T is for...he's a TOTAL jerk (Grover Beach Team #3) (5 page)

I got up and wheeled the swivel chair from the corner to my desk, sat down, and opened the carton folder. There were five sketches inside, one in charcoal and four in pencil. Several sheets were clipped to each picture, with notes written all over the place. Though the beauty of his art left me breathless, it was Tony’s handwriting that drew my attention right now. On closer look, I realized the order within the chaos of his jottings. Though boyish enough, the artist shone right through his classy caps and the zestful loops of his G’s and J’s. I traced them with my finger,
then I dragged my hands over my face. I must have completely lost my mind. This was just handwriting, dammit.

From my own portfolio, I took out a large piece of paper, read through Tony’s instructions, and then began to sketch the outline of a human body. The task was to dress the person up in 1960s-style clothes.

I was halfway done with the flaring pants when the weak light in my room really started to get on my nerves. The large window was little help when the sun was already creeping toward the west and my room faced the opposite direction. The dining room, on the other side, had a bright light. I packed my stuff and carried everything downstairs, where Pam was just finalizing neat bowls of chocolate mousse, which we’d get for dessert, no doubt.

“Hey, Sammy,” she said and placed the bowls in the fridge. “Did you get what you needed?”

I lifted the two folders of artwork. “Right here. Do you mind if I spread my stuff on the dining table for a while? I can’t draw with bad light, and these projects are really important. I’ll be gone before dinner.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s still over an hour until your uncle comes home.”

I fanned out my drawing utensils on the wide glass-top table and got to work. The hippie person without a defined face on my picture got dark platforms and a T-shirt with a floral design. I enjoyed this drawing, nailing the shadows of the clothing perfectly by rubbing my finger over certain parts, blurring the lines. Just for fun, I portrayed the woman with long braids hanging from either side of her face and a slim band around her head.

“The sleeves have to be a bit wider toward the wrists. They looked like the flaring pants, really,” my aunt said as she leaned over me and studied my picture.

“Aren’t you too young to have been part of that freaky era?” I teased her, but I made the changes she suggested.

“I had an aunt who came right out of that time. When I spent the night over at her place, she often showed me funny photo albums of her and her husband.” Wrinkles of a smile built around her eyes. “I laughed so hard at their crazy looks that sometimes she feared I’d choke.”

Sheesh, I knew how that sounded. When my aunt got into one of her laughing fits, she was like a vacuum cleaner, and it was impossible not to laugh with her, just because of the sound of it. Aunt Pamela had always been my favorite relative, even though she was only related by marriage. Uncle Jack and my father looked a lot alike, but otherwise the brothers had little in common. While my father was warm and caring, it seemed like Jack was first and foremost interested in prestige and only secondly in family. The ever-busy attorney. He was a nice guy, all right, but after seventeen years of knowing him, he wasn’t even half as close to me as Pam had been since she’d given me a stuffed Roger Rabbit for Christmas when I was four years old.

Pam drew the chair next to me out and sat down, leaning her elbows on the table. She pointed at the
hem of the right pant leg on my drawing. “You know, if you added a small pleat here and a larger one here, the pants would look a lot wider and more authentic.”

I tried to do what she said, and heck she was right. But then that was no surprise. Pam was an artist herself, doing beautiful canvases in aquarelle and oil. The hallway and parlor were wallpapered with her awesome abstract paintings of people, landscapes, and buildings. While my parents did everything to support my talent, Aunt Pamela really
understood
what drawing meant to me.

“Mind if I bring my easel and paint with you for a bit? The chicken can roast without my help.” She smiled when I nodded.

It was nice to have her around for the next forty minutes. Pam was a funny person, warm, and always up to giving amazing feedback. She also skimmed through Tony’s pictures and was impressed by such a great talent. Her gaze fell on the one arty letter that stood out at the bottom right of each drawing. She frowned. “And
T
is for…”

“Total jerk,” I muttered before I knew what I was saying.

Pam burst out laughing, and I bit my bottom lip. Then I added, “Well, his name is Anthony Mitchell, so I guess T is for Tony.”

“I see.” She stopped laughing. “Just where have I heard that name before?” Her forehead creased with a frown, and she tilted her head, trying to make a connection. “Is he tall and blond with blue, blue eyes?”

