Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1) (3 page)

I finally overcame my reservations and sat down, my arms crossed. But I hadn’t completely lost my mind, so I did leave a little space between us.

“Attagirl,” he said. “And it
was
funny.”

I groaned loudly. Yes, dammit, it was semifunny. I was just irritated that I had been stupid enough to fall for it.

“Maybe a little,” I conceded.

A wide smile formed on his face, and he repositioned himself to face me.

Oh no.
If there was one thing I hated, it was being forced into small talk. Especially with him. As I watched the TV, I could see from the corner of my eye that he was watching me. It was extremely unpleasant, for reasons I couldn’t explain.

“What’s the movie about?” I asked quickly, before he could pick a topic.

“No idea,” he said. “The second I sat down to watch it, the doorbell rang.”

“Bad luck, huh?” I said, continuing to stare at the screen.

My strategy of watching the screen worked splendidly for several minutes, but that changed abruptly when I felt his arm land behind me on the back of the couch. He wasn’t actually touching me, but I still found his behavior confusing.

The longer I brooded about it, the pushier I found it. That’s why I casually leaned back, feigning relaxation, to see if he would really try anything. Wouldn’t you know, I had hardly uncrossed my arms when he nonchalantly slid closer to me.

Un-freaking-believable! He
was
coming on to me!

“You know, you’re really pretty, Emely,” he breathed.

He can’t be serious.
I was going to have to pull myself together to keep from bursting out laughing. I had thought even Elyas would have more style than this.

OK,
I thought.
Let’s play along.
“You think so?” I whispered back, turning my head toward him. I gazed into his eyes.

“Very much so,” he whispered, placing his hand on my thigh.

I looked down at my lap. Well,
that
was going a bit far for me. Elyas bent forward, moving his face toward mine. I slowly moved my face toward his, too, but evaded his mouth so I could whisper softly in his ear.

“Elyas.”

“Mmm,” he said.

“You play piano and you’re studying medicine, right?” I took a breath, taking great pains to sound passably sensual.

“Mmm,” he said again, sliding his hand farther up my thigh.

“That means your fingers are really important to you, right?”

“Huh?” His voice now sounded irritated.

“Then, if you don’t want me to break any of them, I would move that hand if I were you.”

Elyas pulled back and stared wide-eyed at me. Finally he exhaled. “I should have known that was too easy.” He sounded embarrassed.

I glared at him, but he didn’t seem to care. He just smiled seductively at me, raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

“Elyas!” I hissed.

“What?”

I glared.
Your hand is still on my thigh.

“Oh,” he said, grinning, and removed his hand. I hoped he choked to death on his smug smile.

“God, you must really think you’re totally irresistible. You tell me I’m pretty, and then you assume I’ll just fall head-over-heels in love with you, just like that?” I stared at him. “That is so pathetic, Elyas. Even for you!”

“Who said anything about falling in love?” he asked. “A little fun would be plenty.”

I snorted instead of laying out for him what I thought of his innuendo. “Elyas, even if you were the last guy on earth—you can just forget it.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Might I remind your majesty that you and I have kissed before? How was that different?”

“So you do still remember
that
, if not my name.” It was still weird he hadn’t recognized me when we first saw each other again.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, unfazed and ignoring my comment.

“Well, if you are in such desperate need of an answer,” I said. “First, I was young and dumb. Second, I deeply regret it, and third, that was years and years ago and doesn’t count anymore.” I noticed he continued to smile even when his eyes briefly turned icy—a change that unnerved me until the ice thawed.

“You think I believe one word of that?” He scoffed. “You’re just putting on a show. Believe me, I know a few girls like you.”

“You know ‘a few girls like me’? Now I’m curious. Please, let’s hear your flood of undoubtedly helpful insight.” I looked at him and waited for a response.

“I’d love to,” he said, pulling himself together before allowing me a peek inside his mind.

“You are neither as innocent nor as self-confident as you act. You may be quick-witted, but ultimately, deep down inside, you’re just a helpless little girl. You’re one of those girls who pretend to be intellectual and well-read, but all you really want to hear is how pretty you are.

“Plus,” he continued, “your idea of being ‘well-read’ is limited to Harry Potter books, volumes one through twenty-seven or whatever.” He paused for a second to smile. “Deep in your heart all you want is someone to tell you what you want to hear. Someone who will build up the self-confidence you lack and who you can brag about to your girlfriends.”

