Spill Over Read online

“Oh, this place has great hot chocolate. I’m gonna stop. You can follow. Or the bookstore’s right up the street.” She points.

  “I could go for something hot.” Not a drink for a kid. But I keep that to myself.

  In five minutes I’m sitting across from this girl who’s prettier every few minutes. No makeup, raincoat, worn-out shoes. It’s her perfectly shaped lips, high cheekbones and straight nose that have me.

  “You don’t seem thrilled to be here.” Her voice isn’t accusatory, just curious.

  “Not particularly.” I slowly spin my cup in my hands.

  “I’ve known your dad for a couple years, and I’ve never seen you, so I guess I assumed you two don’t get along.”

  “We don’t really know each other.”

  “I know who your mom is.” She has this faint smile—just enough that I can see her dimples and a teeny strip of white teeth.

  I laugh. “Most people know who my mom is.” Then I realize I may have sounded like a jerk. “Sorry. Most people know who she is, but not how cool she really is.” What’s with me? Getting all personal and noticing strips of teeth?

  “You two are close.” Her deep eyes are on me so intently I can’t look at her as directly as I normally would.

  “Very.” Which is another reason I can’t believe she’s doing this to me—leaving me out here with my dad.

  “This assignment must be a big deal for her.”

  I shift in my seat, needing to change the subject. It all makes me feel dumped. For three months.

  “Sorry.” She blows on the top of her cup. “You probably don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Not really, no. It sucks because I have places I could’ve stayed in New York, and Paris, but she wanted me here. We’ve been all over the world together, and now…” I can’t even finish. It hurts. I probably should have played that card—only it felt too personal even to share with Mom.

  “You’re stuck on your dad’s boat.” She’s kind of frowning, but her dimple’s still there. Like a perma-dimple or something. It all adds to her appearance of general wholesomeness.

  “Yep.” I lift the cup to my lips. I don’t care if this crap will burn me—I have to do something.

  “Sorry.”

  Pity is not something I want from her. Or from anyone, really. “So, they totally like each other, huh? My… dad, and your mom?”

  “You catch on quick.” She chuckles.

  “I’ve only been here a day.” I feel kind of defensive. It’s not like he’s really talked about her or anything.

  “They’re frustrating about it, though.” She takes a drink of her hot chocolate.

  “What do you mean?” Mostly I’m glad we’re not into personal Antony stuff anymore.

  “They’ll hook-up once in a while, for…you know,” she whispers over the table, and her cheeks turn pink.

  I shake my head. “Okay, I do not want to think about old people having sex.”

  “They’re not that old.” She smiles a real smile at me this time. More like the kind of smile I’m used to seeing from girls. This is better.

  “Still.” I shudder.

  “I wish they’d both get over themselves and do something about it.” She takes another drink and her eyes wander out the window to the street.

  “What, like get married?” The whole idea of marriage seems kind of foreign. Nearly all my friends’ parents have affairs, or have been divorced. My own parents were divorced years ago, and neither re-married. It kind of puts down the whole thing for me.

  “No. I mean, yeah, but even if they’d admit to the other that they’re in deep like, or in love, or whatever.” She stares at her cup as she spins it with her fingers.

  Her hands look strong, and she has these incredibly thick, dark lashes that girls spend loads of time trying to make with mascara, but nothing could compare to the real thing. Our eyes meet, and I feel something in my chest—kind of like the first time I saw Hélèna, or Gem from New York, only a little better, because it has as much to do with comfort as excitement. And comfort? I can’t be there yet. Comfort and girls don’t go together. Other emotions, yes. But not comfort.

  I’ve known this girl for minutes, and really shouldn’t be thinking this much about her. As much as it would be fun to fool around with someone who has her body, she’s not that kind of girl. I’m honestly too lazy to put forth the effort for something more. So crazy. I’m living on a boat and sitting across from a girl I’m probably going to end up being friends with.

