Heart Shaped Rock (13 page)

“Shut up,” Tiffany says to Kellan, slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re gonna scare her and break the spell. She’s talking.
She’s laughing.”
Tiffany looks at me encouragingly. “Go on... It was the best night of your entire life, and... ”

I chuckle. “He’s got this incredible voice, like it sends shivers down my spine; and, oh my God, he sang a song to
me
in front of everyone.”

Tiffany’s hanging on my every word, and Kellan’s looking at me like I just lighted myself on fire. When I don’t continue, Tiffany sputters, “And? Come on.”

“And his eyes... They’re amazing... ”

“Can we join you?” It’s Delaney Ballard and her best friend, Juliette, a quiet girl who doesn’t seem quite so Abercombie-and-Fitchy as Delaney.

I’m actually happy for the interruption. For some reason, stringing this out and making Tiffany and Kellan beg for details about last night is kind of fun.

“Have a seat, girls,” Kellan whoops, scooting over. I glance at Tiffany, looking for traces of annoyance on her face, but find none. “Shaynee was just telling us about her ‘best night ever’ last night with some dude with ‘amazing eyes.’”

“Kellan!” I gasp. I’m mortified.

“Kellan,
leave,”
Tiffany shouts at him. She points her finger toward The Fun Table a few yards away, but he just laughs and wraps his big hand around her pointed finger. Tiffany rolls her eyes and turns back to me. “Shaynee, I’m dying here. You promised to tell me everything.” Her eyes are pleading. I can’t believe she’s encouraging me to spill my guts in front of Delaney and her minion.

“Come on, Shaynee,” Delaney says, “who’s the guy?” She turns to Tiffany and says, “You know that jacket is his, right?”

Tiffany looks like she’s been stabbed in the heart. And it’s no wonder. There’s no good reason on God’s green earth why Delaney Ballard should know this juicy nugget before Tiffany does. I try to make eye contact with Tiffany, but she’s looking at Kellan like a lost puppy.

“Well... ” I begin. I take in the eight eyeballs staring at me with rapt attention, and I feel... strangely... unexpectedly... powerful. Yes, I feel shy, too, and completely out of my comfort zone, as usual. But those aren’t my overriding emotions. No, the utmost sensation shooting through my veins is something closer to
relief.
A sense of freedom. Of lightness. For the first time in forever, no one’s pitying me; in fact, they might even envy me a little bit. I’m the girl in the midst of a mysterious, whirlwind romance. And I like being that girl.

Sure, if it had been just Tiffany and me sitting alone at this table, I already would have blabbed every last detail without taking a breath. I would have told her about the big band orchestra, and Wang Palace, and my surprisingly pleasant dancing partners, and Dean’s smooth voice like nothing I’ve ever heard before, and Mr. Jimmy and the food, and the story about Dean’s dad, and all about how Dean gave me his jacket, and... the kiss.
The kiss.
There’s no doubt I would have told Tiffany every last heart-stopping detail about The Kiss to End All Kisses. But now that I’ve waited this long, and the night has begun to take on mythical proportions in my head, and all those wide eyeballs are staring at me with such anticipation, such envy, I want to keep my Cinderella-like night at the ball to myself for just a little while longer. I like being the girl with a mysterious boyfriend. I like being the girl who captured the bad boy’s heart. I like being Shaynee the Badass. It’s a helluva lot better than being Poor-Shaynee-Whose-Mother-Died-and-We-Don’t-Know-What-the-Heck-to-Say-to-Her.

“Tiff,” I say reassuringly, “I’ll tell you everything later, I promise.” I want to make a point of singling her out right in front of Delaney.

Tiffany’s smile is grateful, and, true to form, forgiving.

“But I’ve gotta go over my Trig notes real quick before my test next period. I didn’t get a chance to study at all last night.”

“Hellz yeah, you didn’t get a chance study last night,” Delaney says.

With that, I get up from the table, take my plate to the bin, and head toward the exit. I’m just about to walk through the lunchroom door when I hear Tiffany jangling next to me. “Oh hale naw. You’re gonna tell me
everything
right now
.
I would have been there last night if it weren’t for that stupid banquet I had to go to for my dad, so I would have already known everything, anyway.”

“Oh yeah. How’d that go?”

“Really cool, actually. I had no idea how much my dad helps people. Like, he does these surgeries for kids with cleft palettes and stuff? I even got teary-eyed a couple times during the slide show... Hey, wait a minute. Don’t try to get me off topic, little missy.”