I was flabbergasted. His mindless blabber skills were
way
better than I expected.

“Wow, Elyas,” I said with a smile but even more loathing than before. “Thank you so very much for that informative analysis of my psychological makeup. Would you like to hear my opinion of you, then?”

“I can’t wait.”

“Well,” I said, making the arrogant sigh that he had made. “You’re a jerk with a terrible understanding of human nature.”

He raised one eyebrow but his smile didn’t waver. I didn’t expect any of his thinking processes to occur outside his pants, so I remained skeptical that even one syllable of what I’d hurled at him would register. Sure enough, he didn’t say anything.

I had never felt so relieved to hear the sound of a door opening as I was at that moment. Alex walked into the room, holding a shopping bag. She looked dumbfounded to find me sitting next to Elyas. “You’re here already,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “And unless you want to be an only child, we’d probably better head to your room now.” I didn’t give Elyas another look.

C
HAPTER
3

W
HO THE
H
ELL
I
S
L
UCA
?

C
haos reigned over my desk. Books, yellow sticky notes, crumpled paper, and various cables and cords were scattered all over the top. The mess was slowly growing from stacks into small towers. The only free space was right in the middle, a narrow strip I had cleared for my laptop, using the bulldozer technique. I was sitting on my old desk chair in front of this canyon, my fingers on the keyboard.

The chaos on my desk was nothing, however, compared with the disturbance on my bed. That was five feet tall, lying stomach-down with its feet dangling over the edge of the mattress, distracting me from my critical analysis of a text, due on Monday.

“You know, Emely,” Alex said, “I love my brother more than anything, but I’ve got to admit, he really can be a jerk sometimes.”

I sighed. It wasn’t the easiest thing, concentrating on two things at once, so I was listening to my best friend with only one ear—much to her chagrin.

“It’s not that he
can
be; it’s that he
is
,” I said, correcting her without looking up from my computer.

“I have no idea why he acts that way. He’s not like that at all, at least not always. When he’s with me, he’s different. In fact, whether you believe it or not, he can be really sweet sometimes.”

I decided not to believe it, because that was the only realistic alternative for me. Besides, Alex might have accidentally eaten some toxic mushrooms today and could be
hallucinating. You never knew.

“He probably just wants to make a good impression on your family,” I said. This topic didn’t interest me at all. Now, where was I? Oh yeah.
In this novel, the author is trying to expres
s . . .
I brooded over what I wanted to say and finally decided the author could have expressed himself less like an idiot.

“Maybe you two just need to get to know each other a little better,” Alex suggested—since she was crazy.

“Oh, sure,” I said. “That’s
totally
realistic. And while I’m at it, I think I’ll start an online petition for Xavier Naidoo to sing some duets with Nena.” I made a disgusted face. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was Xavier Naidoo, much less Xavier Naidoo singing a duet with Nena. It was bad enough seeing them as coaches on
The Voice of Germany.
Just the idea—I shuddered. At least the thought distracted Alex, so I could focus on something more important again. Just as I came up with a brilliant way to express the next point in my paper, Alex started talking again.

“Blah blah blah,” she said—or at least, that’s what I heard. I was way too busy trying to type my amazing insight before it was lost. “Mmm,” I mumbled as though I were listening.

“Blah blah blah, blah blah blah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Blah blah blah blah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Blah blah?” she suddenly asked much more loudly, which made it dramatically harder to tune her out.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course,” I said, returning my full attention to my laptop.

“No you’re not!”

I rolled my eyes. It would have been easier to work with a jackhammer in the room than Alex.

“Do you remember our agreement?” I asked her. “If you came over, you would sit on the bed and be quiet!”

“Yea
h . . .
sorr
y . . .
,” Alex mumbled.

“Thank you!” I replied, trying to focus on my work yet again. Not for long, since Alex only managed to keep her trap shut for three minutes, to the second. I moaned to myself and fantasized about throwing her out the window. Yes, she was my best friend, but that didn’t mean I didn’t think of murdering her from time to time.

“But it’s good, you know? It’s not the worst thing if he keeps banging his head against the wall.”

“Uh-huh,” I said without fully digesting what she was saying. That abruptly changed with her next sentence.

“He’s banging his head against the wall with you, right?”

“What kind of a question is that, Alex?” I snarled.

