Abby Road (18 page)

Looking closer, it was evident his Diesel shorts and shirt probably cost a cool hundred bucks apiece. Yes, he was dressed down, but with more style than a Kennedy on vacation.

Self-consciously I put my hands in the back pockets of the same shorts I’d worn yesterday, fresh out of the washer and dryer. “My manager called,” I said to his open collar. “They want me back in L.A. Now.”

I held my breath, studying his expression, waiting for a reaction.

He
seemed
disappointed, and I wondered if he was painfully dying a thousand deaths inside but refusing to show it, like me. I was ready for him to burst into a rage and demand that I stay.

“Oh.” He shifted his weight. “That’s a real shame.”

I blinked, staring into his eyes, feeling all kinds of disappointed.

We stood in silence for a few moments. Todd then glanced away and I looked down at my feet. I’d painted my toenails DayGlo orange a few hours ago. The optimistic color seemed to be mocking me now.

This is
not
fair
, I thought, grinding my back teeth so I wouldn’t cry or something equally humiliating.
It’s too soon. I need more time, much more time, but I just can’t take it. And since Todd doesn’t seem to care . . .

“Yeah, well,” I said as I gazed across the room at nothing, “I’m calling Max tonight with my final answer, so, I guess we should just . . .”

Todd’s head snapped to attention, his bright green eyes boring into mine, going wide and then narrow. “You have a choice?”

His question threw me. “Well, technically, none of us have to be back till September.”

Todd flew behind the counter and pulled out a sign: Gone Fishin’.
He hung it on the inside of the front window. “Let’s go,” he commanded, towing me out by the elbow and locking the door behind us.

“But I told you—”

I could see his jaw set under his skin. “When would you have to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“So that gives me”—he looked at the face on his cell—“fifteen hours.”

“To do what?”

He looked up at me. And smiled.

{chapter 12}

“I’LL FOLLOW THE SUN”

“Y
esterday you mentioned you used to dance.”

I nodded, wondering what Todd was getting at.

“The bio on your website says you got your start in musical theater.”

We were strolling again, just like yesterday, except this time Todd wasn’t as tranquil. There was an urgency to today, like he had a definite agenda in mind, though I could also tell he was trying hard to keep the atmosphere casual.

Apparently we were both in restrained-panic mode.

“My website?” I lifted my eyebrows. Todd grinned like the cat that had swallowed the canary. “Is that what you’ve been doing all day? Hard at work surfing the Internet? You’ll never sell beach towels that way.”

“Skeptic.”

We turned a corner, ambling through the neighborhood with the shallow tree roots—the setting of last night’s kiss. Despite what the responsible side of my brain said, in my heart, all Todd needed to do was hold me under our shady Kissing Willow or touch my face, kiss my neck, and just maybe . . .

But he didn’t. We walked under the long and leafy branches without either of us saying a word about last night.

“I danced ballet till I was fifteen,” I explained as we neared the footpath that led to the beach. “Which was really good for me.” My arms automatically moved into the
Vaganova grande pose
: one arm out to the side, the other above my head, both curved elegantly, fingers forming an oval.

“Nice,” Todd said, observing my stance with an air of appreciation.

I immediately broke my pose. “Even as a kid, I needed an outlet. Ballet takes a lot of discipline and concentration.”

“I can imagine.” He smirked. “All those pink tights and hair glitter must be brutal.”

I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “Hey, tough guy. You try cramming your swollen and blistered feet into a pair of pointe shoes, spend hours spinning, making jumps, landing, and then stopping every few minutes to wipe the floor so you won’t slip on your own blood.”

Todd cringed.

I let him go and smiled lightly. “My instructor was quite the slave driver. I suppose that’s where I get my”—I cleared my throat—“my unique work ethic.”

“What happened with that?”

The toes on my right foot involuntarily pointed as my leg slid to the side, itching to stretch myself into a perfect
arabesque en avant.
“My audition for Juilliard didn’t go well,” I said instead, relaxing my foot, feeling leftover disappointment from years ago. “Their official explanation was that my proportions weren’t right, that my legs were too long.”

Todd looked down at the legs poking out of my shorts. “These old things?” He swatted my knee. “How preposterous.”

“I had a growth spurt,” I explained. “Happens to everyone. I knew I was too tall for my age, but I was devastated and angry at the world for giving me this incredible passion and
almost
the body for it.”

Todd looked thoughtful, his green eyes full of unasked questions. Instead of asking them, though, he said, “That’s pretty intense logic for a teenager.”

“Mmm.” I shrugged. “I guess I learned to take my lumps at an early age. After ballet, I decided to go out for plays at school.”

“You were the lead in
Brigadoon
.”

I stared at him for a second and then rolled my eyes. “Google actually got that one right. Theater was another good way to get me comfortable onstage. It’s lucky I’ve always had great choreographers and directors. Unless I know where to go, I’m helplessly clumsy.”

“Impossible.” Todd laughed. “I don’t live in a cave, Abby. I
have
seen you perform.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. I can learn a routine, execute it perfectly, then walk behind the curtain, trip over a chair, and knock down the entire set. Splat. Dead bodies.”

He probably assumed I was exaggerating, because he laughed again.

Up ahead, directly in our path, a group of about eight teenagers was gathered in a circle, inconsiderately blocking the entire sidewalk. The boys were showing off their surfboards; the girls were posturing and posing.

The worst.

