Bruce disentangles me from Alan and leads me through the restaurant, to the crowd’s chant of “to the stocks, to the stocks.”
I keep my eyes on the ground until we pass Wesley’s section. I glance up, praying he’s in the back or the kitchen, and not witnessing my humiliation. But of course, he’s right there. Watching me.
“Sorry, Quinn,” Bruce says, gently directing my head through the wooden boards. They clap down around my neck and wrists, making my breath come even faster.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says.
He walks away and the chatter in the restaurant resumes as everyone quickly forgets about me. My neck’s already starting to ache from the pressure of the boards and I badly need to pee.
Erin would say this is karma. Payback for getting Wesley sent to the stocks. Maybe I do need my aura cleansed after all.
What is already an uncomfortable situation is made infinitely worse when a pair of clunky black pirate boots enter my field of vision. Wesley bends down so I can see the sympathy in his eyes.
“Go. Away.”
He stands up and rattles the board, like he’s going to pull it up and get me out.
“It’s no use,” I say miserably. “He’ll send me back in here, only for longer. I have to do the time.”
The fact that Wesley’s trying to rescue me makes me even more uncomfortable than being in the stocks. But one nice gesture is not going to undo everything. It won’t make me forgive him. It won’t make me like him.
“Get away from me!” I snap.
“All right, all right. Have it your way.” But he doesn’t leave. He just steps behind me.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to turn around to see what he’s up to. Which is impossible.
Whatever he’s doing back there, he’s soon got the attention of the entire restaurant. My face burns. I know it’s probably just one of his stupid magic tricks, but I didn’t volunteer to be part of it. Whatever it is he’s doing, it must be pretty darned funny because everyone is laughing, at my expense.
I didn’t think it was possible to hate Wesley James more than I already do.
nine.
As it turned out, no one complained about finding a hair in their food, which, if you think about it, is actually pretty disturbing.
My scheming may have come to nothing the other night, but I’m not ready to give up yet. There are still plenty of things I can do to get Wesley in trouble. I just need to get creative.
“If working with him is that bad, maybe you should look for another job,” Erin says, squirting a blob of coconut-scented sunscreen on her arm.
“No way.” I slide my red sunglasses on and settle back in the wicker lounge chair, a stack of magazines heavy on my lap. “I was there first. Wesley’s the one who should quit.”
We’re in Erin’s backyard, watching her boyfriend, Travis, do cannonballs into her pool. It’s wickedly hot. We’ve only been out here for a few minutes, but I’m melting already.
“Don’t you think you’re taking this whole revenge fantasy a bit too far?” Erin says. “I mean, what if he really needs the job?”
“He doesn’t need it,” I say. Not the way that I do anyway.
Erin doesn’t get it. Her parents may not hand her money, but they are paying for her trip to London. Just like Wesley’s will, I’m sure. The expense of two additional kids aside, his mom won’t let him miss out.
Erin raises her eyebrows.
“What?”
“It’s just that I’ve noticed—and please don’t get mad at me for saying this—but it seems like he’s all you talk about lately.” She flips the lid on the sunscreen closed and tosses the bottle on top of the scrunched-up beach towel near her feet. “It’s like you’re obsessed with him.”
I sit up and the magazines slide off my lap and onto the ground. “Oh my God, I am not obsessed with him! I just think he needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Well, maybe he’s learned it already,” she says. “Maybe you should try talking to him about it.”
“Erin. I don’t need to talk to him. He humiliated me in front of everyone the other night.” My chest tightens. Wesley apologized, claiming he thought I’d think being part of his magic act was funny—which shows just how out of touch with my feelings he is.
“Also, why are you defending him? You knew him for, like, two weeks before he moved away.”
Erin sighs. “I may not know him well, but I do know you.” She grabs a jumbo-sized bag of Doritos from underneath her chair and passes them to me. A peace offering. “And you are making yourself completely crazy. I just don’t think it’s worth it.”
I guess she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does then. Because getting revenge on Wesley? Totally worth it.
As Erin flips through the latest issue of US Weekly, I absentmindedly start making my way through the chips. This is the problem with chips. They are addictive and I won’t stop eating them until I get a stomachache. I’m halfway through the bag when Travis climbs out of the pool. Erin’s boyfriend is really good-looking, with an athlete’s body.
Travis shakes the water out of his hair like a dog before ambling over and collapsing beside Erin on her lounger. “Dude, you’re getting me all wet,” she squeals. She shoves him and he lands with a grunt on the cement.
“Now you must pay,” he says, giving her an evil grin. Erin kicks at him, but Travis moves fast. He snaps her up and throws her over his shoulder as if she’s as light as a cat, and starts to walk toward the pool.
“Travis Evans, don’t you dare,” she says, pounding uselessly on his back with her tiny fists.
Travis obviously doesn’t dare because he sets her back down on the patio and plants a kiss on the top of her head. Erin runs a finger over the tattoo of her name on his ribs, tickling him, and he twists her around so her head is stuck in his—ew!—hairy armpit. I watch them play-wrestle, wishing someone was crazy enough about me that they’d tattoo my name on their body. Even if it is a totally insane thing to do.
“Only a hundred and nineteen more days,” Travis says, reaching over and yanking one of my braids.
“Ouch.” I swat at him but he grabs the chips from my lap and dodges out of the way like a prizefighter.
Travis isn’t in band. In fact, he isn’t even in high school—he graduated last year. Despite that, he’s arranged to take a week off from his construction job to come to England, so he can hang out with Erin. Since he was one of Aioki’s star musicians—he plays the drums quite excellently—our band teacher had no problem with him tagging along, especially since Travis offered to be his assistant.
“I hear we’re holding a car wash next weekend.” Erin pulls a face.
My stomach does a nosedive. I still haven’t told her that I can’t go to London. I know I’ll have to do it soon—we’re supposed to be roommates. And as much as Mr. Aioki likes Travis, there’s no way he’ll let him bunk with Erin, meaning that she’ll probably be stuck with Jasmine and Ashley, the other two sax players. And she can’t stand Jasmine and Ashley.