Thin White Line (3 page)

“Pathetic,” another adds.

If anyone at my old school would have been talking shit about another student, one of the faculty would have taken them by the ear into the office and called their parents.  The administrators at Saint Catherine’s had a no tolerance policy when it came to bullying.

But I am a long way from Saint Catherine’s, I remind myself once again.

Welcome to public school, Kenzie.

As they continue with their rude remarks, I clear my throat and look right at them.

The blonde straightens, penciled in brows shooting to her hairline. “Oh my God, I think she heard you.”

“I don’t care if she did. In fact, I hope she hears everything.” The brunette shrugs. “I mean, seriously...what the hell is up with those jeans? Are they two sizes too small…or are they leggings?”

The question causes an uproar of laughter at the table.

“Right!” another girl agrees, smacking her gum with her mouth wide open. The sound annoys me...almost as much as the catty comments. First off, my jeans aren’t
that
tight. Haven’t they heard of super skinny jeans in Washington? Plus, that bitch has no room to talk. I can see every fat bulge in her back. I bite the inside of my lip in an effort to keep from popping off.

“Did you see that?” The blonde nudges the brunette. “She just shot you the dirtiest look.”

“Oh, she did not!” The brunette stands. For a second, I imagine myself in a fist fight on the cafeteria floor, but the image evaporates as the girl’s gaze shifts beyond me to something, or rather,
someone
else. She sits down slowly.

“Hey, Kenzie,” Brooke says, smiling at me. That grin doesn’t even begin to touch her eyes.

I’ve never been so happy to see anyone. I want to hug her. “Hey.”

“Sorry, I just now saw you sitting here or I would have joined you earlier. How’s your day going so far? You okay?” Brooke’s gaze skips to the table where the brunette and her friends sit, watching us closely. There is nothing friendly in Brooke’s cold stare as she looks at them.

“It’s going okay.”

The table of girls has gone silent. I can tell by Brooke’s stance, hands planted firmly on her hips, that she is just waiting for one comment before she leaps over the table to pummel the girl and her buddies.

Her gaze flicks back to me. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.”

Please don’t leave me.

The brunette and her friends put their heads together. A second later, they laugh so loud, the entire cafeteria turns to see what has caused such an uproar.

My stomach sinks to my toes. Just what I need—more attention directed my way and more drama in my life.

Brooke sits down. Thank God.

“So, tell me about your band,” I say, stealing a glance towards Ryder.

“Ugh, I knew it.” Her voice is tinged with disappointment. “Don’t tell me you have the hots for Ryder.”

Was I that obvious? “I’m not saying I have the hots for him. I just...think he’s gorgeous.” 

“He’s the bass player in my band,
The Frozen
.”

“
The Frozen
, huh?”

“Yeah, aptly named after I froze on stage the first time we played at a Battle of the Bands gig.” She flashes a smile and I’m reminded of the girl I knew all those years ago. “So embarrassing, but I guess the name beats
Brooke and her Bitches
.”

“Are you serious?”

“I had thrown it out there, but the guys didn’t think it represented the band as a whole.” Her lips quirk. “
The Frozen
seemed much more appropriate.”

“What kind of music do you play?”

“You could call us post grunge or alternative rock.”

I nod, acting like I know what she is talking about. “Where do you play?”

“We practice at Curtis’s house and a few local festivals. We’ve even opened up for some pretty solid acts across the river at The Fantasy Ballroom in Portland.”

I have no idea what The Fantasy Ballroom is, but it sounds amazing. “I’m impressed.”

“We’re playing a college party in a couple of weeks, so that’s why I was so frustrated with Ryder. He has to show for practice if we’re going to be ready.” She leans forward and motions for me to do the same. “You should come with me to practice sometime.”

My stomach clenches in excitement. This is how I hoped it would be between me and my cousin. “I would love that.” I’m excited to see her in action, though it doesn’t hurt that I’ll be seeing Ryder again, too.

“It’s a date then.” She grabs the bag of chips off my tray. “You gonna eat this?” she asks, ripping the bag open before I can respond. She looks at my plate. “Pizza and chips. You’re thin now, but in time, that shit will go straight to your hips. Look at the women in our family if you don’t believe me.”

She has a point...

I sense someone from Ryder’s table watching me. I glance up and Ryder is looking our way. He lifts his chin a fraction and I have to stop myself from turning around to see if he is watching me or someone else.

Brooke follows my gaze and then turns back to me with a grin. “Be careful.  Ryder doesn’t have a problem in the girl department. Love the boy to death, but he can’t commit for shit.”

“Is he seeing someone now?”

Her lips quirk. “Ryder doesn’t necessarily ‘see’ anyone.  He goes after what he wants, sleeps with whoever he wants, and then moves onto the next person. In all the years I’ve known him, I don’t remember him ever being exclusive—if that’s what you want to call it—for more than a month. Christ, even in sixth grade he was dating three of us at the same time and not one of us had a clue.”

