CHAPTER 14
REID
Shit. Wel , that was stupid.
On the other hand, what the hel ? I haven’t been shoved away that decidedly in a while. If ever. I’m getting, like, Stockholm syndrome or something, and Dorcas is my jailer. That’s why I tried to kiss her, obviously. I need out of this situation as soon as possible.
Maybe I should have let her hit the ground, but when I saw that woman knock her off the patio, I just reacted. It wasn’t the most graceful fal or the most adept catch in the history of accidental dismounts. The consequences: my shoulder is bruised and one elbow is scraped raw, my abdominal muscles narrowly managed to withstand rupture, and I discovered—inadvertently, I swear—that Dorcas Cantrel is concealing some noteworthy curves under her col ection of enormous, altruistic t-shirts.
Once I’m in the car, I cal George—again. “Reid?” He’s surprised to hear from me within hours of the previous cal .
“Yeah, just an FYI on some photos that are probably being uploaded as we speak—a girl at the house sorta fel off the patio, and I sorta caught her.”
off the patio, and I sorta caught her.”
“Fell off the patio?”
“Someone ran into her. Knocked her right off.”
“Jesus.”
“No, some inattentive middle-aged woman.”
He ignores my quip. “So this girl you sorta caught—
she’s not underage, married, an il egal alien, a meth dealer…?”
I laugh. “Eighteen, single, and straight as the road to hel .”
“Um-hmm. Anything else I should know?” He hangs the question out there as he always does, no leading statements, no fishing for details. One of the many things I love about George. I trust him more than pretty much anyone and he knows it. He knows, too, that I’l be up front with him, even if I seldom fol ow his good advice.
“Nothing anyone would be privy to. She’s not interested in me, man.”
Outside the car window, East LA flies by, everything worn out, decrepit—the buildings, the sidewalks, even some of the light poles leaning—weary of the dismal setting. A guy with massive tattooed biceps steers his wheelchair around a fire hydrant that might or might not work if needed to put out a fire. Inches from the curb, he whips around the hydrant like it’s part of some serpentine course for wheelchair racing. If he misses a hairpin turn, he’l be in the street and run over. Extreme sports, disability-style.
“Oh?”
I’m flattered by George’s disbelief. “Yeah, she’s a genuine do-gooder.”
“Ah, I heard we had one of those in LA.” George is a funny guy. “I guess it would be too much to ask that you leave her as you found her.”
Minutes ago I was impatient to be finished with this Habitat gig—and Dori. Tel ing myself that this too shal pass. George’s al usion to the end of my association with Dorcas Cantrel , or rather my reaction to his al usion, tel s me I wasn’t ful y connecting those two things. I’m surprised to find that I’m not ready for this to be over.
George sighs. “Oh wel , the suggestion was worth a shot.”
I tel him what I always tel him—and it’s the truth, for what it’s worth. “Thanks for the advice, man. I’l consider it.”
“Mm-hmm.”
*** *** ***
Dori
I’m. Such. A. Chicken.
I woke up at 3 a.m. last night, dreaming about him. In the dream, I didn’t turn my head away. His mouth landed on mine rather than grazing my jaw. My hands pul ed him closer rather than pushing him away. And instead of backing away with a mocking grin, he moved closer, pressing me to the wal in a kiss that went on and on until I woke with a start, breathless.
Esther raised her head from the end of my bed as I sat up, her ears lifting in a canine question and her head angling when I pounded the bed with one fist and whispered, “Son. Of. A. Biscuit.” I touched my lips, half expecting them to be swol en because they were tingling, and then threw the covers off and stomped to the kitchen to make a cup of chamomile tea. Esther jumped down and fol owed out of either curiosity or solidarity.
I cal ed Roberta early this morning and told her they needed me at VBS and I couldn’t report for Habitat duty the rest of the week. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t exactly the truth, either, so I find myself clinging to the uncomfortable gray zone in the center. She was great—al no problem and of course those kids miss you, and I felt ashamed until I thought about Reid and that almost-kiss. I need a break from this temptation, because that’s al it is for me.