And a killer mouth, designed to get on my nerves. “Yep, that’s him.”

“I think Cloey dated him a few times last summer. He’s a very nice boy.”

I turned around to her fully. “Nice? Ha! That’s not the side I’ve got to know of him.”

Pam scratched her brow.
“Really? Cloey didn’t speak of anyone else but this guy for weeks. She was so happy when he finally asked her out. Unfortunately it didn’t last very long with them. Cloey cried for days when it was over.”

“Is that so?” How strange. Somehow this clashed with the story Susan and the girls had told me about Tony and Cloey. If she dumped him, why would she cry? And what made her dump him in the first place? Had he been an asshole when he’d slept with her? To me it seemed he was an asshole 24/7, so that could easily be it.

I pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t my concern anyway.

A few minutes later, Cloey walked into the kitchen with her father and they both stopped to stare at us for a moment. Pam and I had fooled around a bit and were laughing so hard about a misplaced brushstroke of hers that now made the guy in her picture, who apparently should resemble Uncle Jack, look like a horny guy ready for action.

“Hi, darling,” Pam said as Jack came to kiss her on the cheek. “Sorry, we didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed that.” He slung his arms around her hips and studied the painting. “Is that me? And is
that
intentional?”

The three of us laughed again, but not Cloey. She stood still in the entrance to the dining area and scowled at me like I had eaten the last piece of her beloved white chocolate.

“Hi, Cloey.” I tried for a friendly voice, one with a conciliatory tone.

She just snorted,
then ran her long fingers through her pigtails. “Mom, where’s Rosa? I’m starving.”

“I gave her the day off, honey. It’s her son’s birthday and she wanted to spend it with him,” Pam answered.

“Great. So am I supposed to have a soda for dinner?” Cloey muttered.

Pamela wiggled out of her husband’s arms with a proud beam. “Dinner is almost ready. I cooked tonight.”

“You?” both my uncle and Cloey blurted out.

I didn’t know what was so special about that, but then I hadn’t lived in this house long enough to know all the house rules.

“Yes. Me,” Pam said over her shoulder as she walked to the stove. I picked up her irritation. “I cooked before Rosa came to us, and none of you ever complained.”

Jack had laid his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. He looked at my aunt and said, “There was no need for you to get your hands dirty, Pam. We can go out for dinner.”

Pamela pulled a delicious-smelling parmesan chicken out of the oven and placed it on the marble counter. “It’s no big deal. In fact, I’ve always enjoyed cooking. I was really looking forward to doing it today.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “Please, don’t spoil it for me now. Let’s just eat.” Her warm smile reappeared as she looked at me. “Can I get you to clear the table, Sammy?”

I jumped up from my seat.
“Of course.” With that stupid drama going on, my butt had frozen to the chair, the pencil still clenched between my fingers. We didn’t have a Rosa back in Cairo, or wherever we had lived in the past. My mom always cooked for us. I had found it totally normal to find Pam in the kitchen today. Obviously, in this house it was not.

I packed my and Tony’s sketches and rushed upstairs, then washed my hands and came back down to a nicely decorated dining table. I slid into the seat
opposite my cousin and held out my plate when Pam dished out the meal.

Everyone was silent. I wondered if Pam’s cooking was a bigger issue than I had thought. At least they seemed to like her food, because Jack and Cloey both tucked in like there was no tomorrow.

“That,” I said around a bite, pointing my fork to the second helping of chicken on my plate, “tastes fabulous, Pam.”

She looked at me from the corner of her eye, and her lips curved in a happy smile. “Thank you, honey.”

Cloey’s head snapped up so fast that I almost dropped my fork. She scowled at me, then at her mom, and finally at me again. Sometimes that girl totally weirded me out. All the more reason to make up with her, and make up fast.

“Hey, Cloey,” I said and took a sip from my lemonade. “I thought we could hang out a bit tonight, maybe grab some ice cream and watch a DVD or something.”

“Actually, I’m meeting up with Brin and Ker in an hour. We’re going to watch a movie in town.” Cold, emotionless. I hated the aversion she shoved in my direction.

“You should take Sam with you,” Pamela suggested, and Jack agreed.

I wondered if her father’s approving look was the reason why Cloey finally blew a strand of blond hair out of her eyes and said, “Fine. Be ready at eight.”

