by Arthurs, Nia
“Where does it go?” Her gaze perused me from my head to my legs.
I couldn’t resist pushing out my chest. Monique was the only girl in school who was immune to my looks. I was used to girls acting shy around me, but I seemed to inspire her temper more often than not.
“What are you doing?” She snorted. “You look like a peacock.”
“Do I?” I bobbed my neck for effect.
She burst out laughing. “Stop. That’s… no. Don’t do that again.”
“What? This?” I flapped my arms along with the chin jut. If acting goofy was what I needed to do to make her laugh, I was down.
Monique covered her mouth, her eyes sparkling.
I straightened and stepped closer to her. “You should do that more.”
“What?” she asked, still grinning.
“Smile.”
Her breath hitched. A glimmer of awareness flared between us.
“James?”
I froze, recognizing that voice.
Marissa.
12
Remember His Face
Monique
James turned as white as a piece of paper. Guilt crawled across his face and, for a second, I wondered why. That question fled when I spun and noticed Marissa approaching.
Her blonde hair flounced in the breeze. She wore a fitted grey crop top. Her long legs went on forever beneath a pair of light blue jeans. Delicate sandals adorned her dainty feet. Her toenails boasted a soft coral shade.
Everything about her screamed expensive. High class. Sophisticated.
All the things I could never be.
We were on two different levels. It was like comparing a busted orange to a decked out, super charged juicer.
There was something radiant about James’s girlfriend. Something only people born to privilege could exhibit. It pulled mixed emotions of jealousy and admiration from me.
“Marissa,” James said, surprise evident in his voice, “what are you still doing here?”
She swung a key ring over her finger. “I saw your car in the parking lot so I thought I’d stick around and wait for you to be finished with the guys.”
The way she said ‘the guys’ frightened me. “What is she talking about?”
James turned red. I wondered what color his face would change to next. “Marissa, you remember Monique.”
“Our server from the pizza place.”
I nodded in acknowledgement.
Did I really need to be here for this awkward fest?
“Well,” I tugged on my ear, “it was nice meeting you again. I’ll head home.”
“Monique, wait,” James said.
My brain screamed ‘go!’, but my stupid legs skidded on the concrete and planted themselves there like a tree with deep roots.
“What’s going on?” Marissa hissed.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, okay? She’s tutoring me.”
I rubbed the back of my neck and peeked over my shoulder at them. Marissa was toe-to-toe with James, her head tilted up and her eyes shot daggers.
My voice trembled. “I’m just gonna…”
“Don’t go anywhere, Monique,” James barked. “I’ll take you home.”
“It’s fine.”
But James didn’t hear me. He frowned at Marissa. “I’m sorry I lied to you, but it’s really none of your business.”
“How can you say that? We’re about to have—”
“Don’t,” James growled.
I shivered from the heat in his voice. Taking another peek over my shoulder, I realized Marissa was glaring at me. I whipped back around, my heart thumping. Why did I suddenly feel like I’d done something wrong?
Come on legs. Move!
“You’re saying nothing’s going on between you two, but what do you expect me to think when I see you slinking out of the library laughing and having the time of your life?”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“I offered to tutor you. You said it was okay, that you had it handled.”
“I did.”
“She’s a freshman, James. She hasn’t taken any of your classes. What do you expect her to teach you?”
“It’s working out so far.”
Marissa snorted. “Please.”
“I don’t need your approval. I’m sorry you wasted your time waiting for me, but it’s late and I have to take Monique home.”
“Don’t you dare leave like this James Sawyer!” Marissa screeched.
I winced at the rage in her voice. If Marissa ever directed all her fury at me… I couldn’t begin to imagine the ways she would inflict torture.
My legs finally decided to start working. I pumped my arms, bent my knees and sprinted toward the school gates.
I only got a couple steps in when something hooked the back of my school bag. The straps yanked my shoulders. My body lurched backward, knocking into a hard chest. I glanced up and gasped in surprise when I fell into James’s brown eyes.
“Where are you going?”
I squirmed. “Let go.”
He didn’t. “All the school buses are gone.” James spoke as he marched us both past Marissa and toward his car. “Are you really going to walk home right now?”
“It’s better than going with you.”
He released me when I was in front of the car. I whirled around, intent on dodging him, but he spread his feet apart, folded his arms over his chest and stared me down, daring me to run.
I figured it wouldn’t do much good if I tried. “Why are you being like this?” I hissed. “I don’t want to get dragged into a fight between you and your girlfriend.”
“Marissa’s not my girlfriend.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. Whether they were messing, talking, fooling around, I didn’t care. Marissa obviously saw James as hers, and I didn’t have the time nor desire to be involved in a love triangle.
“Would you get in? Please?”
“No.”
“Monique…”
“I can make it on my own.”
I expected him to argue with me, but he sighed. “Alright.” The he stepped aside. “Okay.”
