All It Takes (6 page)

“What are you looking for?” I ask, because this has become way more interesting than watching the well-paid people of the neighborhood walk their foofy-looking dogs, which is what I’d been occupying myself with while I waited for her. Except it was kind of a shit way to kill time, since seeing the dogs made me miss Bruiser, and seeing the people glaring at me like I was a serial killer wasn’t any better. Honestly, I’d been counting down the minutes until Star showed up.

“My keys,” she says. “I need something to cut open the box.”

I don’t even think, I just reach deep into my pocket and pull out my Swiss Army knife, the one Dad gave me when I was thirteen, before I decided the Scouts were lame. I toss it to her and she gives me the biggest smile ever, all bright eyes and rosy cheeks and
goddamn she’s hot.
I try to shake off the sudden punch to my gut that just keeps fucking happening around her, and watch as she makes short work of the twine and cuts open the flaps of the box.

Curious, because I’ve never actually been able to stay out of trouble, I lean forward to take a look.

That . . . wasn’t what I was expecting. I’m not entirely sure
what
I thought was going to be in the box, but cartons of garbage bags wasn’t it. But Star’s still acting like a little kid who just got a pony or something, smiling like crazy as she pulls item after item out of the box. Garbage bags. Twine. And about a million different colors of permanent marker.

“Um . . . ” I don’t actually know what I’m supposed to say here. “Did you get a care package from rent-a-hoarder or something?” I ask, and then immediately regret it. I need to shut up. I need to just not talk anymore. Why was I never taught that whole
if you don’t have anything nice to say, keep your mouth shut
rule like other kids? Why didn’t that shit sink in?

But Star just laughs and starts sorting through her new treasure trove. “Not exactly,” she says. “It’s from Autumn. My roommate. I told her that I had to clean out my mother’s house, but never told her how bad it was. But somehow . . . ”

“She knew.” Must be nice, to have someone like that.

Star nods, and her smile is so big it looks like the fucking sun. “Yeah,” she says, grabbing one of the boxes of garbage bags and tossing it to me. “She just knew.”

***

I don’t know what it was, whether it was the package or hearing from her roommate or what, but Star’s smile just went on and on. Even when we found the giant plastic bin full of comic books—good ones—that had been destroyed by being stored outside, she didn’t falter. She just kind of shook her head and helped me dig them out of the bin and junked them. Which was fucking criminal, since hey would have been expensive. And I’d know. I used to collect them when I was a kid, and my mother was always harping on about how much money I was wasting. But at least I took care of my comic books. These? These had been turned into pulp. And the way Star’s finger trailed down one of the covers before she threw it into the trash, I could tell it was something she would have liked. Maybe not now, but once upon a time, if things had been different.

Seeing her like that, smiling even though I knew she was having a hard time with it, made me wonder about my own collection, and if my parents still had it kicking around somewhere. I spent a few minutes mentally cataloging what I had left, and wondering if Star would like it before I realized what I was doing and shook the train of thought right out of my head.

Fucking stop it,
I tell myself, hauling the empty plastic bin over to the side of the house so that I can wash it out with the hose.
She’s not your girlfriend.
She isn’t ever going to be anything close, so just drop it. You’re being an idiot.

I just have to get through the rest of the summer without fucking up and giving myself away. One wrong move and she’ll know I am into her, and I won’t be the guy helping her out anymore, I’ll be the creepy ex-con who hangs around her house and makes her uncomfortable. And I don’t want to be that guy.

You already are that guy,
my brain supplies and I grimace and shove that feeling deep down inside myself. This is supposed to be my chance to start over. I’m not going to mess it up because I’m into the girl who is willing to give me a chance to redeem myself. No way in hell.

I reach down and grab another box and heft it up into my arms. I just have to keep working. That’s all there is to it. Eventually the feelings that are pulling at my gut will fade. They always do.

I just have to wait it out.

Star

I
t was almost completely dark out when we finally stopped for the day, exhausted. I was drenched with sweat, and I bid Ash an exhausted farewell as he pulled away from the curb, then headed back to the B&B to grab a shower before making my way over to the diner for a late dinner.

