Confronted (Beauty And The Billionaire Geek Book 1) (5 page)

Once I’d finished the paperwork, I took it back to the woman behind the admissions counter. She hurriedly entered everything into the computer, her over long fingernails clicking on the keyboard as she typed.

She frowned at me while pulling the papers from the printer. “You’ll need take the math and English admissions exams. You’re grades don’t qualify you to skip them.”

“I know,” I whispered.

My high school grades had been a solid C- average. And I’d only been able to get them that high with a concerted effort my senior year. The year my mom killed herself, I almost dropped out. My grades seriously tanked to Ds and Fs. I’d been a decent student before. After mom’s death, I stopped caring. 

I’d also had to work because my sister Claire had been pregnant, and my sister Regan had gone to a psychiatric hospital. Needless to say, my last two years of high school had not exactly been easy. My teachers understood. Being from a small town, they put the effort into helping me graduate.

“After you get your test results, see an advisor to register for classes. You should probably visit financial aid today to make sure your grants are in order.”

I made an appointment to take my admissions tests and got up to visit financial aid, and I stood in front of a window in the wall where the financial aid clerk sat. I gave her my social security number, and she checked my file. Everything was in order, but she confirmed that the aid would only cover my tuition. I wouldn’t even be able to afford books after my out of state fees. On top of that, I had to go full time if I wanted to get the full amount possible. If I went part time, the grants wouldn’t even cover my tuition costs.

Leaving the building with stacks of papers in my hands, I felt raw and discouraged. The only way I could make this work would be by getting a job right away. I’d been waitressing at the local diner in my hometown for two years. I’d sent résumés to every restaurant job in Seattle. My boss would have given glowing references about my work ethic, but not one single place even called me back.

Maybe it was because I was eighteen and from out of state, but I didn’t see how that should matter if I was good at my job.

When I got home, I found Chris sitting on the tan colored couch watching baseball. His booted foot rested on the glass coffee table while he nursed a bottle of beer. I rolled my eyes at him. He was drinking beer at noon on Tuesday. Did this guy even work?

“Hey, Zoe. Come sit with me,” I heard him call behind me. I ignored him

“Cunt,” I heard him say under his breath as I climbed the stairs.

What an asshole. If I hadn’t already felt completely uncomfortable in this house, I definitely felt that way now. No one else was home. I didn’t want to be there alone with Jerkoff, so I deposited the school documents on my bed and grabbed a handful of résumés. I left my room and jogged back downstairs to the front door.

“Hey,” he shouted as I gripped the doorknob. I turned to look at him as he made a lewd gesture with his tongue. Eh! I swung the door open and let it slam behind me. Practically running down the street, I turned the corner and made it to the business area of the neighborhood. There were plenty of restaurants I could give applications to here. One of these places had to be hiring.

The sun shone down from the deep azure sky and flocks of pigeons pecked at crumbs on the sidewalk. I went into every restaurant along Market Street, but no one had a single opening. They took the résumés and said they’d call if anything came up. Sure. And My Little Ponies would fly out of my ass and douse everyone with friendship magic.

Feeling dejected, I caught a bus and headed downtown. There were thousands of restaurants in the Seattle metro area. One of them had to at least give me a damn interview.

The bus crossed a bridge and barreled down the line until I got off near Pike’s Place Market. Downtown bustled with activity even on a Tuesday afternoon. Tourist shops, cafés, the noise of traffic and the smell of piss mixed with the smell of caramel coming from an ice cream shop. My head whirled, and I clutched my résumés.

I prided myself on being level headed and being able to deal with just about anything, without getting too emotional about it. My sister Regan had a mental illness and her ups and downs were a good example of how not to be. Claire was a sweetheart, but she could cry at the drop of a hat. I could hold it together, and I’d always counted on that. Sometimes I had a tendency to kind of check out on things, like when I almost dropped out of high school, but at least I kept working and helped keep shit together at home.

Standing in the middle of this massive city, alone, nearly broke, facing a nasty dude in my cramped house, I felt ready to crack. I rubbed my bare arm and wished I’d dressed in something more substantial than a tank top, shorts, and sandals. I felt naked in the face of the crowd.

Taking a deep breath, I decided on a direction and headed that way. Down Pine Street, I found plenty of places to drop my résumé. It was all the same story— we’ll call you when we have an opening. I turned down Pike Street and continued handing out resumes, hoping that someone would actually need help.

When I finally ran out of resumes, I sat in a café that looked out on Puget Sound with a latte. The black water glimmered in the glaring afternoon sunlight. Massive cargo ships glided toward the harbor to the south. A ferry left its bubbling white wake behind as it drew away to the west, and a massive yacht sat anchored not far from the shore.

I tried to ground myself in the rhythm of the place. I’d come from the redwood forests, where life moved in slow bursts with the seasons. The campers came through in summer. In winter, it rained, and we shored up our roofs.

Seattle seemed to vibrate from within, but the steady pull of the Sound soothed it in to restfulness. I wondered if I could find any rest here. Already, I’d been shoved out of my room, been sexually harassed, and spent way too much money on a latte.

I sat in the café until I knew Stacy would be off work. She called me as I walked toward the bus stop. “Zoe, we need to talk. Where are you?”

My bus pulled up in front of me. “I’m downtown about to get on a bus. What is it?” I paid the driver, lurched down the aisle as the bus pulled onto the street, and found a seat near the back.

“I don’t want to tell you over the phone. Just get back to the house as soon as you can.”

I hung up and stared out the window as the bus bumped down the 15th Ave, through Interbay, past warehouses and ugly apartment buildings. We crossed the Ballard Bridge and stopped in front of grocery store, where I got off and stared walking up Market St. past the library. By the time I made it to the house, I found Stacy sitting on the front stoop in her yoga pants, sports bra, and sweatshirt.

