by Hazel James
Rachel squeezes my hand, but neither of us say anything. I can’t imagine dealing with something like that, especially at such a young age. An image of Stacey from Birmingham crosses my mind, making me shudder. Talk about dodging a bullet.
“Mom, Dad, and I went to Dayna’s house and had a long discussion with her and her parents. They didn’t want Dayna’s life to be over before it started, but Mom couldn’t bear the idea of having a grandchild taken away from her. We agreed that Dayna would have the baby and sign over her parental rights if we would cover the hospital costs and not ask for child support. I worried that having a teenage dad would make my kid a target for bullying, so my parents told everyone they didn’t want to have an empty nest and decided to adopt. My name is on her birth certificate, but she knows my parents as her parents. I live at home with them and they helped me with childcare so I could finish school, and now when I work. And that’s basically it.” He takes another deep breath and wrings his hands on the steering wheel. That poor thing is taking the brunt of his anxiety. He exits the interstate, meaning we only have about five minutes before we get into town.
Avery chews on her thumbnail for a few moments then clears her throat. “How do you know Sam is yours? Maybe Dayna was with other guys too.”
“Aside from the wicked personality that she clearly inherited from me?” he asks. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile since he picked us up. “I took a paternity test right after she was born. She’s mine.” He says it proudly. Definitively. Sam might have a teenage dad, but he’s a damn good one.
“Do you plan on telling her the truth?”
“One day, when she’s older. Mom and I figure we’ll do that with the help of a counselor so we don’t screw her up any worse than we already have.”
“Do you have any other kids?”
“No. Hell no,” he says with a laugh. “I’ve only had sex once. That first time with Dayna. I’ve never even had another girlfriend until you.”
“TMI, dude,” I groan, plugging my ears for fear of hearing anything else. I was all for giving Fletcher a chance to talk to Avery, but I don’t want to be the fly on the wall in a mobile confessional booth.
“Sorry, man. I kinda forgot y’all were back there,” he laughs. “Am I going to your house or Rachel’s first?”
“Hers. I drove there and parked The Beast. Y’all can carry on with your official make up after you drop us off.”
Avery asks a few more questions along the way, and Fletcher answers them just like he promised. “Is there anything else you want to know?” he asks, turning on to Rachel’s street.
Avery tips her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “Do you have any other secrets?”
“No. Not unless you count the thing where I think I’m falling in love with you, but that’s probably not a secret.”
Jesus, he’s really laying it out there, isn’t he?
“Still back here, dude.”
“I know, asswipe,” he laughs again and pulls into Rachel’s long driveway. Like a good Uber driver, he helps get our suitcases out of the trunk and sets hers on the front porch while I toss mine in The Beast.
“Thanks for the ride, man.” We exchange one of those guy hug-handshakes. What do they call them, anyway? Hugshakes?
“Thanks for giving me twenty minutes with her as my captive audience.” He looks back at the car and smiles then turns back to me. He shuffles his feet for a moment before meeting my eye again. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” He pauses as he struggles to find the words he wants to say. “A few weeks ago, you mentioned Sam having a great dad. How did you know it was me?”
I smile. This is actually a pretty easy question for me to answer. “Dude. You always wanna do stuff with her. You sing her the monster song every night, no matter where you are. And you should see your face when you’re around her or talk about her. It’s pretty obvious.” I shrug my shoulder. My answer is solid, so I don’t have any fear that he’ll figure out the real reason.
“Huh. Well. Thanks again for helping me patch things up with Avery. I think I actually have a chance.”
“She moped around like a sad puppy all weekend.”
His face lights up. “Really?”
“Yup.” We bump fists and he returns to his car. I walk to the front porch to take Rachel’s suitcase inside, but her icy glare stops me in my tracks. If looks could kill, I have about three seconds to get right with God. She’s holding her phone in her right hand, and her left hand takes up residence on her hip. I think I might be frightened by my girlfriend.
“What the hell, James?” she whisper-yells, presumably so her parents don’t hear.
I don’t think I touched her phone all weekend. I didn’t tell anyone about our sleeping arrangements and I don’t even have social media, so I have no idea what she’s so pissed at. I’m trying to open up my Spidey senses for any help they can give, but that’s no use either.
“What?” I take a hesitant step forward, followed by another. Yes. Definitely frightened by my girlfriend.
Her mom pokes her head out the front door, and Rachel plasters a smile on her face and spins around.
“You’re back! Did y’all have a fun time?”
“We did! James was actually just getting ready to leave. I’ll be inside in just a sec.”
“Okay, sweetheart. It’s good to see you again, James.” I smile and wave as she pulls the suitcase inside and shuts the door. Rachel jumps off the porch and storms over to the far side of my truck. I follow, feeling a bit like I’m walking to my execution.
“Would you mind explaining what this is?” She jams her phone so close to my face that I have to take a step back to focus. I study the screen not having any idea what I’m looking at.
“Um. At the risk of sounding like a total smartass, I can’t. And not because I’m trying to hide something. It’s because I honestly have no idea what I’m looking at.”
“This is my Twitter feed.” Well that explains it. I don’t know anything about that shit.