I have my laptop out in front of me by the time my food arrives, my email to Autumn waiting to be sent.

You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?
I had written.

I can’t believe you sent me all that stuff.

How’s life in Climbfield? Have you managed to drive Roth bonkers yet? If so, send pics. I need to see his angry-face. It’s like Grumpy Cat and must be commemorated for posterity.

I miss yooooou.

<3 Star

It is stupid, but even after only a couple of weeks, I miss my roommate like crazy. I’ve barely known her a year, but we’re already closer than I have ever been with anyone, save for maybe my foster brother Brick when I was sixteen, before he disappeared from my life. And the fact that Autumn somehow always knows what I need, well . . . It is good to have someone like her in my life. Even if keeping in contact with her while I’m in Avenue is starting to become a huge pain in my butt. I still haven’t managed to find good Wi-Fi, and my cell phone is pretty much out as I am roaming to the highest degree imaginable. I only brought the damn thing for emergencies. It is probably a good thing that Ash had just shown up instead of calling me. After all the money I’m spending trying to get the house cleaned up, I don’t need a gargantuan cell phone bill on top of it.

After ten minutes struggling to stay connected to the diner’s Wi-Fi, I finally manage to get my email to go through, and I close my laptop victoriously and celebrate with a handful of half-decent fries from my plate.

I need to come up with a better plan than constantly eating at the diner. I spent a good portion of the past year trying to wage war against the freshman fifteen—and being only partially successful, but I figure seven pounds isn’t the end of the world—and it would suck to succumb to it now that my first year of college is officially over.

But honestly, at this point, I think the main reason I keep coming back to the diner is because I know I’m pissing people off. And I’m kinda starting to like doing so. God knows it isn’t because the food is great. When my grilled cheese sandwich came out, it was cold and hard as a rock. And Leslie has been shooting daggers at me with her eyes ever since I sat down, and she still hadn’t brought me out my soda, even though my meal is almost done. So yeah, I am completely okay with pissing her off.

After all, fair’s fair.

She’s been pissing me off pretty badly, too.

Between the grumpy waitress and my ever-dwindling funds, not to mention the fact that it is freaking
boiling
outside, I’ve just about reached the end of my rope. Again.

This summer is going to be a test of my mettle, I just know it.

I wait until her back is turned before I pull the handful of permanent markers Autumn sent me out of my bag and line them up on the vinyl seat next to me, hidden from view. Watching for her out of the corner of my eye, I take a deliberate bite of my sandwich and fiddle with my laptop, toggling from page to page until she disappears behind the counter to refill a drink. Then I uncap the first marker with a smile and get to work.

Soon there’s a garden of badly drawn but
extremely
colorful flowers growing up the inside of my right arm and line after line of poetry marching halfway down my left thigh.

If people are going to keep staring at me, I’m going to give them something to stare at. I snap the cap back on the pale blue marker I’ve been using, and drop it back into my purse. I hear footsteps coming up behind me, and I zip my bag closed just in time for Leslie—she of the constant disapproving glare—to walk up and slam my soda down on the table top hard enough for it to fizz up precariously close to the rim of the glass. I tilt my head back and grin up at her and reach out to wrap my hand around it. Bringing the glass to my lips, I take a long, deliberate sip of it, watching her as she just shakes her head and stalks away grumbling.

There’s a snort from behind me, and I turn around in my seat to look.

York, the waiter from the other night—the one with the baby face and the sinfully tight jeans—is clearing dirty dishes off a table and into a plastic bin. And he’s looking straight at me. But instead of the glares I’ve been treated to by everyone else in this place, he’s gnawing on his lip, like he’s struggling not to smile. And failing. He looks back and forth quickly, checking that the coast is clear, and then he shoves the last of the plates into the bin and hoists it up on his hip. But instead of heading straight toward the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, he veers slightly to the left coming within a foot of my booth, and as he passes by he slyly reaches out with his free hand, offering me a high five.

What else can I do? I give him one.

