“I’m sure he is,” I choke out, thinking of Parrish snatching Kimber’s phone and chucking it out the window. A real peach. A rotten one. Teeming with maggots. “We’re just … clashing a bit.” And by clashing a bit, I mean … fighting and then kissing? Somehow, I really, really, really seem to like the fighting and kissing. In that order, too.
I could never tell Tess that. I’m sure of it. She isn’t the type of parent to say well, you two aren’t related, and you just met, so it’s okay if you want to … Do what? Date? When we live in the same house? When we’re calling the same woman ‘mother’? I want to scream.
Instead, I make myself smile. If I get hurt, and I smile, then I can remember who I am. When I react, I feel like I’m hearing a stranger use my mouth, like I’m Mia Patterson with a quippy comeback instead of calm, cool, chilled-out Dakota Banks.
Tess puts her hand on my shoulder, giving the barest of squeezes.
“You’ll figure it out.” She gives me a sly half-smile that I almost want to return. But then I remember that she offered me a nose job for my birthday, and the urge dies before it can take root. “I’ve somehow learned to live with Paul,” she says, giving a slight tilt of her head. I should laugh, probably, but instead I just stand there.
The silence stretches strangely between us as Tess reaches up to adjust her glasses. I’ve literally never seen her wear them before, not this whole time I’ve lived here. A whole three weeks. When I still have years to go before I can escape. This is going to drag, that’s for sure.
“Well, I’ve got a deadline,” she posits, and then just stands there awkwardly for a minute. Out in public, Tess Vanguard puts on the persona of a deeply confident and impossibly successful person. In private like this, she sort of fits the stereotypical shy and hermit-like writer, the type who’d happily live in a cave in the middle of the woods and let an owl fly their manuscript into the publisher.
Looking at her, I decide that there’s only one side of that persona I like. If having both facets is what it takes to be a writer then it is most definitely not a career choice I’d ever entertain.
“I should probably get started on my homework,” I say, just before I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later, Chasm appears with an iPad tucked under his arm. He looks pissed at me, but he gives an award-winning smile when Tess glances his way.
“Parrish has locked himself in,” she says, gesturing with her chin in the direction of her son’s room.
“That’s okay,” Chasm says, shrugging his shoulders loosely. “I’m not here to see Parrish.”
The expression on Tess’ face is worth about a million words, but I’ll let her write them since that isn’t my thing. Freaked-out is how I’d describe it, actually. She looks between the two of us with surprise for a moment, but Chasm makes certain she doesn’t get the wrong idea.
“Dakota is behind in every class,” Chasm says, flipping his iPad around so that Tess can see it. There’s some sort of Japanese worksheet on hiragana and katakana that I vaguely recognize from seeing my first day in class. There was a quiz today, but Ms. Miyamoto excused me from it. “I’m here to tutor her.”
“Oh.” Tess blinks a few times in surprise, pushing messy hair back from her face. She doesn’t let anyone outside the family see her like this, without the power-suit and the expensive heels. Chasm is included in that elite group, apparently. Chasm and Maxx both, for that matter. “Your dad’s okay with that?”
There’s the slightest look of hesitation on Chasm’s face before he shrugs his shoulders again.
“As long as I’m on track to be valedictorian, he doesn’t care,” he drawls, giving a tight smile as Tess slides her phone from the pocket of her sweats and sighs.
“If you two want to use the living room, I’ll kick the kids out. But I’ve really got to get this damn book done. I’m running two chapters behind, and my editor isn’t happy.” She glances back up at us, but Chasm clearly knows how to handle her.
“We’ll leave the door open,” he promises, but he closes it as soon as she disappears into her office and we can both hear the clacking of her typewriter.
“Did you really come here to tutor me?” I ask as Chasm yanks an unopened box of my clothes over and sits down beside it. He points to the spot on the floor beside him.
“You, here,” he tells me, turning up the brightness on his screen and holding out an Apple pencil. “Take this and start copying characters. As you draw them, pronounce them.” I give him a skeptical look that he returns with a challenging one of his own. I can only imagine what Parrish is going to think when he finds out that his best friend stopped by to see … me?
