In Real Life (5 page)

“You can ask me anything. You know that.”

“I know, but I mean
personal
personal. Like, stuff we don't usually talk about.”

“Oh.” He coughed. One of those forced coughs you do when you need to fill an empty space. “Hold on.” I heard the creak of the door closing and then the squeak of him sitting on his bed. “All right. What do you want to ask?”

“This might be weird. I know we don't usually talk about this stuff. But, are you … I mean, have you…”

“No,” he answered before I could finish. “I haven't.”

“Not even with Christine?” His last girlfriend. They'd been pretty serious. I thought they had been, anyway. But he didn't tell me anything about her until after they broke up. “Why not?” Even though he swore he was awkward, Nick was a good-looking guy who seemed to have lots of girls after him. I couldn't imagine a guy like him at my school still being a virgin. Even the dorks at my school were getting laid.

“I don't know. I don't let a lot of people in, Ghost. And with her, it … it wasn't right.” His voice was so quiet, like it wasn't even on the other end of my phone, but just a thought in my head.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” I let out a long sigh. “I almost … um, you know, with Josh right now. We'd been talking about it for weeks. And I thought it was the time and he was the guy and I thought I was ready to go. But there we were—” I stopped before I gave too many details. I didn't want to paint a vivid picture for him or anything. “—̛there we were, and instead of feeling sexy, I felt like I was going to throw up.”

Nick laughed.

“Don't laugh at me.”

“I'm not laughing at
you.
It's like your eighth-grade boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Remember? When we first started talking? What was his name? Jeremy Martinez. You said he was trying to kiss you or something and it made you feel sick. You called your mom and had her pick you up from school.”

“You remember that?” I was shocked. I hardly remembered that.

“I remember everything you've ever told me, Ghost.” His voice was serious, and I think the tone took us both by surprise, so he laughed, probably to ease the tension just a bit. “I'm like an elephant. And anyway, I'm—I get it.”

“You do?”

“I've felt like that, too. Like it's getting all hot and heavy—”

“You did not just say ‘hot and heavy'—”

“And I know I'm supposed to be all into it, and I am, but I'm also … I don't know, not. Like I'm somewhere else.”

“Yes!” I couldn't believe he'd felt the same way. It made me feel so much less alone to hear that.

“I've asked some of my friends about it, and Alex.”

“What did they say?” I stopped, sat on the curb, and leaned my head against a streetlight post.

“That it's not normal.”

“Oh.”

“So, I guess we're both freaks. According to Alex, anyway. But he thinks I'm a freak regardless.”

I drew circles on the leg of my jeans with my finger. “Do you think we were just nervous? Like, stage fright? Do you get like this when you go onstage with the band?”

He did that coughing thing again. “Uh, I don't get stage fright. But I do get a little nervous before presentations and stuff in school. This didn't feel the same.”

“Yeah. It never felt like normal nervous to me either.” Then without thinking, I said, “I wonder if it would be like that with—”

“With who?” He jumped in so quickly, cutting me off, and I was flooded with relief that I didn't have to finish my thought.

I stood and started walking again, like a change of location would change the subject. “Um. Someone else.”

I'd been about to say “
with you
.” I was wondering whether I would have the same nervous feeling with Nick, someone I've known so well for so long. But the two of us never, ever talked about things like that. Things like being real people to each other. We were ghosts. Ghosts didn't exist in real life. You couldn't touch a ghost.

But I took a second, only a second, to let the thought fill my head anyway: the same nervous fumble I'd just gone through with Josh, but with Nick instead. I was pretty sure Nick was taller than Josh, and slightly skinnier, if his photos told the truth. I let the scene flash through my mind, me fitting perfectly against Nick's chest. Nick's arms around me.

More than one second went by, I know. A few seconds, at least. I wasn't saying anything, because I got caught up in imagining and forgot Nick was on the phone and not here with me. I let myself think thoughts I had never thought before. I let myself think of Nick “that way,” which I'd promised I would never, ever do. I lost myself in it.

“Ghost.”