“And you’re upset about something on your Twitter feed?” What the hell kind of good does having perceptive abilities do if I can’t use them when I want to?
“Yes, especially when it comes from Vivien Tanner.” She says the name like it tastes bad coming out of her mouth.
“What did she say?”
“Let’s start with what I said when I posted a video of your performance at Labyrinth.” She taps her screen and I see her post: Check out the hottie with the great singing voice. #boyfriend #rockstar #nyc. Then there’s a link to one of my songs.
“Okay…?” She taps the screen again, and I see Vivien’s page.
“Vivien retweeted my tweet a few minutes ago, and she uploaded a video of her own.” Rachel clicks on the link and I hear Vivien’s voice.
“Do I look okay, sweetheart?”
And then I hear mine.
“You have nothing to worry about, Vivien. You’re a beautiful girl.”
The video itself doesn’t show our faces. It looks more like she recorded it while her hands were in her lap. Of course she did. Oh God. I lift my palms in the air and hope she’s open to hearing my perfectly rational explanation.
“It’s not what you think.” Which is pretty much straight out of the Guilty: Caught Red-Handed guidebook. “I promise it’s not what it looks like.” I’m really digging my own grave here. Shit.
“Really? Because Vivien says she’d much rather hear your speaking voice than your singing voice. And that’s definitely your voice,” she says, jamming her finger in my chest.
“Yes, that’s my voice. But I wasn’t there when she said the first part.” I explain to her what happened that night at the animal hospital and tell her about the dream I had in New York City. Then I ask her to play the video again.
“There. See that?” I ask, pressing the pause button. I point to the shift in Vivien’s position after she says the word “sweetheart.”
“Her hands are different, and the lighting is dar
ker,” she says, as relief floods her face.
“Right. She must have recorded that after she left and edited my part to look like that’s what I said to her. I swear to God, Ray, she never asked me that question.” I take her face in my hands, searching her chocolate eyes for any sign that she believes me.
“Okay,” she whispers a few moments later. Her shoulders relax and she sinks into my embrace. “Sorry for my jealousy-induced outburst.”
“Are you kidding? You looked pretty hot.” I kiss the side of her head and breathe in the smell of her shampoo. “Even though I was a little scared of you.”
“You don’t need to be scared of me, James,” she says into my chest. “But Vivien should be.”
Now that’s hot.
“She better be in school today is all I’m saying. I will not let her get away with that shit.” Rachel dangles her legs off the tailgate of The Beast while we wait for Avery. Rachel planned to confront Vivien in the cafeteria yesterday, but she never showed up.
“She’ll be there.” I can’t see anything that happens, but I do see Ray walking out with a smile on her face and her head held high.
She cocks and eyebrow and tilts her head. “Anything in particular you want to share with me?”
“No, but I don’t think Vivien will be a problem after today.”
“Good.” A sly smile spreads across her face, which quickly turns to a squeal when she spots Avery. “There she is!” Ray’s already talked to Avery three times since I picked her up this morning. I’ve heard more shrieking and squealing than I can handle, and it’s not even eight a.m. Todd didn’t forget about his promise, and last evening Mandy rolled into their driveway in a VW Beetle. A pink Beetle. As in, Pepto-Bismol-had-an-affair- with-bubble-gum pink. It has a convertible top and eyelashes. The car has freaking eyelashes. It fits Avery perfectly. She gets out of her car and they launch into another round of ear-piercing excitement, complete with hugs and a happy dance.
Avery gives Ray a tour, which doesn’t take long considering it’s a Beetle, while I close the tailgate. Which reminds me—I need to put an up an ad on Craigslist. Hopefully, I can get enough to pay for an electric guitar. I’m thinking of getting a Fender Mustang. Or maybe a Telecaster. Or both, depending on how much money I can coax out of the poor sap who buys it.
“Here, I have something for you!” Rachel reaches down for the gift bag at my feet and thrusts it into Avery’s hands. “Open it!” She digs through the tissue paper and pulls out fuzzy dice for the rear-view mirror. They’re pink too. Big surprise.
“Lick, touch, grab, above waist, neck, boobs… Rachel, what the hell kind of dice are these?” Avery asks, reading each side.
“They’re dirty dice. I saw them at the mall last night and thought you’d like them since you and Fletcher made up.” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins.
“My best friend got me sexual dice.” She glances down at the gift then looks back at Rachel with a look of shock and pride. “Well done, Beef. Well done.” They high five and Avery hangs them on the rear-view mirror. “Now, for the best part.” She pulls an envelope out of her backpack and holds it out.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, you know. Just my FIT acceptance letter,” she says nonchalantly before bursting into another round of shrieks and hugs with Rachel. My ears can’t handle much more of this.
“Come on, you cackling hens. It’s time to go inside,” I say, wiggling my fingers inside my ears. It doesn’t help much.
Avery presses the remote lock and the car beeps in response. “Eek! Even the horn sounds cute!” She does another happy dance as we walk toward the school.
“Here,” I say, as I hand Rachel the small box she asked me to hold before Avery pulled up.
