Uncharted (Unexpected Book 3) (5 page)

Week number one went perfectly, except for a few hitches here and there. Like Jacob and his blue, magnetic eyes. I’ve seen him three times, and talked to him twice, as he ignored me last Friday at Cup of Joe. All for the better. I continue packing my shit. Maeve requires around the clock care. Her lung capacity has decreased by about ten percent. The mucous gathering in her lungs increases the risk for infection and it’s time for us to jump into action before it’s too late.

That’s what Mom told me over the phone earlier today. She chose a Friday afternoon to dump that shit on me. Since my college activities don’t support the household, it’s my duty to head back home and become her private nurse.

Unfair.

“You don’t want her to die, do you, Pria?” Her words resonate as I fold each garment I own.

Instead of continuing with this crazy pack-and-go exercise, I park myself on the bed and stare at the white wall. Just an hour ago, that wall had a poster of Adam Levine’s pretty face. Next to it, the poster of Brendon Urie from
Panic! At the Disco
watched me with those mesmerizing, pretty eyes.
My Fall Out Boy
poster is gone, along with
Cobra Starship
. My guys are all rolled up, leaning against the wall and ready to head back home. Unbelievably, Mom didn’t offer to help. She sent Dad earlier to pick up a load; we agreed to pick up the rest over the weekend.

“If you want us to pick you up tonight, call me when you’re ready,” she said over the phone.

“I haven’t finished the deferment process,” I lied.

What I really wanted to say was:
Well, mother, I’m not ready!
My loudest thought didn’t make it out of my mouth. I’d never yell at Mom that way.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, flip it open and dial the only number that can give me some comfort today.

“Finally. I called you six hours ago, Cypriana.” She laughs. “Ready to tell your mother that she’s crazy and you won’t defer a year because of me?”

“No,” I huff.

A growl replaces her wave of laughter. For a sick girl she sounds healthy enough to take care of herself. “Hear me out—you can’t put your life on hold for me. It’s college. Live.”

“Stop, really. She’ll come and hunt me down.”

“True. Well, call her and tell her that you couldn’t reach the registration office.” I scratch my head as I listen to her plot, which is half-true. I do have a couple of things to finish. “The admissions office requires a signature from them, the library, and the dorm, and…make up more shit. Think complicated and confusing. You have to be there at least until Monday to straighten everything up, but wait. There’s Tuesday, and…how many times can you lose your way through a school that’s new to you?”

My sister loses me with all that nonsense.

“I can’t lie.” My heart speeds up with the image of Mom catching me.

“Well, do it or I’m going to get you in trouble.” My sister, the pain in the ass, can’t take no for an answer. “I’ll make up something. You know they’ll believe me. Go out. Party. Meet boys—at least one. Pria, at this pace, we’ll both end up like a couple of spinsters. Listen to your big sister, and while you’re at it, take pictures of hot guys, handsome guys…any guy. We’ll assess your status on Monday. I’m thinking a weekend, perhaps a week, of rebellion is in order.”

“But, Maeve—”

“No buts. I’m hanging up and you’re heading out to hook up…well, not hook up, but meet someone. Remember, I’m dying and I need to collect memories.”

I laugh at my crazy sister who insists on using her illness as a way to do whatever she wants. Maeve snaps her fingers and my parents appear on a flying unicorn that farts glitter.

“I’ll call Mom then.”

“No, she’ll destroy what I just accomplished. I’m going to explain it to her, and then I’ll email you what I said before you ruin what my creative juices came up with.”

“I’ll see you Monday then?” Resigned to my fate, I lower my voice. “Please don’t get me into too much trouble.”

“Why are you whispering? She can’t hear you, silly little sister. Enjoy or I won’t let you come back home.”

“Bye, Mae,” I say with a faint smile on my lips. Even when she doesn’t know if she’ll be here tomorrow, she still wants me to enjoy today. I’m such a lucky girl to have a sister like her.

Flipping my phone closed, I rise from the bed to find something to wear. My teal pajama pants won’t attract even a fly. One cup of coffee and then I’ll come back and continue packing. Midnight. I’ll arrive home at midnight. Tomorrow Dad can come over and take a second load home. This is one of the few perks about him—his lack of communication allows me to disclose things to Mom at a later date—plus edit some of the content while I’m at it.

Another week down and school is becoming my sworn enemy. As we come to an end on what we now call the second week of doom, Matthew and I are
so
ready to quit. The classes last too long and we can’t move from our seats. The registration offices don’t allow us to take more credits during each semester, which might be for the best as every class sucks. Plus I have to do two times the work: my brother’s and my own. This is a jail sentence before we can enjoy our lives as famous rock stars. But if we can endure eight months, our parents will support our music career.

For now I have to stay on task and work the odd jobs Christian assigned us. Like today, once again, we’re at Cup of Joe. Another Friday listening to the open mic. Today we have to familiarize ourselves with what the audience likes. Matthew opens the door for me and I scan the area, searching for one person. I had hopes that she’d be here today, as she was last week. Luckily for me, she sits alone at a corner table by the window, her head swaying to the rhythm of the music as she scribbles.

“I’ll be over there.” I tilt my head in her direction, making Matthew roll his eyes.

“Don’t propose.” His body shakes with laughter as he walks to the counter for a couple of smoothies.

