Broken Fairytales

by Monica Alexander

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What was that all about last night,” Molly asked, as we sifted through clothes at one of the many surf shops on the island.

  Outside the rain was coming down in sheets and every few minutes a giant clap of thunder would shake the foundation of the wooden building we were in. After the rain started the night before, it hadn’t let up, and we’d had to call Molly’s brother-in-law Simon to pick us up from the party.

  “What was what?” I asked, trying to think back to what she might be talking about, as I looked through a rack of bathing suits. The latter part of the night was fuzzy at best.

  “You and Zack,” she said, holding up a short hot pink skirt, making a face and putting it back.

  “Who?”

  “Dark hair, light eyes, usually has a guitar attached to his hands.”

  “Oh, him,” I said recognition dawning on me, as I finally learned Cute Coffeehouse Guy’s name. “I just got dared to kiss him while we were playing this drinking game. It was nothing. I didn’t even know who he was.”

  I decided not to tell her than I’d been fantasizing about him for the past week or that I’d met him before and had thought he was pretty much the hottest guy I’d ever seen.

  “Hmm,” was all she said.

  “What?” I asked, perplexed by what her hmm had meant. I couldn’t read her, and I was suddenly fearful she was hooking up with him.

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  “Okay.”

  I didn’t want to push the issue. Molly was as private as Chase, so I figured prying would only serve aggravate her. I let the questions burning in my brain drop, figuring I might get a chance to ask them some other time. Or maybe I wouldn’t.

  ***

  Later that night, after the storm had passed, we were gathered at a large house on the east end of the island that was being rented by twelve college students from UNC, including Byron, Tania and Michelle.

  I hadn’t really been in the mood to go out, thinking I’d like to stay in and watch a movie, but Keely had guilt-tripped me in to going. She was complaining about wanting to go out, and wanting some bonding time with her big sister, so I caved and got dressed for the party.

  As soon as we got there, I could tell it was over-crowded. It seemed the UNC students had invited fifty of their closest friends down for the weekend, and there were close to a hundred people in the house. Chase disappeared with Molly as soon as we got there, so Keely and I fought our way to the keg on our own.

  We weren’t in the long line for more than five minutes when Keely ran up to the front to talk to the cute guy manning the beer. I watched her lean over, cup his ear with her hand and whisper something that made him grin. She stepped back, smiled, and I watched as he handed her two bottles of beer from the cooler he’d been sitting on. She walked back to me with a triumphant smile on her face.

  “Nice job,” I said, taking the beer she handed me and stepping out of line, ignoring the looks of annoyance from the people closest to us. “How’d you swing that?”

  “Well,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “I told him he was the cutest guy at the party, and that I wouldn’t mind keeping him company in here if he could hook me up with two beers. So he gave us some from his stash.”

  “That was nice of him,” I said, realizing that my options were now to hang with Keely and Keg Boy or hang out by myself. Great. So much for sisterly bonding. So glad I came.

  She grinned wickedly. “Well, I might have also promised him a few more things, but I might not have.”

  “Keely!” I exclaimed, realizing what she’d just admitted to me. “I thought you were seeing Matt and Jared. Do you really want to take on another guy?”

  “Always,” she said, grinning. Then she shrugged. “I don’t really feel like being pinned down. Matt’s from Ohio, and Jared lives in England. It’s not like we’ll have some long-distance connection after August. Besides, they’re not here to entertain me, so I had to find someone else to do it.”

  I sighed. Classic Keely. She had no trouble getting guys. She had trouble holding onto them. She always tried to juggle too many and they all ended up getting hurt and breaking up with her. But she never seemed to be phased by it. She always had someone else waiting in the wings. I guess it was sort of liberating if you thought about it.

  “Okay, gotta go,” she said, hurrying back to Keg Boy, taking a seat on his lap and throwing her arm around his neck.

  I watched her smile widely at him and lean down to whisper something else to him before I turned around and left the kitchen. In that moment, I envied my sister’s carefree nature with guys. I’d never been able to do that. Maybe my life would be easier if I just let go once and a while – when it actually counted.

  The party was so crowded that I felt overwhelmed all of a sudden. The music blasting overhead was not my taste, so the heavy hip-hop beat bore into my skull, making it ache dully. Combined with the fact that I was suddenly very hot in my jeans and tank top, and every brush to my skin had me jerking away from the offending person in annoyance, I knew I needed to get some air.

  Seeing a door to what I hoped was the back porch, I made my way slowly to it. I had to keep squeezing between people to push through. I finally closed my hand around the knob and turned it hard, feeling relief when I opened it. The cool damp air that was left after the rain washed over me.

  I closed the door tightly behind me and surveyed my new surroundings. In the far corner, there was a couple making out on the porch swing that creaked and swung every time they moved, and at the other end there was a group of guys sitting around a table, playing cards. We were two stories up, so I could see the beach below. It seemed deserted, but the sand was probably too wet to be comfortable to walk in.

