When I pull into the driveway I'm surprised to see someone sitting on the front steps, but when I get closer, I'm even more surprised to see that it's Riley.
"Hey," I say, grabbing my bag and slamming the car door, a little harder than planned.
"Sheesh!" she says, shaking her head and staring at me. "I thought you were gonna run me over."
"Sorry, I thought you were Damen," I say heading for the front door.
"Oh no, what'd he do now?" She laughs. But I just shrug and unlock the door. I'm certainly not going to fill her in on the details.
"What happened, you get locked out?" I ask, leading her inside.
''Very funny." She rolls her eyes and heads into the kitchen, taking a seat at the breakfast bar as I drop my bag on the counter and stick my head in the fridge.
"So, what's up?" I glance at her, wondering why she's so quiet, thinking maybe my bad mood is contagious.
"Nothing." She rests her chin in her hand and gazes at me.
"Doesn't seem like nothing." I grab a bottle of water instead of the quart of ice cream I really want, and lean against the granite counter, noticing how her black hair is tangled, and the Wonder Woman costume more than a little droopy.
She shrugs. "So, what are you gonna do?" she asks, leaning back on the stool in a way that makes me cringe, even though she can't possibly fall and get hurt. "I mean, this is like a teen dream come true, right? House to yourself, no chaperones." She wiggles her brows in a way that seems false, like she's trying too hard to put up a good front.
I take a swig of water and shrug, part of me wanting to confide in her, unburden my secrets, the good, bad, and the completely revolting. It would be so nice to get it off my chest, not bear all this weight on my own. But when I look at her again, I remember how half her life was spent waiting to turn thirteen, viewing each passing year as the one that brought her closer to the important double digits. And I can't help but wonder if that's why she's here. Since I robbed her of her dream, she's left with no choice but to live it through me.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you," I finally say. "But I'm sure you've already guessed what a colossal failure I am in the teen dream department." I gaze up at her shyly, my face flushing when she nods in agreement. "And that promise I showed back in Oregon? With the friends, and the boyfriend, and the cheerleading? Gone. Kaput. O-V-E-R. And the two friends I managed to make at Bay View? Well, they're not speaking to each other. Which, unfortunately means they're barely speaking to me. And even though through some weird, unexplainable, unimaginable fluke I managed to snag a gorgeous, sexy boyfriend, well the truth is, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Because when he's not acting weird, or vanishing into thin air, well, then he's convincing me to ditch school and bet at the tracks and all sorts of sordid business like that. He's kind of a bad influence." I cringe, realizing too late that I shouldn't have shared any of that.
But when I look at her again, it's clear she's not listening. She's staring at the counter, fingers tracing the black granite swirls, as her mind wanders in some other place.
"Please don't be mad," she finally says, gazing at me with eyes so wide and somber it's like a punch in the gut. "But I spent the day with Ava."
I press my lips, thinking: I don't want to hear this. I absolutely do not want to hear this! I grip the counter and brace for what follows.
"I know you don't like her, but she has some good points, and she's really making me think about things. You know, the choices I've made. And, well, the more I think about it, the more I realize she just might be right."
"What could she possibly be right about?" I ask, talking past the lump in my throat, thinking this day's gone from really bad, to extremely bad and it's a long way from over.
Riley looks at me, then glances away, her fingers still tracing those random swirls, as she says, ' Ava says I shouldn't be here. That I'm not supposed to be here."
''And what do you say?" I suck in my breath, wishing she'd stop talking and take it all back. There's no way I can lose her, not now, not ever. She's all I have left.
Her fingers stop moving as she looks up at me. "I say I like being here. I say that even though I'll never get to be a teenager, at least I can kind of live it through you. You know, vicariously."
And even though her comment makes me feel guilty and horrible, and confirms all my thoughts, I try to lighten the load when I say, "Jeez, Riley, you couldn't have picked a worse example."
She rolls her eyes and groans. "Tell me." But even though she laughs, the light in her eyes is quickly extinguished when she says,
"But what if she's right? I mean, what if it is wrong for me to be here all the time?"
"Riley—" I start, but then the doorbell rings, and when I glance at her again, she's gone.
"Riley!" I yell, gazing around the kitchen. "Riley!" I shout, hoping she'll reappear. I can't leave it like that. I refuse to leave it like that. But the more I shout, yell, and scream for her to return, the more I realize I'm shouting at air.
And as the doorbell continues to ring, one time, followed by two, I know Haven's outside, and I need to let her in.
"The gate guard waved me through," she says, storming into the house, her face a mess of mascara and tears, her newly red hair a tangled-up mess. "They found Evangeline. She's dead."
