Arranged (2 page)

“You guys were pretty friendly,” I say. The swim team leaves. I watch Lee’s broad, retreating back.

“I hate him, he hates me, we have fun hating on each other. He’s a moron, a total player, but not a bad guy, really. Plus, I know his sister.”

“Sister?” I ask.

“Yeah, really pretty model who comes to our shows sometimes. Grace is her name. We became friends first, before Lee entered the picture. He lives with her in her fancy apartment downtown.”

People are starting to come in to the cafeteria. Jen stands and claps me on the shoulder.

“See you in Lit?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “Later.”

First class – chem. The seats are empty when I walk in. Professor Cruz shoots me a smile.

“Early as always, Brown.”

“I just really like your class.”

“Do you?” She smiles, and adjusts her glasses. “Thank you. It’s always a pleasure to hear that.”

It’s a lie. I don’t like any of my classes. But I pretend to. Maybe if I pretend and lie enough, it’ll become truth. I used to like studying, but I’ve done so much of it I’m getting burnt out. But I can’t afford a burn out, not with the scholarship looming over my head. I have to do well. I’m Rose Jensen – and Rose Jensen always does well.

I blaze through the test and finish first. I double check my answers, pray hard, and turn it in. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I shoot a look at Professor Cruz, who waves me outside. In the hall, I read a text from Mom.

‘Your grandpa died this morning. The funeral is this weekend. Call me? Love you.’

Grandpa – the balding, gap-toothed old man who played baseball with me when I was young and told me stories about the war. He has –
had
- a farmhouse near San Fran. We visited him every Christmas and Thanksgiving. My brother Riley and I spent summers at the farmhouse, playing in the fields and exploring the river out back. He’s
dead
. My eyes well with tears.

‘I’ll come up on the bus
on Friday’.
I text back.
‘Love you. Stay strong.’

The hall is empty, classes in session. I slide down against the wall and hug my knees to my chest. I don’t know why I’m crying so hard. I’m sure Grandpa’s fine where he is now. He’s with Grandma. He’s happy. I’m not crying for him. I’m crying because of the memories, because I’ve lost something, and it hurts.

I don’t notice the footsteps until they’re right in front of me.

“Hey, you okay?”

Please, no. Don’t let it be him. I look up - Lee. His face darkens when he realizes it’s me.

“Oh. You.”

“Me,” I wipe my eyes hurriedly and stand.

“We’re running into each other a lot,” He tries, half-smiling. I turn on my heel and hold my books tight to my chest. I need a quiet place to cry. I need my room. I need anywhere but here.

“Wait up!”

“Just leave me alone!” I shout. He stops in his tracks.

“Alright,” His voice is low. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you were so upset.”

I give a watery scoff and walk down the hall, leaving him behind in a square of sunshine.

Selena’s bed is empty. She must’ve gotten up to get something to ease the hangover. I’m grateful for the empty room. I flop onto my bed and hug the pillow. My sobs are quieter, but they don’t hurt any less.

The week passes in a painful blur. I feel as terrible as I look – pale and red-eyed all the time. Selena doesn’t even badger me to come to parties, and that’s saying something. Work at the Bistro is easier – there aren’t people everywhere asking if you’re okay. The shop has several wrought-iron tables outside for the customers. The smell of warm, fresh muffins and cakes is mouth-watering, and definitely one of my favorite parts of the job. Kory, my heavily-tattooed, early-30’s co-worker mans the register. I slip behind the counter and throw my apron on.

“How was your weekend, party girl?” He asks. The nickname’s ironic, but I think it’s dumb, mostly.

“You know me,” I pull the tray of chocolate croissants from the counter. They look like they’ve gone cold. I heat the oven and pop them in. “I partied so hard I can’t remember any of it.”

“Can I take a guess on how many boys came and went?”

“At least five,” I assure him. He laughs and takes a customer’s coffee order. When it’s his smoke break, I take over at the register. A mother orders tea and her young daughter presses her face to the glass counter, mesmerized by the colorful pastries like I was at that age.

“Which one looks best?” I ask her. Her blue eyes widen and she points at a pink cupcake.

“I didn’t bring that much with me, Hailey,” The mother sighs. “I’ll make you something when we get home. C’mon.”

The girl’s mesmerized expression deflates. They get to the door before I grab a cupcake and run after them.

“Here, on the house.”

The little girl looks to her mother, who smiles and nods, and takes the cupcake.

“Thank you,” The mother says. “She loves that color.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy.”

