Trouble From the Start

by Rachel Hawthorne

  He dropped a tool into the box. It clanged. He picked up another one. “It’s just something I’m doing on my own time. Smiley was okay with it.”

  “Like when you worked on my car?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Let me just finish what I’m doing here.”

  I leaned against the side of the car, intrigued that he could look into what appeared to be a scramble of parts and know what needed to be fixed. I was also curious, maybe even a little jealous that he was giving time to someone else’s car like he had mine. I had hoped I was special. “Whose car is it?”

  “Mrs. Ellis,” he said through gritted teeth as he struggled with something—tightening, loosening, I didn’t know.

  “The English teacher?” I asked, surprised. She wasn’t that much older than us. Did he have a crush on her?

  “That’s the one.”

  “Her husband’s serving in Afghanistan.”

  “That’s what I heard. She brought it in for an oil change, but it’s just a breakdown waiting to happen. Frayed belts, loose hoses. If her husband was here, he’d probably have replaced them all by now, so I’m just doing it.”

  “On your own time so she’s not charged for labor.”

  He gave a little awkward shrug.

  My chest tightened. I was falling for him. There was a goodness to him that he didn’t see. “You’re a nice guy.”

  “Smiley’s covering the cost of the parts.”

  “Okay, so two nice guys.”

  He grunted as whatever he’d been struggling with gave. With a nod of satisfaction, he looked at me. “So what did you bring me to eat?”

  We sat on stools at a workbench where tools hung on pegs. The fragrance of oil and grease wafted around us. I unveiled the plate and handed him a fork. He poked at the Brussels sprouts.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Brussels sprouts. You know . . . vegetables.”

  With a grimace he shook his head and dove into the lasagna.

  “You want to hear something kind of cool?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  He reached into a pocket, withdrew a key, and grinned. “Smiley gave me a key to the shop so I could lock up when I’m done.” He studied the brass like it was pure gold. “He trusts me with all of this.”

  “Of course he does,” I told him.

  Shaking his head, he slipped the key back into his pocket. “I don’t know. Makes me feel different.”

  “It’s a good feeling when people trust you, depend on you.”

  “Yeah.” As though suddenly uncomfortable, he turned his attention back to the lasagna. “This is good.”

  “It’s Mom’s secret recipe. Noodles from a box, sauce from a jar.”

  He smiled. “Might be something I could make, then.”

  “Most definitely. All her recipes are quick and easy. She’s not a fan of cooking.”

  “How about you?”

  “I like making desserts. That’s about it.” Reaching over, I snagged one of the Brussels sprouts from his plate and popped it into my mouth. “I can’t believe you don’t eat vegetables.”

  “I can’t believe you do. They’re gross.”

  “They’re healthy.” I glanced around. “You like working here?”

  “Yeah. Don’t know that I want to do it forever, but it’s good for now.” He finished off the lasagna and toast.

  “How much longer will you be?” I asked as I rewrapped the plate and slipped it into the cover.

  “About an hour.”

  “That’s not too late. We can still get some tutoring in.”

  Suddenly he looked very uncomfortable. “I know I should have texted you, but I’m . . . uh . . . meeting someone when I’m finished here.”

  My heart gave a little thud, but I tried to keep my voice level, not to give away how much I was bothered by his announcement. “Oh? Anyone I know?”

  “Probably not.”

  “A girl, I assume.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s good,” I said as I hopped off the stool. “Hope you have fun.”

  I picked up the plate holder. Unfortunately, I hadn’t closed it securely. The plate slid out and shattered on the floor. Brussels sprouts rolled all over the place.

  “Great,” I muttered as I bent down and began picking up the broken pieces.

  Fletcher crouched. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “No, I made the mess. I’ll take care of it. You need to finish with the car, so you’re not late for your date.”

  “I don’t date. I get together with girls. Girls who aren’t looking for any kind of a commitment. They just want a good time. That’s all I’m looking for.”

  “And I’m not a good time.”

  He sighed. “I told you, Avery. It would never work with us.”

  “I get that,” I said. “I do. You want easy. And I’m not that.”

  He sighed. “You are most definitely not easy. Let me clean this up.”

  I tried really hard not to let his words hurt, but still they stung. “You sweep. I’ll hold the dustpan.” With my head down, it would give me time to recover before I had to face him.

  When the last of the mess was cleaned up, I held the quilted cover to my chest. “Sorry I had to put you to so much trouble,” I said to Fletcher.

  “Not a problem.”

  “Liar,” I said with a false grin. “See you later.”

  I knew he was standing in the doorway of the bay watching me as I drove off. I almost waved, but I was too busy kicking myself for coming here with expectations that maybe things would work between us. I was also a bit unsettled to discover that I had a spiteful streak. I really, really hoped that he had a lousy time on his date.

  Chapter 30

  FLETCHER

  Her name was Raven. She had short, coal-black hair that spiked in all directions, thick black liner around startling green eyes, a stud in her lip, a ring in her eyebrow, and a 3D tattoo on her hand that made it look like her skin was being peeled back to reveal bone. I knew her from school. She graduated last year and was studying music at a university near Dallas. She was home for the summer.

