For the longest time, he sat stiffly at the other end of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, and glared at the screen, obviously wishing he were somewhere else. Then he started to relax. A scene with the minions made him smile. He dipped his hand into the popcorn bowl where it brushed up against mine.
He went completely still, while my heart thundered inside my chest so hard that I was afraid Dad—or worse, Fletcher—would hear it. The spark that shot up my arm was silly, ridiculous . . . unsettling. The only reason I didn’t jerk my hand back was because I figured it would give him some sort of satisfaction. Apparently, completely unaffected, he tiptoed his fingers over mine, before scooping up some popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. His gaze never left the screen, but I had a feeling he wasn’t watching the minions as closely, that he was aware of every breath I drew, every tingling nerve ending.
I shifted my body, tucked my legs beneath me, and stared intently at the movie, all the while so incredibly aware of Fletcher. My peripheral vision was suddenly like something a superhero would have. Even in the dimly lit room, I could see how long his eyelashes were. I made out the strong lines of his profile, detected a slight bump in his nose that I’d never noticed before but was more pronounced in silhouette. The remnants of a fight, maybe. I wanted to smack whoever had broken his nose, even knowing that Fletcher had probably started the brawl.
The odd thing was: I thought he was evaluating me just as closely and it made me want to squirm. At school, he often had his arm slung around some girl’s shoulders, and she was usually beautiful. I wasn’t slender. I was skinny. Downright skinny, with hollow cheeks and high cheekbones. Freckles dotted a nose that was too big for such a narrow face. I wasn’t hideous, but I wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous either. Usually it didn’t bother me, but then I’d never been scrutinized so thoroughly before.
Why did I care if Fletcher was paying more attention to me than the movie? He wasn’t going to make any sort of pass at me. He’d had a chance last night and hadn’t taken it. So why was I sitting here wishing we were at a real movie theater, watching a nonanimated flick, sharing popcorn, with his arm around me? This was torture.
As soon as the movie ended, Fletcher shoved himself off the couch like someone had set it on fire. He headed for the door.
“Curfew,” Dad barked.
Fletcher turned around, gave a long, slow nod, and said curtly, “Right.”
I couldn’t imagine that he’d ever had a curfew. On Sunday nights during the school year it was ten o’clock. That was about ninety minutes from now. I figured he could get into a lot of trouble in that time.
He stood there awkwardly, like he thought he should say something more. It made me uncomfortable to see him not exhibiting his usual cockiness. If he had been one of Dad’s typical projects, I would have done everything to make him feel at ease in his new surroundings. So why wasn’t I doing it?
“Thanks for joining us,” I said.
“Sure. Thanks for—” He waved his hand in a semicircle that I figured was meant to encompass the entire day, or at least the movie. “Yeah,” he finished, before walking out of the room.
Standing, I folded the afghan and set it over the back of the couch.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Jack?” Mom asked, once Fletcher was out of hearing range.
“He’ll adjust.”
Mom looked at me, nodded toward Dad—or more specifically, Tyler, who was still curled on Dad’s lap. That was my cue that she wanted to talk without little ears—or my ears—listening.
“Come on, squirt,” I said to Tyler as I lifted him in my arms. “Time for bed.”
“Read me a story?”
“Absolutely.”
A story ended up being three before he finally drifted off, but I didn’t mind. Thinking about how much I’d miss him when I went off to college, I wandered into my room. One of my favorite places was the window seat in the corner. One window looked out on the front street, the other overlooked the garage. Sitting on the large purple pillow, I brought my legs up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and gazed out at the garage. I didn’t think it had been a conscious decision on my part not to turn on the lights, to just let the streetlights and moon illuminate the path I’d taken to the windows, but I did feel a little creepy that Fletcher wouldn’t know I was here, wouldn’t know I was watching him.
Hunched forward, forearms pressed to his thighs, he was sitting on the top of the steps leading to his apartment. I wondered if he was considering making a break for it. I couldn’t blame him. Someone who got into as much trouble as he did probably wasn’t used to parental controls. And my dad was all about control.
I watched as he lifted a bottle to his lips, took a long swallow. It looked like a beer bottle. If Dad caught him with that . . .
Wasn’t any of my business, but I’d been big sister to about half a dozen kids during my life, and while Fletcher was older than I was, I couldn’t quite shrug off my protective nature. With a roll of my eyes and a huff, knowing I was probably going to regret it, I headed outside.
Chapter 6
FLETCHER
I liked listening to the quiet. It wasn’t totally without sound, but it was hushed, calm. I could hear the occasional car going down a distant street, a dog barking. I could hear the crickets, the wind rustling leaves in the trees. I could hear the creak of a gate opening, the slap of flip-flops on a cement path.
Avery hesitated at the foot of the stairs. Her reluctance to be here radiated off her in waves. She squared her shoulders and started up. I didn’t want to admire her, but I did. She had a strength, a toughness that wasn’t immediately visible from the outside. You had to look close. Or closely, I guessed. Verbs, adverbs, adjectives. What did it matter? Words weren’t going to change my life.
I’d labeled her a suck-up, a Goody Two-shoes. When the truth was: she was just nice.
