Prince Charming (9 page)

My finger unlocked the phone and found the Facebook app. Once it popped up, I scrolled through the usual news feed drivel of mindless statues, photos, complaints and check-ins. When I didn’t see her name, I typed it into the search feature. She updated her status 2.5 times a day on average—yes, I did that math in my head. She must have something new to say.

I sucked in a long, winded breath when my eyes saw that she had. She had a new check-in. At the Starbucks. In this Barnes and Noble. “Best peppermint hot chocolate in the world,” the status said.

Oh, holy shit.

What were the odds of this kind of luck?

From my place in the comfortable chair, I couldn’t see the open-air Starbucks that overlooked the Ohio River, but that didn’t matter at all. The air changed all around me, as if electricity now pulsed through it. My heartbeat sped up, then threatened to drop to my knees. Even the way things smelled suddenly seemed different to me—almost metallic—as thoughts raced through my mind.

Should I go talk to her? Did she have friends with her? Would she want company? What if Evan was with her? Did she like to read? Why did she pick a hot chocolate over a café mocha, or a cappuccino? Did she use non-fat milk? Did she like whipped cream?

I had to find it all out. I had to know, and I couldn’t let this chance pass. No way. There was only one thing I could do—one thing I had to do. And I could do it.

Right?

Channeling all my energy, I forced myself out of the chair and took a slow walk over to the coffee bar. A few customers lounged in seats near the wall-to-ceiling windows, and four people chatted around a table covered in designer coffee drinks and expensive chocolate desserts. Typical night. I disregarded them and kept my focus on the vision of tumbling blonde hair in front of me.

There, at a center table, Laine sat in front of a venti-sized drink, reading a paperback. She didn’t notice me until I stood right next to her, like some sort of a creepy stalker. Well, maybe I was one.

But, whatever.

“Hey, Laine.”

She jumped, and closed the book. “Oh, hey. How are you, Geoff?”

“Good.” I smiled at her. “I was just walking through the store, and I . . . er . . . well . . . I saw you reading over here, and I thought maybe I’d say hi,” I lied. “So. Hi.”

“Hi again.” She motioned to the empty seat in front of her. “So . . . um . . . do you want to sit down?”

“Sure.” I grabbed the back of the seat and sat down as fast as I could, so she wouldn’t change her mind. “So, what are you reading?” I asked, even though I could easily read the title from where I stood. I just wanted some way to start this conversation. At any price.

Laine grinned, and tapped her fingers on the book’s cover. “
The White Queen
,” she said. “One of those history novels about The War of the Roses.”

“The War of the Roses?”

“Yep.” She closed the book and folded her hands on top of it. “That’s the one.”

“You really like that stuff, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s pretty great. Lots of drama.” She nodded at me. “So, what about you? I mean, what brought you here on a Saturday night?”

“Nothing much.” I shrugged, hoping I sounded and looked nonchalant. “Just that some friends wanted to watch a movie, and I didn’t care about it, so I came here.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

“Enough.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to be alone,” she said, and then took a sip of her coffee. “And I know how you like that.”

“Um. Do you like being alone?” My eyes floated to her mouth. God, she had one killer mouth. Even better were the words that came out of it.

“Yeah. Of course I do.” She laughed. “Gives me a chance to think. It’s calming.”

“Yeah it is.” I nodded, surprised by her once again. I thought I knew everything about her—what she looked like, her friends, the things she liked to do, and yet every time she opened her mouth, she said something at total odds with what I expected.

“I was looking at books about politics,” I said after a moment, just talking to fill up the space. “But there was nothing—nothing worth buying, really.” Then I shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess I’m distracted. Just thinking a lot.”

“About what?”

“Well,” I shrugged again. What the heck? Would it hurt to tell her about at least one of the things bothering me? “I had this weird meeting earlier this week with Mr. Henderson.”

She rolled her makeup-heavy eyes. “Yeah. I think he’s making the rounds with the senior guys.”

“Have you had your meeting yet with Mrs. Lawrence?”

“No.” She snickered. “You mean Crazy Eyes?”