“You’ll let me go? Just like that?”
“Of course. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“What’s the catch?”
He smirked. “I’ll follow you in my car and make sure you reach safely.”
“You realize you’d look like a creepy stalker.”
He shrugged.
“You’re insane.”
“Call me what you want, but it’s my fault you’re leaving school late and if anything happens to you on the way, it’ll be on me.”
I weighed my options. Let James creep behind me in his fancy car or drive home in luxury? The former would get me unwanted attention and I wasn’t in the mood to entertain a crowd on the street. The latter would put me in Marissa’s black book.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “You can take me home.”
I might as well accept his ride and pray Marissa didn’t murder me for it.
James opened the door. I ducked my head and slid in. This time, the inside smelled like him—manly and fresh. A moment later, James started the car. We drove past the library. I peeked through my window.
Marissa was gone.
I tried to pretend that she wouldn’t get me back for running off with her boyfriend.
Fear clamored through me.
I’m so screwed.
Inside the car didn’t feel much warmer than outside. For a while, we travelled in silence. James seemed to know where to go so I kept quiet. My thoughts raged. Uncomfortable, I clicked the radio on.
He turned it off.
I stared at the side of his face. Shadows played over the planes of his clenched jaw.
“Look we need something to hide the awkwardness.” I turned the radio back on.
He reached out to dial it back.
Our hands collided.
Fireworks skittered up my arm.
> I pulled back.
James put both hands on the wheel. “I’m sorry you had to see that today.”
My jaw dropped. The last thing I expected him to do was apologize. “I-it’s okay.”
“Marissa and I are working through some stuff. It’s not anything romantic,” he quickly added. “But we’re going to have to see each other for a long time and things are a little confused. We’re both adjusting.”
“For your project.”
“What?”
“You mentioned that you were doing an important project together.”
“Right.”
Curiosity burned my tongue, but I refused to ask what that ‘project’ was and why it would last for so long. The sooner I got home and away from James Sawyer’s magnetic presence, the better.
A phone chirped.
I checked to see if it was mine.
It wasn’t.
James already had his phone to his ear. “Hello?” He paused and then yelled, “What?”
The car swerved.
I shot up. “What’s wrong?”
“My mom.” James tossed the phone in the backseat and yanked on the steering wheel. The tires screeched against the pavement. My entire body leaned to the left. He slammed his foot on the gas and we shot forward.
“Is she okay?”
“Not really.”
James didn’t offer any more information and I was too polite to ask. I trained my gaze outside the window, stiffening when I recognized familiar landmarks.
The twenty-four hour gas station.
The liquor store.
The youth rehabilitation center.
This was the route to The Greasy Monkey.
Five minutes later, James threw the car into a parking space and leaped out the door. I scrambled after him, scared and confused. Why would his mother be here?
My mom hated this place. Whenever Dad got caught up in the gambling hall, she would send me to get him. I thought James’s mom would be just like that. I thought she’d never want to step a foot in this place, but maybe things were different with his family.
The moment we entered, Trevor—the beefy security guard—pointed to the back. “She’s with Cherry.”
James nodded and took off.
Trevor eyed me. “You look familiar.”
I shrugged and pointed to James’s back, wordlessly indicating that I was tagging along with him.
Trevor let me pass.
My eyes locked on James as he entered the backrooms. He’d sailed right past the velvet curtains like they were nothing.
Technically, they were ‘nothing’. Just pieces of fabric separating one space from another. But I knew what lay behind those drapes and though I’d been here more times than I could count, I never had a reason to see beyond them.
I took one tentative step forward. Then another.
In a second, it was over.
I sucked in a deep breath. I’d done it. I’d entered the world I’d only seen from afar.
It didn’t look like much. There was a hallway lined with doors. Dingy carpets. Pictures of nude women on the wall, their eyes calling seductively to the camera. I tried not to look at them.
One door was open. I saw that it held gaudy furniture—fuzzy rugs, lamps, and bed sheets—all a bright red. My heart thumped as I imagined what happened on that bed.
I winced and hurried forward.
In the distance, something crashed. The sound came from a room up ahead. I charged that way.
What’s going on?
The door opened and a woman stepped out. She stood strong and resolute, like she was guarding it. I skidded to a stop, my gaze running over her bright red hair and pale face. A silky pink kimono hugged her frail shoulders and an anklet sparkled around her frail leg.
“Who are you?” she asked in a husky, quiet voice.
“Uh, I’m Monique.”
“You should wait outside.”
I glanced past her as if I could see through the door. “What’s going on? Is James okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s just… collecting his mother.”
Another thud echoed through the hallway.
I jumped but the woman seemed unruffled.
“Are you James’s girlfriend?” she asked.
The muffled sounds of destruction and cursing made it hard to concentrate.
“Hello?” The woman waved a hand in my face.