  “Ready to continue on?” I stand.

  “Sure.” She stands with her cup still in hand. “So you read a lot?”

  “I write.” And then I cough because almost no one knows I write. Just Mom, well and Dad a little, my English teacher. That’s it.

  “Like your dad?” she asks.

  It’s already out now, guess it doesn’t matter if we keep talking about it. “Hopefully more literary than my dad.” Dad’s mystery novels make him a little money because they’re published so cheaply. I’d want more than that. We step back outside and continue up the sidewalk.

  “Oh.” Her eyes travel across my face, taking in my features.

  I start a smile, but stop, knowing how girls like the dimple on my right cheek, and knowing it comes out more when I’m holding in my smile. And what the hell am I doing? Amber won’t care.

  “How much have you written?” she asks.

  “I’ve finished two.” It comes out before I can think, or edit, or anything.

  “Novels?” She stops, staring, her eyes wide.

  I nod. Even Mom doesn’t know that. Why did I say something? “Don’t say anything. It’s sort of my escape.” Shit. My head’s definitely not on straight. It’s just, how can I be anything but real around someone who’s so…real? Walking around drinking a kid drink, reading on a Kindle, and wearing running shoes while not running.

  “If I wrote a whole novel, I’d be screaming it from the rooftops, even if it sucked.” Her smile is wide and her small arched brows rise.

  I laugh. An honest one. It feels good. “Getting the words down are a small part of it.”

  “Well, I think it’s really cool.” She pulls open the door of the bookstore.

  “Thanks.”

  We part ways as soon as we step inside. I’m looking for memoirs today, and if I keep hanging out with Amber, who knows what’ll come out of my mouth next. My safety filter apparently doesn’t work around her.

  The afternoon passes fast and before I know it, we’re back in the car, both reading. In what feels like minutes, we’re in front of the harbor, but I’m not ready to be back on Dad’s boat

  Dad and Lynn head down the docks together. Amber walks up the street, and I stand next to the car like an idiot for a few moments. I leave my new books in Dad’s car and start up the street for another coffee.

  - - -

  Sitting in this small place with its wooden floors and padded chairs makes me wish I’d brought one of my new books. Instead I stare at the line of cars waiting for the ferry—probably the only reason this town exists.

  Amber steps in a few minutes later with a girlfriend. Someone with short, dark hair and a pretty, round face.

  Her eyes narrow as she sees me. “Stalking me, Antony?”

  “Uh…” I make a show of looking back and forth. “I was here first?”

  She laughs as she pulls her hair down, letting it slide down her back. I gotta stop staring.

  “This is Brit.” She glances at her friend.

  I nod.

  Brit nods, and she’s smiling at me like I kinda wish Amber would, her eyes searching, biting her lip.

  “I’m headed back underwater,” I say as I stand up.

  “What?” Amber’s small brows come together.

  “Into the boat? You know, because I have to step down?”
/>   Brit laughs. Amber shakes her head.

  “Oh, hey.” Amber’s hand reaches out and touches my arm. Then she jerks it away. So, she didn’t mean to touch me, but she did. Hmm. Maybe she might up for something. But I dismiss the thought again as soon as I have it.

  “If you can think of a way to get our parents together more, let me know.” She chuckles and turns toward the small pastry counter.

  “Yeah.” I step away. “I’ll do that.”

  I guess it’d give me something to occupy my brain around here. Dad and Lynn. She seems cool. And it’s not like she’d be my step-mom or anything. I’m almost eighteen, and don’t plan on sticking around any longer than I have to.

  Four

  Three days here, and I have a routine. Wake up whenever, walk up the hill and get coffee. Mornings are nice, quiet. New York is never quiet, and I love that, but the real feeling of silence is growing on me, too. Today I’m in the coffee place with my laptop to do some writing—another essay for a literature class I’m taking.

