King Sized Beds and Happy Trails (Beds Series) (3 page)

“Come on, Mr. Miller. There’s gotta be some sort of program to let students go when they can’t afford it.”

Our homeroom teacher runs his hand through his
gray goatee as he shakes his head. “There
was
, Ryan. But the deadline’s passed. Sorry, it wouldn’t be fair to the other students who got their applications in on time.”

He picks up his
briefcase and heads for the door.

“Come on,” I
grumble again. “It’s Lexie. She won’t say anything to anyone, and she’s got the grades for it. Just…can you give her a break?”

It looks like I’ve almost wore him down. He throws me a flicker of a smile and hesitates, hand resting on the doorknob. He sighs.

“Really, I wish I could. But she had the same opportunity as everyone else. If she wants to go, she’ll have to pay her way.” He opens the door. “Sorry.”

So much for Plan A. I walk out of the classroom,
and he follows, locking the door behind me before taking off down the empty hallway. I’ve been arguing with Mr. Miller for about an hour since the bell rang. Anything to keep Lex from using her piggy bank to go on the trip. She needs that money to find an apartment and stuff when she graduates. No way am I letting her waste it just so she can chase after some douchebag.

“So
?” Kaylee stands up from the floor, dusting off her butt and shouldering her backpack.

I shake my head
, and her lip goes into a deep pout.

“Dang it. I thought for sure Mr. Miller was our best bet.”

Yeah, me too.

I shrug
, and she links her arm in the crook of mine as we walk to my car.

“Maybe we could all pull together some money. Between the four of us we could come up with eleven hundred.”

“She wouldn’t accept that, and you know it.” I give her the halfhearted grin I usually save for Lexie. The one I use when I know I’m right, but I wish I weren’t.

“We’ll think of something.”

I nod, and that’s it for conversation. Well, at least on my side. Kaylee’s talking but mostly to herself and under her breath. She does that when she’s thinking too hard. Everyone tries to sit next to her during tests.

I drop Kaylee off at Nate’s house. She’s still talking under her breath as she waves to me. None of what
she’s thinking will work. Trying to pull together some class charity thing, asking my grandparents, or having Nate charge twenty bucks a head for one of his magic shows—which I’m pretty sure only Kaylee and I will show up to—yeah, Lex won’t fall for any of that.

Which means
I have to come up with something that won’t get her suspicious. In simple terms, that means I have to lie. Just thinking about it makes my palms sweat. I don’t lie to Lexie. Sure, I
omit
things. Like the whole, “I’m in love with you, but I’m not telling you because it would make things weird,” but I don’t flat out lie. She knows all my tells.

There was this one time when her favorite dog, Limbo died, I didn’t have the guts to tell her, so I made up some bull about his owners deciding to go with another dog walker ‘cause they needed someone during the midmorning while she was at school. I know, crap lie at best, and she saw right through it. She looked at me and said, “Ryan, what’s up with your face?” Apparently the scar along my eyebrow did this twitch thing and my face went purple.

She’s also discovered my voice cracks, my ears flame, and I stop breathing for a good twenty seconds or so. Hence the purple face.

So, yeah. I don’t lie to Lexie.

“You’re home late,” Pop-pop says from his recliner when I walk through the door. “Do I need to give you the lecture again?” His toothless grin widens with his joke, and I slide onto the couch next to him.

“Sorry, dealing with school stuff.”

“Ah,” he says, turning his attention back to his John Grisham book, “I thought maybe it had something to do with that Alexis. I was about to tell your grandmother to get the guest room ready.”

My grandparents are so cool. I’m man enough to admit that. And l
ike Lex, my mom isn’t exactly the prime example of mother of the year, but unlike Lex, I’ve got people who are willing to yank me out of the situation. I swear Pop-pop and Grams would adopt Lexie too if they could. Instead, they just give her a room and fawn over her when her alcoholic mom is having one of her “episodes.”

“Not tonight. At least, I don’t think so.”

“All right, then. I’ll skip The Talk then.”

I throw my head back against the cushion of the couch. The infamous Talk. The
“if you dare enter that guest room I’ll skewer your scrotum and cook it for breakfast the next morning.” At first I thought it was all a big joke, but one look at Grams with the butcher knife wiped the smile right off my face.

I start to doze off, the pages of Pop-pop’s book
turning like a metronome. All I can think about, even in sleep, is how am I supposed to get Lex on that trip without her knowing how I got her there?

“Dinner!”

Shooting up with a big snort, I wipe the sleep from my eyes and the drool from my chin. Pop-pop’s stifling his laughter as he puts down the recliner and hobbles into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together.

