"All that on just two dollars?" I say suddenly knowing why he has a regular table. He nods. "What about you, what did you win?" I ask. "Did you bet the same as me?"
He smiles "As it just so happens I lost. I lost big. I got a little greedy and went for the Superfecta, which means I added a pony which didn't quite make it, but don't worry I plan to make up for it on the next race."
And did he ever! Because when we went to the window (after the eighth and final race) I collected a total of One Thousand Six Hundred and Forty-five dollars and Eighty cents while Damen pocketed significantly more, having won the" Super High Five", meaning he picked all five horses in the exact order they finished. And since he was the only one to have done so for the last several days, he won Five Hundred and Thirty-six Thousand dollars and Forty-one cents all on a ten dollar bet.
"So what do you think of the races?" he asks, his arm tucked around mine as he leads me outside.
"Well, now I get why you're not all that into school. I guess it can't really compete, can it?" I laugh, still feeling high from my winnings, thinking I've finally found a profitable outlet for my psychic gift.
"Come on, I want to buy you something to celebrate my big win," he says, leading me into the gift shop.
"No, you don't have to—" I start.
But he squeezes my hand, his lips on my ear as he says, "I insist. Besides, I think I can afford it. But there's one condition." I look at him.
"Absolutely no sweatshirts or hoodies." He laughs. "But anything else, just say the word."
After joking around and insisting on a jockey cap, a model horse, and a huge bronze horseshoe to hang on my bedroom wall, we settle On a silver horse-bit bracelet instead. But only after I made sure that the crystal bits were really just crystal, not diamonds, because that would be too much, no matter how much money he won.
"This way, no matter what happens, you'll never forget this day," he says, closing the clasp on my wrist as we wait for the valet to bring us the car.
"How could I possibly forget?" I ask, gazing at my wrist, then at him.
But he just shrugs as he climbs in beside me and there's something so sad, so bereft in his eyes, I hope that's the one thing I do forget.
Unfortunately, the ride home seems even quicker than the one to the track and when he pulls into my driveway, I realize how reluctant I am for the day to end.
"Would you look at that?" he says, motioning to the clock on his dash. "Well before midnight, just like I promised." And when he leans in to kiss me, I kiss him back with so much enthusiasm I practically drill him onto my seat.
"Can I come in?" he whispers, tempting me with his lips as they make their way down my ear, my neck, and all along my collarbone.
And I surprise myself by pushing him away and shaking my head. Not just because Sabine's inside and I have homework to do, but because I need to get a backbone already, stop giving in to him so dang easily.
"I'll see you at school," I say, climbing out of his car, before he can change my mind. "You remember, Bay View? That high school you used to attend?"
He averts his gaze and sighs.
"Don't tell me you're ditching—again?"
"School is so dreadfully boring. I don't know how you do it."
"You don't know how I do it?" I shake my head and glance toward the house, seeing Sabine peek through the blinds and then pulling away.
Then I turn back to Damen and say, "Well, I guess I do it the same way you used to do it. You know; you get up, get dressed, and just go. And sometimes, if you pay attention, you actually learn a thing or two while you're there." But the second it's out of my mouth, I know it's a lie. Because the truth is, I haven't learned a damn thing all year. I mean, it's hard to actually learn anything when you just sort of know everything instead. Though it's not like I share that with him.
"There's got to be a better way," he groans, his eyes wide, pleading with mine.
"Well, just for the record, truancy and dropping out? Not a better way. Not if you want to go to college, and make something of your life." More lies. Because with a few more days like that at the track, one could live very well. Better than well.
But he just laughs. "Fine. We'll play it your way. For now, see you tomorrow, Ever."
And I've barely made it through the front door when he's already driven away.
The next morning, as I'm getting ready for school, Riley's perched on my dresser, dressed as Wonder Woman, and spilling celebrity secrets. Having grown bored with watching the everyday antics of old neighbors and friends, she's set her sights on Hollywood, which allows her to dish the dirt better than any supermarket tabloid.
"No way!" I gape at her. "I can't believe it! Miles will flip when he hears this!"
"You have no idea." She shakes her head, her black curls bouncing from side to side, looking jaded, world weary, like one who's seen too much—and then some. "Nothing's what it seems. Seriously. It's just one big illusion, as fake as the movies they make. And believe me, those publicists work their butts off keeping all of their dirty little secrets-secret."
"Who else have you spied on?" I ask, eager to hear more. Wondering why it never occurred to me to try to tune in to their energies while I'm watching TV or flipping through a magazine. "What about—"
I'm just about to ask if the rumors about my favorite actress are true, when Sabine pokes her head in my room and says,
"What about what?" I glance at Riley, seeing she's bent over laughing, and clear my throat as I say, "Um, nothing, I didn't say anything."
Sabine gives me an odd look, as Riley shakes her head and says, "Good one, Ever. Real convincing."
"Did you need something?" I ask, turning my back on Riley and focusing on the real purpose behind Sabine's visit—she's been invited away for the weekend and isn't sure how to tell me.
