Who's Your Daddy? (20 page)

Cons? It completely blew to be crushing on a guy who was taken, even in their on-again, off-again way.
Especially
in their on-again, off-again way. I mean, he’d choose to be with a psychowench like Jennifer instead of a cool chick (like me)?

SIGH.

Dylan knew of Jennifer’s hatred for me, but the awesome part was, he didn’t let that affect the way we related or worked together. A more irritating guy would totally kowtow to his girlfriend’s insecurities and treat other girls badly just so his arm shrew didn’t freak. Dylan didn’t. Big points for him.

DOUBLE SIGH.

I’m sure he surmised that the negative feelings were mutual, though I never uttered an ill word against Jennifer in front of him. But, as much as he spilled his guts to me about dwelling in dysfunction junction, I noticed he never asked my advice about what to do with their whole train wreck of a relationship (which was wise, since my advice would be KICK HER TO THE CURB, DUDE). I really liked that he felt he could come to me whenever he needed to vent, though. It got to the point where I KNEW he was talking to me more than he was talking to her. I guess I’d put that into the PRO column, too.

On Planet Caressa, the theatrical nightmare was finally coming to an end. It had been a long haul, but
Beauty and the Beast
was opening tomorrow night! She was in the throes of a major dread fest, but the rest of us couldn’t wait. Hey, reluctant or not, Caressa was a pro. Her apathy about playing Belle wouldn’t prevent her from putting on her game face tomorrow in order to rock the house. Meryl and I had tickets for the premiere, and we planned to go early and snare the front row seats. I could only hope the expected spring snowstorm wouldn’t postpone the play.

So, basically, my friends and I had slipped from hopeful dumb supper attendees into major woe-is-us mode. As I’ve learned, though, life just has this way of keeping things in perspective. Whenever things get really bad, fate tends to step in and remind you that your problems aren’t that huge in the scheme of things.

That’s how it was that Thursday.

It was a GOOD Thursday in a lot of ways. There was no school thanks to a teacher planning day. I had no narc obligations, always a blessing. And the impending storm meant there might be some upcoming snow days, which were really hard to come by up here in the mountains.

A lot of my friends had hit the slopes that morning, but I was feeling mopey, and I wasn’t up for getting caught in the storm. I’d been in Colorado spring blizzards before—no thanks. Trust me, they made you FORGET it was almost summer, even though we almost always had our biggest snows in March and April.

Anyway, the mopey part came into play because Dylan and Hellspawn had recently gotten back together after split number one zillion, and it just seemed unfair. Meryl was scheduled to work at Inner Power all day, and Caressa was tied up with final dress rehearsals. I decided to hide out at home and work on a paper for English. I had put it off way too long, thanks to the giant timesuck that was junior narcdom.

I’d claimed the dining room table as my study area, so I could spread everything out. It was two in the afternoon. I’d been toiling away with my research for a couple hours when my dad walked in.

“Hi,
m’ija
.” He crossed the room and kissed me on the top of my head, then laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey. How come you’re home so early?”

“Things were slow. I came home to make sure we’re all stocked and ready in case this storm is a big one.”

“Is it supposed to be?”

“Hard to say, but it pays to be prepared.” He crossed the room and grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the sideboard, then came back and leaned over my notebook. “Whatcha working on?”

“An English paper that’s practically late because I’m always stuck doing stupid narc stuff,” I said pointedly.

“Oh, come on. You seem to be really enjoying it lately.”

“HA. And I thought they called cops trained observers. Newsflash, pops, I DESPISE being a narc. Always have, always will.” I never missed an opportunity to vent my displeasure over the punishment thing.

He just ignored me. “So, how’s the paper coming?”

I sighed at his lack of compassion for my plight, but then again, I was used to it. “I don’t know. It’s fine, I guess.”

The legs of the chair scraped on the floor as Dad pulled it out and took a seat perpendicular to mine. “Can you take a break for a moment?”

“Sure.” I laid my pen down. “What’s up?”

Dad studied my face for several seconds, then smiled. His eyes shone warmly. “I’m proud of you, Lila.”

Huh? Had my dad been rockin’ the confiscated ganja
from the evidence lockers at the station? “Are you feeling okay?”