I watch them go and wipe the frosting off my fingers with my apron. She reminded me a lot of myself when I was younger. Going to bakeries like this with Mom was what made me want to open my own.

“Can I get a coffee?” A customer asks. I snap back to reality and whip up a mocha. When the customer leaves, another steps up to the counter, voice low.

“You give out sweets to kids like that all the time?”

I look up – it’s Lee. Again. It’s like everywhere I go, he’s coincidentally there. I’m about to comment on that when my business professionalism takes over. I have to smile. He’s a customer.

“What can I get you?” I ask. He brushes his dark bangs out of his eyes and looks down at the counter.

“What would you recommend?”

“Personally I like the apple cinnamon strudel.”

“I’ll have that.”

I wrap it up. He hands me the money and for the briefest second, our fingers glance across each other’s. I react instantly – my face heating. All I can think about is how I’ve already seen him pretty much naked. If it was any other guy, one I hadn’t seen au natural, I wouldn’t be acting like this. I’m embarrassed, that’s all. Nothing more.

“That girl seemed happy,” Lee puts the change in the tip jar. “About the cupcake.”

I drop my smile a little. “You saw that, huh? Damn. My secret’s out.”

“What, that the straight-A ice princess is nice to kids?”

I flush harder. “I’m more of a witch than a princess, really.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He scoffs. “Only princesses give sweets to kids for free like that.”

“How do you know? Maybe I’m a witch planning to fatten her up and eat her.”

“Don’t you know how being evil works? You’re not supposed to tell anyone your plans.”

I mime smacking my forehead. “Oh, right! Remind me to consult you before I plan any evilly heinous deeds in the future.”

Lee’s mouth twists into a smile. I’m smiling too. I flatten it. This is the guy I ran into and called names. This is the guy I found escaping from a girl’s room he just had sex with, who I told to piss off when he found me crying. He probably thinks I’m crazy and immature.

“A-Anyway. Enjoy the strudel,” I stutter.

“I will. Thanks.” He flashes one last smile and leaves. Kory passes him as he comes in from his smoke break. He eyes Lee from behind, up and down.

“Damn,” Kory slides behind the counter again. “Who was that fine filet mignon?” I just give a long sigh. Kory nudges me in the ribs. “What, you like him?”

“He’s not my type,” I mumble.

“Last time I checked, ‘maybe-Spanish-maybe-Romanian-maybe-an-underwear-model’ was everybody’s type.”

I busy myself with making a cappuccino and don’t answer that.

Finally, Friday comes. The bell for last period rings and everyone in the Lit lecture hall shuffles out, laughing and making plans for the fall break that’s now officially happening. Jen gives me a hug, smelling like spicy incense. Her skull rings dig into my back.

“You’ll call me, right?”

“Definitely.”

“If it gets too dreary just, hell, I dunno, drink a lot or something. But, uh, not too much. I keep forgetting you’re a lightweight. Just take it easy, okay?”

“Thanks. You too.”

“If you feel like a pick-me-up, come down to L.A. the day after Thanksgiving. We’re putting on a show at ten in the Blue Eclipse.”

I wave, she waves, and with a jingle of her many earrings, she’s gone through the door.

Chapter Two

In Which Lee Montenegro’s Dad Tries To Get Me To Marry Him

The Greyhound bus is dirty, but there’s something comforting about the way the seats smell the same – lint and old candy and sweat. I take the bus up to San Francisco, and Mom and Dad, every holiday. When I was younger Riley and I would take the bus to visit grandpa. Even though grandpa’s died, these seats are the same. Even though I get older, these seats stay.

Mom picks me up at the station in our ancient Acura. She gets out and wraps me in a hug.

“Oh, Rose. It’s so good to see you.”

“I’m really sorry about Grandpa,” I murmur into her blonde hair. Grandpa was her dad. She breathes out, shakily, and brushes my bangs from my eyes. She has dark circles, and her skin’s more wrinkled than I remember. When did she get so old? I haven’t been gone that long, have I?

“C’mon, let’s get going. Your father’s been fretting over a pot roast all day.”

I laugh. “Him and his crockpot obsession.”

“He’s gotten even more obsessed.” Mom’s weary face cracks with a small smile. “He tried to make a cake in it the other day.”

I laugh harder. Loud. So loud it almost seems like sacrilege in the heavy fog of sadness that permeates the car. Mom turns onto the highway.

“How’s business?” I ask.

