Paradise City (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Basking in the solitude of an empty house, I ignored the English assignment that was due on Monday, putting that on my list of things for future Lexie to worry about. For now: first one home, first one to raid the cupboard. Not that there was really ever anything in it aside from fruit and a box of bran; um, no! I was going to need something a little stronger. Thinking I couldn’t get into any more trouble than I was already in, I raided the forbidden shelf that housed Uncle Peter’s Coke for his Scotch and Coke. I grabbed it with great delight. If he hadn’t come into the Wipe Out Bar none of this would have happened. I pulled the tab, hearing the hiss as I punctured it open. Yum!

I slurped a big mouthful down, eyeing the flickering, flashing number on the answering machine on the kitchen bench. I pressed the play button, hoping it was a message from Mum. I really wanted to hear her voice, so when Principal Fitzgibbon’s voice came through the loud speaker I almost spat my mouthful of Coke all over the kitchen.

Hi, Mr and Mrs Burnsteen, it’s John Fitzgibbons, principal of Paradise High here. Just wanted to check how Lexie was doing? She wasn’t present at her lunchtime detention today and there is no record of her leaving the grounds. She might not be aware of the rules when it comes to going home sick but she has to sign out. I am sure it’s all a misunderstanding. Our main concern of course is that Lexie is okay. Please give us a call back on . . .

I quickly pressed the button.

Message deleted.

Oh shit, that was bad: very, very bad.

The walls were closing in on me: there was no un-opening and putting back the Coke, there was no way of avoiding my wagging detention and fooling around with Ballantine in the common room, and the way that news travelled around here, both Uncle Peter and Aunty Karen would probably come home thinking I’d been knocked up by Dean Saville. If even a sliver of any of this got back to my parents I would be going home, first thing.

I heard the front door open and the unmistakeable sound of a bag being dropped.

Crap!

I quickly tipped the rest of the Coke down the sink, spinning around the kitchen looking for a place to hide the evidence. I opted for the bread bin. I wasn’t in the mood to face Amanda . . . alone!

I readied myself for the inevitable onslaught of questions about Dean Saville. I opted for light and casual, placing one hand on the bench and the other on my hip, like ‘Hey, what’s up? I’m just hanging in the kitchen, real casual like.’ I felt about as casual as an eighties model in a knitwear catalogue.

Amanda appeared from around the corner looking every bit as pissed off as I had ever seen.

‘Hey,’ I said, light and airy, my attempt to set the tone.

‘Oh, you’re here.’ It was more of an accusation than a statement as she walked past me and went straight to the fridge. ‘Oh goody!’ she said sarcastically.

I couldn’t help but wonder what her actual problem was. I thought maybe if I explained the full story to her she might be less mad at me and just see it for the colossal mistake that it was.

‘Amanda, what’s wrong?’

I expected to be met with her usual cagey silence, so when Amanda slammed the fridge door and spun around glaring at me, I wanted to run and hide under my bed.

‘What’s
wrong
? What’s wrong is you are embarrassing me! The whole school is talking about my slutty cousin who is fucking Dean Saville!’ she screamed.

Whoa.

I had expected one hundred and one questions, but not this.

‘I am not doing anything with Dean Saville,’ I deadpanned.

‘Oh, really? Because that’s not what your BFF Laura is saying.’

It suddenly occurred to me that above all else there was a far bigger crime being committed here, something that everyone failed to see. Boon was reading Laura’s diary, albeit a fake diary. Still, he had no right and someone had to point this out.

‘Did she tell you this directly?’ I probed with interest.

‘No, but Boon said that –’

‘So Laura told Boon?’

‘What? I don’t know,’ she snapped.

‘So how does Boon know?’

Amanda glowered at me; it was like this was all she could manage because I knew she couldn’t pinpoint the blame directly onto Laura, and by saying any more she’d be incriminating her boyfriend.

‘How strange,’ I said, smirking to myself.

‘If you don’t go home, I’ll make you wish you had.’ A chill ran down my spine. Amanda could be so venomous when she wanted to be, and I could hardly believe I’d ever managed to tap into any kind part of her personality. She was a complete stranger to me.

‘Why would I want to do that, when staying here and torturing you is so much more entertaining?’

Amanda laughed, folding her arms across her chest. ‘You know what? Stay; knock yourself out. It’s not like I have to do much, you’re already destroying your own reputation. Face it, Lexie, a few weeks in and you’re already the laughing stock of Paradise High. And no-one is talking about you in any other way than in utter disbelief that someone like Dean would be interested in someone like you,’ she scoffed, her eyes roaming over me as if I was something she had scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

It was then that Ballantine’s words echoed through my head.