I smirk. “But it’s so easy to do.”

“I’m your best friend, am I not?” She’s trying to sound casual, light-hearted, but there’s a hint of doubt underlying her tone.

“Of course you are, Tiffy. The one and only.”

“Damn straight,” she nods emphatically. “And that means I’m entitled by law to know every last detail about your ‘best night ever’ with Motorcycle Boy. How was his band? How was the club? Was he nice to you?” She gasps. “Did you kiss him?”

We’re walking toward our respective next classes as we talk. “Tiff, I couldn’t have dreamt up a more perfect guy. He’s smart and funny and, oh my God, so talented. And he’s sweet, too... ” I sigh, remembering how he reached across the table and touched my hand. “And totally, ridiculously, insanely gorgeous
.
”

Tiffany lets out a squeal that makes me laugh. “Well?
Did you kiss him
?”

I look around to make sure no one can hear us. “Yes.”

“I knew it. You’re glowing.”

“It was incredible. Like aaah! Like, I’m-having-a-heart-attack and my-knees-are-buckling and I’m-ready-to-profess-my-undying-insta-love-right-now.”

Tiffany squeals again.

“And he’s coming to see me
today
at Sheila’s.”

“Oh my God,” Tiffany exclaims. “I am
so
there. What time’s he coming?”

My stomach drops. I’m suddenly uneasy. “Uh, he didn’t say... ”

“Oh, no worries, Peaches,” Tiffany says quickly. “That’s okay. He’ll come. I mean, he gave you his jacket, right?”

That’s true, he did.

You’ve put your faith in me,
he said.
I would never abuse it.

My shoulders relax a bit. He’ll come.

I’m one of the first students to arrive in Trig. While I wait for class to begin, I review my notes for the test. (Okay, that’s a lie. Even as I look down at my notes, I’m remembering the look in Dean’s eyes when he said, “
You’re freckles are killing me right now.
”)

“Can I borrow a pencil?”

I snap to attention. It’s Chaz Alvarez of all people.

“I forgot to bring one today,” he explains, grinning impishly. (From what I’ve seen of Chaz Alvarez from afar, he’s only got impish grins in his repertoire.) He cricks his head to the side and flashes me his very best, never-fails, top-of-the-line, I-know-you-want-me impish grin. That boy thinks he’s so damned cute. I mean, he’s right—he’s so damned cute. But he shouldn’t be so obvious about knowing it.

Why on earth does Chaz Alvarez want to mooch a pencil from The Invisible Girl
?
Is today the apocalypse and I didn’t get the memo? “Yeah, I’ve got an extra,” I reply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I rifle around in my backpack, hand him a pencil, and immediately look back down at the notes on my desk.

“Thanks,” he says. He remains standing over my desk for a beat. When I don’t look back up at him, he saunters to a desk in the back.

What the hell?

When the math test is over—which thankfully was as easy as I’d hoped it would be—I practically sprint to my car to head over to Sheila’s. I’m not sure when Dean’s planning on getting there, and I don’t want to risk missing him if he comes on the early side.

All alone in my car, once I’m safely out of the school parking lot and heading west on Interstate 8 toward the beach, I begin singing “That’s
Amore
” at the tippy-top of my lungs. And it feels really, really good.

Chapter 12

I bound through the front door of Sheila’s and immediately stop to survey the room. Is he here already? I scan the place nervously. It’s busier than I’ve ever seen it, just swarming with activity. Wow, I guess Sheila wasn’t kidding when she said she needed extra help on Thursdays. A chalkboard sitting on the empty stage says, “Thursday Open Mic Night—5:00 to 8:00.” I look at my watch. It’s just after 4:00 now.

Sheila stands behind the counter, alone, looking a bit harried as she greets customers, takes orders, runs the cash register, whips up frothy coffee concoctions, and retrieves pastries from the glass case, sometimes all at once. Several surfer-types are seated in a group in the far corner. A group of teenagers in skinny jeans, message tees, and Vans is standing to my left, laughing. A family of three is eating muffins and having an animated conversation in the center of the room. The little boy is holding a stuffed Shamu. Another group—a “mommy and me” club, I’d guess—is huddled at a table near the stage. A smattering of other patrons, mostly varying shades of hipster and deep-thinker, fills almost every possible stool and chair in the place. Wow, I had no idea Sheila’s could hold so many people. But not a single one of them is Dean. I breathe a sigh of relief—and disappointment.

