Night Sky Read online

  NIGHT SKY

  JOLENE PERRY

  Night Sky

  Jolene Perry

  Copyright © 2012 by Jolene Perry

  Smashwords Edition

  Except for the use of short passages for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in whole, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording, or any information or storage retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover design: Bokheim Media

  ISBN: 978-0-9837418-6-2

  Tribute Books

  PO Box 95

  Archbald, Pennsylvania 18403

  (570) 876-2416

  Email: [email protected]

  Website: www.tribute-books.com

  Visit the book’s web site at www.Night-Sky-Book.com and email Jolene Perry at [email protected].

  To my husband, Mike, who proved that nice guys do exist, even in high school.

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  ONE

  I push my way through the masses of dancing couples, out the heavy doors of the school, and stop.

  Now I can breathe. The air fills my lungs, but doesn’t clear my head.

  The screeching brakes of the city bus travels across the parking lot. Crap. I sprint and jump on at the last second. The bus is empty, and I’m alone on the one night I need distraction. I slump in the back seat, the only row with enough legroom, and pull out my iPod. I slide in my ear buds and blast Nirvana’s Nevermind as loud as I can stand it. It’s old, as old as me—but good. The long sleeves of my button-up shirt are driving me crazy, so I roll them up, wishing my dress pants were jeans.

  The thing is, I knew it could happen—that Sarah could end up with another guy. But I didn’t know it would hurt this much. Somebody needs to stop making those bullshit romantic comedies. They mess with your head.

  I can’t believe I just lost Sarah. I close my eyes—the sight of her and Eric pressed together hits me in the chest again.

  Shit. I don’t want to think about this anymore.

  The bus slows. I’m one street off the Las Vegas strip. It seems like a good place to lose myself for a while. Nirvana’s still ramming my eardrums at a satisfactory volume, and I’m not expected home for hours. Though, with it being Friday night, nobody will miss me until one of my parents rolls out of bed sometime around noon tomorrow.

  I step off the bus and start walking.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m stepping through the doors of the Paris Hotel. Crap. As soon as Mom sees me, she’ll know. I shouldn’t have come. I scan for her quickly though, just in case. It seems wrong, or rude or something to just walk back out. There are a few rows of slot machines and felt tables as soon as I step inside, but Mom’s usually back where the serious money changes hands.

  She’s worked in the casinos since I can remember—Dad, too. Mom’s a waitress, skimpy uniform and all, but she makes more money on the floor than she did back in the offices.

  I take one more glance around and don’t see her. The feeling’s a mix of the hole in my chest being dug even deeper, and relief that I won’t have to talk about it or see her sympathetic face. It really screws with a guy’s head when his mom pities him.

  I jerk the ear buds out of my ears, and the rattle of the slot machines drowns out everything else. I’ll admit it’s an odd noise to gain comfort from, but when you’ve grown up around casinos…there’s just something about the familiar.

  “Hi, Jameson,” Mom says as she walks by bumping me with her hip. Her smile is wide, until our eyes lock.

  Yep, there it is—that sympathetic look, the one I both love and hate.

  “I’m just about to take my lunch. Wanna join me?”

  I nod. Only Mom would call a midnight meal, lunch.

  She pulls a security card out of her tiny pocket. “Go on back. I’ll see you in a few.” Her smile falters, which just makes me feel worse. I should have gone to see if Mike was still hanging around so I could play with the dolphins at the Mirage.

  “Thanks.” I pick up the card and head for the employees-only door.

  I glance around for Dad. He’s a pit boss, the guy with the earpiece who stands in the middle of a group of tables looking important. He usually watches over the front area because he’s good at his job, and it’s the busiest spot in the casino. But I don’t see him.

  I slide Mom’s card through the slot, and open the employee door to the break area.

  “Jameson!” Two of the girls Mom works with wave from across the room. They might be ten years younger than Mom, but they don’t look any better than she does in their little blue and red uniforms. The uniforms aren’t bad, especially not for Vegas standards. They’re low in the front and low in the back, but with a tiny skirt instead of something that looks like panties. To me, they look like the Halloween version of a flight attendant’s uniform.

  “You are so cute,” Kim says, giving me a wink. With lashes too long to be real, it’s amazing her thick mascara doesn’t keep her eyes shut. “You got a kiss for me?” She stands up and puckers her lips to blow me a kiss.

  “Stop, Kim. He’s underage.” Jessica runs her hand over my nearly shaved head. “Must be swim time again, huh?”

  “Practice starts next week.”

  Jessica waves as she steps around me and heads back out to the floor.

  “No judge would blame me for thinking you’re legal.” Kim steps close, leans up, and kisses my cheek.

  I kiss hers back. We always flirt like this, even though she honestly makes me a little uncomfortable. I never know what to do with my hands when she gets this close.

