Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (3 page)

There
’
s a girl walking up to us
—
someone I haven
’
t met before. Her hips sashay with the music playing overhead and she
’
s waving at the cooks in the back as they holler their welcome.

Everything about her is color. Her hair, although a dark brown, is streaked with blues, purples and reds. Her lips are magenta. On her forearm is a dream catcher tattoo with feathers. Her shoes are khaki wedges with rainbow stripes wrapped around her ankles. And when she grabs an apron out of a locker and looks at both of us, her bright green eyes pop out of the highlighted eyeshadow.

Standing next to her technicolor, I feel monotone.

She smiles at me and bumps my arm with hers as she ties her apron.

“
Damn, Ren. What are you doing to this girl? She looks like she
’
s seen a ghost.
”
She reaches for a rubber band on her wrist and doubles over to throw her rainbow hair into a high bun. I notice Ren looking away and hiding a smile. Straightening up and sighing, she reaches for my hand.

“
Hi. I
’
m Jessa. You must be the new girl. I
’
ve seen you on the schedule but just got back from vacation with the family. Your name
’
s Stephanie, right?
”

I nod and she glances back at Ren, still staring out the window toward the bikes and people on roller skates passing us. I catch a smile fly across her face and she leans sideways to whisper in my ear.

“
Don
’
t pay attention to him. Seriously. He thinks he can figure anyone out in less than thirty minutes.
”

He jerks back to attention, crossing his arms.

“
If I remember correctly, it took less than that for me to figure you out.
”

She looks him up and down and shakes her head.

“
No, love. You remember wrong. There
’
s far more nuance in these bones than you
’
d care to admit.
”
She slaps her hip and winks. Ren swallows.

She looks back at me.
“
Nice meeting you, Steph. We need some more girls around here.
”
Squeezing my forearm she smiles and juts her chin toward Ren.
“
Remember: all bark no bite.
”

I furrow my brow and watch her walk over to our chalkboard to write the evening special
—
along with the daily quote minus the attribution. Anyone who can tell us who said it gets a coupon for a free drink. She throws the chalk on the floor and bends over to write, ass to the sky, legs stretching out for eternity.

“
Give me a quote, guys!
”

Her hands fly over the chalkboard and I see an intricate border forming underneath the stick of chalk. Ren looks at me and shrugs.

I search my mind for a lesser known quote and land on a memory.

My voice comes out breathy.

“
You ripple, like a river, when I touch you.
”

Jessa pauses mid-stroke and turns, straightening her back. Tilting her head she smiles.

“
Nice. Poetry?
”

“…
Neruda.
”

She turns back around and writes the quote down, adding swirls and what looks like a river in between the words. Ren is staring at me again.

“
I didn
’
t take you for a poetry girl.
”

I avoid his gaze and shrug.

“
I
’
m into it, I guess.
”

If into it equals twenty or so journals filled with stories and poems scattered around town in dumpsters.

Ren snorts and shakes his head, realizing he won
’
t get much from me other than those simple words. He doesn
’
t get this story of Kevin leaving those lines in my locker one day after a particularly heinous fight. I smile at the memory of what happened
after
—
how he showed me all of the ways his touch sent ripples down my skin.

Shit.

I watch both of them out of the corner of my eye
—
Jessa doing a great job giving Ren a show of what I imagine she
won
’
t
be offering him and Ren doing a horrible job of trying to ignore it.

“
Whatever, man.
”
He reaches into his apron and grabs his booklet and cash and after untying it, shoots it into a nearby laundry basket.
“
Lunch was slow today. Too slow. Hopefully you
’
ll have better luck with the dinner rush. I think there
’
s a concert or something down the street so you should get some business from them. If not, you can always get Steve to let you out early. There
’
s a party tonight at Seth
’
s place. Jessa will be there.
”

Too close.

I sniff and avoid eye contact.

“
Thanks but I need to head home after my shift and get some stuff done.
”

He stares at me for a few beats and turns to walk away.

“
You can
’
t avoid us forever, Stephanie.
”
He looks over his shoulder and turns to walk backward, smiling at me and motioning to the sign hanging above the employee area that reads
here, you
’
re family.
“
You wouldn
’
t avoid your family, would you?
”

He doesn
’
t see my reaction because he turns around before I can even answer.