Chapter 6

Star

W
e’ve been working on the backyard for days now, almost a full week, really, and it looks like we’re finally making some progress. I can actually see grass again. Well, not grass. The grass is pretty much toast, having been covered with crumbling plastic crates and tarps and a million other little things for God knows how long. But we’ve got the yard nearly down to the actual
yard,
so that’s something.

Except I’m starting to think I’m going to have to rework my plan. I was not expecting it to take nearly as long as it has to clean this place up, even with Ash’s help. And considering the fact that the Dumpster I rented is almost full and we haven’t even
started
on the inside of the house yet, well . . . I’m starting to get a little concerned.

This is going to take way longer than I’d hoped, especially if this heat keeps up. Seriously, this is the hottest day
ever.
Possibly in my entire
life.
We’ve been working since dawn, trying to do as much as we can before the air gets too heavy, but it isn’t even noon yet and I feel like I’m trying to do push-ups on the surface of the freaking
sun.

I don’t know how I managed to forget just how hot summers can get in Avenue, and at first I think maybe I just blocked it out, because
holy crap.
But when I think back, something tickles at the back of my memory, and I think I can remember my mother having an air conditioner chugging along in the window, coughing like a three-pack-a-day smoker as it worked. I also remember being small and following around the rotating head of the fan as it swept back and forth, trying to cool my little face, laughing as it blew my pale hair back.

Oh god,
I think, grabbing a discarded magazine out of one of my mother’s bins—why she kept every magazine she ever owned, hell, that she could get her hands on, I have no idea—and start fanning myself with it. I reach back with my free hand and gather up as much of my hair as possible, pulling the mass up off my sticky neck. There are little rivulets of sweat running down under my loose T-shirt, and I’m seriously tempted to go back to the B&B for a shower, just so I can rinse the worst of the sweat off me. But I’m afraid if I go back there, I’ll be lulled into complacency by the air-conditioning I know they have there, and just never leave.
An air conditioner sounds so good right now. Or a fan. I’d settle for a fan. A fan would be
incredible.

But unfortunately, when my mother passed away, the power company switched off the juice, so the fan is a no-go, no matter how good it sounds right now. I just can’t risk it. With all the expenses I have going on right now, and my second year of college looming on the horizon, I just can’t afford the deposit the power company wants in exchange for switching the power back on.

So unless a miracle happens, we’re stuck and I get to feel like I’m
dying.

Now I know how the Wicked Witch of the West must have felt.

Melting.

Melting.

Melting.

Would it be too weird if I snagged the bikini I’d shoved in my purse and changed into that? Would Ash care? Because seriously, I am dying here. It is so damn hot. And I’ve been carrying it around with me, just in case I ever happen to stumble upon the lake I know is around here somewhere. But I haven’t had the chance to go exploring, and I haven’t bothered asking any of the locals where it is, since it isn’t like I have any spare time and they probably wouldn’t tell me, anyway.

“Jesus Christ,” Ash’s voice calls out from behind me. “I think I’m dying.”

I look over, my eyes scanning across the yard, but I don’t see Ash. At least, not right away. After a moment, I see movement and I walk closer. Ash is actually lying face-down on the ground in the patch of shade cast by the big oak tree by the back fence. He’s got his arms starfished out at his sides, and he even has his bare cheek pressed against the cool dirt. As I walk up, he lets out a muffled groan and raises an arm weakly in my direction, before letting it fall limply to the ground.

I laugh. “You’re . . . not kidding.” I amble over to stand in the shade with him. It’s a little cooler here, but not by much. I crouch down for a minute, and his eyes blink open to look at me. “You okay?” I ask.

“No,” he murmurs. “Too hot. Dying.”

“Okay, drama queen,” I say, standing back up. “Just let me know if you want me to cover your body with dirt when you expire, or if you want me to drag you to the Dumpster instead.”

Ash groans and pushes himself up enough to flip over onto his back. I’m momentarily distracted by the movement of his muscles beneath his T-shirt. His back is broader than I had imagined. Not that I’ve been imagining what he looks like without clothes, it’s just . . .

Yeah. Just stop right there, Star.