"What? Are you sure?" I start to shut the door behind her when Damen drives up, leaps from his car, and runs toward us. "Evangeline—" I start, so shocked by the news I've forgotten I've decided to hate him.
He nods and moves toward Haven, peering at her as he says, ' Are you okay?"
She shakes her head and wipes her face. "Yeah, I mean, it's not like I knew her all that well, we only hung out a few times, but still. It's so awful, and the fact that I may have been the last one to see her..."
"Surely you weren't the last to see her."
I gape at Damen, wondering if he meant it as some kind of sick joke, but his face is deadly serious, and his gaze far away.
"I just—I just feel so responsible," she mumbles, burying her face in her hands, groaning oh God, oh God, oh God, over and over again.
I move toward her, wanting to comfort her in some way, but then she lifts her head, wipes her eyes, and says, "I—I just thought you should know, but I should get going, I need to get to Drina's." She raises her hand and jangles her keys.
Hearing her say that is like fuel for the fire, and I narrow my eyes at Darnen, staring accusingly. Because even though Haven's friendship with Drina seems like a fluke, I'm sure that it isn't. I can't shake the feeling it's somehow connected. But Damen ignores me as he grabs Haven's arm and peers at her wrist.
"Where'd you get that?" he says, his voice tight, controlled, but with an undercurrent of edge, reluctantly letting go as she yanks free and covers it with her hand.
"It's fine," she says, clearly annoyed. "Drina gave me something to put on it, some salve, said it would take about three days to work."
Damen clenches his jaw so tight his teeth gnash together.
"Do you happen to have it with you? This salve?"
She shakes her head and moves for the door. "No, I left it at home. I mean, jeez, what's with you guys, anyway? Any more questions?" She turns, her eyes darting between us, her aura a bright flaming red. "Because I don't appreciate being interrogated like this. I mean, the only reason I stopped by in the first place was because I thought you might want to know about Evangeline, but since all you want to do is gawk at my tattoo and make stupid comments, I think I'll just go." She storms toward her car.
And even though I call after her, she just shakes her head and ignores me. And I can't help but wonder what happened to my friend. She's so moody, so distant, and I realize she's been lost to me for a while now Ever since she met Drina, I feel like I hardly even know her.
I watch as she gets in her car, slams the door, and backs down the drive. Then I turn to Damen and say, "Well, that was pleasant. Evangeline's dead, Haven hates me, and you left me alone in a cave. I hope you at least caught some killer waves." I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head.
"As a matter of fact, I did," he says, gazing at me intently.
"And when I returned to the cave I saw you had left and I raced right over."
I look at him, my eyes narrowed, my lips pressed together. I can't believe he actually expects me to believe that.
"Sorry, but I looked, and there were only two surfers out there. Two blond surfers, which pretty much rules out either one of them being you."
"Ever, would you look at me" he says. "Really look at me. How do you think I got this way?"
So I do, I lower my glare to take it all in. Noticing his wet suit that's dripping salt water all over the floor.
"But I checked. I ran up and down the beach, I looked everywhere," I say, convinced of what I saw, or in this case, didn't see.
But he just shrugs. "Ever, I don't know what to tell you, but I didn't abandon you. I was surfing. Really. Now, can you please get me a towel, and maybe another for the floor?"
We head into the backyard so he can hose down his wet suit, while I sit on the lounge chair and watch him. I was so sure he'd ditched me. I looked everywhere. But maybe I did miss him. I mean, it is a long beach. And I was really angry.
"So how'd you know about Evangeline?" I ask, watching as he drapes his wet suit over the outdoor bar, unwilling to let go of my anger quite so easily. 'And what's up with Drina and Haven and that creepy tattoo? And, just for the record, I'm not sure I buy your story about surfing, seriously. Because believe me, I checked, and you were nowhere in sight."
He looks at me, his deep dark eyes obscured by a rim of lush lashes, his lean, sinuous body wrapped in a towel. And when he moves toward me, his step is so light and sure, he's as graceful as any jungle cat.
"This is my fault," he finally says, shaking his head as he sits down beside me, folding my hands into his, but then dropping them just as quickly. "I'm not sure how much..." he starts, and when he finally looks at me, his eyes are sadder than I ever could've imagined. "Maybe we shouldn't do this," he finally says.
''Are you—are you breaking up with me?" I whisper, the wind rushing right out of me, like an ill-fated balloon. All my suspicions confirmed: Drina, the beach, all of it. Everything.
"No, I just..." He turns away, leaving both the sentence, and me, to dangle.
