Avra's God

by Ann Lee Miller

  She could feel Isabel’s eyes crawling from her Converses to the gold balls in her earlobes. She glanced at Cisco. She must look like a steroid-fed Olympian next to Isabel, who was nearly a foot shorter.

  “Isabel, this is Avra. Avra, Isabel.” Cisco’s voice was flat.

  Avra nodded to the other girl.

  Isabel looked at Cisco. “Where’d you find her—at Goodwill?”

  Okay, that hurt. Avra fingered her favorite Daytona State hoodie.

  Cisco drew Avra closer till their elbows bumped. “What do you want, Isabel?”

  Isabel’s taunt beaded up and rolled off Avra like seawater off a well-waxed surfboard.

  The girl’s fingers circled Cisco’s bicep. “I need to talk to you.”

  Cisco folded his arms across his chest, his shoulder pressed against Avra’s. “So, talk.”

  Isabel flicked a glance at Avra. “In private.”

  Avra lifted her chin a fraction. She shot a glance at Kallie where she leaned against Jesse’s Neon at the ocean edge of the lot. “I need to tell Kallie something.” She brushed her lips across Cisco’s cheek in the briefest of touches. He’s mine. She turned her back on Isabel and Cisco.

  “I want you,” Isabel said as though Avra’s overhearing meant nothing to her.

  Now there’s a surprise.

  “What part of get lost didn’t you understand at Jenna’s party?” Cisco answered before she stepped out of earshot.

  She squared her shoulders and walked a little taller across the lot. But the possibility Cisco had slept with Isabel niggled at her.

  “Cisco’s yammering like he’s had it with that—” Kallie peered over Avra’s shoulder and kept the play-by-play coming. “She’s got her hand up to slap him across the face. No, he saw it coming and grabbed her wrist. Now, she’s screaming something ugly at him. I think she’s coughing up a fur ball.”

  Avra started to turn, but Kallie grabbed her arm. “It’s a figure of speech. Now, her face is screwed up like she has a mouth full of curdled coconut milk. She’s saying something and looking at you like she’d like to commit mayhem.”

  Avra laughed. “Mayhem?”

  “You know, mutilation, disfigurement, ripping off a limb. Hush. Here comes Cisco.” Kallie cocked her head to one side. “So, Beach Rats landed a standing gig every Friday till the end of the semester.”

  “Hey, Kal.” Cisco tossed her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He motioned for Avra to come with him.

  Avra fell into step beside Cisco. He walked with his head down. She waited for him to speak first.

  “Isabel’s, like, stalking me. I’m not talking to her, smiling at her—nothing.”

  “Who is she?”

  “A girl I partied with last summer.”

  Her jaw clenched. “And?”

  Cisco looked down at his tennis shoes. “And.”

  Picasso-like caricatures of Cisco and Isabel’s nakedness—heavy black lines and garish colors—sprang to life in her head. Okay, she just got why Tad warned them not to go out with people who didn’t share their faith. She folded her arms across her chest.

  He stopped and lifted her chin with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you then. Avra. It’s you I care about, not her.”

  She looked into his eyes, then away, but she saw it. He did care about her. But how could she choke down his past—especially when she’d seen her face? And Cisco’s past had more faces.

  He dropped his hand. “I’ve been true to you in every way since I even thought of going out with you.”

  He’d been hurting over his parents’ divorce—doing whatever he could last summer to make the pain go away. She knew that. “Okay ... I believe you.” She pressed her lips into a small smile and willed the gallery in her mind to blank.

  Cisco heaved in a breath and let it go. “Thanks.” He gripped her hands, gratitude dampening his eyes. “I’ve messed up plenty, but at least I tell the truth.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Maybe she could have gotten by with a little less truth.

  Cisco stared at her with somber eyes. “I want to do it right this time—with you.”

  It was too late to bail now. She already cared—maybe too much. “Then, let’s do it.” She coughed. Now, there was a poor choice of words.

  Jesse slowed as Kallie zigzagged away from a wave arcing toward her sneaker. The water receded and moonlight bounced off the slick sand. He searched for a hand to hold, but Kallie had buried them in her sweatshirt pockets.

