“Don’t know which stuck up lady you mean… but whoever it is, from what I hear, the whole I can’t stand that lady feeling is entirely mutual.” I give her a knowing look and then turn back to spray the last bookshelf with the wood cleaner and start wiping it.
“Fuck ’em.” Her scowl disappears as she walks deeper into the store. “Oh my goodness, Lee. The store looks amazing.” You didn’t have to do all of this by yourself, baby. I was planning on us doing at least some of it together when I got back.” She drops her bag and disappears down the aisle where we keep the old classics.
“I know… I started and then I couldn’t stop. You really think it looks good?” I nibble my lip as I watch her walk up and down the aisles, inspecting.
“It’s amazing. I’m so happy we were able to buy it.” She beams at me.
“Me, too. It’s small, but it’s perfect. So many people have stopped by, peeked in. I think they’re excited to have a bookstore again. And I was thinking, once we really get up and running, we can have signings here, too. Like the ones at Murder By The Book.”
“Yes, that would be great…” She sighs and trails her fingers over the spines of the books, her eyes dreamy as she gazes at them. “Books are magic, aren’t they?”
“The only kind I’ve ever known,” I agree. Our eyes meet and we grin, big silly grins that we call our “bookworm grin.” She twirls in the aisle; her dark hair flies out around her. I’ve never seen her so light.
“So, people came by? Excited people? Or people like that the Wilde lady who thinks she’s Queen Elizabeth, and this is England?” She doesn’t have the venom in her voice that she used to when she talked about Mrs. Wilde. I’m glad she’s letting it go. I wish I could.
She flops into one of the two chairs we’ve put in the bay window’s reading nook.
I sit down across from her, let the fading sunlight that’s flooding into the window warm me.
“A little of both. But mostly excited people. You know… book people, who can’t wait for us to open so they can get their fix daily.”
“And what did the rest want? To warn us to keep our evil vaginas away from their husband’s and sons?” This place, it could be home.
“Basically.” We share a laugh and the tension that was building dissipates. She has bad memories of the time we were here. Mrs. Wilde’s treatment of her was the first in a series of events that started her spiral downward and eventually put her in jail. She’s trying so hard to make up for the early years of my life. I know coming to live in Rivers Wilde wasn’t ever on her list of things to do, but we’re making the most of it.
“I hope you’re happy here, Lee…” she begins to ask me the question she always asks.
“I am happy.” I give the answer the way I always do.
This time, it doesn’t feel like such a burden on my lips. “I made a friend today,” I add and can’t stop the smile I feel when I think about the ridiculously handsome, charming boy who was as nice as I remembered.
“Oh, I’m so glad, what’s her name?” She smiles lazily over at me.
“We’re going to Murder by The Book together tonight,” I respond and evade her question.
She sits up a little straighter and looks at me skeptically. “I hope this friend of yours has herself a car. I can’t take you all the way to Rice Village tonight and you’re not riding your bike either.”
“I’m not riding my bike—”
“You need to buckle down and get your license, though, honey. You’re the only seventeen-year-old in this entire city that doesn’t drive.” She wags her finger at me.
“That’s not true. I am working on it. I just… don’t know. I like riding my bike.”
I drop my eyes to the frayed hem of my shorts so I can pretend what I’m about to say isn’t a big deal. “Anyway, it’s fine. My friend has a car. He’s coming to get me at seven.”
“Oh.” She sounds surprised and curious. “And, who would he be?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly. I try to keep the nerves fluttering in my stomach off my face and say as casually as I can, “Um… His name is Remi. He was in here the other day making a delivery.”
“Oh, Kal… please don’t tell me you mean Remi Wilde,” she shouts.
“Why are you yelling?” I ask, raising my own voice.
“Because he’s a Wilde. Don’t you remember how his mother treated us? They don’t like us.”
“Well, he likes me. He’s nice,” I say. I hear how defensive I sound, but it’s because I know what’s coming.
She walks over, her face pinched with worry and my stomach knots as I wait for the lecture.
“Listen to me. I know you grew up watching me do certain… things. But I don’t want all of my mistakes and the way I’ve paid for them to have been for nothing.”
“Mom, we’re just going to a bookstore,” I protest
She cups my face in her hands and searches it with those green eyes I used to covet. “You’re a good girl. But so was I. I can tell you nothing changes that faster than men with sexy smiles and fancy cars. Women in our family, those kind of men are our downfall. It’s in our DNA.” She smiles wistfully and strokes my cheeks with her thumbs.
I pull out of her grasp. “It’s not like that. He’s not looking at me like that,” I tell her.
But, I’m totally looking at him like that. I almost fainted when I saw him yesterday. Some things were the same. His hair is still beautifully curly and close cropped. His eyes are still so dark, they’re fathomless eyes.
But that’s where the similarities ended. He looks like some sort of god. He’s an elite athlete and his body shows it, his face is saved from prettiness by a heavy brow and permanent five o’clock shadow on his taut, strong jaw. His lips… talk about a perfect bow.
“Give him a minute, Kal. He’ll do something to show you what he wants and who he is.”
