Beautifully Ruined (6 page)

“You. Shall. Not—”

“If you even
think
about quoting
Lord of the Rings
, I will knee you so hard in the jewels, you’ll be singing high C until the end of time.”

Milo nods. “Fair enough.” Worry covers his face.

I made him worry. I feel good now, albeit briefly.

“Are you going to answer my question?” he asks, politely.

I take another step. “You know, I don’t really like you.” That should be an obvious answer to his previous question. I even smile to drive the point home.

“How is that an issue right now?”

“It’s an issue because you seem to be taking quite a liking to me, right now, and that’s not kosher. I don’t like that.” I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Now, if you please, move out of my way.” I place my hands on my hips, straighten my posture to make myself seem taller, and stare him in the eyes. I can be pretty intimidating when I try. Normally, I don’t, but this is getting ridiculous and I’d really appreciate it if he’d stop.

Milo, ever the gentleman, takes a step to the side, and lets me pass so I can go into the library. I jump straight into my favorite chair and resume my reading from
Catch-22
, ignoring all that just happened. I’m alone today. Kennie had a trip with the cheer squad and Harley’s too busy with Avery to notice me anymore.

I could always go downstairs and sit at an actual lunch table, maybe break some bread with Zephyr and try to pretend like we’re still friends—but that’d be a little difficult after my Zephyr-cleanse the other night.

So I read. I pretend like
Catch-22
is my favorite book and I don’t want to be bothered when I’m secretly hoping someone, anyone, even Milo Simms—so help me—just walks to the back of the library and takes the open recliner next to me.

It’s a silly wish.

But that’s a wish that goes unanswered.





After school, without Quiz Team practice, I start my way toward the bus stop at the end of the drive. My headphones scream Slipknot into my ears—
‘But no one else can see the preservation of the moderate me’
—as I make my trek, dodging drive-happy teens with access to their parent’s beamers.
‘Psychosocial.’
I don’t think they’d mind turning a peer into a dent on their parents’ cars. I try not to figure out on my own.

While waiting at the stop next to someone smoking a cigarette that doesn’t smell like one, a car stops in front of me.

I expect it to be a friend of the smoke, because they seem to flock in packs these days, but the boy calls to me.

I tug the bud from my ear.

“Joey, let me give you a ride,” Milo says. He is leaning over far enough that I can see. “Please.”

I nearly ask my companion for a hit. Anything to numb me from this.

“Mama always told me to never get into the car with a stranger,” I say instead, faking a southern accent.

“Joey, come on.” Milo is near begging. “Do you really want to take a bus with a bunch of crazies?”

I snort, barking out a laugh. “And getting into a car with you will be any different?”

“Okay, fair point,” he reasons, leaning closer—as close as his seat belt will allow. “I’ll agree that I’ve been a little weird lately.”

I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t know what’s weird for you, Milo,” I tell him, averting my eyes to the passing traffic. “My impression of you is
jackass
and
stalker
. Right now, I’m adding
potential kidnapper
to the list.” Lifting my hand, my music streams from the headphones. “Just letting you know.” Motioning my hand, I mean for him to move his car. “Just start driving and don’t stop ‘til you hit Texas, ‘kay?” I pop the bud back in my ear and drown him out.

But he does the opposite—damn him. Milo parks the car and hops out, slamming the door before he walks around the car to
stand in front of me, that familiar smug grin I’ve learned to hate in the two days I’ve known him tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he asks smugly, grinning to me.

“It looks like an idiot leaning against a car.”

“Touché,” he mutters, nodding to me. He flips his hair as we descend into silence.

Dude, I’d like a hit please.

An engine slows near the intersection. I turn, spotting the bus. The bus I’m currently waiting for. The bus that will need to pull into the area Milo has parked his car. And, of course, he isn’t moving his car.

“You should move your car,” I say, staring at the bus.

“Not moving.”

I point. “The bus is right there.”

“Then they can wait.” His hand pulls through his hair. “But keep in mind they’ll be waiting for you.”

I really hate this asshat right now. Rolling my eyes, I sigh.

