Uncharted (Unexpected Book 3) (4 page)

“You hate me,” Matthew groans, resting his head on top of his crossed arms. “Are you sure about taking this class? It’s nine in the morning.”

“Afraid so,” I reply.

I’m not thrilled either. Sitting on a small, hard chair for two hours while some dude explains all the shit he claims to know about Economics reminds me of being grounded. The moments when my parents had caught me teasing my sister or talking to them disrespectfully. Usually they’d sit me on the staircase for five minutes while I ‘thought about my behavior’.

This isn’t much different from the staircase. The large classroom setting has nine different levels. Each level with a large table and ten chairs—our desks. The fluorescent lights and white walls are as welcoming as a hospital waiting room. Cold, sterile, and boring.

“One year,” I remind him. “We follow the plan and next year we’ll be free.”

“This sucks,” he mumbles. “College is worse than home. At home, I could take my classes in pajamas and at whatever time was convenient for
me
. Why do we have to do this?”

“Parents’ rules.” I sigh heavily, cursing them. “We have to graduate, even if we plan to be hobos for the rest of our lives.”

“They don’t make sense.” Matthew lifts his head, his dreadlocks covering most of his face. “We are fucking awesome musicians. Father taught us to play the piano before we could ride a bike. A degree won’t raise us to stardom. It’s stopping us.”

“That’s it, dude.” I shove him to wake him up before the teacher arrives and kicks him out of the classroom. “As soon as we get to the apartment, you have to take a nap.”

He moves his head once and I take that as a yes. My brother hates mornings, but in order to graduate in a year, we have to take morning classes. I’m his babysitter
and
a full-time student. Damn, we should have joined AJ. She’d keep up with us. No, she’d probably be like our parents—or worse. Demanding, bossy…perhaps there’s no hope for us.

I forget what I’m thinking the moment I see her enter the room. The atmosphere changes. The air becomes lighter and easier to breathe. Dark-raven hair, light bronze skin, and curves that grab my attention, no matter how far away she is. She walks with poise, and her cascading hair swishes at the same time as her hips do. She wears a plain, pink tank top, sports a pair of hip-hugging jeans, and holds a pile of books. Chin up, eyes to the front and ready to…trip. As she tried to take the first step toward the desk-tables, she lost her balance and down she went.

The school should place a sign, “Watch your step,” for pretty girls who want to impress during their first week of school.

“Fail,” Matthew chuckles as he stares at her.

This is my chance to tip the balance in my favor—make up for what I said two days ago, perhaps score her digits. I push back my chair and rush to help her, fighting the upward-flowing crowd of students. As I reach her, I bend and help her pick up her books. An inviting flowery scent wafts toward me. With her sassy mouth, her elegant poise and her mesmerizing scent, this girl seems to hypnotize me with some magical power.

The moment I finish, I rise, take her hand and carefully tug her closer to me. Those pretty, dark eyes widen, she scrunches her straight nose, and bites her kissable lips, messing up the heart they form when her pouty mouth is closed. The entire world disappears. My heart thumps faster than any drum solo I’ve ever heard or played before. I tilt my head toward my seat, hoping she’ll follow as I hold her books hostage.

I set the books on top of the table next to my laptop, and pull out the chair for my future girl. Right before we slide toward our seats, I whisper, “Next time, watch your step.”

“Thank you.” Her sweet voice slides through my ears, making me shiver all over.

A vision of the two of us making music begins to materialize inside my head. I can feel another song about us brewing through my system. Notes combining with one another the way I want to combine with her…

Matthew pushes me and shakes his head, mumbling, “Close your mouth. You look like a dumbass.”

“Shut up,” I say between clenched teeth.

Fuck, I have to abstain from slapping the back of his head. This isn’t the moment to display our brotherly love and immature behavior. Instead, I turn my attention to the one who matters—Twinkle, the girl who is about to become mine.