  She caught his eyes on her. “How much is Beachin’ Willie going to pay you?”

  He grinned. “Two hundred bucks a Friday.”

  “I’d have to serve a pile of eggs at the Beacon to make that.”

  He veered toward the dunes—overgrown pitchers’ mounds sporting Charlie Brown tufts of saw grass. Kallie followed him across the hard-packed sand of the daytime traffic lane. In the distance, the headlights of an occasional car crawled down North Atlantic Avenue.

  He peered at the constellations in the quiet that had settled between them. A breeze played with his hair, tickling his forehead. Kallie stood close enough to touch, her chin tilted skyward. Frayed wires sputtered inside him.

  He hooked an arm around her shoulders and sucked in a breath, hoping to catch her scent. But the wind whisked it away. He pointed. “There’s the North Star, Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Scorpius, Leo, Virgo.” He traced each with his finger. But his mind was on the feel of Kallie in the circle of his arm, her shoulder brushing his chest.

  Kallie’s silence weighed on him. He turned toward her, his hand cupping her shoulder. Moonlight shadowed her eyes and caught on her glossed lips. He could almost taste strawberry.

  Kallie slipped away.

  His hand dropped to his side. He stared at the spot where she’d stood, rejection churning into anger in his gut. She’d almost hugged him earlier when he told her Willie was hiring Beach Rats. He’d caught her eyes on him too many times to count. He might be pathetically unpracticed, but he knew when a girl was into him.

  So, why did she keep shutting him down? Two strikes. He wouldn’t give her a third. What was her problem? The need to know gnawed at his gut. He kicked an empty Budweiser can. It caught air and clattered down the other side of the dune.

  He hiked out of the dunes and scanned the beach. Where had Kallie gone? He stared at the blackness, the crashing waves. Had she returned to the car? He looked down the beach in both directions one more time and headed toward Beachin’ Willie’s.

  He paced the beach, squinting at every dark form, every movement. His heart thumped in his chest. The beach wasn’t the safest place for a girl alone.

  He called her cell. It went right to voice mail. Had she shut off her phone because she didn’t want to talk to him? Maybe she was calling somebody for a ride. Would she have the sense to wait at the 7-11? Maybe she had a friend who lived on the beachside.

  He texted. Where r u? I’m freaking. Forget about r issues. Let me take u home. B safe.

  Should he knock on her door and alert her mother? Call 911?

  He doubled back, scanning the swath of beach illuminated by a nearby condo—a couple making out on a blanket, a mound of seaweed, a runner plowing through the surf. The minutes ticked by. His fingers clenched around his keys. He pulled out his phone and checked the time—over a half hour since he’d seen her. Panic bubbled to the surface. A girl had been raped and killed in Daytona Beach last month.

  Chapter 10

  Beachin’ Willie’s parking lot had emptied, spilling pockets of kids onto the beach and Flagler Avenue. In the distance Avra heard cars stuffed with students gunning their engines while they waited for the drawbridge to come down. Cisco’s shoes scuffed across the sandy lot beside her as they headed toward the benches lining the seawall. A quiver of excitement nestled between her ribs.

  Cisco stopped and peeled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt.

  Avra’s eyes widened.

  He laughed and handed her the shirt. “You should see
your expression. I can read exactly what you’re thinking.”

  She pinched the shirt with the tips of her fingers, her gaze slipping down his smooth chest to the sliver of blue and yellow plaid showing above the waistband of his jeans. Her eyes darted to the waves breaking on the beach.

  “What’s the matter? You’ve seen my chest before.”

  “That was swimming.”

  Cisco poked his head through the clean shirt. “Pretty fine, huh?” He grinned and pushed his arms through.

  Avra shrugged, unwilling to admit this glimpse of skin seemed so much more intimate than the day at the beach.

  He took the shirt and stuffed it in his back jeans pocket like a tail. “That’s why you’re blushing, right?” He threw an arm over her shoulder.

  She smelled Bounce and sweat and Right Guard.

  They moved toward the beach ramp outside the circle of light from Breakers hamburger joint and lounge. Grease sizzled in the night. They settled on one of the benches that lined the cement walkway. Other benches held dark forms wrestling like amoebae that had been through mitosis and wanted to be one cell again.

