The layer of ice over my heart melts. I decide maybe I can “try” to be friends with Storm Matthews, giant fake br**sts and all.
***
“See you later, Livie,” I grumble, grabbing my things for Starbucks, a scowl twisting my face.
“Kace …” There’s a long pause. Livie’s gulp fills the silence in the apartment and I know something’s bothering her.
“Ugh, Livie!” I roll my head back. “Spit it out. I don’t want to be late for my stellar job.”
“I think I should have stayed in Grand Rapids.”
That freezes my feet. Anger sparks inside me at the thought of my little sister left back there. Not with me. “Stop saying stupid shit like that, Livie.” I tap her nose, making her flinch. “Right now. Of course you shouldn’t have stayed in Grand Rapids.”
“How are we going to survive though?”
“With ten hours of prostitution for each of us. Maximum.”
“Kacey!”
I sigh, turning serious. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I can get a job.”
“You need to concentrate on school, Livie. But …” I waggle my finger at her. “If Storm offers you money again, take it.”
She’s already shaking her head. “No. I’m not taking money to hang out with Mia. She’s fun.”
“You’re supposed to be having fun with people your own age, Livie. Like boys.”
She sets her jaw stubbornly. “When they’re not idiots, I’ll do that. Until then, five years olds make more sense.”
I stifle a laugh. That’s part of Livie’s problem. She’s too smart. Genius smart. She’s never related to kids her own age. I think she was born with the maturity of a twenty-five year old. Losing my parents only exacerbated that problem. She’s grown up too fast.
“What about you? It’s never too late for the Princeton dream,” she says quietly.
An unattractive snort escapes me. “That dream died years ago for me, Livie, and you know that. You’ll go, on that full scholarship you’re going to earn. I’ll apply somewhere local as soon as I have the money.” And somehow forge my transcript to make up two years of appalling grades.
Her brow creases in that worried Livie way. “Local, Kacey? Dad would hate that.” She’s right, he would. Our dad went to Princeton. His dad when to Princeton. In his view, I may as well enroll in a school with golden arches for a crest and take “Flipping Burgers 1-0-1” if I’m not going to Princeton. But Mom and Dad are gone and Uncle Raymond blew our entire inheritance on a black jack table.
I remember the night I found out about that like it was yesterday. It was my nineteenth birthday and I asked Aunt Darla and Uncle Raymond for our money so we could move out. I wanted to become Livie’s legal guardian. I knew something was up when Aunt Darla couldn’t meet my eyes. Uncle Raymond stumbled over his words before blurting out that there was nothing left.
After smashing almost every dish on the kitchen counter and jamming my foot into Uncle Raymond’s jugular so hard his face turned purple, I dialed the cops, ready to charge them with theft. Livie grabbed the phone from me and hung up before the call went through. We wouldn’t win. I’d likely be the one arrested. As smart as Mom and Dad were, they didn’t plan on dying. All the money left after the debts were paid went to Uncle Raymond and Aunt Darla to “care” for us. Secretly, I’m kind of glad Uncle Raymond did all that he did. It gave me another legitimate excuse to take my sister and leave that part of our lives behind for good.
I pat Livie’s back, trying to appease her guilt. “Dad would be happy that we’re safe. End of story.”
***
The next day I’m in the laundromat, when Storm skips down the steps, smiling but sallow-eyed. Livie took Mia to the park again and I’m giving serious consideration to smacking her upside the head for refusing to take money.
“Tanner must have his panties in a bunch over this.” Storm slides her foot across the sticky green stain left by my detergent. I duck my head, silently reminding myself to come back and scrub the floor. The thought of Tanner in any kind of underwear makes bile rise in my throat.
I quietly continue my sorting until I notice Storm’s standing there idly, watching me. It’s obvious she wants to talk to me, but she probably doesn’t know where to start.
“How long have you lived here?” I finally ask.
I think my voice startles her because she jumps and begins tossing in Mia’s little t-shirts and tiny pairs of undies. “Oh, three years, I think? It’s a pretty safe building, but I still wouldn’t come down here at night.”
Her words bring me back to thoughts of Trent and the unwanted feelings he elicited so effortlessly. We’ve been here weeks and I haven’t run into him since. If I dig deep inside, if I care to pay attention to what I’m trying to bury, I catch a glimpse of disappointment over that fact. But I quickly crush it with a hammer and throw it into the well with all other unwanted feelings.
“What are the other people like in the building?”
She shrugs. “A lot of people move in and out. Rent’s cheap so we get a lot of college kids. They’ve all been nice, especially to Mia. Mrs. Potterage on the third floor helps babysit after school and when I work. Oh,” she waggles a finger. “Avoid 2B like the plague. That’s Pervie Pete.”
My head tilts back with a groan. “Fantastic. No building is complete without a resident perv.”
“Oh, and a new guy moved in next to you. 1D.”
I can’t control the bit of heat from crawling up my neck. “Yeah, Trent,” I say casually as I set the machine. Even his name out loud sounds hot. Trent. Trent. Trent. Stop it, Kace.
“Well, I haven’t talked to this Trent but I saw him and … wowza.” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively.
Great. My gorgeous Barbie neighbor thinks Trent is hot. All she has to do is adjust her shirt and she’ll have him on his knees. I realize my teeth are clenched painfully and I focus on releasing my muscles. She can have him and all the trouble he comes with. Why do you care, Kace?
Slamming the doors shut and hitting the on switch, Storm exhales deeply, blowing her long bangs off her face. “Are you going to be here for a while?” She glances at the newspaper and marker I’ve brought down with me. “Would you mind just turning my stuff over when it goes off? I mean, if you’re around and it’s not too much trouble.”
I look at her again, at her drawn skin and the purplish lines marring her pretty blue eyes and see just how worn she is. Young, single mom with a five year old and she works six days a week, up until three a.m. every night?
“Yeah, no problem.” That sounds like something a nice, normal person would do, I tell myself. Livie will be proud of me.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
I notice that she’s biting her lip and her shoulders are pinched together and it dawns on me that she’s nervous. Asking for my help likely took her a ton of courage and she must be desperate enough to do it. Realizing that makes me want to slam my head into a wall. Clearly, I haven’t tried very hard to be approachable, like I promised Livie I would. And Storm’s nice. Really, genuinely nice.
“Why, Ma’am, I reckon it’d be my honor to wash your drawers,” I drawl in a fake southern accent, picking up the paper to fan myself with it.