The A-Word Page 6

  5. Additionally Amber told us, her voice firm, her East Texas twang pitching high: Under NO f-ing circumstances—Amber used the actual word, by the way—were we going to let any angel stuff slip out. Or anything personal, for that matter. She had broken up with him five years ago. He didn’t know what she was now. End of story.

  “MOUTH ZIPPED,” AMBER said as we pulled up to a one-story ranch house. “Or I will tell Ryan Sloboda that you are planning your damn wedding already.”

  This was a bit over-the-top for her. But she didn’t have to tell me twice. Also, this made me decide to change into my new outfit once we got home. No sense waiting until Ryan asked me out. I would wear it to make sure he asked me out.

  “So how come this Terry guy’s so desperate to see you all of a sudden?” My brother asked. Silence filled the Merc. We idled. We waited.

  “He said he missed me,” she admitted.

  “You believe that?” My brother drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “No.”

  “Ah,” said Casey. “Well, good.”

  Amber primped at her hair.

  My brother turned off the ignition. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “You look like an angel.”

  Terry McClain had curly dark brown hair and pale skin and a dusting of freckles on a nicely straight nose. He was medium tall and lanky, like that Mark Zuckerberg Facebook guy. Or at least like Jesse What’s-his-face, the actor who played him in the movie. Only cuter. He wore thin, black glasses, the square hipster type. And his smile—at least when he opened the door and saw Amber, before he registered that she had a posse with her—struck me as genuine.

  Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he really had missed her.

  “Hey,” he said tentatively, eyeballing Casey and me. “I’m Terry.”

  “Hey,” we both said.

  Amber flashed an apologetic smile. “This is Casey and Jenna. Casey’s, um, shadowing me at work. Jenna’s his sister.”

  “Want to be an EMT, huh?” Terry asked. “Or you want to go pre-med? You’re what? A senior? Good move. Internships look good on a résumé.”

  Casey shrugged. I could see Amber being in love with Terry, I supposed. Yeah, I could. He was kind of geeky but smart—he had to be if he worked at the lab and could figure out if people were being poisoned by crazy idiots. Amber would have to be with a smart guy. She was closemouthed, but there was a lot going on in her head. She’d wanted to be a doctor. So of course she’d go out with someone into science.

  I didn’t officially have a boyfriend yet—although maybe by tonight—but I knew I wanted someone I had things in common with. Not that I was opposed to making out like Casey and Lanie. Just that eventually you had to come up for air, and it was best if you had something to talk about when you did. But Lanie was Casey’s type. She was what he wanted even without the angel pheromones: blonde and pretty and girlie and willing to laugh at his stupid jokes and maybe actually think he was funny. Was Ryan my type? He was sturdy and athletic and funny and smart. And cute. More than cute. His face. His eyes. How he swaggered—just the right amount—when he walked. The way his thumbs crooked into the pockets of his jeans. His … everything. When I thought about him, my knees turned to jelly and my stomach went quivery. I wondered what it would be like when he finally kissed me.

  “Y’all want coffee?” Terry gestured toward the kitchen. “I got this new machine. Makes like a million different types of coffee. Tea, even.”

  Terry’s house was small, or maybe it felt that way because Bo’s loft had been so roomy. But a nice-sized Ikea-type desk sat against the far wall of the family room, with a new-looking Apple desktop set up—one of those big ass monitors with a normal-sized keyboard. A fancy printer, too. And a top-of-the line iPad sitting next to it. Terry liked his tech stuff up-to-date, I guess. Made sense.

  I’m not a big coffee fan, so I chose one with vanilla to mask the taste. Amber picked an espresso. My brother decided on amaretto, whatever that was. Terry made them for us one by one, popping the little containers into the top of the coffee maker and smooshing it down so it could pee out into our mugs. Quite the setup.

  “So,” Terry said once we were all sipping politely. He traced a finger over the top rim of his hipster glasses. “How’s that lady doing whose blood I tested for you? That was the craziest thing, Amber. I’d never seen anything like it. What ever happened with all that?”

