Beware of Boys (19 page)

“If you can change Lex's mind, Eden, you know where to find a bruh. I'm scheduled for the last flight out but, hopefully, I can hop an earlier one,” Faizon said over his shoulder, then turned and walked and talked with Coop.

“Eden, you don't have to wait for Charly,” Liam said, walking up and standing next to Charly. He put his arm around her shoulders. “I'll get her back to the camp.”

Eden brightened, relief washing the worry from her face. “Really? Is that okay, Charly? I mean, I am supposed to be your chaperone.”

“It's fine, just put your info and Lex's into my contacts too. That's the problem M
kel and I had. We didn't know anyone's numbers, and wouldn't have known to come here if the crew at the Grime to Shine hadn't mentioned the hospital.” She gave her phone to Eden and waited. “Go ahead, Eden. I need you to change Lex's mind more than I need you to wait for me. I'll catch up with you soon,” she said, accepting her phone and giving Eden a quick one-armed hug. She turned to Liam. “I'll be back in a few. I'm going in here.” She knocked lightly on Bobsy's door, then pushed it open and stuck in her head. Charly needed to apologize to her, and she hoped she would accept.

Bobsy lay in the bed with her eyes closed. The lighting was dim, but warm and soft music filled the space. Charly took in the surroundings. There was nothing hospital-like about the room, but one thing was certain, Bobsy needed to be there. She was puny, and the twin bed she was tucked into dwarfed her.

“Hi, Charly,” Bobsy said, opening her eyes. “Guess you know my secret now . . . why I couldn't come to the event? Why I wear a trainer's shirt, but don't train.”

Charly shook her head, then adjusted a chair next to Bobsy's bed, so she could sit facing her. “No, actually I don't,” she admitted, sitting. “What's your secret? If you don't mind telling me, that is.”

Bobsy wiggled until she was sitting up. “Well, I'm not dying or anything. I have Marfan syndrome. You know a bit of scoliosis, mixed with a weak aorta—the main artery that carries blood from my heart . . . i.e. major heart problems, and major bone problems from being so thin. You know, yada yada yada?” Bobsy said, smiling like it wasn't a big deal, which Charly took as a cue from Bobsy not to make more of it than Bobsy wanted her to. “So basically I'm here again because my cardiologist was afraid I was going to suffer an ‘aortic dissection,' ” she said, holding up her fingers and making quote marks in the air. “That's when your aorta can burst—well, when someone else's can, but not mine. I'm too strong.”

Charly reached over and held Bobsy's hand. “You certainly are . . .”

Bobsy shook her head. “Don't try to butter me up, Charly. Remember, we're not friends,” she reminded her with a smile in her voice. “Seriously, just spit it out. I don't like kiss-ups.”

Charly nodded. “Cool. 'Cause I don't like kissing up.” She paused. “I meant it when I said you're strong, and I hope you're strong enough to consider accepting my apology. It's just that you weren't wearing pink and had ‘Trainer' on your shirt, and I'd never considered a female trainer—”

Bobsy laughed. “And my chest is major flat and my hair is cut like this. So you thought I was a boy. I get it. However, let's be clear.” She angled her body more, facing Charly full on. “I didn't want my hair like this. I just kept getting hospitalized, wasn't thinking about combing it because I was concentrating on getting better, and, to top it off, I'd colored it and over-relaxed it—in the same day . . . major mistake.” She shook her head. “It fell out. Now it's growing back. All that to say: yes, Charly, I accept your apology—we're still not friends though.” She giggled again.

Charly laughed with her. “Okay, not-my-friend, I need something from you.” Charly stood, then stepped next to Bobsy's bed. She waved her hand toward the mattress. “Mind if I sit here for a moment? I want to get a little personal.” Bobsy nodded her permission, and Charly sat. She shared her life story with Bobsy, explained how her mother had been everything but a mother to her and her little sister, Stormy, while she was growing up, and then divulged her struggle. She'd worked for everything she had, including finding her father, who hadn't known where she was. Charly cried a little, admitting to Bobsy how more often than not, her mom had been out partying and gambling, while she and Stormy were missing daily essentials like electricity or food or money or a combination of two or more. She smiled when she spoke of her little sister's brilliance, then saddened, telling how there were many like her who would never be rewarded—saved—based on their being smart. Charly nodded. She'd told Bobsy everything.

