Love Storm (21 page)

"Yeah, anyway," Martin cut in. "T's right – just go fill out one of those form things and you'll be fine," he said.

"Does he give nicknames to everyone?" Scotty T wondered aloud, a long-suffering look on his face. Apparently, a simple 'T' did not add up to an adequate name in his book.

"Unfortunately," I shook my head. "Wait, so…I don't need to get interviewed or anything?" I asked, surprised. "You know… Fill out a résumé, or something? All that good stuff."

Martin and Scotty T shook their heads simultaneously. "We've been looking for someone for so long that I bet even Forest won't mind showing you the ropes," Martin said.

I blinked, taking in the new change of events, hardly daring to believe my luck. Wow. If I had known that getting a job was this easy, I would have started looking a long time ago. "Uhm, okay," I said. "Well, is there someone I should talk to? Like, your manager or something."

Scotty T grinned and pointed at a word embroidered on his blue Payne's short-sleeved polo shirt. I looked at the word written in gold thread right above his left breast pocket incredulously. "
You're
the manager?" I nearly yelped.

"The one and only," Scotty T said, looking rather pleased at my reaction, his warm brown eyes twinkling. "You're in, Tristan. I just need you to –"

"Fill out one of those form thingies, I know," I said, glancing at Martin, who was looking at Scotty T like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

"T," Martin whispered, "Take it back," he then moaned. "Please, please take it back, don't hire him! He's going to torture me now, I just know it."

I shook my head, unable to suppress my next wry comment – "I'm looking at the biggest drama queen I've ever had the misfortune to meet," I said.

Scotty T just looked at Martin, sadly shaking his head. I could already tell that working here was going to prove to be an interesting ride.

Chapter 17: Reconciliation

-Winter-

I shivered and rubbed my arms vigorously – it was cold out, and I had left my sweater at Zack's house. I looked up to see that the sky was darkening, and suddenly despair took over.

Had I done the right thing, leaving like that?

My brain told me
yes
, that I could help Zack, but I couldn't do everything for him. Yet a small part of my heart just couldn't forget that sliver of a second when I had seen hurt pass through his eyes before the anger covered it up. I thought – I
knew
– I could deal with his anger, but it would be harder to live with myself if I knew that I had somehow hurt him. I briefly wondered if he was regretting letting me leave his house by myself.

I sighed, glancing around worriedly at the unfamiliar neighborhood, and decided it was high time I called someone to bail me out. I brought out my cell phone and automatically dialed Tristan's number – next to Eva's digits, his were the ones I relied on the most often.

After the fourth ring I knew he wasn't there. He always picked up at least by the third (I think it was somehow wired into those Westley brains; Eva did the exact same thing and it kind of unnerved me sometimes), but I still waited until his voice mail popped up, then left a brief message asking him to call me back as soon as he could. I hung up, wondering what to do. I didn't panic just yet, knowing panicking was a waste of energy and time. Sitting down on a curb, I thought hard about who I could call. My parents were not a good option; having them pick me up from this side of town was a last resort – it would bring around too many unwanted questions. After thinking for a couple minutes I took out my cell phone and looked up a number I hadn't thought about for a while. I dialed and crossed my fingers, looking around for some wood but giving up when I saw that knocking on the nearest wood would require me to traverse across a meticulously weed-free lawn to reach a (shudder) garden gnome. Okay,
definitely
not going to touch one of those.

One ring… two rings… three – "Hello?"

At the sound of his voice I was flooded with relief. "Hello, Martin? It's Winter."

"Hey," he said, sounding surprised. "Winter, hey. Wow, talk about telepathy."

"What?" I said, confused.

"Oh, it's nothing – just that I was just thinking about you the other day when I was talking with Westley at the store – but that's beside the point. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing – wait. What, store? What about the store?" I said, startled.

"Didn't he tell you? He got a job at Payne's. I work there too," Martin explained.

"Really?" I said, delighted. So Tristan had really gone out to look for a job at Payne's. "That's great! When does he start?"

"Monday, actually. Tomorrow," Martin said. "So, what were you saying?"

"Oh, yeah. Uhh," I started, feeling very foolish. "Can – can you do me a big favor?"

"Of course," he said cheerfully. I smiled. Ever since that first movie we had hung out a couple times, and I could safely say that we were good friends. I enjoyed his flair for dramatics and the way his smile was so contagious – there was never a dull moment with Martin, and I had found that as much as I made him laugh, he did the same to me. Things had gotten busy lately though, and I felt a small pang of regret: we hadn't really talked for the past two weeks or so.

I took a deep breath. "Can you give me a ride home?"

"Where are you?" he asked.

I glanced up quickly at the street sign on the nearest corner. "Well, the nearest street sign to me says Chartwell Boulevard."

"Chartwell, Chartwell," Martin said, pondering aloud. "Doesn't sound familiar. Are you in Branner City still?
Please
don't tell me you're across the country in Brooklyn or something, because, no matter how good friends we are, I am so not going to drive
all
the way over there just to haul you
all
the way back – "

"Martin, I'm definitely
not
in Brooklyn right now," I reassured him quickly, grinning. "I'm still in Branner. Just lost somewhere in the pricier section of town without a ride. Near Galvest."

I figured that he would recognize the street name, and I was right. "Galvest? What are you doing over there?"

"I'll tell you later. C-could you please come pick me up, Martin?" I beseeched, stammering a little from the cold. "Please."

"I'll be right there. Don't hang up yet, hun."

"Where are you?" I wondered aloud.

"At home," he said. The faint sound of a garage door opening came through the line. "I'm leaving the house right now. Don't hang up."

"I'm not," I said. "Martin?"

"Yeah?" I heard a jingle of keys and a car door slam.

"Thanks."

