Soon there’s a garden of badly drawn but extremely colorful flowers growing up the inside of my right arm and line after line of poetry marching halfway down my left thigh.
If people are going to keep staring at me, I’m going to give them something to stare at. I snap the cap back on the pale blue marker I’ve been using, and drop it back into my purse. I hear footsteps coming up behind me, and I zip my bag closed just in time for Leslie—she of the constant disapproving glare—to walk up and slam my soda down on the table top hard enough for it to fizz up precariously close to the rim of the glass. I tilt my head back and grin up at her and reach out to wrap my hand around it. Bringing the glass to my lips, I take a long, deliberate sip of it, watching her as she just shakes her head and stalks away grumbling.
There’s a snort from behind me, and I turn around in my seat to look.
York, the waiter from the other night—the one with the baby face and the sinfully tight jeans—is clearing dirty dishes off a table and into a plastic bin. And he’s looking straight at me. But instead of the glares I’ve been treated to by everyone else in this place, he’s gnawing on his lip, like he’s struggling not to smile. And failing. He looks back and forth quickly, checking that the coast is clear, and then he shoves the last of the plates into the bin and hoists it up on his hip. But instead of heading straight toward the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, he veers slightly to the left coming within a foot of my booth, and as he passes by he slyly reaches out with his free hand, offering me a high five.
What else can I do? I give him one.
Chapter 6
Star
We’ve been working on the backyard for days now, almost a full week, really, and it looks like we’re finally making some progress. I can actually see grass again. Well, not grass. The grass is pretty much toast, having been covered with crumbling plastic crates and tarps and a million other little things for God knows how long. But we’ve got the yard nearly down to the actual yard, so that’s something.
Except I’m starting to think I’m going to have to rework my plan. I was not expecting it to take nearly as long as it has to clean this place up, even with Ash’s help. And considering the fact that the Dumpster I rented is almost full and we haven’t even started on the inside of the house yet, well . . . I’m starting to get a little concerned.
This is going to take way longer than I’d hoped, especially if this heat keeps up. Seriously, this is the hottest day ever. Possibly in my entire life. We’ve been working since dawn, trying to do as much as we can before the air gets too heavy, but it isn’t even noon yet and I feel like I’m trying to do push-ups on the surface of the freaking sun.
I don’t know how I managed to forget just how hot summers can get in Avenue, and at first I think maybe I just blocked it out, because holy crap. But when I think back, something tickles at the back of my memory, and I think I can remember my mother having an air conditioner chugging along in the window, coughing like a three-pack-a-day smoker as it worked. I also remember being small and following around the rotating head of the fan as it swept back and forth, trying to cool my little face, laughing as it blew my pale hair back.
Oh god, I think, grabbing a discarded magazine out of one of my mother’s bins—why she kept every magazine she ever owned, hell, that she could get her hands on, I have no idea—and start fanning myself with it. I reach back with my free hand and gather up as much of my hair as possible, pulling the mass up off my sticky neck. There are little rivulets of sweat running down under my loose T-shirt, and I’m seriously tempted to go back to the B&B for a shower, just so I can rinse the worst of the sweat off me. But I’m afraid if I go back there, I’ll be lulled into complacency by the air-conditioning I know they have there, and just never leave. An air conditioner sounds so good right now. Or a fan. I’d settle for a fan. A fan would be incredible.
But unfortunately, when my mother passed away, the power company switched off the juice, so the fan is a no-go, no matter how good it sounds right now. I just can’t risk it. With all the expenses I have going on right now, and my second year of college looming on the horizon, I just can’t afford the deposit the power company wants in exchange for switching the power back on.
So unless a miracle happens, we’re stuck and I get to feel like I’m dying.
Now I know how the Wicked Witch of the West must have felt.
Melting.
Melting.
Melting.
Would it be too weird if I snagged the bikini I’d shoved in my purse and changed into that? Would Ash care? Because seriously, I am dying here. It is so damn hot. And I’ve been carrying it around with me, just in case I ever happen to stumble upon the lake I know is around here somewhere. But I haven’t had the chance to go exploring, and I haven’t bothered asking any of the locals where it is, since it isn’t like I have any spare time and they probably wouldn’t tell me, anyway.
“Jesus Christ,” Ash’s voice calls out from behind me. “I think I’m dying.”
I look over, my eyes scanning across the yard, but I don’t see Ash. At least, not right away. After a moment, I see movement and I walk closer. Ash is actually lying face-down on the ground in the patch of shade cast by the big oak tree by the back fence. He’s got his arms starfished out at his sides, and he even has his bare cheek pressed against the cool dirt. As I walk up, he lets out a muffled groan and raises an arm weakly in my direction, before letting it fall limply to the ground.
I laugh. “You’re . . . not kidding.” I amble over to stand in the shade with him. It’s a little cooler here, but not by much. I crouch down for a minute, and his eyes blink open to look at me. “You okay?” I ask.
“No,” he murmurs. “Too hot. Dying.”
“Okay, drama queen,” I say, standing back up. “Just let me know if you want me to cover your body with dirt when you expire, or if you want me to drag you to the Dumpster instead.”
Ash groans and pushes himself up enough to flip over onto his back. I’m momentarily distracted by the movement of his muscles beneath his T-shirt. His back is broader than I had imagined. Not that I’ve been imagining what he looks like without clothes, it’s just . . .
Yeah. Just stop right there, Star.
“Just leave me here for the wolves,” he says, and lets his eyes fall shut again. “They’ll drag my body away. No Dumpster-chucking needed.”
I know he’s joking, but something about what he says gives me pause.
“Wolves?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light and playful. Because Miss Josephine’s tiny poodle already kind of freaks me out. Anything wolf-size or related would be over the line. Way over it. And I’ve been away from Avenue for a long time, so I can’t say for certain if he’s joking or not. It’s a small town near a forest. There could be wolves.
But all Ash says is “yeah,” which doesn’t help me figure out the whole wolf issue at all. Before I can work up the courage to actually ask, he continues with, “Holy shit, how can it even be so hot? This shouldn’t be possible. Humans wouldn’t have survived as a species. We’d all be dead.”