I was curious how much he thought he knew about me. Paranoid, I checked the webcam on my laptop. Still off, phew.
Ah, caught. Mrs. Porter, who was manning the info booth at school the other night, handed me your business card and told me a cute girl was looking for clients. As I needed help with the portfolio and I am generally a fan of cute girls, I figured it was win-win for me. I do realize that the cute girl might have been the errand runner for someone else, so if you are in fact male or not a high school student, I truly apologize for the misstep. Which begs the question—are you?
Here was the moment of truth. Did I tell him he was right about me, or keep the mystery up? I supposed it didn’t do any harm to share a little bit about myself. Building rapport was something Belén was forever chastising me for not doing enough, so here was a good opportunity for me to practice.
Guilty. I delivered the swag myself. My first attempt at finding clients, actually. I started this business at the insistence of a friend whose logo I designed. Seemed like a good use of my time and talent. I hope so, at least. Thanks for taking a chance on a newb.
You didn’t answer my question about the leprechaun. Inquiring minds are dying to know.
Was he flirting? It felt like flirting, but I could never tell with the Internet. So much potential for miscommunication. Was I flirting back?
Ding!
My leprechaun actually got deported. He brought illegal “items” into the country when he arrived, and DHS sent him right back. Such a shame. I think about him every time I see a rainbow.
Your work is great, btw. Did you ever apply to McIntosh? Our art department could’ve used you.
Dagger. Right in the heart. I flopped backward into the cushions so hard, my neck snapped forward a bit. Why was it that total strangers could see what the admissions department hadn’t? At least I had plenty of time to make a portfolio so amazing, no college could turn me down. Darn that wishful thinking again.
Sorry about your pet. Maybe a dog is a better option.
Thanks. I did apply two years ago, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
It’s Tate, btw. Nice to meet you.
I don’t know what possessed me to use Tate instead of Tatum. Probably my subconscious playing a sick joke on me and reminding me that my best friend was still in ghost mode. My happy mood started to dissipate as quickly as it had shown up when I thought about that unanswered email I’d sent to Ash days ago. It bothered me so much that something as insignificant as an email conversation with a new client could remind me of my life’s disappointments. But really, why should I be surprised? There were so many of them, after all. Belén’s attitude toward me, Tilly’s disinterest, the rejection from McIntosh. And somehow, losing Ash for something I thought was rather heroic hurt most of all. Brow furrowed and fists clenched, I closed the laptop. I couldn’t look at praise from a perfect stranger anymore.
I checked my watch again; it was probably time to go home. If I was going to keep up this babysitting charade, I needed to make sure I got the timing correct. And Belén would know. I swear that woman had ESP or tracking devices in my shoes or something. She knew everything about everything. I gave Gus a goodbye cuddle and hightailed it out of there.
When I pulled in at home, the door opened, and my beautifully awful stepmother came sauntering out the front door. She stuck her glossy black head in through my open window, noted the mileage, nodded with a “Thank you, Tatum,” and disappeared back into the house. Well, then.
I grabbed my bags, put the window up, and turned off the ignition. It was going to be a long summer.
Chapter 7
Tatum!” Belén was standing at the bottom of the stairs, shouting my name like a banshee.
“Seriously, Stepmother?” I said to myself, rolling over. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. It was 5:37 a.m. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and my room was still cozily dark. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, confused.
“Tatum! Your father’s on the phone. Pick up.” Her scream was even louder this time, which seemed impossible, but she did have an impressive set of lungs. She missed her calling as a football coach or something. I fumbled for the light, pulled back the covers, and shuffled over to my desk, where the landline sat.
“Hi, Dad.” My voice was rough and craggy from sleep.
“Good morning, sweetheart. Did I wake you?” Dad sounded rather chipper. I guessed that meant his work was going well. He’d always had a bit of a Superman complex. Dad liked finding solutions to problems; it made him happy.
“No, Belén’s bellowing did.”
Belén, still on the line, piped up. “It was time for you to get up anyway, Tatum.”
I clenched my jaw. “Do you think I could talk to my dad alone for a minute? Please?” I added the please more for Dad’s sake than Belén’s.
A pause. What was there for her to think about? I tightened my clench, waiting for her to answer me.
“Certainly.” The line clicked, and now there was just silence between me and Dad.
He made the first move. “How is the plant removal going? Sounds like you got a lot of work done that first day. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to write you back, by the way, and for calling so early. I’ve been swamped.”
“It’s fine. I know you’re busy. The stuff we’re doing is really time consuming, but I think we’re making a difference.”
“That’s great. A silver lining, eh?”
That might be pushing it. My entire summer probably wouldn’t be turned around by the fact that removing invasive plants would make the environment safer, even though, weirdly, I was kind of happy to help. It would take something much bigger, more personal, to actually turn the summer around. Like regaining my family’s trust.
“I think I’m making a difference here too,” he went on, “so good for both of us.”
“Yeah. Definitely.” I was glad my dad was helping others—I was proud of the work he did—but a big part of me wanted him back here. “And I’ve been playing around with Photoshop too. Teaching myself some new techniques.”
Completely true. I wanted to tell him about how I might be starting a business. I just wasn’t sure if this was my moment.
“That’s wonderful, and I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with. Send me something you’ve been working on, okay?”
“Okay, sure.” My heart fluttered. Dad was my favorite art critic.
“And Belén tells me you’re taking care of Maya and Kate again? That’s great. I know Mrs. Schmidt appreciates the extra set of hands.”