  We’d gone out a couple of times, once last summer, once at Christmas. She’d called my cell phone because she’d stopped by the trailer and a neighbor told her I no longer lived there. It had occurred to me that if I made a point to see other girls, I wouldn’t keep thinking about Avery.

  So here I was at a club where I shouldn’t be since I was underage. But a fake ID opened a lot of doors.

  Raven and I were sitting on a couch. Well, I was on the couch. She was in my lap, swaying to the music that was bound to leave us both deaf.

  “I love this band!” she shouted.

  She was about six inches shorter than Avery, three inches wider. Why did I even notice that?

  “They’re good,” I yelled back.

  “We should dance,” she said. Then moved in and kissed me.

  This was what I wanted. Easy. A kiss, a dozen of them. The sensations—

  But it wasn’t Avery’s mouth, or Avery’s taste, or Avery’s sweetness.

  Drawing back, Raven slid off my lap and snuggled against me. “Want to go somewhere and make out?” she asked.

  “Let’s listen to the band for a while.” What guy said that? One who felt guilty for being here, one who thought he might have hurt Avery’s feelings. But better to hurt her now, to cut things off early rather than later. She was probably glad she didn’t have to tutor tonight. She was probably with Kendall and Jeremy, doing something fun.

  Why was I thinking about her? The whole reason I was with Raven was so I wouldn’t think about Avery.

  “Let’s dance,” Raven insisted. She jumped to her feet, grabbed my hand, and pulled me up.

  The dance floor was only about two feet away, so we reached it fairly quickly. Raven started gyrating and was pretty much dancing with everyone in the area. Why were we here?

  We’d arrived separately, met up outside. I’d asked
her about her courses, her summer job, and the local band she played in. She hadn’t asked me about graduation—I would have lied if she had. She hadn’t asked me about my job. Hadn’t even asked how I was doing. She just wanted someone to have a good time with.

  That’s what I thought I wanted, too. This was a party place. I should have been having a blast.

  Raven was moving away from me. I caught up with her, leaned in, and shouted, “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  “I’m only hungry for the music.”

  She wound her arms around my neck, and moved against me. She wasn’t the girl I’d gone out with before. Or maybe I wasn’t the guy she’d gone out with.

  I leaned down and shouted, “I gotta go. Have class in the morning.”

  “Summer school! Getting a jump on those college classes?”

  “Something like that.”

  She put out her thumb and forefinger and mouthed, “Call me.”

  Then she was gone, lost in the crowd.

  I stood there, feeling lost, too.

  Chapter 31

  AVERY

  Wednesday night I worked for Katie because Colorado surprised her by coming to see her. Understandably, she’d wanted the night off to be with him, so she asked me to fill in for her. So it was Thursday before I saw Fletcher again. Right after we cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen, Fletcher brought out his algebra book.

  I sat beside him. I was dying to know how his date went but I refused to give him any satisfaction by asking. “Sorry I had to work last night. They had a situation at the restaurant and I needed to cover for someone.”

  “Not a problem. You’re helping me out here, so we’re on your schedule.”

  “Then you’re okay if we only do half an hour tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Since we’re a little behind why don’t you just tell me if there’s anything you’re having difficulty with.”

  “Yeah, this section is confusing me just a little.”

  “Okay.” I spent several minutes explaining it, showing different examples, working out some problems. When I looked up, I found him watching me, admiration in his eyes.

  “You’re really good at explaining things so they’re understandable,” he said.

  I lifted a shoulder. “I love teaching.”

  His brow furrowed. “But you’re not going to school to be a teacher.”

  “No, I think my parents might be disappointed if I did that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m smart, good at math and science. So it just makes sense that I should go into medicine, be a doctor, do research. Make a difference.”

  “Teaching makes a difference.”

  “Being in medicine will have more impact.”

  He studied me. “But it’s your life. Shouldn’t you do what you enjoy?”

  “I want to do what makes them the proudest. Everything I’ve ever done has been to make them proud.”

  Turning his chair slightly, he faced me. “I think they’d be proud no matter what you did.”

  “You don’t know them. You may think you do, but you don’t. They have certain expectations—”

  “How do you know that they’d be disappointed if you became a teacher?”

  It was all right for him to interrogate me, but I couldn’t ask questions? I thought about directing us back to the algebra problems, but he’d never expressed such interest in me before, and I didn’t want to cut him off the way he always did me. I could teach by example that it was okay to share. “I know what they expect.”

  “How? Have you ever told them you want to be a teacher?”

  “I don’t have to. Mom and I have talked about me being a doctor since the first time she let me listen to my heartbeat with her stethoscope.”

  “How old were you?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “How old were you?” he repeated.

  “Five.”

  “You don’t think she’d understand if what you wanted to be when you grew up changed in twelve years?”

  “What I’m going to study in school really isn’t any of your business.” Okay, so I pulled out the none-of-your-business card but I knew my parents a lot better than he did. I knew what they wanted, what they expected.

