30. Hendrix #2
She studies me intently, gathering my pencils. “I love the color of your eyes…they’re pretty rare.”
Uh. Am I getting hit on right now?
Not mad about it…just taken aback by the forwardness.
With an awkward smile fit for a straight person, I tell her, “Many people say that too.”
Another grin widens Leerie’s lips as she puts the last of the pencils in my bag, then, once it’s filled and the dresses are on my arm, we climb to our feet.
“So…you go to Riverside Prep,” she comments, handing me the box of boots.
Not sure why, but the mention of my school sends tiny needles creeping up my spine. Not like it’s odd, the girl just saw my I.D., but I can’t shake the feeling she wasn’t supposed to know that. If I had to guess why? Carlo’s endless paranoia.
Leerie doesn’t seem much older than me, though, so could very well be my own suspicion she’s been acquainted with the star quarterback.
“Unfortunately I do.”
“Why do you say that? I know someone who used to go there. She loved it.”
“Must’ve been born on the right side of the tracks, then.”
“I see. And you weren’t?”
Needles go from creeping to clawing their way to my neck, making the hairs along the back of it stand at attention.
Flirting or not, these are way too many personal questions without even being taken to damn dinner.
So, while maintaining my composure, I hike my chin toward the exit. “I should get going.”
“Of course.” Leerie steps aside. “Nice meeting you, Hendrix.”
“Yeah…same to you.”
I can still feel Leerie’s eyes when I hang the unwanted dresses onto the rack, all the way till I’m out of the dressing room where I find Carlo toe touching the “do not cross” line on the rug.
“ Che succede? ” he asks, glaring behind me.
“Nothing happened, I’m fine.”
No chance in hell will I be drawing more of Carlo’s attention, not when I’m most likely over thinking.
Between searching through necklaces I never liked enough to purchase, we spent about another hour in the store, the entire time with me sneaking glances over my shoulder for signs of Leerie.
She was nowhere to be found, which I figured, because people hit on people without stalking them after.
Unless your name is Saint Lavell.
“I take -eh you home now.” Carlo ushers me into the back seat of his Escalade, and I nod in response.
A few seconds pass with Carlo sitting quietly in the front seat, truck still in park, before he reaches behind the collar of his button down and pulls a yellow gold chain over his head.
Turning to face me, he holds it out where I see a small horn pendant dangling from the bottom of it.
Or should I say cornicello, a similar concept to the Nazar that’s said to ward off bad juju.
“For you, signorina .”
It’s shiny, a little gaudy, definitely a lot expensive.
Not my usual style, since I prefer white golds, but there’s a cultural vibe to it drawing my attention.
Shaking my head, I tell him as gently as possible, “I can’t accept that.”
“ Per favore …” Carlo pleads with a smile, bringing it closer. “It -eh , would mean -eh so much.”
Well, how the hell could I refuse now?
Scooting to the edge of the seat, I lower my head so he can put the necklace on me. “ Grazie mille ,” I thank him. “I love it.”
“ Prego .” Carlo winks. “It’s- eh …bad luck no to wear .”
“Then why are you giving it to me?”
He waves me off, turning to the front of the truck, then pulling onto the street.
With my head pressed against the window, I examine my new necklace as we make our way through Manhattan traffic, listening to Carlo ramble on about his city in Sicily.
“You would love all of the -eh …” He pauses. “ Come si dice ?”
Portraits? Sculptures? Ceramics?
It’s pretty obvious what he’s been referring to.
“Museums.”
“Ah! Sí . Museums .”
I chuckle to myself, allowing him to proceed with his rant, until finally we’re turning into the parking lot of Riverside. Dread takes over immediately when I spot Saint’s Range Rover right behind us.
Why? Why does the universe want to test me today?
Carlo pulls into a spot first, and regardless of the dozens of empty spots available, Saint swerves to a stop next to us. Then, as if preparing for a street race, he revs the engine in challenge.
As always with the endless dick measuring, Carlo challenges him right back, making me sink into my seat with embarrassment.
You’d think weeks of Saint and I on the outs would lessen the middle aged man and eighteen year old’s petty rivalry.
“Really?” I scold him, not daring to sneak a peek into the Range Rover.