“OK, OK. I just wanted to make sure,” she said, surprised at my vehement reaction. At the same time, she seemed glad I was now paying attention to her again, and she promptly leveraged this to explain herself. “I was just thinking—I mean, I get it. If he weren’t my brother, I’m sure I would have dug my claws into him long ago.” She grinned.

“He’s all yours,” I said. “I’m sure the two of you would have beautiful, if genetically defective, children. But believe me when I say that you don’t need to worry about me in the least!” I stopped talking, took a deep breath, and tried to get back to my paper.

It wasn’t long before I was interrupted by the next “blah blah blah.” When Alex started giggling, I finally looked up.

“What?”

Had I missed something?

“Nothing, nothing,” she said with a grin, which was further evidence I had missed something. I tried but failed to reconstruct what she had said. It had been something with the phrase “purely theoretical,” and I got the creeping suspicion it was just as well I hadn’t heard. I rubbed my temples and tried to calm down before I yelled at her.

“Since you are evidently not able to keep your mouth shut, would it be asking too much to at least change the subject? Having to even lay eyes on your brother, however occasionally, is already asking a lot; I don’t need to be talking about him in my ‘free time’ as well.”

God, why did Alex have to move in with him, anyway? There were thousands upon thousands of apartments in Berlin. Even if she couldn’t find one, the city was full of bridges she could have lived under.

She was lucky I was so good-natured, because rubbing my nose in the existence of her brother was grounds for ending our friendship.

“All right,” she said, relenting. I didn’t get two more breaths in before I saw the familiar glint in her eyes, the one that always indicated bad news for me.

“So, that cute friend of Elyas’s was over again yesterday.” She bit her lower lip, and a swirl of awful premonitions filled my head.

“Alex,” I groaned. “Please don’t tell me you fell for him.”

Alex’s relationships had all been major disasters, each ending in some terrible drama. She fell in love much too fast, usually with random, sketchy guys anyone else would have steered clear of. But Alex’s big blue eyes turned starry the second it game to guys.

“No, I don’t know him at all,” she quickly said. “I just think he’s cute.”

“They’ve all been cute, but maybe you should start taking a closer look at personality?” That was actually a serious suggestion, not a question.

“I do, and this one’s personality is cute, too. Believe me, Emely. I’ve learned from my mistakes. This one seems different.”

I groaned again and made a face. I’d heard that line more than once. Every time she met someone, to be exact.

“You always say that,” I whined, preparing myself for the impending drama. This was so typical of Alex: she had barely been in town for three weeks, and her being-single-sucks antenna had already located a potential victim.

“Yeah, I know,” she mumbled. “But this time it’s true.”

“Well there’s a convincing argument,” I said. “So have you given any thought to the fact he’s a friend of Elyas’s? Birds of a feather.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Alex, I don’t mean it like that,” I said. “Just do me a favor and don’t rush into anything again. Be a little more careful, OK?” I gave her a penetrating look and could only hope she would take my advice to heart.

“Yes, yes,” she sighed in irritation. “But nothing’s anywhere near official yet. You’re making too much of it. I just said I think he’s cute, nothing more. And that he’s different, which is true. When you meet him—which we definitely have to arrange—you’ll see what I mean.”

Would I? Dewy-eyed Alex seemed unshakable in her conviction, in any case. But I was still skeptical, given her track record. Unfortunately, once Alex got something into her head, it was hard to derail her plans, so I resigned myself to it, for now. Suddenly a soft “pling” from my laptop drew me out of my thoughts. I had a new e-mail, which turned out to be from a sender I didn’t know.

Hi Emely,

I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, but unfortunately I can’t muster the courage to speak to you in person. Which is why I came up with the idea—a pathetic one, I admit—of sending you an e-mail.

I just wanted to tell you that I’d like to get to know you.

You probably get hundreds of e-mails like this every day, or worse yet, you think I’m crazy. Still, I’m hoping you’ll reply.

Yours,

      Luca

After reading each line, my forehead crumpled into tighter and tighter wrinkles, and by the end, my face must have looked as though I were ninety years old. What the hell was this? Who the hell was Luca?

I scrolled up and saw that the message had been sent to my university e-mail address. All freshmen automatically got an e-mail address, which was then listed in the public directory, so it was easy to look up any student. That didn’t narrow things down at all, unfortunately. To the contrary: it could be anyone at the school. There was no last name. It just said it was from “Luca,” and the account was Gmail. It could be anyone.