I can smell the vegetarian pizza
, and I start rubbing my hands too. Nothing like mounds of cheese and olives to take my mind off everything.

My grandparent’s side of the pizza has a bunch of sausage and pepperoni, stuff that makes my stomach churn. I don’t ca
re if other people eat that stuff—I mean, Lexie is a freaking carnivore—but it tastes funky to me.

I snarf my half of the pizza and head acr
oss the hall to my room. It’s an old people house for sure—all on one level. But it’s a better deal than the alternative, which is listening to my mom screw a different guy every other night.

Plopping in my desk chair,
I pull open the laptop and then log on my bank account. I fixed an engine in a Honda Civic last week and stuffed that money in savings. It’s my college fund, but I can set up some oil changes. Pop-pop usually pays me for helping him get the Lincoln to pass safety and emissions. I’ll make the money back before September.

I click on my savings account and the green number blares across my screen.

$1323.19.

Okay, okay. Better me than her. I tab to Facebook and hope
Lex is online. She’s working at the coffee house this afternoon and is just about on her break. Internet is better anyway. She won’t catch me lying my ass off.

She’s not there yet, but Nate is. I better take care of him and Kaylee first
, or I’ll be caught before I can hit the snoozer tonight.

Hey, man. Tell Kaylee I got Lex covered. Mr. M gave in.

I don’t lie to them either, but let’s test the bait.

No way
! That’s gr8. Four of us are gonna rock that ski resort.

Something drops in the pit of my stomach. That darn guilt that comes with lying to your best friends, but I chalk it up to that saying…I’m doing it for the best.

I’ll tell Lex as soon as she pops on.

The smiley face that follows lets me know it’s Kaylee who’s responding. Then a whole bunch of hearts and thumbs up and all that other emoticon stuff I still don’t know how to do. I’m laughing as I close the chat window.

I take a quick glance in the mirror. Yeah, my face is a deep shade of purple, and my ears are bright red. This is just via IM. Man, I’m a horrible liar. I really don’t want to do it again. Especially to…

Save me! I’m dying of boredom!

Lexie.

The side of my lip pulls up as I type in my response.

Would some good news help?

All right,
I can do this. It’s better for her to not use the only money she has. I can lie just this once.

Oooh!
What is it???

My ears are still s
moking, I’m holding my breath, and if I were saying it out loud, my voice would be cracking all over the place.

I talked to Mr. M.

That’s all my fingers will type. At least that part is true.

And…???

I can’t do it. I don’t want to lie again, not to her. So I do what I do best. I omit.

Pack your bags. We’re going skiing.

First rule of working at a coffee house: Don’t IM and pour.

I stare at my phone, Ryan’s latest message front and center. 
Pack your bags. We’re going skiing.

Stinging hot pain shoots through my leg as a
coffee waterfall flows over the mug onto the counter and down my pants. Ow, Ow, Ouchy! I turn the pot upright, my eyes still stuck on the words.

I’m going. H
ow?

Who cares?
I’m going!

“Woohoo!” My arm shoots up in the
air.

The
lady in the corner looks at me over her thick, black-framed glasses. She’s not the only one. Every person in the coffee house has their eyes on me.

I hold up the cup I poured half the pot into.
“This coffee’s really good. Mmm.” A few people nod, the lady with the glasses rolls her eyes, but they all look away.

I have no idea how Ryan pulled this off
, but I’m not surprised. He always manages to pull things out of his ass. Like when my mom wouldn’t give me money to go to the ninth grade dance—it was only fifteen bucks, but Mom needed a bottle of vodka. So Ryan convinced principal Lindquist to let me attend anyway. Or when Mrs. Nelson was hesitant to hire me to walk Brewster, Ryan took her aside and next thing you know I had my first client. By now I should know, never underestimate his power of persuasion.

I
pour the coffee into a new mug and bring it to the lady in the corner. It’s not as busy as usual, so I pull my phone out and IM Ryan back.

I don’t know how you did it, but thanks.

Of course you do. It’s because I’m awesome.

You’re an ass

The best kind

No denying that

Lex

Yeah?

You’re welcome

The bell above the door clinks
and I slide my phone back in my pocket. I grab a couple menus and head over to perform my duties as hostess/waitress/barista because the manager does it all.

And M
om says I’m incapable of multi tasking.

Without looking up
, I offer the menus and wait for the people to take them. I flip my pad to a clean page, pen hovering ready to write. “What can I get you? Or do you need a minute?”