My eyes widen. “So, you went out with him?”

“I was young and impressionable,” she says, looking embarrassed even to admit she’d been interested in Ryder at one time. “Been there, done that.”

“Do you know who he’s seeing now?”

“Her.” Brooke nods towards the first set of double doors. “The chick with the long brown hair and skanky black tips is Cicely, Ryder’s current lay...or basically the girl he shags on nights he should be practicing with his band. The girls who’ve been talking shit about you are her friends.”

My gut twists. Not only is Cicely pretty and tall, she has the tiniest waist I’ve ever seen.

I try to ignore the stab of envy that rushes through me as I watch Cicely stop at her friends’ table for European cheek kisses (seriously), before passing my table and sliding her butt onto the bench beside Ryder.

“The black tips are new for her. I call it the ‘Ryder Affect’.”

I frown. “The ‘Ryder Affect?’”

“Yeah, every time Ryder starts seeing a chick, the next thing you know she’s changing her looks to be more like him, or rather, what they think Ryder wants. Cicely is morphing from jock girl to rocker chick before my eyes.” She shakes her head. “So sad.”

It shows just how much power Ryder has over the girls who like him. I make a mental note to absolutely not change my looks or myself to please anyone else.

I am borderline nauseous when Ryder’s attention turns to Cicely. He glances at her, smiles—or at least begins to—until Cicely picks an apple off Ryder’s tray and bites into it.  He lifts a brow as though to say,
what the hell are you doing?
And she instantly sets the apple back down, looking embarrassed.

Most girls I know lose their appetite when they are depressed. Not me. I gorge on sweets and junk food. I can feel the urge to devour every bite on my plate, so I push the pizza away from me.

“We used to be best friends from the time we were in second grade up until seventh grade.”

“You and Cicely?”

She nods.

I think back on the summers that we spent together at our grandmother’s house and try my best to recall any mention of Cicely. I do remember her talking about a good friend with curly brown hair. In fact, she had a picture of her BFF from a photo booth. The two had matching haircuts. “What happened?”

Brooke shrugs as she finishes off my chips and takes a drink of my pop. “People change.”

I watch her closely. “You mean that
she
changed?”

After checking to be sure Cicely’s buddies aren’t listening to our conversation, Brooke lowers her voice. “She said I changed, but it seems an odd coincidence that she cut me off the summer I got fat.”

I straighten. “When did you get fat?”

“Summer of seventh grade. After Grandma died that June I went on an eating binge. When I started school that fall, I’d gained almost twenty pounds over the summer.” Brooke crushes the empty bag of chips in her hand. “Let’s just say, puberty was not kind to me. Cicely never said that my weight-gain was the issue, but it seemed like a pretty strange coincidence and it didn’t help when I overheard her calling me names while I was walking down the hall one day.”

“How shallow,” I say, thinking about Ange and how she’s been there for me through every difficult point of my life. I could have gained fifty pounds and she wouldn’t have dumped me. “What did she do when you lost weight?”

“By then, it was too late,” Brooke says with a forced grin. For the first time, I see vulnerability in those doe-like eyes. “I mean, she asked me to come over, but when I did, too much had changed.
I
had changed. I was wiser and I realized I deserved better.”

“Good for you.”

Cicely’s past cattiness cut Brooke to the bone and it says so much about her character. “So if she’s with Ryder, do you hang out with the same people?”

Brooke shakes her head. “Not at all. She’s a cheerleader and, therefore, a fixture on the jock circuit. She even dated a twenty-four year-old guy who is now a professional hockey player. They broke up about a month or so ago and, immediately after, she started showing up at our gigs.”

“Maybe she’ll get back together with her ex.”

Brooke shakes her head. “No, I heard he’s being traded to a team back east, so I’m assuming he’s already out of here. I don’t need to worry, though. Ryder has about a two week rebound rate. Trust me, by this coming weekend, he will have found someone else to sleep with. He bores easily.”

“Is Cicely his usual type?”

“Ryder doesn’t necessarily have a type. Any girl is his type. Personally, I’d steer clear of him; and to be perfectly honest, I don’t need the drama, especially with family.”

I nod. “It doesn’t hurt to look, though.”

Brooke laughs.

We must have been talking too loud because a second later the brunette gets up and rushes over to Cicely, no doubt eager to repeat every single word of our conversation.

“She’s staring at us,” I tell Brooke, feeling sick to my stomach as the brunette whispers in Cicely’s ear. She turns and looks directly at me. The last thing I want is to make Brooke’s life more complicated, but it seems like I just unintentionally did.

Brooke glances over her shoulder and glares.

“Do you think she heard me talk about Ryder?”