Not in a million years.

But Ballantine liked me, he had said as much, showed as much. I wanted to rip out Ballantine’s drawing and ram it into Amanda’s face, tell her all about my secret times together with Ballantine, the coolest, sexiest boy in school, but I didn’t dare. I was grateful that Ballantine and I were a secret. Let them speculate about Dean. What did it matter? As long as Amanda didn’t know, she wouldn’t be able to hold anything against me. I glared back at her. Gone was any understandable longing for what was once between us when we were young. Now I had proven that I could cope on my own, she could go to hell for all I cared. I could’ve been really cruel and told her that Boon had tried to crack onto me the same night they hooked up, but no matter how angry I was, or how harsh Amanda’s words were, I could never bring myself to stoop so low.

Like my dad always says, it takes more courage to just walk away. So that’s what I did, as much as it killed me to hear Amanda smugly snort as if she had won the argument, and had the last word.

There was no time to think as the front door opened, and the well-known key drop on the hall stand caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. The house filled with upbeat chatter, mostly coming from Aunty Karen.

I stilled from storming towards the bedroom – instead, I lifted my head and plastered on false bravado. I didn’t want to make myself look visibly guilty so I psyched myself to greet my aunty and uncle instead.

‘Hey,’ I said, which was always more than what Amanda could manage, even on a good day. I went to continue to the bedroom, aiming on getting there before Amanda could lock me out.

‘Oh, hey, Lexie, can you wait a second?’ asked Aunty Karen. ‘Peter wants to call a family meeting.’ She glanced at Uncle Peter, who, if surprised by the notion, didn’t show it. His serious, yet bored gaze fixed on me. It was like he saw straight through me. That’s when I began to panic.

Family meeting? A family meeting was usually announced in my house for either good or bad news, and somehow the grim lines of Uncle Peter’s face suggested good news was unlikely. Oh God, maybe Principal Fitzgibbons had tracked them down, told them about my week-long detention and me skipping the final day. I felt sick. What would be my explanation? Kissing the one boy I was forbidden to see? Oh God, help!

I glanced towards Amanda, who seemed equally wary as she headed towards the dining-room table.

I sat at the glass-top table staring down at my hands. With Aunty Karen sitting opposite, Amanda sitting to my right, it was going to be a ‘family meeting’ from hell. Uncle Peter sat at the head of the table, gloomy as usual. I couldn’t decide if I was more worried about why he was home so early from work, or about what he had lurking deep within his mind.

Just what I needed – another complication. It felt like I was on trial for murder. Maybe this would be a chance to plead my case, to put forward my defence, to clear my name. Of course, if Uncle Peter was going to make his witness statement of me sneaking out to the Wipe Out Bar – of all places – it was going to be a tough one to win. I had already mentally packed my bags. If the betrayal of the late-night sneak-outs wasn’t bad enough, all they’d have to do was talk to Principal Fitzgibbons to check out how my first few weeks of school had gone and I’d be shipped back to Red Hill quick smart. There was no way of escaping it anymore. I would come clean, talk before anyone else had a chance to; I would put everything on the table and then maybe I’d be able to sleep at night. No doubt I would anyway, back home in my childhood bed, that is – minus any sexy boys knocking on my bedroom window.

Uncle Peter rubbed his chin in thought, before placing his hand on the table and drumming his fingers on the glass. It felt like I was about to be cross-examined, torn to shreds on the stand.

I want the truth!

You can’t handle the truth.

Uncle Peter leant forward, clasping his hands together. ‘So . . . where do you ladies want to go for dinner?’

Wait. What?

Amanda’s head and mine snapped around comically fast, instinctively glancing at each other, no doubt wondering if we were dreaming.

‘Dinner?’ Amanda sneered.

Uncle Peter shrugged. ‘Yeah, why not? It’s Friday night, let’s go out.’

Aunty Karen beamed with approval. ‘Oh, Peter, where should we go? The Club? Alfredo’s? What about Donovan’s?’ She rattled off names like an ecstatic teenager.

Even I was getting excited by Aunty Karen’s enthusiasm; and so unbelievably relieved that I was not getting sent home.

‘How about the Wipe Out Bar?’ suggested Amanda. I turned to see her raise her brows at me, taunting me. I kicked her under the table but I think it hurt me more than it hurt her.