“No, really. I am proud of you.” He reached over and smoothed my hair. “I know you didn’t want to join the Police Explorers, my dear daughter, and that you take every opportunity to express how much you despise it. But you’ve adapted really well. You’re a lot like your mother in that way. She could protest louder than any woman I’d ever known, but she always put her heart and soul into everything.”

A warmness radiated through my stomach. I loved knowing I was like Mom, but not in relation to the nares. Please, God. I struggled to maintain my poker face. The praise felt good, but I couldn’t afford to make Dad think I actually APPRECIATED being a narc in any way, shape, or form. I was determined that the hell would end when the school year did. I quirked one eyebrow up and took a slow, unconcerned sip of my Pepsi, hoping the nonchalant move would properly convey my indifference.

Dad went on, oblivious to the subliminals. “And you know, Dylan tells me you’re doing a great job with the crew, and that you take direction well and you’re
always cooperative and pleasant to work with.”

My unexpected burst of laughter caused a stream of fizzy Pepsi to shoot out of my nostrils and spray all over my notes. It hurt. I launched into a near-death coughing bout, banging the side of my fist against my upper chest and wondering if anyone had ever died from pneumonia contracted after having aspirated a carbonated soft drink. Dad, meanwhile, mopped up the nostril spray with a paper towel.

He whipped a worried glance at me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, but my eyes were watering like crazy and my throat was sore. “Went down the wrong tube,” I explained, in a wheezy voice. When I could speak without feeling the shards-of-glass-through-the-chest-wall pain I simply had to confirm what I’d heard. “Dylan said all that about me?”

“He sure did.”

Man, just another example of why Hellspawn Hamilton didn’t deserve the guy. Here I’d thought Dylan would yessir and nosir himself to death in the presence of the almighty Chief Moreno, but Iůd been wrong-o, in a gigungous way. I was humbled to know Dylan hadn’t ratted me out as the surly, insubordinate, unmotivated
problem-child that I was. “Huh. I wonder why.”

Dad looked amused, but curious, too. “You disagree with what he said?”

Yeah, like I’d do that. NOT. I shook my head no.

Dad laughed. “Okay, enough grilling and praising. Go back to your paper, Lila Jane. I just wanted to make you aware of the fact that I’ve noticed and I’m pleased with the changes I’ve seen in you so far.”

I flashed him a hopeful half-smile. “Can I quit the nares early then?”

“Nope.”

“Well, can I at least have a car?” Couldn’t hurt to ask, what with the parental love fest going on.

Dad stood and gave me a wry wink. “Don’t push your luck.”

What the heck good did the praise do me if it didn’t result in the reinstatement of lost privileges? “But, Dad—”

“Talk to me next year, Lila.”

“Next YEAR?!”

He held up a finger. “Stop right there. You’ve modified your behavior, and that’s a good thing—”

“Well, then—”

“Now I want to see if you can make it stick.”

“It will!”

“We’ll see. Then, and only then, we’ll discuss cars.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He pointed at the table. “Write.” And, with that lovely little bit of news, he left the kitchen. ARGH!

I was still pouting over the no car until next year edict when I heard the doorbell ring, but I didn’t jump up. What was I, the house lackey? I didn’t care who might be there anyway. I couldn’t concentrate on my paper, so I sat there thinking about (1) my lack of wheels, (2) Dylan and his heinous girlfriend, and (3) neverending narcdom, all while doodling little cubes and stars in the margins of my notes. I tried not to stew too much about any of it, but it was hard not to.

After a few moments, Dad stuck his head into the dining room. “Lila? You have company.”

I swiveled my head around to look at him. “Who?”

Dylan popped up behind my dad. “Hi.”

Dylan?!

I jumped up from my seat and smoothed my clothing, hoping I didn’t look like too much of a slob. Then
again, what did I care? Dylan liked his women blonde and bitchy. “Oh. Hi.”

Dad, thankfully, gave Dylan one jovial guy slap on the back, said good-bye, then slipped away. As annoyed as I was with him about the car thing, I had to give the old man props for not standing around listening to our conversation, rendering my life more hellish than it already was.

The question remained, why the heck was Dylan here?

“I didn’t realize you’d be studying today. Can you talk?” he asked, glancing down at my papers.