She walks into my room, her posture too straight, her gait unnaturally stiff, then she takes a deep breath and sits on the edge of my bed, her fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on my blue cotton duvet as she considers just how to broach it. "Jeff invited me away for the weekend." She merges her brows. "But I thought I should run it by you first."
"Who's Jeff?" I ask, inserting my earrings and turning to look at her. Because even though I already know, I still feel like I should still ask.
"You met him at the party. He came as Frankenstein." She glances at me, her mind clouded with guilt, feeling like a negligent guardian, a bad role model, though it hasn't affected her aura, which is still a bright happy pink.
I cram my books into my backpack, stalling for time, as I decide what to do. On the one hand, Jeff isn't the guy she thinks. Not even close. Though from what I can see, he truly does like her and means her no harm. And it's been so long since I've seen her happy like this, I can't bear to tell lher. Besides, how would I even go about it?
Um, excuse me, but that Jeff guy? Mr. Swanky Investment Banker? So not the man you think he is. In fact, he still lives with his mom! Just don't ask how I know what I know—just trust that I know.
No. Uh-uh. Can't do it. Besides, relationships have a way of working themselves out—in their own way—in their own good time. And it's not like I don't have my own relationship issues to deal with. I mean, now that things are starting to stabilize with Damen, now that we're growing closer and I'm feeling more like a couple, I've been thinking that maybe it's time I stop pushing him away. Maybe it's time we take the next step. And with Sabine out of town for the next couple days, well, it's an opportunity that may not come around again.
"Go! Have fun!" I finally say, trusting she'll eventually learn the truth about Jeff and move on with her life.
She smiles, with equal amounts of excitement and relief. Then she gets up from my bed and moves toward the door, pausing as she says, "We're leaving today, after work. He's got a place up in Palm Springs, and it's less than a two-hour drive, so if you need anything, we won't be too far."
Correction, his mom has a place in Palm Springs.
"We'll be back Sunday. And Ever, if you want to have your friends over that's fine, though—do we need to talk about that?"
I freeze, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed and wondering if she's somehow read my mind. But realizing she's just trying to be a responsible adult and fulfill her new role as "parent," I shake my head and say, "Trust me, it's all been covered."
Then I grab my bag and roll my eyes at Riley who's dancing on top of my dresser, singing, "Par-ty! Par-ty!"
Sabine nods, clearly relieved at having avoided the S-E-X talk almost as much as me. "See you Sunday," she says.
"Yup," I say, heading down the stairs. "See you then."
"Swear to God he's on your team," I say, pulling into the parking lot, feeling the Warm, sweet tingle of Damen's gaze long before I actually see him.
"I knew it!" Miles nods. "I knew he was gay I could just tell. Where'd you hear that?"
I stall, knowing there's no way I can divulge my true source, admitting that my dead little sister is now the ultimate Hollywood insider. "Um, I don't remember," I mumble, climbing out of my car. "I just know that it's true."
"What's true?" Damen asks smiling as he brings his lips to my cheek.
"Jo—" Miles starts.
But I shake my head and cut him off, unwilling to display my celebrity-obsessing shallow side so early in the game.
"Nothing, we just, urn, did you hear Miles is playing Tracy Turnblad in Hairspray?" I ask, going into a full-blown discourse of jumbled phrases and disjointed nonsense until Miles finally waves goodbye and heads off to class.
As soon as he's gone, Damen stops and says, "Hey, I have a better idea. Let's go have breakfast."
I shoot him the you're crazy look and continue walking, but I don't get very fat before he's squeezing my hand and pulling me back.
"Come on," he says, his eyes on mine, laughing in a way that's contagious.
"We can't," I whisper, glancing around anxiously, knowing we're seconds from being late and not wanting it to get any worse. "Besides, I already had breakfast."
"Ever, please!" He drops to his knees, palms pressed together, eyes wide and pleading. "Please don't make me go in there. If you have any kindness at all, you won't make me do it."
I press my lips and try not to laugh. Watching my gorgeous, elegant, sophisticated boyfriend begging on his knees is a sight I never thought I'd see. But still, I just shake my head and say, "Come on, get up, bell's about to—" And I don't even finish the sentence before it's already rung.
He smiles, rising to his feet, wiping his jeans, and then tucking his arm around my waist as he says, "You know what they say, better a no-show than a tardy."
"Who's they?" I ask, shaking my head. "Sound more like you."
He shrugs. "Hmmm, maybe it is me. Nonetheless, I guarantee there are much better ways to spend a morning. Because Ever," he says, squeezing my hand, "We don't have to do this. And, you don't have to wear this." He removes my sunglasses and lowers my hood. "The weekend starts now"
And even though I can think of a million good and valid reasons why we absolutely should not ditch, why the weekend should wait until three o' clock just like any other Friday, when he gazes at me, his eyes are so deep and inviting, I don't think twice, I just dive right in.
Barely recognizing the sound of my own voice when I hear myself say, "Hurry before they lock the gate."
