The Unofficial Zack Warren Fan Club (6 page)
Read The Unofficial Zack Warren Fan Club Online
Authors: J.C. Isabella
“They must save money by consolidating.” Chloe mused.
“Don’t drink the water.”
“Why?”
“It sounded logical in my head.” I said, and she giggled.
Thank god she had a sense of humor.
We drove out of the strange town down a deserted road, passing heavily treed lots, swampy flatlands, and turned left onto a dirt lane full of potholes.
She crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose. “It’s like we’re on another planet.”
“Colonels Lane?’ I read an old sign halfway down the road.
“If we were in a horror movie, the freaky music would start playing now.”
“Don’t spook yourself, Baker.” I didn’t have any humor left in me, and her eyes were cautious, as if she felt just as uneasy as I did. Our parents went and bought the crazy farm. That was it. We were screwed. They hauled our asses out of the city to the swamp, to live like Florida hillbillies. Which were the same as regular hillbillies…only without the hills.
“You’ve got a lot of room to talk after you locked the doors and told me not to drink the water.” She said.
I grunted.
“Don’t tell me that’s home.” She stared, mouth agape, at the massive house on the bend of the dirt road.
“Okay, I won’t.”
Painted a grayish blue, our new house had an enormous wraparound porch with a bright white railing. Flowerbeds full of colorful plants bordered the mailbox, the house, and the trees. Kirk was going to have a ball digging his way though them, if he was any kind of a normal dog. The jury was still out on that though.
White shutters graced every window, and they weren’t the fake ones for show. They had latches on them to close over the windows. Hurricane shutters.
People always think hurricanes are bad. I’ve met northerners who cringe, saying they’d rather go through a tornado.
Me, I’d take a hurricane.
You get a few days warning, time to pack up, kiss your house goodbye, and crash in a hotel out of the danger zone. It’s like a vacation. With a tornado you don’t have luxury of deciding when to leave, you just grab your ass and kiss it goodbye.
“Damn.” I spotted a tractor in the side yard. It was rusted, the engine lying next to it in the dirt. “Well, there’s the yard art Molly was talking about.”
“My mom said she wanted land.”
“For what?”
“Breeding mosquitoes?”
Green landscape went on as far as I could see behind the house. No other homes or fences, just lots and lots of swampy green filled with plants I couldn’t identify. A dense line of trees lay beyond, and maybe a waterway.
I parked beside our parents and got out to glare up at our new home. Our side trip to the park had given them a five-minute lead.
“Great, isn’t it?” Molly beamed at the house. “It was built in the early nineteen hundreds. The last owners restored it, so we’ll only have a few things to fix or change.”
“Awesome.” I gave her one of the charming smiles I reserved for ogling girl. I don’t know what possessed me to throw away my spring break for relocating to hell.
Chloe knew I was faking enthusiasm and played along. “Totally.”
“Where are all the people?” I asked.
“It’s Sunday.” Molly said, as if that answered everything.
“And that means?” Chloe inquired.
“Everything’s closed.” She jogged up the porch steps to open the front door.
“Were doomed.” I said.
Chloe sounded hopeful. “We’ve got the truck.”
“Wrong, I’ve got the truck.” I wouldn’t mind sharing as long as she could handle my truck, without running anything important over…like people or the dog. Chloe had only ever driven the Mini Cooper. But then my act would be blown if I handed her my keys.
“We’ve got to work on your people skills, Warren.”
“Ha, forget it.”
“Maybe you should be nice to me, and then I’ll be nice to you.” Simple, grade school logic. She’s bringing out the big guns.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“This is about getting along for our parents.” We started for the house. Kirk wandered over to a tree and flopped in a shady spot next to a hammock covered in stringy moss and leaves.
“I know, but I can honestly say I am enjoying one thing, Baker.”
“What?”
“Watching you suffer though this week will be worth the pain.”
She stuck her tongue out, then, when I wasn’t paying attention, she stuck her foot out.
I’d hate to ever admit, that I went down face first in the dirt.
“Oops.” She gasped with surprise. She probably didn’t think she’d be able to knock me all the way down. In my defense, my guard was down. Way down. As in, I watching her ass.
“You better run fast, Baker!” I shot to my feet, really wasn’t that mad, but I had to keep up the act.
“I’m so glad you two are getting along.” Molly said as I ran past her after she opened the front door. Sometimes she was too oblivious for her own good. This was one of those times, thank god.
“Where’s my room?” Chloe didn’t stop to look around.
“Up the stairs to the left.” She shouted after her. “I’m going to use the one without the bathroom for my art studio.”
I flew up the stairs, right on Chloe’s heels. Catching her wasn’t a problem. It was the part afterwards I worried about. It would be so easy to snag her from behind and…then what? A few ideas came to mind. They involved figuring out what her lip-gloss tested like. Fruity? Sugary? Would our lips stick together with the shiny goo? Or would it just dissolve as I kissed her more thoroughly than she’d ever been kissed before?
Chloe ran into the closest bedroom, and I forced myself to run past.
I had to take one for the team. Kissing Chloe wasn’t an option.
Feeling more than pissed, I went into the room next door, and decided whoever painted it had been blind or insane. It was bright orange. So bright I wondered if it was possible for paint to burn my retinas.
The sound of sneakers squeaking to a stop brought my head up. Chloe rocked back on her heels in the doorway. “Hi.”
I rubbed a streak of dirt on my shin. “Come to apologize?”
