Uncharted (Unexpected Book 3) (13 page)

“I think I’m falling in love,”
he’d whispered.

The winter wind blew away the words.

“Can I help you?” A tall, middle-aged man, with intense grey eyes, and broad shoulders asks. Scary-looking. If I found him in an alley, I’d be torn between running the other way or asking him for help. Not sure if he’s one of the good guys or what.

“Yes, my sister is looking for a friend of hers.” Maeve gives him her signature smile. It melts everyone that comes across it, except for me. I’m immune. “Jacob is his name. We’re here to give him some Christmas cookies.”

“Where are the cookies?” He looks at our empty hands.

“The… I…” I blow some air because this is useless.

“No one with that name lives in this building.” He takes out a set of keys.

“On the third floor.” I want to convince him to let me look.

“That apartment was sold a month ago, sorry.” He gives us a sharp nod and enters the building without a goodbye.

“Rude!” Maeve yells after him.

And just like that, this is the end of a story that never really began. One phone call telling me that I meant nothing would’ve been nice. The worry about his whereabouts during the past weeks fades away.

“Are you sure you didn’t make up the story, Pria?” I shrug and head to the car. There’s no way I will retell the story for her. “It’s a cool story. If he ever becomes famous you can brag that you did him for a few days. The memories never fade, little sister. On most days, the memory of my first guy, my first love, is what keeps me smiling when there’s nothing else to rejoice about.”

Is that all my time with Jacob will be? A cool story? Why was I such a fool? Had it been a game to him all along?

The college bookstore fills with a bunch of freshmen who don’t know any better and came on the busiest day of the year. Suckers. I was one of them last year. Now, I’m on the other side—a sales associate who rings up their purchases and watches them smile as if today is the first day of the rest of their lives. It isn’t. Many things can happen between now and the moment they leave the store, or…whenever. They anticipate that the future is clear. I smile, knowing that it isn’t the case.

My heart shrinks with thoughts of my own first day of college. This was a bad idea. Taking a job at the place where… I want to leave the bookstore and search for a quieter job. A year ago, I waited on the other side of the counter while discussing with Mom the many reasons why I had to stay behind and rent my books. Then I met my soulmate, who, in fact, only wanted to say checkmate and leave after winning the game. Today I’m the one punching numbers, scanning barcodes, writing lease agreements for the books, and faking that I’m happy to see the next person in line.

“Make sure you bring the book back by the due date or we’ll charge the full amount to the credit card on file.” I push the “in fair condition” books toward the guy in front of me and plaster the best smile my cheeks can gather. “Next.”

Mae would be proud of my customer service skills. This job is easy compared to the Christmas gig I got last year at our favorite department store. Her lungs recovered. Mom officially released me from my penance, and I was bored. Our decision to make the best out of my free months included finding a job. Some experience before I could go back to school.

Within three days I found myself jobless. The golden rule of retail is “the customer is always right.” It didn’t matter that said customer wanted to return a used, ratty bra she claimed didn’t work as well as she had expected. Calling her a thief and an opportunist granted me a pink slip. Maeve’s and my goal of buying lots of pretty clothing with my associate discount never happened. However, I didn’t let that small detail defeat me. The beauty of Christmas is that everyone hires you for the season. I found myself another job at the local bookstore, where I learned to handle the pickiest customers.

Around May, I found a job at another retail store, and so far, I’ve lasted there long enough. I took some core classes at the community college too. They weren’t as expensive as I thought, and Maeve helped me with the cost. Now that I’m a pro at this retail—slash—customer service crap, I’ve scored a job at the bookstore on campus. It translates to new books at discounted prices, working close to my dorm, and meeting people. Plus, I can save for a car. That’s my ultimate goal for now. My career focus is business, but I want to combine it with a career that involves public relations. I have three years to figure out where I want to work.

“Can you write down your number on the receipt?” the guy in front of me says as I’m about to hand it over to him. I lift my gaze and I’m taken aback by broad shoulders and vivid green eyes. “In case the books aren’t what I expect, or to grab a bite.”

He’s good-looking, with his crooked nose, thin lips, and devilish smile. Mother Dearest’s requirements of taller than me, short haircut, and dressing like a decent guy are met. There are no visible tattoos, but then
I
know about hiding tattoos. Thinking about that star hidden by my panties reminds me of him—Jacob.