  “Mí vainilla.” He tugged a lock of her hair, traced her ear. His face inched toward hers.

  Her heart raced. His lips pressed hers deliberately, exploring—not a first kiss, not a public kiss—urging her down an unknown road she wasn’t sure she ought to travel. His fingers threaded through her hair. The kiss lengthened and deepened. His lips trailed to her cheek, eyebrow, ear, the tender skin below her earlobe. She sucked in a breath.

  Cisco stopped. Want kindled in his eyes like a forward shooting on goal.

  Fear and warmth wrestled inside her.

  He sat back. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Her gaze darted from the white on pink of the Breakers building to the dark waves tumbling onto the sand, to the lifeguard stand and back again. “I feel weird. I’ve never done this before. It’s a little much.”

  “I promised your dad I’d behave. And I am.” He slid his fingers from her hair and held his hands out.

  She jutted her chin. “I didn’t say you were doing anything wrong.” A beach patrol pickup crept by on the sand at water’s edge. “I’m just saying how I feel.” She stared at a dot of light from a distant boat, feeling like a naïve middle-schooler.

  “Avra, look at me.”

  He shifted from the shadow and the streetlight turned the black pools in his eyes to molasses. “You can trust me to keep my word.”

  “I trust you.”

  He waved his arm toward the couples down the row. “This is what people who are going out do.”

  She leaned forward and peered at the couple three benches away. Her eyebrows shot up. They were seriously going at the one-cell thing.

  Cisco followed her gaze. “Okay, so everybody’s not into our promises.” He angled her chin back toward him with his finger. “How about we show them how to do it right?” He dropped his hand to her waist. His other arm lay across the weathered slat behind her. The question hung in his eyes.

  She felt the weight of his hand resting on her stomach. His thumb traced tiny circles on her sweatshirt, stirring up dust devils of warmth. Her gaze flitted to his chin, his eyes, his lips, and back to his eyes. “I don’t think they’re paying attention.”

  Cisco chuckled. “Funny.” He closed the distance between them.

  His lips were gentle and warm on hers. She tentatively slid her hand around his neck. He groaned and pulled her closer. Her fingers closed on the cords of his neck.

  Kallie hugged the dunes as a dark form inched up the jagged waterline toward her. She could tell he was male by the walk, the bulk of the shoulders. She slowed, poised to dash through the sawgrass toward civilization. I was crazy to run from Jesse and put myself in danger. The 7-11 had to be a mile away. At least there were houses on the other side of the dunes.

  She clenched her dead cell phone in her pocket.

  The guy’s head swiveled from side to side as he came abreast of her, maybe thirty yards away.

  She held her breath.

  He swerved toward her and doubled his pace.

  “Kallie!”

  Jesse. The tidewater of relief rushed into her like an estuary. She wobbled up to him, her knees weak. Moonlight glanced off his face, but she couldn’t read his expression. He had to be P.O.’d.

  He turned toward the Flagler Avenue ramp and hesitated as if he didn’t trust her to follow. The crash of the surf drowned out the silence between them as they hiked toward Jesse’s car.

  At Beachin’ Willie’s he unlocked the passenger door and swung it open.

  She studied his face in the red neon from Willie’s sign. She’d probably killed their friendship for good this time.

  His gaze bore into her, his jaw as hard as a fist. Finally, he blew out a breath. “Get in. I’m not going to maul you or anything.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you ran away from me.”

  “I’m sorry. I was upset.” She wasn’t afraid he’d hurt her physically, but inside. She ducked into the car.

  Jesse wheeled the car onto Flagler and headed for the North Causeway.

  She huddled in her coat, hood up, clawing for words that would make Jesse understand. I didn’t mean to run away. Their friendship was Spinning on a Kiss—or an almost kiss—again. Could Jesse go back to how he felt when he wrote that song?

  They crossed the stone bridge over the Indian River tributary onto the mainland. The silence throbbed against her courage, beating it down. He’d drop her off, drive away, and be done with her.

  Jesse pulled into her driveway and killed the engine. The car crackled and fizzed into quiet. He pinned her with his eyes. “What’s going on, Kal?” Jesse breathed in, breathed out. “You act like you’re interested, then you blow me off.”

