by P. Dangelico
“So––are we going?” She runs a finger down my neck into the hollow between my collarbone.
“No.”
Confused, her brow wrinkles. She studies my face closely. “What’s going on with you? I went to the bathroom for like––ten minutes. You seemed fine, and now you look like someone died.”
Truer words.
“Someone did die. Maybe some other time.”
It’s a lie and she’s smart enough to know it. Without waiting for an answer, I walk back into the house, go to grab a beer from the fridge––the one with my family’s name on it––and stop. Then I reach for the Pellegrino instead and head to my bedroom.
Grabbing my phone, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the contacts, my finger hovering over Dora’s phone number. I don’t know what it is about this girl. Except…and maybe I’m reading too much into this…when she looks at me, it feels like she sees me.
I
Am
Sorry
I press Send.
Dora
unknown number: Thanks for the notes. Are you here?
Am I here? Why does he care if I’m here or not? It’s not like all is forgiven just because I’m sending him notes. I would’ve done the same for anyone in need. This is the second text I’ve received, the first was an apology of sorts. Now this. My finger hovers over the keyboard. I type. Erase. Type erase.
Me: Maybe
It’s the NCAA Men’s Water Polo Championships––the Malibu Sharks against the Stanford Cardinal––and it’s not going to be a walk in the park. They’ve already lost badly to the Cards during the season, and with Reagan playing, we’re all here to support him.
“Who’s that?” Blake casually asks when she sees me looking at my phone. The aquatics center is packed tonight so we’re crammed tightly on the bleachers. There’s no hiding the texts coming in.
“Somebody from class,” I prevaricate. It’s mostly true. With a small omission.
The team is still in the locker room. Which is probably why Dallas is texting. Even though his playing days are over, he travels with them. He’s still part of the team. They wouldn’t be in the position to play in the championship if it hadn’t been for him.
“Is he cute?”
Blake looks hopeful for me and I can’t even explain to her why all hope is lost. Nothing like a crush making an utter fool of you to kill said crush.
“I t-thought he was, b-but he turned out to be a major disappointment.”
If Zoe gets wind that I’ve been helping him out in class I will never hear the end of it. I haven’t told anyone, primarily Zoe, about the phone scam because I don’t want to be an accessory to murder.
“Cute enough to fuck?” Zoe chimes in––loudly. She’s sitting at the other end of the bleacher, Blake and Alice between us, but the volume of her voice is really unnecessary.
The middle-aged lady seated on the bench behind us glares. Probably somebody’s mother. I smile tightly and turn my displeasure onto the loud one. “Can you please k-keep your voice down?” I hiss.
Zoe makes a face, and my phone––my completely damaged phone––pings with an incoming text.
It’s a meme of a kitten. The most adorable rust-colored kitten.
I want to stay mad. I really do. But the kitten is so cute that I just can’t. Behold the new and improved me, smiling at a kitten meme.
“Somebody’s crushing on somebody,” Alice sing-songs. I give her my best don’t go there look, and she frowns in confusion. Searching Google, I find the ugliest picture of an old guy in a diaper. The caption reads: Big Crybaby. It took me weeks to figure out what his ridiculous Halloween costume was. Attaching the butt-ugly picture, I press send and smile.
Chapter Ten
Dora
What the actual eff?
I spot him through the glass door and freeze. Seriously, I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I refuse to play along. I glance around to ascertain whether I’m in the right place, and yep, I am. It’s Paw Nation, the no-kill shelter in Venice where I volunteer.
So what is Dallas doing here? And why are Vi and Mika, the two women that own it, talking to him? New semester plus new classes was supposed to equal no more Dallas. And yet, here he is.
I left for Del Mar shortly after finals and haven’t seen him since. His injuries have healed nicely. In fact, he’s never looked better I’m sorry to report. The blond streaks in the disorderly perfection that is his hair are more pronounced, his cheekbones freshly tan. And despite that he’s wearing a black t-shirt that has seen better days, the ubiquitous silver basketball shorts, and flip-flops, he looks freaking gorgeous. His lips lift in a faint smile and I blush. Darn it. I thought I was getting better at this, that I was growing immune.
