The Lies They Tell(24)
Tristan’s gamble had worked: they cut in front of the Starchaser with plenty of breathing room, and from there, Pearl and Bridges handled the sails together.
Little Nicatou was visible in the distance when Akil and Hadley came back on deck. Hadley went straight to Quinn, looking at no one, while Akil took a moment to stretch lazily, stopping when he saw Pearl trimming the sails in his place. The other boys didn’t acknowledge him at all.
A moment later, Akil went below again, leaving the cabin door open and banging.
When it was all over—the applause Pearl dodged, the photographs she managed to stay out of (the last thing she needed was Dad opening the Islander to see a picture of her with half the club’s young elite), the awarding of the trophy, the fuss over them being the youngest crew in the race—they moved through the crowd as a group, Bridges and Akil singing a drinking song, Pearl following a half step behind Tristan, close enough to watch his shoulder blades move against the fabric of his shirt. It was the same loose black polo she’d seen him wear several times, and she imagined him picking out shirts online in the silence of his rented home, the lost boy again, the one who’d always had a fashion-conscious mother to make sure he left the house looking right. But now he carried a trophy held loosely in one hand; the posture of the winner fit him like a second skin.
“I’m starving. Let’s eat somewhere.” Bridges was windburned, exhilarated, eyes only slightly bloodshot from drink. His hand found Pearl’s back. “Honorary first mate makes the call.”
She didn’t think she’d ever wanted to go home so badly, the memory card seeming to grow heavier in her pocket with each step. “Anywhere but the club.” Truth was, even if she wanted to go there as a guest, she couldn’t afford the club; her car insurance payment had pretty much wiped her out until next week’s paycheck.
Quinn tapped Akil’s arm, taking a few steps back. “We’re going now.” Hadley stood behind her, fiddling with the strap on her leather tote bag, looking off.
“You’re bailing already?” Akil tried to catch Hadley’s eye. “Come on. Eat with us.”
“Got stuff to do.” Quinn took Hadley’s arm. “‘Bye-bye.” They took off through the parking lot without a backward glance.
Akil scrubbed his hand in his hair, watching the girls leave.
The four of them went downtown in Tristan’s Bentley—spotlessly clean, smelling of conditioned leather, the trophy deposited in the trunk—and claimed one of the last free parking spots on Ocean. When Pearl realized where they were headed, she balked, one foot on the sidewalk, one hand on the car door. Bridges hesitated, looking back. “What’s the matter?”
Dark Brew’s sign hung above, whimsical lettering paired with a silhouette of three witches stirring a cauldron. Weekend afternoons were Reese’s time; he wasn’t always seated at the corner booth with a coffee and a leftover chocolate croissant from that morning, but the odds were not in her favor. “Nothing. I just don’t . . .”
He tilted his head, smiling. “I know. It’s kind of a dive, but the coffee’s awesome. Trust me. Once you get it here, you won’t go anywhere else.”
She tried not to show how it grated, being told about her own hometown, having Jovia’s baby called a dive. There was no way to bow out now—she couldn’t even make a quick getaway without her car—so she followed him inside, barely able to hear the entrance chimes sound over the hum of summer madness.
The line snaked to the door, and almost all the pub tables were taken; the air was dense with the smells of coffee, baking, the sounds of conversation and clinking dishes. No sign of Reese. Lots of people seemed to have come straight from the landing, and the four of them got plenty of looks as they queued up in front of the counter, where Jovia was working at high speed along with two college-age girls in aprons and Dark Brew T-shirts. The boys ordered before Pearl, and she braced herself as Jovia glanced up. “Oh! Hey, hon, didn’t see you there.”
“I was hiding.” All too aware of who stood beside her, Pearl ordered a black coffee, grateful to be able to fix her gaze on the hunt for her wallet somewhere in her bag.
Bridges was faster, sliding his from his back pocket. “All on one?” Jovia’s hand hesitated over the cash register keypad.
“No—” Pearl broke off as Tristan reached past them both and ran his credit card through. Jovia watched, making brief, questioning eye contact with Pearl before handing over the receipt and coffees, saying, “We’ll bring you your meals in a minute.”
As they moved away from the counter, Pearl whispered to Bridges, “Does he always pay for everything?”
“Not always.” A hesitation. “Most of the time.”
“That’s handy.”
“That’s just Tristan.”
Summer kids sat at a table nearby, and they called out to Bridges; only two chairs were free, but Tristan claimed one, joined by Akil, and like that, the table began to empty. Not all at once—there was some chitchat about the regatta, some congrats handed around—but one boy moved to the counter, and two girls took their iced mochaccinos and left the shop for a bench on the sidewalk. Soon, it was just the four of them, together.
Pearl took the chair Bridges pulled out for her and found herself facing Tristan. He was watching people pass by, some of whom stared at him, then whispered to a friend.