The Guys Next Door Read online

  “I’m sorry, guys,” Audrey said with a laugh. “They have no filter.”

  “We don’t,” Avery admitted. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and flashed us a winning smile.

  “Are you guys… together?” I asked, trying to be polite. Marisol threw her head back and laughed, and Avery smiled. I flushed again, knowing that my face was now beet red as I wondered what was so funny about what I had said.

  “She’s not my type,” Avery said. “Sorry, Mari.” He reached for her hand and kissed the top, letting his lips linger on her skin. Marisol pretended to swoon, one hand over her heart.

  “Although it pains me every time to hear it, life will go on,” said Marisol. I looked back and forth between them, wondering how on earth Marisol could not be somebody’s type. A woman like Marisol was every man’s type.

  “You’re gay,” Noah said. Not for the first time that night, my jaw came unhinged and dropped to the floor. I balled my fist, ready to punch him in the arm for being so insulting when I saw Avery smile and wink.

  “Loud and proud, baby boy,” he said and reached over to muss Noah’s hair. My brother, it seemed, didn’t mind when Avery did it. He even smiled a little bit, and I tried to capture that smile in my memory before it was gone again.

  My balled fists dropped to my side. I stared at Avery, unable to look away. I had only ever known one gay person back in Michigan, and she had been a woman. I couldn’t decide if I was humiliated or curious, but I knew one thing: I had never felt more like a total loser than I did at that moment.

  “Olivia and Noah,” said Avery. “Your aunt spoke kindly of you. We are so sorry to hear about the accident.” He leaned down and took my hand, kissing the top of it as he had Marisol’s. I hadn’t realized how charming he was until a giggle escaped my lips. Next to me, Noah rolled his eyes, but I knew he liked Avery. I could see it in his eyes. That was good because Noah didn’t like many people, especially not now. Maybe, just maybe, Audrey’s crowd was precisely the people he needed to be around.

  “They start school tomorrow, so we should get home,” Audrey said. I felt strangely disappointed that we couldn’t hang around longer. These people had been the kindest strangers we’d met in a month’s time.

  “Shame,” said Avery. The more he spoke and moved about, the more I could see and hear the feminine side of him, the side he was so proud to display. A person like Avery could easily make friends with anyone, male or female. I felt like I’d known him for years.

  “We can’t stay?” Noah asked. The question was so quiet I’d almost missed it.

  “Sorry, kiddo, I have to practice my responsible adulting now,” Audrey said with a helpless shrug.

  “This sucks.”

  “Many things in this life suck, but meeting you has not even come close,” Avery said. He hopped down from the counter and squeezed Noah’s shoulder. “Come back and see Uncle Avery tomorrow, okay kiddo?” Noah and I nodded, and Audrey turned to Marisol.

  “How’s Ty? Is he well enough to perform tonight? I spoke to Josie about that new dance she has for them. I don’t think I’m digging the halftime show—”

  As Audrey rambled on, I turned my attention back to Noah, who once again had that sad look on his face. I wanted to hug him, but I knew that he would only pull away. He’d been so strong since the accident, as if he felt like he had to be strong for me, his big sister. He’d barely shed a tear since the funeral, and I worried for him. He should have cried harder, been more upset; yelled, screamed even. But he hadn’t.

  I knew that was partially my fault, as I had fallen apart. I had cried, screamed, and shrieked. I had dropped to my knees at the funeral and sobbed until an elderly neighbor had lifted me out of the mud and hugged me against her. Noah hadn’t reacted, I guess, to mourn. I had taken that away from him. I was the older sibling, the sister whose job it was to take care of my kid brother, just as my parents had taken care of me.

  I reached out to Noah to pull him into me, but then caught myself and squeezed his shoulder instead. Just as expected, he shied away, acting annoyed, dodging my attempt to play nice. My hand dropped from his jacket as he shot me a venomous look, and my chest tightened with sorrow. He was just a kid, going through something that no child should ever have to go through.

  We were both just kids, and life wasn’t playing fair.

