by Anne Eliot
Blink. Blink. Blink.
No one could resist his mother when she made the blinky-blinky face.
“I need a bathroom—one with a sink. What I need to do to Hunter could get messy.”
Barry’s expression changed from loyal golden retriever to nervous Yorkie. “I don’t have much staff at this hour. How messy?”
Hunter’s mom dug deep into a plastic bag marked SuperDrug Center. She pulled out a square, gold-foiled box with a head-shot of a beautiful woman on it and tossed it to Hunter, still not meeting his gaze.
Hunter read the gleaming gold words on the top of the box aloud: “Venus Permanent Hair Color: Black Italian Coffee. What the...?”
His mother had moved closer to Barry as though she were afraid Hunter might flip out. But Hunter wasn’t going to engage either. Not this time. Not ever again.
Two could play her game.
When Hunter’s obvious lack of response made the air thick and awkward between them, Hunter’s mom nodded nervously toward the box. With an odd catch in her voice, she finally spoke again to Barry, “Hunter’s never had dark hair before. He’s got to make it through the flight to Denver without getting spotted. We—Martin and I—” She paused, finally looking at Hunter’s face before continuing, “We have modified our plan.”
“In what way?” Barry asked.
“Hunter has to be in disguise. Starting now—well—at the airport, that is. Then he’s going to keep his disguise while in Colorado. We’re going to ‘unmake’ him. We’ve worked hard to ensure the press doesn’t find out where Hunter’s been, or where he’s going. What do you think?”
“Disguise? Good. Great!” Barry blinked at his mom as though he’d been hypnotized again. “It makes a lot of sense. Without press sniffing around, Hunter could have a chance to rest so much more. I love the idea.”
Hunter blinked at them both, feeling as though the concrete under his feet had just fallen away, but managed to keep his face straight and his mouth shut.
Disguise? WTF?
Holding his face completely impassive, Hunter glanced at his mom and realized he shouldn’t have bothered.
Her poker face was as good as his. She was dead-on mirroring his placid, calm expression.
Hell, she’d taught it to him after his real father had passed away when he was six years old and it had been up to him to support them.
“Never let them see you’re upset, Hunter. No matter what, keep your face very straight,” she used to say back when he was ten and had his first jobs working commercials. “You’ll get fired for even the slightest tantrum. We can’t afford it. We’d have to move back to the apartment. Do you understand, Hunter? Now that we don’t have Daddy anymore, it’s only you and me. Do you understand how serious this is?”
Hunter tried to crack her on a stare-down.
She didn’t even blink.
He’d inherited her same eyes, same pale skin with contrasting dark eyebrows and her same photogenic face. But unlike Hunter’s unruly hair, his mom wore her white-blond mane ironed straight and far below her shoulders. Right now, her zapping blue eyes made her appear every inch an evil ice queen.
One who’d never heard the word ‘no’ in her life from anyone. And one that would not budge even if Hunter broke down and bawled.
Which he was not going to do. Ever. Not to her.
Hunter had thought he’d get to apologize, or at least she’d give him the chance to say something. But now, analyzing the grim determination on his mom’s face, he realized trying to get her to change her mind was futile.
This was a done deal.
Her voice rocketed through is head: Do you understand how serious this is?
Hunter looked away. He got it. He understood.
He let out a long breath of air and pulled in another. This situation was his fault. He’d really messed up. Taken things between him and his mom way too far.
And then he’d taken them further.
Done some really stupid, scary shit. Even scared himself.
He pulled his hands deep into his sleeve cuffs.
His mom was obviously still pissed off. And he was not about to whine and cry, or ask her how much time would it take for her to forgive him. This made things pretty even, because Hunter couldn’t imagine forgiving her for sending him away. With dyed hair.
Again. W.T.F!
“Let’s get this going, then, shall we?” she said, when Hunter still wouldn’t—couldn’t—respond.
His head had started to pound. He wasn’t able to breathe because his lungs had turned to pure lead. He pulled at the neck of his white hoodie. The thing was choking the hell out of him.