And when it's clear he has no plans to continue I say, "You know, it would really be nice if you'd stop talking in code, finish a sentence, and tell me what the heck is going on. Because all I know is that Evangeline is dead, Haven's wrist is a red oozing mess, you ditched me at the beach because I wouldn't go all the way, and now you're breaking up with me." I glare at him, waiting for some confirmation that these seemingly random events are easily explained and not at all related. Even though my gut says otherwise.
He's silent for a while, staring at the pool, but when he finally looks at me he says, "None of it's related." Though he hesitated for so long I'm not sure I believe him. Then he takes a deep breath and continues. "They found Evangeline's body in Malibu canyon. I was on my way here when I heard it on the radio," he says, his voice becoming sure, steady, as he visibly relaxes and regains control. ' And yes, Haven's wrist does appear to be infected, but sometimes those things happen." He breaks my gaze and I suck in my breath, waiting for the rest, the part about me. Then he grabs my hand and covers it with his, flipping it over and tracing the lines on my palm as he says, "Drina can be charismatic, charming and Haven's a bit of a lost soul. I'm sure she just likes the attention. I thought you'd be glad she transferred her affections to Drina from me." He squeezes my fingers and smiles. "Now there's no one standing between us."
"But maybe there's something standing between us?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. Knowing I should be more concerned with Haven's wrist and Evangeline's death, but unable to focus on anything other than the planes of his face, his smooth dark skin, his deep narrowed eyes, and the way my heart surges, my blood rushes, and my lips swell in anticipation of his.
"Ever, I didn't ditch you today. And I'd never push you to do anything you weren't ready for. Believe me." He smiles, cradling my face in the palms of his hands as his lips part against mine.
"I know how to wait."
Even though Haven refused to answer our calls, we managed to get a hold of Miles. And after convincing him to stop by after rehearsals, he showed up with Eric, and the four of us spent a really fun night eating and swimming and watching bad scary movies. And it was so nice to hang out with my friends in such a nice relaxed way, that it almost made me forget about Riley, Haven, Evangeline, Drina, the beach—and all of that afternoon's drama. Almost made me oblivious to the faraway look Damen got whenever he thought no one was looking. Almost made me ignore the undercurrent of worry bubbling just under the surface. Almost. But not quite. And even though I made it perfectly clear that Sabine was out of town and Damen was more than welcome to stay, he stayed just long enough for me to fall asleep, then he quietly let himself out.
So the next morning, when he shows up on my doorstep with coffee, muffins, and a smile, I can't help but feel a little relieved.
We try to call Haven again, and even leave a message or two, but it's not like it takes a psychic to know she doesn't want to speak to either of us. And when I finally call her house and talk to her little brother, Austin, I can tell he's not lying when he says he hasn't seen her.
So after a full day of lounging outside by the pool, I'm just about to order another pizza when Damen grabs the phone out of my hand and says, "I thought I'd make dinner."
"You can cook?" I ask, though I don't know why I'm surprised, because the truth is, I've yet to find anything he can't do. "I'll let you be the judge of that." He smiles.
"Do you need help?" I offer, even though my kitchen skills are severely limited to boiling water and adding milk to cereal.
But he just shakes his head and heads for the stove, so I go upstairs to shower and change, and when he calls me down for dinner, I'm amazed to find the dining room table dressed with Sabine's finest china, linens, candles, and a large crystal vase filled with dozens of—big surprise—red tulips.
"Mademoiselle." He smiles and pulls out my chair, his French accent lilting and perfect.
"I can't believe you did this." I gaze at the heaping platters lined up before me, so piled with food I wonder if we're expecting guests.
"It's all for you." He smiles, answering the question I hadn't yet asked.
"Just me? Aren't you going to have any?" I watch as he fills my plate with perfectly prepared vegetables, finely grilled meats, and a sauce so rich and complex I don't even know what it is.
"Of course." He smiles. "But mostly I made it for you. A girl can't live on pizza alone, you know."
"You'd be surprised." I laugh, cutting into a juicy piece of grilled meat.
While we eat, I ask questions. Taking advantage of the fact that he's barely touching his food by asking all of the things I've been dying to know but always seem to forget the moment be looks in my eyes. Things about his family, his childhood, the constant moves, the emancipation—partly because I'm curious, but mostly because it feels weird to be in a relationship with someone I know so little about. And the more we talk, the more surprised I am by how much We share in common. For one thing, both of us are orphaned, though he at a much younger age. And even though he's a little sketchy on the details, it's not like I volunteer to talk about my situation either, so I don't really push it.
"So where'd you like best?" I ask, having just cleaned my plate of every last morsel and feeling the beginnings of a nice languid fullness.