A slow smile spread across my face. “Crazy Eyes?”

Laine closed her eyes, and laughed louder. “I can’t . . . I can’t really look at her. Her pupils freak me out.”

“I know. It’s like you can see the whole thing.” I shuddered. “It shouldn’t be that way. At all.”

“Anyway.” She gestured to me with her hand, and then sipped her drink some more. “Tell me about this meeting.”

“Okay.” I leaned in closer. “So, Mr. Henderson calls me in for this meeting, sits me down, and starts asking me all these questions about what I want to do with my life.”

“Ugh, that’s what Mrs. Lawrence did with Jillian last week.”

I grew bolder with my story. “Basically, he wants to know what I’m going to major in, and what I want. So, would you believe that he tells me I should go to Gateway Tech instead of going to UVA and ‘wasting my time,’ and that I should major in some science class?” I shook my head, and rolled my eyes. “Like, what the fuck is that about?”

“You’re salutatorian.”

“Well, I am right now.” I glanced around at the rest of the people in the coffee shop, as if I were afraid they would snatch it away from me.

“There’s no way you shouldn’t go to Virginia.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. “I’m glad to know at least one person believes in me.” As I spoke, my eyes drifted to her mouth again. She had such full, pouty lips, and I envied Evan so much because he got to kiss them whenever he wanted. I’d probably never get my chance.

“Ugh, they are so stupid. Those counselors don’t know anything.” She paused. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now. It’s not like we have to write it down in blood.”

“So,” I said, then leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, “what are you majoring in next year?”

“Fashion merchandising,” she said simply and evenly, as if she’d expected this very question from me. “That’s what I’ve decided.”

“Fashion merchandising?” I almost choked on the words.

“Yep.” She grinned. “I want to be a fashion designer.”

“Does Xavier have a good program for that?”

Shea laughed. “Even if it doesn’t, I can always change my mind. It’s college. That’s what college is about.”

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T
UESDAY, FEBRUARY 26TH

––––––––

I
CAME HOME from an afternoon playing video games at Nathan’s house to an interesting scene.

Blake and Bruce sat at the kitchen table, sulking, with their textbooks open in front of them. David sat at the head of the table, his hands rested on his belly as he looked down his long crooked nose at his two sons. Everything about his body language said “not happy.”

“Ah, Geoff.” David gave me a rare smile when I darkened the door from the garage to the kitchen. “You’re finally home.”

“
Finally
home?”

I stopped walking, and leaned against the doorframe. Something inside me warned against stepping any further into the kitchen. Afternoon sunlight might be streaming in through the windows, but an invisible, threatening cloud hung over the table. Even worse, Mom wasn’t home. She must have still been at her indoor tennis lesson. Or at the manicurist. She had standing weekly appointments on Tuesdays at both.

“Yes. We’ve been waiting for you.” He rapped his fingers on the table. “Boys, say hello to your stepbrother. Now.”

“Hey Geoff,” they said in unison. Bruce even added a big plastic smile. They could be charming when they wanted something, and compliant when they were afraid. I wondered which way they felt right then. They didn’t turn back to their homework. Nope, they just stared at me like something else only they knew about hung around the room. That bothered me a lot.

And why the fuck was David home, anyway?

“You’re home early,” I said to David.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “I got a call from the school today.” He eyed his trollish sons. “The folks up at Heritage have some concerns about the boys and their grades.”

I sucked in a deep breath as my stomach constricted. Living in David’s house made me so uneasy. It was like being in a prison yard, and knowing to stay away from the warden. Ever since he’d married my mother we’d danced around each other, both pretending our lives didn’t intersect through the breathing of one woman. I guess I was too much of a symbol of her former life, a simpler one in a small house with a rickety metal fence, a patch of garden, an apple tree, and a love that died too early.

“Geoff, did you receive your progress report last week?” David’s voice snapped me out of my reverie.

“Of course I did.”