  The door opens and Amber steps in followed by the teenage version of Captain America—some tidy haircut blond who looks as healthy and wholesome as Amber does. My gut twists a little, which it shouldn’t, because I’ve already marked Amber off as definitely not for me.

  “Hey, Antony.” She smiles the same friendly smile as always.

  Captain America’s brows pull down as he sizes me up. I wonder who he thinks I am. And, I kind of wonder who he is? Must be her boyfriend or something, even though I haven’t seen him around before. Guess that’s not really fair since I’ve only been here for a few days. Well, and I never asked if she had a boyfriend.

  “Oh, sorry.” Amber chuckles. “Kent, this is Antony. Antony, Kent.”

  “Hey.” I stand up and make myself as tall as I can without being obvious. We shake, and there’s no way he’s not squeezing tightly on purpose. I know I am. We’re evenly matched. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You’re the kid from New York?” he asks as Amber grabs her drink over the counter.

  “Yeah.” I sit back behind my computer. What the hell’s wrong with me? Girls have totally tried to pull this before—bringing some other guy around to make me jealous. I usually just nod and keep doing whatever I was doing before they showed up. I’ve never let it work. Ever. And now, with a girl I’m NOT going to get involved with, and when she didn’t bring him in here on purpose (she doesn’t strike me as the playing games type) I’m affected.

  “See ya.” She smiles and waves as she blows on the top of her hot chocolate.

  Blondie holds the door open for her, and even though I don’t watch, I know his eyes are on me. Ridiculous.

  This is a mess I do not need to be in the middle of.

  - - -

  The rain’s coming down again, more like misting this time, but it keeps us inside. Amber and her mom are here for dinner. Pancakes. For dinner. Dad claims he just likes breakfast food.

  “So, your boyfriend seems nice,” I say. Why am I fishing here? Do I have to admit that I kind of like her? I mean, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. It’s just that she so obviously doesn’t like me, not in that way, and I can’t imagine what that’s like. To like someone who doesn’t like you back. So, I really should make sure I don’t like her. As these thoughts spin around in my head, I realize I sound like I’m back in middle school.

  Her mom’s head jerks toward her.

  Amber’s cheeks redden. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  I chuckle. “Well he’d sure be happy to fill that role.” And I should not feel relieved. And her reaction is kind of cracking me up. We’re not in eighth grade anymore. It’s not like having a boyfriend should be any big deal.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “We’re not that way. He doesn’t like me like that.”

  Her mom laughs. “I assume we’re talking about Kent, and he totally does like you that way.”

  Amber’s cheeks redden further.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  DAVID: EMER, CALL NOW.

  I laugh. David has yet to have an emergency worthy moment.

  “Just a sec. A friend from home.” I step outside, grabbing my coat on the way. This is good. David will be a good slap in the face.

  He answers the phone with, “Dude, you will not believe what happened.”

  “Lay it on me.” I sit on the captain’s chair on the back deck, behind the big steering wheel and underneath a navy blue canvas roof.

  “My mom’s show got cancelled, and I think we’ll be moving to LA.” There’s a solemn tone on his words.

  I laugh. “So?”

  “Did you hear me? I won’t be a New York guy anymore! I don’t want to be one of those ridiculous sunglass wearing, cheap BMW driving pricks!”

  “Then don’t be.” I shake my head. “This is seriously your emergency?”

  “Yeah!”

  “David, I’m living on a boat, in Seattle.”

  “Yeah, but your mom is…well, your mom. You’ll always be okay. Everyone thinks she kicks ass.”

  He’s kind of right. “So, you called for some girlie-talk to make you feel better, and instead you helped my sorry ass.”

  “Antony, right now everyone is salivating over your latest adventure with some wild-man father no one’s heard of on some exotic sailboat near Seattle. It’s all adding to your mystery as the world-traveler.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way. “It’s just Seattle man, and there’s worse things than your mom being a totally hot actress.”

  “Gross, Antony.” He’s laughing.

