Tidal (26 page)

down.”

“Then quit afterward. You know what

I majored in?” she asked, and when I

lifted an eyebrow, she said, “Psychology.

My parents thought I’d be in graduate

school by now, and maybe I will

someday, but not right now. Hell, look at

my sister. Delilah flat out told my mom

that she was only nineteen and shouldn’t

be expected to know what she wants to

do. You know what my mother did?”

“Hmmm?”

“She got the hell over it,” she said.

“I wish it were that easy.”

Paige leaned in to me, as if she were

sharing a secret. “It is.”

Chapter Eighteen

Paige’s words stuck with me for the

rest of the night, and into the next morning.

My mom left Honolulu without seeing me

—hell, without calling me—again, and I

hadn’t made an effort to contact her either.

As Cooper and I worked on a new

technique a few days later, he pointed out

that he thought I should call my parents.

“Not yet,” I said after half an hour of

going back and forth with him. I’d been

careful the entire conversation because of

his own parents—he said he hadn’t talked

to the man who’d hit him when he was kid

since he and his mother had left Australia

more than ten years ago and had

immediately turned the conversation back

to my own mom and dad when I

questioned him about it.

“You’re being childish,” he’d said, as

we walked back up the beach toward his

stucco house after our lesson.

“No, I’m trying to figure myself out,”

I’d told him. And I was.

He’d opened the door leading inside

the house for me, grasping the frame, and

raised his eyebrow. “At least the cameras

have eased up off you.”

Considering my attorney hadn’t

returned any of my calls about the status of

our court date, the fact that I was no longer

front page tabloid fodder was the best

thing that had happened to me in a while.

For the first few days after our

relationship made it into the news, the

paparazzi had showed up at random times

outside his house and on the beach,

snapping photos and hounding Paige and

Eric, but for the last couple days,

everything had died down.

On Wednesday evening as we shot an

indoor scene with my onscreen dad—the

guy who’d played the role of Chad in the

original movie—Justin told me the

paparazzi’s sudden disinterest in my love

life was due to some actress who was

twice as famous and five times more

screwed up than me ‘accidentally’ running

the Bentley she was joyriding into a

cameraman.

“He’s alright,” Justin quickly assured

me, digging his fingers into his

dreadlocked hair and making me itch all

over. When was the last time he washed

that stuff? “But she was coked out.”

My costar gossiped more than Jessica,

and I rolled my eyes. “I’ve finally figured

out why you refuse to cut that shit.” I

pointed up at his long hair. Then I dropped

my voice to a whisper. “It’s full of

secrets.”

The
Mean Girls
quote flew right over

his head, and he continued speaking,

staring up at the grip who was fixing a

lighting issue. “How much time do you

think she’ll get?”

I shrugged and sat down on the prop

couch, resting my elbows on my lap. He

followed, much to my irritation, and sat in

the exact same position. I slid my teeth

together irritably as his gaze burned into

the side of my face. Finally, I turned

toward him. “How would I know how

much time she’ll get?”

“Don’t you get arrested like once a

year?”

“Don’t you know when to shut up?” I

retorted. When his expression faltered, I

sighed, and said, “Who knows, okay?”

He leaned back, kicking his sandaled

foot up on the coffee table and gave me a

smirk. “You make work interesting,” he

said, winking.

I tilted my head to the side and gave

him sickly sweet smile. “Don’t you have

an extra ready to go down on you in the

Porta Potty?”

He stretched his long arms up and

shook his head, swinging his hair in the

process. “Not today. Besides, I’d much

rather talk to you.”

Someone shouted that it was time to

get back to work and I got up, glancing

over my shoulder at Justin. “Me and some

of the makeup artists have a bet going

whether or not your character will get the

silver bullet next season on your show,” I

said, referring to the werewolf show he

costarred in. “And from what I hear

there’s no Sam and Dean-esque twists that

will bring your ass back if they do.”

His mouth fell open and I felt myself

smile as he followed behind me, asking if

I’d ever even watched the damn show.

***

after work, I had Miller take me to the

homeless shelter. There were four hours

left in my community service and I was

determined to get them done this afternoon

because my probation ended in seven

days. Dave, my boss, looked generally

excited to see me, stopping me when I

passed by his office to thank me for a

bunch of my old clothing I’d bugged

Miller to drop off a couple days ago.

“Your donation means a lot to me, and

to the residents.” He tilted his head back

for a second and closed his eyes. When he

lowered it, a genuine smile pulled across

his face. “Thank you, Willow.”

“I’ve got more stuff in storage,” I told

him. “When I go back to Los Angeles, I’ll

have them shipped here.” I ignored the

lump in my throat that I got when I thought

about going back to L.A.

We’d been shooting my scenes too

quickly for my liking which meant that at

any moment my time here could be over

and I’d have no other choice but go back

home.

Dave thanked me a few more times,

and then I finally managed to slink out of

his office. I went into the dining room and

dug around for the cleaning supplies in the

storage closet, filling the mop bucket with

hot water and hanging a bottle of cleaner

and a cloth over the side of it. I dragged

the bucket out into the dining room, and

nearly screamed when I turned around to

come face to face with a small, familiar

face.

“You look like you just shit your

pants,” Hannah said, lifting her eyebrow

as I stumbled backward.

