The Breakers Code (7 page)

     I watched her there, smiling and rubbing circles into the counter. There was a weight in her smile, gravity to her words:

     ‘Used to’

     The man she loved was gone. Maybe the only man she had ever loved, my father, had left and he was never coming back. Sure, she could move on. Maybe the idea of her daughter being in love could help her do that. But he would always be there; a ghost in the back of her mind, in the back of both our minds.

     “I’m going to tell him how I feel,” I said, fingering my locket and letting go of pretense. “Tonight. That’s what all of this is supposed to be about.”

     “Oh.” Mom’s face sort of fell and her eyes shot to the trash can. “Now I feel really bad about the chicken.”

     She turned around and started going through the cabinets. “ There has to be something up here .” Of course, she knew better than that. Mom never cooked. I never cooked. Unless Owen wanted a TV dinner with a side of Pringles there probably wasn’t much up there we could work with. Still, there was something else I was more concerned with.

     “Mom, what do you know about cues?”

     She turned to me, a can of Chef Boyardee in her hand. I read the words ‘extra chunky’ as she sat it down. Classy.

     “What are you talking about?”

     I twisted the locket around so that the loose part of the necklace wrapped around my fingers

     “Dr. Conyers said that people are constantly giving off cues, like clues about how they feel or what they think and stuff. She said that it was possible that I was subconsciously picking them up from Owen.”

     I’m not sure what I expected her to do, but when she started laughing, it took me by surprise.

     “I was scared to death when I met Andrew,” she said. She only ever called him Andrew when she was talking about before I was born, otherwise it was always ‘your father’.

      “He was involved with this redhead. She was drop dead gorgeous but the poor thing was so stupid she needed help tying her shoes.” She wiped what I hoped was a happy tear from her eyes. “Anyway, I was sure he wouldn’t go for somebody like me.”

     “Mom, you’re a stunner,” I said.

     “I must have been, because three weeks after meeting me, the redhead was out the door. And a good thing too, or else I wouldn’t have you.”

     She brushed blond bangs out of my eyes just as Owen’s phone started to ring in my pocket.

     “Are you going to get that?” She asked when I didn’t move.

     “No. It’s probably just Merrin,” I shrugged.

     “Who’s Merrin?” She went back to scouring the cabinets.

     “She’s Owen’s redhead.”

     I figured Mom would be confused. She didn’t know I had Owen’s phone on me. But she just grinned, seemingly understanding enough.

     It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that I realized the smoke alarm had quieted. I tensed up. That was Owen. He was early. Or was he? Stupid me. I shouldn’t have gone to sleep. I should have prettied myself up instead. No telling what I looked like now. The doorbell rang again.

     Mom shot me a look; a bag of Ramen noodles in her hand. “Want me to get the door?”

     “No,” I’ll do it,” I said, fixing my hair in the reflection from a hanging stove pot. “Just, you know, try to find something that doesn’t have the word ‘microwavable’ in the title.”

     She gave me a mock sneer as I headed into the living room. The bell rang a third time and I pulled it open, plastering a wide smile on my face.

     If I thought tonight was going to be an inhaler free evening, I knew differently as soon as I caught sight of Owen. He was standing on my front porch, dressed in a pair of blue jeans that looked like they were molded onto him, a tight blue shirt, and a matching blazer that made his deep blue eyes positively lethal.

     God was definitely showing off.

     He was looking at the sky, or maybe my roof, but he turned to me as soon as he realized the door had opened. He smiled at me; one of those deep electric smiles, and suddenly I was grateful I had the door to prop me up, because my knees had turned to jelly.

     “I don’t want to alarm you, but I think the smog monster from Lost just escaped through your back window.”

     A sharp high laugh escaped my lips and then a snort.

     Smooth, Cress

     “That’s what happens when my mom tries to braise something.”

     “That’s adorable,” he said.

     “Try telling her that. She’s in there right now, scrambling for a replacement meal.” I pulled the door completely open; my hand at its familiar place twisted around my locket.

     “Not the cooking,” he said, brushing past me and into the living room. “Your little snort.”

     I mustn’t have blushed near as much as I thought, because if my face got even half as fevered as it felt, he’d have immediately rushed me to the hospital. Instead, he said, “Tell your mom not to kill herself on my account. I’ll eat anything,” and reached his hand out to me. For the first time, I noticed a brown paper bag in it.

     “What’s that?” I asked, grabbing it and trying to act cool.

     “An eggplant. My mother always told me a good guest brings something.”

     “So you brought an eggplant?” I took it. It was heavy and a deep, almost black, shade of purple.

     “It’s a Scorpio food,” he shrugged. “Your mom’s a Scorpio, right?”

     “I guess.” The truth was, I had never thought about it, but then again, I wasn’t nearly as into the whole Zodiac thing as Owen was. Casper thought that Owen’s interest was weird. I decided to think of it as a charming character trait.

     Casper told me that the only reason I didn’t brand Owen an eccentric loon is because I thought he was cute. As he hung up his blazer, revealing the way his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirt, I couldn’t completely disagree. But the questions I had were still rattling around in my mind. I needed to know what was up with him, with the black Sedan, and the furniture-less house.

     “Owen, I-“

     “Scorpios are intense and secretive,” he interrupted. “Eggplants are supposed to upturn that; make them more open and stuff.” He smiled and folded his arms.

     “Thanks. I’m sure she’ll like it,” I said, even though I had never seen my mom look at, much less actually eat, an eggplant. “Even though secretive doesn’t really describe her. She’s sort of an open book.”