  Although sleep hardly came that night (it rarely had in the last month, an ill-fated side-effect of our new life without Mom and Dad), morning came too quickly. My feet and legs felt like bars of steel as we got ready for school. I could barely keep my eyes open without a migraine threatening to take over.

  The surprise guardianship had popped up on Audrey so abruptly that she hadn’t been able to invest in a family-friendly home. Her townhouse, a little two-bedroom place downtown, though, stylish and cute, was cramped and cluttered. Audrey had converted her old spare office into a room for Noah and the guest room into a place for me. Although the townhouse was two stories, we all shared a bathroom, which made getting ready in the morning a challenge I wasn’t prepared for.

  “You can only brush your hair so many times before it’ll start to fall out, Liv!” Noah called through the door. “Trust me, it doesn’t make you look any better. You’re wasting your time. And everyone else’s!”

  Ignoring him, I stared back at my reflection in the mirror, taking stock of the shadows under my eyes, the frail appearance of my skin, the sadness behind the smile I practiced in the reflection. God, I missed them so much. I missed Mom’s morning pancakes and Dad’s horrible attempt at hot cocoa. I missed the sound of the running shower and the lingering fragrance of Mom’s perfume in the air. I missed the smiles, the hugs, the laughs… I missed it all so much that in some moments it hurt to breathe, hurt to move, hurt to exist.

  “Come on, Liv.” Noah’s fist connected once again with the door, and I took a deep breath, splashed some water on my flushed cheeks, then swung the door open and glared at him, clutching Audrey’s brush in my hand as I willed myself not to hit him with it. We’d been yanked from Michigan so quickly that most of our stuff had been left behind, thrown away or donated… personal hygiene products included. Instead of whacking my brother with the hard side of the hairbrush, I handed it to him and stepped around him, fighting the urge to slap the smirk off his face.

  “You still look like a poodle,” he said. “Good effort, though.” He slammed the door in my face, and I raised one hand to pound on it but thought better of it and backed away instead. I couldn’t find the energy to fight with him anymore, even if telling him off was all I wanted to do. Back home, that would have escalated into a knock-down-drag-out fight with plenty of screeching and name-calling. Mom would have shot me her best You Know Better look, and Dad would have kicked Noah in the butt with the toe of his sneaker. Audrey, I knew, was too passive to break up a fight between Noah and me. I had to be the bigger person now and keep the arguments to rare occurrences, no matter how tremendously difficult it would be.

  Audrey was flitting around the kitchen like a trapped bird in a box as I came into the room. She sipped coffee from a pink mug that had the words Mrs. Hot Mess in sparkling letters on the side, poking at the eggs she’d already slaughtered on the oven top. She was dressed already in a sequined blue top and tight jeans, hair and makeup done and flawless. She wore leather, knee-high boots this morning with a small heel, ones that click click clicked against the tile when she walked. I glanced down at my ripped and faded jeans, ones that barely fit anymore, along with the tattered tennis shoes I’d received for Christmas one year. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so cozy to wear.

  “We’re going to be late,” Audrey said as I crossed the kitchen floor to crack a window. She clicked the stove top off and yanked the pan of eggs from the burner, cursing. The pan rattled, her attempt at scrambled eggs burned solidly to the bottom of the pan. “Where’s your brother?”

  “In the bathroom, probably checking himself out.” I pulled my drab brown hair back into a ponytail, feel
ing too self-conscious to leave it down. Mom had always admired my thick, wavy hair, but it drove me insane. My longing for thin, stick-straight locks that other girls could flip, toss, and show off was nothing more than an impossible dream. Noah was right, as per usual. Today, like every day, I resembled a poodle.

  Audrey scraped some of the burned eggs onto a plate for Noah and me, and then the rest into the trash bin before grabbing two travel mugs from her cupboard. She filled both with coffee and cream before tightening the lids, handing one of them over to me with a smile. Her red painted lips looked flawless, not a smudge of makeup out of place.

  “I’m not allowed to drink coffee,” I said, taking it in surprise. Before Audrey could respond, I realized my mistake and flushed, looking down at the thermos cradled between both hands. She said nothing as I took a hesitant sip.