"Right here." He smiles, having barely eaten a thing but making a pretty good show of moving his food all around.
I squint my eyes, not quite believing it. "I mean, sure, Orange County's nice, but it can't possibly compare to all of those exciting European cities, can it?"
"Seriously. I'm very happy here." He nods, looking right at me.
"And you weren't happy in Rome, Paris, New Delhi, or New York?"
He shrugs, his eyes suddenly tinged with sadness as they drift away from mine and he takes a sip of his strange red drink.
"And what exactly is that?" I ask, peering at the bottle.
"You mean this?" he smiles, holding it up for me to see.
"Secret family recipe." He swirls the contents around, and I watch as the color glows and sparks as it runs up the sides and splashes back down. Looking like a cross between lightning, wine, and blood mixed with the tiniest hint of diamond dust.
"Can I try it?" I ask, not entirely sure that I want to, but still curious.
He shakes his head. "You won't like it. Tastes just like medicine. But that's probably because it is medicine."
My stomach sinks as I gape at him, imagining a whole host of incurable diseases, horrible afflictions, grave ailments—I knew he was too good to be true.
But he just shakes his head and laughs as he reaches for my hand. "No worries. I just get a little low on energy sometimes. And this helps."
"Where do you get it?:' I squint, searching for a label, an imprint, some kind of mark, but the bottle is clear, smooth, and appears almost seamless.
He smiles. "I told you, secret family recipe," he says, taking a long deep swig and. finishing it off. Then he pushes away from the table and his still-full plate, as he says, "Shall we go for a swim?"
"Aren't you supposed to wait an hour after eating?" I ask, peering at him.
But he just smiles and reaches for my hand. "Don't worry. I won't let you drown."
Since we spent most of the day in the pool, we decide to hang in the Jacuzzi instead. And when our fingers and toes start to resemble small prunes, we wrap ourselves in oversized towels and head up to my room.
He follows me into my bathroom. I drop my damp towel on the floor, then he comes up behind me, pulls me to him, and holds me so close our bodies meld right together. And when his lips brush across the nape of my neck, I know I better lay down some ground rules while my brain is still working.
"Um, you're welcome to stay," I mumble, pulling away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment when I meet his amused, gaze. "I mean, what I meant to say was, I want you to stay. I do. But, well, I'm not sure that we should—you know—"
Oh god, what am I saying? Um, hello, like he doesn't know what I mean; Like he wasn't the one getting pushed away in the cave and just about everywhere else. What is with you?
What are you doing? Any girl would kill for a moment like this, a long, lazy weekend with no parents or chaperonesand yet, here I am, enforcing some stupid set of rules—for no good reason.
He places his finger under my chin and lifts my face until it's level with his. "Ever, please, we've been over this," he whispers, tucking my hair behind my ear and bringing his lips to my neck. "I know how to wait, really. I've already waited this long to find you—I can wait even more."
With Damen's warm body curled around mine, and his reassuring breath in my ear, I fall right to sleep. And even though I was worried I'd be way too freaked by his presence to get any rest, it's the warm secure feeling of having him right there beside me that helps me drift off. But when I wake at 3:45 A.M., only to discover he's no longer there, I throw the covers aside and rush to the window, reliving that moment in the cave all over again as I search the drive for his car, surprised to find it's still there.
"Looking for me?" he asks.
I turn to find him standing in the doorway, my heart beating wildly, my face gone crimson.
"Oh, I—I rolled over and you weren't there, and—" I press my lips, feeling ridiculous, small, embarrassingly needy.
"I went downstairs for some water." He smiles, taking my hand and leading me back to the bed.
But as I lay down beside him, my hand drifts to his side, brushing across sheets so cold and abandoned, it seems he's been gone for a much longer time.
The second time I wake, I'm alone again. But when I hear Damen banging around in the kitchen, I pull on my robe and head downstairs to investigate.
"How long have you been up?" I ask, gazing at a spotless kitchen, the previous night's mess having vanished, replaced by a lineup of donuts, bagels, and cereals that didn't originate in my cupboard.
"I'm an early riser." He shrugs. "So I thought I'd clean up a bit before running to the store. I may have gone a little overboard, but I didn't know what you'd want." He smiles, coming around the counter and kissing me on the cheek.
I sip from the glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice he sets before me and ask, "Want some? Or are you still fasting?"
"Fasting?" He lifts his brow and gazes at me.
I roll my eyes. "Please. You eat less than anyone I know. You just sip your... medicine and push your food all around. I feel like a complete pig next to you."