     Unlike, let’s say, you for example

     “You sure about that?” An eerie twinkle shone in his eyes. “After all, everybody has secrets.”

     What was that supposed to mean? Was he trying to tell me something? I decided to play along and see where it went.

     “Not my mom,” I smiled back, and sat the eggplant on the arm of our couch.

     “I bet that isn’t true,” there was a playful edge to his voice that, at once, enticed me and made me a little uncomfortable. “I mean, look at this house.” He gestured around the living room.

     “What about it? It’s a normal house.”

     Which is more than I can say about yours

     He shoved his hands into his back pockets; a stance that made his shoulders look even wider than usual. “Look at the pictures. They’re all of you.”

     I scanned the walls. There was a picture of me at the carnival when I was nine, me in front of the Grand Canyon when we took our family road trip four years ago, Casper and I had dressed as Sonny and Cher last Halloween.

     “Is that a problem?” I asked, lifting my locket so that the cool metal pressed against my lips.

     “Not even a little bit,” he answered. “In fact, I like the Halloween one so much, I was gonna ask if it came in wallet size. I’m just saying, don’t you think it’s strange that there isn’t a single picture of your mom here?”

     “She…doesn’t like pictures,” I said, grasping at straws. Whatever. It could be true.

     “She could be a spy,” he laughed. “Or maybe a criminal. Maybe she’s an alien who’s hiding from the government and pictures would reveal her true form.”

     He held his index fingers over his head like antennae and started walking toward me, pointing them playfully at me. “That would make you an alien too, wouldn’t it?” He leaned down and started poking me with his finger antennae. “You are, aren’t you? You’re a secret alien, and this house is your hideout.”

     I swatted him away, smiling. “Whatever. At least my house has furniture.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it as soon as it left my mouth, but the words were already out there. I couldn’t take them back.

     His face lost its expression. He went pale as a sheet as he straightened himself up. “You were in my house?”

     “Well, yeah. But’s it’s not a big deal,” I said. I could tell though, by the look on his face, as well as the fact that he was backing away, that it was a big deal. It was a very big deal. “I mean, if you guys don’t want to have furniture, that’s cool.”

     He shook his head quickly. “Of course, we have furniture. When were you there? We’ve been doing some redecorating. How did you even get in?”

     He looked at me like I was a criminal, like I busted in and invaded his privacy. Which, I suppose, I had. “The door was open,” I said weakly. “I just wanted to give your phone back. You left it in my car.”

     He grabbed it so quickly that I flinched back. “I tried to give it back to you at the library, but there was a black car, and you-“

     “Why is it unlocked?” He asked, scanning the screen. “It’s supposed to be encrypted. How did you access it?”

     “Encrypted?” His words were accusations, and they felt like slaps in the face.

     “With a code, I mean,” he clarified. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. Did you go through it? What did you see?”

     He tapped on the screen with one hand. The other made nervous swipes through his hair. What did I see?

     Is that what this was about; the pictures?

     I walked closer. This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this. I wanted to wait until he was stuffed with chicken and laughter to tell him how I felt, but the tone of his voice, as well as the charcoal smell still wafting from the kitchen, told me that was no longer a possibility.

     “I saw the pictures,” I said, sure to make eye contact.

     “I can explain that,” he said frantically, his hand clutching a clump of mud black hair.

     “You don’t have to. I get it.” I freed his hand from his hair and held it in my own. This was it, and hopefully things would go well. Maybe God was feeling generous. “And you don’t have to hide it either.” I took a deep breath and started rubbing the inside of his palm with my thumb. Which, when done in real life, was apparently really cheesy.

     “The truth is Owen, I’ve liked you forever. Since the first time I saw you, since the first day you set foot in this backward little town, I knew there was something special about you.”

     I couldn’t read his face. It was blank; like a sheet of paper, a blinking cursor waiting for a story to be written down. I squeezed his hand and pressed on.

     “You’re just-You’re awesome. That’s all. You’re sweet and kind, and cute as hell. I know this is probably a shock to you, because I didn’t say anything. It’s just, with the whole Merrin thing, I wasn’t sure how you felt. But then I saw the pictures and I know I shouldn’t have gone through your phone. I know that. But now I know how you feel, and you know how I feel. So, it’s sort of a good thing, you know?”

     His eyes tightened and, even if I couldn’t read the furrow of his brow or the way he bit his lip, I would still be clear from his hand. It still sat in mind, but it was limp and lifeless; not the hand of a person who was touching a girl he loved.

     “Cresta, I-“ He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to-. The pictures, that’s not why I took the pictures.”

     Oh. Oh God.

     I tried to pull away, but he clutched my hand tighter.

     “Cresta, don’t. Please. You’re an amazing girl. You’re my best friend. I just.”

     “I get it!” I said, much louder than I intended to. “Just let me go, okay.”

     He didn’t. Now it was me that was backing away from him, still holding hands.

     “Oh, this stupid moon!” He yelled. “It’s not what you think. My life’s not my own. Even if I wanted to-. Cresta, you’re my best friend.” He looked down; defeated. He flipped my hand over and ran his thumb across my palm. Somehow, when he did it, it didn’t seem so clunky.

     “You’ll still be my-“ His eyes got large. He pulled my hand closer, hurriedly scanning my palm. “How…”

     Finally, he let go. He looked like he was going to sick all over my mother’s oriental rug.

     “I have to go,” he choked out. “Tell your mom I’m sorry.”

     He walked; almost stumbled to the doorway. His face had gone from white to red when he pulled the door open and looked back at me.

     “I-I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay, Cresta? I will see you tomorrow, won’t I”