  The vanilla coffee lodged in my esophagus. I realized that he had no idea who Casey and I were other than our names. He did not connect us to “that lady”—our mother. Why would he? Even with what had been reported in the papers after Renfroe’s arrest, it would be impossible to put it all together. We had not charged Renfroe with trying to destroy our family. We had our own secrets to deal with now.

  “She’s fine,” Amber said.

  “Good to hear.” Then he said, “I’ll be right back. Y’all enjoy.” His gaze lingered on Amber for a few extra seconds until he turned and disappeared down the hallway to the other part of the house.

  “Guess he wants you caffeinated before he jumps your bones,” my brother loud-whispered.

  I’d have thrown in my two cents, but Terry was back in a rush, a wrapped box in his hand—blue paper, bow, ribbon, the whole shebang.

  “Can we talk for a second?” he asked Amber.

  “I’m right here,” Amber told him firmly, but there was something in her voice that made me take notice. Something that said that a part of her maybe still wanted to be alone with him. And the way he kept looking at her like she was a princess—well, I could see how that would be hard to give up.

  Terry hesitated some, clutching the box like maybe if he stood there long enough Casey and I would disappear. When that didn’t happen, he handed it over. “I know we’re not … well, you know … But ever since you asked me to help you last year with that blood sample, well, I … I saw this and I wanted you to have it. It looked like something you would … it looked like you.”

  When Amber didn’t make a move, he added, “Open it. Go ahead.”

  Her face was serious, and I could tell she was torn, but she ripped off the paper and bow and opened the box. Out came a pretty silver and turquoise cross, hanging on a sizeable silver chain. Terry had given some thought to Amber’s signature style. I was impressed.

  “Terry,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She hooked the necklace around her neck, but even though she smiled at Terry, her expression was unreadable.

  In my pocket, my cell vibrated loudly. While Amber and Terry ogled each other and my brother rolled his eyes, I sneaked a peek at the phone. A text from Ryan. My heart thumped.

  Coming over in an hr. K?

  “We need to go soon.” I tugged on Casey’s arm.

  He gave me the stink eye when he saw the name. “Pissant can wait.”

  “No. He. Can’t.”

  We’d have sniped at each other some more, but suddenly Amber announced, “We’re going.”

  We set our coffee cups on the kitchen counter and said our goodbyes. Terry looked like he wanted to hug Amber, but she made no move to let him do so, which was hugely awkward and took up a minute or so with the bobbing and weaving.

  Why had we stopped here, anyway? This Terry guy could have mailed her the damn gift. But if there was one thing I’d learned lately, it was that nothing is ever what it seems. People have agendas. Even if it takes them a while to spit them out. My agenda was to get home before Ryan landed on my doorstep so I could change into my new blingy jeans. I guess you can only lie to someone’s face for so long before it gets uncomfortable. Here was this nice, kind-of-cute guy with a fancy-ass computer and a sophisticated coffee machine and money to buy jewelry. She used to be with him, and now he was calling again and offering her a gift. And she had to blow him off because she was an angel, and he didn’t know it. Hadn’t known when she broke up with him five years ago right after she died. Didn’t know a damn thing.

  That had to suck. For both of them.

&
nbsp; I watched Terry look at the necklace on Amber’s neck and I thought about types again: Terry and Amber. Casey and Lanie. Me and Ryan. (I hoped.) Not that you had to have someone like animals in the ark, but the world was a crazy place. It was easier to pair up than go it alone.

  I thought about Bo Shivers in that penthouse loft.

  Mostly I thought: Let’s go. We’re done here.

  “I’m still at Texicon,” he said to Amber at the door. “Head of research now.”

  “That’s great,” Amber said, but she was on autopilot.

  Back in the Merc, I wanted to text Maggie and tell her everything that was going on because that’s what friends do, but I couldn’t. Too many secrets. I did text her: Ryan’s coming over! To which she responded: I want details. Followed by a series of red hearts. Maggie sometimes went overboard with the emoticons.

