The Right and the Real (11 page)

“Sorry,” Stevie said. “I can’t tell you over the phone.”

“I just want to know if you sent out the letter already,” I explained. “The only reason I’m asking is because I had to move suddenly, and so if you did, I probably won’t get it.”

“Well…,” he said, “since you bought me that cinnamon roll when you were here, I guess I can tell you that. But nothing else.” I didn’t actually remember buying Stevie a pastry. He must’ve mixed me up with one of the other girls who was there to audition when I was, but I didn’t correct him. His fingers tapped the keyboard. “Yeah…okay,” he said. “We sent the letter last Monday. Give me your new address. I’ll mail you another copy.”

“Ummm…”

Crap.

I didn’t know the address of the motel. And even if I did, could I get mail there? I told him I’d have to call him back. Today was Friday. If a letter was sent from New York on Monday, it had probably been delivered already, but maybe not. It might come today. And if it did, I intended to be the one to get the mail.

Our school is super diligent about keeping us from skipping, so they take attendance at the beginning of every class, but I figured the afternoon was my best chance for stealing my mail because my dad would be at work, so I decided to worry about getting in trouble later.

Mira had quit her job as a dental assistant right before the wedding and might be home, but I could probably run faster than her if I had to. Was it a federal offense if I tampered with my
own
mail, but it was in someone else’s box? I hoped not. What I actually hoped was I wouldn’t get caught.

I parked three houses from ours and pulled my pink fleece hat as low as I could, trying to hide my face. Then I strolled casually down the street. We lived in a nice neighborhood, or at least, I used to live there. The ranch-style houses with two-car garages probably looked alike back in the seventies when they were built, but after all these years, people had personalized them with paint and new doors and fancy gates. Some yards were ragged with weeds, but my dad kept ours immaculate.

It was one of those clear, sunny February days, where the sky is such a brilliant blue you can’t believe it’s not summer, but the wind is so cold you think you’ll cry from the pain in your frozen ears. Even with the hat, I had goose bumps on my scalp.

When my dad and I had moved into this house, right after he got custody of me, one of the things I loved most was the designer mailbox—flat on the bottom, but with a domed top. The previous owners had decorated it like a ladybug, bright red with black spots. And they’d painted long eyelashes over the blue eyes. I loved getting the mail every day, and if I was outside playing when the mailman came, I would insist he stick our letters inside it so I could take them out. Every summer, Dad and I would get the paint out and touch her up, making her shiny and new again.

After glancing at the house and not seeing anyone, I turned to open the ladybug, but she was gone. In her place stood a gray metal mailbox. It wasn’t your standard one, either. It was the kind with a tiny slot for the mailman to stick the letters through, and the owner had to open it with a key.

I stood there staring at it, the icy wind whipping at my face. I swear to God if I’d had a bat, I would’ve bashed that mailbox into
the ground. Instead, I ran back to the Beast, slammed the door, and revved the engine. The tires screeched as I raced back toward the motel, anger pulsing through me right down to the gas pedal.

I skipped the rest of my afternoon classes and holed up in my room, clutching my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth, my mind spinning with crazy plans of sneaking into Dad’s house to find my mail. Eventually, though, I had to let the idea go because I was due at the Coffee Klatch for my training.

MY STOMACH FLIP-FLOPPED AS I WALKED THROUGH
the deserted café. I’d never had a job before other than acting because my dad said he wanted me to concentrate on school. Behind the counter, a girl stood on a stepladder, adjusting what looked like a video camera suspended above the espresso machine.

“I’ll be right with you,” she said. Her straight black hair hung in a sheet around her face, and she swept it back like a curtain with one hand while trying to keep her balance and maneuver the camera angle all at the same time.

“I’m here to see Amanda.”

She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m Amanda. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, okay. I’m Jamie.”

She gave me a blank look.

“Trent hired me for the morning shift? He said to come here at four thirty for my training.”

She let go of the camera. “Trent hired you? Figures.”

“What?” I asked, confused by her pissed-off tone.

“Trent never hires ugly girls,” she said, climbing down.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Well, come on.” She folded up the ladder and walked off. I hurried around the counter, following her into a supply closet where the odor of coffee was so thick, it was hard to breathe.

