Spill Over (5 page)

“Sorry.”

Pity is not something I want from her. Or from anyone, really.
“So, they totally like each other, huh?
My… d
ad
, a
nd your mom?”

“You catch on quick.” She
chuckles
.

“I’ve only been here a day
.”
I feel kind of defensive. It’s not like he’s really talked about her or anything.

“They’re frustrating about it, though.” She takes a drink of her hot chocolate.

“What do you mean?”
Mostly I’m
glad we’re not into personal Antony stuff anymore.

“They’l
l hook-up once in a while, for…
you know,” she whispers over the table
,
and
her cheeks turn pink
.

I shake my head.
“Okay, I do not want to think about old people having sex.”

“They’re not that old.” She smiles a real smile at me this time. More like the kind of smile I’m used to seeing from girls. This is better.

“Still.” I shudder.

“I wish they’d both
get over themselves and do something about it.” She takes another drink and her eyes wander out the window to the street.

“What, like get married?” The whole idea of marriage seems kind of foreign. Nearly all my friends
’
parents have affairs, or have bee
n divorced. My own parents
were
divorced
years ago
, and neither
re-married. It kind of puts down the whole thing for me.

“No. I mean
, yeah, but even if they’d
admit to the other that they’re in deep like, or in love, or whatever.” She stares at her cup as she spins it with her fingers.

Her hands look
strong, and she has these incredibly thick, dark lashes that girls spend loads of time trying to make with mascara, but nothing could compare
to the real thing. Our eyes meet,
and
I feel something in my chest—
kind of like the first time I saw
Hélèna
, or Gem
from New York, only a little better, because it has as much to do with comfort as excitement.
And comfort?
I can’t be there yet. Comfort and girls don’t go together. Other emotions, yes. But not comfort.

I’ve known this girl for minutes, and really shouldn’t be thinking this much about her.
As much as it would be fun to fool around with someone who has her bo
dy, she’s not that kind of girl.
I’m honestly too lazy to put for
th
the effort
for something more
.
So crazy. I’m living on a boat and sitting across from a girl I’m probably going to end up being friends with.

“Ready to
continue on
?” I stand.

“
Sure.” She stands with her cup still in hand. “So you read a lot?”

“I write.” And then I cough because
almost
no one knows I write. Just Mom
, well and Dad a little, my English teacher.
That’s it.

“Like your dad?” she asks.

It’s already out now, guess it doesn’t matter if we keep talking about it.
“Hopefully more literary than my dad.” Dad’s mystery novels make him
a little
money because
they’re published
so cheaply. I’d want more than that.
We step back outside and continue up the sidewalk.

“Oh.” Her eyes travel across my face, taking in my features.

I start a smile, but stop, knowing how girls like the dimple on my right cheek
, and knowing it comes out more when I’m holding in my smile
.
And what the hell am I doing? Amber won’t care.

“How much have you written?”
she asks.

“I’ve finished two.”
It comes out before I can think, or edit, or anything.

“
Novels
?” She stops, staring, her eyes wide.

I nod. Even Mom doesn’t know that. Why did
I
say
something? “Don’t say anything.
I
t’s sort of my escape.” Shit. My head’s definitely not on straight. It’s just, how can I be anything but real around someone who’s so…
real
?
Walking around dri
nking a kid drink, reading on a Ki
ndle, and wearing running shoes while not running.

“If I wrote a whole novel, I’d be screaming it from the rooftops, even if it sucked.”
Her smile is wide and her small arched brows rise.

I laugh. An honest one. It feels good. “Getting the words down are a small part of it.”

“Well, I think it’s really cool.” She pulls open the door of the bookstore.

“Thanks.”

We part ways as soon as we step inside. I’m looking for memoirs today, and if I keep hanging out with Amber
,
who knows what’ll come out of my mouth next.
My safety filter apparently doesn’t work around her.

The afternoon passes fast and before I know it, we’re back in
the car, both reading. In what feels like minutes, we’re in
front of the harbor, but I’m
not ready to be back on Dad’s
boat

Dad and Lynn head down the docks together. Amber wal
ks up the street, and I stand next to
the car like an idiot for a few moments.
I leave my new books in Dad’s car and start up the street for
another
coffee.
             

- - -

Sitting in this small
place with
its wooden floors and padded ch
airs makes me wish I’d brought one of my new
book
s
.
Instead I stare at the lin
e of cars waiting for the ferry—
probably the only reas
on this town exists
.

Amber steps in a few minutes later with a girlfriend. Someone with short, dark hair and a
pretty, round face
.

Her eyes narrow as she sees me. “Stalking me
,
Antony?”

“Uh…” I make a show of looking back and forth. “I was here first?”