  I took my beer and settled myself halfway down the steps on a small landing where the stairs turned and ended at the sand. Down there I was isolated from the people on the porch and the party, which was almost as good as being at home. The pulsing base and laughing partiers were just a quiet murmur in the background. As I slowly sipped my beer, every few minutes I would hear a long creak from the porch swing or a laugh from one of the guys at the table, but for the most part, all was quiet.

  I had just finished my beer, and was debating whether or not to fish my iPod out of my pocket, when the door to the porch opened. I could hear two people talking. One of them was Molly, her distinct accent coming across loud and clear.

  “You’re not okay,” she was saying.

  “I’m fine,” came the voice of the guy she was talking to.

  “No, you’re not. I can tell, Zack.”

  Zack? Coffeehouse Guy Zack? I strained my ears in an effort to hear what they were talking about. Was it a lover’s quarrel? Were they really dating? Is that why she was asking me about him?

  “Molly, go inside. Just leave me alone. I need five minutes okay.”

  “Come on, Zack, talk to me. I know you’re pissed. That was a really insensitive thing for those guys to say, but how could they know.” She sounded like she was pleading with him.

  “Let it go, Molly. I’m fine.”

  “Fine,” I heard her say and then heard the door slam as she presumably went back inside.

  “Dammit,” I heard Zack say, as the flat of his hand made contact with the railing, causing a loud slap.

  I heard him pause for a second before I heard the distinctive click of a lighter as he lit a cigarette. Then before I knew what was happening, he was charging down the steps, not seeing me sitting several feet below him.

  “Oh,” he said, as recognition set in and he noticed me.

  “Hi,” I said, for lack of anything more inspiring.

  “Hey.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair, and I figured he’d keep going down to the beach, but he didn’t. “That’s my spot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, I was coming down here to sit. It’s my spot. You know, the place where I go when I want to drown out the rest of the w
orld?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, starting to get up. “I didn’t realize these stairs were claimed.” I knew I sounded a bit irritated, but he was forcing me out of my spot, so I was irritated.

  “Oh, no,” he said quickly, putting his hand out, and I stopped in the middle of rising to my feet. “You can stay.”

  “Ok-ay,” I said slowly, sitting back down, my irritation falling away and confusion replacing it.

  He sat on the bottom step, perpendicular to me, his worn sneakers almost touching the side of my thigh, his arms hooked around his knees. I noticed he had another tattoo on the inside of his forearm but couldn’t make out what it said. There were four lines of script. As I leaned forward to read them, he shifted so his hands were resting behind him, and I could no longer gawk at his tattoo.

  I looked up at him, not sure what else to do. He looked upset as he took a deep drag on his cigarette and closed his eyes as he blew out the smoke, like it was a release of some sort.

  He opened his eyes, giving me an appraising look. “Do you want one?” he asked, gesturing to his cigarette.

  I shook my head. “No thanks. I don’t smoke,” I said, even though I stared at his cigarette intently. It was brown, not white like I was used to. It also smelled like spices and incense. Normally, I hated the smell of cigarette smoke, but his smelled good.

  Zack caught me staring. “It’s a clove cigarette,” he said. I just nodded. “You don’t smoke? I’ve seen you smoke.”

  “I know, but I don’t really. It was just that one time.”

  He leaned back against the step behind him and looked out at the ocean. “Suit yourself,” he said, taking another drag, as I took notice of the tattoo peeking out of the sleeve of his white t-shirt. It was a design of some sort that I couldn’t make out, and I suddenly wanted to push up his sleeve to see what it was.

  “So you’re staying here this summer?” I asked, trying to spark some sort of conversation with him.

  “No, not anymore.”

  I nodded, not sure what he meant. Had he gotten kicked out of the house?

  “My dad owns the house. He grew up here, and his parents gave it to him and my mom when they couldn’t take care of it any longer. We used to come here every summer. Then my parents got divorced when I was in high school, and my mom still wanted to come to the island in the summer, but she obviously didn’t want to come here, so she bought a smaller house a few blocks away. My dad rents out this place throughout most of the year, but he and his wife come out here occasionally.”

  I was a little floored with how much he’d just shared with me. In the few times that we’d spoken, I didn’t think he’d said that many words in any of our conversations, let alone in one statement. I was riveted and suddenly wanted to know all about him.

  “So this was your spot when you were growing up?” I asked, still not sure what he’d meant by that comment.

  “My parents fought a lot, and this was where I would come when I got upset. So yeah, it’s kind of my spot.”

  I nodded, fully understanding what he was talking about. “It’s your spot. I can go if you want to be alone.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “It’s okay. You can stay. Some company might actually be nice.”

  I couldn’t escape the sadness that was literally oozing out of his eyes. I recognized it from the other times I’d seen him. It was like it never quite seemed to leave him, even when he was playing an upbeat song or making a joke.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I offered, knowing that sometimes it just helped to get things off your chest.

  He shook his head. “Not really. But thanks for asking.”

  He ran his hand through his hair again and looked out at the ocean. I noticed his dark hair curled a bit at the ends. I wished I could tell what he was thinking. In the distance, thunder rumbled, causing me to lift my head in the direction of the sound, wondering if another storm was on its way.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  When I looked back up at him, he seemed to relax just a little. “Emily Cole.”