His mom was already up the marble steps. The sliding hospital doors swooshed and held open, awaiting her entrance.
“I’m going to need some towels,” she said to Barry, who’d followed her up the steps like a devoted puppy.
Hunter didn’t blame the guy for switching sides.
His mom had serious magic. Brainwashed people with the blue blinks. Apparently, people said Hunter could to it too. But he didn’t want to. He hated people who manipulated others like his mom did.
He just wanted to be left alone. Mostly...
Hunter turned the box of hair color over in his hands. It was curiously heavy. Its mysterious, loose contents shifting, and bumping inside.
Did Martin really agree to this? Why?
It was a big deal to mess with the GuardeRobe branding. They’d need some sort of approval from corporate. Hunter was the token blond kid in the band.
You can’t just un-blond the blond kid! Can you?
Plus, this junk was from a drugstore! Shouldn’t his stylist be involved? Hunter zoned out like he always did when he was stressed. The brown-eyed girl on the box seemed to stare directly back at him.
She looked so alive. Friendly.
Like someone he could talk to.
Black Italian Coffee...Black Italian Coffee...it’s a nice color.
Solid. Dark.
Does the color refer to the coffee beans or to the brewed drink?
Either way, it’s dark as hell...almost black compared to blond...
The buzzing sound from the broken sign returned and filled his whole head. His body grew hot and shaky, and Hunter thought he might self-combust.
Black Italian Coffee. Colorado. This is all so messed up...
“Hunter!”
His legs started in automatic response to the sound of his mom’s voice. He moved up the steps, but his gaze remained riveted on the model on the box. Her little half-smile...the kind, deep brown eyes.
He imagined her encouraging expression was just for him.
You can do this. You can.
It’s just like another costume change. You've had billions of those.
No big deal.
“Hurry up. That takes time to process and I refuse to be late to the airport.”
4: sexy chip eaters
VERE
Jenna let out a long, dreamy sigh. Her eyes were still locked over Vere’s shoulder. “How is it possible our whole football team is this hot? Even Charlie looked all sizzle this morning. Too bad he’s not in here.”
Vere sucked in a huge breath and elbowed Jenna’s arm. “OMG. Don’t joke about my brother. Makes me puke.”
Jenna laughed. “You know how I adore the jock look. Any boy in any uniform works.” She shrugged. “In the right light it even works for your brother.”
“Ew. Eew, and EW.”
Jenna laughed. “Let’s go back to staring at your Curtis. I swear the guy took hot vitamins this morning and they really worked.”
“Shut up! Someone’s going to hear you. And he’s not my anything. Not even close.” Vere choked on a giggle.
“Well, today he’s got a brand new football jersey too. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Number seven. As in, ‘lucky number seven’. And he is your Curtis. A little bit, anyhow. He just doesn’t know it. That’s why he’s so lucky.”
Vere’s phone vibrated on the desk again.
VERE. DID YOU GET MY LAST TEXT? THIS IS IMPORTANT. ACKNOWLEDGE YOU WILL COME STRAIGHT HOME.
The phone rapid-buzzed again: YOO-HOO.
And again: VERE. THIS PROJECT IS SERIOUS.
Vere text-yelled back: OK. GOT IT. STOP TEXTING ME AT SCHOOL. I DON’T WANT TROUBLE.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen yoo-hoo on a text screen.” Jenna propped her fake-glasses on her forehead. “Creepy. But I think I’m going use it. She better let me go to the cabin for Labor Day in two weeks. Can I? Will I? Me? Choose me.”
“Of course. That’s a given. You’ve never missed it since birth.”
“Tell that to your mom. She’s all but forgotten about me,” Jenna complained, re-reading Vere’s texts. “She sounds positively mental. I can’t wait for you to tell me about the project.”
“Maybe I’ll die from heat exhaustion before I ever have to find out.”
“Ohmywow. Maybe we’re already dead. Maybe we’re in heaven.” A wide grin of admiration spread across Jenna’s face as she was distracted again by the football guys. “How can boys make eating chips look like a slow-motion commercial of crunching-perfection? I wish I were brave enough to film this on my iPhone. Instant replay...would be so good.”
