15. Piper
Piper
M y alarm buzzes at six am, the same way it does every day, but for whatever reason, I’m more exhausted than usual this morning. I peek one eye out from under my sleep mask long enough to find my phone in the dim light and shut off the alarm.
The next thing I know, someone is pounding at the door. I gasp, realizing I’ve fallen back asleep, and yank off my mask. Morning sun streams through the window, and I bolt upright, blinking at the brightness.
Between blinks, I see someone hovering over my bed. I scream and scramble to the opposite side of the mattress, where I drop to the floor and curl my knees into my chest. My heart pounds hard enough to hit my thighs as I wrap myself in a protective ball, preparing to be attacked.
When the only movement or sound I hear is loud laughing coming from the other side of the door, I uncurl my body and risk peeking across my bed.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to process that the form opposite me is just that—a dress form.
A picture of Archie’s face is stuck to the top, and it’s wearing what must be his clothes.
I press my hand to my heart and slow my breathing before standing.
I narrow my eyes at the form and debate whether to walk to it first or open the door to face Archie, who’s still laughing.
The last remnants of fright slip away, and my thoughts clear. I choose the fake Archie. He’s a thousand times less annoying than the real one and will be a million times more useful.
I take a deep breath and force a smile, hoping pretending to be happy will make my voice sound normal.
“Thank you for this, Archie!” I call brightly toward the door.
“I left my dress form behind in New York with my friends, Christian and Gwen. You’ve saved me a trip downtown to the fashion district to get a new one. ”
I’m still a little shaky from the scare, but I’m being sincere.
Thirty seconds of complete terror is totally worth the hours and trouble of riding the bus downtown, lugging a full-size mannequin through Skid Row back to the bus stop, then getting it all the way back here.
I’m about to tear Archie’s face off the form when a better idea comes to me. I go to my closet—because, yes, I’ve unpacked. I’m not leaving—and find my fuzzy purple scarf. I won’t need it in California, but I’ve got the perfect job for it until I’m ready to use this form for my own designs.
I wind the scarf above Archie’s picture, then wheel the form to my bedroom door and fling it open.
As I’d hoped, Archie is still in the hallway, a cocky grin on his face that falters when he sees me.
His eyes drop and my gaze follows his to the silky cami and shorts I’d forgotten I wore to bed.
I’m millimeters away from inadvertently joining the Free the Nipple movement.
I quickly push the fake Archie in front of me and poke my head from behind it.
“Thanks again for the gift.”
“You’re wel—” His snarky smile disappears as his eyes snag on the scarf. His hand flies to his hair but drops before he touches it.
He turns his glare on me. “Shouldn’t you be headed to your bus stop?”
“What time is it?” Panicked, I turn around to check the alarm clock I specifically bought because it was louder than my phone alarm. I yelp when I see 7:00. “I’m going to be late!”
I dash to my dresser and yank clean panties and a bra from the top drawer. Archie’s still at the door, staring with what could be a touch of concern on his face.
But I don’t have time to think about that. I don’t even have time to shower. “Get out of here! I have to get dressed!”
I slam the door and dash to my closet. Within fifteen minutes, I’m dressed and have my hair pulled up in a clip.
Full make-up will take too long, so I dab a little color on my cheeks and lips.
As a final touch, because I haven’t showered, I spritz my favorite, special-occasions-only perfume on my wrists, then walk through a second spritz.
As I step into the cloud of perfume, I’m blindsided with the scent of garlic instead of the touch of citrus I’d expected. I sniff again, and yep, it’s garlic.
Panic rises again, and I sniff both my wrists. The smell is strong enough to bring tears to my eyes. I’m in no danger of being attacked by vampires today.
“ARCHIE!” I scream and run for the hallway.
I yell his name again while running down the stairs. He meets me before I make it to the bottom step.
“What? What’s wrong?” He grabs my shoulders and the worry on his face disorients me for a second.
The pungent cloud of garlic clinging to my skin brings me back to myself. “What did you do to my perfume?”
Archie blinks, then drops his hands and steps back with a smile playing on his lips. “How’s that for karma?”
My eyes burn, but not from the garlic. “I’m already late! I can’t shower. I’m going to stink like this all day! You realize you’re messing with my career, right? I can’t lose this internship because I literally stink!”
Archie loses his smile. “I’m … uh sorry …”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Um,” he bites his lip. My brain is spinning out.
