Chapter One
Cancer. It was cancer that had me stepping out of this ricky truck, in the damp, soggy town of Grayland Washington. Cold, cloudy, wet. Quite the opposite from Tucson Arizona, where I still called home.
Dad’s eyes stayed glued to the road after the long LONG drive from the airport. I wasn’t entirely sure the beat up old Ford would make it, but eventually the population dwindled and trees thickened until we got to the coast. Sure, one could call this a coastal town. It was charming in a small-town sort of way, and with the biggest producer of cranberries sharing the town, there were occasional visitors. But honestly, nobody wanted to be in the icy Pacific ocean unless there was sun warming it up. And out here, the sun was rare.
While trees whizzed past my window, I leaned my head against the chilled glass and closed my eyes, wondering how Mom was doing. She was due to start her chemo in a little over a week. Aunt Cindy was there to help her, and for that I was grateful, but I was angry that Mom had sent me away to come live with Dad in this Godforsaken town while she went through chemo. AGAIN. It was breast cancer the first time, but now it seems it’s come back in her pancreas. The doctors were worried, and it was serious, so Mom told me she was sending me to live with Dad until she went back into remission. Aunt Cindy had moved in with Mom and I was on a plane less than a week later.
Having spent my childhood here, I knew what I was getting into. Mom and Dad had split when I was 10 and though I’d come back for the summer the next couple years, I hadn’t been back to Grayland since I was 12. I was a couple months shy of 18 now, and about to start my Senior year in high school. Now I got to do it worrying about Mom in Arizona without me, and in a new school with new kids. God, this was going to SUCK.
“Uh,” Dad said his first word since leaving the airport as we pulled down the long gravel driveway to the old house. “I didn’t know how to prepare for you, so I just uh… I left everything the way it was when you were a girl.”
So basically he hadn’t been in my room in 6 years.
Freaking fantastic.
“I’ll take care of it,” was all I said while I yanked on the handle and shoved my shoulder into the truck door to open it.
Together we stepped up the creaky wooden steps, steps that looked half rotted, to get to the door. The house had been repainted in the last couple years and was a bright shade of blue. Ugly, ugly blue.
Inside I stepped over the old wooden floors and shag rugs lining the pathway up the spiral stairs and hallway to the kitchen/dining area. Another big braided rug sat between the couch and TV in the living room, flanked with an old, tired leather chair.
“Are you hungry? I can make dinner.”
“I want to check my room first,” I told him, already dragging my bag up the stairs.
Dad looked like he wanted to protest but he was so far out of his league with me, he just flopped his mouth closed again and turned, heading to the kitchen.
I shoved my bags through the door to the room at the top of the stairs, only one of two bedrooms in the house. When I was a kid, I had loved that my room was at the top of the house, like a princess in a tower. Now as I looked around the room, walls still covered with drawings, ribbons and pink frill everywhere, I realized how isolated it was.
Hell, maybe that was a good thing. I liked isolation.
Never one for a bunch of friends, I spent a good portion of my life on my own, writing and taking pictures. Art never seemed to come easy to me, but I loved it nonetheless.
I touched the sloppy finger paintings on the walls, hung with ribbons by my mom when I was a little girl, and traced my fingertips over the thin, stick-figured specimens in front of a depiction of the very same house I stood in.
My young, childish self had been proud of these paintings, but now they depressed me. Mostly because I wasn’t much better, so many years later. My version of drawings was still much the same as the stick figures, and even with brush and acrylics, my paintings still looked like a 3 year old had created it with their fingers and toes.
With a small smile lighting my lips I turned toward the bed, drenched in ruffles and stuffed animals. The sheets and comforter had all been recently washed, and for that I was grateful. At least Dad had tried. Surfaces in the room such as the dresser and bookshelf had been dusted as well, but a thick layer of dust still resided on all the decorations, including the pale pink bonnet on my one and only porcelain doll sitting on the shelf.
I fingered the dust off the bonnet before turning back to my bags and hefting them onto the bed. I unpacked some things into the drawers across from the bed, then began hanging up some things in the closet on the toddler sized hangers. As annoyed as I was, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. At least Dad had tried, I kept reminding myself.
When I’d plugged in my phone and electronic reader, I headed back downstairs where Dad was cooking something that smelled heinous, but oddly familiar.
“Canned ravioli?” he asked from his place at the stove.
The open, king-sized can stood on the counter as proof to his question. Oh GOD. Canned ravioli? I was going to starve here, wasn’t I?
“Uh, sure,” I said hesitantly, taking a tentative seat at the table, trying not to wobble it too much as I sat.
“It’s not much,” he glanced over at me, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. “I can’t cook for anything and I’ve been gone all afternoon. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Just like the old days, right?” I tried.
I felt bad that he was embarrassed. But why?
“It was your favorite when you were a girl,” he smiled at me, meeting my eyes for the first time.
“I hope I still have my adolescent taste buds,” I quipped, then immediately regretted it.
Dad dipped his head again and scooped the canned goods into two ceramic bowl.
Setting one in front of me, I hefted the large spoon and waited for Dad to take his seat.
“I usually eat in the living room. Would you like to join me? Or would you prefer we eat in the kitchen?”
“Do your thing,” I told him.
He dipped that head of his again and turned to pad over to the worn leather chair. Popping the footrest, he grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV. I took my bowl with me and settled on the ugly couch to his right, dipping my spoon into the tomato sauce to take a tiny bite.
I’d like to say that I gagged and demanded better, healthier food, but after the first taste of childhood, I shoved the rest of the pasty, bland, delicious raviolis down my throat so fast I almost choked on the sweet memories. My only real cognitive thought as I vegged in front of the TV with my absent but strangely familiar father was, why do they call it canned ‘goods’? Surely they know that they are neither good tasting nor good for you health-wise.