“That’s cruel and you know it. Or...is it worth it to look?” Vere swallowed.
“Possibly. Curtis shared the bag. Now they’re ALL sexy-chip-eaters. This is an awesome day. I feel like I’m dreaming this! Which one should I be in love with this year? Can I have a crush on them all?”
“Stop. You know I can’t look. You also know you’d die if any of those football guys noticed you.”
“Die happy.”
Vere felt her own cheeks flush.
Jenna’s expression turned goofy. “Do you think we’ll be asked to prom this year? I mean senior prom?”
“Can you even imagine?” Vere smothered another giggle.
“If so...I’m having a prom party. Inviting the whole football team, and serving only chips. Corn, potato—heck—even pretzels! Football guys eating all kinds of chips, in tuxedos, at a party. It’s my new fantasy. This is so perfect. Vere, it’s totally worth it. Turn. LOOK!”
Vere turned, locating Curtis immediately in the middle of the laughing, relaxed group of guys draped in the school’s colors: orange and black.
Yep. Perfect. Number seven...and...sigh.
“Someone should give them all an A+ for chewing,” Vere whispered.
Everything flipped to one of Vere’s slow motion, imaginary moments.
How could it not?
With his sun-blond, curly hair, his angled cheekbones. God...and his square shoulders, square chin, square forehead. Ahh-boy-beauty.
And Jenna was right about the new jerseys. So cute.
So handsome. Again. Still. Always.
The guy was perfect.
Perfect torture. UGH.
And yep, insert cheeks of flame because I can’t erase the image of me twirling around and around in Curtis’s arms as his future prom date.
“Wow,” Vere whispered again when the butterflies surging in her throat allowed more words to escape. “Love it when he doesn’t shave. He’s got that manly, sandpaper hotness all over his chin today. He looks kind of like a biker dude and a jock combined. You know? All good-boy-bad-boy...and...”
And Curtis is a perfect dancer. No grinding. He’s pulled me close. Face-to-face. So he can run his cheek against my ear. He whispers how much he loves my dress. And me...
Then, he brushes a soft kiss on my lips.
I rest my head against his wide, warm shoulder. His arms wrap me tighter, and I feel safe...so happy. We dance and dance under the low lights until...
Jenna shoved her face into Vere’s line of vision.
“Intervention starts now. Don’t go closer to the light, little moth. You’ll get burned. I shouldn’t have told you to look. I’m the worst friend. I suck. HE SUCKS. Look at me, Vere, not at him. Okay? Come on. Train those big, brown peepers over here. On me. Right here.” She snapped her fingers and waved her hands in front of Vere’s face.
“No. He and I could still happen. Maybe,” Vere muttered, tearing her gaze away from Curtis. But she couldn’t stop imagining how it might feel to have his arms around her.
“Did I mention that I suck as a friend yet? I’m so sorry. We need to find another boy for you to have a crush on this year. We will.”
As the butterflies and dreams floated away, Vere’s heart felt as though it were made of wet clay. “I don’t want another crush. This one has almost killed me.” Fully dejected now, Vere met Jenna’s gaze. “Can you imagine, going to Senior Prom with him? It would be so awesome. If only I could.”
“No. It’s impossible dreaming. Reality check: School dances are not for us. Especially prom. Not unless we both win one of those makeover contests where we become suddenly fabulous. Or, unless your brother ticks-off your mom to the point where he’s forced to take us as his dates, that is.” Jenna scrunched her forehead thoughtfully. “Which might not be such a bad idea...Charlie could use some chaperones, don’t you think?”
“What? Jenna. UGH.” Vere glared into her friend’s bright, green eyes. “Do you want me to punch you?”
Jenna smiled, letting out a breath that sounded relieved. “That’s the girl I know. I knew that idea would have you snapping out of things. Almost lost you there.”
Vere rubbed her eyes with both hands. “Too late. I don’t feel so good. I told you talking about Charlie makes me sick.”