The Wipe Out Bar was the last place on earth I wanted to be. I couldn’t imagine having to face Dean knowing he knew about the circulating rumours. I knew it was just a way to entertain Amanda, to allow her to watch on with her beady little eyes. God, I hated her. But it mattered little, there was no way Uncle Peter would agree to take us to the Wipe Out –

‘Okay,’ he said, pushing himself up from the table. ‘The Wipe Out Bar it is.’

What?

My eyes widened in horror as I watched Uncle Peter walk out of the dining room.

Aunty Karen’s enthusiasm seemed to dim somewhat. ‘Is that down Arcadia Lane?’ she asked, as if the very idea was too unsavoury to even contemplate.

‘Yep!’ said Amanda, leaping up from her chair then, as she moved behind me, she grabbed my shoulders and whispered in my ear, ‘At least you’ll get to see old Deano. You can even introduce him to the family. No need to thank me.’ She seemed to delight in my misery, slapping me on the back as she moved her head away. ‘Better get ready,’ she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she skipped out of the room.

Aunty Karen smiled. ‘I’m so glad you two are getting along so well.’

Yeah, like a freakin’ house on fire.

Chapter Forty

I wondered if I pushed my foot on the back of her kneecap, would she collapse to the ground? The thought of a bloodcurdling scream and perhaps even the sound of a bone snapping made the fact that Lucy fucking-fell-on-her-face was leading us towards a vacant booth in the family bistro section a little less sufferable. Of all the waitresses in the entire world, she had to serve us? She smiled at me, all sickly sweet, but I knew what it meant.

I’m going to spit in your food.

Although, I did wonder if she had seen Ballantine yet. If so, she might know that he and I had talked, and that he was aware of her pretence the night before. Time would tell.

Aunty Karen and Uncle Peter were trying to humour us, but they were obviously massively out of their comfort zone as we slid into the booth. Aunty Karen awkwardly shimmied herself around, her expensive gold jewellery clinking all the way, her ample bosom bouncing, and the leather underneath her made farting noises as she scooted along. Her eyes strayed to the rafters; the fishing net that draped from the beams with an inflatable shark wedged in it caused her to frown. No, this was most definitely not the Ritz; this was going to be a struggle for her.

Uncle Peter, on the other hand, maintained his poker face. He had an air of ‘let’s get this over and done with’. But that was pretty much how he went about everything in life. There was a definite feeling of unease between Uncle Peter and me, thinking back to the last time we had been here together. It was somewhat dramatic¸ to say the least. I glanced to Amanda opposite me, who offered a super-sweet smile that was about as genuine as Lucy’s. She too had metamorphosed in and out of character. Guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree, I thought as my attention flicked between Uncle Peter and his daughter. I had huge sympathy for that inflatable shark trapped in the netting – I knew exactly how it felt.

The hostess with the mostess, Lucy, appeared at our table with an armful of menus that she lovingly placed down before each of us as she chirped away, listing the specials off the top of her head. ‘Would you like any drinks while you decide on your meals?’ Blink, smile, blink.

God, I hate her.

She was one of those ‘memory’ waitresses: didn’t need a notepad because she had some kind of bullshit perfect memory.

‘All right then, back in a jiffy.’ She tilted her head like an angel.

‘That’s Grant Fell’s daughter. Lovely girl,’ Uncle Peter said, straightening his cutlery on the table.

I looked away, disguising my eye roll. I could see that even Amanda was almost gagging on that one. Then I paused.
Oh hell.
Weaving his way through the tables towards us: Dean Saville.

Oh no-no-no-no-no . . .

He paused between tables, laughing and joking with the customers, as if he was some kind of schmoozer from back in the fifties. I hadn’t seen this side of him before, and it seemed . . . weird.

I could feel Amanda watching me as he neared.

‘You guys right for drinks?’ he asked, warm and friendly as you like.

I instantly saw my uncle’s demeanour change – straighten into proud family man.

‘Yeah, we’re right thanks, mate.’

Mate?

‘Great! Well, if you need anything just let me or my staff know and we’ll fix you up.’

Who were these people? It was like body snatchers had invaded their bodies.

‘It’s a lovely place you have here,’ said Aunty Karen, in her typical bright and bubbly manner.

Dean laughed, and smiled that same roguish smile. ‘Oh, that’s very kind of you. I see you’ve met Hank.’ His eyes lifted to the inflatable shark.

Aunty Karen followed the direction of his eyes, laughing and clutching her necklace like a school girl. ‘Oh, yes, we have met.’

Oh my God, was Aunty Karen blushing?

Amanda was openly sneering at her mother, equally as embarrassed as I was.