I bristle a little and don’t know why I feel compelled to defend him. Maybe it’s the nostalgia from our first meeting. Maybe it’s because he was really very nice.
“He’s the only one who came in here today who didn’t look at me like that. Or treat me like that. He just offered to give me a ride. He’s leaving for college in the fall. He probably thinks I’m just some dumb kid.”
“Girl, if that boy has eyes, he’s not thinking of you like a kid.”
She studies my face, and her expression grows even more worried. “I know you want to make friends, baby. I know it must feel really nice to have someone like him pay attention to you. But boys like that… they don’t date girls like us. They will fuck us though.”
“I’m not doing anything like that,” I protest.
“I want you to promise me something. That you will focus on why you’re here, not get distracted by a boy. Getting pregnant so young was the biggest mistake…” At my wince, she closes her eyes in regret.
“I don’t mean it like that. I’m just saying… I was only able to buy this bookstore because I scraped and saved and then sold my house. I still have to go to work every day and clean out old folk’s bedpans and earn a living that keeps food on our table until this store’s business picks up. I wish I’d stayed in school. I wish I’d had someone step in to help me when I was your age. I want more for you than what I had.”
I stare at my hands.
“I know. You don’t have to say it. Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen. He’s not like that.” Her eyes turn sad and she gives me a pitying frown.
“You’re still learning who you are. What you like. What’s good for you. You finish school, and you can have anything you want.”
“I plan on finishing school. I’m not going to get pre—”
“You won’t find yourself dealing with the scorn of women who think they’re better than you because they’ve never been desperate enough to do what they have to in order to keep their child in ballet shoes and karate uniforms. You won’t need Daddies to make your Christmas special.”
My stomach twists when I think about the parade of D
addies she brought through our lives. And how, in the end, it was her downfall. But, it also turned out to be my redemption. She was grooming me to live the same life she did. Getting arrested, being in jail all these years has helped her see the light. “Be better than me, Kal.”
There’s a knock on the glass-paned door and we both turn to look. It’s Remi. He waves and points at his watch. I flash him a smile and put my hand to let him know I’ll be right out.
“You be careful. And you better be home by nine o’clock. It may be summer, but you’ve got work to do.”
“Okay.” I smile and agree with a nod. “Do you want to meet him?”
“Already did, remember? You go ahead. I don’t want you to not have any fun. Text me when you get there and when you’re on your way home and if you want to come home and he won’t bring you, call me.”
“Okay.” I smile as reassuringly as I can and then I grab her and hug her.
“I love you,” I whisper in her ear.
“Not half as much as I love you.” She holds me tightly then lets me go with a quick pat on my bottom.
“Be good, okay?” Her solemn tone makes me turn back and I nod and make a promise I mean.
“Promise.”
I run out the bookstore’s front door and see the huge black car idling at the curb. He hops out and walks round to open my door for me. No one’s ever done that before and those butterflies I’ve been trying to ignore since he sauntered into the bookstore are back.
God, my mother’s right. At least when it comes to this boy with his sexy smile and nice car.
“Hey,” I call as I approach. He’s all cleaned up in dark jeans and a white button down that is rolled up at the sleeves. He’s wearing loafers and looks good enough to eat. I look around to see if maybe someone’s lurking behind a bush with a camera, waiting to jump out and tell me this is all a joke. But there are only people milling around Rivers Wilde Main Street, like they always do.
“Hey yourself. You look great.” He puts a big hand in the small of my back and leans down to press a kiss on my cheek. “And you smell great, too.”
Those butterflies? I was wrong… they’re birds. Big ones that just took off in a mad flock of flutters in my stomach.
Oh my.
I’m so discomfited that I just stand there.
“Uh yeah, you too.” I say and look down at myself, my white t shirt and bright orange shorts, in confusion though. I’ve been wearing them all day.
“Hop in,” he says and waits until I’m seated before he closes the door and walks round to his side. I watch him and shake my head. He’s too good to be true. I’m asking for trouble letting myself get mixed up with him at all.
But…truth be told, I couldn’t stop if I tried. There’s something about him that just draws me in. He’s handsome, but it’s also that I can tell he gives a shit about the people around him. And that’s rare in my world.
“We’re going to be late,” he says as soon as he gets into the car.
“Just a few minutes,” I say trying to steady my hands enough to buckle my seat belt. I put newly discovered inner freak back in her cage and smile at him.
“A few minutes, five minutes, an hour—it doesn’t really matter. Once you’re late, you’re late.”
“Gosh, okay. I’ll keep that in mind.” I give him a wide eyed glance.
He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m anal about time.”
“So, you’re never late?”
“Nope,” he says quickly.
“Not even to school?”
“Especially not to school.”
“I bet you had perfect attendance, too.”
“What’s wrong with having perfect attendance?”
“Nothing, if you’re a square,” I tease him. He’s fun to tease because he’s so sensitive about his “coolness” and tries to pretend he’s not. He takes my bait and frowns at me, taking his eyes from the road for the first time.
“I’m the least square guy I know.”
“Sure.” I shrug as if I don’t believe him.