I didn’t know what to do with nice.
She lowered herself to the step I was sitting on, pressed her shoulder against the railing to put space between us. She was leaning so hard against it that I was surprised the wood didn’t splinter and give way. She didn’t say anything, just sat there, arms wrapped around her stomach, staring out into the street like it appeared I was doing. Only, I was watching her.
“My dad can be a little overwhelming with his family time,” she said softly. “It’s his job, I think. There’s always a chance when he leaves for work, he won’t come back.”
“That’s morbid.”
“But reality. He got shot several years back when he was working undercover, nearly died, so he never takes time with us for granted. I love him, I love that he’s attentive, but between you and me, I can’t wait to move out, to have some freedom.”
I didn’t know why my gut clenched at the thought of her leaving. What did I care where she went? Still, I heard myself ask, “When are you going?”
“The fall, when I start college.” She seemed to relax, her shoulders rounding slightly. She sighed. “Austin. I’m going to Austin, major in biology, become a doctor. What are you going to do after graduation?”
“Probably get a haircut.”
Her head snapped around so fast that I actually heard her neck pop. Since I was looking at her discreetly, it didn’t take much for me to turn my eyes toward her. Her brow was furrowed and her mouth was slightly scrunched up. I didn’t think she often looked confused.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked.
I shrugged. “My hair is getting pretty long.”
She released a deep sigh and uncurled her body, frustration with me chasing away whatever wariness she’d felt when she first arrived. “Can’t you share anything? Why do you have to be so mysterious?”
Because sharing meant opening yourself up to hurt. I wasn’t going there, not with her, not with anyone. Instead, I lifted the bottle I held between two fingers and took a deep swig.
“My dad is not going to be happy that you’re drinking beer. Where did you get it, anywa
y?”
“Grocery store.” I took another swig.
“How? You’re not—” She swiped it out of my hands.
“Hey!” I objected, but I wasn’t childish enough to try to get it back.
She examined it more closely. “It’s root beer.”
“Your powers of deduction are amazing, Sherlock.”
She faced me fully. “That’s what you were drinking last night. That’s why you didn’t reek of beer, why you said you were fine to drive.”
“You noticed how I smelled?” I asked, although the truth was that I remembered the strawberry scent of her hair as I held her close.
Ignoring my question, she took a sip, shook her head, released a light laugh that caught on the breeze. “It really is root beer.”
“Want me to get you one?” I asked.
“Nah.” She offered the bottle back to me.
I finished it off, set it aside. And we both just sat there, looking out. It was a nice neighborhood, nicer than the one I lived in. Mine couldn’t even be called a neighborhood really. Just a string of trailers.
“I could cut your hair,” she said quietly.
I peered over at her. “Yeah, right, I’m going to let you take scissors to my hair.”
She grinned. “Clippers, not scissors. I could use my dad’s.”
“So I look like a cop? No thanks.”
“I wouldn’t cut it that short.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Might help with the job interview tomorrow.”
“It’s pretty much a done deal, thanks to your dad.”
“Yeah, my dad is pretty good at making things happen. Want to know something funny about him?”
I could not imagine there was anything at all funny about her dad, but maybe it would give me some leverage. “Sure.”
“He hates donuts.”
“He’s a cop. They’re supposed to live for donuts.”
She laughed lightly. “I know, right? But my dad can’t stand them, and I love them. When I was little, he’d picked me up from day care and we’d go to the donut shop across the street. We’d sit at the counter. I’d get a donut, he’d get a cup of coffee, and I’d tell him all about my day. The smallest things fascinated him.” She linked her fingers together. “I haven’t thought about our trips to the donut shop in years.”
If I had that kind of memory, I’d think about it every day.
She studied me, and I wondered what she saw. Probably a loser. Most people did.
“I think it’s neat that your dad taught you to work on cars,” she said. “Is he a mechanic?”
“No, he just liked to tinker. He had a ’65 Mustang that he was restoring. I would just sit and watch. One day he let me tighten a nut.” I’d been about five. I remembered his hand covering mine on the wrench as he guided my movements. “I was hooked after that.”
So maybe I did have some good memories. Like Avery, I’d forgotten to think about them.
“What happened to the Mustang?” she asked.
“He sold it, I guess. I was just a little kid. One day it wasn’t there anymore.”
“That kinda makes me sad.”
Somehow I wasn’t surprised. I’d seen her tear up during the movie—over cartoon characters. “My dad isn’t sentimental. He probably needed the money. Or maybe it was someone else’s car all along. Unlike your dad, he’s not a big talker.”
“Is that why you don’t reveal much? You’re like your dad?”
I didn’t want to be, but I heard myself say, “Probably.”
She sighed. “Yeah, sometimes I think we’re more like our parents than we realize or want to be. And on that note, I’ll say good night.” She stood. “No family movie time tomorrow night.”
I wasn’t about to admit that I’d enjoyed sitting beside her tonight, watching a sappy movie. I was used to being alone, used to watching out for myself. It was strange to have people around who were trying to take care of me. Meals, chores, movies.
Watching her descend the stairs, I knew I needed to be careful around her. She had a way of making me want to tell her things that I’d never told anyone. That could only lead to trouble.
