Ana of California (24 page)

“I don't know . . .”

“Do you have any family there?”

“Not really.”

“What happened to your parents? Let's get into it.”

Rye pulled the car into a spot in the back of the lot and threw the clutch into park, turning toward Ana and folding her hands in her lap, raptly waiting for an answer.

“We need to get to class.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Ana grabbed her backpack and opened the door to get out.

“Hey!” Rye shouted. “Can you at least tell me about your ink?”

“My what?”

“Just come back in here for a second,” Rye pleaded. “It's five minutes until the bell. What's the tat on the back of your neck? I've seen it, so you can't hide from this question.”

“It's nothing.”

“I've noticed it peeking out of your shirt sometimes. I mean . . . it's illegal, right? To have one at our age? I did some research.”

“It's nothing.”

“I told you my secret, now you have to tell yours,” Rye said.

Ana took a moment. She unzipped her jacket and pulled her sweater down, revealing the mark just below the nape of her neck.

“It kind of looks like a mathematical symbol, like a backward three or something. What does it mean?” Rye asked.

“It's . . . hard to explain. The short story is my parents were killed. It was a gang thing. They were shot to death when I was a kid. The long story is I got this as a result of it.”

“But when did you get it done?”

“A long time ago. It wasn't my choice,” she said, taking a breath. “I've never shown it to anyone before, at least not willingly.”

Rye wanted to ask more questions, hating herself for spreading the gang rumor about Ana. “We'd better go.”

They got out of the car as the bell rang out across the parking lot and looked at each other for a second before breaking into a sprint toward the entrance of the school, laughing themselves out of breath until they stopped just outside the doors.

“Hey,” Ana said.

“What?”

“I've never met anyone who wanted to share anything like that with me, so thanks for letting me share right back.”

“I guess this means we're officially BFFs or whatever,” Rye said with an eye roll. “Do we need to take our shirts off and bump bras or something?”

“No, but we've got to find a better meaning for that acronym.”

 • • • 

T
hough she'd successfully avoided Cole outside of class per Emmett's instruction, Ana and he continued to catch each other's eyes during English period. Rye would do the usual and rush out saying she had to stop in the yearbook room on the way to her next class. Ana knew it was because Cole was still sitting in his seat waiting to talk to her.

“This is the only way I can seem to get your attention,” he said as Ana gathered her things. “I'm just going to sit here and refuse to move, regardless of whether someone else needs this seat for next period or I get detention for ditching gym. It'll all be on you.”

“I'm not avoiding you . . .”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, I am,” she said, slinging her backpack onto her shoulder. “Can we talk while I walk to biology? Unlike you, I can't ditch.”

He stood up and looked at her in the way that made her want to ditch the whole rest of the school day. “I like your sparrow sweater,” he said.

“Thanks. Sparrows are good or bad luck, depending on what you believe.”

“What do you believe?”

“That we shouldn't be talking.”

He grabbed her hand and led her to the back doors, pushing them open.

“Cole, I can't be late,” she warned.

“Then go back in.”

They stood alone outside. Cole crossed his arms and waited for her to speak.

“Emmett said I can't see you anymore.”

“So?”

“So, that's a rule I can't break. I don't get a slap of the hand by Mommy . . . I get sent back to L.A.”

He shook his head. “I get that my mom made a small misunderstanding into a huge situation, but it's not like she or Emmett is going to come pry us apart at school.”

“And when will we see each other? You eat lunch with your same crowd, and Rye and I have ours, not that you've
ever tried to sit with us. We can see each other in English class,” she said, wishing she hadn't said any of it.

The bell rang. Ana closed her eyes and shook her head.

“I'm sorry I made you late,” he said, moving closer to her. “And since we're late for real, why don't we just stay late?”

“Look, until you're ready to tell me what's going on with you and Rye and what's up with your mom and the Garbers, I'm unavailable.” She turned and headed back inside.

“Bad luck then, I guess,” he said.

 • • • 

“B
asics, ladies and gentlemen,” Mrs. Darnell said, projecting to the class, “are often the trickiest to get right.”

“Not unless you're already a boring basic,” Rye whispered to Ana, who tried not to laugh.

“Part of my goal in this class is to free up your imaginations by first instilling the basic techniques. Once you have them down, you'll have more tools to choose from when we're doing free creation pieces. Today's assignment is simple: draw these objects exactly as you see them. You have thirty minutes starting now.”

Ana began sketching with her pencil, drawing and shading quickly, seeing the objects in her memory. Rye looked back and forth at the objects repeatedly, sighing every time her pencil hit the paper.

“He waited for you, huh?” she said.

“Who?”

“Stop being so coy polloi,” Rye said, erasing the bottom half of her sketch. “I know you two like each other.”

Ana didn't say anything.

“You may avoid each other like the plague within the
confines of school, but don't pretend you don't make googly eyes at each other in class. And don't tell me it's a coincidence that he suddenly decided to sit in the bleachers near our lunch table either. You guys aren't fooling anyone.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I'm not talking about this unless you give me some information,” Ana said, employing the same technique she used with Cole. “Why do you two have a problem with each other?”

“Because aside from his nihilistic tendencies and love of pyrotechnics, he's a monumental ass. Let's not even get into his motocross obsession, which is as cliché as it effing gets in these parts.”

“So what, maybe you're not into the same things. I don't think he's a terrible person.” Ana didn't know why she felt the need to defend him. “You're always going on about how you wish people saw you differently. Maybe he feels the same.”

“You don't know him as well as I do.”

“How well do you two know each other?” Something about the thought of Rye and Cole knowing each other well made Ana nauseated all of a sudden.

“He was my sort of best friend before you.”

“What?”

