True Blue (Imperium Coast #1)

Chapter 1

1

D read returns to the pit of my stomach as I round the corner. The seven-foot white brick wall surrounding our house looms several hundred feet ahead, making me slow my feet even further as I start to cool down from the run I just finished.

I can’t stay here.

That was my only thought an hour ago when Christopher dropped me off. My last high school final just had to be at eight a.m. The only saving grace was it being history, the subject I pass in my sleep. Always remembering dates and timelines comes as both a blessing and a curse, but for school, it weighs more on the blessing side. Still, my nerves felt like they were foaming up under my skin as I walked into the gym with the other 358 Northridge seniors at five minutes to eight.

Finally walking out two hours later gave me a rush of euphoria. I did it. I finished high school. One of the things I had been counting down to for years was finally over.

Of course, Christopher had to burst my joyous bubble as quickly as possible.

He called me over to his ugly green mustang idling next to the gym and I suppressed my sigh as I walked over. My mom probably sent him. Pushing the passenger side door open from the inside, Christopher bopped to the blaring stereo, flashing me a quick smile as I sank into the cracked leather bucket seat. I tried not to grimace as I attempted to get comfortable. The second my door closed, Christopher took off, the tires squealing a bit as they slid away from the school.

Huffing, I shake my head at the irony of my last exam feeling like a breeze, while a fifteen-minute drive with my boyfriend felt more like a patience test.

One more thing to thank the Senator’s crafty little mind for. Any opportunity to get another foot in the door is worth it, even if her daughter pays the price.

I wanted to run the second I realized she wasn’t home. I haven’t seen her in three days. Today was my last high school final and she probably has no idea. Sandra Davidson 2.0 remembering her own daughter’s schedule? Unheard of.

Cold beads of sweat crawl down my face as I stop outside the dark metal gate set into my mother’s beloved wall and start to input the code. My fingers shake and my blood rushes with the fading adrenaline of my run. It compounds as the anxiety my runs are meant to dispel settles back in. Trimmed magnolia trees create an arched canopy over the street and shield me from the sun, but the moist humidity of the Georgian summer clings to my skin, soaking a few black curls to the back of my neck.

Maine never got this hot in June.

The thought brings all others to an abrupt halt as my heart jolts with the reminder. I close my eyes and just listen to the mechanical sounds of the gate slowly swinging open.

Sixty-eight days. I only need to make it sixty-eight more days.

Another deep breath.

Opening my eyes, I immediately focus on the perfect cream siding and glass paneled double doors of my mom’s dream house. My eyes burn as I remember walls made of big, mismatched stones and a worn cornflower blue door a thousand miles away. The sound of Dad’s voice calling me in from across the street echoes in my ears and I swallow the ball of spikes sitting in my throat.

Jogging up to the white monstrosity, I glower at the mansion and its clean facade mocks me. I stop to stretch more, using my cool down routine as an excuse to spend a few more minutes outside. Tall shrubs line the front lawn, trying to block the view of the brick wall and make the enclosed space seem less like a cage.

Entering the sterile battleground, I get blasted by the chilly air conditioning in the foyer. White walls with abstract black and grey art greet me as I slip my sneakers and sweaty socks off, ripping my hair tie out and letting my mashed curls out of the sloppy bun I threw them in. I lean down and right my shoes, lining them up with the perfect row of the Senator’s pumps and wedges. Standing, I stare down, feeling the absence of the muddy green polyester rug with mismatched work boots and different sized sneakers flung across it in our haste to get inside. Focusing back on the bleached oak panels below my feet, I kick my running shoes out of line, smiling at the small sign of disarray.

Heading past the stairs, I toss my socks into the laundry room on my way to the kitchen.

I startle a bit as I enter, finding Mom sitting on a bar stool at the island, documents and papers scattered around her as she writes something on her iPad with a stylus. Glancing at the clock, I realize it must be one of her randomly free lunch hours. Got to make it seem like you check in on your daughter every now and then when you live in the public eye.

“Went for a run?” she says, pushing her glasses up her alabaster nose without looking at me. She wears her usual black pantsuit and pumps, resting them on the bottom rung of the bar stool she rigidly perches on. Flashes of her old, stained overalls, wide grins, and messy buns hit me like they always do during the random times I’ve found myself alone with her in our mausoleum the last five years.

“Yes, but it’s hot out there,” I say, as I pass her and head for the cabinet beside the fridge, grabbing a glass. I hold it under the spout in the refrigerator's stainless-steel door, waiting for the glass to fill with cold water and repeating my countdown mantra internally so that the words on my tongue stay in place. She doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t ask about my finals or celebrate me finishing high school. Anger bubbles in the back of my throat, but as mad as I am, there’s no point in starting a fight when she’s letting me leave in two months.

Mom shuffles some papers behind me, and I sip my water, turning to face her and stepping back toward the island. “Hopefully, it’s not as humid on Friday,” I say, unable to hold myself back. I place my glass down and grip the edge of the smooth granite.

