The Girl of Sand & Fog (7 page)

“OK. But text me later.”

I cut across the sand back to my car. Bobby has
Caroline. Zoe has Seth. They all have someone, except me.

It’s never bothered me before.

I’m always the odd girl out.

Why is it bothering me today?

CHAPTER 6

I
pull into my driveway two hours later. I check the dash. Crap. 7:30 p.m. I’ve
missed dinner and broken two of Chrissie’s house rules in a single day.

Not showing up for dinner.

Taking off after school without going home first.

Not good.

I enter the house. It’s quiet. Maybe I’ve caught
a break. Maybe Mom’s gone out with the herd. They are probably at Grandma
Harris’s. It’s definitely too quiet in here for the twins and Krystal to be
home.

I go into the kitchen and find our housekeeper
washing dishes.

I lean against a counter. “Hi, Lourdes. Where is
everyone?”

Lourdes looks up from the sink. “Doing homework
in their rooms. Like you should be. Where have you been, mi niña? You have
worried your mother. You have worried me. It is not good. It needs to stop. Your
mother has enough to deal with without your nonsense.”

I flush.

Crap, if this is what I’m getting first thing
from Lourdes, Mom is going to blow.

I give her the
wide-eyed-innocent-I’ve-been-doing-nothing-wrong
expression. “I just went to the beach. With friends.”

She shakes her head. “Your mother wants to speak
to you. She is out back.”

I stop myself from grimacing.

Shit.

This is not going to go well.

I toss my things on the counter and head toward
the patio doors. I search the yard but don’t see Chrissie. I slide open the
door and step out. Splashing is coming from the pool.

I cross the lawn and go through the safety gate
into the pool area. Chrissie’s swimming laps. When did this start?

I sink down on a chaise, waiting for her to
notice me. The splashing stops. Mom climbs the pool steps.

“Where have you been?” she asks, grabbing a towel
from the table beside me.

I shrug. “Just out. With Zoe. I thought it would
be OK.”

She starts to pat dry her face. Silence. Not
good.

I change direction. “When did you start working
out again?”

Chrissie wraps the towel around her body. “About
the time all you kids started school again.” She pats her absurdly flat
stomach. “Got to get back in shape. Got to get fit.”

I roll my eyes. “You look great, Mom.”

She really does. How does a woman look like that
after five kids?

“Getting closer, but not one hundred percent back
yet,” she says, annoyed.

I watch my mom as she settles on a chaise across
from me. She is one-eighty degrees my opposite. A petite, curvaceous,
blond-haired, blue-eyed California hottie, even though she’s in her forties.
They probably have her picture next to the definition of MILF in the Urban
Dictionary. The only thing that would be more intimidating than having
Christian Parker as a mother would be Jennifer Lopez.

Yep, that would be worse.

Chrissie’s bright blue eyes bore into me. “You
know, Kaley—” Oh fuck. If it starts with
you know
it’s always bad.
“—it’s good that you are getting out. Making friends. Starting to do things
down here, but you can’t take off without letting me know where you are going.
Don’t do it again, please.”

She stands up and starts gathering her things from
the table.

That’s it?

What happened to the house rules?

What happened to the lectures?

Oh, I get it. She’s still pretending to be
super
cool mom because she feels guilty
about moving me to this shit hole. Fine.
That works for me. I didn’t want to get bitched out tonight anyway.

I smile. “Can I go? I’ve got homework to do.”

Chrissie lifts her brows. She smiles. “Sure.”

I rise from my chair and move across the patio
toward the gate.

“I have plans Saturday,” she announces, not
looking up from her cell phone as she scrolls through texts. “I’m going out
which means you stay in.”

Out?

Mom doesn’t go out. Not ever.

I stop and turn back to stare at her. “Why do I
have to stay in?” 

“Lourdes can’t manage everything on her own.”

Well, that’s just freaking great.

Not that I had plans, but still.

Shit, my mom has a social life in Pacific
Palisades before I do.

Crap, that’s pathetic.

I frown. “Where are you going?”

She makes one of her silly faces. “Out with
friends. It’s allowed.”

I make a face back at her. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t going to. Did you eat?
There’s leftover pasta in the refrigerator.”

Changing the subject. Yep, she definitely doesn’t
want to tell me what’s up with her.

Maybe Alan is in LA.

Maybe that’s why she’s being so coy about this.

Crap, has my dad finally drifted back into our
universe?

I study her and she looks away first.

“I grabbed a burger on the way home.”

She smiles, nods and continues reading whatever
is on her phone.

I enter the house, retrieve my tote from the
kitchen, and go to my sister’s room. Krystal may only be nine, but she knows
every freaking thing that goes on here.

I enter and plop down on the bed beside her.