  “It’s good,” I said. “It tastes like pumpkin.”

  “Pumpkin spice creamer is the secret.” She winked at me and took a drink of her own coffee. Suddenly, at seventeen years old, I felt like a grownup for the first time in my life. “Have some food before we go,” she said. She checked her cell phone, texted somebody, then slipped it into the pocket of her jeans.

  I looked down at my plate, spotting a tiny white shell that hadn’t been separated from the cooked eggs, resisting the urge to make a face as she turned away. Noah came down the stairs just then, but his relentless demand for the bathroom had done nothing for him. His hair was still wild about his head, and the sleep goobers in the corners of his eyes were stale.

  “You’re disgusting,” I said as he sat down across from me. “You couldn’t have even washed your face?”

  “All the soap smells like perfume and flowers,” Noah snapped. “It’s like a sorority in here.”

  “I heard that.” Audrey poured some orange juice for Noah, and I watched my brother take a huge bite of his eggs, wrinkle his nose, and then slip two fingers into his mouth to withdraw a crunchy eggshell. Audrey, who was refilling her coffee mug, didn’t notice.

  “Thanks for this,” I said, swallowing down the last bit of my coffee, ignoring the disapproving look I knew Noah was shooting at me from the table. Mom would have never let me have coffee, and he knew it.

  But Mom wasn’t here.

  I rinsed it in the sink and grabbed my backpack and jacket near the front door.

  “Let’s go,” Audrey called. “I can’t let you be late on your first day.”

  Avoiding the crunchy eggs and burned bacon, Noah and I followed Audrey to her car. My brother was still picking eggshells from between his teeth, but he had yet to mention it. Despite his aloof personality, my little brother still had a heart of gold. Most of the time, anyway.

  I knew that Noah was dreading our first day as much as I was. It was the middle of the year, and we had been ripped away from our town, our schools, and our friends during a few short weeks. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be going back to school; the social worker had insisted, and there was no getting around it. We were to carry on with life in Seattle as though our parents were still alive, and we weren’t living with a near total stranger. Because that was the easiest thing to do… for everyone but us, it seemed.

  “I’m sure you’ll have a great first day,” Audrey said as we drove. Her road rage was astounding, and every few minutes she would lie on the horn and shout a string of expletives—some I’d never even heard before—at the driver’s around her. The whole time, however, there was a smile plastered on her face. It reminded me of a story my father had read to us once: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Even Noah was clutching the sides of the seat in horror.

  “We’ll only have a first day if we survive,” he muttered. Audrey either hadn’t heard him or pretended not to, because she rattled on as if he’d never spoken.

  “The kids here are nice,” she said.

  “The kids in Michigan were nice, too,” said Noah. He sat cramped in the back seat of Audrey’s two-door Mustang, an inconvenient car for an even more embarrassing situation. Not even Noah could appreciate the beauty of the vehicle with his knees pulled up to his chin.

  “I’ll pick you up this afternoon,” Audrey continued as she pulled up to the school. Although Noah was still an eighth grader, the high school and middle school nearly connected here. Knowing that Noah would be somewhere nearby and never too far from me would make the day more bearable. Noah was familiar. Noah was home.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, dreading every nearing moment of the incoming day. Acidic bile rose in the back of my throat, but I pushed it back down. For Noah. I had to be strong for Noah.

  As I opened the door to step out, Audrey grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

  “I love you guys, okay?” she said. “Just know that.” She mussed my hair and then grabbed at Noah’s. He ducked a second too late, groaning as she messed up his, too. “Now get out there and show ’em what you’re made of. Nobody messes with the Jameses.”

  Noah rolled his eyes, a signature trademark of his, and I waved to Audrey as she pulled away, honking the horn at a line of children in the crosswalk.

  “Well,” Noah said as we watched her tail lights disappear. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and raised an eyebrow at me. Then, with a half-assed salute, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and turned away. “See ya later, sis.”