Only then did I notice his face looked strained, and his usually perfectly messy hair looked messier than usual. It bordered on the not-cool, which I found so totally cool. GOD, the guy was annoyingly yummy. “Um, yeah. Sure.” I hesitated, uncertain what to do next. I mean, we talked at school sometimes, and at the junior narc trainings, meetings, and events. But he’d never come over to my house.

I moistened my suddenly parched lips and flicked my hand sort of helplessly at the fridge. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure. Pepsi?”

I nodded, stupidly giddy to learn that he was a Pepsi guy rather than a Coke guy. I crossed to the fridge and extracted two cans of Pepsi. I didn’t want to drink my old one in case some of the nostril spray had gotten in it. As an afterthought, I snapped up a bag of chips, too.

It felt too weird being in the house, despite the fact that it was getting colder outside. Luke or my dad might walk in at any time. Blech. Turning, I tilted my head toward the back door, then pointed at my North Face ski jacket hanging on a hook. “Grab that for me. I’ll show you my favorite rock.”

That was one cool thing about living in the mountains. We didn’t have to set up fake cool areas to sit outside … like patios or gazebos or whatever. I mean, they were fine, but we had naturally cool areas, courtesy of Mother Nature herself. Our land was flat in spots, steep in others. We had pine trees, wild-rose bushes, an aspen grove, and best of all we had huge rock outcroppings that had served as perfect thinking and/or brother escape places over the years.

I led Dylan across our property without talking until we reached my favorite boulder. Suddenly, I felt shy and
sort of dorky. I shrugged. “So, anyway. This is where I come when I need to get away from my dad and brothers for a sanity break.”

Dylan flashed a small, wry smile. “You basically live out here then?”

My anxiousness eased some, and I smiled back. “How’d you guess?” I took a seat, then handed him a Pepsi.

It was weird, but I hadn’t slipped into rebellious Lila mode, and I didn’t really want to. Maybe it was because we weren’t doing some narc activity, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it was more because I’d gotten to know Dylan over the months, and he seemed more human and normal to me than I’d ever imagined he would.

An icy wind kicked me into shiver mode, and I thought maybe I should’ve suggested hot chocolate instead of cold pop. Too late now. I took my jacket from Dylan and put it on, set the chips between us, then asked, “So. What brings you over to my house for the first time ever?”

“I was here before.”

“When?”

“The night your dad sent me to get you at Caressa’s.”

I rolled my eyes. “For the love of God, Sebring, don’t bring
that
up. I was totally on a not-hating-you kick for a few seconds there, and you ruined it.”

He didn’t smile like he usually did when I snarked on him. Instead, he sat, and his shoulders drooped slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

After releasing a long sigh, he popped his Pepsi top, but he didn’t drink. “Jennifer and I broke up.”

“Again?”

“For good this time.” He peered up at me from beneath his lashes. “I’m serious.”

I have to say, it was an act of pure will and an amazing feat of brilliance that my facial expression didn’t change, because my entire mind, body, and soul were doing the major happy dance at the news. But, I was shocked to realize that one part of me felt really sorry for him. I’d begun to think of him as a friend, I guess, and it always blew to see a friend suffering. “What a drag, Dylan,” I said softly.

“Not really,” he said, which both surprised me and made me happy. Not to mention curious. “I mean, the breaking-up part sucked, but we haven’t been getting
along for a while now, as you well know.” He flashed me a sidelong glance. “I hope you don’t mind me coming over here to dump this on you.”

I hiked one shoulder. Was he high? I loved that he turned to me before anyone else. “What are friends for?”

He smiled then, so sweetly that it made my stomach tighten. “Most girls wouldn’t say that, you know.”

“I’m not most girls.”

“I know.” He paused for a long time, then reached over and drew some design on my knee with his finger.

I nearly died.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I can really talk to.”

A warm flash of pleasure moved through me, but I forced myself to remember I was ONE OF THE GUYS. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, just because Dylan was here.

“Which is another reason I came over—”

Before Dylan could finish his sentence, Dad slammed his way out of the house, pulling our attention away from the conversation. He glanced around until he saw us, then lifted a hand to beckon me. I sighed and stood. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”