‘Well, I’m afraid Hank’s days might be numbered. I plan on doing some extensive renovations, so if you know anyone who’s interested, I’ll be looking for a new home for him.’

He winked at Uncle Peter – as if he was in on the joke – knowing that somehow an inflatable shark in Aunty Karen’s living room was not exactly to her taste.

Aunty Karen’s smile wavered. ‘Oh, um, well, I’ll keep my ear to the ground, see if I hear of anyone who’s looking,’ she said, nodding with sincerity.

‘I appreciate it. Well, I better let you get back to it; enjoy your night.’

I tried to make eye contact with Dean before he left but he merely glanced my way, treating me no differently from the others. I was relieved. He seemed to just let it slide. Ballantine had said he had thought it was funny, like it was a huge joke that someone like
him
would be interested in someone like
me
, just like Amanda said.

I watched his tall, lean frame, dressed in his usual all-black attire, drift out of the bistro and back towards the bar. I hated where we were sitting, away from the main area, unable to see the comings and goings. All I could see was Lucy bitchface making her way back to us with a tray of drinks that she expertly carried with one hand.

Oh yeah, so clever.

‘Here you go!’ She put the tray on our table, placing drink coasters out before each of us.

‘One house white, one Carlton Draught, and two Cokes for the kids.’ She winked at my uncle, who smiled.

Oh, how I wanted to wipe that smile from her face.

Kids? We were the same age as her.
Bitch.

•

So far, so good. I watched my aunty and uncle relax somewhat, melting into the booth, accepting that this wasn’t fine dining, but that the atmosphere was good enough: family friendly with an over-the-top sweet waitress and a personal welcome from Dean. I, of course, didn’t melt into my seat. I was nothing but a livewire, fidgeting, and thinking about Ballantine. I desperately wanted to know if he was working tonight. Was he in the same building right now? My leg jigged impatiently under the table as I cursed the fact I had no-one to ask. Amanda? No. Lucy? No way! Curiosity was killing me.

‘Um, I’m just going to the ladies before dinner gets here,’ I said, moving to stand. ‘Does anyone want a non-alcoholic beverage while I’m heading that way?’

Amanda’s glass was empty. ‘No, thanks. I think I’ll wait for Lucy.’ She smiled defiantly at me.

Whatever.

If she’d rather be looked after by that skank – after all, I knew what her friends thought of Lucy – then so be it.

Aunty Karen countered, ‘Thanks anyway, Lexie.’

Rounding the corner through the double doors, the room was bustling with Friday night celebrations, but I looked past all that. My eyes skimmed over to the end of the bar, to the corner where Dean was moving his pen over a clipboard, an intense frown lining his face.

I walked over to him, his eyes failing to lift as I stood before him.

‘Hi honey. Did you have a good day?’ he asked.

I knew he would deliberately make me squirm.

I sighed, taking the vacant stool next to him. ‘You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?’

A smile spread broadly across his face, as his eyes glanced up from his clipboard. ‘Every chance I get.’

‘Now listen –’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m listening. In fact, I’m quite fascinated to recall the details of our hook-up,’ he said, chucking the clipboard on the bar and crossing his arms across his chest, giving me his full attention.

I swallowed. ‘Our hook-up?’

‘Play. By. Play,’ he said.

I cringed. ‘What exactly do you know?’

If I knew how much Dean knew I could at least determine how much damage control I had to do, and how much information to share. I wasn’t going to unnecessarily dig my hole deeper if I didn’t need to.

Dean shrugged. ‘Apparently I fucked you on a pool table.’

I gasped, my eyes widening in horror. I could feel the heat climbing up my neck. I don’t know what shocked me more: the brash words or the sheer delight he was getting at watching my horrified reaction.

‘I
never
said that –’

‘I gathered as much.’

‘What I mean was, that kind of thing, well, that wasn’t even part of the plan.’

‘The plan?’ Dean looked straight into my eyes, something I really wished he hadn’t done, as they were distracting, the interesting greeny-brown of them. They were so unique, so unusual. But then again, nothing about Dean Saville seemed usual.

‘It was just a little joke,’ I said.

‘To make someone mad?’ he asked.

‘Not exactly.’

Dean’s eyes were unmoving. ‘Or was it to make someone jealous?’ he queried.

When I didn’t answer he nodded.

‘I see.’

I felt about two feet tall, and if the ground could open up underneath me it would be a blessing. A silly little high school rumour was never meant to gain such traction, or to get back to the very source, and with such X-rated details added to the mix. I felt like an idiot, and cursed Laura and her diary.