I enter and the bells hanging on the door jangle. Mika and Vi turn to look at me, but my attention stays on Dallas. Standing on his right is Vi, my favorite walking contradiction. She looks like a fairy princess, small and delicate, and yet she speaks in language that would make both my dads blush. Then there are the piercing and tattoos, and the fact that she’s a proud gun enthusiast.
Vi’s girlfriend, Mika, stands on the other side of him. She’s a professional trainer to the stars and only works at the shelter part-time. Mika’s your quintessential California beach girl with her fresh-faced look, long black hair, and thousand-watt smile.
“Dor! Great, you’re here,” Vi says. Her usually spiky platinum hair is dyed lavender today. “I was just telling Dallas that we have a volunteer that goes to Malibu U as well.”
Vi examines my face, and when she finds the absence of all joy, a frown appears on hers. “Do you two know each other?” Her head bobs back and forth between us.
“Yeah, we do. Hi, Dora.” He smiles. I do not smile back.
“W-What are you doing here?” I inquire, addressing the person in question.
“Community service. Vi and Mika were kind enough to agree to let me work my hours off here.” He turns his lethal charm on them, unleashing his signature brain-bludgeoning smile. “I really appreciate it, ladies.”
He’s gonna try to butter-up these two? Really? I find comfort in knowing that Vi and Mika are the last people on the planet that would fall for his dirty-flirty tricks.
“Our pleasure,” one intones, batting her lashes.
“Nonsense. We’re happy to have you,” the other adds.
When both of them smile up at him, I’m on the verge of throwing up. I cannot believe what I am witnessing with my own eyes.
“Is this going to be a problem?” Vi asks, suddenly concerned.
Yes.
“No,” I tell her while Dallas watches me closely. Vi doesn’t know about our sordid history, and I don’t want to look petty and immature. She doesn’t need me to spell it out; she can see that I’m less than thrilled. Helping him with his notes in class was one thing, having to endure him here, in my safe space, is altogether too much.
“Since he can’t do too much with his shoulder still healing, I’m going to buddy him up with you––”
I barely manage to restrain a groan. Being in constant proximity to him is torture. A wild Dallas can charm the pants off anyone. A remorseful, humbled Dallas, I’ve come to learn, is even more dangerous. This is really not fair. Like seriously, I try to be a good person. What have I done to deserve this?
“You can show him how we do things around here so when his shoulder is better he can hit the ground running at the Abbot Kinney location.”
“Abbot Kinney?” Dallas asks, looking genuinely interested.
“The new shelter we’re building,” Vi explains. “It’s a larger prop with grass. You know, room for the dogs to play.” Vi has a habit of shortening words for no good reason.
Posey, Vi’s Beagle, sidles up to Dallas, her tail whipping back and forth against his leg. Lowering himself on his haunches, he pets the old girl with the missing eye.
“Who are you?” he asks her.
“That’s Posey. My dog. We res
cued her from a lab that was testing cosmetics on animals. That’s why she’s blind…Pose say hello.”
On cue, Posey dutifully gives a Beagle howl and Dallas grins. “She was in a tiny cage for the first seven year of her life. She had no idea what grass was. Didn’t even know how to drink out of a bowl. Don’t buy products that test on animals, dude.”
“I don’t,” he answers back.
“Let’s start with the c-cages,” I tell him and walk away, heading to the cat section. There are about twenty litter boxes that need to be cleaned twice a day. Vi and Mika keep the place spotless. Without a word, Dallas follows.
“You don’t want me here?” he murmurs as I open the closet to retrieve the cleaning supplies.
“I r-really don’t c-care either way.”
I grab the gallon of natural cleaner off the shelf and he takes it from me. He attempts to that is, because I don’t let go. I tug. He tugs. We both tug. He’s much stronger so he wins.