“By the expression on her face, yes; I’d say she’s pissed,” Brooke says, now grinning from ear-to-ear. “That’ll give her something to worry about.”

Brooke leans forward and motions for me to do the same. The smile has disappeared and her eyes are stone cold. “If she tries to be buddies with you, do yourself a favor and run in the opposite direction.” There is a definite edge to Brooke’s voice. “Seriously, she’s dangerous, and the closer she gets to a person, the more damage she can do.”

“I’d never be her friend after the way she treated you.”

Brooke’s eyes soften. “Promise?”

“I swear.”

I glance once more at Cicely, and sure enough, she’s still watching me with narrowed eyes. “I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t want to be my friend. In fact, I’m pretty sure I just made my first enemy.”

CHAPTER 4

My mom’s expression upon seeing Brooke for the first time in years is priceless.

I can’t keep the grin off my face when, with completely rigid posture and a forced smile, Mom gives Brooke a hug while trying, not very successfully, to not look at her piercings.

Brooke is doing an incredible job at complimenting my mom on her beautiful taste in home décor (OMG, and she was calling me a kiss ass!). “No wonder Mom hired you to help her out with sets, Aunt Melissa. You have great style.” Brooke bends down and gives a kiss to the forehead of Shakespeare’s bust that takes pride of place on a side table in the cramped living room. “You have kind of an old world charm going on here.”

Our houses have always been impeccably furnished and Mom has worked with my dad as a consultant on the restaurants within each resort we owned. She’s done an amazing job.

I am actually relieved my dad hasn’t fought her for any of the household possessions once the house had been sold because I find comfort in the familiar. Unlike my dad’s soulless, fully-furnished condo that is decorated in a cold, oriental, minimalistic style; our apartment is warm and full of life. I’ve been to his condo only one time, on what felt to be an endless Saturday afternoon, and I never went back.

I hate everything about that ultra-modern space, especially the fact his girlfriend lives there.

“And you look amazing, Aunt Melissa. I swear you and Kenzie could be sisters.”

Now Brooke was pushing it a bit. Though I do resemble my mom with her blue eyes and blonde hair, our facial features are very different. I look more like my dad’s sister, but my mom always hated hearing that.

“Aren’t you sweet,” Mom says, perking up. “Your mom told me you’re in a band. How fun!”

“It
is
fun,” Brooke replies, folding her hands together in front of her and flashing a charming smile. “I love it. Thanks for letting Kenz come hear us. I’m thinking she can be our go-fer. We desperately need someone to get us water and snacks during practice and gigs.”

I like the sound of that. I’m not so sure my mom likes the idea, though, from the frown on her face.

“We usually run over on practice nights, Aunt Melissa. I hope you don’t mind if she’s home a little later. Plus, it
is
Friday night.”

“So where do you practice, exactly?” Mom asks, her gaze shifting to my outfit. I dressed up a little for the occasion and she looks suspect.

“My friend’s house. We practice in the basement.”

“The neighbors don’t mind?” Mom questions.

Brooke shakes her head. “Not at all. We’ve been practicing there for three years now.”

I see the concern in my mom’s expression. I can almost read her mind. I’ve never had this kind of freedom. My idea of a night out in San Diego was attending a bonfire on the beach after one of my brother’s football games. There had always been supervision with Mom usually the one chaperoning.

Mom watches Brooke closely. “There won’t be any drinking, right?”

“Aunt Melissa, this is a practice, not a party,” Brooke says, actually sounding a bit wounded. “This is work to me. My band is my future.”

Damn, she’s good.

Mom instantly relaxes. “So...you mentioned being late. What time do you think you’ll be back?”

“Well, we’re picking up Sadie and she lives a little ways out, so probably like one-ish.”

“One?” Mom’s gaze shifts to the clock on the wall. It’s almost eight. I can see her mentally counting the hours between now and one a.m.. She sighs heavily. “Okay, one o’clock, but not a minute after.”

I know how hard it is for my mom to relinquish control and let me have a life. This is a huge step for her.

The sides of Brooke’s mouth curve in a soft smile. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Mom says, giving us both hugs.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, feeling a little guilty about leaving her alone for the night.

“Well, Aunt Shelley invited me over, but I think I might stay in. I’m kind of wiped out after this week.”

“You should hang with mom for a bit. She’d be bummed out if you bailed on her,” Brooke says, already walking for the door.

“We’ll see,” Mom says, but I have a feeling she’s not leaving the house. “And thank you for showing Kenzie around school this week.”

“No problem, Aunt Melissa.”

I give Mom a reassuring smile before I walk out the door.

Brooke is practically skipping to the SUV. Someone is excited about tonight. The black cargo pants fit her like a second skin and the black blazer she’s wearing is fitted, showing off her tiny waist.