But I
’
m not answering
—
I
’
m not even breathing. My vision begins to blur. I know he knows nothing of my history but those words
—
they do something internally. My breath returns in gasps and I cup my head in my hands.

My arms feel like cement. There
’
s fire in my bones.

Shit. Shit. Not here. Not here.

I close my eyes and reach for a nearby stool and fight to breathe deep
—
to remind my body that I
’
m safe. It doesn
’
t help. I can
’
t stop hyperventilating with Ren
’
s words on a loop in my mind.

Avoiding your family. Avoiding your family. Your family. Family.

Dad chasing me with a baseball bat. Mom reaching for Nyquil. Pacey.

Oh god.

Images of the past break through and I
’
m done for
—
running for the restroom and barely making it before throwing up everything I ate in the toilet, the tears falling as if they had their own say. When I
’
m finished I collapse on the floor and lean against the wall, my hands underneath my legs to keep them from shaking.

I
’
m fucking certifiable.

The door to the bathroom swings open and I see Jessa
’
s wedges walk in and point toward my stall.

“
Shit, Stephanie. You okay? Are you sick?
”

“
No.
”

One of her feet pivot slightly.

Please leave. Please leave.
I think to myself.

I sniff and wipe the tears off my cheeks with the palm of my hands. Straightening myself up, I breathe in a few times and open the door and almost run into her.

“
I
’
m fine.
”

She watches me.

“
You look horrible.
”

“…
thanks?
”

She crosses her arms and won
’
t let me pass. My eyes flicker up to meet hers and then back down.

“
Would you
…
can I get by please? I need to wash my face.
”

“
Oh. Sorry.
”

She squints and nods, stepping aside and pulling her purse away from her and onto the counter next to me. She catches my glance in the mirror.

“
I hope you don
’
t mind. I saw you running toward the bathroom and figured you may need some help freshening up
…”
she pauses and I watch her consider her words.
“
Listen
…
is this
…
I saw you collapse against the stool back there
…
.
”

I reach for a paper towel. Turning off the water I motion toward her bag and wipe my face.

Holy hell what is it with these people and their questions?

“
Thanks, but I think I
’
m good. I wasn
’
t wearing make up today anyway.
”
I look down to my loosely fitted black shirt that falls to mid-thigh, black leggings, and black boots. I make an attempt to smile.
“
Not sure all of your
…
color
…
would go well with this ensemble of doom I have going on here.
”

I pat my cheeks and drag my hands down toward my neck. She
’
s too silent. As if she is just waiting for me to spill my secrets. I don
’
t do well with silence. I can feel the flames inching closer and closer and the words forming. I have to get out
—
get away
—
there
’
s something about her that begs for explanation.

“
Well, I mean, technically yes. The color would look fan-damn-tastic with that black. Contrasts and all.
”
She winks.

I roll my eyes.

Who is this girl?
I think of the last person who drew me in with curiosity and possible friendship and I stiffen with suspicion. Another level of armor locks in place.

“
I
’
ll be okay. I promise. I just am getting over some weird food poisoning and it hits when I least expect it.
”

Her eyes squint and she sets her jaw.

Stop. Looking. At. Me.

“
Okay well, if you need anything let me know? I
’
ve worked sick before. It blows.
”
She grabs her purse and walks out the door.

I place my hands on the sink and look at myself in the mirror again, the red tendrils falling around my face. I know Jessa didn
’
t buy my excuse of food poisoning. But what do I say?
Sorry. I puke when I think about my family?
How
’
s
that
for an explanation? I moan and let my head fall.

Maybe these new beginnings are harder than I thought.

Chapter Three

I get to my room that night and notice a journal propped up against my door. I frown, looking around. It
’
s a Moleskine, my favorite. I haven
’
t bought one since moving here though because I just throw them in the trash once I
’
m done anyway.

Leaning over to pick it up I crack open the spine, the blank pages calling to me as they always do. I snap it shut and let it fall out of my hands and onto the floor, unwilling to think about how or why it appeared here. It
’
s not like anyone knows me.

Maybe someone dropped it in the hallway and then someone else thought it belonged to this room.