“You just gave us the menus.” My eyes shoot up.
Blond-in-a-bottle glares back at me with dark eyes of death. Sean in all his good looking glory sits so close to her he’s practically implanted in her ass. His arm drapes over the back of the purple, velvet couch and with long, beautiful lashes he glances down and shifts his weight away from Sandy.

“I
… uh…”

“Did you forget how to speak?” Sandy says
, eyes narrowed on me before she rolls them and starts laughing.

“I’ll give you a minute.” I turn and try not to run away. I already made that mistake once. There is no way I’ll make it again.

I drop the check off to the woman in the corner and head back behind the register. Stacks of cups line the counter and I use them as my hideout. I slide one stack over just enough to see Sandy and Sean spit swapping.

Why couldn’t they have gone to Skippy Lees?
Sandy probably had this planned? I seriously want to know what her problem is because I’m finding it hard to believe all the crap she’s done and said to me has to do with a stupid incident during our sixth grade field day.

“Hello! We’re ready!”

A bag of coffee beans sits to my right. My hand reaches for it, but then I put it down. Throwing coffee beans at Sandy’s head is not the answer. Even if it would make me feel so much better.

“What can I get you?” I don’t make eye contact. I refuse to let Sandy see the lava pooling in my eyes.
She thinks she already won. Well, I have news for her. The game has just started and I’m not going down without a fight. “Sean, your usual? A vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso and a cherry Danish?”

He gives me a sexy smile and his arm drops from Sandy’s shoulder.
“Yeah, you know it.” His eyes linger on me a little longer than they should, and I take satisfaction in it as Sandy shoves her menu in his line of sight, breaking our eye contact.

Thank you, Mrs. Caldwell for pairing us up for that History project—best week of my life!

“And you Sandy? Still watching your weight? May I suggest the skinny latte? It’s only a hundred and twenty calories so it won’t go right to your ass.”

With a gasp, her eyes widen. I don’t react. My hand stays in the ready to write position, waiting for an answer. “Where’s your manager?” she demands.

“You’re looking at her.” I smile and watch as the anger in her eyes rises to a new level of pissed off. An added benefit for working my way up to night time manager. It only took a year, but I would have done three just to watch her reaction again. “Is that a yes for the skinny latte?”

“Sean, let’s go!” She grabs her purse and jumps up from the chair, hands on hips.

“But what about my latte? And my Danish?”

“I could put it in a to-
go bag for you.” I flutter my eyelashes, grateful I opted for mascara today.

“Yea—
”
“Sean! Now!” Sandy grabs his hand and yanks him away from me. At the door he stops, turns and flashes that knee weakening smile of his. “Bye, Lexie.”

Before I can offer a bye back
, Sandy pulls him through the door and out into the night.

Lexie one. Sandy zero.

During the ski trip I expect this to go to the mercy rule. Lexie fifteen. Sandy still zero. I can’t wait to see her face when Sean is with me, and she’s left to be pointed at.

I send an IM to Ryan to tell him about everything, but he doesn’t answer. Must be
playing Scrabble with his grandparents. I’ll call him later. Wouldn’t want to disturb the master at play and have him miss out on a triple word score.

Not that a distraction
would keep him from missing out. I swear he spots those triple letters, triple words from a mile away. I still can’t figure out if he’s a natural or if the past ten years of playing has shaped him.

The rest of the night passes by in a blur. My mind keeps drifting to the ski trip. It’s too hard to focus on lattes and pastrie
s when I’ll be miles away from home with Sean in possibly the room next door.

The countdown begins. Two weeks until I’m in paradise. I pull up to the house and get out of the car. It’s late so I ease the door shut not to disturb the people who are lucky enough to go to sleep before midnight.

One downfall of being the night manager
, the shift ends at eleven and then you have to lock up. Usually they wouldn’t give it to someone my age, still being in high school and all, but I practically begged and pleaded. The owner caved as long as I was able to prove my grades wouldn’t slip.

The garbage pail is knocked over. Stupid raccoons. I bend over to pick it up.
My heart races as I jump back and scream. A large dark figure is sprawled out behind it. Too big for a raccoon.

I move closer until I see the red stilettos and jean mini skirt. “Mom?” She doesn’t move. “Mom!” I kick her with my foot but a sonic boom could
hit her, and she’d still be knocked out cold.

Paradise will never be a reality for me, because no matter what
… no matter how much distance I put between me and this town, my mother will be the anchor holding me in place. If I leave who’s going to pick her up when she trips and falls into the garbage pail? And as much as it pains me to know this, a piece of me hates her for that.

