5. WEEKEND FUN
PANDORA
I have the best friends in the world. We’ve stuck together through thick and thin—by “thin” meaning some seriously dire times in high school—and here we are in Deepsilver.
The guilt floods me at how I’m ruining our first weekend as free humans, away from the parentals. By the time Dominic drove me to our apartment yesterday, Mica had read my stupid text out loud to the rest of them, and my half-assed message made them even more worried than they before.
Then, I sent Dominic headfirst back to his own pad without introducing him, which sweet Destiny didn’t approve of. Unfortunately, the day never got better, because I couldn’t stop throwing up. Shannon and Destiny took turns keeping my hair out of the bucket I’d suddenly become so fond of, while Mica complained.
“This was supposed to be fun, Wifey! You’re freaking boring right now,” she repeated until Shannon cut her off once and for all.
“Mica, you know that hyper-expensive Rolls Royce of a straightening iron you have? It lies really close to my fabric scissors. I promise you they’ll get well acquainted if you don’t quit nagging.”
By Sunday, I muster the courage to call my parents. I texted them yesterday with a lie about how I’d forgotten to charge the phone. I’m taking on the challenge today, though. At least I’m not sick anymore.
“Mom.”
“Dora!”
Fuck, I hate that nickname.
“So what’s up?”
“No, young lady. You tell me ‘what’s up,’” she says, stretching the me out. “I’m all ears.”
My mom is not all ears. She’s all mouth. I start on a long, monotone story about every twist and turn on our way cross country in Mica’s and Shannon’s cars. When I’m at the first hot dog stop, my mom can’t keep her yapper shut any longer.
“How’s your back, honey?”
“Totally fine.”
Lie. It’s killing me.
“Are you taking your ADHD meds?”
“I don’t have ADHD anymore, so nope, I’m not. My strand was Childhood ADHD, Mom. I am done.”
“Dora, listen to me. People can still—”
“Mom, stop!”
There’s shocked silence on the other side while she Pricelines a one-way flight in her head. Then, strangely, she opts to overlook my slipup.
“Have you found a good physiotherapist in town yet?”
“We arrived thirty-six hours ago, Mom.” I rub my face tiredly. With my parents, I tend to take the path of least resistance. Experience shows that I prevail on lies, not confrontations—which is due to my father being who he is.
“Well, young lady—”
“Mother, enough of the ‘young lady,’ okay?”
Mica’s eyebrows disappear under her bangs in surprise at the same time Mom lets out a frustrated puff into the phone. “Dora, remember that, college or not, you do have Scheuermann’s disease.”
“Barely.”
“Pandora Cancemi, chronic diseases need to be kept under control—you know that! Massage, exercise…”
“Yes, yes, I exercise.”
“Hot and cold wraps on your back? Did you unpack your heating pad?”
Oh, please, kill me.
“Yes, Mother. The heating pad is by the bed and the painkillers close by just in case.”
“And no overdoing the pills—”
“I don’t! Please—enough already.” I’m so sick of this conversation. “After all these years, I think I know what to do. When was I diagnosed again?” My question was rhetorical, but Mom doesn’t catch the nuance. Mica plops down on my bed, snickering. Crossing her legs, she leans in so the phone wedges in between our heads.
“Hmm,” my mother begins, and I groan inwardly. “Well, we met with Doctor Green when you were eleven. I remember our first visit vividly.”
So do I, Mom—so do I.
“Blah-blah-blah… unnatural curvature of the spine.”
Mica whispers, “Scheuermann can be a very serious illness if not kept from progressing.” And I snort out a laugh. She’s a natural at copying my mother.
“Dora? Are you there? Who are you talking to?”
“Um, Mica. She wants to go out and play.” My comment is snarky. For once Mom acknowledges the humor.
“Um, well, call me later, okay?” She’s definitely smiling on the other end. “And go find a nice playground.”
“Yeah! Smother’s a good one,” Mica says.
Afterward, I’m so relieved. I can’t believe my mother didn’t rip into me for the drunk call two nights ago. I feel a ton lighter. Suddenly, my spirit’s back, and I want to make the best of the weekend.
Mica notices. As soon as I hang up, she squeals “Sightseeing!” pulls me off the mattress, and hops onto my back. Terrible choice, considering the elephant in the room—the infamous Scheuermann.