‘So is your plan working?’

My eyes lifted to his.

‘Is he jealous?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

He had been angry, was that the same thing?

‘Anyway, I’m sorry you got involved and thanks for letting Ballantine know it wasn’t the truth.’

Not in a million years. Yeah, that still stings a bit.

If I hadn’t witnessed the jovial, charming Dean moments before, I would have thought him arrogant, like my original impression, but I dug deep and searched for that good part of him, the one I knew lurked beneath the black clothing and bad attitude – the Dean behind the businessman.

‘And thanks for acting normal at the table before. I owe you one.’

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘I’d watch what I said if I were you, some people might misconstrue that as something else entirely.’

I blushed. ‘Yeah, well, all I’d need is someone like Lucy to overhear and that would be it.’

‘Ah, yes, young Lucy,’ he said as if bored by the topic.

‘Please don’t let her spit in my food,’ I said in all seriousness.

‘If she does that, she’s out on her arse.’

‘Just promise me she won’t.’

Dean sighed, ‘If I do, that’s two things you’ll owe me for. You prepared for that?’ he asked with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Oh, great. Add mischievous to the sexy, dark-lord look.

‘It would be worth it,’ I said, moving to stand.

‘Ballantine wants to see you.’

I stilled, looking at Dean, gauging whether he was serious. There was no humour in his expression, none at all.

‘Really?’

He shrugged. ‘He’s out the back. I told him you were here.’

I shook my head, trying to calm myself so I’d avoid the instinct to throw my arms around Dean’s neck and hug the crap out of him. ‘You are a saint, Dean Saville.’

Dean scoffed, and that cocky, gorgeous smile reappeared. ‘Well, that’s something I’ve never been called before.’

‘You are; I would totally date the shit out of you,’ I said with a laugh.

Dean’s eyes rested on me, serious and penetrating. ‘Is that so?’

I cleared my throat, cursing my poor effort at a joke, another one that had backfired; I really just needed to shut the hell up sometimes. I squirmed under his heated scrutiny.

‘Well, I was . . . just saying that I . . . was trying to –’

‘Construct sentences?’

I glowered. ‘Funny.’

‘Wow, a funny, dateable saint: I really should change my business card.’

‘Yeah, change it from smart-arse.’ I smirked, ready to leave this time for real.

‘So I’ll tell Lord Ballantine that you seek an audience with him then?’

Oh my God. I spun around so fast I almost knocked the stool over, much to Dean’s amusement.

Shit-Fuck-Ballantine! How could I have forgotten?

‘Yes!’ I said, a bit too high-pitched. ‘Absolutely.’ I nodded, my chest filling with air as I resisted the urge to dance on the balls of my feet.

Dean grabbed his clipboard. He stood, towering over me, but seemed somehow less intimidating than he had in the past. ‘All right, I’ll get Sherry to let you know when he’s on a break,’ he said, his no-nonsense businessman facade slipping back into place.

This seemed to be his normal modus operandi: stern, aloof, distant.

‘Wait.’ I reached out, grabbing his upper arm – his solid, muscled arm. His brows rose as he looked down at my hand on him. I flinched back, blushing at how hot his skin felt.

‘Um, do you think you could do me a favour?’ I grimaced, biting my lip.

Dean turned, his full focus on me now, a spark of amusement in his eyes. ‘Another favour?’ he asked, shaking his head. ‘So needy.’

I really hated to ask what I was about to, hated to reveal my petty side, but what the hell.

‘When Ballantine takes a break, can you get Lucy to come and let me know?’

I waited, and instead of walking away, he laughed, actually deep-bellied, earnestly laughed.

‘What? What’s so funny?’

Dean rubbed at his stubble, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I thought you didn’t want her to spit on your food.’

‘Well I don’t but –’

‘All right, I’ll happily pass on to Lucy to let you know. But remember one thing, Lexie Atkinson.’

How did he know my last name?

He stepped closer to me, so close I had to strain my neck to look up at him. I wanted to make a point of holding my ground, to not shy away from his smart mouth that creased into a smirk.

‘What’s that?’ I asked, lifting my chin, attempting to stare
him
 down.

‘I always call in my favours,’ he said darkly, a heat lighting his green-brown eyes, one that was full of promise – or something.

I hated how my chest was visibly rising, giving away how not in control I was.

Instead of letting him get to me, I smiled sweetly. ‘Saints don’t call in favours.’

Dean smiled, his eyes searching my face. ‘Maybe I’m the devil in disguise?’