Page 51 of The Wrong Side of Kai
“The one he was in love with?”
I nod, and Chyna and I stare at the two of them, our gazes piercing straight through the pair. Kai and Sierra are sitting at a small table on the edge of the food court, neither of them eating. They’re huddled together, heads bent close, wrapped in deep conversation. Their faces are serious, but neither joyful nor angry. It’s hard to gauge the mood of the conversation, but Sierra appears to be doing most of the talking. She keeps playing with the ends of her straight, blond hair while Kai listens, his hands intertwined between his knees. He’s wearing his Cleveland Browns’ cap again, only forward this time, so the bill of the hat shadows his face.
“What are they doing together?” Chyna questions, her voice hushed as she leans in close to my ear.
“I. . . don’t. . . know,” I manage to say. It’s a question I would love to know the answer to.
I thought Kai and Sierra were done. She cheated on him; she broke his heart. Kai told me he wasn’t still in love with her, but could he have been lying just to spare my feelings the morning after he pulled away from our first kiss? Is that why he didn’t want to take things further last night? Not because he wanted it to mean something, but because he was holding out to win Sierra back? Have I just been throwing myself at him while all this time he was still in love with his ex?
The girl working the smoothie bar presents our drinks on the countertop. I snatch mine and march away from the food court, never looking back again at Kai and Sierra while Chyna follows close on my heels.
Vanessa Murphy, chasing after a guy who doesn’t want her.
Vanessa Murphy, catching feelings for a guy who has feelings for somebody else.
Vanessa Murphy, a complete fool.
21
I hear Isaiah blasting on his car horn outside.
It’s almost nine, snow is falling fast and thick, and the cold air bites at my exposed skin when I swing open my front door. The wise thing to do tonight, after everything that has happened this week, would be to wear baggy jeans and a top with a high neckline, but thebravething to do is continue to wear whatever the hell I want. That’s why I’m wearing my favorite mini skirt and matching bralette, because Iwantto, and no amount of judging from my peers can stop me. I am, however, wearing an old pair of sneakers for trudging through the snow.
“So, you’re going to a party,” a voice says flatly from behind me.
I look over my shoulder, one hand still on the door. Dad is standing at the foot of the stairs. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since last night, because we’ve been carefully tiptoeing around one another all day. The moment I got home from the mall, I locked myself in my room and only emerged to shower and grab a bite to eat, texting Kennedy from opposite rooms so that she could keep me updated on when the coast was clear. But even she has plans on a Saturday, so is no longer around to update me.
And obviously the coast isn’t clear this time.
I give Dad a tiny shrug of my shoulders as we stare across the hall at one another in strained silence. With an outfit like this, a party is the only place I could possibly be going. “Yeah. I’ll probably stay at Chyna’s, so I’ll be back tomorrow.” I don’t know why I even bother telling him the second part.
Dad shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and lowers his gaze to the floor. His mouth moves as though he is searching for the right words to say, like the rusty gears in his mind are slowly beginning to turn again after all this time, but he takes a long time to finally speak. “You should really be wearing a jacket. It’s barely forty degrees outside.”
“You’re telling me to wear a jacket?”
“I guess I am,” he says, looking up. He scratches at his temple and, again, he takes a few seconds to muster up the correct thing to say. “I’ll grab one for you. Which one?”
I’m too stunned to reply at first. I stare at Dad, blinking in disbelief. Suddenly, he’s telling me to wear a jacket because it’s cold out? At least it’ssomething, which is so much better than nothing. “Um, the black leather one,” I manage to force out, my words quiet. “It should be on my floor.”
Dad nods and turns, disappearing back upstairs.
I look out across the lawn at Isaiah’s car still parked outside, its engine purring and the headlights casting a glow across the white streets. Chyna rolls down the window from the passenger seat and motions for me to hurry up, but I quickly throw up two fingers to let her know I’ll be two seconds.
I don’t even want to wear a jacket, but this is a moment that’s too rare to ignore. Dad is actually telling me to do something for once. That’s the only reason I wait by the front door until he returns, coming downstairs with my favorite leather jacket in his hand. He walks over and stops a foot away from me.
“Here you go,” he says, and passes the jacket to me, his fingers brushing against mine. Neither of us is smiling. The interaction feels too foreign. “Have fun, Vanessa.”
I squeeze the jacket tightly and step outside onto the porch as Dad closes the door behind me. I don’t put the jacket on though, only carry it with me as I dash across the snow in my sneakers and dive into the cozy backseat of Isaiah’s car. The heating is on full blast, his music playing loudly. I can smell the luscious scent of Chyna’s perfume.
“What was the hold-up?” Chyna asks, turning in the passenger seat and peering at me from around the headrest as Isaiah begins to drive. Her hair is styled into a big puff and huge hoop earrings dangle from her ears. She’s wearing the shirt she bought earlier.
“Dad wanted me to wear a jacket,” I say blankly, still not entirely sure if the past few minutes really did just happen. All I’ve ever wanted for a long time is for Dad to give me some sign that he actually cares about me, but I didn’t realize how awkward it would feel if he ever did. It’s just so. . . unusual.
Even Chyna looks surprised. “He did?”
“Like you’ll even wear it,” Isaiah teases. I catch his eye in the rearview mirror and he gives me his usual goofy grin. Riding with Isaiah and Chyna is seriously like hanging out with my siblings, which means they have the right to taunt me.
“Watch me,” I shoot back, and I pull on the jacket and wrap it tightly around me.