“Sick from Curtis. You know it’s that. Forgive me for bringing him into focus?”
Vere nodded as her head started to spin. Every time she dreamed too much about Curtis this happened.
She needed a way to stop her crush. But how?
“You do look extra pale. Need some water? Air?” Jenna glanced around the room. “Why do they think starting school in the middle of August, with no air conditioning, in an all-glass school is a good idea? I should call news reporters about this.” She frowned at Vere’s outfit. “Why did you wear that huge hoodie?”
“It was cold this morning. And I’ve only got a thin undershirt on under here,” Vere moaned. “I can’t take it off.”
“Do it.”
“No. I’m not the half-naked-at-school type. Give me your awesome shirt, and you walk around in your underwear. I swear, Jenna, my head is actually spinning in the opposite direction of the rest of my body.”
Vere sighed and laid her head on her hands, wishing for a breeze to blow through the long row of open windows. Not one branch, not one needle moved on the pine trees shading their lunch quad outside. Just looking at the motionless trees made her body temperature jump another ten degrees.
Jenna was right. The hoodie had to come off.
Because if it didn’t, she’d pass out in front of everyone. She’d get wheeled out of here on a stretcher.
And wouldn’t that be the perfect way for me, the infamous Vere Roth, to begin my junior year?
Incident Number Two: Knocks HERSELF out.
No. No. No.
5: crazy ain’t sexy
HUNTER
“Hunter. We’re at the airport.”
Hunter jerked awake. He’d forced himself to sleep for the long ride. Sleep (or pretending to sleep) is what he did when he didn’t want to deal with shit. And that’s what this ride had been.
Complete. Shit.
Closing his eyes was also easier than ‘not talking’ to his mom. Safer than instigating a fight too. He yawned and stretched, acting like he still didn’t care that she’d refused to talk to him. Not at Falconer while she’d ruined his hair color, and not once on this whole damn drive had she attempted to wake him. He tried to bait her again, hoping she’d slip up and say something.
“What’s next in your psycho, ridiculous plan?” “Put on this hat. We can’t let one strand of your new hair show,” she said, her voice was as closed as her shuttered expression.
“Why? The dark color kind of mak
es my eyes pop, don’t ya think?” Hunter’s attempts at careless sounding quips had come out in frog croaks.
Worse, his throat tried to close completely when he realized there was a huge crowd of press waiting where the limo had parked.
Really?
His mom watched while he put on the white knit skate cap, then she tucked away every strand of his new hair. “Do not let this hat slip or the whole plan could be blown. You aren’t officially in disguise yet. Okay?”
“You and this,” he gestured to the crowd outside, “suck so badly.”
“Just follow my lead. Martin and the guys are waiting. Take these sunglasses and this matching bag, too.” She tossed him a pair of ultra-dark, white-framed HK glasses and a poorly made, drawstring pack. With silver glitter all over both accessories.
Hunter was grateful for the glasses because he loved hiding behind any and all dark glasses. He put them on and peered out the window. “Why and how did the publicist manage a press conference at this hour, at this tiny airport?”
“It’s all part of a bigger plan. Don’t mention Falconer or Colorado. You’ve been in Paris. Okay? That’s all you need to know for now.”
“Okay. Paris. Check.” Hunter’s head pounded from the effort it took to hold his expressions steady; but then he broke. “Jesus, Mom. Tell me a little more. I feel like you’re sending me in blind.”
“I am.” His mom’s gaze caught his.
He thought he saw her eyes float a glimpse of regret—or sadness—or what? This was definitely an expression he didn’t recognize. She looked almost desperate. He also thought for a moment she might say something real—something that would allow Hunter a chance to break in and plead with her not to go through with this.
The driver opened the door, distracting them both.
“Don’t blow it, Hunter.” Her unrelenting voice turned icier as she went on, “You have no idea how important this is.” She stepped out slowly, acting as though this were some sort of red carpet event.
Hunter followed her lead but couldn’t resist one more dig. “Important? Do you mean important to your bank account?”