Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-one
Kian
I could stare at this girl forever.
Shit, is that weird?
My gaze is drawn to Scarlett’s sleeping figure by some magnetic force. Her long braid curls on my pillow. I tuck the loose strands away from her face, careful not to wake her. She looks good here. In my bed. Safe.
The vinyl she chose plays softly. I told her I could turn it off, that she might sleep better, but she refused. Now I smile listening to sound of a smooth guitar.
It’s difficult to bring my focus back to where I sit, slipping on my socks at the edge of the bed.
My phone buzzes for the third time since it first jolted me awake. I thought I was dreaming. A rare, good one that I never seem to have, but then I opened my eyes, and she was still there.
Scarlett stirs, mumbling something unintelligible that I wish I could decode.
I know more about her than anyone else, yet I always feel like I’m missing a piece.
It’s a text from Summer. I volunteered to help her plan their joint birthday party on Halloween, which means Summer has delegated half of the tasks to me.
And I want this to be perfect. I need it to be.
Leaving Scarlett here is the last thing I want to do, but I’d rather not explain this to anyone. For once, I want to keep it to myself. I want to keep her to myself.
I opt for writing a note. I add, Don’t leave, but I cross it out. I lay the note on the pillow beside her.
Running errands. I’ll be back soon. —K
Just as I’m heading out, Dylan walks through the front door, dropping his gym bag and slumping on the entryway bench.
“You good, Dill Pickle?”
He toes off his shoes. “Great.”
“You don’t look great,” I say, not liking how he sways when he stands.
Dylan turns to the mirror behind him, smirking at his own reflection. “You expect me to believe that?”
I roll my eyes, letting him give me a playful shove before heading down the hall.
“Hey, I’m going to pick up some stuff for the party. You haven’t told us what we’re dressing up as.”
He pauses for the briefest moment before he shrugs. “Whatever you want.”
He’s gone before I can ask more questions. For the past four years, I’ve only seen him smile, but now all I get is one of his tired shrugs. His apathy only cements how perfect this party has to be.
Summer insisted that we need real food, so I go to the caterer first.
A wisp of smoke curls around my throat, and I cough into my arm, squinting through the haze that covers the store. There’s no one up front, so I pop into the kitchen.
I walk past the metal racks. There’s a chef hat on the lower shelf calling my name so I pick it up and am inching toward a jacket when staff members scurry past me.
Then the entire kitchen brigade is staring at me. “Uh, hey. I’m here to pick up an order for Ishida?”
The man gestures to the blackened oven and refrigerator. “Sure, go ahead. It’s mostly ash now but take your pick.”
“We can salvage some of it,” someone else says. “But the chocolate fountain? Forget it.”
This can’t be happening. My stomach twists into knots.
Chocolate fountains don’t fix people, Kian.
“The party is in two days,” I say.
“Do you understand what an electrical fire is?”
“Do you understand that it’s my best friend’s birthday?”
I’m pretty sure he swears at me in another language before shoving the sample box into my arms and walking off. A low hum of dread presses into me.
I’m stress-eating in the car, stuffing my face, when my phone buzzes. I answer with a muffled, “Hello?”
“Hi, this is HartDecor. Is this Mr. Ishida?”
I hum, swallowing my mouthful. Summer got tables, and I had the idea to get balloons with their faces on it from this place.
“So I have some bad news. Our truck route was incorrect, and it’s on its way to Texas.”
“But we put a deposit on the tables. We need those tables.”
“I can’t exactly pluck the truck, now can I? Oh, and the balloons? No can do. It’s the humidity,” she says, “Everything’s deflating faster than I can inflate.”
My chest twists like a cork in a wine bottle. My only hope is the music. If the music is good, then everything will be fine.
The DJ is some dude who played at every frat party. He still glares at me like I poured my chaser over his turntable. I did, but that was an accident. Luckily, one of Dylan’s frat brothers got him for the party. I just have to pick up the sound system from Kappa Zeta.
But the second I step into the frat house, none of them have a clue what I’m talking about. “The speakers? DJ Numbs? I’m supposed to pick up the sound system from here,” I explain.
The frat guy scratches his chest and burps in my face. I take a deep breath. I call DJ Numbs sixteen times. Sixteen. Every call goes straight to voicemail, where he plugs his SoundCloud like that’s helpful.
“Check the basement,” one of the guys suggests, opening the door for me.
It looks creepy as hell down there. I swallow, trying to not look as panicked as I feel.
“Are you gonna go? The draft’s making my nips hard,” he says.
