South of Sunshine (9 page)

Van has production under control. He puts me to work cutting out the shapes. “You just suck at gluing and sprinkling, honey,” he says. I stick my tongue out at him. From across the room, Bren catches my eye, and I smile. Just about the moment I’m going to nod for her to come over and make flowers with me, Sarabeth puts her on another task.

It’s hard not to suspect she’s doing this to keep us apart. It’s like she knows I’m falling for Bren, and she’s doing her damnedest to keep it from happening. This is what I don’t understand—Sarabeth loves me and wants me to be happy, but she’s pushing me in this other direction. It’s like she’s trying to steer me away from making the wrong choice. What she doesn’t realize is that it’s not a choice.

Three hundred flower petals later, my scissor hand cramps. “I need a break.” I stand and stretch my aching back.

Van leans over to whisper in my ear. “Can you take over? I’ve got to go.”

I raise a brow.

“Meeting a friend in Lawrence,” he grins. It does my heart good to know he’s meeting Arthur. “Supervise but don’t touch a thing. You flunked art in preschool, remember?”

“You will not let me live that down will you? And for the record, U is for Unsatisfactory, not flunking. Now go and have fun.” I shoo Van toward the door. I scan the float area for Bren. When I don’t see her slaving away for Sarabeth, I get a little nervous, thinking maybe she left without saying good-bye. The bathroom door opens, and Bren steps out with a wad of paper towels wrapped around her hand.

“Holy crap,” I say and walk over to her. “Did you cut yourself?” I pull her hand closer for inspection. It’s warm in mine. Her scent of ocean and spice makes me want to run my fingers through her hair.

“It’s just a scratch. The chicken wire snagged my palm.” The second I remove the paper towel, blood seeps out.

“You need a Band-Aid. A big one.” I spy the office over by the front entrance. “I bet they have a first-aid kit in there,” I say. She dares a glance at her hand. Her face pales. “You going to be all right?”

She looks anywhere and everywhere except the direction of her bleeding palm. “Uh-huh.”

“Uh-oh. Come sit down.” I drag her over to the office by the hand I’m still holding. Through the glass window separating the office from the work area, I can see a first-aid kit mounted to the wall. Bren eases herself down into the chair, applying pressure like I told her. I grab the supplies from the box.

“You are such a wuss.” I chastise her as I pull out the supplies I need. “Scared of spiders and the sight of blood, I bet you make your momma proud.” She manages a smile at that.

Wound cleanser bubbles over the cut. She seethes through her teeth. It bleeds worse than it is. It’s a haggard scratch but not deep.

“At least I’m her favorite daughter,” she says.

“Only daughter,” I mumble and giggle. “It’s not too bad. We won’t need to Medivac you to Vanderbilt.” I make a show of rolling my eyes. I fold a small piece of gauze over the scratch and lay the extra large Band-Aid over the top.

Bren leans into me. She speaks in a low voice. “I’ve missed you today.” The tip of her finger traces my kneecap, and I melt into her touch.

I sigh softly and finish applying the Band-Aid before I look up at her. Those sultry brown eyes of hers bear down on me. “Me too. I loved the asphalt heart you posted on Instagram today.”

“Found it on my run this morning. When can I see you … alone?”

I glance out into the shed, then back to her. “I—I, maybe—”

“Tomorrow.” It’s not a question.

My fingers smooth over the edges of the Band-Aid, and my eyes stay there. “Okay.” My heart soars. “I have to do this church thing with my mom, but afterward.” I take another peek out the window. Bren says something in response, but I don’t hear her. I’m focused on Sarabeth. Across the shed she’s eyeing us up good. Her head is cocked at a curious angle. Determination spurs her into motion. She strolls our way. I clear my throat and scoot back. Any suspicions Sarabeth may have had were probably just confirmed.

The shift in body language causes Bren to look out into the shed about the time Sarabeth gets to the office door. “Y’all done loafing or what?” She eyes the space between Bren and me. I cannot imagine what’s going through Sarabeth’s head. I have a pretty good idea she’s no dummy.

“Bren cut her hand. I was just helping—”

“Well, I could use your help gluing on the sequins,” Sarabeth says. Her voice is soft, unsure. She glances over Bren’s bandaged hand. “Bren, Andrew could use your help—”

“I should go.” Bren stands. “Um, it’s almost six, and I promised my parents I’d be home for dinner.”

“Oh.” I stand too. It feels like it’s an excuse to leave because of Sarabeth’s obvious irritation. “You sure?” I don’t want her to go.

