Twist
Authors: Roni Teson
Twist
By
Roni Teson
Houston, Texas * Washington, D.C.
This
book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living, dead, or somewhere in between, is entirely coincidental
Twist
© 2014 by Roni Teson
Brown Girls Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.
First Brown Girls Publishing LLC trade printing
Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It is reported as “unsold and destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.
For
Momâ
Who would do anything for her children and is always my number one fan.
Acknowledgements
The writing of
Twist
came to me fast and furious. The timing amazingly fit into Brown Girls Publishing and for that I am so grateful. I must acknowledge the whole team at Brown Girls and my inspiration singularly: Victoria Christopher Murray.
Devry Coghlan who inspires me with her Kenya Relief work and loaned me a red coat years ago that she almost didn't get back.
Karen Coccioli my writing ally who has been instrumental in making me a better writer since
Heaven or Hell
was published.
My lifelong friend, Debby Mahoney Townzen, who walked me through how she would feel if Luke and Mike were one and the same.
Ted Gilley and G. Miki Hayden for their expert editing advise.
My oncologist for putting me through hell and saving my life so that I could eventually find this peaceful place by the ocean where I live to write. Thank you.
Contents
Part
One
Chapter
1
I'd seen him at school before, the kid who came in with Mr. Drake. I didn't know his name was Lucas. When he brushed his blond hair away from his forehead and his blue eyes met mine, my insides liquefied. I thought I saw a flicker of recognition on his face, but how would he know me?
“Do you go to Sage Creek High?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, as I looked down at my tennis shoes and wished I'd dressed better. But I didn't know a cute boy would be standing in front of me tonight.
“I thought so,” he said. “Aren't you new?”
“Yes.”
We were at Aunt Charlotte and Uncle George's house, me sitting in the living room and the boy hanging around the threshold.
Only a few seconds earlier, my uncle's plumber, Mr. Drake, had said, “Stay here, Lucas. Talk to Beatrice for a minute while I work on George's sink.” And then he followed my uncle into the kitchen.
“Did you hear me?” Lucas said.
“What?” I answered.
A tiny chuckle puffed off of his lips. “I didn't think you were listening. Call me Luke.”
His voice was so smooth my belly did backflips. “Bea,” I said, because a single syllable was all I could manage under the gaze of such a magnificent creature as Luke.
“
So, Bea.” His eyes wandered around the living room and stopped on me. “What's your story? Where you been hiding?”
I stared at his perfectly straight, white teeth and froze.
“Dad makes me tag along on some of his jobs,” Luke said, as he sat down on the edge of the couch. “I've been to this house a lot, but I've never seen you here.”
“You weren't here last week when the kitchen flooded.” I flicked a piece of lint off of my leg, acting disinterested. “I'm staying with my aunt and uncle for a while”âand then I stopped short, before the darkness of the last twelve months could creep into our conversation. I picked up the remote and channel surfed, looking for something he could grab on to instead of me.
“Where'd that frown come from?” he asked. Then when I didn't answer, after a pause, he posed another question. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
And that was all I needed to hear. I lost interest. He was way too nosy, and far too comfortable asking me about my personal life. I kept my eyes on the TV and said, “Do you always talk so much?”
“Hey, a cute girl shows up at school and I want to know.”
“Now you're way too flirty.”
“I like the tomboy thing you're rocking. What can I say?”
In my peripheral vision I saw him wink at me. That was so cheesy, I thought I was being played. “Really?” I rolled my eyes.
“I'm just being friendly. Geez, Beatrice.”
And the timber of his voice, mixed with a playful tone, hit the right noteâit softened me. “Call me, Bea,” I said.
“
Can't anyone be nice to you?” he asked.
When his lower lip protruded, exaggerating a pout, I must have been like a swinging mood tree because my entire being thawed. “Yeah, I'm just having a bad day,” I said.
More like a bad year
.
We stared at each other and he smiled again, so I smiled, too.
“See,” Luke said. “I knew you had it in you.”
He moved closer to me on the couch and put his hand on mine. “My official name is Lucas Drake.” With that, he squeezed my fingers, lifted my hand, and kissed my knuckles.