The whole thing was more than a little mysterious.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Alex grumbled, shaking me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I said and blinked. “I just got a weird e-mail. What was your question?”

“A weird e-mail?”

“Yeah, from someone named Luca who apparently wants to get to know me.” I shrugged. “It’s probably just someone trying to make fun of me.”

Alex’s interest was piqued. She quickly got off the bed and stood behind me to read the e-mail herself. I took the opportunity to read through it again, but I still didn’t know what to think.

“Oh my God, that is totally cute!” Alex squealed, and I furrowed my brow.

“Please don’t go all hysterical on me,” I said.

“How will you reply?” she asked, clapping.

“You think I should
reply
?”

“God, Emely.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you should reply!”

“Hello?” I said, looking at her in exasperation. “Who knows what kind of psycho that is! I don’t know anyone named Luca. He could be some skinny computer nerd with horn-rimmed glasses and greasy hair. Or maybe a serial killer!” I was starting to get all worked up. “Think about it, Alex. What kind of person decides to write a random e-mail like that? We’re not thirteen years old anymore, passing notes back and forth in class—Oh my God,” I shouted. “He probably
is
thirteen! He didn’t mention his age anywhere!”

Alex giggled. A new theory popped into my head. “And what exactly does that mean: ‘I’ve had my eye on you for a while’? Is he stalking me? He’s probably got a telescope for all I know!” In a minor fit of paranoia, I rushed over to the window and hectically scanned outside looking for light that could be reflecting off a telescope lens.

“Now don’t go all nuts on me,” Alex said, laughing and patting me on the shoulder. “You always assume the worst. The e-mail doesn’t read like it’s from a serial killer.”

“Ha!” I replied. “The worst serial killers are the ones who don’t
seem
like sociopaths.”

“Yes, and you’re a weirdly pessimistic person. What if this guy is the absolute man of your dreams, huh? Luca doesn’t sound like a computer nerd’s name. More like a sexy jock or something.”

“Sexy jock?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Why would a
sexy
jock not be able to muster the courage to speak to me?” I crossed my arms over my chest, daring her to explain.

She thought for a moment. “Because he’s sh
y . . .
?” Her voice got higher and higher until it faded into nothingness.

“So much for that theory,” I said, crossing the sexy-jock option off my list.

“That’s exactly what you could ask him when you reply,” she said. Alex was never stymied for long.

I sighed. The mere thought of replying to that message sent an unpleasant shiver through my gut.

“We’ll see,” I finally said. I would have to think about it when I had time to myself, which wouldn’t be until Alex left, but I didn’t want her to go yet. “Do you want to grab a bite in the cafeteria?”

“That’s a great idea,” she said nodding, so I shut my laptop and we walked down to the cafeteria.

Alex got a salad that she said didn’t taste good, so she nibbled away at my four-cheese spaghetti.

Even though I was an only child, Alex had taught me long ago how to share—unfortunately I was usually the one doing the sharing when it came to food. Jamming my fork into her hand as it crept over would have been overkill. But, hey. You’ve got to look out for number one.

As we ate, Alex couldn’t talk about anything besides my ominous e-mailer, and I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder—just to be safe, of course. Alex displayed a level of optimism I definitely couldn’t share. She kept trying to convince me to respond.

“What do you have to lose?” she asked.
My last bit of pride
, I thought, but kept that comment to myself.

The subject didn’t change until we reached the bus stop.

“You want to hang out tonight?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got a shift at the bar later,”

“Lame!” she mumbled. “Fine. Text me if the bar’s dead and I’ll come by and keep you company.”

“OK, good idea. Then you could finally meet Nicolas. We’re working the same shift tonight.”

“You mean Nicolas ‘Jam-it-past-Eva’s-uvula’ Nicolas?” She grinned.

“That’s the one,” I said with a laugh that quickly subsided as I recalled the scene. Bleagh!

My disgust didn’t last long, because a sudden noise distracted me from the images in my head. It was the sound of a car engine approaching. Deep. Loud. Roaring. Dirty. Unmistakable. I got goose bumps and stood there thunderstruck. I turned my head slowly and realized my ears had not been mistaken: a Mustang. They’re rare enough in Germany, but this was no ordinary Mustang. This was a 1960s Shelby GT. Black as night, with two fat white stripes starting at the front of the long hood, skipping the windshield, continuing over the roof and down the back. Seeing a car like that on the street in Berlin bordered on the miraculous. I couldn’t believe it.
That
was my car.