  IT WAS GETTING dark by the time we got home, but our cul-de-sac was nice and lit up because of the Gilroys’ bright orange Halloween lights. She hadn’t gotten much further with the tombstones, though. She finished the one: REST IN PEACE, bubba. Guess they were going for a Southern atmosphere.

  That was when I saw him riding up the street on his bicycle. (Ryan was also not old enough to drive yet. His birthday wasn’t until November, I knew, so he didn’t have a learner’s permit, either. Yes, this made me the older woman in our relationship. But only by less than a month. So not quite cougar territory.) My heart pumped hard. You are being such a girl, Jenna Samuels, I told myself. Stop it. But even the buzz cut he’d gotten for football made me happy, and I was not typically a fan of the buzz cut.

  I opened the back door even before we were fully stopped. Ryan was pedaling closer now.

  Amber whipped around. “You want to kill yourself? Wait till the damn car isn’t moving.” She scowled as Casey cut the ignition. “Why don’t you both try not to do anything stupid while I’m at work?” She boot-smacked the door and stomped to her Camaro without so much as a “Happy birthday, Jenna.” Not that she hadn’t already said it and given me my gift. But now I couldn’t change into it. Ryan was here.

  “Go on,” my brother said quietly. “Just try not to look so damn obvious. Guys like it when you play hard to get.”

  It was good advice.

  I took my time sashaying over.

  “You want to come inside?” I asked Ryan, heart thumping. What if he said no?

  But he nodded and parked his bike, readjusted his backpack on one shoulder, and in we went. Mom was in the kitchen drinking coffee.

  “Mom, Ryan; Ryan, Mom,” I said, then grabbed his arm and hustled him up to my room before Casey could get a word in. This was both bold and risky: I had never had a boy in my room before. Was my room even presentable? I was not one to leave underwear and such lying around, but that possibility seemed preferable to sitting in the kitchen with my mother and brother while Ryan and I attempted awkward small talk.

  “Leave the door open,” Mom hollered after us.

  Which I had to hand it to her was decent motherly advice.

  Once we were in my room and I had thrown my comforter over my bed and kicked some dirty clothes into the closet, Ryan carefully opened his backpack. Out came a box with five pink-frosted cupcakes, each one with a letter of my name. J E N N A. The frosting was a tad squashed, but they looked otherwise quite tasty. My eyes bulged, a big stupid smile on my face. It felt very quiet all of a sudden.

  “I baked them,” he said, looking proud. He dug in the backpack again and pulled out an envelope. I set the cupcake box on my bed so I could open it. I tried to will my fingers to stop trembling. This was more than my already overloaded system could handle. “Morris jumped on me while I was packing them up,” he added.

  My words rushed out in an awkward jumble. “You bake? Who’s Morris?”

  He laughed. “Pit bull/lab mix. And yeah, I do. Bake, I mean. Mostly homemade pizza. These are my first cupcakes.”

  I was still clutching the note. My heart was beating fast but not crazy. Subtly, I gave him the once over, noting his jeans and Spring Creek Mustang T-shirt. Also he was wearing multi-colored Vans, probably because he had biked here. I knew he favored boots like I did. The shirt fit him well and the jeans were a straight, slim cut that made him look super hot, including his butt which I’d sneaked a peek at while we were climbing the stairs. He smelled like cologne—Axe maybe—but not too much of it, and the cupcake smell was under there, too.

  I fumbled with the envelope and pulled out a birthday card with a picture of a cupcake and Happy Birthday inside. Pretty generic and safe, which relieved me. But inside, in neat and tidy handwriting that was part cursive and part print and sort of manly-looking, he had written: I’m bringing the party to you. Hope you like the cupcakes! Ryan S.

  I smiled to myself. Like I wouldn’t know which Ryan!

  “It’s a Tony Stark quote,” he said, to the question I was working up to ask. “You know—Iron Man. From The Avengers?”

  Did he like those Avenger movies? And how much? Just in general or full-on Comic Con like? Not that it was a deal breaker or anything, but suddenly my brain whirred into overdrive, wanting to know EVERYTHING about him.