  “Do you know how many girls would kill for your skin?” She shakes her head. “Just the right amount of brown to give you the perfect tan—like a nice sun-kissed Mexican complexion.”

  “That’s because I am part Mexican, Kim.” She’s still standing too close, almost against me. I smile wide—a show of a confidence that I’m not feeling right now.

  She rolls her eyes. “I know who your dad is.”

  Everyone knows my dad. He’s the big guy with the warm smile. They all tease him about his “work” face because apparently a pit boss shouldn’t look so friendly.

  “And look at you.” She pats my chest a few times with the palm of her hand. “Broader—every time I see you.”

  I have no idea what to say to that. I should probably say something about swimming, but Kim interrupts by smacking my ass with her hand on her way out the door.

  “My offer’s still on the table,” she says as the door closes.

  Her offer was to give me a night I’d never forget. It’s a joke, but part of me thinks that if I said yes, she might do it. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Guess it should make me feel pretty good.

  Mom steps through the doorway, does a quick survey of the room, and sits down holding a baguette sandwich. “Share?” Her brown hair is piled up high on her head and her eyes look huge with too much makeup, but I’m used to it.

  “Sure.” I sit next to her. It’s n
early one o’clock in the morning, but I don’t feel tired. I’m from a family of night owls.

  “Did you survive Kim?” Mom smirks.

  “Yeah.” I rub my hands down my thighs a few times, trying to loosen up.

  “So, the dance didn’t go well?” She doesn’t look at me. She already knows and probably isn’t sure if I want to talk about it. I’m not sure if I want to talk about it.

  “It went great for Sarah. She got exactly what she wanted.” I break the sandwich apart, stare at the wilted lettuce on day-old bread, and lose my appetite.

  “Just cram down a little bit. It’ll make me feel better,” Mom says, pushing it my way.

  I rip off a small bite and stuff it in my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. I wonder if my brown eyes are as easy to read as hers.

  “It’s…” Okay is what I want to say, but it isn’t okay. It doesn’t feel okay. It feels like I’ve been flattened, stretched and left in the gutter.

  She puts her arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

  “Actually, she does, Mom. We’ve been friends for three years. She knows me better than anyone, but chose someone she didn’t know instead.” And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it does. Because hearing it all out loud? Makes it worse.

  I know what the next words out of Mom’s mouth are going to be. Did Sarah even know she had a choice? But she doesn’t push me. I’m thankful. Mom knows how I feel about Sarah, how I’ve felt about Sarah. She also knows I haven’t said anything about how I feel. Rejection, like the one I faced tonight was bad enough. If Sarah’d had all the facts—knew I’d been in love with her, and still turned me down? It would definitely feel worse…well, maybe. I’m not sure it’s possible to feel worse.

  The mental picture of Sarah in Eric’s arms hits me again, and I have to take a deep breath to keep from crying. Crying? What the hell is wrong with me? Being in love is really messing with my head.

  I stand up. “I’m gonna head home.”

  “Already?” Mom’s eyebrows go up.

  Only my parents would say already when it’s after one o’clock in the morning.

  “Yes, already.”

  “Your dad and I took separate cars tonight. Why don’t you take one home?” She rummages in her bag for her keys.

  “That’d actually be great.” The bus is cool, but it does shut down. And weirdos are one thing. Wasted weirdos are another. Those really start to come out after midnight.

  “Well, it’s about to get better. I drove your Dad’s Porsche.” She gives me a sly smile while handing me the keys.

  I laugh. That is better.

  TWO

  I finger the keychain as I make my way to the employee parking area. Owning a Porsche is a big deal…and it isn’t. First off, it’s a Boxster, which means it’s barely a Porsche. And it’s more than a few years old…like eight. But Dad takes immaculate care of it and it’s fast as hell.

  I jump behind the wheel. The chair is already as far back as it’ll go. Dad and I are both six foot three, but he’s a lot broader than I am, which makes him good at his job. For the most part, no one ever gives him any crap.

  The engine purrs. I plug in my iPod. Infectious Grooves. Two years ago for an assignment in…well, I don’t remember what class…but that’s not important. What’s important is we had to find something from our birth year that we truly loved. I loved the music. Now I have all sorts of early nineties grunge on my iPod. Sarah makes fun of me for it, but she secretly likes it, too. Another hit to the chest. Someone should kick me in the bits, it’d hurt worse and take my mind off Sarah. Oh, and bits? If you watched as much British TV as I do, you’d call them bits, too.

  The car slides into reverse and I drive it slowly out of the garage. The speed bumps in this place are murder. Dad never lets me drive his car so I’m determined to be really nice to her tonight, but then I hit the strip and lay out fifty feet of rubber. The opportunity is too good to pass up.

  The wind hits my face, the strip is lit up, and people are everywhere. I love this. Maybe life won’t suck forever. Going back to school—watching Sarah and Eric meeting at each other’s lockers—it’s gonna be torture.

