The Possibility of Somewhere Page 3

  Her gaze dropped to her lunch, her thoughts nearly audible. When she looked up again, she was smiling. “Your answer doesn’t totally suck.”

  “Thanks.”

  She crushed her empty yogurt carton. “How well do you know Ash Gupta?”

  A conversation with Mundy took too much effort for the lunch period. “Do you always jump around like this?”

  “Yes. Do you need a break?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” I hid my smile behind a forkful of mushy green beans.

  “So … you and Ash?”

  “We take a lot of the same classes.”

  “I noticed a little thing between the two of you yesterday morning.”

  “A little thing?” I eyed her warily.

  “Yeah. Sort of sweet, but sad too. I thought you might be exes.”

  “We’ve never dated.” She was getting too personal, and yet I kept answering. Time to go. I started piling trash on my tray.

  “People are wrong, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “You’ve been friendly to me.”

  My smile returned. “You haven’t given me much choice.”

  “Why don’t the others know this?”

  She swung from topic to topic—and pain to pain—so quickly that it was hard to create defenses. “I guess they’re confusing wary with antisocial.”

  “Like they might confuse candid with kind.”

  Whoa. Was she trying to warn me off?

  We watched each other for a long, silent moment, the shadows of our smiles still in place.

  “Here.” She held up her last container. Two bite-size chocolate cupcakes sat inside. “Want one?”

  Was this a bribe?

  I considered her expression. It was kind.

  Okay, bribes were good, especially when they included chocolate. “Hand it over.”

  * * *

  I had Webmaster’s Club after school on Friday. When I left around five, Marnie was waiting for me at the curb in her beat-up Honda. With its new tires.

  “It’s registered again, Eden. Thanks.” She held herself stiffly and didn’t look at me.

  “Hey. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I will. It shouldn’t be your responsibility to clean up our mess. I feel guilty for taking your money.” She put the car in gear.

  “I wanted the car fixed as badly as you did. We’re fine, Marnie.”

  “No, we’re not. I owe you too much.” One lone tear slipped from the corner of her eye and made a shiny trail down her cheek. “What did it do to your college fund?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  She turned onto the main street, drove around the town square, and headed for home, not speaking again until we were on the highway. “I’m paying you back.”

  I looked at her uneasily. “How will you do that?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Marnie.” She had her fierce, determined, hard-ass face on. That meant trouble. “Are you going to look for a second job?”

  “Not sure.”

  I felt a pinprick of fear. Marnie’s “resume” had nothing more than a high-school diploma and years of dead-end jobs. The places that would hire her were bad news. “Please don’t.”

  “Done with this topic.” With a slice of her hand, she shut me down. “Did you see Tiffany today?”

  That conversation wasn’t over, but I’d follow Marnie’s lead for now. “Yes, I did.” It was impossible to miss Tiffany Barber at school. She made sure she was seen by everybody.

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Never had the chance.” Tiffany was Marnie’s cousin. Tiffany and I got along well enough at family events, but mostly ignored each other at school.

  “We’ve switched the Barber family reunion to Granny’s house. I thought Tiffany might’ve told you.”

  “Nope. She’s been practicing like crazy with the dance team. They’re performing at the football game tonight.”

  “Oh. Are you going?”

  “No.”

  Marnie sighed as she pulled into the carport. “Eden, this is your final year of high school. You should find someone to hang out with.”

  My stepmom had become obsessed with my social life since my friend Jordan had dropped out of school at sixteen and moved to the Outer Banks. Although I hadn’t minded being alone since, it upset Marnie. I was about to make her day. “I ate lunch with someone today. A new girl in the senior class.”

  “A new girl? What’s her name?”

  “Mundy Cruz.” I got out of the car and jogged up the front steps.

  Marnie was right behind me. “Her name is Monday?”

  “No. Mun. Dee.” I unlocked the door and turned straight into my bedroom. I had homework in every subject over the Labor Day weekend. Might as well get started.

  Marnie leaned against the doorframe, her sad mood replaced with excitement. “What’s Mundy like?”

  “She’s bold.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  You would think that once women reached their forties, they would stop caring about someone’s looks and ask instead “Is she smart?” or “Is she nice?” But no. “Pretty doesn’t do Mundy justice.”

  “Then what does?”

  “Perfect.” If I were a guy, I would’ve gone with hot, but the word was so overused it didn’t seem fair to use it here. Mundy was in a league all her own. “She has perfect skin. Perfect hair, too—naturally black and cut real short.” I dumped the contents of my backpack onto my bed and began to line up the books neatly. “Her eyes are a spooky shade of blue. More of a Duke blue than a Carolina blue, which is unfortunate but forgivable.”

  “Oh. Well.” Marnie smiled. “You could be friends.”

  There might be a chance but, realistically, I kind of doubted it. Once Mundy discovered that she could be friends with either me or everybody else, she was likely to choose everybody else. But I wouldn’t ruin it for my stepmom, not when she was looking hopeful. “Maybe.”

  “Invite Mundy over sometime.”

  The suggestion buzzed in my head. Invite her to our trailer? I grunted noncommittally. Not going to happen. Ever.