“She acts like my disease is lethal or something. Every time, it’s like I’m this close to the grave,” I say.
“Bah, she just doesn’t want you to turn all humpback on her. Oh, oh! And be in paralyzing pain for the rest of your life.”
I groan, annoyed that she’s right. “Doesn’t change how frustrating she is.”
Mica is disturbingly lightweight, so despite Scheuermann, I lug the waif into the kitchen before dropping her to the ground. We find Destiny and Shannon ducked over a laptop screen full of curtains at the breakfast bar. Thankfully, they’d rather not deal with our opinions on the matter. These two are the future interior designers of America.
“All right—enough textiles. Ready for fresh air? Deepsilver calls!” Mica squeals.
“Love the name of this town,” Shannon replies without turning. “It’s so balanced.”
Who knows what she means? “Uh-huh, I chose Deepsilver for the name,” I joke.
Destiny’s eyes snap to me, going even darker with the intensity. “No, I picked the University of Deepsilver for its national rankings in academic excellence and their generous scholarship program.”
Or that.
“Sorry, yes—how could I forget? We would’ve been partying down in New York if you hadn’t vetoed my first choice. Thanks, friend.” I make exaggerated air quotes.
Destiny chuckles, placated.
Our apartment occupies the second floor of a three-story building on Noble Street, above what Shannon calls “The Gown Store.” This part of town holds elegant shopping mixed with the small-town version of Upper West Side. It’s everything my parents intended; since the gated community at home couldn’t go with the girl, at least they managed to replicate the snotty, rich neighbors down the entire street. No rickety-raggedy students in sight. Grand.
Dad flew to Deepsilver three times in search of the very best Deepsilver has to offer. Not that I asked for details, but he was happy to rub in how he checked out sixty-four apartments. My dear father doesn’t do things last minute, which is why he became the proud owner of our little lair six months before we moved here.
Outside, the air is crisp and sunny, and I inhale a cleansing breath. I realize I haven’t been past our front door since Dominic dropped me off yesterday morning.
Shannon links her arm with mine as we walk ahead of the others. We window-shop, but mostly she’s niggling me for details from Friday night.
“So… Dominic. What’s he like?”
I groan. “He’s nice.”
“And hot,” she adds unnecessarily.
“True, yep, and I’m not seeing him again.” The wind twirls my hair over my face. I brush away a chunk so I can meet her gaze.
“Yeah? Didn’t he measure up to Jacob in the sack?” She grins, knowing full well I’ll be shocked at her straightforwardness.
My cheeks tingle like they’ve been burned, but I can play this game. I won’t let her intimidate me like she’s done countless times before.
“Poor Jacob,” I say, biting my lip. I’m not trying to hide the blush. Sometimes, if you don’t call attention to it, people don’t notice.
“No, really? Is Dominic a total god in bed?”
I just nod, because my heart accelerates when I think of him. Jesus. I better get a grip. What if I end up on a drunken rampage on the lookout for my newest addiction?
I’m in Deepsilver to study, and I’m not starting off by getting involved with someone. I’m done with boyfriends… and the like.
“What did he do to you? Details, girl,” she demands, but I shake my head. That’s a game I can’t play, even if I’m acting all badass.
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Oh, bull. Guys say that. You’re a girl, and I’m your BFF.” Her logic is ridiculous, and I flash her a smile.
“Anyways. I didn’t give him my number, so he won’t be calling. Which is good.”
Her expression is one for the books. Clearly, she’s not in agreement. “Mmm—no. Girl, I’m at a loss, here. Mr. Hotter-Than-Thou sex god, who also happens to be, quote, unquote, nice, doesn’t have your number and you’re happy. That sum it up?”
“Right, because I’m going to be responsible, study, do well, and keep my parents out of my life. The only way to accomplish this is to never go all hot mess ever again.”
Mica and Destiny have caught up with us, and Mica digs her knees into the back of mine, causing me to stumble forward. “Hey, Pan? I didn’t move here for you to take up knitting.”
I roll my eyes. Destiny’s beaming at me, of course; she likes what I said. How are my friends so different?
I’m about to reply when a loud roar resonates through the quaint Sunday. In seconds, a group of motorcycles closes in, the noise vibrating in my chest. Their tires grip the asphalt, thundering toward us while arrogantly occupying both lanes.