“You can’t trick me into getting into your car.”

“I know.”

I look at the bus again, spying the angry driver behind the wheel. Soon, a horn will be screeching through the air, all because Milo has parked his car where he shouldn’t have.
Crap
.

“Why are you doing this, anyway?”

His hands reach out, gripping my shoulders. My body tenses but Milo ignores it as he leans closer. “It’s your eyes. There’s something about your eyes. I couldn’t place it earlier because of your glasses—and they are adorable glasses—but your eyes, they’re so familiar. It’s like I’ve been staring at them for my entire life and I can’t even place it.” He’s immobilized me with his words, something I hate to admit, but he’s done it. “There’s so much about you I know just from your eyes but I don’t
know
what I know.” He shakes his head, his blonde locks falling into his eyes. “I can’t explain it, it’s all jumbled inside my head, but I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to know you,
please
let me have that chance. The chance to get to know
you
.”

“Let go of me, Milo,” I whisper painfully before he releases his grip, stepping away from him. Looking at him, he’s completely harmless—like a hamster. I know that. I’m not sure why I’m comparing him to a hamster but it’s helping me with my decision. I will admit that he’s annoying—very annoying, but so am I. “After the third stoplight, take a right and keep driving until I say turn right again.” I climb into his car, against my better judgment. A part of me is screaming that it’s stupid to get into the car with this boy, I don’t know him from a hole in the wall, but an even bigger part of me trusts him.

I’m listening to the bigger part.

So I buckle up and tuck my back between my legs as he starts his car, merging back into traffic before the bus pulls up behind him.

So, Joey,” he starts, disrupting the silence growing between us. “Is that short for anything?”

My eyes train out the window, watching the world blur by in greens and browns. He really only wants to get to know me? I find that hard to believe but I doubt he knows Alexia well enough for her to pay him to do anything to me to traumatize me.

“Josephine.”

“Now, there’s a name I haven’t heard outside of history,” he says. “Is it a family name or something special?”

I bite my lip. “Is this your way of getting to know me?” I ask, not really a fan of small talk. “I’m in your car. What now?”

“Well, don’t think this is some big romantic gesture. My giving you a ride home.” That’s great to hear, Romeo, just open your damn mouth, would you. “You seem like a sweet girl and all that, but I don’t really—”

“Well, that’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard.” I bark out a laugh. “You want me to answer questions and all that, start speaking honestly and maybe that’ll get you somewhere with me.”

“Fine. You’re a bitch,” Milo tells me, smiling. “A grade-A bitch, and I’d love to leave your ass at that bus stop, but like I said, there’s something about you. Something I can’t even begin to explain.”

I
did
ask for honesty.

“For one, I’m not normally a bitch.” Not completely honest, but I somewhat try for civility. “You’re just an ass.”

“Yeah, I am,” he instantly agrees.

Ha!
Now we’re getting somewhere.

But that leaves us in silence as we ponder—both of us.

The easiest thing for me to do is be nice and answer his questions. It’s the easiest and the nicest.

“I’m named after the dancer,” I tell him.

“What?” Milo looks over to me as he stops at a stop sign. He looks alarmed, then surprised that I’m complying and answering his question.

“My mother was a dancer,” I explain. “She named me after her role model growing up, Josephine Baker.” It’s what he was looking for, I hope. “She idolized her. She even wanted to move to France one day.” A dream that died too soon.

“
Was?
”

He caught that, did he?

“She’s dead,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. The more I say it, the harder it gets to say.

If he didn’t already know that from his intel, he’s a crappy detective and needs to work on his snooping skills.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I bet she was a beautiful woman.” I look to my hands in my lap. Listening to him try and cover his slip, it’s not what I need right now. “Because you’re really not that bad.”

I snort. “Thanks,” I say, smiling. That lifted my spirits slight. It was enough to make me smile.

After I direct him to my house, I pop from his car, ready to slam the door in his face when he calls out, “Do you need a ride to school tomorrow?”