You’ve put your faith in me,
he said.
I would never abuse it, not even in jest
.

He’ll come.

Sheila looks like she’s juggling flaming bowling pins behind the counter all by herself, so I quickly run past her with a wave and head to the back room. I carefully hang Dean’s jacket on a coat rack and slip on my blue apron. I find my nametag in a small plastic bin on a shelf, and pin it to my apron. I stop and check my reflection in the mirror. I smooth a stray hair.

I exhale.

When I re-enter the front room, Sheila smiles at me, but she seems a bit frazzled. “I’m
so
glad you’re here, Shaynee. It’s a madhouse today. Everyone loves Open Mic Night.”

I step behind the counter. “What would you like me to do?”

“For starters, honey, can you collect the empties? Then come back here with me and I’ll put you to work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I dart around the room, retrieving empty mugs, saucers, plates, and utensils, all the while keeping an eye on the front door. I don’t want to miss Dean’s entrance. My heart is thumping in my chest in anticipation of seeing him. I can’t wait to see his smile, to hear his laugh. I can’t wait to hear him say my name again. “
Shaynee.”
Just thinking about the way he says it gives me goose bumps.

I double-check the room. No Dean. And no Tiffany, either. Where the heck is Tiffany? She said she was going to come.

I suddenly realize I desperately want Tiffany to meet Dean. I want her to understand who he is and what he means to me. Somehow, at school today, I must have known without realizing it that stupid nouns and silly adjectives simply wouldn’t do him justice, and that Tiffany would have to
see
Dean to understand how we fit together. If Tiffany sees the badass I am when I’m with Dean, maybe she’ll understand she doesn’t have to put her life on hold for me anymore. Maybe seeing me with Dean will give Tiffany implicit permission to revert back to being my best friend, rather than my caretaker. Tiffany’s already given up too much to take care of me—and I’ve selfishly allowed, maybe even expected, her to do it.

When I’ve gathered all the dirty mugs and crumb-filled plates and loaded them into the dishwasher in the back room, I join Sheila behind the counter. “All done.”

She smiles at me and pats my head as if I were a dog. But that’s okay with me. Being Sheila’s puppy feels pretty good.

“I’m so happy to see you,” Sheila coos, and I feel like melting butter under her gaze. “You look particularly pretty today. Yellow’s a good color for you. Okay, let’s try to get this line of people taken care of as quickly as we can. Why don’t you take orders at the cash register, while I whip up the magic behind the machine? We’ll be the Dynamic Duo.”

I chuckle. “Sure thing.” I like being part of any kind of duo with Sheila. I practically skip to my position behind the cash register, all the while glancing toward the front door.

“What can I get for you?” I ask the woman at the front of the line.

She places her drink order, which I ring up and call out to Sheila to make.

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Sheila responds, and sets about making the woman’s decaf Americano with room for cream.

For a good while, the customers come one right after another, each of them asking for something completely different than the next. I’m so concentrated on not screwing up their orders, I haven’t looked over at the front entrance for quite some time. As I’m looking down to count out an older gentleman’s change, I hear, “Hi, Shaynee.”

My heart bounces up into my throat and my stomach drops, all at once. I look up, eager to lose myself in those two pools of cobalt blue ... but, instead, I’m shocked to see two Tootsie Rolls staring back at me.

“Jared.” I can’t hide my disappointment.

Why on earth is Jared here? In a sudden panic, my eyes dart to the front door.

“Hey, Jared, honey,” Sheila sings out from behind the espresso machine. “How was the surf today?”

Jared tilts his head toward Sheila. “Pretty lame. Ankle slappers. But the waves are supposed to be bigger this weekend.”

“Well, that’s good.”

Jared turns his full attention back to me, grinning. “So, Shaynee, how’s it going?” He leans toward me over the counter, as if he’s about to tell me a juicy secret. “You look amazing.”

Why oh why is Jared-the-Werewolf fixated on me? What did I do? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it could be worse. He’s a good-lookin’ dude. And actually, now that I’m really looking at him, he’s an exceptionally good-looking dude—gleaming white teeth, just the perfect amount of muscles, and skin the color of light mocha. It’s an objective fact that Jared’s got the kind of skin you just want to lick. I’m sure every other girl who crosses his path swoons at the sight of him. But... for me, he’s a non-starter. He’s not Dean.