Flat-Out Love (2 page)

“No problem. Sorry it’s so hot. The AC doesn’t work in this car, and no one’s bothered to get it fixed. It’s not a long drive, though.” Matt turned the key to start the car, and a blast of sputtering noises had Julie fearing a longer stay on this now-hated street. “Don’t worry. It always does this when I try to start it so soon after turning it off. Just a little more gas…There we go!”

Julie glimpsed herself in the passenger-side mirror. She looked undeniably haggard. And sweaty. And not sweaty in a way that could be construed as
glistening
. She ran a finger under each eye, wiping away the brown eyeliner that had started to smear, and quickly tried to smooth out her bangs, which were beginning to curl. Her highlighted brown hair was not faring well in this humidity. She wasn’t about to whip out a compact and pat powder over the dusting of freckles that ran across her nose, but she would have preferred to make a better first impression when she showed up to crash at the Watkinses’.

Matt yanked the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a speeding car that cut him off. “Welcome to Boston, known primarily for its vehicular aggression.”

“I’m loving it already. Between being ripped off, now broke, without permanent housing, and about to start college, I’m really off to a good start here, huh?” Julie smiled weakly, leaned her head against the window frame, and took in the breeze.

“It could be worse. You could be living at home, like I do. And you
will
love Boston. Any major city has its drawbacks, but Boston is a great place to go to school, so once you get everything straightened out, you will be fine. You’re starting at Whitney?”

“Yeah. It’s not exactly MIT, though,” she said with a teasing smile. “I’m sure Literature 101 can’t compete with, what? Adoration of Differential Equations?”

Matt laughed. “Close. That was last year. This year it’s Obsessive Devotion to Fourier Analysis Theory and Applications. And my personal favorite, Quantum Physics II: Romantic Entanglements of Energy and Matter.”

Julie turned her head to Matt. “You’re a double major? Physics
and
math? Jesus…”

“I know. Nerdy.” He shrugged.

“No, I’m impressed. I’m just surprised your brains fit in your head.”

“I was fitted with a specially designed compression filter that allows excessive information to lie dormant until I need to access it. It’s only the beta version, so excuse any kinks that may appear. I really can’t be held responsible.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Julie nodded seriously. “I don’t know what I’ll major in. Maybe psychology? Or English? Not sure. So, are we still in Jamaica Plain?”

“Nope. Now we’re in Cambridge. And that,” he started, as they turned a corner and went over a bridge, “is the Charles River. This is Memorial Drive, and Harvard Square is right there. We can cut through if you want to see.” Julie nodded eagerly. “There’s a T stop right here, and it’s only a few minutes’ walk from my parents’ house.”

For the first time since the plane had landed, Julie felt excited to be there. The river was gorgeous and dotted with people canoeing and kayaking, their bright vests smattering the water with color. They drove past archways and iron gates, crowded sidewalks, cobbled pathways between buildings, and plenty of shops and restaurants. She liked the busy atmosphere.

“How far is Whitney? Maybe I could find an apartment around here?”

“Not far on the T. Whitney is in Back Bay, which is Boston, not Cambridge, so you’d get off at Hynes. It’s right near Berklee College of Music.”

“Nice. So if I get hit by an impulse to belt out some Lady Gaga, I’ll be able to find some backup singers without any trouble.” Julie frowned at Matt’s blank look. “Lady Gaga? Atrocious headpieces? Shoulder pads galore? Took the music world by storm a few years ago? Skintight outfights with feathers and leather and buckles, oh my? Nothin’?”

“You lost me,” he said. “Well, here we are.” Matt pulled the car into the driveway of a large blue-gray house with white trim and black shutters. This side street was lusciously green with trees and flowing gardens, each gorgeous old house nestled behind a fence or an evergreen hedge. It was hard to believe that they were just off a main road, so close to the bustle of Harvard Square. It didn’t take an MIT student to see that this was an extremely wealthy neighborhood.

“My mother should be home by now. I know she wanted to be here when you arrived. And my father and Celeste are probably on their way home. He had a meeting at her school.”

“Your sister?” Julie guessed.

