Under Rose-Tainted Skies(41)

As an avid unofficial member of the neighbourhood watch, I pay attention to the vehicles that visit our little corner of paradise. Well, you have to be observant. What if a robbery was to take place and the police were looking for leads? What if my account of, say, a black Lincoln circling our road twice before disappearing was just the break in a case they needed?

Paranoia is like that kid in high school, the one who runs up behind you and yanks your pants down around your ankles. Paranoia enjoys making you look stupid.

I’ve never seen this car around here before. It’s on another level from Luke’s dad’s crusty camper. This car is compact, champagne gold, with a black roof that looks like it folds away. The kind of car that would cost you a kidney or the sweet soul of your firstborn.

The windows are blacked out. I’m ogling it with zero discretion when the driver’s door pops open and a leggy blonde steps out. I’m not saying she’s gorgeous, but the previously absent sun chooses this exact moment to explode in the sky.

She looks up, smiles gratitude at the burning spotlight, then slides a pair of huge white-rimmed sunglasses off her head and down on to her nose. Her hair matches the colour of her car. She runs her fingers through it, shakes her head a little, and I have to remind myself I’m not watching a shampoo commercial.

She makes her way across the road towards my side of the street. This girl doesn’t walk – she struts. Puts every inch of her body to work so her shoulders stay straight and stiff, but her hips sway from side to side.

I want to be her. I don’t care how much it costs; I would pay it to have her tan and high cheekbones.

Blondie stops at the edge of Luke’s driveway, reaches into her purse, and pulls out a bedazzled compact. With a soft shade of pink, she traces the lines of her lips. My mouth does that mimicking thing, morphs into the same squashed O shape as hers because I’m concentrating too hard. Cork wedges signal her ascent up Luke’s driveway and I feel myself shrinking.

I look down at my knees, try to get a handle on my thoughts, but they’re running wild, making me dizzy.

Please let her be his sister. Please.

‘Hi there.’ At first I think she’s talking to whoever has answered the door. ‘Excuse me. Hello.’ Her voice is louder, piqued, like she’s frustrated. I look up to see her standing by the boxwood bush, sunglasses raised, which catches me off-guard. It makes no sense. She’s having to squint because the sun is shining in her eyes. Why wouldn’t she just keep the sunglasses on?

‘Is that a yes?’ she asks. And I realize that while I was trying to figure out the sunglasses situation, she’s been talking to me. I have no clue what question she asked. None. The shaving rash under my arms burns as I start to perspire.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.’ My reply carries for about half a yard before it turns to vapour and vanishes.

‘Huh?’ she says, holding a hand behind her ear. ‘Whatchu say? Wait.’ She thrusts her ear-trumpet hand at me like a stop sign. ‘I’m coming over.’

Shit. Why do people keep making me converse? I just wanted to watch the rain. I think about protesting. Dream about protesting, because, let’s be honest, there’s more chance of hell freezing over than there is of that.

I clamber to my feet as she strides over the bushy barrier between Luke’s house and mine, one shiny bronzed stem at a time. The boxwood must scratch her because before she heads over to me, she scowls at it, and I wonder how it doesn’t burst into flames.

She gets bigger as she clomps closer. My heart jumps into my throat. I turtle up, withdraw as much of my body into my sweater as possible. My arms abandon the sleeves entirely and wrap tightly around my waist. But before the blonde can make it to me, Luke jogs out of his front door, school bag slung over his shoulder and what looks like a sandwich hanging from his mouth. I wonder if it’s loaded with cream cheese, apple sauce and mayonnaise. We both look at him. He freezes when he sees Blondie, then his eyes travel a few inches further, and he smiles when he sees me.

He looks so good in a button-down blue and white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a length of black cord around his neck.

‘Never mind,’ the blonde says, turning around.

‘Amy. What’re you doing here?’ Luke asks, dry-swallowing a chunk of bread.

Wow. My self-esteem, already beaten black-and-blue, coughs up a lung.

Queen Amy. Of course it is. Except for her hair being a little lighter, this is the chick in her Hub profile picture.

Amy holds out her hand to him. Luke rolls his eyes before grabbing it and helping her hop back over the boxwood.

‘Morning, Neighbour.’ He’s talking to me. I just about muster the strength to wave.

Amy clucks her tongue. At me, maybe? I don’t know. And I don’t care. Can’t care. Luke is smiling at me, and it doesn’t look forced or fake. It’s warm, welcoming, exactly the same smile he flashed my way pre any mention of my mental health.

I get goosebumps, feel a warmth spread through the pit of my stomach.

‘Anyway.’ Amy dismisses my presence with a flap of her hand. ‘I thought maybe I could give you a ride to school,’ she says, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin so high it grazes the sky.

‘Thanks, but I already have a ride,’ he replies.

‘I know, but I thought we could go to school together. Maybe grab a coffee before class?’ She bats her lashes, puts a hand on his arm and runs it up and down, over his biceps. He looks down on her, and she wrinkles her button nose and flutters her lashes some more. ‘Please, just a quick cup?’ The irritation that was crinkling his brow is replaced by indecision.