I scratch the back of my neck while making a decision. How soon is too soon? According to Mae, I should move on. If the guy is indeed a rock star in the making, he doesn’t take girls like me seriously. Without A Compass exists. They released a single in January of this year. Then an EP with four other songs last May, and another only a couple of weeks ago. That’s the one I’m buying with my next paycheck. Their website announced their first LP release by the end of the year. They are touring along with Porter Kendrick, and they’re getting a bunch of followers on Twitter and Facebook. I should know, as I’ve become an expert at Googling Jacob Decker. The front man is my new religion. There aren’t any pictures of him and a girl, but that doesn’t mean much. His parents know the art of hiding their lives.

“Sorry, no phone numbers is the bookstore policy.” I give the guy his books and the receipt.

“See you around campus,” he stops and checks my tag, “Ana.”

I pause for two breaths before nodding and waving goodbye. Getting used to my new name is a work in progress. It’s part of the new me I’m creating; the reliable one who will take over the world and kick ass—without letting others kick
her
ass. Pria doesn’t sound like a name, and using my full name is not an option, but using the last three letters takes me to a regular, yet classy name—Ana Walker.

Mae thinks I’m an idiot, but also understands that at eighteen, I have to experiment. I recall her words: “Usually people your age experiment with pot, cocaine, vodka…but I guess a name is acceptable—for now. I don’t want my sister to become a junkie.”

Some say one moment can change the game
A game I didn’t plan to play
One moment can change your life again and again
One moment you were next to me
The next you had been taken away
But that’s okay

[Chorus]

As long as the stars shine
As long as there’s a heartbeat in me
As long as you’re out there
Nothing will change what we share

You changed my destiny
Your eyes are the lights that illuminate the way
I’m never scared
Because I’ll find you one day

[Chorus]

As long as the stars shine
As long as there’s a heartbeat in me
As long as you’re out there
Nothing will change what we share

My heart knows that I’ll see you
Maybe someday
Maybe today
As long as you’re gone our memories are all I got
That and the eternal fire we created, the one that became a star

[Chorus]

As long as the stars shine
As long as there’s a heartbeat in me
As long as you’re out there
Nothing will change what you and I share

“Can we stop listening to that song?” Maeve is on the other side of the line, exasperated with my new obsession. They released it today on the radio—exactly a year after we met. “Any girl he fucks can be called his shiny star or whatever crap he said.”

“Way to stomp on my heart, sister.”

The moment I heard the song on the radio, it spoke to me. The ending made my entire body come back to life. I downloaded the song immediately and have been analyzing it ever since. Now I have to go through all the other songs they recorded, because maybe all of them have some hidden meaning. Maybe they are for me.

What will their publicist think if I write and say:

To Jacob,

Hey this is Twinkle. Remember me?

That I’m some psychotic fan. They’ll shred whatever I send and move on to the next fan letter. Confused with this development, I want to crawl inside my bed and…maybe ponder what to do next. He wrote
me
a song. Did he mean what he’d said to me that day? If so, why won’t he make contact? I just don’t understand.

“Go out on that date, dress to kill, and forget about the boy that’s never going to happen.” Maeve continues her attempt to kill the fantasy. “In five to seven years, you’ll laugh at the entire story. When you turn thirty, you’ll tell your friends that he took your virginity and you’ll become a goddess among them. If you’re bold and daring, you’ll tell your children that your first guy became a famous rock star. Leave the past where it belongs.”

Maeve is right. I have to move on and forget what Pria lived. I’ll take the memories of him as tiny drops of bliss to wash away any bitterness that might come my way.

Switching into a new persona should include growing up and forgetting the reindeer games from the past. Tonight I’m heading out with Logan—the dude I met at the bookstore who wanted my number. He’s datable material, and I’m available. Even Mae reached the point where she can’t take my Jacob stories any longer, and now she’s trashing my crush and whatnot. This is the best for me. She’s right. There’s no point in rehashing the fantasy. Only relive it when necessary.

After all, Ana wouldn’t date some guy her parents don’t approve of. They would hate Jacob’s appearance.

“You’re right.” I peel down my jeans, the tip of my tattoo showing. I push down only enough to see the black and white star with the J and C hanging from it. “Logan is cute, and he waited my entire shift to score a date.”

I hear her clapping and laughing. Instead of continuing the conversation, I end it, and finish changing for tonight.

“Maybe she decided that college isn’t for her,” Matthew suggests. “Jacob, you’re not the same guy. I don’t think this is a good idea. I love you, but you’re becoming a jerk. We should head back to the hotel.”

This is our third walk nearby campus. We’ve searched around the places where I bumped into her, her dorm…and nothing. One fucking year and there’s no trace of Twinkle. If my brother hadn’t met her, I’d believe she had been a dream. The best dream I’ve had in my entire life—one I want to head back to and, this time, never wake up from. Maybe she’ll wake me up from the fucking nightmare that my life has become.