His voice on the phone snapped me out of my thoughts. I hadn't even realized I'd stopped walking and was standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. What had I done? Had I just fantasized about Nick? My cheeks burned, and I was so glad we weren't video chatting, because he totally would have caught me.

“Sorry.” I was so flustered. “I was…” Picturing myself alone with you. Wondering what your skin smells like. Imagining your arms around me.

“Where did you go just now?” His voice took on a softness I had never heard before, and I could tell he knew what I'd been thinking. I don't know how he knew it, but he did, and he sounded almost … hopeful? No. “Were you thinking about—?”

“Thinking about Josh,” I said quickly. I needed to change the subject. I couldn't let Nick know it had been him in my thoughts, that I'd let my mind wander to the off-limits territory of us, together.

Admitting that could ruin our friendship. And our friendship was one thing I wasn't willing to risk.

“Oh, got it,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I thought maybe … never mind.”

We spent the next hour, long after I'd made it home safely, talking about trivial things, my mind traveling far from Josh. But I couldn't get the image I'd conjured of Nick out of my brain. That was the first time I'd thought about him in that way.

But it wasn't the last.

 

CHAPTER

5

SATURDAY

I'd say I was jolted awake by the sound of a commotion in the bathroom, but the truth is, I don't know if I ever actually fell asleep. My mind spun in anxious circles all night, playing through scenario after scenario of how this trip to Vegas could end up being a trip to hell, each vision more ridiculous than the last. I mean, I know there won't be an avalanche as we drive through the high desert, pinning us in Grace's SUV and forcing us to figure out which one of us to eat for survival, but try telling my crazy mind that right now.

Then, every time I thought I might drift off, Lo—who'd come back with pizza and two bags of hoochie attire, then passed out early on my floor—started snoring so loudly, I think Nick could probably hear her in Vegas.

Maybe it's the commotion that wakes me up, or maybe I'm already half-awake, my mind halfway on the road to Vegas, but something about that loud thump and subsequent gurgling sound in the bathroom strikes fear in my heart, and I'm out of bed and on my feet immediately. Lo is still sawing logs on the floor, so that means the clamor in the bathroom must be Grace.

Oh no. Not again.

I run down the hall, hopping over Bruce Lee, and bang on the bathroom door.

“What's going on in there, Grace? Don't even tell me you went out last night and got wasted, because, I swear to God, I will run you over with the car if you did that to me again.”

But once I stop banging, I realize that the gurgling sound isn't puking—it's just the bathtub draining.

The door swings open. “Sorry,” Grace says. “I knocked the lotion into the trash can.” She stands there in the doorway with the hair dryer in one hand, a brush in the other, and her soaking wet hair, newly dyed red, falling over her shoulders.

She didn't bleach it first, so it's not like the color is a huge difference from her natural black. The red is more of a highlight. An enhancement. But there's something about the subtle change that makes her look like the Old Grace. The pre-breakup, pre-Gabe Grace.

And there is also a light in her eye. A crazy, looking-for-trouble, devil-on-my-shoulder glint. I haven't seen it in a long time.

“Go wake up Lo,” she says. “Let's get this party started.”

*   *   *

In less than two hours, the three of us are showered, packed, and loaded up in Grace's SUV. As we pull onto the freeway, I follow Grace's advice and send a preemptive e-mail to Mom and Dad, who are checking in daily via the pricey Internet café on their cruise ship. I let them know the three of us are spending a very boring day seeing as many movies as possible at the theater, and that I will check in later.

“Service may be spotty as we drive through the desert,” Grace says as she merges into traffic. “A good rule breaker always thinks of things that could go wrong and addresses them beforehand. Be proactive.”

“You need to use these powers for good and not evil,” Lo says, shoving Grace on the shoulder. She's one to talk.

E-mail sent, I lean back in my seat, absently rubbing my thumb over the clown penny as I watch the mass of cars on either side of us and go through our plan. The drive from Orange County to Las Vegas should take only about three-and-a-half to four hours, depending on how many stops we make and how NASCAR-like Grace drives, but this traffic is going to put us so behind schedule. I can't miss the show because of stupid OC traffic. I can't miss Nick.