“Geesh, Kaycee. If the girl needs to go, don’t hassle her about it.” Sarabeth actually looks relieved. She starts to walk off. I want to ask Bren if she’s okay, but Sarabeth pauses, waiting for me to go with her, overprotective like a mother hen.

“See you later.” I ease out of the office past her. The urge to look back overcomes me. The metal doors squeak shut behind Bren.

“Finally, I thought she’d never leave,” Sarabeth says.

“What does that mean?” I stop dead in my tracks.

“It
means
you’ve been hanging with her all week,” Sarabeth whispers. “Then she shows up here and becomes a distraction. Now that she’s gone, maybe you’ll get some work done.” Sarabeth starts to glue the large diamond rhinestones onto the gold spray-painted thrones for the homecoming king and queen.

“I have been working.” I glue a few gems up myself on the traced outlines. “You’re always messing around and kissing on Andrew.” I throw back at her.

“You’re comparing my boyfriend to your
friend
?”

I fumble and drop a few of the gems I’m holding. My hand shakes a tiny bit when I go to pick them up. “She’s everybody’s friend.” I wish I could keep my mouth shut and stop talking before I say too much.

“I don’t get why everyone is all gaga over her.” Sarabeth slaps on the rhinestones.

Hmm, let me see. She’s tall, athletic, beautiful, intriguing, worldly, philanthropic, and, oh, did I mention beautiful?

“She’s a lanky basketball star. Whoop-de-do,” Sarabeth says, whirling her finger in the air. “Every day she plays
b-ball
with LaShell and those girls. If she keeps hanging with them, people are going to think she dates black people.” A few seconds of silence passes, and Sarabeth says, “And Zimbabwe—Africa really isn’t that cool. I mean seriously, we have our own black people here. What’s the big deal?”

At this point, I stop gluing. I stare at the girl I call my best friend. The girl I’ve been riding horses with since we were six. The girl I played dress-up with, danced in my pj’s to One Direction with, and who I made pinkie promises with under the covers. This person before me now, it’s as if I’ve never met her.

If I’m being honest with myself, it’s not the first time I’ve seen this petty dark side of Sarabeth. Before, I always blew it off because I wasn’t the one under scrutiny. Now it’s hitting so close to home, it makes my skin itch.

Sarabeth pops on sequin after sequin. “What’s with that hair? And the clothes? She looks like a gangly greaser with a jock wardrobe. She’ll never land a boyfriend looking like that.”

“Her hair is not greasy.” The repulsion comes out of me before I can stop it.

Sarabeth glances at me. “Well, you’ve got to admit her wardrobe isn’t the most girlish.”

“I like the way she looks. I like her hair too. There’s a lot about her I like.” My tone sharpens.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to chop all your hair off and do that ridiculous wave up top. Being a clone doesn’t suit you.” The Bren bashing continues, but my mind goes numb.

Where is all this coming from? My heart races as I replay every touch exchanged between Bren and me. This last week I’ve been super careful around her. I mean sure, sometimes Bren’s knee would press against mine at lunch, but that wouldn’t look suspicious to anyone. She walks me to class, but so does Van. She makes me laugh, but she makes everyone laugh.

Sarabeth has no right to say these things. It’s almost like she’s—“Are you jealous?” My mouth decides to act on its own again.

“What?” Sarabeth seems shocked by my question. “I’m not jealous. It’s just that … you need to be careful. People are starting to talk, you know.” She fiddles with a stubborn sequin.

My blood starts to boil. The thought of anybody scrutinizing my personal life and thinking it’s any of their business is getting under my skin. Especially since this scrutiny is coming from my best friend.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Bren lately.” Sarabeth is trying to be casual, but she’s failing. “There are a lot of questions about her.”

“What do you mean ‘questions’?”

“Well,” she starts but refuses to look at me, “you know how Chelsea Hannigan is and, well, it just doesn’t look good.” Now she looks at me. “I’d hate people to think you were … you know.”

My stomach drops to the floor. Air refuses to enter my lungs. The thud … thud … thud of my hearts pounds a slow beat in my ears. Is the room spinning in a slow whirl or is that just my head? I manage to take in an even breath. My surroundings move back into focus. Chelsea Hannigan is a lot of things; I don’t want to presume which attribute Sarabeth’s referring to.