Temptation. For him, it’s nothing more than gaining the upper hand, and I’m not about to let him do it.
I’m supervising pool time and thinking about what we have left to do at the Diego house when I catch myself daydreaming about him again, as though al thought patterns eventual y lead to Reid. The earthy smel of him in that enclosed space. The contradiction of him shoving me to the wal with one firm hand while cradling the back of my head with the other. The deep blue of his eyes right before he dipped his head closer. Right before I pushed him away.
With effort, I force my thoughts to the kids and their impending performance, Deb and the chal enges of residency, my col ege checklist, Nick. Dad’s waterproof watch on my wrist wil beep when it’s time to go inside. If I could get it to zap me when my thoughts wander to Reid, I’d be golden.
Forcing him from my mind isn’t working so wel . I think I need an exorcism.
When I’m finished for the day, I scrol through my texts. A couple are from Aimee and Kayla, friends from school I’ve only seen twice since graduation. The two of them have been BFFs since junior high. They al owed me within the circle of their friendship during the first month of tenth grade. I’ve never been as close to either of them as they are to each other, but that’s okay. Neither of them have a sister like Deb.
Aimee: so when were you gonna tel us about REID
ALEXANDER???
Kayla: Srsly, there are pics al over the internet of you two at that habitat place and you are ful frontal ON TOP OF HIM
I cal Aimee, knowing there’s a ninety-nine percent chance she’s with Kayla after their coordinated texts. At school, everyone cal ed them the twins because they did everything together. They took the same classes, joined the same groups, dated boys who were friends—or brothers. In a few weeks, they’re starting at UCLA.
Rooming together, of course.
“Dori!” Kayla answers Aimee’s phone. “Are you friends with Reid Alexander? Are you more than friends?
Ohmigod, the parties we could get into… you will take me and Aimee, right?”
“We aren’t actual y friends, and we’re certainly not more than friends.”
“But that picture! You’re stretched across him like he’s wearing you!”
Ugh, I can’t believe she just said that. Can the photos be that bad?
The phone jostles and Aimee’s hyper no-punctuation voice takes over. “Dori I know you don’t real y trust guys and Reid Alexander is the last guy on the planet to trust but honestly this is not a trust or not trust sort of moment this is a once in a lifetime sort of moment!”
I don’t trust guys? What?
I sigh, knowing they would strangle me with their bare, perfectly manicured hands if they knew what happened in private a few minutes after I landed on top of Reid yesterday. “You guys know how the press manipulates things to look a certain way…”
“Dori need I repeat myself you were on top of him!
Unless you are suggesting superb photoshopping that was not press manipulation.”
Wow. This is not good. “I fel . He caught me. That’s al that happened.”
She sighs, as though I’ve just confirmed a passionate affair. “That’s what the stories are saying—that you tripped off the edge of the patio—freaking brilliant by the way! And then he caught you. So romantic…”
My head stil feels bruised, my knee is abraded, and I’m pretty sure I got felt up when we were going down, even if Reid wasn’t aware of doing it… not exactly my idea of romantic.
“Dori.” Kayla has taken the phone back. “You honestly aren’t friends with him?”
“No, I’m real y not.”
“Wel , crap.” I hear Aimee saying something in the background, and then Kayla’s voice returns. “Could you make friends with him?”
I can’t help laughing. Aimee and I grew up with Hol ywood down the street, and Kayla moved here when she was a kid. We should al be a little less easily starstruck. “I’m not even going to be there again until next week, and I leave for Ecuador the week after that. Besides, he’s a bigheaded celebrity. He’s not interested in ordinary girls.”
“Hmph.” Her tone is sul en. “I guess we’l just have to look forward to regular col ege boys, then.”
This is particularly funny, considering the fact that I’ve listened to the two of them wax poetic about col ege guys for the past three years solid.