  “You gonna survive?” I tease.

  “Maybe I’ll come up and visit. Cali’s closer to Seattle than New York.”

  My chest drops. I really don’t want him here. Since when don’t I want to hang out with my closest friend from New York? “I don’t know David. They both feel like a lifetime away right now.”

  “Don’t get all philosophical on me. You know how it freaks me out. We’ll talk later.”

  “Later.” Five days from home, and I feel separated. It’s crazy. Mom and I have left New York loads of times. It’s that we’ve always done it together. I can’t wait ‘til she’s settled wherever she’s going so we can talk.

  - - -

  Amber’s already sitting at the coffee shop when I arrive in the morning.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” I tease—mostly to check her reaction.

  She blushes again. No kidding. “Come sit with me, and stop using that word.”

  I order, push the hair from my face, and sit.

  “You’re a guy . . .” she trails off.

  I raise my brows. “Yeah, thanks for noticing.” I start to say something about the way I fill up my pants, but keep it to myself.

  “No.” She lets out this little snort of a laugh and stares at her cup. “I don’t want Kent to like me. That way. I don’t think.”

  “Then stop being likable.” Wait. Did I say that?

  Her eyes widen. “He’s my friend! I can’t be mean! And I’m still not sure how I feel. I want him to not like me until I’m ready…or something like that.”

  “No guy who likes a girl wants to be told she only wants to be friends. We’d rather get kicked in the…you know.” And if I keep spending time with Amber, at what point will I rather be kicked than have her continue to be so depressingly friendly?

  Her face turns scarlet and her eyes bore holes into the lid of her cup.

  “What exactly do you want from me?” And why would it make a difference if she wanted to be with him or not? I shouldn’t care what she does or doesn’t have going on with Kent. But I do.

  She slumps. “There isn’t some magic phrase or anything? A way to tell him I don’t know how I feel without hurting his feelings? I mean, I might like him.”

  Girls really are crazy.
Even normal seeming ones like Amber. “Maybe if you told him you liked him, and left off the ‘but’ at the end of it.”

  She laughs. “Well, that wouldn’t really help my case, would it?” Her eyes meet mine again, and there I feel it, in my gut. No one’s eyes should affect me this way.

  “Nope,” I agree. “Just his.”

  “Is this one of those universal guy things of getting the girl no matter who it’s for?”

  “Definitely not.” I don’t want him to have her. What the hell’s wrong with me? Let her run to him. That would sure un-complicate things for me. My eyes take in her eyes another time. “I gotta go.” I half leap to standing. I cannot let this girl get under my skin, which means I need out of here.

  “See you Antony.” How can her voice be so relaxed after we sat so close? I’m totally screwed here.

  “See you.” I back out of the door and take a long drink of my Cappuccino. Probably I should spend some time catching up on schoolwork.

  - - -

  Dad’s face is pale as I step down into the boat. At least I know how to get the damn door closed now.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “I…” A tear drips from his eye.

  “Dad?”

  “Sit down.”

  Our eyes lock. This is big. Something big. My heart’s making that part clear, banging around inside me.

  I’m shaking, all through. The news isn’t for him. It’s for me. I’m numb, tingling.

  “Your Mom’s plane went down. The small one they chartered for the last flight in. The whole crew was on board.”

  “I…” My mouth is thick, stuffed with cotton. My breath stabs into my lungs. Sharp breath. I get it now. “Is she okay?” I can’t believe I’m asking this about Mom. My mom.

  His head shakes.

  There has to be some mistake. Has to be. Some mix-up or something. Maybe she wasn’t actually on that plane. Maybe she…

  “They have her body, Antony. They’re sending her home.”

  Body. Mom. Not okay. Pain and disbelief start to pull me apart from the inside. I go numb and fill with a wretched aching at the same time. This can’t be happening.

  Dad steps toward me. I need away. Alone. I push myself away from the table and shut the door to my room.