“No.”
“Then why did he bring you here?”
“Because…” another crash, “Excuse me, but how are you so calm? James could be getting hurt in there.”
She laughed. Even though she looked young, her chuckle sounded like an old truck driver’s. “That’s cute.”
“What?”
Her eyes found mine. “The lamps and the chairs in there aren’t responsible for James’s pain.”
Okay… be all cryptic.
The woman eyed me again. In my head, I knew she was a worker here, but she looked normal, kind—if a little jaded. She smiled slightly. “So you’re not James’s girlfriend?”
“No.”
“But he trusts you. You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.”
I clamped my lips shut, unsure of what to say in reply.
She stuck her hand out. “I’m Cherry.”
“That’s a nice name.” I shook her hand.
“It’s not my real name, but it grew on me.” She winked. “Can I ask for a favor?”
“Uh, sure.”
She stared thoughtfully at the wall. “We’re all wearing a mask. Sometimes, we wear them so long that when we take them off we can’t remember our own faces.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Can you do this for me? Can you remember his?”
“I don’t—”
The door flew open, cutting me off.
Cherry jumped out of the way.
James stood before us, clutching a slim woman wearing a fancy dress. His expression was hard, resigned, as if he’d done this a million times. A trickle of blood slipped down his cheek from a small gash under his eye.
Without a word to me, he gripped the woman tight and marched outside.
13
It’s A Date
James
Fury was easier to justify than fear, and that was the emotion I embraced as I weaved through the tables in the gambling hall and stalked toward the exits.
Trevor noticed me coming and jumped to grab the door. He shot a wary look at Mom before speaking to me. “The boss is angry this time. Your mom came in here and destroyed furniture—”
“Just add the damages to my father’s tab.”
“Yes, sir.”
I walked outside, into the darkness. The sign above the door barely lit up the ground we were standing on. I adjusted Mom in my arms. She grunted but didn’t wake. The stench of liquor made my eyes water.
“Why do you keep doing this,” I bit out. “Why?”
Mom didn’t answer. Even if she were in her right mind, she wouldn’t have a reasonable reply.
Another pair of footsteps sounded behind me.
I inhaled deeply. “Not now, Cherry.”
“It’s me,” a voice that was not Cherry’s said.
My eyes widened and I whirled around. Monique. How had I forgotten that she’d been in the car with me? My gaze dipped to the door that creaked closed behind her. A sick feeling pulsed through my veins.
“What were you doing in there?”
“I followed you,” she said calmly.
Shame roiled in my gut. “Why would you… you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Let’s get your mom in the car first,” she said, her gaze darting around the empty street. “I hate being around here.”
Me too.
Monique opened the door to the backseat. She helped me stuff Mom’s legs and arms inside so I didn’t accidently slam them when I locked the door. It was strange to have help while I did this. I was so used to caring for Mom on my own.
As we worked, I battled my rising anger and embarrassme
nt. This was a side of me I didn’t want anyone to see. Although Monique had caught a hint of it six months ago, a hint was all I was willing to give her.
Now I was exposed. And that made me ache for some sort of cover, some type of protection.
I got into the car and heard Monique’s answering door slam.
When I didn’t move, she blinked at me. “What are you waiting for?”
I sensed gentleness in her voice. That hadn’t been there before.
She’s sorry for you.
The thought fed the flames of my anger. “You shouldn’t have come in.”
“I wanted to help.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
Unfazed, she lifted a shoulder. “Too bad.”
I gritted my teeth, but if I said anything more, I’d probably snap at her. Instead, I focused on driving her home. Once I was in front of her apartment, I shut the engine and stared straight ahead.
Monique didn’t move.
A minute passed.
Two.
Finally, I glanced over to see why she was lingering. I realized she was looking at me, as if she had been waiting all that time for me to notice.
“What?” I growled.
She didn’t blink. “Wait here.”
“I can’t. My mom—”
“Will be just fine if you wait for a minute.”
“I’ve got things to do,” I grumbled.
Her gaze sharpened. “If I come back downstairs and I don’t find your car here, James Sawyer, so help me I’ll go to school tomorrow and slash every tire. Do you understand?”
I swallowed, scared crapless, and nodded.
“Good.” She jumped out of the car and slammed the door.
I winced and watched her walk off. My gaze slid to my mother. She slept peacefully, her brown hair tangled in front of her mouth. Her fake eyelashes had gotten loose in our fight and now it dangled halfway off her eyelid.
She’d be mortified if I told her a friend from school had seen her in this state.
Maybe I’ll tell her. It’d serve her right.
I ran a hand through my hair, holding back a groan of frustration. This was the second time in a few weeks that Mom had stormed the bar. What had set her off this time? A rumor? A kiss stain on Dad’s collar? A text message?
What other ways would Dad think of to disrespect and dishonor her? Which one of those acts would wake her up to reality?