  My mouth said, “You write nicely.”

  I wanted to slap myself. I could be clever around Bo Shivers, but I sounded like a ditz in front of Ryan Sloboda. No wonder angels didn’t know squat about the universe. It was a freaking mystery.

  He shrugged. “I want to be a writer. After college. I’m going out to California to write for TV. I’ve researched it and do you know some TV studios offer a writer’s workshop? You get to apprentice with them. Learn the ropes on how to write for shows. You have to do what they call a spec script to get in. So I’ve been taking notes when I watch TV—about how all the shows are set up.”

  “California?” I said. I had been only once. We’d done one of those studio tours when we were in LA. Hadn’t thought about it since our family’s implosion and downward mobility. Now I was thinking that my life could be a TV show and Ryan could write it, only who would believe it? Mostly I was thinking, Don’t move to California.

  “My parents—well, they love Texas. And I love it, too. But I want—”

  “More,” I said, not meaning to finish his sentence but out it popped, and I was nervous until he grinned real wide.

  “Exactly!” he said.

  After I figured we had done enough talking and I decided to eat one of the cupcakes, specifically the J. The frosting might have been squashed because of Morris—which was a great name for a dog—but the chocolate cupcake part tasted good and the frosting was this cream-cheesy stuff that I love. I offered the E to Ryan.

  “Happy birthday, Jenna,” Ryan said, his mouth half full.

  “You played well last night,” I told him. “Real well.”

  “Wasn’t out there that much. But God, that Sneed. Did you see that miracle play at the end? That was too much, right?”

  I choked a little on my last bit of cupcake. He patted me on the back until I stopped coughing. Then there I was, going from nervous to tingly because he looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m glad you were there.”

  I am not a girl who is easily dazzled. But here was what danced in my brain: I have a boy in my room! I have Ryan Sloboda in my room! He brought me birthday cupcakes and wrote me a note with an Avengers quote! He has PLANS and a dog. I could stand here like this, with him, forever.

  Of course Mom chose that moment to pay attention to my life and call up the stairs that we would be leaving for the sushi restaurant in a bit and did Ryan want to join us? Which he did but couldn’t, so he said. This was fine with me. After the whole afternoon with Bo, I was not sure I had the fortitude for a night with Ryan.

  Still, I took another risk. I told Ryan I would meet him downstairs, and could he take the rest of the cupcakes to the kitchen, but if he didn’t mind, I was sweaty and needed to change for dinner first so that we could take our time talking some more before he left.

  Then I raced into th
e bathroom and threw on my new signature jeans and white button-down that Amber had given me, and slipped the silver mustang #76 charm from Maggie into my pocket—and after I swiped more purple eye shadow from the Sephora kit on my lids, I studied myself in the mirror. Not bad.

  I sashayed downstairs, all casual-like.

  Ryan’s eyes popped nicely at the outfit. Good to go.

  I did not ask what Ryan and Mom had talked about while I was gone, but both the N cupcakes were missing, so I figured there’d been more eating than talking. I did not ask where Casey had disappeared to. Nor did I particularly care. I’d had enough of my brother’s angel shenanigans for one day.

  Ryan said he needed to pedal back home.

  And then it was the best part of my day. Actually it was the best part of any day I’ve had EVER.

  IT’S FUNNY THAT I remember the conversation so clearly, considering how dumb it was. We stood at the curb, backlit by the Gilroys’ Halloween lights.

  “Thank you for my cupcakes,” I told him.

  “Sorry they were squashed,” he said.

  “They were awesome,” I said. “You’re like those cupcake bakers on that show.”

  He shrugged, and then we stood eyeballing each other awkwardly until I blurted, “Why the Avengers?” maybe because I was the teensiest bit concerned about the comic book thing and mostly because I LOVED that he had taken the time to quote something that he had picked JUST FOR ME.

  Ryan blushed again, just a little, and my stomach clenched, also just a little. Was it too personal a question? I was new to the whole potential boyfriend thing.