I think for a moment, lingering with my hand on the door. I can always call Kennie and tell her I’m good to go on my own in the morning. Of course, she’ll want to know why I’m changing my plans. And yes, I’ll have to tell her. She’s a nosy girl with a way to get what she wants: gossip.

But what the hell, right?

“Sure,” I answer before slamming the door—happily, in his face as I hoped. He laughs at me while he backs down the driveway. Soon, I’m just standing in my driveway wondering what I just agreed to. Milo is a bit strange, a bit different, but I don’t see him being scary, I don’t see him turning into Ryder and that’s the only reason I don’t track down his phone number and tell him I changed my mind.

I think Milo only has the purest of intentions, that’s what my gut’s telling me and I have learned to listen to my gut throughout the years.

I turn around, fully prepared to head into my house, when my eyes land on the window of the neighboring house. Familiar brown eyes peek at me before the blinds fall shut, separating me from the chocolate gaze I miss so much.

My breathing falters before I head into my house, hoping I can get through the rest of the day without wondering what he’s thinking. It helps that I have pie waiting. Sweet, delicious pie to mask my pain and regret, even for only a little while.

Hilary pats my head tenderly before sitting down, smiling to me from across the dining table, her plate filled with food, the space in front of me filled with books and my Dell laptop—Microsoft Word open. I wasn’t hungry—I haven’t been for a while—but my aunt asked for company as she ate her dinner. I only had a light amount of homework, which didn’t need my
full
attention, so I brought all my work downstairs and set up camp as she made her way through some delicious macaroni and cheese.

“How was your day at school?” she asks before shoveling a decent amount of food in her mouth as hungrily and daintily as she can.

“It was the normal situation.” Classes, pining, crying, staring, fighting, homework, there’s nothing unusual when you’re Joey Archembault. “How was work? Any kick-ass surgeries?” I waggle my eyebrows, eager to listen—in desperate need of
Grey’s Anatomy
to return from mid-season break.

“Definitely.” My aunt grins, happily and excitedly. “Caught a brain tumor just in time for a lovely patient, I say I did pretty well today.” Hilary loves to brag—I love to listen, her smile beaming bright white as she looks to me.

“Well, that’s awesome, Aunt Hil.” I gush, smiling before continuing my American Sign Language assignment, a paper on the history of Gallaudet University. I’m nearly done by the time Hilary clears her plate of macaroni and cheese and stands up from the table. I’m hitting save and sending it to my wireless printer when she kisses me on the forehead, smoothing back my hair from my face, wishing me a good rest of my night and a good night’s sleep. It’s printed and in my binder by the time I’m in my favorite fuzzy pink sleep shirts, large t-shirt, and just crawling into bed with a book.

I forego
Catch-22
for a book from my shelf. A lovely young adult novel about a girl and her new neighbor that happens to be an alien. But I’m getting really into the story, craving every word before I fall asleep. My eyes grow heavy as thoughts of a sexy neighbor of my own drift through my mind and I’m out like a light, wandering through dreamland before I can make my thoughts stop.

But it’s not Zephyr I see.

The world swirls around me in bright hues of pinks and purples, vibrant yellows and oranges, tugging me from place to place, through memory to memory, and I don’t recognize the field of flowers within I land. It’s empty and the wind slowly blows the tiny flowers back and forth. Like a slow wave, they move and shift together, swaying lazily with the breeze. I reach down to swipe my hand through the flowers expecting the silk of the petals to glide against the palm of my hand, wishing to feel the petals against my skin, but my hand glides through them as if they were nothing.

They are nothing.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” the light, airy female voice asks from behind me, startling me. I jump, turning around to face the voice, the skirt of my summer dress swinging and swishing around my bare legs. Behind me stands a girl my height with pencil straight dark hair plaited in a thick braid over her left shoulder, little tendrils of dark hair framing her face and blow in the wind I feel pushing against me. She’s wearing a blue sundress, similar to the white one I’m wearing, covered in a tiny floral design you need to be close to discern. Her brown eyes glisten in the bright sunlight, twinkling like stars when she turns her hard gaze to me.