  4

  Fake Delight

  Dad burst through the front door around noon on Labor Day, long after he’d promised to return from repairing a bathroom in one of the trailers. Marnie was pissed. He was pumped.

  “That was fun.” He stomped into the kitchen and struck a bodybuilder pose. “Yes.”

  “Why are you late?” She stood with arms crossed and eyes blazing.

  He winked at her. “There’s a simple explanation, doll.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Okay, so I needed to get a part for the toilet, and I went to Cooper’s Hardware Store. When I got to the plumbing section, there was two Mexicans standing there. They needed something, but the clerk couldn’t figure out what it was. They don’t speak English too good.”

  “Neither do you,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Dad shot me a suspicious look before giving Marnie a lazy smile. “So I asked what was happening. And one of them pulled out his phone and showed me a photo of his shower head dripping. Then I handed them exactly what they needed.” He grunted with satisfaction. “After they left, old Mr. Cooper walked over and offered me a job.”

  Dad’s announcement fell into a stunned silence.

  Really? He was employed? “Yay, Dad.”

  The smile on Marnie’s face was tentative. “Minimum wage?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When do you start?”

  “Tomorrow. At first, it’ll be twenty hours a week, but it could grow.”

  I was almost afraid to trust this news. In the two years since he’d been laid off, he’d wallowed in and out of misery, getting hired, only to leave the job when the boss was “too mean” or the work “too boring.” Which actually meant that my father had lost his temper at the wrong person and been fired.

  Marnie clasped her hands to her
gut, as if she were also scared to hope. “This could be the one.”

  “Yeah.” With a lightning-fast move, he yanked her into his arms.

  “Gross,” she said with a laugh. “You stink. Take a shower.”

  “I’ll show you stink.” He rubbed his stubbly chin against her cheek.

  I looked away and tried to ignore the smacking sounds coming from their direction. Turning back to the huge pot of tea brewing on the stove, I poured in a second cup of sugar. Marnie had volunteered to bring the drinks to the reunion. Iced tea was cheap.

  “Byron, let me go. I have to get ready.” The words were stern, but her tone was happy. Once he released her, she disappeared down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

  He leaned against the counter next to me, watching me stir the tea.

  I flicked a glance at him. “Need something?”

  “So you think this job might work out?”

  “Yeah. It could be good.”

  “You don’t sound too sure.”

  “Just being realistic. We know how things usually go. You get mad, and you blow it. If you’d just learn to walk away, maybe it will work out.” I put the spoon down and gestured for him to leave. “Marnie was right. You need a shower.”

  He laughed. “Maybe I won’t bother. Then she’ll let me skip that crazy-ass pig-pickin’.”

  “I wouldn’t push it, if I were you.”

  * * *

  The last thing I wanted to do on Labor Day was attend the family reunion. My chemistry homework would be way more fun than the Barbers, but my stepmom wanted me to go. So here I was, sitting in the backseat of her car, waiting for Dad to emerge from the trailer.

  Leaning my head against the window, I shut my eyes and tried to swallow my irritation. I’d learned long ago that the best way to survive Barber events was to look busy. If I had something to do, I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. When Marnie told me that I’d be stocking the drinks table, I was completely fine with the assignment.

  Five minutes passed and Dad still hadn’t come.

  The delay was annoying Marnie. She stomped to the front door and screamed, “Byron?”

  He appeared. “Ready.”

  She slid back in the car and slammed her door as he jumped in the passenger side.

  By the time we arrived, Granny’s lawn looked like a dealership for used trucks. Marnie fumed as she banged a palm against the steering wheel. She hated to be late.

  “Sorry, doll,” he mumbled.

  “No one’ll care.” I got out and lifted two jugs of tea.

  “Yes, they will.” She glared at Dad, which he carefully didn’t notice.

  Once I made it to the back lawn, a card table had been placed under a big pecan tree. It held several towers of plastic cups, and underneath were coolers with ice. But there were obviously no drinks. I dropped off the first load and headed back to the car for more. When I returned with more jugs, the first two had been emptied, and Marnie’s brother was arguing with her.

  I was wrong. They cared. Damn, it was hard to like these people. How had they ever produced someone as nice as my stepmom?

  After delivering a third load, I slipped into the shadows of a nearby weeping willow, far enough away from the crowd that it was like watching a movie on mute.

  “Hey, Eden.”

  “Hey, Tiffany.” I glanced at her, taking in her sequined tank, short skirt, and heels. Overdressed, even for her.

  She sighed dramatically. “Heard you got tackled in the hall on Thursday.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “It was good luck for the team, ’cause we won our first game.”

  I gave her a really? look. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

  She giggled.

  We grew silent as we watched the weird choreography of an eastern North Carolina family reunion. My dad was standing by the pig cooker, speaking with Tiffany’s father and some of the other men. They were admiring the pig, with its four legs spread, its eyes staring glassily into eternity, and a pile of chopped pork mounded where its back used to be.

  Tiffany’s mom bustled about the dessert table with her sisters-in-law, sampling from the dozen or more desserts, exclaiming in fake delight over each one, all the while remaining convinced that she was the best baker of the bunch.