“Good morning, I’m Professor Crestwood.” Just as I was about to open my mouth to ask for her number, the professor interrupts me. Wait, he said Crestwood? I don’t remember that name. “Welcome to Economics I.”

“What the fuck?” Matthew blurts. “Jacob?”

“Is there a problem up there?” The professor demands indignantly. “I expect respect during the next two hours.”

“I thought this was Portfolio Analysis and Management.” I start packing my shit. “Sorry, sir. So, Twinkle, maybe I can interest you in scribbling your number before I leave?”

“PAM is on the third floor, but that’s a senior class.” The professor states the obvious with a disdained attitude. “I doubt you two should be in college. The high school is a few blocks south.”

Twinkle and a few others around begin to laugh at our expense.

“You, you, you, and you. Out!” He points at a few around us as we walk by, including my girl. “Now. I won’t start the class until all of you are out, and I recommend you start researching today’s class because next Friday you’ll be required to make a presentation.”

Matthew and I flinch. Getting crap because of someone else’s actions sucks. Twinkle takes her pile of books and exits the classroom.

“Sorry,” I trail off as Matthew shuts the door. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You have your fake future all planned. Why mess with mine?”

I crook a brow, not understanding.

“One year of school and then the music business—that’s what you said during your charade.” She stiffens, as the volume of her voice raises. That tone she uses is velvety, yet edged with steel. “People like you make me sick.”

“Like me?” I question with a low, menacing voice. She’s about to call me something I won’t like because of my appearance. Not the first time I’ve faced shit like that.

“Rich kids who think they can do whatever they want.” The sharp, cold words differ from what I thought she was going to say. I want to defend myself, but have no chance before she continues. “Never mind, I’m heading to the library, or maybe the counselor’s office to search for a different class. There’s no way I’m taking his class after today. I’ll be on his list.”

“Can I help?”

She spins around, shaking her head. And just like that, without a word, she walks out of my life. Again.

“Why are you here?” I raise my voice as I notice Jacob using the computer next to me.

“What?” He raises his palms, asking innocently. “Be quiet,” he whispers. “The last time I checked this is a free country. The library is part of the school, and as a student, I have the right to be here for research.”

Sure he does, but not when I’m around. I pile up my crap and leave.

You are acting ridiculous, Pria.

I hate him. Because of him, I had to switch my schedule. I found another Econ I class, sent my request to switch classes, and hopefully there won’t be future issues. Damn. When I registered for classes, I remember asking for Professor Crestwood because he’s one of the best. The sophomore who helped me that day told me to be careful since he liked to choose a few students and make their lives miserable during the semester. I’m going to be one of them if my request isn’t approved.

“How about an early lunch?” He walks behind me.

“How about you leave me the hell alone?” I retort, speeding my pace. “Don’t you have anyone else to annoy, like your brother?”

“Nah, I already did that.” I slightly glance his way as I can hear the smile in his words. He is, in fact, grinning. “Come on, Twinkle. I’m asking for a few minutes to redeem myself. You think I’m crazy.”

I do. A good-looking nut case. I wish I had brought my camera with me to take a picture of these handsome specimens Maeve wants me to study up-close and personal. Not that I would study this one, but a picture to look at of him often would sure come in handy. The photo wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t mock me, nor get me into trouble.

“Please.” I ignore him, heading to the bus stop. Since I have two hours to waste, heading to my room to finish tomorrow’s homework sounds like the sensible thing to do. “Look, here’s the coffee house.” He points to the shop we’re walking by, then points at the next shop. “Ice cream?”

Hmm, he’s speaking my language. I’m tempted to stop and accept a double scoop of Neapolitan ice cream—the best of three worlds.

“Yep, that hit the spot, huh? Ice cream.” He places a hand on my back and tries to steer me toward the shop. “Chocolate, vanilla…some weird flavor?”