Chapter 7
AVERY
I didn’t know if Fletcher got the notice that we ate breakfast at our house, but he wasn’t there when I came downstairs and grabbed a yogurt. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t anywhere around and his bike was gone. I couldn’t imagine that he’d headed to school early. I told myself it wasn’t my business. Maybe he just had stuff to do.
I arrived at school and pulled Trooper—the name I’d given my ancient car because it sounded like it was going to die at any moment but just kept plugging along—into a vacant slot near the back of the parking lot. I grabbed my backpack and walked along the cement path that led to the courtyard where a couple of fountains bubbled.
I didn’t spot Kendall on her usual bench, getting in some last-minute kisses with Jeremy—because it was so awful not to be with him for three hours before lunch. So I strolled on by. She was probably at her locker. That wasn’t too far from mine, and we usually met there to catch up before heading to our first class together. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t think Fletcher was as bad as we’d heard. As a matter of fact, I kind of liked him.
Scooter stopped in front of me, blocking my path. “Hey, Avery.”
His tone was inviting, friendly. It made me smile. I didn’t think he even knew who I was. I’d been at his party but that was because of Jeremy. “Hey, Scooter. Great party Saturday night.”
His blue eyes twinkled. “Yeah, I heard you had a good time.”
He was talking to someone else about me? He was one of the most popular guys in our class. I had to admit I was flattered. “Loads of fun.”
He grinned broadly, his teeth such a bright white that I almost had to put on my sunglasses. “We should hang out sometime.”
My jaw almost dropped. He sounded like he really meant it, that he wanted to spend some time with me. “That’d be fun.”
He winked. “I’ll be in touch.” He walked off, those long legs that made him a star on the football field quickly putting distance between us.
I stood there, trying to process what had just happened. From the moment I’d entered high school, I’d hoped to get some attention from guys. Now, right at the end, a guy was finally showing some interest.
My step was a little lighter as I headed to the building that housed my locker. Wait until I told Kendall about this. She wouldn’t believe it.
I was nearly to the door when a guy I didn’t know stopped walking and gave me a once-over like he was measuring me for a new outfit. Although he was cute, he made me feel a little uncomfortable. I reached for the door.
“I’ll get that,” he said. Leaning in, he brushed his shoulder against mine as he pulled open the door. “Avery, right?”
I blinked in surprise. “Right.”
“I’m Josh.” He grinned. “See you around.”
The door closed with us on opposite sides of it before I could ask, “Around what?” That encounter was a little odd. Although I was wearing a new blue top that Kendall had assured me was very flattering. . . .
I’d taken four steps inside when Rhys Adams winked at me, like we shared a secret that no one else knew. Our star quarterback doesn’t normally wink at me. Maybe he just got something in his eye. Because three guys giving me attention was beyond weird.
Jade—whom he usually winked at—narrowed her eyes at me, or so it seemed. No doubt her contacts were giving her trouble. Or maybe she was still upset from our little encounter at the party. It was hard to tell with her. She seemed perpetually put out with something or someone.
I’d almost reached my locker when Kendall practically barreled into me. “I told you that your reputation would be ruined.”
“What are you talking about?”
She grabbed my arm and began propelling me toward the restrooms. “You are not going to believe this.”
�
�What? New toilets in the stalls?”
“Not funny, Avery. So not funny.” She shoved open a door, pushed me through. Then seemed surprised that half a dozen girls were standing at the mirrored sinks applying lipstick, eyeliner, or mascara. It was part of the morning ritual for some of them.
“I need to get my books,” I told her. “Or I’m going to be late for class.”
“What you need to do is listen.” She guided me back into the little alcove where the tampon dispenser had been installed, like girls wanted privacy when purchasing feminine hygiene products. “He made a bet with some of the guys at the party. Twenty bucks that he could get into your pants. He collected.”
I stared at her. Usually I was good at deciphering what she was saying when she got into one of her speed-talking rolls without her having to repeat herself, but I got stuck on the idea that some guy wanted to get into my pants. “Who?”
“Fletcher,” she whispered harshly. “That’s why he gave you a ride home.”
A cold chill trickled along my spine. My knees went weak. I pressed my back to the tiled wall. I thought about Scooter’s smile, Josh’s eyes roaming over me, Rhys’s wink, Jade’s glare. I shook my head. “But like I told you, nothing happened.”
“He says it did.”
Had I really worried about him last night, gone out to talk with him, comfort him, make him feel welcome? Had I really considered that I could like him?
The girls suddenly rushed out of the bathroom like we were under a zombie attack. But I just stood there like a zombie myself. Even after the first bell rang.
“Come on,” Kendall said, shaking me back to life.
“I don’t understand why he did that.” I staggered for the door, like my brain couldn’t connect to my legs. Definitely a zombie.
“Money? Because he’s a douche?”
“But we talked. He seemed . . . nice.” He rubbed my back when I threw up. I grabbed the books I needed for class from my locker, then quickened my pace, grateful that Kendall and I had Advanced Calculus together. And that Scooter, Josh, Rhys, Jade, and especially Fletcher would not be there.
Trouble From the Start Page 5