I barely had time to gasp before every muscle in my body clamped down and went into petrifaction mode.

One lone Frisbee dude on the beach was one thing, but a swarm of autograph seekers could easily escalate into pandemonium. It had happened to me so many times.
Please, not today.

The split second after my reaction, I felt Todd grab my arm.

“This way,” he directed under his breath, swiftly guiding us around a different corner, leading me down a narrow alley between two stores.

My heart hammered behind my ears when we stopped, sheltered between a pair of turquoise Dumpsters.

“Are you okay?” he asked, leveling his face to mine so we were eye to eye.

I swallowed, surprised at how startled I still felt. I knew my face was drained of color, because it suddenly felt ice cold.

Todd watched me, his expression a little alarmed at whatever he was seeing. Slowly I peeked over my shoulder; no one had followed us.

“Here,” he said, pointing through the alley. “This is a short cut, anyway.” He took my arm, prompting me to walk. As we started off, he looked over his own shoulder as those kids sauntered loudly past the mouth of the alley, oblivious to us. Something like annoyed suspicion flashed in his eyes, but then his expression changed into something more hostile, mirroring looks I’d seen on Shugger when I was under siege.

Armored car is right
. I exhaled again, feeling very looked-after.

“Sounds like yours was pretty different than my high school experience.” Todd spoke conversationally as we fled the scene. “We traveled.” His hand was still gripping my elbow. “I was the habitual new kid for most of my life, always having to leave my friends just when I made some. But my family is close and we stuck together, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“Where did you go to high school?” I asked, more than happy to think about something other than crazy fans or the sick feeling in my stomach whenever I thought about leaving tomorrow.

“It was in San Sebastian, actually.”

My eyes moved up and to the left, picturing a detailed map of southern Europe.

“I graduated early and they have a different academic system than here in the States,” he said.

My mind flipped through the geography book in my head.
Between Spain and France. The Pyrenees. Spain’s port resort, beaches and hills. Hemingway wrote about it.

Todd went on. “I was only seventeen at graduation. Barely eighteen when I entered Annapolis. I was luckier than my sisters, though. Jessica attended three schools, her last year.”

I groaned sympathetically. “I would’ve hated that.”

“She did,” Todd confirmed as we cut through a parking lot behind Town Square.

“So, how’d you do in school?” I asked. A gust of summery wind hit us head on. “You must’ve done pretty well, for Annapolis to take you.”

“Tolerably, but like I said, it was a different system.”

“Ha! Mister Modest,” I joked, wrangling my hair that blew in the wind. “You were valedictorian of your high school, weren’t you?”

“No,” he said. “There’s no such thing in Europe. But I was asked to give the commencement speech at graduation. They were probably just indulging my American heritage, though.”

I stopped in my tracks, holding the ends of my hair in two pigtails. “Are you serious?”

Todd looked back at me. He seemed confused by my question.

“
You
gave the commencement speech for San Sebastian?” I let this information roll around in my head for a second. “What do they speak there, Spanish?”

“Mostly. A type of Spanish called
Castellano
.” The way he pronounced the word made my stomach do a somersault. “But a small percentage still speaks Basque. I gave my speech in Basque.”

“Of course you did.” I snorted. “Is there anything you
can’t
do?”

“Plenty,” he replied, deadpan.

I lifted my chin and let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Over achiever!”

He gave me a sideways glance. “You’re one to talk.”

I blinked a few times, wide-eyed.

Now
he
was hooting with sarcasm, actually slapping his thigh. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but isn’t it
you
who retired from competitive ballet at fifteen and then just happened to find yourself succeeding in one of the most cutthroat businesses around? And let’s not forget your photographic memory and—”

“Well
you
.” I cut him off. “You’re just, ya know . . .” I was trying to sound accusatory, but the way he was grinning made me lose my thought. “You’re all . . .
perfect
.”

Todd frowned at me, but a moment later, he brushed it off with a chuckle. “Naw. I’m just as flawed and depraved as any other hot-blooded man.” He looked me in the eyes, all intense and beseeching. “Stick around long enough, and I promise you’ll find that out.”

The singing from my pocket started up, disturbing us again. I exhaled, annoyed at the never-ending parade of interruptions. “
You
answer it,” I said, passing Todd my musical cell.

He stared at it for a second then put it to his ear. “Abby’s phone.”

I snickered at his authoritative tone.

He narrowed his eyes, looking confused as he listened. “Hello? Is anyone—” He flinched, holding the phone away from his head. I heard Molly’s screechy voice. She was freaking out. “Umm, maybe you should . . .” He handed the phone back.

“Molly.” I laughed. “Hellooo. I’m right here.”

“Abby? Crikey!” She panted. “Whadoyou . . . Howthee . . . Whowas—” Her panic suddenly dropped off. “Oohhh . . . Was that
him
, then?”

I smiled. “Mm-hmm.”

“Put him back on.”

Clearing my throat first, I passed the phone over.

“Hello, again.” Todd listened for a few seconds. “Hmm, that’s very—” She cut him off. “Oh, yeah, I agree. Yes, well, but I don’t think that’s something—” Cut off again. He laughed. “Oh, uh.” His eyebrows pulled together. “Let me think— Leo— Yes, that’s right. How did—” More laughing. “I do. Perfectly. Right. Yes, and, uh,
ciao
to you, too.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and passed the phone back. “She wants you now.”