“Go shower,” he finally says, pushing me toward the top of the stairs. “I’ll drive you to work.”
His calm voice stops the rant that’s on the tip of my tongue, and his electric purple hair erases it all together.
Archie should be laughing at me right now, not acting equal parts guilty and concerned.
Instead, he looks as worried as I feel. Like maybe he actually understands the potential consequences of what he’s done.
I’m in too much of a hurry to consider that possibility.
I wash my hair and scrub my skin raw until I can’t smell garlic anymore, then pick out a whole new outfit. When I finally walk into the kitchen, Archie’s waiting for me, a knit beanie covering most of his hair and a mug of coffee in his hand.
"Come on, van’s in the garage." He hands me the portable mug, grabs my free hand, and hustles me to the garage door.
"The van?" I tear my eyes away from Archie’s fingers wrapped around mine. "You drive a minivan?"
“Yeah, nah,” he chuckles.
I follow him into the garage, where I discover that, no, he does not drive a minivan. He drives a luxury Mercedes Sprinter van. Because, of course, he does. What else would a young, single guy drive besides a van big enough to fit eight?
“Let me pull out first.” He climbs into the driver’s side, backs out of the too-small-garage for a vehicle that big, then stops, hops out, and opens the passenger side door for me.
"What time do you have to be at work?" he asks as I climb in.
"Seven forty-five. If I’m not fifteen minutes early, I’m late."
Archie checks the clock on the dash. It’s seven-thirty-two. “Totally doable.”
I raise my eyebrows but keep my mouth closed. If he thinks it’s possible to compress a twenty-minute drive in LA into a fifteen-minute one during rush hour, I want to believe him. I need to believe him.
We’re silent for the first few minutes. Mostly because Archie’s busy navigating a giant van around much smaller vehicles while going approximately one hundred miles an hour, and I’m busy holding the emergency handle with one hand and my coffee in the other while praying we don’t die.
But when he squeals to a stop at a red light he can’t blow through without killing us both, I take the chance to ease my conscience.
“The purple will wash out in a few weeks. Sooner the more you wash it.” I pick a long hair off my patterned pants.
Archie’s head swivels toward me and back to the light before he lets out a rough laugh. “I’ve got an appointment with Frankie’s hair person after I drop you. Juan will take care of it…but credit where credit’s due. That was a good one.”
I twist the bracelets on my wrist as a smile slips out. “How did you pull off the perfume thing?”
“I found a garlic essential oil at the Natural Foods Market.” The light turns green, and we’re back in a Formula One race. “I’ll buy you a new bottle of perfume,” Archie says casually while weaving in and out of traffic.
“Thanks.” Sarcasm slips into my voice. He has no idea how expensive that perfume is, and he doesn’t care. When you can, literally , buy anything you want, price tags don’t exist.
Archie slams on the brakes and I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for impact.
A horn honks, and I open my eyes in time to see the driver in the next lane flipping us off as Archie passes.
Archie waves back, and I hold back a laugh.
I hate that he can do that: make me burning mad one second and wanting to laugh in the next.
He flashes me a lightning-quick smile before we both go quiet again. The tension between us is less palpable than it was when I got in the van, but the air is still sticky with it. I’m not sure what to say. Do I tell him how else I’ve sabotaged his beauty routine?
Maybe the purple hair makes the change in his face color less obvious, or maybe because I know it’s coming, I can already see his skin looks slightly orange. Either way, I doubt he’s noticed or he probably wouldn’t have offered to drive me to work or given me a cup of coffee.
On the bright side, the blond hair and vaguely orange skin make his green eyes pop even more. I have a hard time not trying to get a glimpse of them.
As Archie brakes to a hard stop at a crosswalk full of children on their way to school, I risk taking a sip from the mug he handed me. The coffee is really good. Not the cheap stuff I bought Monday when I went to the store. This is the stuff he’s been hiding from me.
Where did he say it was from? Frothy, or something?
I take another sip, thinking back through the crazy morning, including the thing that woke me up after I’d turned off my alarm.
“Did you knock on my door this morning?”
He shrugs. “I’d been waiting a long time for some sign you’d seen my other twin.”
I roll my eyes, happy I can hold back the ‘thank you’ I thought I owed him for not letting me sleep through work. But, no, he simply got impatient for his prank to pay off.