“So . . . now you know my story—my secret. That's why I need your help. I want the guys to open up the center to more than just girls with medical illnesses; I want them to extend the project to include girls who fight other illnesses—inner dis-ease—like coming from the wrong side of the tracks, missing or inattentive parents . . .” She shrugged. “Poverties—mental, physical, and emotional, not just financial.” Charly wiped her eyes, which had turned on like faucets. “I want to help girls like me . . . like who I was, and who I could've remained.”

Bobsy stared at Charly, unblinking, like her brother, M
kel. “You know what, Charly?” she asked, shaking her head in the negative. “I don't know how I can say this to you . . .” She scratched her head and looked away, mumbling under her breath, “You did call me bruh, like I was a boy.” She looked Charly in the eyes. “Believe me, it really hurts more than anything to say this, but I have to, and I hope you understand.”

“First of all, you look awful. I can't believe you—not you, Charly St. James, the beautiful TV host, who dresses up American teens—are walking around looking like that. And you don't seem to be bothered by it at all.” She shook her head again. “And if you add your background to the way you look now, not to mention you can't tell a girl from a boy, I'd have to say, your situation is worse than mine. And for that . . . I'm afraid, I was wrong. I didn't like you because I thought you were in this for you—for what you could get out of it, like a new spinoff show or more publicity. That's why I questioned you the day we met. That's why I needed to know what you said because I thought I'd been wrong about you. I've always liked your show, and admired you for helping others, but after I saw you and my brother fighting in the shoe store . . . well, I didn't trust you anymore.” Bobsy shrugged. “So, okay, I'll say it twice: I was wrong. You're not stuck up and you don't think you're better than anyone, and I think we
can
be friends.” She smiled. “I'll help you, Charly. You knew I would.”

Charly exhaled. “Thank you, Bobsy. What about M
kel? Why did he really walk away from the project? Him and Lex quit.”

Bobsy shrugged. “Who knows? Probably because of Coop. It's always him and Coop battling. My mom used to say they were trying to see who could pee the furthest, meaning which one is the strongest. I always called it a battle between creativity and smarts. I don't need to tell you who's creative though. I bet it's because of Coop. I can work on finding out, but they're really good about keeping things from me. They don't want to stress me out.” She rolled her eyes. “But don't worry about convincing M
kel. I can do that. You just worry about finding him. I warn you though, he's good at hiding when he's upset—especially now that my cardiologist has cleared me, he'll feel like he can disappear for a while. When you do find him, Charly, ask him if he's ever been stuck between a dollar and a dream. I won't say more than that, but that'll trigger him.”

L
iam wasn't trying to hear one word of Charly's plan, and was blatantly clear about it. He followed closely behind her, stepping on her heels and expressing his dis-proval as they walked down the hospital corridor. Charly looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes like a child. She had no other way of relating her contempt for him or his thinking he really had some say with how she conducted her life, unless she resorted to throwing expletives at him. But she was practicing controlling herself, and didn't want to curse him out, though she'd been tempted each time he said, “No, I won't have it!” Stopping in front of the elevator bank, she pressed the call button and waited for its arrival. Crossing her arms, she tapped her foot and felt the water from her soaked sneakers squish around her toes.
Why can't he just shut up?
she thought, as a ding announced the elevator's arrival, and the doors parted, allowing their entrance.

“Good evening,” she greeted the few riders, who were looking at her like she was an escapee from the thirteenth floor—the psychiatric floor in every hospital she knew about. She gave herself a once-over, and understood why they were gawking the way they were. If mental stability could be judged by looks, she had to admit she didn't appear behaviorally healthy, especially with Liam standing next to her, accusing her of being insane. Ignoring him, she opened her Contacts on her phone and found Faizon's info.

Charly texted back, then sent a message to Eden asking if she could go with her to California and if Eden would book their flights and pack her a purse.

Liam leaned in, trying to read over her shoulder. “You know you're crazy, Charly?”

“I am insane, Liam,” she finally broke her silence, staring him down. He'd pushed her past patience, and she couldn't maintain control anymore. “In sane—two words, get it? I'm in my sanity, which is why I have to go. How else will this project succeed?” she asked, watching the numbers above the doors light up as they descended to the lobby.