Okay, not the warm kind of invitation I had hoped for, but it was better than nothing. Maybe we could start over again.

After dinner, I changed my clothes, ran a comb through my unruly hair, and brushed my teeth. I was outside waiting by Cloey’s car at three minutes to eight, and she gave an irritated roll of her eyes when she saw me standing there.

We both climbed in,
then she started the engine and cruised down the road. This was the perfect moment to talk things out with her.

“Listen, Clo, I wanted to tell you sorry for what happened down in the café. I was a little stressed out and—”

The tires screeched to a halt. I was pressed into the seatbelt so hard that all the air whizzed out of my lungs. “What the heck—” I gasped.

Cloey turned a cold look at me. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out of my car.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll just come around and drag you out by your hair.”

Oh my God! What had gotten into the girl? “Cloey, if this is because of Saturday night, let me—”

“Samantha, I’ve no intention of bringing you with me to meet my friends.
Never had. I said yes so my mom and dad would get off my back, but now I want you to get out and find something else to do.”

Wow. I swallowed hard. Her face was edged in granite, so I figured further arguing was useless. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, but before I could get out, I heard her cold voice behind me.

“And stay away from Pamela Summers. She’s not your mother, she’s mine.
Yours
is miles away and obviously not very interested in you, or she wouldn’t have sent you to my place where you can squeeze in where you don’t belong.”

My chest tightened at her words. Not because I believed the shit she said, but because I couldn’t understand so much hatred coming from a girl I’d loved to hang out with only a couple of years ago. I was too wrung up to reply, so I climbed out and slammed the door shut behind me, heading down the sidewalk and not turning around to her when the tires screeched away from the curb.

All right, what to do with an evening that went wrong before it had even started? I dropped my suddenly exhausted self onto a bench close to the road and fished in my pocket for my cell phone. I had called my parents several times since coming to my aunt’s place and I always made sure to sound happy and not convey how much I missed them. But when I called my mom tonight, I just sobbed into the phone.

I told her about Cloey’s unexpected bitchiness and that she was turning my stay into hell. I also told her about Anthony Mitchell’s verbal slaps in my face. My mom listened to my rants for minutes without disrupting me, then she took a deep breath before she turned into the angel I knew. She asked me about the good moments I’d already had in Grover Beach. I remembered Susan, Liza, and Simone, who seemed to instantly like me, and I also told her that Nick Frederickson had done the fish dissecting for me when I couldn’t.

Mom’s soft voice soothed me, and by the time I said goodnight and promised that I would call her after school tomorrow, I’d dabbed at my tears and was able to breathe again without my chest and throat feeling like they were being acupunctured.

I sat for a little while, regarding the darkening sky, wondering whether I should just go home and go to bed. Yeah, great idea, coming home with bloodshot eyes from crying. My aunt and uncle would freak out. And Cloey would have my head for it. I planted my boots on the bench and hugged my knees to my chest, skimming through the new names in my cell phone. Maybe one of the girls was up for going out for a bit and having a cappuccino with me in that café close to Tony’s home.

My thumb hovered over the call button with Liza’s name on the display,
then I stopped. She was probably with her boyfriend, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out. I called Susan instead.

“Hi, Sam, what’s up?” she greeted me with a happy chuckle. “We were just talking about you.”

“Um…hi,” I said. “Who is we, and why were you?”

“I’m with Liza, Simone, and then some. What are you doing? Wanna come hang out with us?”

I hesitated, deliberating who
some
would be. But then she could mean anybody, and I desperately needed a little distraction right now. “Sure. Where are you guys?”

“At Hunter’s beach house.
Where are you? I can come and get you.”

I quickly looked around. I had no idea what to tell her. Cloey hadn’t gone far before she’d kicked me out, so I figured it was best to walk back home and have Susan pick me up from there. “Do you know where Cloey lives?”

A snort traveled down the line. “Yes.”

I laughed at her obvious disgust. “Know what? I’ll wait for you at the corner down the street.
How’s that?”

“Much better than picking you up right from her driveway.
I’ll be there in ten.”

I rang off and walked to the point where we were supposed to meet. Susan and I arrived there at the same time. She was fast.

The window rolled down at the passenger’s side. A beaming Susan leaned over. “Get your pretty ass in.”