I could hear a smile in his voice. "No problem."

We stayed on the phone for the whole time he was driving, and he kept me distracted and entertained by telling me about his day on Friday, from the moment he woke up (he described, almost in too much detail, his morning routine) to the second he fell asleep.

It was perhaps fifteen minutes later when he interrupted himself and said, "I'm almost at Galvest. You're on Chartwell, right?"

"Yeah," I said, "In front of…" I twisted around to check the house number, "Number 815; it's a Victorian-ish house, and it has a huge lawn in front of it with a scary looking garden gnome that is
sneering
at me, and a white Lexus in the driveway," I informed him.

"Okay…" Martin's voice trailed off vaguely. "815. Galvest is in the 1200s, so Chartwell
should
be…" There was a short silence, and after about 30 seconds he said, "I see you."
I saw him too, and waited patiently until his black BMW pulled up to the curb. I opened the door and hopped in immediately, shuddering as I closed the door. "It's nice and warm in here," I said.

"Yeah," Martin said, glancing at me and turning up the heat. "Let's get out of here."

We sat in silence until we got back to the main road. Martin was heading out of Branner, but I didn't care. I was too tired to care. I knew he was holding back his questions for the time being so I could have time to think. But when he could restrain his curiosity no longer, he said, "So… want to tell me why you had me pick you up from that side of town at six in the evening?"

I sighed. "Thanks for picking me up," I said. "I'll tell you in a moment, I promise. Where are we going?"

He glanced at me again, seemed to make a decision, and said, "To the gym."

xxxxx

Curl…Release. Curl again…and release.

"That's 24," Martin said, lifting one shoulder and lowering it again. "Better switch now."

I changed the dumbbell to my left hand as he did the same. We were just about done with our workout. Being a guy who played football and ran track, he was obviously more fit than I, but I could still sort of keep up with him – if we ran 20 minutes on the treadmill, he'd go faster, but I'd still run all 20 minutes. If we were bench pressing he'd add more weight (way more weight), but I'd do the same amount of reps.

"You're pretty strong," Martin had said as we were bench pressing, unknowingly echoing what Zack had told me that weekend when we were at the park by the mini-lake.

"You know, guys aren't the only ones who come to the gym," I had replied, looking up at him as he spotted for me.

Now, we were sitting down on a bench, Martin at one end, I on the other. He knew how to make my tongue loosen up, that was for sure. I had spilled the whole story out to him in short snippets, and he had nearly exploded when I told him that Zack had sort of booted me out of his house – "That mother f–––!". Martin had some colorful words in his vocabulary, that was for sure.

He was a little calmer now, and looked at me thoughtfully as we finished the set. He set down his dumbbell and flexed his bicep.

"Show off," I muttered.

He grinned, and one of those male, self-satisfied smirks slid onto his face. "That's the whole reason guys come to the gym, Winter. Live and learn."

I smiled.

"As for the whole situation you're in right now…" he said as we stood up. I vaguely noticed that he didn't offer me a hand as Zack would have. "Are you
sure
you don't want me to beat him up for you? He was a jackass for making you leave."

"No, he wasn't," I said softly, looking past him out the window of the gym. It was a clear night, and even from in here I could see the faint outline of some stars. "I would have left anyway. Thanks for the suggestion though; you're a good friend. Maybe someday when I get really mad at him, I'll call you up and take you up on that offer."

He chuckled a little. "You're welcome," he murmured. "I look forward to it. Let's go. It's 8:30 already. We can go grab some dinner, and I'll take you home."

"Okay," I nodded.

-Zack-

I rubbed a spot on my forehead absently, then sat up in bed, automatically pulling a pillow upright behind me to cushion my back. What time was it? I glanced across my room and out my window to see that, miraculously, the sun wasn't up yet. I did a quick mental calculation and realized that I hadn't slept for more than four hours, at the most. The sky was a grayish-blue hue and I just sat there for a long while. From my window I could see the horizon, and I watched the sun rise. For a moment, I allowed myself to wonder about the sun – suddenly I felt sorry for him. Day in and day out, he always stayed in the sky by himself. The moon, at least, had the stars to accompany her – but the sun… he was forever doomed to be lonely; to be without any friends in that huge expanse of empty air. It bothered me.

After the sun had risen halfway, I got out of bed, dashed out of my room for a quick second to use the bathroom and brush my teeth, hurried back into my little sanctuary, and changed. I spent another agonizing fifteen minutes or so in my room before mustering up the courage to venture downstairs with my backpack in tow.

I had been expecting to see my parents seated and eating breakfast in the dining room, so I was surprised and relieved to find it empty. I wandered into the kitchen. Victoria was sitting at the counter, where she and I normally ate when we were alone. We almost never ate in the dining room. She was drinking her customary cup of coffee, and looked up at me when I entered.

"Morning," I said cautiously.

"Good morning, Zack," she said, her face softening. I was extremely glad to note that she didn't seem angry as she had been last night. "Wait just a second; let me finish up this coffee and I'll make you some breakfast."

"Thanks," I said, sitting down on a stool next to her.

"Did you sleep well last night?" she asked me, peering at me over her mug. It was a question she asked me every morning.

I chuckled and looked down at my hands, playing with an empty glass. "Victoria, I believe I'm turning into a bit of an insomniac. I got maybe four hours of sleep last night but I'm not tired."

She looked at me, concerned.

"It's okay," I cut her off before she could say anything. "Really. If you can't sleep, you can't sleep, right?"

"I suppose," she said, but I had known her long enough to know that when she said 'I suppose', it meant she didn't like it. "Your parents haven't woken yet. I would advise you to get out of the house as soon as possible, because in a short while they'll be getting up," she said, downing the last of her coffee and getting up to make breakfast for the two of us.