“Just leave me here for the wolves,” he says, and lets his eyes fall shut again. “They’ll drag my body away. No Dumpster-chucking needed.”

I know he’s joking, but something about what he says gives me pause.

“Wolves?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light and playful. Because Miss Josephine’s tiny poodle already kind of freaks me out. Anything wolf-size or related would be over the line. Way over it. And I’ve been away from Avenue for a long time, so I can’t say for certain if he’s joking or not. It’s a small town near a forest. There could be wolves.

But all Ash says is “yeah,” which doesn’t help me figure out the whole wolf issue at all. Before I can work up the courage to actually
ask,
he continues with, “Holy shit, how can it even be so hot? This shouldn’t be possible. Humans wouldn’t have survived as a species. We’d all be dead.”

“That’s why we created air-conditioning,” I reply, and reach down to untie my sneakers. My feet are overheated, like the rest of my body, but at least this is one thing I can take care of. “So I guess you’re not used to it, either, huh?” I ask, sliding my shoes off my feet. Ideally, I’d be wearing my flip-flops in this heat—well,
ideally
I wouldn’t be out here in the heat in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there—but I didn’t dare, not in this place. Who knows what kind of stuff could be lying around, just waiting to be stepped on?

I press my bare feet into the dirt. It’s delightfully cool, and I wiggle my toes, getting the sandy earth wedged between them like a little kid on the beach.

“Yeah,” he replies. “The prison had the A/C running full blast. They had to. There would’ve been a shit-ton of riots if they let us bake like this.”

“People do get pissy in the heat,” I agree. I’m trying not to think about it, about what Ash went through. Just the thought of him in prison makes my stomach hurt.

Ash turns and opens one eye to look up at me. “You seem to be doing okay,” he says. And I grin.

“That’s only because you’re staying out of my way,” I tease. “If you had pissed me off, well, you’d already be in the Dumpster by now.”

“Hmmm,” he says, and lets his eyes fall shut again. “I don’t know. I think I could take you.”

Yes, you can,
my brain helpfully supplies before I can shut it up.

Nope,
I tell it.
Not thinking about that. At all.
I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my shorts and check the time before sliding it back in and kicking my foot out, nudging Ash with my toe. “Come on,” I say. “Get up.”

“Ugh . . . ” he moans. “Why?”

“Because it’s too hot to work right now,” I say. “And if you get up I’ll buy you a slushie.”

He opens his eyes and pushes himself up so he’s leaning back against his bent elbows. Raising an eyebrow at me, he asks, “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I reply. “Any flavor you want. But you have to get up.” Technically I could just go buy the slushies and bring them back, but for some reason that I don’t want to think about, I want him to come with me.

A voice that sounds a hell of a lot like my roommate Autumn laughs at me from the back of my mind.
Shut up,
I tell it.
It’s not a date.
I turn back to Ash as I slip my sneakers back on my now-dusty feet. “You coming?” I ask.

“Okay,” he says, pulling himself to his feet. “But I’d just like to say that I’m not getting up because you told me to. I’m doing it solely for the slushie.”

“Duly noted,” I tell him, reaching into my pocket for the car keys. “But if that’s your attitude, you can stay in the car while I go into the nice air-conditioned mini-mart.”

Ash lets out an honestly pornographic-sounding moan and mumbles something that I’m pretty sure was “air-conditioning,” but it came out of his mouth like he was addressing some form of deity. He moves to step past me and my free hand reaches out automatically and starts brushing the sandy dirt off the back of his T-shirt. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until he freezes under my touch, and as soon as I see what I’m doing, my entire body tenses up in humiliation. Slowly, deliberately, I pull my hand away and brush it against the side of my shorts. Ash is looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face, and my face
burns.
But this time I know the fire I’m feeling isn’t from the sun.

“Sorry,” I mumble, and do a fumbling sort of wave as I try to gesture to his back. “Dirt.”

“Yeah,” Ash says softly, and then turns away to stare at the ground somewhere off to the side.

“Okay!” I say, and clap my hands together, because it isn’t like I can make it any more awkward at this point. “Let’s go.” I forge ahead toward the gate. “Car time. Slushies await.”

