Still Not Over You(8)
“Princess?” I curl my upper lip. “Like you're somebody’s yappy fucking purse dog? That’s a shit name. And they’re shit people. Here, I’ve got a better name for you.” I stroke my chin, wondering if I should really put it out there like this.
She eyes me warily. “…what is it?”
“Rebel,” I say, and grin. “Let's make it 'reb' for short. That's what you look like to me, telling these kids where they can stick it. And I bet that's what you'd like to be.”
Her eyes widen. Her blush returns. I eye her a second longer, deciding she’s kinda cute in a weird dorky little sister way. Of course, freshmen aren't something I'd be caught dead messing with – especially when she's Steve's own flesh and blood.
“Hmph,” she says faintly, tilting her head. “I don’t know. I'm not really that much of a rebel.”
“Bull. You saw through their crap, yeah? You’re too smart for this high school circlejerk, and too good for Jonah McMillan. He’s a limp-dick bully who probably gets off on hurting girls. You did the right thing serving up what he deserved. The world's full of dudes like him.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Great. I'm glad I have so much to look forward to.”
“Just telling the truth.” And if that's what I'm really doing, it makes me weirdly happy when she lets out this embarrassed little laugh, looking at me, then looking away again, bringing a hand up to scrub at her tear-streaked face.
“Hey. Look. I’ve been through four years at this shithole school. I'll tell you right now that if you try to be someone you’re not, it’s just gonna chew you up and spit you out in pieces on the other side. So forget being royalty. Be the rebel you are. This smart, gorgeous girl with rocking glasses. You’ll have so many boys begging for you they’ll be lined up the whole west coast to Seattle, babe.”
I’ve never seen someone blush so red in my life, right up to the tip of her pert little upturned nose. She ducks her head, tucking her loose, frizzy hair behind her ear.
“You’re just saying that because you’re Steve’s friend. Trying to make me feel better.”
“Wrong. I’m saying it because I mean it, Reb.” I reach over and ruffle her hair. “C’mon. Your bro will kill me if I don’t give you a ride home.”
I have no idea, when I offer my hand to help her up, what I’ve done on this day.
I’ve earned a friend, an admirer – and made one of the worst mistakes of my life. I have no idea, on this sunlit afternoon, that one day my life will go to hell when my father's mistakes get him killed, and there’s nothing left for me but bitterness, but pain...
And the vicious disappointment of pushing her away.
*
Present Day
Something is chewing on my fingers.
I’m dreaming about Gremlins, the old horror-comedy movie. In the dream, one of them is chewing on my fingers. Its teeth are sharp, its mouth wet and slimy, and its breath smells familiarly foul. Just like that awful, meaty cat food.
Velvet.
Goddamn. I wake up groggy.
Velvet’s still chewing on my fingers, standing on the desk gnawing at me like I’m a human chew toy. Mews is prowling around restlessly, letting out his typical high demanding yowls while bumping up against the chair.
Yawning, I push myself upright, pulling my hand free from Velvet’s mouth and wiping my fingers on my thigh. I fell asleep in my chair. I couldn't have been out long enough for them to start screaming for their dinner, though.
I see why when I glance out the window. Toward the burning orange glow of sunset over the ocean.
Except that glow isn’t the sunset.
It’s fire, licking up out of the windows of the beach house, curling against wood turned black by flames, giving off sooty streams of smoke that plume into the sky.
The beach house glows like the mouth of hell roared open against the early nighttime darkness, a raw ember of crackling death.
My mouth dries. My heart stops. My stomach ices over, and before I can stop myself, I spring up, bolting for the door with only one thing on my mind.
Kenna.
5
Flame-Broiled (Kenna)
There are few things that can’t be fixed by a Godzilla burger.
If you’ve never had a Katsu Burger, then you have no idea what you’re missing. It’s this weird Japanese-American mish-mash cuisine with grass-fed Kobe beef breaded in panko crumbs and piled with so much weird stuff, like wasabi mayo and coleslaw and ginger and even a fried egg, if you want it.
It’s massive. Messy. The perfect thing for a bad day when you don’t want to think about anything but trying to get more of the spicy mayo on your mouth than you do on your shirt.
I’ve got a stomach full of Katsu Burger chased by a green tea smoothie, but it’s not the massive double-decker that’s got my belly feeling heavy.
It’s the miles counting down between me and Landon.
I’d rattled around the beach house all day, beating myself up left and right. If I wasn’t guilting myself over shoving myself into his life in the first place, I was guilting myself over losing a desperately needed writing day to what was basically just biting my nails.