I hit the eject and the CD slides out. Slapping my back pocket to make sure my wallet is there, I step barefoot into the new Sambas my mom bought and head for the door.
“Let yourself out,” I say. “And don’t forget to put the key back where you found it.”
I drive to the twenty-four-hour Walgreens up on San Carlos, where they have one of those do-it-yourself photo kiosks. The store is empty except for the cashier, who is sitting on the checkout counter, her tanned legs dangling over the edge. On her feet are a pair of familiar cowboy boots. Lacey Ellison.
We rode the same bus in middle school and I remember her stop was beside a crummy trailer park next to the bridge to Fort Myers Beach. No one wanted to sit beside her because she smelled like pee and Michalski called her FBK—short for Free Breakfast Kid—because she was poor enough to be on the breakfast plan. Back then she used to charge five dollars to make out with her behind the portables. Now she’s already starting to look rough and she’s barely legal.
“Hey, Lace.”
“Travis Stephenson.” She hops off the counter and puts her hand in the middle of my chest, all five foot nothing of her blocking my path to the photo machine. “A word.”
“Sure.”
“Harper told me you went to the beach with her the other night.”
“I did,” I say. “That a problem?”
“Not yet.”
“What are you getting at?”
“She’s my friend, Travis,” she says. “Amber and me… well, Harper isn’t the same as us at all, but she doesn’t judge. She’s the best person I know, and if you break her heart, I will kill you.”
I grin at her. “Duly noted, ma’am.”
“I’m serious!” She tries to shove me, but she’s not strong enough. Her fierce sincerity is cool, though, and I respect it. “Just don’t.”
I nod. “I won’t.”
“That’s what you say.” Lacey lifts herself back onto the counter. “But don’t forget what happened the last time she let you kiss her.”
A very good point.
She doesn’t disturb me while I’m making prints from the downloaded images, but she gives me a free bottle of Coke after about an hour.
“This is broken.” She points to a minor indentation on the bottom of the bottle. No sign of leakage. “If you don’t drink it, I’m going to have to throw it away.”
A little while later, the biker from the Shamrock comes in on his way home from the bar. Lacey hops off the counter with a happy little squeak and launches herself at him. They make out nonstop for about ten minutes, coming up for air only when a customer comes in to buy a pack of Camels and a bag of Doritos.
When I’m finished, she lets me use her employee discount on the stack of finished prints.
“Thank you for shopping at Walgreens,” she deadpans, then points her finger at me. “Remember what I said.”
She flicks her eyes toward her biker boyfriend and that means I’m supposed to be scared. I could take him in a fight, but I guess that’s really not the point. “I will.”
I’m not ready to go home yet, so I drive out to the Waffle House to see if Harper is working. The waitress behind the counter tells me it’s her day off and I’m a little disappointed. I order a cup of coffee to go.
“Are you stalking me again?” Harper shoulder-bumps me as she comes up beside me at the counter. She’s wearing a black Social Distortion T-shirt with a pair of faded red shorts. I used to have a shirt just like it, but hers looks better.
“I was here first. So who’s doing the stalking now?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Stephenson,” she says. “I came to get paid.”
I wait as she disappears behind the door to the office. She’s back in less than a minute with her paycheck in hand. After I pay for my coffee, I walk her out to the Land Rover.
“So what are you doing today?” she asks, leaning against the car door as if she’s in no hurry to leave. I’m getting all kinds of crazy good signals from her.
“Coffee, nap, and then my day is wide open,” I say. “Why? Are you asking me out?”
“In your dreams.”
I laugh. “If my dreams were about you, Harper, it would make sleeping a whole lot more appealing.”
Her cheeks go pink. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” I step into the space between us and take her face in my hands. I kiss her for days. Or maybe just a couple of minutes. It’s hard to tell. The phone in her hip pocket vibrates against my leg and she laughs against my mouth and says she has to go.
“Do you want to do something tonight?” I ask.
She gets into the Land Rover and shuts the door. For a moment I think she’s blowing me off, but then she rolls down the window. “Yes.”
Paige is gone when I get home, and my mom and Ryan are still asleep. In my room, I shuffle through the stack of photos until I find my favorite. It’s of Charlie and me playing rock-paper-scissors to decide which of us would be first to read the latest-to-us issue of Playboy. In the picture, he’s throwing rock while I’m throwing scissors and losing my shot at Miss March. Rock-paper-scissors was the way we decided everything, and it’s only now I realize Charlie almost always threw rock. Using a stray thumbtack from the back of my night-stand drawer, I pin the photo to the wall beside the bed.
It looks random and strange. It doesn’t belong on this wall of concert flyers and band posters. As quietly as possible, I drag my bed away from the wall and tear down everything, until the picture is the only thing left. Then I go downstairs to the kitchen.
Dad is standing at the sink in sweatpants, drinking bottled water and looking out the window at the Caloosahatchee.
“What are you doing?” There is accusation in his tone. As if searching the kitchen junk drawer for thumbtacks is on his list of unacceptable behavior.
“What are you doing?” I fling the accusation back. “I thought Mom kicked you out.”
“It’s really none of your concern, Travis,” he says. “And, frankly, this prodigal son act is wearing thin.”
“It’s not an act.”
“By the way.” Dad caps the bottle and puts it back in the refrigerator. “I’m not sure your brother would appreciate hearing about these late-night visits from Paige. So how about you stay out of my business and I stay out of yours.”
Fuck.
As I climb the stairs back to my room, it takes everything in me not to turn around and punch that smug smile off his face. Instead, I pin up all the photos—243 of them—until the wall is covered with little windows back to a place and time when I didn’t feel so untethered.
When I’m finished, it doesn’t look nice. The rows are crooked and Dad will lose his shit when he sees 243 pinholes in his precious walls. I thought it was going to make me feel better, but it doesn’t.
I crash out on my bed.
Just before I close my eyes, I see Charlie sitting on my chair.
“Go away, Charlie,” I say. “I’m not in the mood for this shit right now.”
He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t go away. He just sits there staring at me.
“Go the fuck away!” I shout, and wing my pillow as hard as I can at him. It hits the lamp on my desk, knocking it to the floor. The bulb shatters and the shade crumples.
My door flies open. Mom rushes in, her arms waving frantically. “Is everything all right? I heard a crash. Are you hurt?”
“Go away.” I’m not sure if I’m talking to her or Charlie, but he’s gone now and she starts picking up shards of broken bulb, placing them gently into her palm.
“Travis, your dad—”
She wants to offer some sort of explanation, but there is nothing she can say that I want to hear.
“I don’t want to talk about this. At all.” I roll toward the wall, listening as she wordlessly cleans up the glass. If she notices the wall, she doesn’t mention it. I pretend I’m asleep until she leaves.
Chapter 7
Harper is wearing a purple halter top thing that sparkles and she did that magic trick girls do to make her wavy hair straight, and as I walk her to my new Jeep I can’t stop staring. It’s not because she’s hot—I mean, she always is. But normally she’s girl-next-door-in-a-neighborhood-where-I-want-to-live hot. Tonight? She’s incredible and I’m glad I wore a button shirt.