“Nope,” she took a moment to survey our surroundings. I surveyed her. She looked too damn good. This morning when I saw her walking toward the van, I wondered if Chloe realized just how attractive she was. Wearing short, frayed shots and a white tank top. I could see the lace of her bra through the thin material. I told myself not to stare. But I didn’t like that other people could see her bra. I wanted to tell her to change, only I didn’t have a say in what she wore. However, if anyone got to close to her, they’d have to answer to me. If only she knew how many sticky situations I’d gotten her out of.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m glad for the air conditioning.” I said. Her nose was pink on the tip, as were the tops of her shoulders. I’d make sure she put on sun block next time we went outside next time.
“Yeah. It’s hot. This room is nice.”
“I guess. If you like orange.” I rolled my eyes. Sun block? Since when did I start worrying about her getting skin cancer?
“Not as big as the room I found.”
“Did you call it?” I wasn’t going to take advantage of her, but it was too easy to bail from the orange hell.
“No, was I supposed to?” she blinked innocently, slipping in to inspect the room.
Her loss was my gain, so I took advantage and shot down the hall in a very grand moment of stupidity.
“Dibs!” She screamed.
Shit. That girl was smart. “Chloe, when I get my hands on you…”
“You’ll what?”
I shut the door to muffle the sound of her laughter. Getting my hands on her would be a bad idea. So I decided to familiarize myself with my new jail cell. It had white crown molding and a window that looked out the side of the house facing the tree with the hammock.
It was almost two times the size times the size of the dorm I shared with Kyle, and void of bright orange paint. All in all, it was a nice room, had wood floors, plenty of space, with a walk-in closet.
And it was wallpapered.
In camouflage.
Chapter 7
Chloe
Four hours later I felt sweaty and sticky and gross. My hair was starting to fall out of its ponytail, my shirt sticking to my back. I went into the sunroom to wallow in misery alone. It was on the back of the house, far from the commotion out front.
The wood floors were painted a soft glossy white, and the windows draped with silky blue fabric. I pulled the cords on the drapes to open them wide, staring at a sky heavy with thunderclouds.
The previous owners left some of their furniture, like the big whicker bench I sat on to watch the storm roll in. Most of the stuff was really nice. A few pieces were original to the house. I found a gilded mirror wrapped in an old sheet in my closet. Mom had Glenn put it in the living room to be hung above the fireplace.
At the sound of footsteps I froze, hoping the person walked right by my hiding place.
“Nice.” Zack sauntered in, eyeing the room. “Very airy.”
I didn’t respond.
He took a long drink from a bottle of water I’d left sitting on the window ledge.
I glared. “That’s mine.”
“Finders keepers, Baker.”
I jumped off the bench and snatched it from him, finishing off the rest of the water, tying not to think that his lips just touched the same place.
We fell silent, watching a line of dark thunderclouds hovering over the grassy field behind the house. It really was beautiful, and flat. You could put a car in neutral and leave it without worrying about it going anywhere, except maybe down. The green looked squishy, and did I mention, swampy?
I ran into the living room, tearing through one of the boxes I’d yet to haul up the stairs and found my camera, back into the sunroom, pushed open the French doors and walked to the edge of the porch. The sunset peeked between the black clouds and over the treetops in the distance, shedding a warm orangey glow. I snapped a few pictures.
“You like photography?” Zack came out onto the porch.
“I love it.” And I let my guard down, just a little. “When I look through the lens it’s magical, another world where you can freeze time and capture images the human eye misses.”
Zack gave me a genuine smile. There was nothing behind it, no humor or mocking, no irritation. It was mind melting. Thinking coherently afterwards was near impossible. “Cool.”
I held out the camera. “You want to try?”
“No, that’s alright.”
“Come on, it’s not hard.”
He stepped forward and took the camera. Facing the sunset he snapped a picture.
“I guess it does look different.” He handed it back to me. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Baker.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to get to know me.”
“Don’t remind me.”
I was about to take his picture before he noticed, when I spotted something blue out of the corner of my eye. “We have a pool!”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard you say all day.”
We went back into the house once it stared raining and found our parents making dinner, Glenn’s famous baked chicken.
I didn’t see how the chicken could be famous. He’d only cooked it for us once before.
Zack and I were given the lovely task of unloading boxes marked for the kitchen while the chicken and veggies had a party in the oven.
Once I found the plates, and the bird was golden-brown, we ate standing up. Our new dining room table was in a box still unassembled. Glenn’s table from his house was too small, and the one at my house covered with paint from mom’s late night dates with a brush and easel.
Glenn asked my mom to keep regular hours. Sleep at night and paint during the day, unless it was going to drive her crazy. It would, eventually. But she was too occupied with her new husband to care about pottery and paintings. I could tell by how happy she was, and giggly. And my mom is so not the giggly type.
“How are things going?” mom passed out napkins.
“Good,” Zack said automatically.
“Just good?” Glenn asked as he ate a drumstick. He also had other rules, like no painting in undesignated areas, being the big one, and no peanuts in the house, since he is severely allergic. Mom was going to have to get used to having an art studio, which suited me just fine. I could walk around and not worry about bumping into something wet and colorful. I’ve ruined more cute outfits that way. She was also discovering her love of almond butter, as opposed to peanut butter. Glenn on the other hand, was not allowed to host poker games on weeknights, display all of his golf trophies, or leave clubs and balls lying around the house.
If these rules weren’t set it would look like the sporting goods store got busy with the arts and crafts department. Resulting in sparkly golf balls and nine-iron yard art.