  “It’s ironic, though, don’t you think, that you want me to share more of myself with you—my dreams, my plans—and yet you don’t share yours with your parents?”

  I gave him a pointed look. “Do you share yours with your dad?”

  “No, but then I’m not trying to meet his expectations.”

  The doorbell rang. I checked the time on my phone. “I’ve got to go. That’s my date.” I stood up. “If you want to leave your homework on the table, I’ll check it when I get in.”

  “Your date?”

  “Avery!” Tyler yelled as he ran into the dining room. “Marc’s here. I like him!”

  “Of course you do,” I said, ruffling Tyler’s hair. “He’s nice.”

  I looked back at Fletcher. “For practice, do page one-fifty, all the even problems.”

  “The answers to the even problems aren’t in the back of the book.”

  He sounded seriously irritated, and for some reason that made me smile. “Yeah, I know. Just leave them on the table and I’ll check them when I get home.”

  I didn’t understand why I was nervous as I walked into the foyer where Mom and Dad were talking with Marc. When I’d shown up for work last night, he’d been there. I’d told him if the invite was still open, I’d love to go to a movie with him. Two could play the dating-others game. And who knew? Maybe away from work, I’d like Marc as more than a friend.

  “Hi, Marc,” I said.

  “Hey.” He was standing there, appearing to feel a little awkward. I knew my parents could be overwhelming.

  “Marc was just telling us that he’s majoring in computer science,” Mom said. “That’s a good field, lot of potential.”

  I could see her thinking, Excellent dating choice.

  “We should go,” I said, fully aware that Fletcher was hovering just inside the doorway that led from the dining room. “We don’t want to miss the previews.”

  “We’d like her home by midnight,” Dad said. I should have known that tonight he’d exercise his right to set a curfew. I was actually fine with it. Probably a good idea to have a time limit on a first date.

  “Oh, absolutely, sir,” Marc said. “Not a minute later.”

  “All right then,” Dad began, “you two be careful.”

  “Have to be,” Marc said. “Can’t afford to get married. Oh, man.” He held up his hands like the SWAT team had just flooded into the room. “That was not cool. I apologize, sir. I have the utmost respect for your daughter, sir.”

  Laughing lightly, I nudged Marc toward the door, while giving my dad a reassuring look. He didn’t have anything to worry about. “It’s okay, Marc. He knows you’re joking.”

  When we were outside, I peered back into the foyer and gave my scowling dad a thumbs-up and a smile before closing the door behind us. Marc was breathing deeply. I thought he might hyperventilate. I rubbed his shoulder. “Really, it’s okay.”

  “I’ve never gone out with a girl whose dad packs heat. Made me a little nervous.”

  “You did fine.”

  He took my hand and we walked to the car. When we got there, he opened the passenger door for me.

  “Thanks,” I said as I climbed in.

  “All part of the service.” He closed the door, trotted around to the driver’s side, and slid behind the wheel. After starting the car, he backed out of the drive. “So I saw Fletcher standing in the doorway. He didn’t seem too happy with this outing.”

  “That’s his problem.”

  “Ah, a woman scorned.”

  “No, I just . . . okay, yes, I guess. I don’t know. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

  Well, this was dif
ferent. I could probably play a thousand questions with Marc and he’d answer every one. “Tell me about your courses.”

  “Boring to talk about, but if I could show you some of the results of the computer classes, then you might find it a little more interesting. Don’t know if your mom would be so impressed if she knew the emphasis of my computer skills is going to be gaming and simulation. You tell someone you want to program games and they think you haven’t quite grown up.”

  Tonight was going to be more fun than I expected. Marc talked using multiple sentences. “Are you grown up?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not. Look at the movie I chose for our date: The Avengers. How grown up is that?”

  “I like superheroes,” I told him, and tried not to think about Fletcher and our discussion of superheroes. That all seemed so long ago.

  The lines weren’t too bad, but Marc had purchased our tickets ahead of time. We got a big tub of buttered popcorn to share and two small drinks.

  “My favorite part of going to the movies is the previews,” Marc said once we were settled in our seats.

  “Mine, too.”

  It was such a relief not to have to prod him for information. He shared so openly. And he didn’t talk during movies. Not a word. Which worked for me because I always immersed myself in the story.

  Although tonight I was thinking about the conversation I’d had with Fletcher earlier. Had I misread my parents’ expectations regarding my career choice? I’d never thought about being anything other than a doctor, but was that what I wanted? Fletcher had given me something to think about.

  When the movie was over, Marc and I went to an all-night pancake house.

  “So,” he began, as I poured warm syrup over my buttered pancakes, “should I assume that our going out tonight was a one-time event?”

  I looked up. “I had a good time. I’m having a good time. The date’s not over yet.”

  “But you’re not sitting over there hoping I’ll kiss you.”

  I looked up at the ceiling. I wasn’t.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t be insulted, but I’m not thinking about kissing you either.”

  I laughed. “You are so open. I wish I were thinking about kissing you. You’re nice, Marc. I really like you. And I really have had a fun time.”