  She leaned her head back on the headrest. “It’s not you. It’s me—issues, three miles deep. It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time.” He twisted toward her, hooking one arm on the steering wheel, and waited.

  “Not a pretty story ... not one I’ve told anyone.”

  “Come on, talk to me.”

  The pleading in his voice tugged at her. She owed Jesse an explanation for running. He’d come looking for her. He didn’t dump her at the curb. She met his eyes. And the words climbed over the dam she’d built. “When I was twelve, my father had an affair with a much-younger woman from his office. They had a baby. He divorced Mom.” And then the words flowed.

  Mom had been home, alone, recovering from a hysterectomy that day. It made Kallie physically sick to imagine Mom spending all those hours alone with only a home health nurse checking on her once a day.

  Kallie and Aly had spent Memorial Day weekend with Dad. Seven-year-old Aly lay on her stomach on Dad and Erika’s living room floor, coloring, with her feet stuck up in the air behind her. Erika nursed baby Michael in the rocker. Dad bent over the rocker, his forefinger stroking the down on Michael’s head. He doted on that baby to the point of nausea. Had he loved her like that? Ever?

  Kallie focused on the scarred trunk of the date palm over Jesse’s shoulder. She couldn’t tell him what a brat she’d been. “Anyway, we had an argument ...”

  Dad had yanked Kallie by the arm, led her out of the house, and pushed her into the backseat of his Mercedes. He shoved her suitcase onto her lap and slammed the door. Aly ran out the door after them and clambered in the other side.

  Kallie shot daggers at her father’s grim whiskered jaw from the backseat. Anger filled every molecule of air in the car. She flung herself against the leather seat, unrepentant. Finally, she glanced at Aly’s small, pale face. Kallie’s rage cracked; guilt slithered in.

  Dad swerved to a stop beside their condo. Thirty seconds later, she and Aly stood behind the car, their suitcases tossed at their feet. The car peeled away, splaying small stones. She had tasted grit in her teeth.

  Kallie brushed angry tears away, embarrassed to be crying in front of Jesse. “Dad’s never called sinc
e. It was like he mowed us down with the Mercedes and didn’t stick around to see the bloody body parts strewn across the road.”

  Jesse’s eyes went soft with emotion and she was glad she had told him.

  Streetlight spilled across Kallie as Jesse watched her take one last sniff and wipe away the remaining dampness under her eyes with the pads of her fingers. Beautiful. Broken. He wanted to hold her in his arms till she healed. But, wanting to hold her was what got him into trouble in the first place.

  Kallie slumped like a rag doll in the passenger seat. “I look healthy on the outside, but—”

  “But inside you look like the first time I saw you—clenched in a fetal position.”

  “Yeah. When did you get so smart?”

  He shrugged. “While you were talking, I kept thinking of a Bible verse that says God is a father to the fatherless.” His folks had seen to it that the cubbyholes of his brain were stuffed with Bible verses like answers to Trivial Pursuit.

  “Really? You’ve read the Bible?”

  “Not lately.” He stuffed the guilt the words awoke. “I’m sorry your dad did this to you. I’ve got stuff with my dad—” Helplessness silenced him. He opened his arms and she leaned into his chest. He inhaled the scent of a summer rain shower.

  She broke away, settling into her seat.

  But he felt closer to her than ever before. Her trust tasted sweet. “Someday, I want to make a full-court press for you, girl.”

  She lobbed a wan smile at him and let herself out. “Warn me when it’s coming.”

  He watched her open the screen door. She looked back and waved, then went inside.

  In the same way he’d known Kallie was balled into a fetal position, he knew he had the potential to hurt her as deeply as her father had.

  “I promise never to hurt you like that, Kallie.”

  Avra’s feet thudded to the floor behind the sound board as the auditorium door yawned.

  Isabel paused under the exit sign, backlit by four o’clock sun. She slumped into a seat in the side section, her hair falling to the floor behind her, legs draped over the seat in front of her. Jenna and the rest of the band’s groupies lined the first two rows of the auditorium. They waved their arms and sang along as the guys practiced.