Mason, the guy who can find anyone, says he can’t and won’t waste resources on a wild goose chase. I have no real name, date of birth, nor any specifics on her. The songs I’ve composed and played for her haven’t brought her to the recording studio. The hope she might appear on the doorstep of the record company is fading away. I wished my parents hadn’t sold the apartment. If she tries to reach me that way, she won’t be able to.

“I wish you could understand what I experienced with her, MJ.” My brother doesn’t see how special Pria was. We moved into another dimension where only the two of us existed and where I hope we’ll meet again. “We agreed, as long as we hang posters and information about the band around campus this is well-invested time.”

Pria’s been the best thing that has happened to me—and to Without A Compass, our band. Since meeting her, I’ve written music nonstop. Music that we have either recorded or sold to other bands.

“As long as you keep writing that cheesy shit, I’m happy.” MJ opens the door of the coffee house for me as I struggle carrying the posters, tape, and a box of pins. “AJ’s angry lyrics are selling great and I think my contribution to the company is just as significant. Not too cheesy, not too bitchy—just fun.”

Just fun sells too. The number one song on the Top 40 billboard is Matthews’s latest crazy masterpiece: “Let’s just f**k for the night.” He purposely erased the u and the c. When I sign “let’s just fk” I want to hate him, but people are digging that shit.

The band Jeronimos is big, thanks to my brother, because of songs like: “Don’t Turn Around,” ”Take Me to a Bar,” ”April Lies,” and the infamous “You Wrecked Me Spring.” Critics think it’s a love story. A guy falls for a girl named Spring, she leaves him, and he rages about the time he lost and the pain he faces because of her—Spring. No, it is yet another song that he wrote against daylight savings. He hates Spring-forward.

Matthew James should’ve been named Matthew Christian as he is a copycat of our father, Chris. Among the quirks he inherited, composing is one of them. They both write shit based on the mundane, and it ends up sounding like souls in deep pain.

“Glad your concern focuses on what matters—the money-making machine.”

“Says the guy who studied business because he wants to be a billionaire before he turns forty.”

“You’ll be one too, and so will AJ.” Yes, I have fun playing with money and multiplying it. One of the three had to be a greedy son of a bitch. Life chose me and I take my title seriously.

To expedite the process, Matthew and I walk to the manager and ask for his permission to post some of our shit on his board. From there we decide to take a detour closer to the dorms. At almost ten, Pria has to be around here, heading to her room. She’s a good girl who tries to follow her parents’ rules. If the girl decided to head out tonight, she should be on her way back by now.

“Hmm, tomorrow we have a gig, Jacob. We should go back.” MJ’s reminder sounds out of place. Neither one of us cares much about resting the night before anything. “I’m tired.”

The triplet connection never fails. Something is bothering him. Scanning around the entire area, I find his problem. No. My problem. Pria holding hands with a guy. He’s taller than her, wearing a polo shirt, and a pair of slacks. A preppy boy. Just the way her mother likes them. I recall the morning when she tangled her fingers through my hair.

“Mom wouldn’t like you very much.”
She kissed me.
“You’re lucky I do.”

“Why?”

“Long hair—that’s a thing from the devil.”
Pria laughed and I joined her.
“You might be a thing from the devil, but I like you.”

“Jacob?” Matthew pulls my elbow lightly but I don’t move.

Instead, I stare at the girl I’ve missed all these months. Same long, dark, wavy hair and curvy body covered by a pair of tight, dark jeans and a white coat. She looks stylish—different from the girl I met last year. Yet the same Pria my heart remembers.

All my fault. Of course, after so many months she found another guy. One that meets her parents’ standards. The orange-sized ball stuck in my throat is cutting off my air supply. I’ll never know if what we had was love, but I do know that what I’m experiencing right now is fucking hurt—again. Haven’t I experienced enough of it? My girlfriend is no longer mine. There’s no point in me waiting. She broke her promise. I’m now free to do whatever I want. Behave any way I like.

“Sorry.” Matthew touches my shoulder.

This shouldn’t be me. I’m a guy. Why do I give a shit about a girl who I barely know and who didn’t wait for me? I almost died.

No, I’m done. I tried every method I knew to find her. Had I imagined what I thought she felt for me? Fuck, I’m an idiot. Enough. I’m done. Heart—wake up. Stop pining. Move. On.

“Let’s party, Matthew.”