  Suddenly the precious Boxster doesn’t seem so precious anymore. I hit the gas and head toward Boulder Highway to really get some speed on. Not the smartest move on a Saturday night, but I’m feeling reckless. Primus comes on the stereo. Love those bass lines.

  I take a left on Tropicana, and two seconds off the strip, the stars come out and my music isn’t tainted by anything but the satisfying rumbling of Dad’s car.

  I have to pass my neighborhood before I can make it as far south as I want to go. All the houses here look the same. Almost everyone has the same terra cotta tile roof and some slight variation of stucco siding. I slow down through the stoplights, and there’s a girl by the side of the road walking in a scandalously short jean skirt, flip-flops, five layers of tanks in different colors and long, black hair. Wow.

  I’m stopped at the light next to her, and she’s staring at her phone, looking lost.

  “You need a lift?” I offer. How brave am I?

  “I don’t think so.” She glances at her phone chuckling while shaking her head.

  “You look lost, and I live just around the corner so…”

  Her head snaps up. All I see is her huge brown eyes. She looks exotic, maybe half Indian with a beautiful straight nose and high cheekbones only girls from the reservations seem to have. The car door opens and just like that, she gets in. She doesn’t even pull down her skirt, which is barely covering…

  I can’t believe this girl is in my car. Well, Dad’s car. But still…

  “Green light.” She points as her eyebrows go up.

  “Right.” I hit the gas and the car jumps out from underneath me. Okay, take a deep breath. Don’t make an ass out of yourself.

  “Whoa, warn a girl, will ya?” She smiles. “I never do this sort of thing…so promise you’re not going to cut me into a million pieces and scatter my body across the desert.”

  “I promise.” I smile back. “And that was a rather specific request.”

  She shrugs. “You can never be too careful.”

  “Then why are you riding in a car with a total stranger?”

  “Good point,” she admits with a grimace.

  “I don’t scatter bodies across the desert anyway, too far for me to drive.” I wait for her reaction.

  “And…where would you put the body?” She looks around. “Only one seat and I’m sure I wouldn’t fit.”

  I glance up and down her lean frame.

  “That was not an invitation to check me out.” Her lips pull into a scowl, but there’s too much tease in her eyes for me to take her seriously.

  “Sorry.” Only, I’m not really sorry. This is better than any distraction I could have dreamed up tonight.

  “Okay, so I’m with my grandparents while I go to college. I know it’s lame, but it was the only way to go to school and I really wanted to.”

  “Oh…” That came out of nowhere.

  “Here’s my address,” she says, holding up her phone.

  Shit. I crank the wheel to the right and we just make the turn.

  “Drive much?” She stares at me as the Porsche screeches onto the quiet street.

  “Sorry, you’re like, almost right across from me.” I glance at her. “Your house…I mean.”

  “Really?” She looks around. “So how does a young guy like you end up in a car like this living in such a nice neighborhood?” Her pause isn’t long enough for me to answer. “No, wait, don’t tell me. You’re in the mafia, right? And my body isn’t gonna get spread across the desert. It’ll get fed to pigs.”

  “Snatch.” I blurt out.

  “Yeah.” She smiles and nods. “Guy Ritchie is a freaking genius.”

  “I didn’t think girls liked that stuff.” I can’t take my eyes off her, even though I should probably be wa
tching the road.

  She laughs. “Then you’ve been hanging around the wrong kind of girls.”

  Sarah. I let out a sigh. I don’t even mean to. I’m pathetic.

  “This look right?” I pull to a stop.

  “This is it.” She makes no move to get out. “I was only turned around, not lost…just so you know.” Her head spins around, scanning. “Which house is yours?”

  “That house, there.” I point up ahead across the street. “And to answer your earlier question, this is my Dad’s car and that’s my parent’s house.” Really, I don’t want to admit this. I’d be a lot cooler if I didn’t.

  “Okay.” She nods, but doesn’t move.

  Should I do something? Say something? Maybe I’m supposed to get her door. I reach for the handle.

  “What are you doing now? Tired? Going to crash?” She runs her hand across her forehead to catch a loose strand of dark hair.

  “I’m probably gonna swim.” It’ll clear my head.

  She doesn’t move, just stares at me. What do I do?

  “This is where you invite the girl next to you for a swim.” She smirks.

  “Um…wanna come swim with me?” Wow.

  “I probably shouldn’t.” She shakes her head, but still makes no move to get out.

  “You wanna just tell me what I should say next?” This whole conversation—and this ride with a girl in Dad’s Porsche—is completely out of my league, but I can’t stop. It feels good. I haven’t bothered paying attention to anyone but Sarah since the beginning of senior year.

  “You could offer me a snack or a drink or something…” She leans toward me, not a lot, just enough to keep me going.