Matt got out of the car. “Yup. She just turned thirteen. Hope you like takeout for dinner. Nobody here has cooked a real meal in years.”

“As long as it’s not burritos, I’ll be thrilled.”

Matt opened the trunk and then stopped. “Julie? I should probably…” His voice trailed off.

“Yeah?” She looked at Matt. “What is it? Is something wrong? I’m mortified. We’re having burritos, aren’t we?” He shook his head. “Oh. I knew it. Your parents are totally annoyed
that I’m getting pushed on them, right? Nobody wants some stranger staying in their house.”

“No. Not at all. It’s just that Celeste is…” He seemed to struggle to figure out how to say what he wanted. “Well, she’s an interesting kid.”

“I like interesting,” Julie said, pulling a suitcase from the trunk. “I like interesting a lot.”

Julie considered the possibility that she might have walked into a library rather than a residence. The front hall was lined with white shelves that were absolutely packed with books. And not paperback thrillers. This was obviously not a house of casual readers. A small room opened off to the right, where a piano took up most of the sunlit space. She followed Matt to the left, into the living room, and immediately loved the feeling evoked by the décor. Tribal masks and paintings covered the walls, and a globe and a large world map sat on two end tables that encased a comfortable-looking beige sectional.

Julie couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between this house and her own. She liked her mother’s affinity for country plaid, yellow walls, and yard sale findings, and the way the house was always orderly and clean. Simple but homey. But as she looked around this room, Julie had to admit that there was something terribly enticing about the cluttered mass of unique statues and bold patterned pillows, as well as the general aura of academia.

“Matt? Is that you? Did you find her?” A voice rang out from another room and was followed by the sound of quick footsteps. Julie looked up at the relieved face of the woman
who entered the room. “Julie Seagle! Are you the spitting image of your mother or what? I’m Erin Watkins. Welcome. Thank goodness your mother was able to reach me.” She crossed the floor and shook Julie’s hand.

“Thank you so much for helping me out. It’s really nice of you to let me stay here tonight. I’m going to look for an apartment first thing in the morning.”

Erin was nearly as tall as Matt, and Julie could feel the bones in Erin’s cool hand. Good Lord, the woman was thin. Not unhealthy-looking, but certainly delicate.

Erin waved her hand and then brushed back a stray hair from her thick, tightly pinned bun. “I’d do anything for Kate, so you’re more than welcome to stay until you find a place. Speaking of your mother, you should let her know that you’re safe. Let me take you upstairs and show you your room, and then you can call her.”

“I’ll show her.” Matt walked briskly over to Julie’s bags.

“Nonsense. I know you have schoolwork to do. I’ll tell you when your father and Celeste get home with dinner. Julie, follow me.” Erin moved smoothly through the living room and picked up one of Julie’s suitcases. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. I know you were expecting to move into your apartment today, but at least you’re not at a hotel.”

“Mom, I really need to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes, Matt. Relax,” Erin said.

Julie grabbed her other bags and trailed after Erin, while Matt stood seemingly frozen in place. She turned her head back. “Thanks again for picking me up.”

Matt nodded and rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “Sure thing.”

Matt seemed nice enough. He was easy to talk to, if not terribly easy on the eyes, and he was certainly smart and had
a sense of humor. He was a bit quirky, she supposed, but Julie guessed that she could be pretty good at handling quirky—she enjoyed a challenge. Besides, she liked that he was different from the boring crew of classmates whom she’d left behind in Ohio.

Julie made her way up the airy staircase to the second floor. The landing was a roomy open square with four doors that presumably led to bedrooms, and a short hallway off to one side. More bright-white walls and expensive-looking artwork.

“You’re right here,” Erin said as she pushed open a door with her shoulder. The bedroom had a definite masculine feel to it, with dark bedding and wooden shelves and a few books, pictures, stereo equipment, and DVDs. A small flat-screen TV hung across from the bed, and an empty spot on the desk had just enough room for a laptop.

“Make yourself comfortable. The bathroom is right down the hall. I’ll put some fresh towels out for you, and…Oh, this must be Roger calling.” Erin turned her head toward a phone ringing from another room. “Do you like Thai?”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

“Take your time getting settled. There are empty drawers if you want to unpack,” Erin said, backing out of the room to take the call.