Sarabeth gapes at me, uncertainty washes her face pale. She averts her eyes. “You don’t want to look cheap, like Chelsea,” she says softly. Something inside tells me that is not what she was going to say. Just as the thought enters my head, Sarabeth snaps back to her chipper tone. “Because that girl tries way too hard all the time.” She laughs nervously and slaps the rhinestones onto the throne like nobody’s business. “I heard she slept with Terrance. That’s why he and LaShell broke up for a while. You know what else I heard?” Sarabeth steers the conversation to gossip. “I heard that Keira Hauser girl is dating that weird dude in your lab class. You know, the one who has the creepy obsession with the lab torches? He’s a total pyro, don’t you think?”

I nod. One by one I adhere the jewels in place, but my insides churn. Sarabeth blathers on for a minute or two more. “I don’t feel so well,” I say, cutting her off.

She looks at me. The pain in her face sours my stomach even more. “You think the potato salad at lunch was bad?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, even though we both know I don’t like potato salad.

As I walk to my car, I pray that the tears stay locked up until I’m safely on the road. Purple tints the sky with only a sliver of sunlight left. The road in front of me blurs to a watery haze. The urge to throw up overwhelms me, and I have to pull to the side of the road. I heave, but nothing comes up.

What does Sarabeth think? I haven’t given her one reason to doubt that I’m not the person I’ve always been. But I haven’t shared with her who I truly am either.

Is it starting to show? I’ve kept my true self reined in tight. But maybe not tight enough? I’ve exposed myself to Bren. And Van of course, because he gets it. With the rest of the world, I was sure I’d been more … discreet.

The lights of the city roll into view, and I turn toward town. Main Street still pulses at the dinner hour. I drive around the Court Square toward home. When I pull into our cul-de-sac, I notice Mother’s car is parked in the driveway and not in the garage.
That’s weird
.

Then it dawns on me—Billy Arden’s truck is probably in the garage for their secret sleepover.
Crap.
I forgot about their little evening and that I’m supposed to be staying at Sarabeth’s. As I turn the circle, I pull out my phone to dial Van … Van who has a date with Arthur. I quit dialing.

At the stop sign, I stare at my phone, debating whether or not I should call Bren. Maybe I shouldn’t. Sarabeth has already spooked her off today. Plus, calling in desperation would look pathetic. I nibble the tip of my fingernail. What if I stopped by and just said hi? That’s harmless, right?

Van said she lives in the Sonoma Creek neighborhood. I zip across Main Street over into the lavish homes by the creek. My plan is to drive around until I spot her BMW … and a Mercedes
and
a Range Rover. Holy Moses, her house is huge.

My nothing-special Civic feels inferior in the spotlight of the streetlamp. Lights are on in the house, but I can’t see anyone. Wonder which room is hers?

I’m not sure how long I’m in the street, stalking Bren hopelessly in front of her house. What am I doing here? I don’t belong in this Sonoma Creek neighborhood, looking around like a Peeping Tom. I bang my head on the steering wheel, and a light beep follows.
Oh, shoot.
My head snaps up. I’m about to turn the engine back on and bolt when their porch light flicks on. A tall, slim figure peers through the front door. Oh, Kaycee, why do you have to be such a spaz? I palm my face. What am I supposed to say?
Hey, I thought I’d honk out in front of your house and get the attention of the whole neighborhood.
Embarrassed, I get out of my car, and Bren steps out of her house. We meet halfway in her drive. I can smell the yummy chili spices on her from whatever her family is cooking.

“Hey, Kaycee. What are you doing here?” Her face brightens with such happiness, I’m grateful for my idiocy.

“I was at the—the,” I say, thumbing over my shoulder, unable to recall the place I just came from. “I—I was talking to Sarabeth and she was saying …” Words get stuck in my throat. I sputter. My stupid self can’t seem to come up with a single logical reason for why I’m here. All those cruel things Sarabeth said about Bren flood my brain. The fear of what she may or may not think shuts down my ability to speak. For some freaking reason, tears begin to well up in my eyes. I’m telling that emotional shit to back down and stop its course, but a dam breaks in me, and I can’t seem to shut the dang thing down.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Bren reels me into her arms before I can vocalize a single vowel. “Shhh.” She rubs my back as I sob on my words.

Somehow I manage to pull myself off her and say, “My mom and Billy are doing their thing—whatever that is—so I can’t go home. Van has a date with Arthur. And I was supposed to stay with Sarabeth tonight, but she said things—mean things that hurt. I have no place else to go.” Crap, I sound desperate and hopelessly wretched. The best plan for me is to roll into a ball and sleep in the tiny backseat of my car until morning.