“I haven’t got time to train all Trent’s new girlfriends,” Amanda said, “so when Jezziray comes in, she’ll show you how to make the coffee. In the meantime, study this.” She handed me a fat red binder. “You can sit at one of the tables unless we get busy.”

“Ummm…okay. Thanks.”
All Trent’s new girlfriends
? So I was right. He was just a flirt, and I didn’t have to feel guilty about joking around with him at all. For some reason, that made me disappointed instead of relieved.

Jezziray didn’t start until five o’clock, and I’d had such a long day, that by then I was having to tickle the roof of my mouth with my tongue to stay awake. I tried to hide my surprise when I met her because she looked almost identical to Amanda. They had to be related, but neither of them said anything about it, so I didn’t either. You couldn’t mix them up, though, because Jezziray had a silver stud in her tongue that clicked against her teeth when she talked.

After she’d walked me through the process of making coffee in the big urns, she said, “Just don’t forget to put the used grounds in the compost, not the garbage.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I stood there.

“That’s it,” she clicked.

“Right. I guess I’ll go read the manual some more, then.”

She shrugged like,
whatever.

“Oh, I do have one question.” I pointed to a red
X
made with tape on the floor by the cash register. “What’s that for?”

Jezziray clicked her tongue stud and pointed at the camera. “That’s
so you know where to stand if you want Trent’s stupid webcam to get a good view of you.”

“We’re on the web?” I asked. “Live?”

She shook her head. “No, not live. He got in trouble for that with his uncle.”

“His uncle?”

“Mr. Schubert? He owns the place?” she said like I was stupid. “Anyway, Trent has this lame site where he puts up videos he calls ‘Coffee Clips.’”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he’s a weirdo,” she said. I must’ve looked worried, because she explained, “He’s a filmmaker. He’s going to NYU in the fall. We’re just one of his projects.”

“Oh.” He’d told me he was interested in being behind the camera, but aside from the sweatshirt he’d been wearing the day we met, he’d never mentioned being accepted at NYU. Very impressive.

What looked like an entire junior high girls basketball team pushed through the door, hugging each other and singing “We Are the Champions” off-key. I moved out of the way so Jezziray could serve them and went back to studying the manual. As fascinating as the recipe for an Americano was, my mind kept wandering to the fact that Trent was moving to New York too. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway. First of all, I hardly knew the guy. Second, there was Josh. And third, I didn’t even know if I’d get to go to New York.

After I finished my “orientation” at six o’clock, I stayed at the Coffee Klatch drinking coffee samples and eating free stale croissants until seven, and then I drove over to the school to pick up Josh. He’d slipped me a note saying Derrick was going to the Friday Night Mixer, but he’d talked his dad into letting him go to the basketball
game. Somehow watching guys chase a ball up and down the court didn’t exactly seem like he was making it up to me for stuffing me behind the mats, but luckily for him, he had other plans for us.

The waiter gracefully set a plate mounded high with golden halibut and chips in front of me. “I could get used to this dating in secret,” I told Josh.

We’d driven up the Columbia River Gorge to have dinner at the Multnomah Falls Lodge, a fancy place with white tablecloths, twenty-dollar entrees, and candles. Josh cut into his steak and smiled. Behind him, the fireplace crackled, and soft jazz poured out of the speakers.

“I thought you deserved something special after being so nice about the weight room,” he said.

I actually was still kind of pissed about that, but maybe something decadent and chocolate would soften my mood. The restaurant was empty except for us because in the winter they closed at eight and we hadn’t even gotten there until seven forty-five. The waiter had told us they had lots of cleanup to do, though, so to take our time, but I guess he didn’t mean it because he brought the bill without asking if we wanted dessert.

“We should climb the falls,” Josh said when we got outside.

The wind tore at my scarf, biting into my skin, but you can’t go to Multnomah Falls without climbing at least to the bridge. Even in February. Trekking up to the bridge looks deceptively easy, I guess maybe because it’s only about a third of the way to the top of the falls, but the trail is still uphill, and I was seriously stuffed. The path was paved, though, and Josh had his little flashlight, so we weren’t in total darkness. He took my hand in his, and we started up through the trees, zigzagging our way along.