From Jacob’s obsession in high school, I recognize the Italian brand Ducati. Bright and shiny, the yellow and red bikes are spearheaded by a big black motorcycle. The riders don different colored leathers. Some have jeans tucked into their boots, while their front man wears black, in a prolongation of his pitch-black bike. His posture, the way he’s bent slightly forward like a panther on the prowl, makes me decide that he’s sexy.
“Yay!” Mica yells, mirroring my adrenaline boost. She starts bouncing on the balls of her feet, and even Shannon wheezes out a “Whoa.”
Uh-huh, we’re fan-girling over a biker gang. Classy. My phone buzzes on cue. Dad, of course. I talked with Mom less than two hours ago. What is their deal?
I shut it off and look up in time to catch Sexy Biker Dude swiveling his head in our direction on his way past us. The darkened visor obscures his eyes.
I’ve got my thumbs hooked in my front pockets. As an experiment, I wiggle my fingers at him to check if I’m the one he’s studying. Two seconds pass. Then, he uses two of his gaunt-clad fingers to wave back at me from the handlebar, and I can’t help smiling. He finally swings forward, speeds up, and the whole group disappears so fast it’s like a dream.
“Oooh my!” Shannon exclaims, a broad smile spreading over her face. “Sooo. Two days in Deepsilver, and Pandora’s caught the eye of one sex god and one biker dude. Not bad, not bad.”
“We’re back in the game!” Mica yells and squeezes Destiny. “Go out tonight?”
“Mica, it’s Sunday.”
“So? We have a haunt to keep happy. What will Christian The Bartender think if we’re no-shows? We weren’t even there last night! Haunts aren’t haunts unless you go there. Duh.”
I’m a sucker. I’ll do anything for Mica. To be fair, I don’t feel so bad about Friday anymore either. We’ll go out early and leave early, to be on the safe side. If Dominic appears, he’ll probably show late like Friday, right? Plus, what are the odds he’d come on a Sunday?
“Afraid of running into Dominic?” Shannon verbalizes my only worry.
“No—it’s simple. If he comes, I leave.”
She does her slow headshake again, the one that means she’s given up on me.
“Not everything is about guys,” I explain, sounding fake as hell because I am hormones on wheels at the moment, and I need something to take my mind off sex. The opposite sex.
When does school start?
Oh, right.
Tomorrow.
Smother is exactly as quiet as we hoped, and Mica and I invade the empty dance floor. I mix all sorts of moves. No reason not to crump while rocking some serious Flamenco-arms, I figure.
Even Destiny has two drinks tonight instead of fostering a single beverage. I don’t believe in nurturing drinks. They’re supposed to be abused and downed.
Shannon ducks heads with Christian, the cute bartender. There are lots of smiles and shoulder-nudging. He even scoots over a drink I can’t see her pay for. She’s tasting it and nodding. I’m proud of her.
At some point, a dark figure appears at the entryway to the small room. Clad in black, his arrogant posture, the way he seems to look down his nose at us, makes me think of the biker earlier in the day. Dark, longish hair spikes around high cheekbones and a pale complexion. I can’t see his eyes because they’re veiled by the dim lighting. He remains still, checking out the clientele, I’m guessing.
I hook my thumbs in my belt loops. I keep dancing, but I lift two fingers and wiggle them in his direction. He doesn’t react. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and crosses the floor to the bar.
He greets Shannon with a brief nod, then talks to Christian, who immediately stares at me. I flush. I definitely flush, because I automatically assume he’s asked Christian about me. Did Shannon catch what he said?
Gah, I’m a narcissist!
Still, I’m curious when Christian leans over to shout into his ear. The bartender knows my name. For some reason, I hope he doesn’t go into detail on my Friday night antics. Ha, as if I have a reputation to uphold with a guy no one has introduced me to.
His all-black clothing and the similar posture was what fooled me. He isn’t the Ducati guy; a student dive like this can’t be of interest to bikers.
Now, he moves in behind the bar, and Christian points. He zooms in, grabs a jacket, a helmet… and a pair of gloves. With a quick handshake, he steps back out and walks toward me. Just as he passes, I see his eyes. They are so light blue they’re almost milky when they lock on me. Slowly, he lifts a gloved hand and wiggles two fingers. Then, he leaves.
“The Ducati boss,” Mica hisses into my ear. “That’s so crazy!”
And all I can do is agree.