“What’s wrong?”

“Come here and sit down.”

“Alright.”

“Well, my new boss at the gym told me they can only hire me part time until the fall. I guess it’s a trial period or some bull shit like that.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Does no one around here keep their promises?”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down. Chris and Max are in there complaining to August about us.”

I buried my head in my hands. Complaining about
us
? What did we do? It was Max who rented us a room he then took back. Chris was the pervert.

“Chris asked me out. I said ‘no,’ and ever since he’s been acting like a massive asshole.”

“Max wants to raise our rent or something.”

“He can’t do that.”

“I’m scared, Zoe. August just told me she got accepted to NYU. She didn’t expect it to happen as a transfer student. She thought she’d go to UW. Now she’s telling me she’s probably going to go to New York within the next few weeks.”

“I don’t want to go back to Leggetville.”

“Neither do I!”

“I gave out about twenty résumés today. No one is hiring.”

“We’ll figure something out,” she said, putting her arm around my shoulder.

We stood up and went inside. The tension in the house was as thick as coddled milk and just as sour. I rubbed my stomach, almost smelling the stink. August stood next to the flat screen while Chris and Max sat on the couch and the recliner with arms crossed. August looked as if someone had just punched her in the gut, and she was searching for a way out.

“What’s up?” I said, nonchalantly, trying to break the tension. I suddenly wished I’d been more polite when I got there yesterday. I had a hard time being fake-nice when I was tired and pissed.

“We feel like you girls aren’t going to fit into the house. If there is going to be a personality clash, we’ll have to charge more rent. It’s the only way to make it worthwhile to keep you here,” said Max. What was this guy’s deal? I felt anger trickle down my chest and mix with the panic in my belly. I shot a look at August who stared down at her booted feet. Stacy babbled incoherently about how we were both nice people and how tired we both felt yesterday after our long trip.

“Well, guys. I’m going to be leaving next week anyway, so there will be an extra room. You don’t want to be out three roommates do you?” said August, finally finding her backbone.

Chris and Max looked at each other. A smooth, cool grin twisted on Chris’s face. “Of course not. We just want these girls to know there is a certain code of conduct in this house. If you don’t live by it, you’re out.”

I smiled back at him with the practiced smile I’d learned from working as a waitress for two years. I’d never had to use it in my home life before. “You’re right, Chris,” I said in the most genuine, humble tone I could muster. “We’ve been incredibly rude since we got here. Thank you for putting up with us. If you guys don’t mind, Stacy and I have a lot to think about. You know, adjusting our attitude and all.”

Stacy made a disgusted yelp, and I grabbed her arm, dragging her upstairs. August followed behind us, and we locked ourselves in the bedroom. August was nearly in tears as I shoved Stacy down on her bed to keep her from yelling at me.

“I’m so sorry, guys. I didn’t know this would happen. Chris has been gone since I moved in last year. He was in Alaska on a fishing boat or something. Now all a sudden he’s back and Max is acting like a prick. I’ve never seen him like this.” She paced the room as she spoke excitedly under her breath.

I slid back onto my bed with a humph, crossing my arms and examining the two young women in front of me. My gaze went from August to Stacy and back again. They both looked beside themselves. I had to admit, I was pretty over it. I narrowed my eyes at August.

“How do Max and Chris even know each other? They seem like complete opposites.”

“I don’t know,” she said, sitting next to Stacy. “It’s like they have some weird bro blood pact or something. I know you guys put a lot of money into getting up here, and I feel totally terrible leaving you in this situation. But shit, NYU film school! I didn’t think they’d take me in a million years, especially this late in the summer. It’s like a miracle. My parents are already sending me money and my new housing is already arranged. The good news is you can have my room.”

“That’s something,” I said too sarcastically. August looked wounded. I shrugged and picked at the fraying stitching on my ancient patchwork quilt.

Stacy burst into her overly positive animated jabbering. She told August how totally happy we were for her and how great everything would turn out for everyone. Sometimes her can-do attitude was annoying. She listened to too many Tony Robbins tapes.

I sat on my bed watching them jump up and down with glee. I was happy for August. Who wouldn’t be? But we’d left home and wound up in a shit storm.

The week before school started, I came home from job-hunting to find Chris sitting in the living room with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand, beer cans strewn across the coffee table and the television blaring a fishing show.

Dusk had settled outside, but I could sense no one else was home. My heart trembled like a wounded animal as I closed the door. I tried not to look into his bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, Zoe. Why are you such a stuck up bitch? I’m a good guy. I just want to hang out with you.”

“I know you are a good guy, Chris,” I lied, trying to keep my cool. “I’m just super busy, trying to pay rent and everything.” I made my voice sound peppy and positive like Stacy’s. A nervous laugh escaped my mouth unwittingly. I walked toward the stairs, not looking at him.

“I’m talking to you,” he yelled, jumping from the couch. He grabbed my arm. I pulled away instinctively and ran up the stairs. He stumbled on the lowest step, giving me time to make it to my room and lock myself inside.

The knob rattled violently then he bashed the door. I slid the window open, thinking I might have to escape. Silence. I clutched my cell phone wondering if I should call the police. What would I say? That he’d grabbed my arm and chased me upstairs. He hadn’t hit me or injured me in any way. If the police came, it would probably just make it worse.

I left the window open, curled on my bed, waiting for Stacy to come home.

The next morning, I got a call back from the sandwich shop a few blocks from the house. I’d start at fifteen hours a week, which pretty much sucked ass. I’d worked forty in California with minimum wage and tips. It had been a good solid job. At least the sandwich shop wasn’t disgusting like most fast food places. With only a couple hundred dollars left in the bank, I’d take what I could get.