“Just because I don’t oversleep doesn’t make me a square. And I like school.”
“I didn’t say anything about oversleeping. I don’t know… you were never sick?”
“Nope.”
“Have a doctor’s appointment?”
“You can schedule those around classes.”
I lean back and eye him skeptically. “You never wanted to skip school so you could go to the rodeo during the week?”
“Nope. Never.”
“I highly recommend it. I got caught once, but it was worth it to not have to wait in line for my smoked turkey leg.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a great reason to miss class,” he says irritably.
“You’re just mad I called you a square.” I nudge his thigh with my fingers.
“I’m not mad. Since it’s completely untrue.”
“It’s very true. You’re a hot, athletic version of Carlton from Fresh Prince.”
He winces and puts a hand over his heart. “Damn. That hurt.”
I laugh and he eyes me and shoots me a sly smile deepening the ever-present dimples in his cheeks.
“If I’m Carlton, you’re Will. You know… the cousin from the hood?” He waggles his eyebrows and I know I should probably be offended, but I’m not.
“Okay, I deserve that.” We laugh, our eyes hold and there’s something in the way he’s looking at me that sets those flutters loose inside me again.
God, he smells so good. I glance over at him and put on my best I don’t care at all face, but inside the butterflies have multiplied.
He turns on the radio and I turn and pull out my notebook and open it to the spot where I stopped last night.
“I can’t even read in a moving car; how can you write?” His question comes when I’m only two sentences in. I give him a sidelong glance. He’s watching the road. His profile is a study in perfection and suddenly, I wish I could draw because I’d like to capture him right now when he doesn’t know he’s being watched and he doesn’t have that cocky smirk on his face.
When I take too long to answer, he looks at me and smiles.
“Yeah, I know. I have the same problem every time I look in the mirror. It’s pretty damn breathtaking.”
“Ugh, okay, Carlton,” I joke and when his eyes dart toward mine in surprise, I laugh out loud.
“Whatever. What are you writing, Will?”
“More happy endings.”
“You started again?” He gives me a knowing smile.
“I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”
“Tell me yours… the one you wrote,” he says.
“No, it’s silly.”
“Tell me,” he says softly, but his voice has a demanding edge to it. I don’t know why, but it excites me.
I trail my fingers over the words I’ve just scribbled and can’t help but smile at them. I’m not good at anything but this. Everything else, cooking, drawing, singing, talking to people, cutting out snowflakes, I just get by. But when I have a pen in my hand and a piece of paper under it, and a set of inconclusive facts to pore over, I know why I was put on this planet. I close my notebook and look at him.
“My happy ending is me living somewhere I can see the stars. I’ve never left the city. I’ve never seen a really starry sky?”
“Really?”
“Nope. Never.”
“And what are you doing in this place where you can see the stars?”
“Playing with my kids, sitting next to my husband reading a book. I have the investigative journalist job of my dreams where I travel around trying to figure out something that no one else has been able to. I’m not afraid to answer the door or the phone for fear of debt collectors.”
“That’s a very specific happy ending.”
“Yeah. I’ve always known the kind of life I wanted. Because it’s the exact opposite of the life I had.”
He just nods and we ride together in a comfortable silence until we pu
ll into the bookstore’s parking lot.
“So, you collect author’s signatures?” he asks.
“Yeah, for my favorite books. I only have a couple. I got some from half-priced books by chance, but this is my first time meeting an author face-to-face.”
“If you could have any signed book, what would you choose?”
That’s such an easy question to answer.
“The Legend by Ama Baidoo, and Where The Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein”
“That’s the book your quote is from,” he says. Even though he told me he read it, I’m startled that he remembers.
“Yeah, it’s such a great story. It’s old, but still so relevant.”
“Why Shel Silverstein?”
“Because it’s the first book I ever owned, and it made me feel like there was someone in the world as weird as I am.”
“You keep saying that.”
“When I compare myself to everyone else I grew up with, I have all these dreams and passions that are a little strange...”
“At least you know what they are.” There’s an edge in his voice that wasn’t there a second ago. It’s subtle, but I’m an expert people watcher and I hear it. It piques my interest. I close my notebook and turn in my seat so I’m facing him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says cryptically and I feel my first prickle of annoyance.
“You’ve been asking me all sorts of questions. I’ve answered them.”
He glances at me and gives a resigned sigh.
“I play basketball and I love it. But…”
He gives a quick side glance and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile.
“But what?”
“It just feels so… I’m starting to realize that I played more out of defiance than I did out of passion. And now, it doesn’t feel like the place I’m supposed to be. I mean, it’s great to be good at it, but…”
“But that’s not enough anymore?” I ask
“That’s it exactly,” he says with a smile. That smile makes me feel like I aced a quiz.
He sighs, deep and thoughtful and then shrugs again. “It’s not that I don’t like winning. In fact, I think I’m addicted to it. But, when I first started playing, I wasn’t really that good. I had something to prove. I practiced like I’d never made a three-pointer. I played like I’d never lost a game. Winning felt like the only thing. It’s what everyone expects. It’s what I expect…”
The Rivals Page 39