  I watched my kid brother walk off with his head down, dragging his feet as he walked. I was tired of his attitude, but I still felt alone without him by my side. Since the accident we hadn’t been apart, even when we fought. Noah was the last bit of home I had left, and he’d just left me there without a second thought.

  I stood on the lawn in front of the high school for a moment, feeling like a stain on the wall as students of every build, age, and color passed me by without a second glance. My toes were freezing from the water in the damp grass that soaked its way into my sneakers, but even that didn’t prod me to move forward.

  “Aren’t you cold in that outfit?” someone said behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, eyes meeting the gaze of a long-legged girl who looked like she’d just stepped off the set of Grease. She had ratted, fiery red hair and a pale complexion dotted with freckles. She was dressed brazenly in hot-pink leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt with the neck missing, sporting long black boots over her leggings as she leaned up against a tree. She puffed on a cigarette as she watched me, and her vibe felt so surreal I wasn’t even sure if she was really there.

  “Not really,” I said, but I was cold. I had been freezing my ass off since I’d stepped out of Audrey’s car. I was downright bone rattling, teeth-chattering freezing in my ripped jeans and my mother’s old University of Michigan sports tee. But even then, I didn’t want to give this girl any excuse to keep the conversation going. I was terrible at making friends even in a good situation, but now I couldn’t even bring myself to be friendly. I didn’t have the desire, let alone the energy, to put in the effort.

  “This is Washington, sweetheart,” the girl said. She dropped her cigarette on the ground without bothering to put it out first, and then smashed the butt with the toe of her boot, grinding it into the earth. I looked around, wondering if a teacher had seen it and was ready to bust her. No one seemed to notice or even care. Back in Michigan you could be suspended just for carrying a cigarette onto school grounds.

  Not that I would know or anything.

  “You’re dressed for Phoenix,” the redhead said.

  “I’m from Michigan.” I felt defensive, probably because this girl intimidated me. “It’s colder there than it is here.”

  “No shit?” the girl raised her eyebrows, her emerald eyes flickering toward my shirt. “Michigan, huh? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  Irritated, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and looked around, wondering which entrance I needed to find. I was cold, overwhelmed, and exasperated. I didn’t assume I’d be stopping to chat with this girl unless she had a fuzzy blanket and a steaming mug of cocoa hiding in her pants. Unfortunat
ely, it didn’t appear so.

  “Is that how you make friends in Michigan?” the girl drawled. She folded her arms across a chest of impressively big boobs. “They say big cities are the worst, but today I have a reason to doubt it. You’re kind of a bitch.”

  “It takes one to know one.” I hadn’t meant to let it slip, but it was too late to take it back now. “Sorry.” I let my shoulders slump and turned toward her, the weight of my backpack straining on my neck. Despite my hesitance to be social, my mother had taught me better than that. “It’s been a long day, and it hasn’t even started yet.”

  “Shit happens.” The girl took a few steps forward and tilted her chin, making an obvious show of assessing me. She almost looked amused, as if my comment had been funny. After a few moments, she finally spoke. “I’m Emma,” she said. “Emma Newton.”

  “Olivia,” I muttered, not bothering to offer my hand if she didn’t. “Great to meet you.”

  I failed at trying to sound sincere, but Emma didn’t seem to care. Emma didn’t seem to care about much of anything, actually, as her eyes scanned my attire. We stopped and faced each other, the silence deafening. She had one arm tucked under the other, her left elbow supported by her right arm as she twirled a strand of red hair around her finger. Only then did I notice a trail of beads braided into her curls. There wasn’t anything conservative about this girl.

  “You live in the city now?” she asked, eying me. It felt awkward, as if she was sizing me up for a rumble in the park. It was a scene straight out of West Side Story.

  “I live with my aunt,” I said. “Downtown. In an apartment. Long story.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Emma.

  It was so bad, but the last thing I needed was for one more person to confirm it. I could be a loser only for so long before there was no more room to be one. When that time came, I would have to look for a new label. Geek, maybe. Dork. Lame was always a good one. Yes, lame. After loser, lame would suffice. In this state, I could never be cool. I had barely been cool back home.