“Your brother…he do it first,” Carlo responds like a petulant child, then jumps out of the car.
Shaking my head at a grown, whole ass mobster’s pettiness, I swing open the door, refusing to wait for Carlo to do it for me.
“ Signorina … aspetta …” He rushes to grab my hand, always stressing the appropriateness of helping me out of his truck.
“No waiting for you tonight, mister.” I poke him in the chest, then take off, leaving him to my shopping bags in case I need to utilize my fists.
I can’t see him, but I hear Saint as he shuts the door, muttering grits and growls to Carlo before the thumps of his sneakers press the pavement. When the thumps grow louder, I pick up the pace to the female dorms.
Light footsteps approach behind me, even faster than Saint’s, and I’d be relieved if I didn’t already know it’s the lesser of two evils.
“Hey there, Hendrix ,” Theory calls out, falling in stride wearing the same fucking boots I just bought to spite her.
Not a single break today, huh universe?
Unless I count Saint’s stare on my ass from several feet behind us.
Eyes glued ahead, I sigh, “What do you want, Theory?”
“Oh, just a quick question.”
“Well, get on with it, then.”
“So…I was helping Daddy file some papers earlier in his office, you know, mostly family docs, birth certificates, social security.”
We stop together at the entrance.
“Okay?”
Theory eyes the handle expectantly, so I do the honors of ripping the door open and nearly smacking her with it.
“Well,” she proceeds as if she didn’t just jump out of the way of a concussion, “I came across a folder with your stuff.”
“First of all, why are you and your dad looking through my shit?”
“Your mother insisted he store all your documents in the same drawer as ours.” She rolls her eyes. “I know, gross.”
I can’t reach the freedom of the damn stairs soon enough because there’s no chance Theory will risk breaking a sweat all the way to the eighth floor.
Not even to torture me.
“Is there a moral to this story? Because if so, try telling one to your bestie. She could really use some.”
“Always so quick to judge…” Theory sneers. “Surprising given all the behavioral plans and guidance counselors’ reports about your wicked little temper.”
I freeze in place, shoulders rolling to ease the sudden tension.
Why the hell would my mother keep all of my paperwork?
“And those sad little drawings…”
Whipping around, I shoot a quick glance behind Theory to check for Saint, even though I felt his absence the second I hit the hallway.
“You had no fucking right to look through my personal shit.”
“You really wanna talk about having ‘rights’ to do things?”
My nostrils flare.
“Seems ironic for someone who was obviously bullied as a kid to be a big enough cunt to do it to me.”
“I did not bully you, Theory. I said one terrible thing. That’s it. And felt bad about it ever since.”
Heck…even as she continues to be such a conniving brat.
“Doesn’t make it fucking right.”
“Of course it doesn’t. But I’m human. You’re making it like I skinned your damn kitten alive.”
Theory crosses both arms in front of the chest of her jean jacket. “So I’m being dramatic now?”
To be fair not many sixteen year olds aren’t.
But I doubt telling her this will help the animosity.
“All I’m saying is the punishment no longer fits the damn crime.”
“This coming from the one who’s guilty.”
With a deep, drawn out groan, I throw up my hands. “Whatever, dude. I’m done trying. Keep hating me…being spiteful…getting used by Annalie.”
“Annalie is not using me. She’s my best friend.”
Oh, how badly I want to scream that the bitch is only pretending to be to get closer to Saint.
Naivety. Another one of Saint’s injustices toward his sister.
If he’d only given Theory a damn chance to escape her bubble, the girl might be able to recognize real from fake.
“No, she’s not.”
“Yeah, well, what the hell do you know?”
With a finger pointed at her, I say, “What I know is that Annalie is an opportunist. A heartless bitch who will manipulate anyone to get what she wants. And, regardless of how shitty you’ve been treating me lately, you are not one.
I care about you, Theory. Therefore, I want you to be surrounded by true friends who would never hurt you. ”
I don’t miss the spark of appreciation in her eyes.
No matter how fleeting it is.
Because it’s true. Theory is a good person, and I truly care about her. She just needs to be given the room to grow the fuck up. Something I would’ve been happy to help with as her stepsister if her actual brother didn’t go and screw us over.