The elevator doors opened. “Who told you it's your job to make sure this happens, love?” Liam asked as he stood to the side, gesturing for her to step off before him. “Never mind. I already know the answer to that. But I'm going with,” he said, inviting himself on her journey as he traveled behind her down the hallway. “There's no way I'm allowing you to chase behind some dude. Alone. One who doesn't too much care for you, I might add.” He slow jogged in front of her, holding open the exit door for her as she walked out of the hospital.

Charly turned on her heels. “I'm going to act like I didn't just hear you say that. Allow? Really!” Her voice rose with each word, drawing the attention of passersby and hospital staff. “You're right; I put myself in charge of making this project happen, and if it doesn't happen, we don't get a new spinoff show. But I also need this, Liam. Me—well, other girls like me need it. If I'd had a place to go and I'd had support like the retreat is going to offer, do you know how much I would have benefited when I was pretty much on my own before I was reunited with my father? Do you realize what that would've done for a girl whose mother was not there?” she asked, then walked over to the hired car Liam had waiting just off the entrance. “As harsh as it sounds, M
kel, Lex, and Faizon opening a place just for fighters and survivors of diseases isn't enough. Other girls need a safe haven too, and I'm going to make sure they get it,” she stated, getting into the car and settling into her seat, while Liam got in next to her and shut the door. “So you can object all you want, accuse me of chasing behind M
kel. . . . I don't care.
I
am going, you're not.”

“Why not? What's so wrong with me going with you?” Liam asked, his voice heavy with frustration.

Charly looked at him. “Because you need this just as much as I do, but for a different reason. For me, it's personal, and for you, it's business. And business is business is business, and you know like I know that this can help skyrocket our careers. The stats of viewers—the Nielsen ratings—will be phenomenal, just like the product endorsements that we know will come in.” She shook her head, then put her hand on his arm, hoping to woo him. “So you can't go. You need to stay here and work on Lex, get him back in the game. He's athletic, you're athletic. He's driven, you're driven. Use your similarities to appeal to him,” she pleaded in a soft voice, a sweet tone she knew he'd have a hard time rejecting.

Liam's face told her that he was considering her words. “I don't know. I'm not comfortable with you traveling to Cali alone.”

Charly gave him a soft sincere smile. “But I'm not going alone, Liam. That's what Eden's for,” she said and thought,
if she can go with me
. She turned her head and looked out the window as the car drove away. Her phone vibrated, momentarily stealing her attention and making her smile.

Faizon's house was ridiculously palatial, Charly thought as she sat next to his infinity pool, staring out at the Pacific, which twinkled under the blanket of stars. The day had been hectic, but being surrounded by so much water relaxed her, which was exactly what she was aiming for. Her body was exhausted, but mentally and emotionally, she was tired, and should've already gone to bed like Eden. It seemed as if the last week had been negatively affected by the opposite sex, giving her a brand-new definition of boy crazy. She straightened the folder on her lap, which kept blowing open with the salty scented breeze.

“You good, mama?” Faizon asked, startling her.

With a hand to her heart, she exhaled. “You can't sneak up on me, Faizon. You might mess around and catch a beat down at your own house,” she joked.

He laughed with her, and held out his hand to her. “C'mon, mama. Let's go take a walk.”

Charly protested, pointing to the folder. “I can't.”

Faizon reached down, grabbing her hand. He pulled her up effortlessly. “Trust, you can do whatever you want. Can is an—”

“Ability,” she finished for him, setting the folder down in the lounge chair she'd be sitting on. “But I have to work. I have to finish this project.”

He nodded. “Right to your first statement; can is an ability, mama. Wrong to your second; the project is a wrizzap, Charly. A wrap,” he said again, as if she didn't understand what wrizzap meant. “M
kel walked, Lex is done because M
kel walked. What more can you do tonight?” He waved his hand toward the expanse surrounding them. “How can you ignore all of this? You're not here to work—not tonight. You can't hunt M
kel down until the morning. Besides, you'll have plenty to do then, when we . . . ,” he began, then stopped and looked out into the distance where the sound of the tide rushing in interrupted him. “I never get tired of hearing that. It's one of the reasons I'll never give up living on the coast.”