Krystal’s face jerks up and she stares at me above
her book. “Thanks a lot for knocking.”

“It’s not like you were doing anything in here to
interrupt. What’s up with Mom? She’s working out and she just told me she has
plans on Saturday.”

Krystal shrugs. “She’s been working out for
weeks. Where have you been?”

I glare. “Are you going to tell me who she’s
going out with or not?”

“I don’t know.”

Sister stare.

Damn. I can’t tell if she knows and is keeping
her mouth shut or if she really doesn’t know.

“Fine. Be that way. See if I help you with your
homework ever again.”

Krystal gives me an intense, wide-eyed look. “I
really don’t know.”

The homework threat and nothing from her.

She’s telling the truth.

I rise from the bed and head toward the door.

“Leave Mom alone,” Krystal says quickly. “She’s
been really happy this week.”

Really happy?

That wasn’t the reaction I expected given what I
did to Chrissie with Linda Rowan.

Damn.

Something is going on.

Only one thing ever makes my mother
really
happy.

Alan.

I leave Krystal’s bedroom and go into my own,
locking the door behind me. I set down my tote, change into boy-shorts and a
t-shirt, and then settle on my bed.

I pull out my books and binders, arranging them
neatly in front of me. I grab my cell and check to see if Zoe texted me.
Nothing. Beotch. She better not be doing something stupid with Seth. I’ve got
to have a talk with that girl.

I shut off the phone.

I reach for my laptop, flip it open and start
clicking away. Google search: Alan Manzone. The page fills up with links. I
scroll through them. Still on tour. He’s in Eastern Europe.

I click on a few links.

Yuck.

So not the kind of thing a girl wants to see
about her father. Even if the dude pretends he’s not my father. Even if my
father is still young and good-looking—yep, both my parents are hotties—and they
are both single again. According to this my dad’s divorce from number two is
fini.

Good.

I never liked Shyla.

Such a bitch.

She was always rude to us kids whenever she
visited with Alan when Jesse was still alive. Not that I blame her. If my man
had a daughter he lied about with a woman he still loves and dragged me there
with him for warped family time, I’d be rude, too. But still, I’m glad my dad
got rid of Shyla finally.

I click on another link. Oh, definitely a TMI
kind of moment. Or should I say
too much visual
kind of moment?
Shuddering, I exit out of the page, and then go on the official Blackpoll
website and check the tour schedule.

Nope.

No tour breaks until January.

Whatever Chrissie is happy about it’s not
him.

Jeez, does Mom have a date? Has she decided it’s
time to shop for husband number three? It’s been a year since my stepdad’s
death, but that’s too weird even for my family.

I shudder again and slap shut my laptop. I’m
about to hit the books when I pull my camera out of the tote.

I watch the footage from the beach. My brows
pucker. This would make an
interesting
short film. Instead of starting
my homework, I upload the video and photos of Bobby and start editing. I flip
through the photos, cutting them into the video.

Two hours later I’ve got a nice little film. I
watch it several times then upload it on YouTube. My gaze locks for several
minutes on the photo of Bobby I used for the final frame.

I click and make it my wallpaper.

God, I love his green eyes. They pop from his
tanned face. He is really good-looking. He’s got such an intense face that
seems to say
whatever the shit is I’m above it
and somehow he doesn’t
look jerk-like.

He’s superior and cool and not jerk-like.

I slap my laptop closed and set it on the floor.
Crap, I should have probably ask Bobby if it was OK to put the surf clip on
YouTube, but I’m not feeling generous toward him right now.

He’s got such a hot body.

He sure can kiss.

And, fuck, he ditched me today for Caroline.

CHAPTER 7

I
pull into my usual parking spot at school and wait. Crap, I’m too early again.
There are only a few cars here and the only person I see walking around is the
janitor. I should have left the house at a reasonable hour. Hell, I should have
skipped today.

I open Zoe’s text from first thing this morning
and read it again.

Zoe: WTF
did you do yesterday? Bobby is pissed. We’re hitting the gym and then I’m
driving to school with him. Heads up.

My palms begin to sweat as I hold on tightly to
the steering wheel. The only thing I did yesterday was the YouTube video. Why
would he be pissed about that?

I’m annoyed that I’m worried. Annoyed that it
matters. And doubly annoyed that I hightailed it out of the house to get this
over with first thing rather than have it drag through the day waiting for me.

It was just a freaking video. Straight up surf
footage. It wasn’t like my
Kaley’s World
videos where I make fun of just
about everyone in my life. Faculty. Students. Whoever.

No harm, no foul.

He shouldn’t be pissed.

Not like that Starbucks barista I covertly
filmed, cutting the footage in with my demented burned Barbies on strings who
host my mock shock talk show. I called that episode of
Kaley’s World
“How
to Train Your Barista.”