Eh, who cares.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to school, Addie?”
“I’ll walk to the bus stop,” I assured Dad as he stood by the front door.
“It’s your first day and all. I don’t mind taking the morning to make sure you’re settled in…”
“I’m 17, Dad. I can take care of it myself.”
“You sure?”
I pounded down the spiral stairs and stopped in front of him.
“I got this. You just go to work and don’t worry about me. If I really need you I have your number and the school has it, too.”
He hesitantly agreed as I followed him out of the house. Dad got into his rickety pickup and rattled down the gravel drive as I traced the path on foot.
According to the packet Dad had gotten from the school earlier in the week when he transferred my records and signed me in, the bus stop was just outside of the neighborhood. Probably about a 10 minute walk. I had given myself about 15 minutes just in case, because I really didn’t want to walk the mile and a half to school.
There were a few kids at the stop waiting; a few meaning five other kids. The high school was not a large one, and this town was not exactly full of young life.
Shifting from one foot to the other as I stood next to the only two girls who were waiting too.
“What’s your name?” one of the girls asked, not necessarily in a friendly voice, but more a voice filled with the bored curiosity such a small town tended to create.
“Addie,” I told her, turning to see who was talking to me.
The girl smiled, white teeth gleaming against her dark, silken ebony skin.
“I’m Genie. You’re new.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yep, new,” I agreed.
“What brings you to the far forgotten corner of the country?”
“My mom’s sick. So I was sent to come live with my dad.”
“Who’s your dad?”
“Gregory Harper.”
“Oh, so you’re in the blue house with the long driveway?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
We stared at each other for a second.
“Should I be weirded out that you know where my dad lives?”
Her full lips pouted for a second, then split to reveal those brilliant teeth as she laughed.
“Everyone knows where everyone lives out here! Where are you from? Obviously not from around here.”
I grinned back and chuckled. Glad that I could laugh with her.
“I’m from Tucson, Arizona.”
“Well Tucson, you’re going to do just fine down here. Just keep your humor.”
I took the advice to heart and sighed as the bus rattled up the road.
At lunch Genie found me and ushered me to her table. A few other girls shared the tabletop but we really only talked to each other.
“So, will you catch me up on the ins and outs of the school?” I asked Genie as I popped open my carton of milk, downing it quickly.
“Sure. I guess it’s probably like any other school. Cool kids sit there,” her finger pointed to a table in the middle of the cafeteria. “There are geeks and jocks and emos and the partiers. I guess you and me are just the normal kids.”
“Normal. How passé.”
“Oh man,” Genie laughed as she picked at the bright orange mac and cheese on her plate.
I grinned and looked around the cafeteria again. Girls and boys sitting together, talking together… but there was one, sitting by themselves.
Staring like a fool, I noticed dark blond hair, flopping in front of the boy’s face. His fingers were busy with a pen and textbook instead of lunch, the tip of the pen tapping against the tabletop, then it froze. His face lifted from the book and met my eyes.
I spun around, pretending like an idiot that I hadn’t just been staring.
“Who’s that?” I asked as I discreetly pointed over my right shoulder.
“Who’s who?” Genie asked, poking her head around me.
“The boy sitting alone.”
She reeled back.
“That’s Clarence. He’s one of the Barnett brothers. You should stay away from them.” I bit my lip and peeked over my shoulder again, catching a glimpse of the shaggy blond hair as his head turned up again, a half smile on his face as he caught me staring again.
“Why not? He’s hot!” I whisper-yelled.
“But he’s weird as shit! Both of them are. They just showed up like, 4 years ago and started school with us… nobody sees them anywhere but here. They never go to the diner or the grocery store… They never eat lunch and they don’t talk to anybody. Mason, he’s the other brother. He won’t talk to anybody. EVER. He just studies and… They’re just weird. I’d stay away from them if I were you. Even if they’re not really weird, it’ll kill your social standing just by talking with them. Not worth it, no matter how hot they are.”
I chewed my lip again and popped open my applesauce next. It sprayed up on my top and I groaned, wiping at the stain with a barely-there napkin while I checked to make sure nobody other than the already laughing Genie, saw my accident.
The boy, Clarence was leaning on his elbows now, pen propped between his fingers casually as he grinned over at me, meeting my eyes with humor I almost resented.
“Oh my GOD…” I groaned again in a whisper as I turned my back to him, my black, baggy tank being the only cover I had from those beguiling eyes.
“You like him, don’t you?” Genie asked in horror, mixed with amusement.
“He’s hot, that’s all. What’s the crime in looking?”
“I guess,” she shrugged and went back to her food.
I didn’t peek behind me again for the rest of the lunch hour, but as we stood and gathered our trays, I glanced back at where Clarence had been sitting and met eyes with an empty table. He was gone, and so was the mystery that surrounded him.
“You sure about him?” I asked Genie as we dumped our trash and stacked our trays.
“Absolutely. It’s your funeral if you want to try and get with him. I’ve never seen him with a girl though, so he might not even swing that way, if you know what I mean.”
The way he was smiling at me? He certainly seemed to swing that way.
“I dunno. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how chicks are with ‘bad boys’. I’ll be over it by next week.”
Genie shrugged and grinned at me, than led the way out to our next classes.
I had my very last class with Clarence. The English Lit teacher droned on about nothing, but I heard none of it. I felt his searing stare on my back the entire class and it made it damn hard to pay attention to anything other than my posture. When class got out I practically ran out of class, dashing out to the bus. Genie met me on the bus and we rode home together, talking about everything and anything other than the Barnett brothers.