I should answer her—this girl I do
n’t know but recognize—that would be the easy thing to do. I’ve seen her somewhere, somewhere that doesn’t come to mind but her face is so obvious, so clear in my head.

“It is,” I say lamely, letting my arms fall straight down my sides, limp and dangling.

She briefly looks to me, crossing her arms along her chest, hiding what genetics gave her. The girl lucked out from what I can tell.

Quickly, she laughs, dropping her arms. “Don’t look so scared,” she says. “It’s only me.”
Who is me?
She swings her thin, tanned arms around her as she takes a soundless step forward. “I like to come here to think from time to time,” she whispers with a small smile tugging her lips apart.
Where is here?
“Think of it like my happy place.”

I look around and only see wide, open space—not a building, not another thing for miles. The air is filled with a light floral scent, the sky is cloudless and bright but there is no sun hovering above, just a bright blue empty sky. There are no trees surrounding us and we are completely alone. It’s just her and me.

But who is she?

She looks familiar, as if I’ve seen her somewhere.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she starts quietly, walking past me. “But you just, I don’t know, never come here.” I tilt my head, unable to follow her trail as she moves. “Although, you do have every capability of doing so.”

I want to tell her,
I don’t even know where here is
, but the words die on my lips.

I turn to face her. Instead, I blurt, quite gracefully I might add, “Who are you?” before I can rethink. The outburst doesn’t surprise her as it does me. She turns to me with a small, knowing smile blooming.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t recognize your own sister?”

I step back.

Ivy?

“That’s me.” She giggles as if she heard me. “And you should—this is your dream,” she continues, turning away to look around us. “Think of this as a little…” she trails off, thinking before saying, “
family bonding
.”

“But you were ten,” I stammer out nervously. “Only ten years old.”

She turns to face me. “And this is how I would look if I turned nineteen.” She has a point. I wouldn’t know what she’d look like today. If she lived. “At least in your mind. I think I’d prefer my hair to be a little bit shorter in the real world. Maybe a little curlier.” Ivy tugs on the end of her braid. “You know, if I lived and were—”

“Why am I here?” I blurt. She doesn’t seem surprised by the interruption; she also doesn’t answer my question. Ivy turns away from me and takes another step away, further into the flower-filled field, putting more distance between us. A few minutes go by, minutes that feel like hours, before I demand, “Are you going to answer me?”

I can’t understand the hostility I have. This is only a dream, a dream that will disappear when I wake up. I won’t remember any of this in the morning. But anger is all I have.

“That isn’t something I can answer.” Ivy doesn’t face me when she speaks so I stare at her back, her bare back, tanned from the sun and covered in scars and bruises, ones that weren’t there a moment ago. Even in my mind, a dream, I can’t hide that night from my memory.

“What happened to you?” I ask, stepping closer, my hand outstretched to touch the flaws of her flesh. My hand falls between us before it connects with her skin. I don’t know what I’ll feel if I try to touch her. Maybe she’s not real—
of course she’s not real, Joey, this is a dream
—but more than that, what if when I try to touch her, my hand goes right through her like the flowers?

I can’t have that happen.

I want to touch my sister. She’s standing in front of me, that should mean I
can
touch her.

But this is a dream. Only a dream.

She turns her head to the side—she can barely look at me, barely see me. “You should know, Joey.” With that, she disappears, fading right before my eyes leaving me alone in an empty field surrounded by air and flowers.

I should have touched her, felt her sun-kissed skin, when I had the chance. Now she’s gone.

Tears trickle down my cheeks, falling to the front of my white dress. She was here—Ivy was here. She was talking to me. And she just left.

She just left me.

It’s breaking my heart, standing in this field—the last few moments replaying.

Startled, I feel the sensation of air move over my shoulder, lightly rubbing back and forth along my skin. But it isn’t air.

“Don’t be sad,” a deep, male voice tells me, distracting me from what I saw.

I turn around.

Suddenly, I feel safe wherever I am.

Next to me, another familiar face I haven’t seen before. But I know who it is I’m looking at.

“Noah?” I ask, a smile pulling at my frown.