“How are you doing, Jamie?” Josh asked.

“Fine. But don’t go too fast because these boots are kind of slippery.”

“No, I mean, do you have enough money to get by?”

“Oh, that.” There was so much stuff I wanted to tell Josh, but tonight I needed to pretend things were normal. “Can we not talk about it?” I asked him. “I don’t want to think about anything except what a nice time we’re having.”

He squeezed my hand. “You got it.”

“Ohhh! Look,” I said. “A make-out cave.” It wasn’t really a cave, although I was willing to bet a lot of couples had made out in it. It was more of a large depression in the side of the stone cliff big enough for two people to crawl into and sit down. “Come on.”

The ceiling was low, and we had to hunch down to get inside. We sat on the cold dirt floor, cuddled together. Josh’s breath was warm on my face, and his lips even warmer. I pressed myself against him. Josh pulled me onto his lap facing him, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.

I ran my hands through his short, prickly hair, kissing him deeply. I began to slide into that safe, comfortable place being close to Josh always took me to. It might’ve been comfy, but it was exciting too, and after a while we had more clothes on than either of us wanted. As the heat rose between us, I slipped out of my coat and he wrapped his around me. He’d pulled his gloves off and his hands worked their way under my sweater, hot against my bare skin. He’d just undone my bra when his phone beeped.

“Ignore it,” I said, running my tongue over his ear.

“Can’t,” he mumbled, shifting so he could get it out of his pocket. I bit his lower lip gently. “Jamie, stop it.…I need to see.” He moved his body so I fell off his lap onto the dirt floor.
Annoyed, I stepped out of the cave and fixed my bra while he read his stupid text.

“Shit. Oh, shit!” he said. “Come on!” He grabbed my hand and dragged me back down the path.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, panting from the running. Or maybe the kissing. But probably both.

“It was from Derrick,” he said. “Dad went to pick me up at the game, and I wasn’t there.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“After ten.”

Crap. We’d really lost track of the time.

“You better drive,” I said. I handed him the keys. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he said, tearing out of the parking lot before I had my door closed.

Even if Josh sped, it would probably be thirty minutes, minimum, back to the school. Maybe longer. We threw out ideas along the way, but all he could come up with was that someone gave him a ride home and he’d texted his dad to let him know, but it must not have gone through.

“That’s pretty lame,” I told him. “By the time you get home, it will be almost eleven, and the game ended at—what? Nine thirty?”

“Do you have a better idea?” he snapped.

“No…sorry.”

He stopped the car about a block from the church compound and sprinted off without even kissing me good-bye.

“Thanks for dinner,” I muttered as he ran away.

On the drive back to the motel, so many emotions bubbled up in me, I felt like a pot of simmering soup. On one hand, we’d had
a really romantic meal and a lot of fun in the cave. On the other, I knew Josh had made such a big effort only because I was still kind of pissed about him making me hide the day before. He’d tried to make this secret relationship sound fun, but actually it really sucked. I should’ve listened to Krista and Liz when they told me not to do it.

But I was in too deep now. In my heart, I knew Josh was trying. He really was. And I couldn’t ask him to risk his scholarship or make Derrick lie for us. College was the only way Josh would ever get away from the R&R, and if there was one thing I wanted for him, it was that.

In the parking lot, I set the car alarm and braced myself to face the stinky, dim staircase. Stub was on duty at the front desk, playing solitaire on the computer when I came in though, and I figured I could scream if I needed help. Not that he’d come running the other night or anything.

“Hey, Stub,” I said.

He glanced up briefly from the computer. “Son of a bitch,” he said in his sultry voice. “I lost again.”

I nodded, commiserating, but his eyes were back on the screen. I braced myself for the run to the top of the stairs. No one had bugged me all week, but I was still nervous about that guy from the first night. I’d carried pepper spray in my purse since I was about twelve, but before now, I’d never bothered to take it out. Tonight I clutched the little cylinder in one hand, my room key in the other. My purse was slung over one shoulder, and it thumped against my hip as I ran up the stairs. I had just jammed my key into the sticky lock when possibly the biggest man I’d ever seen came out of the room next to mine, casting a shadow over me.