We take separate cars. Because even though it went unspoken, it's pretty obvious we have no plans to return. And as I follow Damen up the sweeping curves of Coast Highway, I gaze out at the dramatic stretch of coastline, the pristine beaches, the navy blue waters, and my heart swells with gratitude, feeling so lucky to live here, to call this amazing place home. But then I remember how I ended up here—and just like that, the thrill is gone.
He makes a quick right and I pull into the space beside him, smiling as he comes around to open my door. "Have you been here yet?" he asks. I gaze at the white clapboard hut and shake my head.
"I know you said you weren't hungry, but their shakes are best. You should definitely try the date malt, or the chocolate peanut butter shake, or both, it's my treat."
"Dates?" I crinkle my nose and make a face. "Um, I hate to say it, but that sounds awful."
But he just laughs and pulls me toward the counter, ordering one of each, and then carrying them over to the painted blue bench where we take a seat and gaze down at the beach.
"So which one's your favorite?" he asks.
I try them each again, but they're both so thick and creamy, I remove their lids and use a spoon. "They're both really good," I say. "But surprisingly, I think I like the date one best." But when I slide it toward him so he can taste too, he shakes his head and pushes it back. And something about that small simple act pierces straight through me.
There's just something about him, something more than just the strange magic tricks and disappearing acts. I mean, for one thing, this guy never eats.
But no sooner have I thought it than he reaches for the straw and takes a long deep pull, and when he leans in to kiss me his lips are icy cold.
"Let's head down to the beach, shall we?"
He takes my hand and we walk along the trail, shoulders bumping into each other, as we pass the milkshakes back and forth, even though I'm doing most all of the slurping. And as we make our way down to the beach, we remove our shoes, roll up our hems, and walk along the shore, allowing the frigid water to wash over our toes and splash on our shins.
"Do you surf?" he asks, taking the empty cups and placing one inside the other.
I shake my head, and step over a pile of rocks.
"Would you like a lesson?" He smiles.
"In this water?" I head toward a bank of dry sand, my toes numb and blue from just that quick dip. "No thanks."
"Well, I was thinking we'd wear wet suits," he says, coming up behind me.
"Only if they're fur lined." I laugh, smoothing the sand with my foot, making a flat space for us to sit. But he takes my hand and leads me away, all the way past the tide pools, and into a hidden natural cave.
"I had no idea this was here," I say, gazing around at the smooth rock walls, the recently raked sand, and the towels and surfboards piled up in the corner.
"Nobody does." He smiles. "That's why all my stuff is still here. Blends into the tock; most people walk right by without even seeing it. But then, most people live their whole lives without ever noticing what's directly in front of them."
"So how'd you find it?" I ask, sitting onto the large green blanket he's laid out in the middle.
He shrugs. "I guess I'm not like most people."
He lies down beside me, then pulls me down too. Resting his cheek on the palm of his hand, he gazes at me for so long, I can't help but squirm.
"Why do you hide under those baggy jeans and hoodies?" he whispers, his fingers stroking the side of my face, pushing my hair behind my ear. "Don't you know how beautiful you are?"
I press my lips together and look away, liking the sentiment but wishing he'd stop. I don't want to go down this road of having to explain myself, defend why I am the way I am.
Obviously he'd prefer the old me, but it's too late for that. That girl died and left me in her place. A tear escapes down my cheek, and I try to turn, not wanting him to see. But he holds me tight and won't let me go, erasing my sadness with a brush of his lips before merging with mine.
"Ever," he groans, voice thick, eyes burning, shifting until he's draped right across me, the weight of his body providing the most comforting warmth that soon turns to heat.
I run my lips along the line of his jaw, the square of his chin, my breath coming in short shallow gasps as his hips press and circle with mine, eliciting all of the feelings I've fought so hard to deny. But I'm tired of fighting, tired of denying. I just want to be normal again. And what could be more normal than this?
I close my eyes as he removes my sweatshirt, surrendering, yielding, allowing him to unbutton my jeans and remove them too. Consenting to the press of his palm and push of his fingers, telling myself that this glorious feeling, this dreamy exuberance surging inside me could only be one thing—could only be Love.
But when I feel his thumbs anchored in the elastic of my panties, guiding them down, I sit up abruptly and push him away. Part of me wanting to continue, to pull him back to me—only not here, not now,not in this way.
"Ever," he whispers, his eyes searching mine. But I just shake my head and turn away, feeling his warm wonderful body mold around mine, his lips on my ear saying, "It's all right. Really. Now sleep."
"Damen?" I roll over, squinting in the dim light, as my hand explores the empty space beside me. Patting the blanket again and again, until I'm convinced he's truly not there.
"Damen?" I call again, glancing around the cave, the distant sound of crashing waves the only reply.
I slip on my sweatshirt and stumble outside, staring into the fading afternoon light, scanning the beach, expecting to find him. But when I don't see him anywhere, I head back inside, seeing the note he left on my bag, and unfolding it to read:
Gone surfing. Be back soon.
—D
I run back outside, note still in hand, rushing up and down the shore, scanning for surfers, one in particular. But the only two out there are so blond and pale, it's clear they're not Damen.