She laughs
as she pulls her hair down, letting it slide
down her back.
I
gotta
stop staring
.

“This is Brit.” She glances at her friend.

I nod
.

Brit
nods, and she’s smiling at me
like I kinda wish Amber would, her eyes searching, biting her lip.

“I’m headed back underwater,” I say as I stand up.

“What?” Amber
’
s small brows come together.

“Into the boat? You know, because I have to step down?”

Brit laughs.
Amber shakes her head.

“
Oh, hey.” Amber’s hand reaches out and touches my arm. Then she jerks it away. So, she didn’t mean to touch me, but she did.
Hmm.
Maybe she might up for something. But I dismiss the thought again as soon as I have it.

“I
f you can think of a way to get our parents together
more
, let me know.”
She chuckles and
turns toward the small pastry counter
.

“Yeah.” I step away. “I’ll do that.”

I guess it’d give me something to occupy my brain around here. Dad and Lynn. She seems cool. And it’s not like she’d be my step-mom or anything.
I’m almost eighteen, and
don’t plan on sticking around any longer than I have to.

Four

Three days here
,
and I have a routine. Wake up whenever, walk up
the hill
and get coffee. Mornings are nice, quiet. New York is never quiet, and I love that, but the real
feeling of silence i
s growing on me, too.
Today I
’m in the coffee place with
my laptop to do
some writing
—
another
essay for a
l
iterature class I’m taking.

The door opens and Amber steps in followed by the teena
ge version of Captain America—
some tidy hair
cut blond who looks as healthy and
wholesome as Amber does.
My gut twists a little, which it shouldn’t, because I’ve already mark
ed Amber off as definitely not for me
.

“Hey, Antony.” She smiles the same friendly
smile
as always
.

Captain America’s
brows pull down as he
sizes me up
. I wonder who he thinks I am. And, I kind of wonder who he is? Must be her boyfriend or something, even though I haven’t seen him around before.
Guess that’s not really fair since I’ve only been here for a few days.
Well, and
I never asked if she had a boyfriend.

“Oh, sorry.” Amber
chuckles. “Kent, this is Antony.
Antony, Kent.”

“Hey.” I stand up and make myself as tall as I can without being obvious. We shake, and there’s no way he’s
not squeezing tightly
on purpose.
I know I am. We’re evenly matched. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re the kid f
rom New York?” he asks as Amber grabs her drink over the counter.

“Yeah.”
I sit back behind my computer. What the hell’s wrong with me? G
irls have totally tried to pull
this before—
bringing some other guy around to make me jealous. I
usually just nod and keep
doing whatever I was doing before they showed up. I’ve never let it work. Ever. And now, with a girl I’m NOT going to get involved with, and when she didn’t bring him in here on purpose (she doesn’t strike me as the playing games type) I’m affected.

“See ya.” She smiles and waves as she blows on the top of her hot chocolate.

Blondie holds the door open for her, and even though I don’t watch, I know his eyes are on me. Ridiculous.

This is a mess I do not need to be in the middle of.

- - -

The rain’s coming down again, more like misting this time, but it keeps us inside. Amber and her mom are here for dinner.
Pancakes
. For dinner. Dad clai
ms he just likes breakfast food
.

“So, your boyfriend seems nice,” I say. Why am I
fishing here? Do I
have to admit that I kind of like her? I mean, it wou
l
dn
’t be that big of a deal.
It’s just that she so obviously doesn’t like me, not in that way, and I can’t imagine what that’s like.
To like someone who doesn’t like you back.
So, I really should make sure I don’t like her. As these thoughts spin around in my head, I realize I sound like
I’m back in
middle school.

Her mom’s head jerks toward her.

Amber’s cheeks redden. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

I chuckle. “Well he’d sure be happy to fill that role.”
And I should
not
feel relieved.
And her reaction is kind of cracking me up. We
’re not in eighth grade anymore. I
t’s not like having a boyfriend should be any big deal.

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’re not that way. He doesn’t like me like that.”

Her mom laughs. “I assume we’
re talking about Kent, and he totally
does
like you that way.”

Amber’s cheeks redden further.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

DAVID: EMER, CALL NOW.

I laugh. David has yet to have an emergency worthy moment.

“Just a sec. A
friend from home.” I step outside, grabbing my coat on the way.
This is good. David will be a good slap in the face.

He answers the phone with, “Dude, you will not believe what happened.”

“Lay it on me.” I sit on the captain’s chair
on the back deck
, behind the big steering wheel and underneath a navy blue canvas roof.

“My mom’s show got cancelled, and I think we’ll be moving to LA.”
There’s a solemn tone on his words.