Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

MAYA

“ Y ou did really great today,” Miles says as he walks me toward the parking lot. “Seriously, you should be stoked. I’ve never seen Mr. Greene or Loki take a liking to anybody like they have with you.” Miles is around my age, maybe mid-twenties, with his brown hair tied back and a short beard.

“I just hope I can prove I’m helpful. Honestly, it still feels like a dream.”

Miles smiles, reaches over, and touches my shoulder. It’s not offensive or aggressive or anything. It’s more that I can’t even open my mind to that possibility. He’s not my type, but I don’t lean back. I just stand there, letting him touch my arm. Maybe I’m just trying not to be awkward. I’m just glad when he pulls it back. “It’s real, Maya,” he says, seeming to sense my mood. He turns away.

“Seriously, great work,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” I call after him, hoping he doesn’t feel bad.

He was probably just trying to be nice. I can’t get romantically involved with anyone. It’s just the way it is. Even before Mom was sick, I was a lone wolf. Riley was my only actual link to the greater world of our high school. I was like some relic in the library waiting for her visits. Maybe that’s morbid and oversimplified, but still.

I walk to the bus stop, thinking of that weird look earlier. Well, weird … or hot? Tristan stood at his office window, which let him look over the open-air area. The reflection on the glass hid his face, but his muscular body thrummed like he was burning up. It got me hot, as in flustered, right away.

That’s just stuff for my imagination if I feel in the mood to let my mind skip away to impossible things that will never happen. As I ride the bus home—for once, it’s not late—I can’t stop thinking about his hands on me, though, imagine them flowing all over my body, squeezing hard, pulling me close.

“You don’t think I see you watching? You don’t think it makes me want you? It makes me hungry for you.”

I can almost feel him kissing down my neck, his hand moving up my thigh at the same time, pressing with more steaminess. It all feels wrong. Yet, also like it would be so hot, so wild to kiss him and taste him, but no, God. No .

“You’re coming home?” I almost yell down the phone, my heart hammering with joy.

Riley sounds all excited and buzzed up like she did in high school. There were even a few times when she dragged me to parties, and sure, I mostly just stood there feeling out of place, but at least I lived it. At least I got to people-watch. At least I got to experience life from the edges. It’s where I used to prefer it before Mom’s illness forced me to accept the real world.

“Will you have time to hang?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah, and you can come here. It’s going to be awesome. We’ll find time.”

I can hear her beaming from the other side of the phone. She sounds like she’s buzzing with excitement. “There’s actually a party the night I arrive …”

“The night after tomorrow?” I murmur, thinking of work and nursing arrangements.

“When’s the last time you let your hair down?”

“We’re not even old enough to drink,” I laugh.

“Oh, please , Maya,” she says, and we both laugh some more.

Riley has been partying since early high school. She’s thankfully never been one of those pushy friends, one of those who are constantly urging me to drink, too. She’s happy to live her life and let me live mine.

“Fair enough. Twenty is nearly old enough, but what sort of party? You sound … different.”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “I’ve been talking to a boy back home.”

My belly drops slightly, but I silently warn myself to grow the heck up. It’s not like I’ll hold a grudge just because I’m not the oh-so-special reason for her returning.

“He’s arranged to get me, and a plus one , tickets to this underground place. I don’t know much about it. I’ve just heard whispers of it at other parties.”

“So it could be anything?” I mutter.

“Exactly!” she beams, and I can’t help but laugh. There’s nothing that better shows the difference between us than this.

She hears that it could be anything—an unknown adventure—and she’s immediately ready to throw herself into it. I hear that, and all I want to do is hunker down with a good book.

“Don’t go all quiet on me,” she says.

“What if it’s weird?” I mutter.

“I’m happy if you want to do something else,” she says, but I can hear it in her voice. She really wants to go to this party.

“How many days are you coming home for?” I ask.

“Just a few.”

“Let’s do the party,” I say right away.

“What, really?” she says, with surprise in her voice.

“As long as I can figure it out with Lacey … and work … and as long as Mom is okay, then yes, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just need to arrange some stuff, like I said. Maybe a little bit of adventure could do me some good. Who knows? I won’t be drinking, though.”

“You know I don’t care about that.”

Usually, it’s because it just doesn’t appeal to me, but I’m not so sure anymore. If we went out together, and I was experiencing all this stress, maybe a few drinks would stop the demons chasing each other around my head. Luckily, I don’t even have to get my willpower involved. I’m too broke.

Still, seeing Riley, a mystery party, a new job … Life isn’t good , exactly, because it never will be when Mom is still suffering so badly. Yet, I can let myself smile, if only for a little while, until my mind goes back to that moment again, Tristan’s silhouette shuddering in the window. I wish I could get it out of my head.

Or is that a lie? Is it comforting me somehow?

I take my blanket into Mom’s room tonight and curl up in the chair beside her bed. It’s almost one a.m. Mom is sleeping soundly, as soundly as she can, anyway. With her machines beeping in time with the wheezing of her breaths, it’s almost like she’s part of it all.

I wake up early the next day. I want to make a good impression. Heading into work, I tell myself I’m not concerned about whether or not Tristan is looking at me and if he’s secretly watching me from his office. I’m not saying I’d want that to happen, but the thought of it does send these interesting tingles dancing all over me.

They’re tingles I’ll ignore. I won’t let myself get all twisted up in my head or let my attention fix in the wrong place. Anyway, I don’t see Tristan all day. A small voice whispers, “ He’s avoiding you,” like he has any reason to do that. He did me a favor. He’s a good guy, an ex-Marine, a decent person.

It doesn’t mean he’s having the same thoughts as me.