I glance up into his carefully neutral expression. But something––a flicker of regret perhaps, crosses his face. He’s a beautiful, screwed-up boy I remind myself. The regret is a passing sentiment.
“You can tell me if you don’t want me.”
Talk about a loaded sentence. For a moment, I’m tempted to scream at him for embarrassing me. For invading my privacy. For being mean. And then the flame of anger burns out and I’m left cold. No matter what he says, how momentarily remorseful he looks, he doesn’t care about anything other than the next thrill, the next challenge. That’s all this is for him. Entertainment. A distraction from his rich boy “ennui.” That’s all I am to him.
“I don’t care w-what you do, Dallas. Just…stay out of my way.”
For the next two hour, I show him my routine, and he intermittently asks questions. Other than that, I don’t look at him and he doesn’t force a conversation.
“Can you do me a favor?” Vi whispers as I retrieve my backpack from her office, ready to leave for the day.
The most lethal question in the English language if you ask me. By themselves, the words are totally benign, but string them together and they have the power to take down pretty much anyone. And at this very moment, it looks like I’m it. Mind you, she’s seated at her desk, cleaning her gun.
Vi’s round, almost-purple eyes are unblinking and glued on me. Not a good sign. Meanwhile, I stare back like her face is ready to detonate all over me. “Umm…”
“Nothing big,” she continues in a volume of voice that can only be described as alarmingly conspiratorial. “Just a small one.” She plays with the piercing in her lip. It’s her tell. The one she doesn’t know she has. And it means she’s up to no good, concocting a scheme.
“Umm…”
“You’d really be helping me out.” She gives me a pointed stare before throwing a sneaky glance out the open door to examine Dallas who’s too busy playing with a fat black and white cat named Monster to pay us any mind.
“He needs a ride back to campus––you know, suspended license and all that. Anyfuckingway, two birds one stone.” She pastes on a toothy grin, which only manages to make her look like a serial killer. Vi is not the smiley type. “I figured you guys both go to the Bu, you must live near each other.”
As much as I “live near” Madonna or any of the other celebrities who own homes on the beach in the Colony.
“But…”
Her smile falls like a rock and she leans in, her voice hushed. “Look, dude, I won’t mince words. Grandpa called and said that if I give Richie Rich here”––she jabs a thumb over her shoulder––“a chance to work off his community service and provide transportation, he’ll make a sizable donation.”
Nuts. “How s-s––”
“Sizable,” she says with the decisive jaw-snapping of someone who’s ready to sacrifice anyone and anything to get it. “Do it for the orphans, D. The babies need you.”
She knows me. She knows I would never say no to the orphans. “Okay…I guess.”
“Great! He’s working the same sched as you so just swing by his place on Sat and pick him up.”
“But––”
“You’re the tits. You know I always say that about you.” And with that, she leans back in her chair, slams the heels of her red Doc Martin lace-ups on her desk, and goes back to cleaning her gun.
I’m having a hard time understanding how this is a compliment. “I never unders-stood––”
“Twice as good.”
How did this happen? How did I get bamboozled into playing chauffeur for someone who could afford ten of them? I am so mad at myself I could chew glass.
“Sometimes I feel like S-Sisyphus,” I mutter to myself, gripping Bernadette’s steering wheel with undue force. It’s really not right to take it out on her.
“I’m pretty sure you need to have sex to get syphilis,” Dallas says in a lazy tone.
My skin flares with heat from my scalp to my toes and nearly singes the hair off my scalp. And there it is. No need to wonder if he saw my list anymore.
I run through a very short list of snappy comebacks and nix every one of them. Best I can do now is pretend I don’t understand English. It’s either pretend to no comprende, or drive this car into the ocean and pray he drowns before I do––which is highly unlikely seeing he practically lives in the water. He’ll probably be forced to save me and then I’ll owe him a debt of gratitude.