“We’ve got some new interest from China, so we’re shipping them a sample product, and a cosmetics company in France wants to look at our catalog.”

Mom and Dad own a small artisan soap company. It’s been struggling since I was in middle school, but we’ve always somehow gotten by.

“And Riley?” I ask.

“Has a new girlfriend he’s bringing over for Thanksgiving.”

“That’ll be interesting.”

“Very,” Mom sighs. “We’ll see how long this one lasts.”

The familiar trees and strip malls of my childhood flash past. My neighborhood hasn’t changed either. There’s a new playground, but that’s about it. Our house – a one-story with warm windows and mottled glass door, looks so inviting. Mom pulls into the driveway and pats my hand.

“Welcome home, sweetie. I’m just sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.”

“It’s alright. I’m glad I could be here for you.”

She smiles and we get out. “I’ll tell your father to bring in your bag.”

I watch her go into the house. The frosty twilight air cools my throat. The last leaves are falling from the giant oak tree in our front yard. The tire swing rotates softly in the wind. I sit in it and spin.

Even though I’m older, this swing never changes.

“Hey kiddo,” Dad’s voice. I jump out of the swing and hug him. He’s balding – brown hair a little flyaway – and the same sadness Mom carries around moistens his eyes.

“Hey. I heard we’re having pot roast.”

“It’s the best pot roast in this universe. It better be, anyway. I spent all day on it.” He fishes my duffel bag from the trunk and stops in the front door. “Come in soon, it’s getting cold.”

I twirl until I feel almost sick. The next time the door opens, it’s Riley.

“Get your ass in here,” He yells. “I’m hungry.”

I heft off the swing and ruffle his hair as I pass him in the doorway. It’s blonde and perfectly gelled. Straight B’s, vice captain of the baseball team at his high school, and with more ex-girlfriends than you can count on your hands, Riley’s always adjusted well. He’s the one who’s balanced, not me.

“Wow, you’re so tan,” He snipes, taking in my pale skin. The hall is warm, the same family photos on the walls.

“They teach sarcasm in high school now?” I quirk a brow.

“Learned it from the best.” Riley points at me and grins. We set the table while Dad adds the finishing touches to the roast.

“So, Grandpa,” Riley starts. “Kinda shitty he had to die.”

“Everyone has to die, Rile.”

“Don’t you start getting emo on me, too!” He sighs. “Mom cries all the time. Dad won’t get off the computer unless it’s to moan about the bills or check on the office.”

“How are the bills?” I ask. “Business wise.”

Riley puts a glass down and leans in. “They won’t let me see, but I heard Dad talking to Betsy the other day. He said something about declaring.”

The pit of my stomach goes cold. “Bankruptcy?”

Riley makes a violent ‘shh’ing motion. Dad comes in with the roast and we eat together in a weird mockery of formality. Dad asks me about classes and I’m honest and Mom asks me about boys and I lie (I’ve been on a few coffee dates with classmates). Riley snorts into his peas. I kick him under the table. He knows me better than anyone and can tell it’s crap.

I don’t eat much, my stomach knotted so tight it feels like I’ll throw everything up. Bankruptcy. They can’t go bankrupt, not with the house mortgage and Riley’s college riding on the company. I burn with anger at myself – if I was smarter I’d be done with college by now, have my own bakery, maybe a chain of them, and make enough money to cover Mom and Dad’s losses. Riley wouldn’t have to stress about school like I did if I was just smarter, faster, better –

“Rose?” Mom touches my forearm. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry, blanked for a second. What was it?”

“Grandpa’s funeral. Do you have something black to wear?”

“Yeah, a dress.”

“Great.” Mom turns to Riley. “And you, bucko – don’t try to talk Rose into giving you rides anywhere. You still have school next week.”

Riley heaves a sigh and dramatically stabs a pea.

After dinner, Riley goes to his room to text his girlfriend. Dad settles in front of the TV with Mom and I head downstairs to the office, sneakily. I have to know if they’re really filing for bankruptcy – there should be papers in the office. The door is unlocked. I check under the glass unicorn statue, where the important documents are usually kept. One name catches my eye as I flip through them - United Shores Bank. I read the fine print. Bankruptcy filing. Just seeing those words is enough to make my stomach plummet. I put the papers back and slip into my old room. The stuffed bunnies still litter my bed, the comforter fluffy as ever. I curl under it and try to push out the thought of Mom and Dad losing the house, the company, and Riley ending up like me – getting good grades for scholarships and focusing on only that until he’s utterly and completely alone.