Mom glances at a document on her right, her pin straight hair slicked back into a tight bun at the top of her head. It doesn’t move a millimeter out of place as she stares down at the packet of paper. She picks up the stapled pages, starting to flip through as she murmurs, “Friday?”

I frown, taking another sip of water before I answer, needing to douse the mounting fury in my veins. She forgot. Of course, she forgot. “Graduation,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “It’s at one.”

Mom’s head swivels from the document to me, unfocused eyes slowly clearing as she gapes across the island at me. “Fuck, Janette.” She slaps the papers down on a pile in front of her. “And you’re just telling me this now?” She picks up the iPad, angrily swiping and typing across the screen. “I have a charity appearance scheduled. Guess I’ll have to get Pietro to rearrange things.”

I drink more water, watching her type before the sound of an email sending goes off. “The reminder went out a few weeks ago,” I say, gripping the island edge again to stop myself from clinking my nails across the top. The words seem to get lost before reaching her. Stepping back, I add, “You don’t have to cancel, Mom. Christopher will be there, so I won’t be on my own.” The sentiment sours my stomach and I dump the rest of my water out in the sink.

“And miss your graduation?” she says. I turn back, but her head is still bent over the iPad. “What would the press say if they found out?” Her head pops up to give me an incredulous look. She starts typing again on her screen and her phone starts ringing under the piles of papers surrounding her.

I head back out to the hall as she picks up the call. “Pietro? Yeah, Janette just told me about her graduation on Friday, so we need to reschedule...”

Rounding the corner, her voice fades as I climb the dark wood stairs. More modern art passes me as I climb, and then clean white walls lead to my bedroom door at the other end of the floor from Mom’s. Like every time I make this trek, my mind fills with the ocher walls lined in mismatched frames and beaming faces from a different life. My stomach churns as I continue walking and flex my fingers.

I push my door open, immediately closing it and leaning back against the wood. Taking a deep breath, I look around at my different sized cork boards covering the sky-blue walls, each covered with pinned photos of my life back in Maine. Pictures of me smiling, of Mom smiling, of Aunt Tati, of Dad. Pictures of the before era.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, touching the framed photo of him on my dresser as I pass. He’s smiling, brown eyes rolled upward as he watches a small, toothless me ugly laugh atop his shoulders. His dark hands hold me by my calves, and I feel the ghost of that comfort waft over my skin.

The black and white Imperium Coast University logo on his sweatshirt makes me smile as I walk into my bathroom, pulling my sports bra off and starting the shower. Only sixty-eight more days till I’m there. Till I’m there with Layla.

Waiting for the water to heat up, I drag my leggings off and study my reflection for a moment, smiling at my disheveled state and sweat covered umber skin. My phone buzzes on the sink.

Grabbing it to read the notification, I smile, finding a text from Layla reminding me to read the letter she just emailed. Excitement zips through my chest, tickling my nose like champagne, as I rush through my shower and quickly towel off, running some cream over my wet curls.

Donning one of Dad’s baggy old t-shirts and some pajama shorts, I grab my laptop and plop down on my giant beanbag. Taking a second to look at the photos of Layla, Axel, Gwen, and I spread out around my room, I wait for my emails to load, tapping my nails against the keys. The ping of a notification finally sounds, and I click on Layla’s latest email, sitting back to read.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: WRITE BACK ASAP

Hi babes!

Sorry I haven’t been able to write lately. Packing up Gwen and my dorms and shoving them into Dad’s car, then unpacking everything at home and getting settled back in here has been a whole thing. I think I slept for a full week after I got home. I’m already thinking about two months from now when school starts again though. At least this time I’ll have you there! Don’t get me wrong, I love our email tradition, but I cannot wait to actually talk in person!! Five years overdue, babes.

Can’t believe it’s been that long since we’ve seen each other. Since Mom and Uncle Levi died…

Sorry, that was a downer turn. Back to happier thoughts. I passed all my classes! None of them were that hard, but I still got nervous for some reason? Filled my gym requirement with that juggling class I was telling you about. I had to record myself juggling my practice clubs for the final, so I attached the video. Figured you would love the laugh.

Are you done with finals yet? Axel still has two more this week and then his graduation is next Friday. He’s still annoyed that I skipped seventh grade, but I think he liked being an only child at home with Dad last year. Plus, we each have separate graduation parties now, so it’ll be all about him at this one. I’ll get him back next year and beg Dad for a combined twin birthday party for old time’s sake. Remember when he threw a fit over the half Spider-man, half Bratz birthday cake? He always sucked at sharing.

Gwen’s going to RA again this year so you might get her if you end up in the West Tower. I still wish we could room together. Stupid freshmen floor rules. Although, those same rules do make it so that I don’t have to room with Axel. That would be a nightmare. Maybe second semester we can figure something out. I convinced Dad to let me get a single this year after the disaster that was Amber. Thank God she dropped out at the beginning of this semester. Let me know when you get your orientation packet so we can Facebook stalk your new roommate and try to figure out if she’s going to be a psycho or not.