***

Taking the car was probably the wrong choice. It is still full of junk, so it is cramped as hell—the first thing I am doing when we get back is cleaning it out, I swear—and it is even hotter inside the car than it is outside, if that is possible. It takes nearly the entire drive over to the mini-mart for the ancient air conditioner to kick in, and when it does, it barely gives off a sputter of cold air before it craps out again.

Yeah, I am definitely going to need to get that fixed.

Goodbye, money.

I sigh and drag my overheated body out of the car. Ash is hot on my heels as I hustle into the mini-mart, the doors sliding open automatically in a burst of icy air that leaves me breathless.
Oh, thank god.
I’m tempted to just throw myself onto the Popsicle display face-first, and stay there forever. And I might have, if Ash didn’t herd me toward the slushie machine at the back of the store.

We’re there for less than a minute; me, trying to decide which flavor sounds most appealing, Ruby Blast or Arctic Blue, while Ash adds layer after layer of different flavors to his cup. He steps back and surveys his handiwork. It looks almost like a rainbow.

“That’s going to be disgusting,” I tell him, and reach for the machine that’s churning Arctic Blue. Arctic-anything sounds good right now. “All the flavors are going to combine into soup.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, and grabs a double-wide straw from the box next to the machine. He stabs it into his drink and takes a long sip. “It’s awesome. Also?” He nods toward the machine. “You’re going to spill that.”

I whip around. “Oh shit!” I yelp, slamming the slushie machine’s handle back into place. I’ve overfilled it. It hasn’t spilled, yet, but if Ash hadn’t said anything, it definitely would have. As it is, I don’t know how I am going to bring my extra-tall slushie to the guy at the counter with a straight face. The thing looks like a freaking
mountain
growing out the top of my cup.

Crap.

But Ash just chuckles behind me, and makes a grabby hand at my drink. “Come on,” he says, smiling. “Give it here.” As carefully as I can, I hand over my drink, and he hands me his and turns and starts making his way over to the counter. I can’t help but smile as I realize what he’s doing, and I snag myself a straw before turning to follow him.

He’s letting me hold the normal one, so the guy at the counter won’t comment. And he actually manages to do it with a completely straight face, even when we get to the cashier and the guy’s eyes bug out of his head at the sight of my blue monster.

“Thanks for that,” I say, once we’re back outside again.

“No problem,” he replies, switching our drinks back and taking a sip of his own.

I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off with a look and a crooked grin. “Seriously, Star. It was not a problem. Save your thanks for the big stuff.”

“And just what are
you
doing here,” a voice calls out and we both whip around. I stifle a groan.

It’s Lacey’s boyfriend, the one who was muttering shit about Ash in the diner the day we met. At least, I
think
it’s him. The other twin is right behind him, though, so it’s either Lacey’s boyfriend or his brother that’s being an asshole. Fantastic.

The guy walks up to us, not waiting for a reply, and steps a little too close to Ash for my comfort. And judging by the look on Ash’s face, he’s not too fond of his new friend, either.

“I guess you weren’t aware,” the guy says, getting up in Ash’s face, “but you’re not welcome here.” The guy has a good six inches on Ash and is staring right down at him. “So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll—”

“Hey, Ash,” I say before the guy can finish whatever the hell his threat is going to be. What a tool. “We should probably get back to work.” I stick the straw into my drink and, as casually as I can manage, take a sip as I reach between the two guys with my free hand and grab Ash’s wrist.

“’Scuse us,” I say to Preston or Clay or whoever the hell this guy thinks he is, and tug Ash out of the way. For a terrifying instant, Ash doesn’t budge under my grip, and I have visions of him shaking me off and him getting right back into this guy’s face. But I give one last tug and mercifully he relents and follows after me.

We’re halfway to the car when the jerk behind us kind of sputters and I turn back to see him looking between us and his brother in confusion. The other twin doesn’t seem to be quite as angry as the first one. He’s actually smothering the beginnings of a grin. I hold up my blue monster of a slushie and give them a little salute. “You guys have a good day!” I call out, making my voice as fake and sweet as I can manage.