She takes in my crazy get-up, and I inwardly cringe. She either thinks I’m a fetish hooker or an escapee from a fundamentalist cult.
I gesture down to my dress with a pained smile. “Work uniform.”
She glances at my dress again and back to my face. “Uh huh.” And then she starts driving. Nice, Jill.
We only drive for about five minutes before she pulls into a Days Inn and puts the car in park in front of reception. “Not sure what the rate is right now, but it’s decent during the season. Bound to be a fraction of that now.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Do you mind waiting another second while I make sure they have a room?”
She nods, and I take my purse with me as I head for the doors, saying a silent prayer as I go. I inquire about the rate and vacancy and go grab all my things when both answers turn out in my favor. They only have two rooms left, but the clerk is saving one for me. It’s sixty a night plus taxes and fees, but she assures me it’s a bargain with the carpet and flooring people coming in today and tomorrow. I’ll figure out a way to swing it until I can get a minute to find something else.
But when I go to check in, it seems fate has other plans. Again.
“Declined? But I just used it.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” the clerk says, not entirely void of sympathy. “Do you have another card?”
“No.” I bang my forehead on the counter.
What is wrong with me? I mean, seriously! I left a good job, a loving family, a tolerant boyfriend—one who, okay, maybe I wasn’t in love with, but he was fun and nice—to do what? Go wandering around squandering my savings in some ridiculously clichéd journey to find my “purpose?” What kind of person does that? Correction. What kind of adult does that? A stupid one, that’s who. A spoiled idiot who thinks she deserves more than a nice, normal life and a perfectly fine boyfriend. A raving lunatic who thinks something is waiting out there that’s going to feel like fireworks in her chest and electricity in her veins and rain-showers of joyfulness on her skin. It’s foolish. I’m foolish.
In fact, I’m no smarter than I was at sixteen.
Twelve Years Earlier
“Thank you so much for this incredible honor. I wouldn’t be here without the constant support of my family and friends—and, most of all, my fans. So this is for all of you.” I kiss my palm and extend it out to the moon’s reflection on the dark water before I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. A real tear, not some fake one from eyedrops or menthol like some of those hacks use. I’m a real actress, after all.
I take a deep breath and start again, clasping my driftwood trophy with both hands in front of me. “Wow. I really didn’t expect to win. I didn’t even prepare anything to say.” Pause for laughter and applause. “This is an honor, truly.”
“Who are you talking to?” A voice startles me, and I drop the driftwood to the sand, my palm flying up to cover my mouth.
“Oh my God! You scared me!” I almost pee my pants when I recognize the guy from the beach and the corner store. “What are you doing here?” It’s almost an accusation, but I can’t help it. He caught me making a fake acceptance speech—talk about embarrassing.
He glances meaningfully around at the empty beach and, even with just the light of the moon and some condo lights, I can see the inflamed red marks on his head, neck, and arm. There are no bandages tonight.
“Last I checked, the ocean is fair game.” The comment is sarcastic, but his tone is missing the contempt from our last encounter. It’s almost… playful this time.
“Sorry. I just meant… I mean, I just thought I was alone.” Duh.
“I gathered that.” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket and studies the spot where his boot is toeing the sand.
“How much did you hear?” My fingers tuck loose strands of hair behind my ears, and I mentally cross my fingers he didn’t witness the entire thing. I know it’s ridiculous to practice an Oscar speech after getting one paying gig, but I can’t help it. I got my first real acting job, and there’s no one to celebrate with. My parents would freak if they knew what I was up to, and Jenna would disapprove, saying I’m too young and that I shouldn’t hang out with strange adults.
“Was there more before you thanked Meryl Streep for the honor of being nominated alongside her?” His eyes meet mine. He’s wearing a half-smile, and it transforms his face, so much so that I forget to be embarrassed for a minute.
“You’re smiling.” The words are out before my brain catches up. His smile drops, and I want to smack myself.
When he turns his head, I’m afraid I’ve scared him away. “Sorry,” he mumbles for some reason.
“I like it!” I nearly shout. Smooth, Jill. But he stops turning and glances back at me. “I mean, it’s better than the scowl, that’s all.” I smile so he knows I didn’t mean anything by it. This boy is so different from the angry one I met before.
He nods but doesn’t smile or look at me again. There’s a silence where all we can hear is the rhythmic lapping of the water on the beach. “So, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” he finally asks, and I’m happier than I should be that he didn’t run off.
“I couldn’t sleep. You?”
He shrugs and kicks at the sand with his boot again. “I was at a party at my friend’s house and needed some air. Thought a walk on the beach might do the trick.”
“Oh yeah? Where does your friend live? Our condo is right there.” I point to the darkened three-story beach house where my family rented the second-floor condo.
He studies the building with its cheerful white shutters and American flag flying from the stand on the wide back porch. I expect him to make some comment about me being spoiled again, but he doesn’t. Heck, if his friend lives in one of these houses, he obviously befriends some wealthy people.
“His apartment is a few blocks in, not one of these.” It’s like he’s reading my thoughts.
“You don’t really seem like the party type,” I tell him, feeling a little defensive and not wanting to lose my footing. But I don’t want to fight with him.
He huffs out a quick breath and it almost sounds like a laugh. “Oh yeah, what gave it away?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I watch him for a few seconds before pointing to his shirt and sweeping my finger up and down. “Maybe the black clothes. Or maybe because you spend a lot of time looking at the ground with your hands in your pockets. Or maybe it’s that you don’t seem accustomed to talking much.” His eyes flash up to me and he frowns like he wasn’t expecting me to say so much and he doesn’t like it. “Or the general grouchiness,” I tack on, but I do it with a smile so he knows I’m teasing. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t like being alone.
“You’re pretty observant.”
“Well, I have to be.” I straighten my back and strike a pose with perfect posture. “All good actors are acutely aware of the people around them. That way we can feed off their energy.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever met an actress before.” I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or not.