Yep, it’s a classic. Over fifty thousand views.
That’ll teach that girl not to be rude to customers after sloshing coffee all
over their arm. Really, how hard is it to remember to put the green tab in the
drinking slit before handing it out the drive-thru window?

It’s not like I did that
to Bobby.

Why is he pissed?

Cars start to arrive and I search the parking
lot, committed to cutting Bobby off at the pass before he can pounce on me.
Throw him off his game.

No hiding for this girl.

The best defense is a strong offense.

Crap, I’m waylaying him first.

I search and search and search and don’t see him.
For all I know he’s parked next to me. I can’t believe I don’t know what kind
of car he drives. Or his class schedule. Or who he hangs out with at school.

Sure, we just reconnected two days ago, but I
could have gotten all that stuff from the Pacific Palisades loop. Spied on him
the way everyone else spies on each other here.

It would have been useful today.

What the hell kind of car does he drive?

My passenger door opens. I jump as I see Bobby
sliding into the seat beside me.

“Hey,” is all he says as he shuts the door behind
him.

I turn my body to face him. “Did I say you could
climb into my car?”

“No, but then again I didn’t ask.”

“What’s your problem?”

He looks amused—and angry with me.

“I was about to ask you the same thing, Kaley.”

I shrug. “I don’t have any problems other than
uninvited people in my car this morning.”

I glance over my shoulder and see Zoe waiting
outside by the trunk, no doubt listening to every word.

“Why did you cut out on me yesterday?” he asks.
“I went for a food run, got back to the beach and you were gone. Not cool,
Kaley. You don’t just cut out on someone that way.”

What?

My cheeks flush.

“I didn’t cut out on anyone. I had to go home. It
had nothing to do with you, Bobby.”

“You should have told me you weren’t sticking
around. Exactly when did you decide you had to leave?”

I arch a brow. “About the time you took off with
Beach Barbie Bimbo.”

Oh fuck, I didn’t intend to say that. My face is
now burning.

He stares at me. “Caroline? Are you kidding me?
You took off because I went on a food run with her?”

That makes me sound—
possessive? Irrational? Crazy?—
nope,
don’t want to try to put a definition to that.

I stare at him coolly, crossing my arms in front
of me.

“Rude, Bobby. Really rude to go off with her in
front of me. I’ve already told you. I’m not into the fucked-up games of the
male population. Nice knowing you. Can you get out of my car now?”

Our gazes lock in silent battle.

He leans his head back against the passenger
window, closes his eyes and groans. “Fuck, you’re a frustrating girl. I invite
you to the beach. You don’t answer my call. You just show up. I think it’s all
good. Then you take off on me, leaving me staring at an empty towel and holding
an extra meal. Are you thoughtless or do you just get off making people look
like idiots?”

My eyes fly wide.

Invite me to the beach?

Before I can say anything, he starts back in on
me again. “I don’t know why I even bother trying to start something with you.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You’re like a porcupine. All
needles. Ready to strike and ask questions later. And just when I decide you
are not worth the trouble to get to know you do something cool like that
video.” His eyes open. The expression in them makes my heart shimmy. “It was
really incredible work. Fuck, you’re one hell of a filmmaker.”

My breath hitches, my thoughts and emotions
racing off in a hundred directions. “I am not a porcupine,” I counter
pointedly. “I don’t strike at anyone. And you did
not
call me.”

He leans in to me and holds out his hand. “Give
me your phone.”

He’s sitting too close now—pinning me with his
eyes—so that I feel surrounded by him and everything inside me sharply
readjusts. His hair is damp, and he has that smell of having showered at the
gym after a workout. I don’t know what it is about gym soap but it smells so
good. At least is does mixed with Bobby.

We both just stare at each other for several
seconds, and out of nowhere I remember what it feels like to be pressed up
against him. I want to kiss him, like that, out of nowhere.

I turn my face away and stare through the
windshield. “No. This is stupid. I’m not giving you my phone. I’m not letting
you look at my private shit.”

“Then check it later if it makes you feel better
not to have me see you be wrong,” he says challengingly.

“I’m not wrong,” I snap hotly.

He shake his head at me. “If you want to be my
girlfriend start acting like it.”

What?

I raise an eyebrow to match his expression. “I’m
not your girlfriend.”

He studies me for a second, then shakes his head
again. “I asked you to hang out with me.”

“So?”

His gaze narrows like he’s trying to figure out
if I’m being a bitch or stupid.

“Christ, don’t you know anything about anything?”
he asks, exasperated.

The color is moving down my face to my throat.
“No. Apparently I don’t. Enlighten me.”

I widen my eyes because he’s widened his, and
square off with him with my gaze this time.