  “Emily Cole,” he repeated. “Finally, I know the name of the girl from the coffeehouse who keeps showing up out of the blue.” His eyes got playfully wide as he said that.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. If I had, that meant he remembered me.

  “You don’t remember meeting me, do you?”

  I bit my lip for a second, wondering if I should tell him the truth. “No,” I said, slowly. “I do.”

  “Yeah? You didn’t say anything when we talked at the beach.”

  Talked, flirted, whatever.

  I shrugged. “You didn’t either. I figured you didn’t remember me. I’m not exactly memorable.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, taking a long drag off his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few beats before blowing it out slowly. “You’re actually quire memorable. You’re also very mysterious.”

  “So are you,” I countered, not knowing what he meant, but I liked it. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever described me as mysterious. I honestly enjoyed that he hadn’t thought I was sweet or cute. It was a nice change.

  He smiled, and it lit up his eyes. I remembered how much I’d liked his smile when I first met him. I was glad he was smiling as opposed to looking so despondent. He seemed so different than the light-hearted guy I’d encountered a month earlier at the coffee shop, and I wondered what had changed.

  “Okay then, I guess we’re even,” he said.

  “I guess we are,” I said, knowing I was flirting just a little. “Okay, but really, how am I mysterious?”

  He shrugged. “Well, you keep popping up places, especially when I’m not expecting to see you. I’m intrigued. Plus you look like you have a secret. I’m curious about what it is.”

  “You think I have a secret?” I asked, not believing him for a second. That was probably a line he used on every girl he flirted with.

  He nodded. “Am I wrong?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” I was playing coy, and I knew it.

  “You want to kiss me, don’t you? That’s it.”

  He took one final drag off of his cigarette and flicked it through the railings. I watched it fall to the ground, landing softly on the sand.

  I was taken aback by his boldness, but maintained my composure, shaking my head slightly as I smirked at him. “Um, no. But thanks for asking.”

  “Huh, I figured the combination of you saying I had kissable lips, telling me you wanted to kiss me, and then getting within two inches of my mouth last night would be an indication, but I guess I was wrong.”

  I stared at him. He had a confident air about him that was something I wasn’t used to in guys. I mean, Ben was confident, but Zack seemed older or wiser or just more insightful. He seemed to exude something specific that said he was totally comfortable in his own skin, regardless of what anyone else thought.

  He also had a bit of a bad boy edge that seemed to draw me in. He seemed dangerous, but it was probably the sexiest thing about him. Of course, if he really was a bad boy, would he have been helping his future step-mother assemble wedding favors? Probably not.

  “Nope. Sorry. I don’t want to kiss you,” I said, shaking my head.

  “That’s just too bad,” he said, leaning closer to me. “So what is it that you’re hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” I said, leaning back against the railing.

  “Liar.”

  “Okay, fine,” I said, starting enjoy our little back and forth game. “If you think I’m hiding something, what do you think it is?” I asked, taking the new cigarette he’d just lit from his hand, putting it to my lips and inhaling deeply. It tasted like spices, and it wasn’t all that gross.

  Zack raised his eyebrows at me. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

  “I don’t,” I said, putting the cigarette to my lips again.

  When I didn’t give any indication that I was goin
g to give it back, he pulled out another one and lit it. “See, mysterious,” he mumbled around the cigarette.

  I shrugged while maintaining a coy look that I hoped was enticing. “So are you going to tell me what you think I’m hiding?”

  He looked at me solicitously for a few seconds, and I thought I saw a smirk creep onto his lips. “I have no clue, but I’d say you’ve been doing a bit of soul-searching this summer,” he said, catching me off-guard. “You know, trying to figure something out.”

  “Why do you think that?” I asked, trying to keep my cool about him seeing right through me.

  He raised his eyebrows and quoted a line from my favorite Paramore song.

  I smiled. “You listened to it.”

  “Do you identify with it?” he asked, sounding like a shrink. “Is your life really tragic, Emily Cole? Because quite honestly I’d have pegged you for more of a princess with a perfect life.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “My life isn’t tragic,” I said icily. “It’s also not perfect. I guess I just identify wanting it to be magical, wanting the fairytale, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  I realized how juvenile that sounded as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I expected Zack to laugh at me, but he didn’t.

  “You do realize fairytales are bullshit,” he said, and I suddenly felt like an idiot for admitting something so personal, but then he got that faraway look in his eyes again. “Of course, maybe you’re on to something. A fairytale would sometimes be better than reality.”

  I felt like we’d treaded into some pretty serious territory and I should redirect the conversation, but Zack was on a roll, and I couldn’t stop him.

  “Is your life really that terrible?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not” I sighed. “It’s just … . predictable. Boring.”

  Zack raised an eyebrow at me. “So let me guess. You figured you’d come here for the summer and let loose, because it’s the summer and that’s what people do.”

  I nodded, not sure how I felt about him being able to read me so well.