Her bed is queen-sized, even though she could easily fit three kings in here. And her floor is covered in black carpet, which I’m certain she picked out. A miniature crystal chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, and all along the walls are splashes of red and white. Near the soaring window is an enormous black leather beanbag. Overall, the room is designed for a rock star and looks similar to a deck of playing cards.
I can’t help thinking Charlie would like the bold red. That maybe this is the room she’d actually like to have, even though everyone would rather picture her in something pink and sparkly.
Eyeing the area near the beanbag, I notice there are little trinkets on the window ledge. I stand from the pimp chair and move across the room. Aspen sees what I’m headed toward and leaps to her feet.
“Those are mine,” she says, and I’m surprised at the possessiveness in her voice.
Ignoring her, I edge closer. They’re music boxes, I realize. Well, not boxes, actually. More like just the little mechanical parts of music boxes, all silver cords and string. On the side of each device is a little crank. I want to turn one so bad, but suddenly I feel like my hands are too big. I glance at Aspen who’s standing close by, her face lined with worry. She flicks her cigarette into a chrome trash can like she never wanted it in the first place. “Do these actually play anything?” I ask.
Her eyes glare past me at the trinkets, and I note the blue eye shadow smudged over her lids. I wonder why she wears it, because Mom—who also has green eyes—always said the shade was blasphemous.
“Yeah, they work.” Aspen steps around me as if she’s guarding them. Then, maybe because she can tell how badly I want to pick one up, she chooses one from the back. Then she rolls it between her gloved hands and gives me a long look. It’s like she’s silently conveying how much these things mean to her, though she’d never say it aloud. Glancing away, she holds it out to me, trying hard to act like she doesn’t care if I crush it under my heel.
I take it from her and then, balancing my cigarette in the corner of my mouth, I crank the miniature lever. Music ticks out from the gadget and I can’t help but laugh. It’s freaking awesome. I have no idea why, but it is. Aspen turns away and goes to get another cigarette. She lights it and curls up on her bed like a compressed coil, like if I make one wrong move, she’ll fire across the room. “Why do you have these?” I ask around my cancer stick.
She shrugs. “Why not?”
I spin the lever a few more times and then put the gadget back exactly where it was. Then I glance around the room again, looking to see what else I can find. This time my eyes land on a checkerboard. At first I think it’s décor, considering her room is splashed with reds and blacks. But the board and pieces are blue and yellow, and look way too intricate to be intended for actual play. Still, I know better than anyone that rich kids’ toys are always extravagant. Even crap like board games. I reach for a yellow checker.
“Stop!” Aspen yells, leaning forward. “Just…just stop touching things.” My arm freezes in midair, and a chill shoots over my skin. Most people would assume she’s just some spoiled brat who can’t share. But when I see the fear hidden in her eyes, I know better.
“What are you worried about, Aspen?” I ask quietly. And for once, I actually care what comes out of her mouth. I know Aspen likes to party, but before, I thought this was about a girl whose daddy didn’t pay attention. Now I’m not so sure.
My eyes rake over her dark hair, the small diamond stud in her nose. I watch her hands clench and unclench, and I zone in on her fingerless gloves.
Aspen toys with a small silver chain around her neck. It’s an unconscious action but one I notice all the same. There isn’t a charm on her necklace. It’s just an empty thread, like whoever bought it forgot the most important part.
I take a small step closer. “Aspen?”
In a flash, she’s on her feet. “Don’t give me that look. I’m warning you. Don’t you dare look like you feel sorry for me.” She jerks a finger in my direction. “I have everything. And I certainly don’t need some poser acting like I’m the one who needs help.”
Poser? my mind screams. Moi? But then I remember I’m wearing high fashion while driving a busted-up Kia.
I consider letting this go, but I’ve never backed down from a challenge. And this girl, she’s tossing ’em around like it’s the freaking summer Olympics. In three quick steps, I close the distance between us. I grab her upper arms and jerk her so that she can’t avoid my eyes. “You’re real good at pushing people away, aren’t you?” I growl around my cigarette. “Push, push, push. That’s Aspen.” My eyes search her face as I reconsider what I just said. “Push them away or pull them closer, right? So close they can’t even see you clearly anymore.” Cigarette in hand, I put my mouth right next to her ear. “I don’t get pushed around easily, doll. And there’s only one girl I let pull me in.”
Aspen spins her arms in a quick circle, then throws her hands into my chest. “Get off me!”
I stumble backward, and we stare at each other, breathing hard. There’s absolutely nothing sexual between us. It’s just two screwed-up people seeing each other for the first time.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. I have no idea why I say this. It just comes out. But once I say it, I know it’s true. I don’t care about saving Aspen. Not really. Even if Valery does insist she’s important to Big Guy. But I won’t leave her alone.
Aspen mutters something under her breath.
“Speak up,” I bark.
“I said, ‘you will.’ Everyone goes away.” Her stone skin relaxes, like she’s just realized what she said.
“Nah, screw that.” I stub my cigarette out in a red ash tray. “I ain’t got nothing else to do.”
Aspen laughs. It’s riddled with nerves, but it doesn’t change anything, because now we’re both smiling like idiots.
“Can I come out now?” a small voice asks.
Aspen and I spin around to see her sister, Sahara, standing in the doorway. She appears to be about eight years old, and I notice she dresses the way Aspen does, all black with a pop of one other color. Sahara slinks into the room when Aspen doesn’t immediately tell her to leave. She goes to stand in front of her older sister, and Aspen wraps her arms around her shoulders.
“This is Dante,” Aspen tells her sister. Her eyes bore into me, like she’s warning me not to say anything about our super-strange moment.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Sahara holds out her hand like a businesswoman, and I offer my own in return.
“Nice grip,” I tell the girl. “You could be a race car driver.”
Sahara laughs and looks up at her sister. The muscles relax in Aspen’s shoulders as she watches us interact, and I can’t help but think Sahara seems pretty freaking cool.
“Want to see my new dress?” Sahara asks me.
I rub my chin like I’m deep in contemplation. “Depends on whether you want an honest opinion. ’Cause I’m going to give one.”
“Okay.” Sahara moves toward the door, smiling like the world is hers to hold.
I meet Aspen’s eyes, and she nods. Then she brushes past me toward Sahara’s room, and I follow close behind. The three of us trail down the hallway, and I can’t get over how odd this is. How moments ago Aspen and I were speaking in code about her messed-up life. And now we’re hanging out with her little sister like we’re best buds. But that’s the thing; Aspen can change her tune in a heartbeat. It’s what I always prided myself on, too, how I could put on different faces depending on who was in the room.