How’s Christopher? I’m rolling my eyes as I type that, because I know you know I don’t care, but I feel like I have to ask since you won’t just brEAK UP WITH HIM ALREADY. And before you start typing, I know your mom would freak, but you’re leaving for school soon anyways so who really cares?

Write back ASAP. I’m so freaking bored here in Maine. Can’t wait to see you!

Love you,

Lay

I smile, rereading the email and feeling the ever-present ache of the distance between us. Reminding myself of my countdown, I open the attached video file at the bottom. Lay pops up on my screen, standing a few feet away from the camera and holding three different colored clubs in her hands.

“Hi, I’m Layla Clifford, and this is my final presentation for PED 161: Juggling.” Lay takes a step back, looking up and taking a deep breath before tossing one of the clubs into the air. She throws the other two up afterward, concentrating and biting her tongue as she catches and throws the clubs for three minutes straight. I smile as she catches them all at the end, chuckling as she shouts excitedly and dances around for a second before facing the camera again. “Thank you,” she says and the video cuts on the last frame. Layla smiling at the camera stares at me.

I stare back for a moment. We’ve sent pictures over text and with emails before and follow each other on all our social media, but not having seen my best friend in person in five years always makes me savor a new look into her life back home. She started dyeing her hair a few years ago and the colors change rapidly, so I always like seeing what new one she’s chosen next. It’s blue in the video, her dark roots visible in her part. She’ll change the color soon, if she hasn’t already, since the grow out has gotten an inch long and the dye looks faded. She wears a hoodie in the video, her mom’s bakery logo printed across the chest, and I wonder if she raided one of the storage boxes in her garage to pull it out.

Clifford Cupcakes has been closed ever since the accident; Uncle Jack unable to run it after Aunt Tati and Dad died. I thumb the logo on the screen, hearing the greeting bell that rang every time someone walked into the shop.

“Janette!” Mom’s voice startles me from the memory, and I close my laptop.

“Yeah?” I call back, standing. Mom stands at the threshold, staring down at the phone in her hand while her other one rests on her hip.

“Are you doing anything today?” she asks, not looking up. She never looks in my room.

I toss my laptop onto my desk. “No, I was just going to relax since finals are done.”

I wait for her to say something about finishing school, but Mom just nods, typing something out. Her French manicured nails tap across the screen as her eyes rove the keyboard. “Get dressed. Pietro thinks he found you a summer job that can get us some good media exposure for the campaign.”

I close my eyes, counting down in my head before opening them again. I read online that’s supposed to help when you’re stressed. So far, I’ve seen minimal results. “What is it?” I ask as I walk back over to my closet.

“Something with Habitat for Humanity. Chris is going to do it too. Casual clothes will be fine for today, but if Pietro gets you the interview he’s working on, we’ll need to get Dotty to get you and Chris coordinated campaign approved outfits.” I turn to complain, but she’s already walking away, heels clicking against the hallway’s hardwood floor. Fighting Mom on this would only lead to her sending her whole team in to convince me how good of an opportunity this is and how it will look on my resume in the future. I already know that when Sandra Davidson 2.0 wants something, she’ll have someone else fight dirty for her.

Changing into some jean shorts and a less baggy tee, I grab my laptop and type out a quick response to Layla.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: WRITE BACK ASAP

Hey Lay,

Glad you made it back home in one piece! I remember the camping trips when Uncle Jack would pack every square inch of the car around us so that he didn’t have to rent the U-Haul trailer Aunt Tati always tried to sell him on. I’m imagining getting your and Gwen’s stuff back from college being a similar experience.

I’m done with finals, but Mom is roping me into some summer job thing at Habitat for Humanity with Christopher. Probably some optics thing that she’s trying to leverage for a fundraiser or something. I might not be able to write a lot if I’m working there and at the Humane Society. Mom probably forgot I volunteer there in the summer, so we’ll see how packed my schedule gets.

I’m dying to see you too! Your juggling video made me miss you more. Keep sending me updates on the school countdown. I’ll let you know about the roommate thing when I get my packet.

What classes are you taking this year? I got to change the prepicked one's last week, but I’m still in mostly gen-eds. HIST-156: Medieval History is the only one that counts toward my major. Dr. Howards is teaching it. Did you ever have him? Any insights you can share?

I’ll write back when I can. Send me pics of Gwen and Axe in your next email.

Miss and love you,

J

I send off the email and close my laptop. My heart squeezes for a sec and I bite my cheek, putting on the game face I’ve perfected to hide in front of Mom.

Walking down to the front door, I find her standing next to it and talking on the phone. “She just came down. We’re leaving now.” She nods toward the shoes lined up on the mat, my sneakers mysteriously back in the perfect row beside her. I slip them on, grabbing my shoulder bag while she continues her conversation.

Tuning her out, I follow as she walks out into the sweltering heat, repeating my countdown. Sixty-eight days, sixty-eight days, sixty-eight days.