Page 36 of Envy

“No way. My mother’s making me crazy. I want to move out. And I’m too young to go and live by myself. A college dorm is the next best thing.”

“That’s kinda extreme, Sunshine. Mama was in a rush, and it almost ruined her life,” I tell her as we approach my car.

I open the passenger door, and I take her hand to give her a boost up into the cab. She’s halfway in when she stops and turns to face me. The serious intensity in her expression pins me in place and takes me completely by surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

Her gaze softens a little, but she doesn’t smile. “You know what it’s like to be stuck somewhere that’s just wrong for you. It feels like … wearing clothes that are too small.”

“Yeah,” is all I say as she climbs the rest of the way in. I do know. And I didn’t realize she felt like that about living with her mother. Her mother never leaves the house. As far as I know, it’s just the two of them there alone. She complains about it generally, but never says more than a few sentences about her.

“Hey, can we get fake IDs, so we can sneak into some R-rated movies?” she asks just as I climb into the driver’s side. I’m relieved that she changed the subject.

“I’m nineteen, Apollo, I don’t need one.” I nod my head to the Tahoe parked in from of us. “I’m not trying to get killed by Rick.” I stick my key in the ignition and start the car.

Apollo laughs. “He wouldn’t—”

As soon as my engine turns over, my music comes on, loud and thumping. And Flo Rida’s talking about slapping booties.

I fumble with the dial and turn it down.

“Oh my God! I love this song!” she squeals as she pushes my hands off the dial and cranks the music up so loud, my windows rattle with the bass.

I roll them down, and the rush of air blows our hair around our heads wildly as we pull away from the curb.

“I only get to listen to the radio when I’m in the car with Rick. At home, Maman can’t stand the noise. Rick and I always turn it up loud and dance.” She says his name like it’s her favorite word in the world.

I feel a prick of jealousy that she has someone else so special in her life that’s not me.

“I can’t wait till I can go somewhere like New York City. I want to open the art gallery for Artemis and travel all over buying stuff for it. Or even Philadelphia. Or Washington, DC. I just know it’ll be somewhere East. Won’t that be cool? Are you excited about going to college, so you can be a teacher? Oh, I can’t wait to hear what it’s like to walk into a school full of kids and be the person who’s going to teach them. Can you?”

“You’re talking a mile a minute, Sunshine.” I laugh when she pauses to take a breath.

“I know,” she moans. “I have so much to say and the weekend won’t be long enough. It’s like I have one of those hour glass thingies in my brain and I can feel the sand’s pouring through, and I just want to make it stop. I don’t want Monday to come,” she confesses dejectedly.

“Hey, we have plenty of time. And we’ll do this again. I got a scholarship for school, so I only have to come up with half of my tuition, and with my new job at this gym I’m starting, I should be able to afford to visit you now.”

“Oh, Graham, I’m so happy for you. I wish I could get a job. But Maman needs me at home.” She sighs as if it’s a hardship.

“Trust me, it’s not fun having to work. Enjoy being able to be at home,”

“I guess. I just miss my dad. A lot.” Her voice is low, and my heart clenches at the obvious pain in her voice. I reach for her hand with my free right hand and give it a squeeze.

My eyes drift to my rearview mirror and see the black Tahoe right behind me as I pull to the light at Lomita and Crenshaw. I wonder what would happen if I ran the light. Would he follow us? Probably. If I could afford the ticket I’d surely get from being seen on one of the cameras that read license plates that dot Torrance, I’d do it.

“So, can we go to the movies, too? I really want to see Twilight. You read the books, right?” she asks.

“Nope, didn’t read them. I sent them to you ‘cause I thought you might like ‘em. I like fiction, but I draw the line at stories where the characters spend a ton of time kissing.”

“What’s wrong with kissing?” she asks, shyly. I glance at her, making sure I don’t let my eyes drift from her eyes to her mouth.

“Nothing, but I don’t want to read about it.”

“Do you like doing it?” she asks, even more quietly this time.

“It’s all right,” I lie nonchalantly. I haven’t kissed anyone. I don’t have time.

“Just all right? You don’t get butterflies? Your heart doesn’t pound so hard you think it’s going to bruise your chest?”

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