Julie sat down on the bed and scanned the room. Yup, this had
boy
written all over it. Not that she minded. She liked boys, after all. But she was looking forward to making a run to Target and picking out her own girlie room accessories with some of the money she had left over from the summer. Thank God she’d won that essay contest the school district had run, or she would have had to use all her savings on a computer. It’d taken her weeks to write her piece on the United States’ responses to natural disasters, but it was not a bad trade for a new Mac laptop.
It was a good thing that her friends didn’t follow high school news—unless it had to do with sports, dances, or a battle of the bands—because she would have been teased mercilessly for having participated in such a socially warped endeavor.

The truth was that her friends didn’t entirely
get
her. Her mom didn’t
get
her either, although she was certainly proud of how well Julie did in her classes. In fact, her mom had kept secret the fact that Julie had stayed after school to do extra-credit work for her English class. Her friends would have snorted with laughter. And while Julie had been happy to sacrifice time after school to hear her teacher’s thoughts on Graham Greene, she hadn’t been willing to try to explain to her less academic friends why she had done so. They just didn’t care about school the way she did and half the time didn’t seem to understand what she was talking about. Jared, her ex, would have rolled his eyes at the notion of volunteering to spend more time studying.

Speaking of Jared, Julie wondered what he was doing right now. Probably sporting a toga and doing keg stands at the miserable state university he was attending. She hoped he was lost in a crowd of dumb jocks and getting rejected by every busty, tank-top-wearing, fake-tanned airhead he hit on. Arizona could have him. And yet Julie couldn’t resist seeing if he’d commented on her Facebook status.

She set her laptop on the desk and turned it on. Yes, she had her fancy phone; she just wasn’t a big fan of typing on the miniature keyboard if she didn’t have to. She liked capital letters and some semblance of punctuation, and the margin for error on the handheld device was too great. Julie was a traditional typist.

She realized that she needed a password to access the Watkinses’ network. Great. She’d intruded on their house and now needed to ask for this. Internet access came before pride. Julie caught Erin as she was getting off the phone.

“Mrs. Watkins? I hate to bother you, but I was wondering if I could get the password to go online?”

“Call me Erin. Please. And of course you can. Let me get it from Matthew. He generated a random, meaningless code so that none of the neighbors would be able to pilfer our service. He is our own private security expert. Hold on.” Erin disappeared for a moment and returned holding a scrap of paper.

“Thank you.” Julie took the paper and looked at the fifteen-digit password. Paranoid much? No one could remember this. Except, it seems, Matthew.

“I’ll let you know when dinner is here.” Erin shut the door.

Julie opened her Facebook profile page and frowned. Already eight comments under her status from concerned friends who actually gave a damn about her (“What happened????” “What R U going to do?” “Ack! Call me!”), but nothing from Jared.

Jared had up and announced that they shouldn’t even attempt to maintain a long-distance relationship, and so he was preemptively breaking up with her. Not that it really mattered. He wasn’t the guy for her, and Julie should have dumped him herself months ago. It was her own fault for letting that mundane relationship go on too long. Granted, she shouldn’t have expected any polite concern from her ex, but a friendly check-in wouldn’t have hurt. It would be nice if they could at least be civil to each other, but perhaps Julie was too angry at herself to allow that to happen even if Jared made an attempt.

Now she was out of small-town Ohio, out of that below-average high school, and out of a social circle dominated by girls blindly cheering on their sports-playing boyfriends.

Boston could be different. It
would
be different. She could be who she was without worrying about dumbing down her vocabulary or hiding her interest in school.

Julie took a last peek at Jared and his new college wrestling buddies, silently wished him well (or mostly well), and promptly removed him from her list of friends. Her new status update?

Julie Seagle
Have survived streets of Boston with no permanent injury (save for crushing ego blow regarding stupidity of renting unseen room via nefarious internet site) and am currently in safe haven
.

Julie leaned back in the desk chair. She hesitated for a moment, then checked the Gmail account that she’d set up. Her father was the only person who had that e-mail address, and her inbox was empty. He’d write when he had time. She closed the laptop.