Her pocket book is open, her wallet and keys scattered across the lawn. I retrieve them, slip it all back in her purse and push it up my arm before bending over and picking her up. Luckily,
she’s not that heavy. It’s kind of hard to gain weight when you’re constantly drinking until you puke.

I wrap her arms around my neck and l
ift with my legs. Once up she sways to the left. I put my body in front of her and reposition so she’s resting into my side. Slow and steady. Step by step we get closer to the door.

The motion sensor light turns on
, and I can’t help but glance around and make sure no one is witnessing this disaster. Coast is clear. We get to the top of the stairs, and I look down. This is always the hard part. We might as well be at the top of the Empire State building.

I take out my cell and slide it into my pocket then throw both our bags to the bottom of the steps. Not like there’s anything worth much in there.

“Come on, Mom.” I walk down one step, her weight still heavy on my side. She moves with me. Thank God!

“You’re my f
aaaavorite daughter,” she slurs, vodka heavy on her breath.

“I’m your
only daughter.”

She stumbles forward. I don’t even have time to gasp
. My arm wraps around her waist and pulls her close just before she topples down head first. Her head rests on my chest, and her hand reaches up and pushes my hair out of my face.

“You’d be so pretty
…” She taps my nose twice and then misses on the third time, getting me in the eye. “…if you pulled your hair out of your face.”

“Thanks.” It might be a backhanded compliment, but it’s a compliment nonetheless. “Now let’s get inside.”

“No! Let’s go party!”

Here we go. “No
, let’s go inside. It’s late.”

“I want to partay!” She throws her arms up in the air, and even though it’s an accident
, she punches me right in the eye. Pain shoots through my socket. All I want to do is grab for it, try to rub the pain away, but if I do I’ll let go of her, and in her four inch stilettos she’s guaranteed to fall.

I push the pain aside. I can cry later. Right now I need to get her in the apartment away from the neighbors.

“No!” I yell, anger boiling in my veins. “It’s late. You’re drunk. Night over! Now let’s go!”

“You were always such a little bitch!”

A little bitch who carries your drunk ass in the house. I move down the rest of the steps, lean her up against the corner of the wall and unlock the door. I kick the door open and turn around to grab her, the smell of bile heavy in the air. Mom’s bent over puking her guts up.

Great.

I go over and rub her back. My eyes shift down, and I see my bag and hers. She has good aim I’ll give her that. Her bag is clean, not a drop, my bag on the other hand is completely covered.

This can go on for awhile
, so I sit on the bottom step. My head falls into my hands. Tears sting my eyes, and no matter how hard I try to push them back, they pour out.

“Lexie, I don’t feel good,” she says
with pouty lips, her bob, messy and hanging in her face.

I swipe my fingers under my eyes then look up. “I know, Mom. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

She nods. I step around the puddle and guide her around to get her in the door. I sit her on the couch and get a wet rag. Not too hot, not too cold and wipe her face. I hand her a cup with mouthwash and another one so she can spit.

I take off her shoes and throw a blanket over her as she curls up into a ball and passes out again. Her snore is the only acknowledgement of gratitude I get.

Outside I get the hose, rinse down the stairwell, toss her bag in the door and then try to salvage my bag. Everything inside is okay, so I take it out, rinse the bag down and leave it to dry. I’ll throw it in the wash tomorrow after school.

Not to wake her
, I ease the door shut and make sure she’s not in a position where she can choke on her own vomit and head into my room.

I rub my eye,
and the pain from before returns times ten. The last thing I want to do is look in the mirror, so I don’t. Instead I lock my door and climb up on my dresser. I slide my bedroom window open and climb out.

On foot it takes ten minutes. His light
’s still on as if he knows I’m coming. I throw a pebble at his window and wait. He doesn’t even look. He knows it’s me.

The front door opens. Ryan’s hair
is a disheveled mess from restless sleep, and he runs his hand through it as he waits for me to come inside.

It’s become a routine. But tonight is different. Tonight for the first time
…I feel broken. Like coming into his house and sleeping in the guestroom isn’t going to fix this. Because nothing can fix this. You can only break something so many times before you can’t put it back together again.

Ryan rubs the tiredness out of his eyes and looks up. Hi
s dark irises narrow in on me, the worry lines in his forehead flare, and he’s out the door. “Lex, what’s the matter?” His arms are on my shoulders, concern etched in every single one of his features, but I can’t speak.

I’m frozen in fear. Fear that I will never leave this town. Fear that my mother will never get sober. Fear that one day I might not get there in time.

The tears build and build until I’m sobbing.