I did, and she drove off in silence. After
a couple of minutes, she asked, “What’s with your eyes?”

“Long story.”
And nothing I really wanted to talk about.

But obviously Susan did. “Troubles in the house of
Summers?”

Gazing out the side window, I sighed.
“Yeah, sort of.”

“Did Cloey give you shit again?”

Now I turned to her. “Again?” What did this girl know?

“Right before you called me, Liza told us what happened Saturday night down at Charlie’s.”

I made a grunting sound. “Let’s just say, it’s harder to live with her than I’d expected.”

Susan glanced at me, then back out the windshield. She was silent, but I knew she was dying to hear the full story—all the gory details.

All right. “I tried to make up with her, and she said I could come to meet her friends and watch a movie. But it was just a show in front of her parents. In fact, later she kicked me out, making it clear in no uncertain terms that she wanted me gone not only from her car but also from her house and her family.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah…ouch.” And Susan didn’t even know half of how much this really hurt.

“Ah, forget about that bimbo. You can hang out with us any time you want. Just give me a call, and I’ll spring you from the
Summers’ dungeon.”

Her humor cheered me up, and by the time we arrived at Ryan’s place, which was a nice bungalow down at the beach just outside town, a smile curved my lips again. Susan steered her car into an empty spot that looked like it had waited just for her, then we climbed out. A weird feeling settled in my gut as she led me up to the wraparound porch and knocked on the door. Laughter drifted from inside.
And familiar voices. Damn. My heart lurched to my throat. Tony was with them. I didn’t know how much more of
him
I could bear tonight.

Liza opened the door a few seconds later, smiling at me. She ushered me in after Susan when I was hesitant. “What are you waiting for, Sam? Come on in.”

I took a deep breath, then followed her through a spacious living room and into the kitchen. A bunch of people sat squeezed around a rectangle wooden table. Some of them I knew, others I didn’t. They all turned our way when we came in and shouted greetings or waved at me.

Tony was rocking on two legs of his chair, his eyes narrowed to a scowl. Of course, he didn’t say anything.

I forced my gaze away from him and said, “Hi, all,” to everyone else.

Liza pointed a chair out to me, across from her and between Nick Frederickson and a dark-haired woman I hadn’t seen before. “This is Rachel, and her husband, Phil,” Liza said. “Rachel is Ryan’s sister.”

I shook hands with her, noticing the stunning likeness of the siblings.

They were all sharing pizza from five huge cartons, and Ryan offered me a piece on a paper plate the moment I sat down. In spite of my smile, I still felt utterly miserable inside, and pizza was the last thing I wanted. But I figured it would be rude to refuse. I really wanted to blend in, so I forced a few bites down, but I declined a second piece.

“Cloey is being a glorious bitch again.”

I nearly choked as a sip of Sprite went down the wrong way at Susan’s announcement.

“Why? What did she do this time?” Liza demanded and looked at me as if she totally knew what horror I’d been through.

I could do nothing but shake my head as I coughed to get air in my lungs again. Susan didn’t shut up. She babbled out all the information she’d wrung from me on the drive here. The boys rolled their eyes, the girls scrunched their faces in sympathy.

“That’s so ugly of her,” said Simone and smacked Alex on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you made out with her last spring. Does no man ever see what a bitch she is?”

Alex rubbed the spot on his shoulder and grinned. “Hey, don’t give me that. I didn’t know her back then. And seriously, you don’t care about things like
bitch or not
if you’re a guy.” He smirked at Nick, who burst out laughing, then he leaned in and kissed Simone on the mouth. “But now I’m with you, so no need to worry, baby.” He took a big bite from the pizza she held in her hand.

The conversation soon focused on soccer. I pulled out one of the lollipops I always had with me from my pocket,
unwrapped it, popped it in my mouth, and leaned back in the chair, just listening. Until I noticed Liza watching me. I raised an eyebrow in inquiry, hoping she’d tell me what was on her mind.

She leaned on the table and lowered her voice, so as not to interrupt the discussion of her boyfriend with Nick about the best tactics to score a goal with a team from LA that apparently named
themselves the Rabid Wolves.

“I’m having a sleepover at my place on Friday.
Just us girls. Allie will be there, too. Wanna come?”

That sounded like a nice idea. I flicked the lollipop out of my mouth. “Sure. Where is your place?”