Luckily, traffic eases up as soon as we get to the 15 freeway and head into the desert. But we're on the 15 for only a few miles before Grace drives the car across the lanes to an exit. “Pit stop,” she says.

I do a double take at the sign. “We're in Fontana. What could we possibly find in Fontana that we need in Vegas? It smells like a cow pooped out a diesel engine here.”

“Exactly.” Lo sounds downright sinister.

I turn around and narrow my eyes at her. “What are you up to, crazy girl?” When Lo gets that tone in her voice, I know she has some insane scheme planned. She's notorious around school for her “great ideas.” Challenging Siraj and Manny to jump from the roof into the pool at Seth White's party last summer ended in at least three broken bones for those poor guys. Organizing a faux Hunger Games with the freshman soccer players was hilarious until their coach found out what they were planning on using their cleats for. My personal favorite is the time she showed up for the homecoming football game as a queen nominee, already wearing a huge crown. I try my hardest to keep my distance from her antics and maintain a 100 percent positive reputation in the guidance office, but as her best friend, it isn't easy. Fortunately, all her past shenanigans have managed to bypass me. Until now, when I'm stuck in a car with her and my out-of-control sister. And if I know Lo, she's going to be activating those crazy-plan powers.

“I'm turning on the GPS.” Grace's smile is as evil as Lo's voice. I hate when they gang up on me.

Grace's navigation, with its snobby English accent, directs us down one sketchy Fontana street after another, until we end up in the parking lot of a grocery store, a Laundromat, and a check-cashing place. “Are you selling me into sex slavery for gambling money?” I ask. This parking lot is the textbook definition of “shady.” Broken glass is scattered across the asphalt, and crooked-looking characters wander aimlessly past the storefronts. This is exactly the kind of place you see on news stories about teen girls who go out for a night of fun and are never heard from again.

“You got it,” Lo says, typing into her phone again. “You hot Koreans get top dollar. Between the two of you, Mama's going to get a new pair of shoes tonight.”

“Who are you texting?” The whole sex-slavery thing is a joke, obviously, but when a homeless guy starts screaming at a boarded-up window, I realize I'm a little—okay, a lot—apprehensive about what we're doing here.

“His name is Max,” Lo says.

My face wrinkles up in confusion. “The homeless guy?”

“No, silly.” She undoes her seat belt and leans toward me. “Now, promise you won't freak out.”

I groan. Typical Lo. That phrase always precedes a freak-out-worthy plan.

“You'll be fine, Hannah.” Grace pats my arm. “Calm down and listen to Lo.”

“Lo has almost gotten me arrested before!”

“That was an accident,” she says, making Grace laugh.

“I have to hear this story,” Grace says.

“Can we please get back to why we are in this random parking lot?”

Lo smiles. “So, this guy Max is friends with my cousin Carlos. Remember Carlos? From my Fourth of July party a few years ago?”

“The one who went in the pool in his jorts?”

“Yeah, that's the one. He has this friend, Max, and Carlos said Max would hook us up.”

“Hook us up with what? Lo, you know I don't want to do drugs or anything. If you do, then—”

“No, no. No drugs. I promise.” Before she can explain further, a full-sized van peels into the parking lot and screeches to a stop right next to us. There's a picture airbrushed on the side of the van—an artist's rendering of that exact van being chased by two cop cars and a helicopter. I know it is that exact van because the van in the painting has a picture of a tiny van and mini–cop cars on the side.

“Wow,” I say.

“That's Max.” Lo hops out of the SUV, and she pounds on our front windshield for me to follow suit. I take a deep breath, unfasten my seat belt, and slowly open the door.

“I'll stay in here,” Grace says. “Don't worry, scaredy-cat. I'll call 911 if he tries to get rapey.”

Max doesn't get out of the van. Once Lo approaches the driver-side window, he looks us up and down. “Hey, Paloma.” Lo's family members are the only people who get to call her by her full name. Sketchy-as-hell family friends do, too, apparently.