“Yeah. We hung out all the time, but not at school. We're into the same stuff, so we'd listen to music or chill by the beach sometimes. Then he went and told everyone I was quote unquote ‘not into dudes' and everything changed. He was drunk at this bonfire party at his house, which isn't an excuse if you're truly someone's friend and they asked you to keep it a secret. Anyway, he told someone who told
someone else and so on and so forth and now I'm a freaking piranha in this school.”

“Pariah?”

“That's what I meant. But both work.”

“Did he apologize?”

“Sort of—it was the end of the year, and then he went away. But let me tell ya, no one's forgotten. Jim Tilsen called me ‘psych-dyke' in the hall the other day, and Kelsey Weaver has made more than a few comments in the girls' locker room.”

“Time, class,” Mrs. Darnell said, making her rounds.

“Rye Moon, I'm starting with you.”

Rye handed Mrs. Darnell her simple line drawing of each of the three shapes.

“What is this?”

“It's minimalism, which is how I see them.”

“Where is the shading? The shadows? You would do well to spend more time concentrating and less time talking. I'd like this done again. You can come in tomorrow at lunch. Your turn, Ms. Cortez.”

Ana handed her a drawing of the objects as if they were floating on water, their reflections altered by ripples underneath.

“This is an interesting concept, but the exercise was to draw the objects in an exact manner to the best of your abilities. The objects are what they are; they don't exist on another plane or in another dimension.”

“But I thought it was so much more interesting this way . . .”

“Know the rules before you break them,” Mrs. Darnell said, handing the sketch back. “You will join Ms. Moon tomorrow for lunch and there will be no talking.”

“Oops,” Rye said when Mrs. Darnell walked away. “Guess we're officially jailbirds.”

“Double bad luck,” Ana said.

 • • • 

T
he Bracken was empty when Ana walked in. It was still early days for the restaurant, and though they were starting to have repeat customers for breakfast and lunch, the afternoon hours were slower, the café's imported espresso machine sitting quietly. Ana loved the feel of the place, the exposed brick and dark back wall, the found artwork and roughed-up bistro tables. She wasn't one for taxidermy, but Will insisted on keeping the deer head left by the previous restaurant, and Ana appreciated that he'd taken her advice and strung dried flowers through the antlers.

“Hey, there,” Will said through the window to the kitchen. “I just let the boys have a break, so I'll be right out. What'll you have? Cappuccino? Snack?”

“Sure, what are you making?”

“Welsh rarebit.”

“Not really a fan of rabbit.”

He laughed. “You'll like this.”

Ana sat down on one of the bar stools at the counter and fished her sketchbook out of her backpack. She flipped through her work—the new label she'd made for Abbie featured a silhouette of Vic, for a batch of spicy pickled carrots, and the other was an unfinished drawing of the creek back in the forest behind Garber Farm. Will switched the stereo on. The sound of screaming guitars filled the empty café. He sang along in the back, something about kick-starting his heart.

“You're the only customer who won't mind if I put this
on,” Will said, sliding a plate over to her. “Heavy metal and cooking are loves too passionate for some people.”

“What is this?” she asked.

“Welsh rarebit, better known as bubbling cheese on toast.”

“You sure there's no rabbit in here?”

“Positive.”

Ana took a bite as Will made the cappuccino. “Unexpected and so good,” she said, still chewing. “Taking something basic and flipping it.”

“It's how I approach my cooking, but this is a traditional recipe. I had to learn all the classics before I could rearrange them.”

“I got in trouble for not doing that mere hours ago, even though my drawing was bomb.”

“Bomb?”

“Explosively good. I'm not good at much else, so I might as well be proud of what I am. Still, my teacher is hardcore. I'm relatively sure she hates my work.”

“You don't think you're hardcore? It's like you don't even see yourself sitting there in your wild hair and vintage leathers intimidating as all hell to probably every boy in school. Listen,” he said, setting the cappuccino on the counter before dusting it with cocoa. “I was a little older than you when I started cooking, and it was cutthroat. Why do you think I have this tattoo?” He pointed to the butcher knife inked on the inside of his forearm. “I earned this,” he said, “because I fought the worst parts of myself to get to someplace better on the other side. I had guys breathing down my neck, lived in the worst parts of town, no money, never slept; it was brutal. But look at this place. Think it was worth it?”

Ana nodded as she chewed.

“Believe in your work and listen to the people who know better than you do.”

“And what am I supposed to do when I'm on my own?”

“Follow your instincts and kick some ass. You've got plenty of time, kid. Until then, listen to Abbie.”

“But I've got only a few more months—”

The door of the café opened and shut. Will leaned back from the counter, his entire face and body erupting into a grin. “Speak of the devil,” he said as Abbie walked in, taking off what Ana noticed were new sunglasses and sitting next to her at the counter.

“What did I miss?” she said, grinning back at Will.

“We're eating rabbit and listening to metal,” he said with a wink. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just making a quick pit stop on the way home. Take your time, Ana,” she said, heading for the restrooms across the café.

Ana took a gulp of her cappuccino.

“Wanna know a secret?” Will asked temptingly.

“Always.”

“You know who else got me through those dark moments back in the day?”

“Who?”

He pointed toward the restrooms.

“But I thought you two only met this summer?”

“Oh, I met Abbie way before that, not that she knew I existed. I talked to her every night before bed. Just looking at her on my wall gave me something to fight for. She was my first crush, but don't tell her I said that.”

“Ready?” Abbie said, emerging from the back, pulling her jacket over jeans and a T-shirt that Ana also noticed
were tighter and lower cut than she normally wore them. “We've got to run, but we'll see you next week.”

“Or sooner,” Will said.

Ana couldn't figure out what he was talking about. She reached for the envelope of cash in her backpack.