in Germany, but this was no ordinary Mustang. This was a 1960s Shelby GT. Black as night, with two fat white stripes starting at the front of the long hood, skipping the windshield, continuing over the roof and down the back. Seeing a car like that on the street in Berlin bordered on the miraculous. I couldn’t believe it. That was my car.

  My dream car.

  I almost swooned.

  I wasn’t that into cars in general, but this wasn’t just a car; it was the most awesome, breathtaking form of locomotion that existed. Nothing else held a candle to it. Someday—I didn’t know when—I would be the proud owner of just such a Mustang. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in a year—but someday, for sure.

  I took in every detail so I could relish this special moment for as long as possible. Then the unimaginable happened: the car slowed and seemed to head right for us. It finally stopped only a few meters away. My eyes slowly scanned the body. I was mesmerized. It was so close I would only need to take a few steps to touch it.

  The engine rumbled quietly, almost purring, and I felt as though I had fallen in love. Suddenly the motor fell silent. As the driver’s door opened, I prayed that a hot young guy would emerge, saying, “Hi, my name is Luca.”

  Instead I was treated to the searing stab of a knife in the back. The world could not be this cruel.

  I stared at the driver. Hot and young applied, but I definitely had not mentioned ass in my prayer.

  Elyas Schwarz. Oh God, I think I’m going to puke!

  That prick was driving my dream car. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  He walked toward us with a stupid grin on his face while I ran through potential murder scenarios in my head. I decided on the most excruciating option but then realized that unfortunately, I lacked the physical strength to carry it out.

  God, I truly lacked the words to express how pissed off I was!

  Maybe it’d be enough to just knock him unconscious. Enough time for me to nab his keys and disappear with the car, anyway.

  Wait—was I envious of Elyas? No! It could not come to this! Let him keep his shitty car.

  His shitty old . . . breathtakingly . . . gorgeous . . . bucket of bolts. I grumbled and bit my lip.

  Besides, what was he doing here, anyway?

  “Elyas!” Alex called to him cheerfully.

  Traitor. I couldn’t even rely on my best friend.

  “Hey, sis,” he said and gave her a little hug.

  If I hauled off now and whacked him across the side of the head with my messenger bag . . .

  Things got worse.

  “Hi, darling,” he then said to me, cocking his head slightly to one side and leaning forward as though he wanted to kiss me.

  “Ew!” I said, taking a step back. My glare didn’t seem to make the least impression on him, however, and he chuckled softly and stood back up straight.

  Undoubtedly, Elyas had some new plan underway to make my life hell.

  After our tiff last week, I had hoped we would just ignore each other, but no. I stuck to the ignoring plan, of course, but Elyas seemed to be executing the opposite strategy. He was trying to drive me crazy. And, goddammit, it was working.

  Alex apparently found her brother’s little routine funny. She giggled, and I shot her a sharp glare that instantly silenced her. She cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?” she said, turning back to Elyas.

  Good question. A damned good one, in fact. The question might even be expanded to “What are you doing at this campus?” or “What are you doing on this planet?”

  “I thought I’d invite the two of you for a drink,” he said, smiling in his most charming way, which I couldn’t stand any more than the rest of his ways. Get a drink with this guy? I snorted.

  As I opened my mouth to respond with an extremely nasty retort, Alex butted in and worded things much more considerately than I would have.

  “Unfortunately, Emely can’t join us. She still has to finish her paper, and then she has a shift at the bar. But I’ll go.”

  I smiled at her. Although she could have been a touch more insulting, she had done well.

  “A paper?” Elyas looked at me, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Evidently medical school didn’t involve a lot of papers. “What class is that for, Madame, if I might ask?”

  A delightful, warm sensation started spreading through my gut. It was pride. I couldn’t even describe how good it felt.

  I enjoyed each syllable as they passed my lips in slow motion. “German lit,” I said smiling. He was wide-eyed that I might be studying something intellectually challenging, and his eyes grew wider when I added, “That’s my major, actually.”

  Elyas wasn’t often speechless, so I made the most of relishing this moment. But much to my chagrin, he recovered much faster than I had hoped. A few seconds later he was grinning devilishly again.

  “German lit,” he repeated intently. “Who’d have thought?” His pupils seemed to emit laser beams, burning deeper and deeper into me with every second. Eventually I started to feel like he was sizing me up like a piece of meat, so I decided it was time to go. Otherwise I might have had to murder him after all—a job I probably would have failed at, embarrassing me even more.

  “Well, I’d better get going now,” I said. “I have to get back to my exegesis of Harry Potter, books one through twenty-seven.” I looked at Elyas, who raised an eyebrow.

  “Harry Potter, books one through twenty-seven?” Alex asked.

  “Oh, you can have your charming brother explain it to you,” I replied, pulling her into a hug to say good-bye. I had told her about his ballsy attempt to come on to me, but had left out a few details.

  We finished our hug. “All right then, take it easy. Maybe we’ll see you later,” she said waving.

  I stole another look at the Mustang. What year was it? I was guessing a 1967. I would have loved to know if I was right. But there was no way in hell I was asking Elyas.

  Reluctantly I looked away and walked back to campus.

  Back in the dorm, I got right back to work on my paper so I could finish it before my shift. I knew myself well enough to know I wouldn’t be up to it after work. And lo and behold, without someone continually chattering away, I made amazing progress.

  I finally finished after an hour and was about to close my laptop when I remembered that strange e-mail. I proba
bly should have deleted it, but I couldn’t help reading it again.

  Luca . . . Luca . . . Who could that be? I definitely didn’t know anyone named Luca. It wasn’t a common name, so I would have remembered meeting a guy named Luca.

  What do you have to lose? Alex’s words echoed through my mind.

  I sighed, because I didn’t have anything to lose. What if he was sitting at home in front of his computer waiting for me to answer?

  I put my elbows on my desk and rested my chin in my hands. Should I? I mean, it was just an e-mail. What could happen? If his response left anything to be desired, it’s not like I had to keep writing him. So, should I?

  I decided to just write out what came to mind—even though I felt silly doing it.

  Hi Luca,

  Honestly, I wasn’t planning on answering your e-mail, and for the life of me I can’t explain why I’m responding. Blame it on temporary insanity.

  In case you have any sociopathic tendencies or other inclinations I should know about, now is the right time to mention them.

  So my first question is, where do you know me from? Are you in one of my classes? Would I recognize you?

  Thanks,

  Emely

  P.S. A criminal background check would go a long way toward bolstering my trust in you.

  I hesitated for a while, but hit “Send,” and the e-mail went on its way. Then I put my face in my hands, realizing I must be a lost cause and even more pathetic than I had thought. Too late, though. I couldn’t take it back now.

  I moaned, flipped my laptop shut, and stood up from my desk chair, plagued by mixed feelings as I got ready for work.

  I wouldn’t find out what—or if—he would answer until I got home after my shift.

  CHAPTER 4

  A WALK IN THE PARK

  Alex stood in front of the stove in her huge kitchen, dicing vegetables, which she then put into a pan. She looked up from her work and glanced over her shoulder at me. “Any news from that Luca guy? Did he e-mail you back?”

  I sat on the kitchen island next to her, with my legs dangling over the side, and stole a cube of carrot from the pan. Alex was probably the worst cook on earth, but it never stopped her from cooking.