“I shouldn’t.” Because who accepts ice cream from someone they hate? Well, I don’t hate him—I just dislike him for ruining my schedule. Switching my nine to seven thirty in the morning sucks. Plus, he’s confusing and scary. “There’s so much I have to do before my next class.” I try to come up with the best excuse, yet I don’t like the empty-gut feeling that his eyes bring out in me as they lose their cockiness. What is with this guy? Jacob is too pretty, and good-looking boys usually don’t seek out girls like me. It makes me wonder what he wants from me—and why. “Maybe another day.”

“What if this is our last chance to meet?” There’s a gentle softness in his voice that hypnotizes me, and as I’m about to nod, my phone rings.

“Mom, is everything okay?” With a weak, tremulous whisper, I answer my phone.

“Yes, Pria. Not every call I make is about your sister.” I sigh with relief, taking this moment to forget about Mr. Blue Eyes. “Remember I told you that you should find a job? Well, a friend of mine called about an open position at her boutique. It’s not far from your dorm and you can occupy your weekends working for her.”

“I’d like that, Mom.”

“She wants to chat with you. Why don’t you visit her today during your free time?” This woman is scary good at that mom thing. How does she know I’m free? “I’m texting you the information.”

“Thank you, Mommy.” I glance at the text that has the exact bus I should take and which streets I need to walk. Mom…she knows me too well. “Since I don’t have classes right now, I’ll head there. I love you.”

“Love you too, Pree. Please call me tonight. You know I worry about you.”

I stroll toward the bus stop when I’m abruptly caught by the elbow, causing me to come to a complete stop.

“We’re having ice cream.” Jacob’s fingers brush my arm and my heartbeat skyrockets from such an insignificant stroke. “Why are you leaving?”

I wait until my quickened pulse slows down. The consuming fire he sparked is unknown to me. All I know is that I want to stay here. I
want
to remain close to him so I can experience more of those tremors and the adrenaline rush his presence, contact, and voice produce.

“Mom,” I croak. As the bus approaches, I have to make a decision. A cold breeze snaps me out of my trance, reminding me that Mom counts on me and she’d be disappointed if I don’t get the job. “If it’s true, it’ll happen another day.”

“If what’s true?” Crestfallen, his smile fades away.

“Us, if it’s written in the stars.” I climb the bus, not looking back.

Of course, it’s not written anywhere, and if I ever see him again, he’ll be with someone that’s like him. Whatever he is. Once I take my seat, I look out the window and watch those assessing eyes following the vehicle as it moves.

Not many people are lucky enough to say that they started their life with a partner. I started mine with two. AJ and MJ were there with me that fateful morning when the three of us came into this world. Since then, we have taken our own steps, tried our own things, but just as many other things we’ve done together. My siblings and I take most of the huge steps, new challenges, and crap together. Tonight, we take another step toward adulthood. Becoming music scouts. Our father is training us for the job. AJ is miles away from us, but she didn’t want to miss the lesson, so she’s on the phone following every second since we met with Chris. That’s us: wanting to be unique, yet staying connected and doing what the other triplet does.

We approach the café Dad mentioned earlier. It’s nothing fancy. A hipster venue with couches, tables, and a counter. The establishment has been around since before I was born. This is where he found the first band that signed with Decker Records—Terminal. As he gives us an overview about what he does, he emphasizes that Cup of Joe and Silver Moon should remain on our “to-go” places. Something about loyalties and traditions.

I’m glad AJ’s on the phone writing notes for us. So far she’s got everything down. The basic steps are finding the right places. Coffee shops, bars, clubs, parks, college parties, and sometimes the music shops. As we listen to the band, we not only observe them as a whole; we have to determine the value of each member. The band could be good, but if we isolate the members, we can either find their weak link or the element that has talent. In either case, we don’t make offers; we only hand out our business card. I’m going to have my own business cards next month. Another step to…becoming independent.

If things work out, we might be able to scout while we tour with our own band—that’s a couple of years away, but seeing the light of my future is a motivation to continue. Of course, our father trusts our musical ear, but he doesn’t trust our judgment yet. Maybe a wise thing because I don’t trust myself, either.