"Is this better?" He smiles, picking up a donut and biting it in half, his jaw working overtime to break down the glazed, doughy mass.
I shrug and gaze out the window; still unused to this California weather, a seemingly endless succession of warm sunny days, even though soon it will officially be winter.
"So, what should we do today?" I ask, turning to look at him.
He gazes' at his watch and then back at me. "I need to take off soon."
"But Sabine won't be back until late," I say, hating how my voice sounds so whiny and needy, and the way my stomach curls when he jangles his keys.
"I need to get home and take care of a few things. Especially if you want to see me at school tomorrow" he says, his lips grazing my cheek, my ear, the nape of my neck.
"Oh, school. Do we still go there?" I laugh, having successfully avoided thinking about my recent bout of truancy, and the repercussions to follow.
"You're the one who thinks it's important." He shrugs. "If it was up to me, every day would be Saturday."
"But then Saturday wouldn't be special. It'd all be the same," I say, picking off a piece of glazed donut. "A never-ending flow of long lazy days, nothing to work toward, nothing to look forward to, just one hedonistic moment after another. After a while, it wouldn't be so great."
"Don't be so sure." He smiles.
"So what exactly are these mysterious chores of yours, anyway?" I ask, hoping to get a glimpse into his life, of the more mundane things that occupy his time when he's not with me.
He shrugs. "You know, stuff" And even though he laughs when he says it, it's pretty obvious he's ready to leave.
"Well, maybe I can—" But before I can even finish the sentence he's already shaking his head.
"Forget it. You are not doing my laundry." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, as though warming up for a race.
"But I want to see where you live. I've never been in the home of someone who's emancipated, and I'm curious." And even though I tried to sound lighthearted, it came out more whiny and desperate.
He shakes his head and gazes at the door as though it's a potential lover he can't wait to meet. And even though it's obviously time to wave my white flag and cry uncle, I can't keep from giving it one last go when I say, "But why?" Then I peer at him, waiting for a reason.
He looks ,at me, his jaw tense when he says, "Because it's a mess. A horrible filthy mess. And I don't want you to see it like that and get the wrong idea about me. Besides, I'll never be able to straighten it up with you around, you'll only distract me." He smiles, but his lips are stretched tight and his eyes are impatient, and it's clear they're just words meant to fill up the space between now and when he finally gets to leave. "I'll call you tonight," he says, showing me his back as he heads for the door.
"And what if I decide to follow you? What will you do then?" I ask, my nervous laughter halting the second he turns back to me.
"Don't follow me, Ever."
And the way he says it makes me wonder if he said, Don't follow me ever, or Don't follow me, Ever. But either way, it means the same thing.
When Damen leaves, I pick up the phone and try to call Haven, but when it goes straight into voice mail, I don't bother with leaving another message. Because the truth is, I've left several already, and now it's up to her to call me. So after I head upstairs and shower, I sit at my desk, determined to get through my homework, but not getting very far before my thoughts return to Damen, and all of his weird, mysterious quirks that I can no longer ignore. Stuff like: How does he always seem to know just what I'm thinking when I can't get the slightest read on him? And how, in just seventeen short years, did he find time to live in all of those exotic places, mastering art, soccer, surfing, cooking, literature, world history, and just about every other subject I can think of? And what's up with the way he moves so fast he actually blurs? And what about the rosebuds and tulips and magical pen? Not to mention how one minute he's talking like a normal guy, and the next he sounds like Heathcliff, or Darcy, or some other character from a Bronte sister's book. Add to that the time he acted like he saw Riley, the fact that he has no aura, the fact that Drina has no aura, the fact that I know he's hiding something about how he really knows her—and now he doesn't want me to know where he lives? After we slept together?
Okay, maybe all we did was sleep, but still, I think I deserve answers to at least some (if not all) of my questions. And even though I'm not really up for breaking into the school and searching for his record, I know someone who is. Only I'm not sure I should involve Riley in this. Not to mention how I don't even know how to summon her since I've never had to before. I mean, do I call out her name? Light a candle? Close my eyes and make a wish?
Since lighting a candle seems a little hokey, I settle for just standing in the middle of my room, eyes shut tight, as I say,
"Riley? Riley, if you can hear me I really need to talk to you. Well, actually I kind of need a favor. But if you don't want to do it, then I totally understand, and there will be no hard feelings, since I know it's a little weird, and um, I feel kind of dumb right now, standing here talking to myself, so if you can hear me, could you maybe give me some kind of sign?"
And when my stereo suddenly blasts the Kelly Clarkson song she always used to sing, I open my eyes and see her standing before me, laughing hysterically.