Then something dings and I shriek, which makes the frat guy shriek too. We stare at each other for a full second before it clicks. My phone. It’s a text from Summer, checking in. I don’t answer. I can’t disappoint her. I can still figure this out.
“Do you guys wanna come downstairs with me?” I ask the frat guys.
A collective no sounds from the group. Useless.
I text the group chat as I tiptoe down the wooden steps.
Bunny Patrol
Kian: If I don’t text again in 5, I’m dead.
Sebastian: Dead dead, or like the time you ate habanero peppers?
Cole: Or that time you thought we had ghosts, but it was a raccoon in the attic?
Kian: Neither. Creepy basement. I think I saw this in The Conjuring.
Eli: I told you to stop watching those before you sleep.
Aiden: dw Ishida, you’d be the last to die in a horror movie.
Dylan: Yeah, they need you for comedic effect.
Kian: Ha ha. You guys won’t be laughing when this is on the news.
Dylan: College Student Found Crying in Basement After Touching Spiderweb.
Dylan: Sounds pretty funny to me.
Kian: You think there are spiders down here???????
Dammit. Dust flies up from the railings, covering my clothes.
When I spot the cobwebs, I half step back, ready to bolt upstairs.
But then I see the speakers, sitting forlornly in the corner.
I carry all three of them in one trip. I shout a quick “Thanks” before I’m shoving the speakers in the back of my Jeep.
I’m wiping the stress sweat off my forehead with the hem of my T-shirt when my phone rings.
“Yo, you called?” DJ Numb asks.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, man. I just picked up the speakers.”
“For what?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “For the party on Halloween.”
“The college one? Yeah, so I kinda double-booked and have a gig at the Pint that night. Sorry, dude.”
“You’re bailing? We gave you a deposit. You can’t—”
He hangs up.
Closing my trunk, I try my hardest not to bang my head against the window.
I feel as useless as our deflated balloons and the rerouted truck.
I drive with no music, and by the time I’ve parked in our driveway and hit the porch steps, my legs just…stop. The thought of walking through that door makes my stomach twist. I drop onto the porch swing instead.
I press my head into my palms. How the hell am I supposed to tell Summer I tanked everything she trusted me with?
I can’t take care of you too.
Squeezing my eyes shut doesn’t do the same for my mind. I spiral until I hear the quiet shadows of words that were buried years ago.
He thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it. We thought it was best too.
Go back to school. We’ll take care of everything. Musukoyo, you don’t need to worry.
“Kian?” That voice is like an arrow through the haze in my mind.
Scarlett’s in front of me, wearing last night’s jeans and sweater.
My stomach lurches. The errands, the hours I lost track of. I left her there. In my bed. My chest tightens, and my hands curl into fists on my knees. Everything I touch—
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I swallow, lifting a smile onto my face. “Just felt like this swing’s been neglected lately.”
Scarlett steps closer, her fingers tracing the rattling chains. I hold it still for her to sit.
The cotton of her pink sweater presses against my biceps. She stares at the floor, pulling my gaze to where her legs swing.
She lets me guide the swing back and forth. Her toes barely brush the weathered porch floor.
“You were leaving,” I say, unable to hide my thoughts.
Just make her laugh. Keep it light, Kian.
“I was going to text you but my phone’s dead and I couldn’t find a charger.” She pauses. “I waited. But I promised Sierra I’d be home for dinner.”
“I didn’t mean for it to take so long. How are you feeling?”
I see her cheeks blush, even in the waning light of the afternoon sun. “Yeah, it’s— Yeah. But I’m glad I caught you before. Thanks for last night.”
“Don’t thank me. I’ll be coming to collect what I’m owed.”
She laughs. “Why, planning to cry in my arms next time? I have been told I’ve got the perfect place for heads to rest.”
My gaze doesn’t stutter. I watch her wait, like she wants me to look down at her chest, like she hopes I will. But I feel the need to sort through that look in her eyes instead, wondering what she’s trying to make me do in her head. As if she’s trying to categorize me in some box.
Before I can stop myself, I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, my fingers pressing against her earrings, the tiny heart-shaped ones. “No, but I think I’ll need a hug sometime.”
Like now.
That voice shoots through my chest, dragging me toward her, but I don’t move. I’m fine. I give hugs to people; I don’t ask for them in return.
“Do you need a ride?” I ask quickly, uncomfortable in the stretch of silence.
“Someone already brought my car here.” She bumps my shoulder and gives me a knowing look.
I forgot I had Cole go to the library parking lot and drive her car to the house last night.