“Make sure they’re clean. The presence of drugs, alcohol, and women should get an automatic rejection,” he warned us, and repeated it several times.

“We shouldn’t care about their habits,” I offered, as I like to think, to each their own.

“It matters.” The cut, dry voice didn’t leave room for negotiation. “If they’re already abusing their five minutes of fame, imagine what they’ll do when they become famous. I’ve done this before, boy. When you’re under the influence of drugs, sex, or alcohol, you don’t care about your future—only your next fix. Are we clear?”

The three of us said yes. But Matthew said, “We’ll fuck up a few times before we have this one under control.”

Chris promised to explain the rest as we scouted. The training isn’t a one-day gig. For now, he’ll introduce us to the owner and watch us while we pay attention to whoever plays today. It’s a hit-and-miss gig. His only condition for today is not to get distracted with our usual nonsense.

I prop the door of the coffee house open, hold it for my father and then Matthew to walk through. There’s a nice crowd, some sitting on the couch in front of the improvised stage while others are standing. Only a few listeners sit at the tables that have zero view to the center of the room. Among them, Twinkle.
Oh shit.
This shit won’t fly with my father.

“This is business,” he whispers, as we walk toward the back of the coffee shop. “Until you have mastered the art of finding talent, you can’t be distracted. Listen to that, kid. In the meantime, I’m heading to the back in search of Sergio.”

We both nod, take a seat, and listen. I grab my cell out of my pocket making sure AJ can hear what the kid says.

I love you, because I hate you
I hate you, because I met you
You broke my heart, you broke my life
I was of flesh and bones,
Now I am of pain and tears
Death, please take me away before I drown in tears.

Everyone snaps their fingers as he finishes his piece.

“I don’t get it.” Matthew rests his forearms on the table and shakes his head. “That’s poetry, not music.”

AJ: I wish I’d heard the entire thing. He can be a good lyricist. If the piece is good, we can create a song. In fact, I could start something nice from that. Buy it from him!

“Silence,” I whisper on the phone. “You swore you’d be invisible. That includes no texting.”

AJ: Fine, but buy it.

“This is Matthew and Jacob.” Chris joins us at the table. “They’re training to replace me. Boys, this is Sergio.” Sergio must be around Dad’s age, with short hair and a beer gut. “If either one of you needs anything when you’re here, look for him.”

“Nice to meet you, boys.” He shakes our hands and leaves without saying a word.

“Does he know who we are?” I dare to ask.

“No. Sorry.” Some days I think it upsets him not introducing us as his children, but that’s part of our lives. “What did you think about that kid?”

“We can ask for that shit—buy it. It’ll make a great song,” I say back, feeling accomplished when Chris grants me that special smile he gives us kids when we hit the jackpot. The high only lasts seconds, though, as this is a stolen idea from my sister. I let out a breath and do the right thing. “AJ can transform it. She’s the one who brought that up.”

I wish I could lie, but I never do that, much less to my family.

“You three have always been a great team,” he says. It’s not exactly what I expected, but it sounded better than his normal act of celebrating everything she does.

The next musical number is the True Argos. The band doesn’t suck, but they won’t make the cut. Their guitar player thinks he’s the star, the drummer is out of sync with the music, but the girl who’s in charge of rhythm guitar is good. I’d switch her to be the lead and send the wannabe star back to where he came from. The vocalist is talented. However, I can only take so much of them. Their repertoire consists so far of one original song, and now they’re playing covers. As I become restless, my eyes wander around the room and they find their favorite view. Twinkle. No, wait, she’s leaving. I push myself out of my seat, but my father shakes his head.

Damn. No, I need a name, a number. This is
the
fateful encounter.

“Sit, or you’re fired.” That menacing voice appears. He’s not kidding. “Either you’re in or you’re not. Your choice.”

I stare at the door. It swings open and then closes.

Bye, Twinkle!