“Thanks! Avery, this is your real present,” she says, passing her the box. Avery pulls out a gold necklace with a puzzle piece charm. It matches the one Rachel’s wearing.
“Oh, I love it! Thank you thank you thank you! I can’t wait to see how it looks!” I follow the girls to their locker since I got my first and second period books before I left school yesterday. Avery’s fingers fly over the combination dial while Rachel struggles with hers, as usual. I swear it takes almost as long for her to open her locker as it does to run a mile. I lean in to offer my assistance when something falls out of Avery’s locker and lands on my foot. She’s too busy admiring her necklace and touching up her lips to notice, so I pick it up and hand it to her just as Ray conquers her lock.
“What’s this?” Avery asks, capping her lipstick.
“I dunno. It came out of your locker when you opened it.” She reads the paper, then looks over her shoulder into the hallway.
“What’s it say?” Ray slams her door shut, spins the dial, and flips it off in a moment of defiance. She’s so cute when she’s worked up. Avery hands over the note, still scanning the hall.
I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and my lips form a thin line—pretty much the exact opposite of Rachel’s reaction.
“Oooohhh, Avery’s got a secret admirer!” she sings in an elementary school tone. “I wonder how Fletcher will feel about this.”
More importantly, how does this secret admirer know that they’re back together? We got home Sunday afternoon and it’s only Tuesday morning. I guess it’s possible he didn’t realize they were split up for a few days, but my gut tells me I was right the first time.
“Secret notes inside my locker on my birthday? Please. Sixth grade called and wants its lame idea back.” Avery rolls her eyes, crumples the note, and tosses it in a trashcan as the first bell rings.
A few hours later, I walk into the cafeteria with Ray and Avery. Her eyes zero in on Vivien’s table, and that same sly smile from this morning returns to her face.
“Excuse me. Pardon me. I don’t mean to interrupt your lunch,” Rachel says, walking up to the table where Vivien and her friends are sitting. “Vivien, I see that you enjoyed James’ performance over the weekend. I actually took that video just for you since I know how much you care about him.” She smiles sweetly at her frienemy. “I did want to give you one small piece of advice, though. Brush up on your video editing skills. That way, the next time you try to make it look like some guy is calling you beautiful, people might actually believe you.”
No one at Vivien’s table says a word, but a couple of them look like they’re struggling to not laugh. Red splotches creep up Vivien’s neck and her mouth hangs open as Rachel continues her tirade.
“Oh, and my condolences for your dead cat, and for your feeble attempts at fishing for complements. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go eat lunch with my boyfriend.” She wiggles her fingers at their table, then takes my hand and leads the way to ours.
Holy shit, she’s hot.
“Were you taking a video?” Avery asks Gretchen as we pull our chairs out. I quickly look back at Vivien’s table before I sit down. The splotches on her neck have moved up to her cheeks, and I can still see her nostrils flaring from here. Serves her right.
“Yup. I’m sending it to Lainey. I swear, she misses out on the best stuff because she’s homeschooled.”
Rachel, Avery, and I bust out laughing while Gretchen hits “send.”
My phone chimes with a text, and I quickly check it between customers. The Sweet Pea is pretty packed on Fridays, and tonight’s no different.
Unknown: I want 2 check out ur breast 2nite. U free?
Two more immediately follow.
Unknown: BEAST. As in ur truck. From the craigslist ad.
Unknown: My autocorrect hates me.
Me: Ha. It’s craigslist, so you never know. I’ll be free in an hour.
We agree to meet here when my shift is over. It’s easier to find than my house, and I’d rather not give out my address to a potential breast-seeking buyer.
“Did you see all of the secret admirer messages, or just the first one?” Fletcher asks, plating the order for table three.
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br /> “All of them, but they were pretty much the same. Typed, folded, and shoved between the vents in her locker. She just rolls her eyes and throws them away.”
“I don’t know if I should be pissed or if I should high-five the dude because he has good taste in women.” He shrugs his shoulders, clearly not as worried about Avery’s secret admirer as I am, and turns his attention back to the grill. I haven’t been able to shake my bad feeling or catch anyone in the act. The message this morning was especially creepy. It said “All I wanna do is dance with you again.” Avery wasn’t terribly concerned, considering she goes to a lot of parties and has danced with half of the student body—her words, not mine. The only person she said it did rule out was Smelly Warren, because she’s never danced with him.
Gee, I wonder why.
A group of twelve comes in, forcing us to pause our Stalker Gate discussion, and the rest of my shift goes by in a blur. When I walk outside, someone is peering into the windows of The Beast.
“I see you found it,” I say.
“I did. I’m Amy,” she says with a beaming smile. “This is a beautiful truck.” She knocks two metallic thumps on the side.
“Beautiful isn’t quite the word I’d use, but okay,” I laugh.
“I’m actually a photographer. I plan on using this as a prop in my next photo series.” She hands me a card that says Amy J. Perkins Photography.
“You’re willing to spend fifteen hundred bucks on a prop?” I ask, my mouth hanging open.
“I spend twice that on lenses, easily,” she quips. “I’ve got about five acres. I want to plop this bad boy in the middle of a field and let it die a beautiful death.”