I watch as Bobby inhales a slow breath, then
looks directly at me. He looks really annoyed. “I thought you understood. I
don’t date. I don’t hook up. I can’t stand girls who think it’s a turn-on to
drop to their knees in the first five minutes and offer me a suck or a fuck.
I’m not into the high school social scene. If I like you I ask you to hang out
and that’s it. Together. No bullshit. No drama. No games. You said yes when I
asked if you wanted to hang out. That makes you my girlfriend.”

I stare at him, stunned.
Is that true?

Is that how things work in Pacific Palisades?

Shit.

I exhale a heavy breath and do my best not to
look blown away—and definitely not to look eager to say
OK.

I ease into him until my face is a hair away from
his. “Well, pardon me for not knowing your crazy code in the southland. Shit,
what’s the code for asking a girl to marry you? I sure don’t want to fuck that
one up and end up married to some asshole from Pasadena—”

Bobby closes the gap between our lips and claims
my mouth. He pulls me up against him and my hand tightens around the steering
wheel as his tongue darts in to tease me. His fingers run through my hair and
his mouth moves away from mine too quickly.

His lips trail kisses across my cheek and up my
jawline. My teeth sink into my lower lip as his breath touches my ear.

My heart is hammering against my chest as I wait
for his next move. I have no idea what comes next. We were arguing. Now he’s
kissing me. I’m not sure which direction I want to go with this.

His hand on my waist moves upward, across my
shoulder and slowly makes its way up to my neck. He lifts my hair and then his
mouth is flush against the sensitive flesh beneath my ear.

My eyes drift closed.

I’m melting into him.

“You’re really beautiful,” he whispers, moving
his lips closer to my mouth. “But that’s not the turn-on. Why I’m interested in
you. You’re so fucking hot because—”

He closes the space between our lips without
finishing and this time the way he’s kissing me is more intimate, totally
complete even though he’s never kissed me before. Oh, I kissed him, but he’s
kissing me and those two experiences are worlds apart.

For a brief moment, I actually feel like I really
am his girlfriend, like I’ve been his girlfriend forever, and like we’ve made
out in my car before school a hundred times. That’s how well he knows my body
and my mouth and how I want
this
to be
.

We’re kissing and touching and both straining
into each other. The next breath he draws in is deep and I’m wondering if he’s
going to push the air into me like they do in the romantic scenes in movies…
when
I’ve never had a guy do that before in real life.

The kiss deepens and deepens and everything
inside my panties turns into heat. His fingers lightly dance across my breasts
and my body on its own pushes more firmly into him. Oh, crap, can he tell I’ve
never done any of this before—had a guy kiss me this way and brush my
nipple—never, not really?

You can count the number of times I’ve been
kissed on the digits of a hand and, Christ, after this I probably shouldn’t
count those other times
as
having been kissed.

It was nothing like this…but, fuck, it should have
been.

Bobby slowly stops and pulls back.

My lids float open.

“Come on. I’ll walk you to class,” he says.

That’s it? That’s how he ends this?

I exhale and pull my key from the ignition. “Don’t
bother. I can find my way there by myself. Nice kiss. But I’m still not your
girlfriend. No matter what you say.”

“Have it your way,” he replies calmly.

He stares at me, and a minute later, climbs from
the car, shutting the door behind him.

I sink down in my seat, stare at the ceiling and
let out a frustrated groan.

Fuck, Kaley. Why did you do that? Why did you
blow him off?

I grab my cell phone, unlock it and quickly check
my voice mail. Crap, there is a message from Bobby in there. I really need to
start checking my voice mail but, fuck, hardly anyone ever does anything but
text anymore.

I hit the play button. Bobby’s voice floats from
the speaker. It makes me smile. Concise. Cool guy
this is where you have to
be to be with me
sort of attitude. But really sweet. Polite when he invites
me to the beach, with a variety of options for how to meet up before we go
there.

Cool guy.

Sweet.

Totally him.

Fuck. I shove my phone into my tote and climb
from the car. I slam the door, click lock on the remote, and turn toward my
trunk.

Oh crap.

Not Zoe waiting any longer.

Bobby.

I move between the cars, stopping at my bumper.

We stare at each other.

I’m not sure what to do next.

None of this is what I expected, from the moment
he climbed into my car to this last thing: him not taking off after I was a
total bitch to him and waiting to walk me to class.

I study his face. “Why am I hot if it’s not
because of the way I look? You kissed me before you finished that sentence.”

He loops an arm around my shoulders.

We start walking toward campus.

“Because you let me climb from the car when you
didn’t want to. Because you saw me here and you stopped. Because you are not
the kind of girl who thinks it’s a turn-on to offer a guy a blow job in the
first five minutes. Because you’ve got your own shit going on and some of it is
really cool. But most of all because you are not like every other girl.”

I’m silent until we reach my classroom door.