Liza tore off a piece of pizza carton and scribbled her address down on it. As she gave it to me, I frowned. Apart from one number, the address was totally identical to Tony’s. Of course, she’d told me they were best friends, but I didn’t realize they lived next to each other.

“You two are neighbors?” I said, looking from her to Tony and back, which gave me everybody’s immediate attention.
Well done, Sam.

“Yeah, always have been,” Liza said with a light quirk of her brows. “You know where Tony lives?”

I wasn’t prepared for the innuendo in her question. In fact, it was totally out of place, but it gave my cheeks an annoying warmth. I opened my mouth but was too slow.

“Oh, come on, don’t be ridiculous,” Tony said before I could answer. His laughter sounded irritated. “My aunt forced me to give her my AVE notes, and she came to get them this afternoon. I’m not hanging out with another
Summers
. You should know me.”

Even though I was prepared for shit coming from him, the way he emphasized my name stabbed me in the chest.

“By the way,
tiny
—” He turned his piss-glare at me. “Shouldn’t you be home and drawing?”

Yeah right. Maybe he wanted to show me to the door, too? Could it be that he and Cloey shared the same gene pool? Their manners sucked, and I was so at my limits tonight.

“And shouldn’t you be in a café wiping tables,
busboy
?” I snapped.

The others sucked in a collective breath. Apparently, I had hit a nerve, and I regretted my words the instant they left me. Tony’s stare turned from stone-cold to freezing. His mouth curved in the parody of a grin.
“Only on weekends, hun.”

The endearment he used had the effect of a combine harvester running down my spine. Our gazes locked in a scowling battle as he continued, “So if you intend to show up with your sweet cousin, let me know and I’ll hold a table free for you.
In the basement. Where we keep the other snakes.”

My chin dropped to my chest and my throat tightened painfully. I’d run out of comebacks for his low blows.

Liza punched his arm. “Hey, don’t give her crap. She’s already getting enough of it from her cousin.”

“Why? She started it.”

“How? By coming in? By moving to this town? Or simply by being born a
Summers
?” My vision misted. I quickly blinked the welling tears away and rose from the chair. Clearing my throat, I turned a pleading look to Liza. “Could you show me to the bathroom, please?”

“Sure.” She stood and smacked Tony upside his head. “Sometimes you’re such an idiot.”

I followed her out of the kitchen and to the back of the house, where she pointed out the bathroom to me. “You okay?” she said, rubbing my arm.

“Yeah.
I just need a minute.”

“Look, normally Tony isn’t such an ass. Cloey is a sensitive topic, and his poor male brain takes a while to understand that not every person called
Summers is like her.”

I nodded but didn’t want to discuss it right now when new tears were crowding my eyes. Liza squeezed my hand, which I found comforting, then she headed back to the front and I locked myself in the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the peach-colored tub for a couple of minutes, blowing my nose on toilet paper. Then I went to the double sink and splashed cold water on my face.

With my hands braced on the soft-pink marble counter, I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh, what a fine appearance I made. Shoving my hair out of my eyes, I took a few deep breaths. Just why did I let this bastard get under my skin so much? He was a jackass. Someone I shouldn’t even think about. But it was impossible to brush off his jibes at me. The truth was, they hurt more than I wanted to admit. I didn’t want to face him again.

However, staying in here for the rest of the night was not an option. My stomach knotted as I turned the lock. I slipped out and silently closed the bathroom door. A harsh whisper drifted to me from the room at the end of the corridor.

“What the hell was that back in there?”

I recognized Liza’s voice and stopped.

“What do you mean?” That was Tony, his tone arrogant.

Instinctively, I stepped back and pressed myself against the bathroom door. This could only be about me. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to eavesdrop. But what other choice did I have? Walk in on them? I wanted that even less than hearing what they had to say.

“I mean you and Sam. I wasn’t sure if you two were going to make out on the kitchen table in a minute, or if you wanted to tear out each other’s throats.”

Oh boy, had she completely lost it now?

Obviously, Tony thought the same. “Are you out of your mind, Liz?” he asked her, stressing each word.

“Tony, I’m certainly the one person who’s known you best for most of your life. But ever since Sam entered the café on Saturday, it seems I don’t know you at all. Why are you such a dickhead when she’s around?”

“Because…”