An unfamiliar feeling of warmth ran down my spine and into my toes. I jerked my arm away and stood up in a curtsy. “Beatrice Malcolm.” I plopped down again, tucking my right leg under my butt.
Luke glided even closer and whispered, “I'm glad you moved to Cali. I think you're cute.”
I wondered if his head had begun to swirl, the way mine had. I'd never experienced anything like this before, ever. But suddenly, Uncle George and Luke's dad were standing at the front door, about fifteen feet from where we sat. And thank goodness Mr. Drake broke the spell with his gruff voice. “Lucas, let's go!”
Luke seemed to become abruptly aware of his surroundings and even looked puzzled when he saw how close we were sitting. He flexed his hand and wiggled his fingersâI ran my thumb across my knuckles and glanced at him. We both blushed and
quickly
looked away. I was relieved to stand up and walk the few steps to the entryway with Lucas Drake behind me.
Uncle George shuffled a bit while his hand automatically searched the pocket where he used to keep his cigarettes.
Mr. Drake said, “George, I still can't believe you quit smoking after all these years.”
“Shut up, Kyle. It makes me want one real bad when you talk about it.” My uncle clapped Mr. Drake on the head, and they must have seen the look on my face because they both burst out laughing.
“Your niece is looking at me like I have three eyes,” Mr. Drake said, and then he snorted, which caused Luke to laugh. “Darling, your uncle and I go way back. In fact”âhe faked a punch at Luke's stomachâ“he was there when this one was born.”
Standing a few inches over five feet, I was a midget next to these menâincluding Luke. So when all three of them looked down at me with grins of epic proportions on their facesâthe proverbial cats that swallowed the canaryâI barked at them. “What?”
“She sure reminds me of Grace,” Mr. Drake said softly.
“I can hear you,” I said.
“It's a compliment, dear . . .” For a split second I thought he was going to cry. “Grace was something else . . .”
As they moved down the steps, my uncle and I waved good-bye, and I heard Luke say to his dad, “Who's Grace?”
“Beatrice's mother,” Mr. Drake answered.
Then
Uncle George quickly shut the door and smacked his hands together real loud. “Kitchen's working again. I hope Aunt Charlotte doesn't cook tonight.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“What?” he said. “You know it's true. She's not a good cook.”
Chapter
2
I woke up early the next day and fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal. A few minutes after I sat down, Aunt Charlotte entered the kitchen and made my lunch. I felt silly carrying a paper sack to school at my age, but she insisted. “The starchy food in the cafeteria isn't healthy,” she said as she handed me the bag. This was the same thing she'd said almost every morning for the two weeks that I'd been living there. And Uncle George usually shoved a five-dollar bill in my hand when Aunt Charlotte wasn't looking.
“I was thinking about taking you shopping.” My aunt's eyes skimmed my clothes and stopped at the rip in my jeans. She lifted her chin toward my layered T-shirts and the boy's army surplus jacket I'd bought at the Goodwill. Then, with a scowl on her face, Aunt Charlotte took me over to the mirror. “You're so beautiful.” Her hands lifted my thick, brown hair from inside my collar. “You're striking, Bea . . . You've got your father's dimples and your mother's blue eyes.” She squeezed my shoulders, and neither of us spoke.
The mere thought of my mom was the rhinoceros in the room that quieted everyone, including Mr. Drake the night before.
“It's okay,” I said. “We can talk about her if you want to.”
“I . . . It's too soon.” A tear hung in the corner of her eye.
Sometimes I forgot that she'd lost her sister. “Maybe later, then. I need to go to school anyway.”
Aunt
Charlotte tapped at her eye with her fingertip, a delicate procedure she had mastered and used frequently over the last few weeks. I assumed it was her way of smoothing out her sadness without smearing her makeup. “I can drop you on my way to work,” she said.
I balanced three books and the lunch sack in my arms. “Okay.”
“Honey, why didn't you say something? I'm sure we have a bag for all of that stuff.”
And just like that, she perked up. And I acquired a new-to-me vintage book bag that was totally cool and had once belonged to Uncle Georgeâcanvas with snarls and a long strap so I could wear it sidesaddle across my body.
On the way to school, Aunt Charlotte asked, “Have you made any friends yet?”
“A few,” I said.
“You can invite them over if you want. Our house is your house.”