“I’m not the one whining and bitching about my rise from pauper to princess,” he says, waving a dismissive hand my way. “Don’t compare us. Trust me, Little Sister: we are nothing alike.”
“You’re right,” I say, letting my hands fall to my thighs with a slap. “We aren’t. I have a personality, interests, dreams. All you talk about are girls and how many notches you’ve got on your belt.”
Chasm squeezes the steering wheel even tighter, knuckles going white, and I know that I’ve struck a nerve, just as I intended. Immediately, I regret it. See, that’s the thing with me: I can’t decide who it is that I am anymore. The Dakota Banks I know would never try to pick at someone’s scab just to get a reaction out of them, yet I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it now.
“Sorry that you can’t be one of them?” he quips back at me, recovering quickly. “Now that I’ve seen the real you, I think Parrish was right. Three, three and a half with heavy makeup and an expert hairstylist.”
“Screw you,” I breathe, but it’s all I can manage to get out. He turns the volume back up on the music, mumbling something under his breath in Korean. I think he just said ‘suit yourself’ or ‘do whatever you want’. Either way, it was a clear dismissal.
I can’t get out of that car fast enough when we pull up to the curb. I’m about to slam the door when I realize that, despite Chasm’s lack of empathy toward me, I still owe him a thank you.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, trying on a smile that actually seems to stick. But not because of him. All I can think is that I’m about to see my sister—my real sister—and that I can use her phone to call my grandparents. Maybe if I tell them how much I hate it here they can … well, I don’t know, but just hearing their voices would mean a lot to me right now. “I really appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” Chasm says, lighting up a cigarette and then grinning as he spots someone out the windshield. I turn just in time to see Lumen striding our way, dressed like she’s on her way to a date. A very odd, very misplaced bolt of jealousy stabs me right through the gut.
The hell is that about? Chasm can marry Lumen and carry her off into the sunset for all I care. I mean, I’d feel sorry for Lumen, but that’s about the extent of it.
She pauses beside me and smiles, and the expression doesn’t seem entirely disingenuous.
“Where are you off to?” she asks, giving my outfit a once-over. I suppose I’m also dressed like I’m off on a hot date. With Chasm? I glance back at him, and the thought isn’t entirely repellant which bothers me.
He’s too rude, too much of a bully. Maybe if he were nicer, and he didn’t throw himself between me and Parrish like some sort of martyr …
“Coffee with my sister,” I say, and then add, “my real sister.” In case the idea was up for debate. Kimber is anything but a sister to me.
“Party tonight at Antonio’s,” Lumen suggests, flashing me a mischievous smile. “Parrish said he might sneak out and come. Looks like you already beat him to that.”
She laughs and then climbs into Chasm’s car like he was there to pick her up all along. For all I know, he was.
A frown creases my lips as Lumen closes the door and then pauses, rolling the window down just long enough to grab my phone from my hands.
“Here’s my number. Text me if you decide to come.” She hands me my phone back and then laughs as Chas hits the accelerator and takes off.
I watch them go, weaving into the decent crawl of traffic on the small street outside of the café. After a moment, I turn and head inside, fully aware that I’m a half an hour too early.
I decide to order the drinks ahead of time since the place is so busy, grabbing a spot in one of the two lines.
A boy in the line to my right glances over and our eyes meet.
His are a startling green, vibrant and saturated and engaging. Mostly, they brim with a steady confidence that seems to supersede even the jewel-tone brilliance of the color. My lips part of their own accord, and it takes several slow, shudder-y breaths for me to realize that I’m gawping like an idiot.
“Hi.” He says it first which is good because when it comes to talking to potential love interests, ehh. Not one of my strong suits. Apparently, I’m an expert at insulting people though. Parrish and Chasm have taught me that.
“Hi,” I reply, feeling a bit stupid as I tuck a tendril of lime green hair behind one ear. I’m used to plugging myself into games, leaving the real world behind in favor of online interactions. But this could be good, right? It could be really good. This dude is hot as hell, way hotter than Parrish or Chasm. Well, at least as hot, and with a much better personality. I try to take it as a positive sign, some call from the universe that life in Washington doesn’t have to be completely shitty for me.
“How are their chai lattes here?” he asks me, and I can’t decide if it’s because he just thinks I’m a chai latte sort of girl or because that’s the drink that he’s into.
“Dunno,” I reply laconically, criticizing myself in my own head for not being as well-spoken as I’d planned. Get it together, Kota! This guy, whoever he is, is the complete opposite of Parrish. Instead of feeling a sudden and inexplicable hatred, I immediately feel a connection to the stranger standing opposite me. “I just moved here a week and a half ago—against my own will, I might add.”
The guy chuckles and we both move forward simultaneously in our respective lines.
“I’m here on a day trip,” he says absently, studying the menu and then shrugging. “I’m ordering drinks for the group.” He flashes me a grin, and I flash one right back, pointing at myself and drawing his attention to my Ashnikko t-shirt beneath my overalls. The grin shifts into an understanding smile.
“Same,” I reply, checking my phone briefly to see if Maxine’s responded to my text asking what her new boyfriend likes to drink.
Hates coffee. Get him a watermelon Italian soda. I’ll pay you back.
I find my gaze shifting over to the guy again. He’s watching me, and something about the way he’s staring makes my stomach flip-flop dangerously. Such a better crush than Parrish, I think to myself only to begin vehemently denying that I have a crush on my stepbrother at all. Gross. Wouldn’t that be romantic cliché cray? He’s a jerk with a jerk for a best friend and a stepmom that just so happens to be my birth mother.
I banish the thought where it belongs, to the murky waste bin of my brain. Won’t think about that ever again. Abuse isn’t love, and I’m not some hapless teen in a novel who can’t tell the difference. Besides, I really do hate the guy. Who wouldn’t, in my situation?
“What sort of day trip?” I query, just as the guy starts to turn away from me and back toward the menu on the wall above the baristas’ heads. He doesn’t look back at me, but his full lips do shift into a smile.
“Visiting a friend,” he says absently, and then frowns. “Well, I came here for a different reason, but …” He pauses to look over his shoulder, surveying the café as if he’s searching for someone in particular. “There’s a party tonight. Two of my best friends are going, and even though I graduated last year, I might pop in to check on them.”