Until the Day I Die(37)
“Can’t tell you that. But, trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
Well, at least there’s one person on the staff of Hidden Sands who’s a straight shooter. That’s certainly refreshing.
“What time should I wake up?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about that. Everything’s taken care of.” He waves and unlocks the brake. I watch him go, observing the cart’s quiet journey down the path and to who knows where after that.
20
PERRY’S JOURNAL
Friday, March 8
TO DO:
Dorothy McDaniel Florist—lilacs for Erin
Ask Scotty to keep an eye out for similar Error Message or any other deadlocks/potential glitches in the servers
Spider Beanie Baby—eBay? Etsy?
WORK ON SHORIE’S LETTER
Send Shorie message re: new Jax budget
Globalcybergames.org
License my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
John Donne, “To His Mistress Going to Bed”
My roving happinesses My roving harbors My roving hardwares My roving harms, harvests, hazards . . .
21
SHORIE
The Alabama night is soft and thick with humidity and hungry mosquitos. Toomer’s Drugs is closed, so we get Cokes at the Draft House and amble down College Street. We talk and brush enormous, bloodthirsty creatures off each other’s arms and faces, which turns out to be a surprisingly romantic activity.
After a while, I surreptitiously check my email. Sure enough, there’s a new screenshot, another message from Yours to Ms. X.
I think about you all the time.
“If I may,” Rhys says, “what do you have planned this semester that classes would interrupt?”
I slide my phone into my pocket. The question is so formal. And sweet, like he’s one of those Downton Abbey dudes come to inquire as to my availability for courting. No way I can tell him what I’m doing. Jax’s business is need to know only; Dad taught me that.
“Probably the same stuff as your other clients,” I say vaguely.
He gives me a doubtful look. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“It’s just that lying on the sofa, bingeing on Game of Thrones, and eating pot brownies doesn’t seem your style, to be honest.”
“Actually, I’ve got a job,” I say.
“With Jax?”
I nod. Again, no need for full disclosure.
“Oh. That’s awesome. Really cool.”
I nod again, and we walk in silence, cutting past the art building on the way to my dorm. I wish I didn’t have to lie to this guy. I really like him. Plus, I kind of suck at lying. But at this point, I barely know him, so talking about Jax—the deadlock, the crazy balances, and the private messages—is really out of the question.
“I’d be okay without a degree,” I say. “I know what I want to do, and I can learn whatever I don’t know on the job.”
He nods. “I have a friend who took a gap year in the Caribbean two years ago. Well, not a gap year exactly. He was on academic probation, and his parents thought it might do him some good to work for a semester. They got him a job as a lifeguard at this ridiculous five-star resort, and he liked it so much he never came back. Chucked college altogether. Pissed his parents off so much. Anyway . . .” He trails off, going dead silent.
I wonder why.
Then a charge sizzles up the back of my neck. “What island?” I ask casually.
“Huh?”
“What island is your friend on?”
He shrugs. “The Canary Islands, I think. One of them.”
“You said it was in the Caribbean.” I suddenly feel a jolt of panic. Was there some reason he changed his story? Could it be that his friend is on the island where my mom is? He knew who I was without ever having met me, he knows about Jax, and he runs a company that encourages fraud. What if he has something to do with the error messages I’ve gotten? What if Jax is the real reason he wanted to meet me . . .
He gives me a strange look. “Did I? Aren’t the Canary Islands in the Caribbean? Or maybe not. I suck at geography, FYI.”
“Okay.” Breathe, Shorie. Slow down. No reason to go spinning into crazy land with your conspiracy theories quite yet. God, this server thing has got me way too wound up.
At my dorm, kids are streaming in and out. We stand off to the side, just on the edge of a pool of light cast by floods.
“I read about your dad,” he starts. “What happened.”
“Oh.” I hesitate long enough that I can tell he’s starting to regret bringing it up.
He tries again. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
He looks up at the bright dorm windows.
“I don’t mind talking about it—” I start. “It’s just that it’s really—”
He catches my eye. “Personal.”
“Fine,” I say. “I mean, it’s fine. But also, I’m fine. I don’t really need to talk about it.”
We stare at each other, our conversation at an awkward impasse. I’m struck with how beautiful his lips are, really full, both of them, top and bottom. Excellent lips for kissing. And the way Rhys runs the rest of his life, I bet he would give kissing 100 percent.