  The little kids wore bathing suits and were running in and out of a sprinkler. It looked like fun. I envied them.

  Tiffany stepped into my line of vision, eyeing me like she was dying to know something but was irritated that the answer would have to come from me.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “You ate lunch with the new girl.”

  “Yes, I did.” Maybe Tiffany thought I had inside information. With any luck, she’d be disappointed soon and go away.

  “How many classes do you have with her?”

  “Two.” English and art.

  “Do you know where she’s from? She dresses like a freak.”

  Oh, right, like I would let that pass. Tiffany coordinated her clothes with the other members of the dance team. They wore something pink or glittery every day. It was painful. “Mundy doesn’t need fashion advice from someone who takes her style cues from the Barbie aisle at the Walmart.”

  Tiffany’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why do you and Byron come to our parties? Nobody wants you here.” She stormed off in a swirl of sparkles.

  “She’s mistaken, you know.”

  I turned, relieved to see Gina Barber, one of Heron High’s best teachers and, unfortunately, Tiffany’s aunt. “Thanks, but I don’t think she’s making that up.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. Granny is, too.”

  “That makes two people besides Marnie.” Gina and I shared a smile as we dropped the subject, knowing that Tiffany hadn’t exaggerated much. There was a reason for her attitude. When my biological mom had been in high school, she’d slept with several of the Barber men, including Tiffany’s father. It was hard for people to forget. I understood. Mostly.

  Gina excused herself so that she could drift over to her husband again. I stayed where I was, watching as Marnie wandered from group to group, checking in with her favorite cousins before settling in a lawn chair beside her grandmother.

  They didn’t have anything to drink. I went to the card table and poured two plastic cups of tea.

  A burst of laughter caught my attention. Coming around the side of the farmhouse were three members of our high school baseball team.

  Bad, bad news.

  I’d expected Billy Barber, and his friend Sawyer Atkinson had to be the explanation for why Tiffany was all dressed up. They weren’t the guys who had me cringing. It was the other guest. Murray Fielder. While I didn’t believe that he’d been invited specifically to torment me, Billy had to have known I wouldn’t stay once I’d seen Murray.

  Anxiety pulsed inside me, urging me to flee, but I didn’t give in. This was my family’s get-together. I had more right to be here than he did. I wasn’t leaving. Yet.

  Sucking in a breath, I tried to appear calm as I fought back the awful memories, but they washed over me anyway. Last spring, Murray had asked me out, over and over. I’d refused, over and over, but he kept on asking, slowly chipping away at my resistance. He’d been so persuasive. So sweet. I’d finally been naïve enough to accept, maybe because he was cute, maybe because I was desperate to feel normal for once.

  It should have been my first date in high school.

  After suffering through a horrific wrestling match with a huge guy who was determined to get things from me that I wasn’t willing to give, I’d managed to neutralize Murray long enough to escape his truck and call Marnie to rescue me. But the horrors hadn’t ended there. When I got to school the following Monday, more humiliation awaited me. Plenty of people were willing to tell me that the whole nasty mess had been a dare.

  I scanned the crowd wildly, hoping for a friendly face, but nobody looked my way. Shivers cascaded
over me as I leaned on the table for support. I could do this. I would get through it.

  “Hey, Eden.” Sawyer stood before me.

  “Hey.” I released a shaky breath, happy to see him. So so happy. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Sure.” He took the cup with a smile. “School going okay?”

  “Yeah.” Over his shoulder, I could see Tiffany glaring at us. She had to be pissed that he’d spoken to me first. “Everything going okay for you?”

  He nodded as he took a sip. “Good, thanks.”

  I watched him walk toward the pig cooker, only to be intercepted halfway there by Tiffany.

  “Eden,” an egotistical voice spoke from above me. “Something to drink?”

  Shit. For a second there, I’d forgotten about Murray. “Do I look like a waitress?” I forced myself to frown up at him, gratified that I’d worn shades.

  His lips pursed suggestively, as if in a kiss.

  What an asshole.

  I was done.

  Making straight for Marnie, I handed her and Granny their cups of tea.

  “Thanks, sweetie.” She studied my face, her smile faltering.

  I held out my hand. “Keys.”

  “What—?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  She searched the crowd behind me. I could tell the instant she spotted Murray. Her face hardened. “What’s he doing here?”

  I wiggled my fingers. “Call me when you want to be picked up.”

  She dug into her pocket, pulled out her key ring, and dropped it into my hand.

  I turned away from her fierce frown and stalked to the car. Maybe next time, she wouldn’t ask me to come.

  5

  A Calculated Plan

  It was five minutes ’til eight when Mrs. Fremont braked her SUV against the curb in front of the high school.

  “I’m sorry, Eden,” she said for the fiftieth time.

  “It’s okay,” I responded for the fiftieth time. She didn’t need to apologize. Her graveyard shifts at the hospital rarely ended on time. I’d understood the risk when I agreed to babysit her kids. This job meant arriving late to school sometimes. So what if I hadn’t expected it to happen every Wednesday morning?

  I unclipped my seat belt and smiled into the back. “Bye, Marta.” I blew her a kiss.