He nods.

“Where am I?” I ask, hoping for an answer that makes some amount of logical sense, hoping for a better explanation than Ivy’s.

“You should know the answer to that,” he tells me, dropping his hand. I barely felt it. “I can’t tell you anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because even I don’t know.” That isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear from him, but I can’t complain. Not loudly, anyway. “But I’m here with you.” His hand reaches, cupping my cheek. I lean into his touch, feeling his skin, feeling him. It’s like he’s real—he’s real right now. Noah pulls his hand away, and the cool air presses against my cheek, reminding me instantly of the loss of the recent and the past.

“I don’t remember you being this nice to me when we were kids,” I confess, remembering all the times he pulled my hair and hid my favorite toys. Every inch the big brother I despised as a little girl but still loved until no end.

“Well, you have to admit that you’re embellishing this quite a bit, Joey.” He rolls up the sleeves to his shirt, scrunching them to his elbows. “This is
your
dream.”

My dream? Does that mean anything can happen and I’ll be the one controlling it? That whole
the world is your oyster
bullshit comes to mind. The type of stuff they drill into your mind in school. But I try. I try to make it rain because that’s the only way I’ll believe him. I close my eyes tightly, breathing slowly, hoping to feel that first drop. That first drop of water hitting the center my forehead, but nothing happens. I try
harder
to make it rain—will it, wish it—do everything I can, but still nothing.

“It won’t work,” he tells me, eyeing me suspiciously.

I shrug it off.

“Then why now?” I ask no one in particular, I’m just thinking out loud—listening to myself talk and complaining. Because I’ve had plenty of years, plenty of opportunities, to have these dreams. So many times before, Noah or Ivy could’ve stepped into my dreams and been as equally cryptic as ever. But why now? Why do this to me now? “Why see you both now and here?”
Wherever
here
is
.

“Because you’re going through a tough time. What they call a
rough patch
.” Noah tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “If we can’t be there for you in the real world, why not in your dreams, you know?”

No. I don’t know.

“Maybe we should be a bit honest here, huh, Noah?” The voice behind me surprises me. I turn. Ivy is standing behind me, her hands folded in front of her. “This isn’t
exactly
a dream.”

I look back to Noah. His eyes narrow as he stares at Ivy.

“Then what is it?” I finally demand. I want answers and this little back and forth between them is not giving me any. “
What is it?
”

“That,” Noah starts, stepping toward me, “well, we can’t tell you, little sister.” His eyes lock on Ivy behind me. I turn, spotting her glare, arms folded along her chest. There’s a bite to his smooth voice. There’s a bit of aggression that wasn’t there a moment ago. It’s reminding me of the little boy who used to pull my hair, pelt me with hot wheels cars and place single Lego pieces around my room for me to step on.

“I feel like we should,” Ivy argues, stepping toward us. “She’s our sister, and—”

“We can’t,
Ivy
. You know that,” Noah says. “They’ll take us back instantly. She needs us here. Joey
needs
us here right now.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t help her while she’s here,
Noah
. We still have the chance.” Ivy drops her arms, placing her hands on her hips—a stance of defiance as she stares at her younger brother.

“That’s exactly what it means,” he argues. “For her, this is a dream.”

“This is a dream,” I state matter-of-factly, a little uncertain now. “Right?”

“Right,” Noah answers while Ivy says, “
Wrong
.”

That isn’t confusing at all
.

Noah stalks over to our sister. “You can’t tell her anything,” he says, leaning closer.

“I know that,” she snaps, turning away until she stares off into nothing, her brown eyes vacant. “But I want to
try
, she’s our sister.”

Noah crosses the distance separating them and grabs her arm, tugging her closer to him so he can whisper. It doesn’t work as well as he hopes, I can still hear everything they’re saying.

“She’ll always be our sister,” Noah starts, his thumbs smoothing over the skin of her arm. “We’ll always love her and want to help and protect her, but we can’t. We can’t tell her what’s in her future, you know that.”

None of that makes any sense.

“What’s in my future?” I blurt out curiously.