I recovered, giving her a look. “Aren’t

you a little too young to say shit?” I lugged

the bucket full of water into the middle of

the dining room floor and she acted as my

shadow, following a few steps behind me.

“And besides, anyone would freak out

when someone’s creeping up on them.”

She grinned at me as I started spraying

the tables with a cleaner-filled bottle. “I

can’t do much, you know.”

I paused. “Are you kidding? I fight

like a girl,” I said. “You’d probably head-

butt me in the chest and I’d be out like

that.” I snapped my fingers, and she

laughed, sliding into a chair across from

where I was cleaning.

She rested her chin in her hands and

twisted her lips to the side. “You haven’t

been around a lot.”

“I’ve been working.” I wrinkled my

nose. “Boring movie stuff.”

“I bet it’s awesome.”

I glanced up from scrubbing a

Spaghetti-O stain and then relaxed my face

into a smile. “It’s very tiring, but I’ve

gotten to work with some . . .
interesting

people.”

“Like who?”

I knew I wasn’t supposed to be

carrying on a conversation with Hannah—

that even though Dave was all happy with

me for giving the shelter thousands of

dollars of my clothes he’d probably flip

out if he knew I was—but I wasn’t going

to shrug her question off. Hannah clapped

her hands over her mouth when I said,

“Justin Davies.”

“Are you kidding? You have the best

job ever!”

After the stressful few weeks I’d had,

who would have thought that talking to a

little kid would make me feel better? The

corners of my mouth dragged up into a

smile and I shook my head. “Not kidding.

I’ll tell him he has a fan,” I said and she

beamed. My grip loosened on the rag I

held. People like Hannah—they were the

ones who reminded me why I’d loved my

job in the first place. I lowered my gaze

back to the table.

“Guess what?”

I lifted an eyebrow but didn’t raise my

head. “Hmmm?”

“My mom got a job.” There was so

much pride in her voice that I felt my heart

contract. I didn’t know her story any more

than she knew mine, but I grinned down at

the bleach-scented cloth.

“I’m glad,” I said, finally meeting her

brown eyes. “My fingers are crossed for

you guys.”

“Mom says we’ll probably get to

move to our own apartment in a few

months. I’ll get my own room and won’t

have to share with my older brother.” She

wrinkled her nose, and I laughed.

“You’ve got a brother?”

“He sucks.”

“It’ll get better,” I promised and she

tilted her head skeptically.

“You’ve got one.”

“Nope, only child.” My mom and dad

had always said that having me was

enough although now I wasn’t sure if that

was a good thing or a bad thing. Before

Hannah could issue out a sharp retort, I

added, “But I’ve played a little sister

more times than I can count.”

My cell phone vibrated in the back

pocket of my shorts, but I ignored it. I also

ignored the part of my brain that kept

telling me to stop talking to this kid before

Dave found me. Hannah was lonely, like

I’d been so many times before. I’d restart

the entire 50 hours of community service

—and finish before the deadline—if it

meant I wouldn’t have to shrug her off.

I sat down a few seats away from her

and glanced over, folding my hands on the

table. “Know how you’re going to

decorate your room yet?” I asked and her

brown eyes lit up in excitement.

She spent the next fifteen minutes

telling me about the Bieber-esque

bedspreads she’d coveted at Walmart and

how her mom had promised her she’d

have it by Christmas. When a tall, wiry

boy with light brown hair and dark eyes

poked his head into the dining room to yell

for her, she rolled her eyes theatrically

and I knew that he was her brother.

I’d done the same on-screen too many

times to count.

“I’ve got to go. Shots for school,” she

explained making a face. “Will you be

back tomorrow?”

I thought of the remaining few hours I

had left and not wanting to lie to her,

shook my head. Her face fell for a

moment, and then she held up a finger. “Be

right back.”

She raced over to the boy in the

doorway, her sneakers skidding on the

slick floor, and argued with him for a

minute about something. She returned with

a miniature black sketchpad and a jet

black ink pen. I watched, biting my lower

lip, as Hannah flipped to the back of the

sketch book, to a blank page.

Handing it to me, she gave me a

hopeful smile. “Please?”

I signed my name across the page

slowly, not quite wanting to let go when I

was finished. “Stay out of trouble,” I said

to her when she finally pried the

sketchpad from my fingertips.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Is

this the face of a trouble maker to you?”

She gave me a sweet smile, and I

swallowed hard.

That smile—I’d seen it too many times

to count, on the promotional images of my

movies from ten years ago.

“Ugh, I’m not even going to answer

that,” I said, laughing despite the painful

churning in my stomach. “Try not to kill

him, okay?” I nodded my head toward the

skinny boy at the door and Hannah flashed

me a thumbs up. As she left the D-hall,

arguing with her brother about her using

the paper in his sketchpad, my shoulders

slumped and I had to sit down for a minute

to catch my breath.

My phone vibrated once more, pulling

me away from my thoughts. When I dug it

out of my pocket, I saw the drunken photo

of Jessica holding up her shot glass.

Groaning, I positioned my finger over

ignore, but then I sighed.

What the hell, right?

“Hello?” I answered, and she released

a long sigh.

“Willow, I miss you!”

I pushed myself away from the table

and stood up, pacing the length of the

space between it and the wall. “Sorry I

haven’t called.”

But I wasn’t.

She snorted. “Ugh, I probably

wouldn’t call either if I was dating that

guy.” I clenched my hand by my side,