Mom had signed it without looking, just as she always did. She knew she didn’t have to look, because every quarter I had straight As by my name. Over time, perfect grades had become such an expectation from me that Mom had stopped congratulating me on receiving them. Instead, she signed the quarterly report the same way she signed the check each month for the electric bill. Stupid consistency. Sometimes I thought of faking the grades just to see what she’d say if I came home with a sheet full of Cs and Ds.

“All As, I’m sure,” David replied. “We know what to expect when it comes to you. You don’t even have to study.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but thank you,” I said, as I let my backpack drop onto the tiled floor. Even though David had just given me a compliment, I knew I couldn’t afford to take it that way. David never said or did anything without an ulterior motive.

“Nonsense, Geoff. You’re smart.” He rapped his knuckles on the table, as if he wanted to make sure everyone paid attention to what he said next. “Looks like my boys here, however, have fallen very far from the tree this year. Blake? Bruce? What is the GPA I told you I would tolerate for high school?”

“A 2.75,” Bruce replied, and as he did, I realized this was the first time I’d seen him so meek. His voice quavered with fear. “You said you wanted to see us each pull at least a 2.75 for senior year.”

“That’s right. A 2.75. C average.” David scooted his chair back from the table, as if he was finished with them. “Shouldn’t be hard for two boys in average classes.” Then he spoke above their heads, and directed his attention to me. “But today, I get a phone call at work. Pulled me out of a board meeting, if you can believe that. It’s the Heritage school secretary. And she tells me Bruce here is carrying a 1.8 right now for his average this year. And Blake is at a 2.10.”

David stood up, and walked closer to me. His sons stared at him. “Of course, that is unacceptable—even if their overall GPAs are better. We’ve already given up the idea of a regular college for these too. They’re not going to be a Cavalier, like you. No elite colleges in their futures. Technical school. That’s what works for them.”

“Okay.” All of a sudden, I knew where he wanted this conversation to go. “So. Do you want me to tutor them, or something?”

“Yes, Geoff. You are very smart.”

When David stopped a few feet in front of me, his large body and potbelly made me feel claustrophobic in the small alcove between the kitchen and the garage. For a second I wanted to turn around, hop back into my car, and drive away. Not another chore. Not another task. And, ugh, I didn’t relish the idea of spending more time with the twins from hell. Still, I stayed. Something about the intensity of his face paralyzed me.

“I’d like you to spend about five hours a week with them,” David said. “They need the most help in English, History, and Government. I know you excel in those subjects.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at them.”

“Pretty good?”

I gave him a half-smile. It was the only way I could think of to reply.

“Boys,” David called over his shoulder, “if Geoff is your tutor that means you must listen to him. He’s going to help you. But I want no complaints, and no teasing. Do you hear me?”

Wait a second. I hadn’t agreed to this yet.

“I’ll do it, David,” I said, desperate to make him aware that this concept still sat in the negotiation stage. “I’ll do it, but it is going to take time away from my own studies. And you know, studying for these AP classes takes up a lot of my time.”

“I’m sure someone as smart as you can manage.”

I kept my face impassive, and tried another tactic. “You know, if you were to hire a tutor for them, someone professional, that would cost a lot of money. A couple hundred a week, I am sure.”

A devious smile spread across his lips. Once David squinted his eyes, I knew he’d considered this, and then decided he’d see if I was too stupid to know when I was being taken. “Yes, Geoff, that’s right, but you know, I am eager to keep something like this in the family. You know Blake and Bruce better than any tutor I could hire.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be a job to me.”

David regarded me for a few seconds. “Okay. Fine. Let’s talk payment.” He paused. “How about 25 bucks a week, on top of the money for your chores around the house?”

“No way,” I said. “Not enough. This is going to take some work. Who’s to say they’ll want me to work with them?”

“Oh trust me, Geoff, they’ll work with you. They know what this means, and I have their assurances they are going to take the rest of the school year seriously.” He turned his head over his shoulder. “Right, boys?”

“Right,” they mumbled.

“Two hundred,” I said. I had a number in my head we needed to get to for me to agree.

“How about fifty?”

“One hundred and seventy-five.”

“Eighty.”

I shook my head. “No. Not enough.” I shrugged my shoulders. “You can hire another tutor.”