Stealing a sideways glance, I find his head tipped back onto the headrest and his mirrored sunglasses shading whatever is going on in his eyes.
“I s-said S-Sisyphus. You know…Greek mythology.”
“Heard you, Dory.” Sliding his glasses to the top of his head, he aims the force of his electric blue gaze, which is considerable, at me. “I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”
Then he smiles. It’s unvarnished delight at my expense. Bernadette hits the bottom of the California Incline and I hit the gas as we merge onto Pacific Coast Highway. He chuckles, and in that moment, I hate his guts.
Dallas
I’m trying to antagonize her. I am. I fully admit it. I need her to let loose all that anger she’s got bottled up. Know this about women: you do not, under any circumstance, want them carrying around a lot of anger. The longer it goes on, the worse it gets for us dudes.
“H-H-How did you know about the shelter?”
The first words she’s spoken in ten minutes and a good sign that I’m getting closer to getting what I want. Another indication is the stutter becomes more pronounced the madder she gets.
Mirrored shades hiding my eyes, I watch her grip the steering wheel like she’s ready to choke the life out of it. Her back stiff, stubborn chin lifted. Yup, she’s ready to blow any minute.
“I found it on your phone.” That should put her over the top. “When I was looking through it,” I add for good measure.
She’s turns an interesting shade of purple, far surpassing expectation, so all-in-all good progress.
“How could you! T-T-That s-s-stuff is private!”
“If it was private, you would’ve locked your phone, Dora. But you didn’t. So who’s fault is it?”
At the stop light one block from my house, she turns to face me, fire nearly shooting out of her eyes. It almost makes me smile.
“What you did is unf-forgivable.”
“You’ll forgive me,” I murmur flatly. It’s just a fact. Dora is good down to the fiber of her being.
She’s momentarily shocked silent. “N-No, I-I won’t.” The blinker goes on and she autopilots her little green Chiclet of a car down my street.
“Yes, you will. Because you’re a good person.”
He brows lower and her eyes get squinty. “This is a t-trick. I get it now.”
“No trick. Just pointing out the obvious. I’m an asshole and you’re a really good person.”
“Y-You’re not that bad––except f-for your language. That’s p-pretty bad.”
“You think I’m an empty vessel.”
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Her face drops. So does her anger. Pulling into my driveway, she parks and turns the car off. “No…You’re not.” She sighs. “I was j-just…upset. And…and I wanted to h-hurt you back. I didn’t m-mean it.”
“I didn’t mean what I said either. I’m sorry…I’ll do better.” We stare at each other for some time and I can tell she doesn’t want to be mad at me anymore. It’s not in her nature. Her nature is to volunteer at an animal shelter, and help out a bonehead like me by taking notes and making margin annotations. Highlight all the paragraphs I need to focus on for the final, which I aced thanks to her. “Are you gonna accept my apology?”
She faces forward, chews on her bottom lip. “You have t-to earn it.”
I wasn’t expecting that. She’s not the pushover she pretends to be. It puts a smile on my face.
“You c-can ride with me to the shelter on one c-condition.” She turns to stare me down again, her amber eyes glowing with emotion. “How did the accident happen? Why w-were you arrested?”
It feels like a blindside punch. On me heels, it takes me a minute to answer, to search for an excuse. “Nothing much to tell,” comes out a thoughtless murmur. “I was on my way to Vegas and the road was empty…my foot got heavy. I hit one thirty, lost control of the car, and before I could regain it I was skidding off the highway.”
It was a miracle the car didn’t flip. The accident adjuster couldn’t explain why either.
She blinks those big warm eyes at me. “And…”
I shrug. “And nothing. I was charged with reckless driving. It was Thanksgiving so they let me chill in jail for a night.”
She studies me closely, picking me apart. I can feel it. “No.”
“No?”
“No. There’s m-more to it. Why were you being s-so reckless?” Her voice softens. So does the sharp look in her eyes. “You could’ve killed yourself. W-Why weren’t you with your family?”