I start to raise my brow, but stop short of giving him a warning glare. Instead, I ignore him. My motivation is across the room. Listening to her voice is primal, so much so that I fight my way through the bodies that squeeze against each other, listening to some girl squeaking about her lost love. The masses don’t stop me. I reach her at the exact moment her head lifts up. Our eyes connect. Their bright lights dazzle my soul and warm my chest. Her long, shiny, black hair is tied into a sleek ponytail. She wears a light pink shirt that makes her skin glow. Beautiful.

I draw a breath, searching for the right words to say without fucking up again. Damn, this girl has set some spell on me. That or I’m horny.

“It’s written in the stars,” I blurt out loudly as I drag a chair next to hers. Her heart-shape lips pull slightly toward her eyes, but they crash and her eyes lose the sparkle. I take a breath as the shift took me off balance, but regain my charming composure. “They say that the third time’s a charm.” The smooth words keep flowing. I refuse to count last week as an encounter. “How’s my Twinkle today?”

“Shh,” the crowd around the table silences me.

“Oh God, what did I do to deserve this punishment?” She deflates, banging her head on top of the table.
Ouch.
“I had a great first day of school, then boom, my life sucked, with a capital S. It feels like only yesterday when you and your brother decided to use me as your royal jester or whatever. An hour since you got me kicked out of Econ I. What do you want now?”

It’s been over a week and a few days since the Econ incident, but I let her continue to vent. Growing up with a sister taught me several things. Among them: let the girl rage for a few minutes before you try to calm her down. Another important one: never contradict her or correct her unless you’re in the mood to make your life miserable. However, taunting this beauty wouldn’t get me too far.

“What’s wrong, Twinkle Eyes?” She lifts her face and her eyes don’t shine as they did a week ago.

“Life,” she whispers, looking around. “It got a bit complicated… but we can handle whatever life throws our way—that’s what Mom always says.”

She closes her notebook and shoves it inside her backpack. Looking at her mug, she lifts it, drinking the remains of whatever she ordered, and then she stands and walks by me without acknowledging my presence. I follow. This is my chance to find out what happened with her and score a number—maybe a kiss or two before the night is over. There’s a pull this girl exercises over me. Maybe the stars have nothing to do with what I crave. Eighteen and a virgin—the perfect mass of hormones and desires that require a willing body to placate the hunger. The question lingers: is she willing?

I signal Matthew so he knows that we’ll meet back at home. He raises his palm, flipping it, a sign that indicates he understands. The triplet connection works only so far; we don’t read each other’s minds. So we have a few codes for moments like this. I’m happy to finally be the one using this one, as sadly I’ve been on the receiving end far too many times to count.

“Power walking?” I catch up with her as she’s about to turn the corner. “Wait for me, Twinkle.”

She halts, her backpack slamming against her back, and her eyes shoot darts. Not good. I’ve had close encounters with that kind of unfriendly face—AJ.

My dear parents dealt with my sister’s rage a lot of the time. Angry moments I brought on because it was fun to taunt her, until it wasn’t fun anymore. Hurt for AJ translates into anger-rage and she wreaks havoc around the house. During those times, Matthew and I either escape or copy our parent’s techniques before she holes herself inside her room, not wanting to talk to anyone.

Convincing my sister to chill and dealing with Twinkle’s issues are worlds apart. I can charm Twinkle, as long as I don’t come on too strong.

“I’m enjoying my last hours of freedom.” Her eyes harden, her chin tilts, and her nostrils flare. A hot look, but one I have to smooth away. “I had to quit school. You’re the last person I want to share my last days with, psycho boy.”

“Is there something I can do to help?” Kiss you, touch you, or make you feel better in some other intimate way? Nothing of what I think would entice her and would surely confirm I’m the creep-o she suspects. “You have me all wrong. I’m super lovable.”

“Unless you’re a scientist and can cure Maeve, my sister, nope.” She taps her foot against the concrete.

“What is wrong with her?” I grab her hand and walk her to where we parked the car.

Matthew will hate me tonight; I have to come up with a way to repay him before he thinks of one—one that will cost me a lot.

“Many, many things.” She furrows her dark brows while sucking her cheeks, reminding me of an angry rabbit. “I don’t want to discuss my sister. Not when I was supposed to have a fun tonight.”

“You want fun, Twinkle?”

She tilts her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and her lips form a ghostly smile that disappears in only seconds.

“If you need a night of fun, I’m your guy, and this time I won’t take no for an answer. You’re not allowed to chicken out. It’s Friday. There’re no classes tomorrow. It’s not raining. If you come with me, I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Has anyone ever mentioned that you’re insane?”

I chuckle but don’t answer her question. Twinkle stares at me. Her eyes study my face, making me feel naked—bare for her to take a look at who I am, who I was, and who I’ll become one day. This doesn’t scare me, and that’s what frightens me. Why is it that I want her to see everything, and how normal is that?

“Can we get a yes?” I can’t stand the silence any longer.

“I…you won’t do anything I don’t want?”

I do an air fist bump and she rolls her eyes at me. I recover my cool and try my suave voice.

“Not unless you ask me to, Twinkle.” I press my lips to her soft cheek, lingering for a few beats as I enjoy her sweet aroma.

“Please, never try that douche pose or tone.” Before I can react, she laughs, winking at me. “Kidding, it kind of works on you.”

JC: Going to a quiet place—taking the truck.

MJ: You suck.

JC: I owe you.

Instead of heading to some weird spot in the city, I drive to our place. The old apartment my father bought when he moved from California to Seattle during the late ’80s.

MJ: You better lose your virginity. Make my misery worth something, dude!