I peeked around the doorframe and looked into a small bedroom. I did a double take. The room was spotless—in sharp contrast to the rest of the home. A small single bed sat tucked into the corner covered by a gray blanket, perfectly smooth, like in a military barrack. Next to that was a nightstand with open shelves. On the top shelf was a music box. Below that was a small collection of old books, neatly arranged in descending order according to height. The room smelled wonderful—like it had been cleaned with lemony furniture polish. On the opposite side of the room was a worn-out, pressboard bureau with chunks of wood missing from the corners. Jake stood in front of it holding a shirt in one hand while he rummaged through a drawer with the other.
Gabe eyed the room. “Your furniture has seen better days.”
“The furniture . . .” Jake casually glanced around. “Yeah. The last tenants were evicted and abandoned all this stuff.”
Gabe looked embarrassed; quickly he added, “But it’s a neat room. I mean that—literally.”
Jake chuckled. “Yeah, my father is sort of a freak when it comes to keeping things clean.”
I looked back down the hallway and eyed the rest of the chaotic home. Maybe he stays here with his mom, I thought. Then again, I didn’t think so. The whole place had more of a manly, guy-type feel to it.
“Here.” Jake pulled out a small, black concert T-shirt and handed it to me. “This one should fit you.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jake nodded. “Here you go, Gabe.” He tossed a shirt to him.
“Uh, thanks.” Perplexed, Gabe looked down at the black concert T-shirt. “But I don’t need this.” He tossed it back.
Jake snagged the shirt, and then pointed toward Gabe’s side. “I think somebody might notice that stain.” He tossed the shirt back.
Gabe grabbed it and then twisted around to look. “Crap.” He pulled at his light blue dress shirt. “What is that?
I cringed. “Blood.”
Jake nodded, calmly. “Yeah, probably mine.”
“Terrific,” Gabe grumbled.
“You can change in the bathroom.” Jake nodded toward the hallway.
Gabe turned and walked off. Jake headed toward the bedroom door. He put his hand on the doorknob, gave me an odd look, and then took in a deep breath. “You can change in here.”
I nervously mumbled, “Thanks.”
When he moved to close the door behind him, I reached out and stopped him. “Jake. Sorry. Do you have headache medicine?” I rubbed at my forehead desperate to curb the pounding in my head.
He nodded. “I’ll check.”
As the hollow core door closed, the wood scraped along the doorframe. I undid the few remaining buttons on my tattered shirt. After I took off my shirt, I looked down at my white, lacy bra. I felt very self-conscious being in a guy’s room with no shirt on. Quickly I hustled to cover my semi-nakedness.
As I pulled the shirt over my head, I could smell a blend of Jake’s scent mixed with some sort of really neat fabric softener. I held the shirt closer to my face and sniffed again. The aromas of cotton and him made my stomach start doing loop-the-loops again.
I glanced around the barren room. The only personal items he owned were the old books and that beautiful music box. Curious, I tilted my head and examined it. It was fine wood, intricately carved. As I opened the lid, a tiny beautiful ballerina demurely rose. She was dressed in a delicate, pink skirt reminiscent of a prima ballerina. I stared at it for a moment, perplexed. Why would a guy, especially a rough and tumble one, have this sitting beside his bed? It seemed very out of place.
A strange unhappy feeling, akin to jealousy, surged within me. Does he have a girlfriend and did she gave it to him? I flashed a quick glance toward the bedroom door. I would have liked to turn the knob and heard what music it played, but I didn’t want to get caught snooping. Gently, I lowered the lid.
I headed toward the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. As I examined my chin, I considered how best to hide the welt. I grabbed some makeup from my purse and dabbed on a layer of foundation. After I had finished, I stared at the odd cream-colored section that stood out over my fair skin. Since I’d woken up late that morning, I hadn’t put on any makeup. The small section with foundation stood out like a billboard. I decided to make up my whole face and blend everything together. I applied eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, and blush until I looked better suited for a night out, rather than a typical day at school.
I took one last long look around Jake’s bedroom and felt a little funny. His home life seemed rough. I wondered why.
As I pulled the door open and stepped forward, I had to stop short because there he was, waiting for me. Casually leaning up against the wall, he looked up. His eyes widened, he smiled, and then out popped that cute dimple. “It fits.”
“Yes.” I played with the shirt hem in my finger. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad.”
“You’re very thoughtful.”
“I found some Tylenol.” He picked up a glass of water from the floor. “Is that okay?”
“Yes!” I lunged forward—and in an unladylike way—I grabbed the pills from his hand and gobbled them down like an addict. He chuckled.
The only way Jake could have endeared himself more to me at that moment was if he had brought me Midol dipped in chocolate.
He watched me for a moment.
“Thank you very much,” I nodded, “for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he said warmly.
“I don’t know what would have happened if I went to class looking the way I did.”
He stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, that would’ve been very…interesting.”
I smiled. Jake didn’t act like a phony; his actions appeared to me to be quite genuine.
“I want to thank you again for risking your life.” I twisted the end of the shirt in my finger. “It was very brave of you to throw yourself over that wall to save foolish me from tumbling head first into the garbage bin.”
He shrugged and lowered his eyes. “I did what any guy would do.”
I scoffed. “Very few men would do that.”
His shoulders lifted.
I kicked at the floor, unsure what to say next. “Um, my dad volunteers at the local boys club. Maybe you might like to go and hang out—with him—I mean with them at the skate park or something.”
He shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t care, but when he looked up again, I swore there was something in his eyes—like a glint of hope.
We could hear Gabe in the bathroom as he turned off the water and then opened the medicine cabinet. Jake rolled his head toward the bathroom door and called out, “You need something, Gabe?”
The bathroom cabinet quickly snapped close.
“No,” Gabe responded, tersely.
Jake raised his eyebrows.
I wondered too. Why would straight-laced Gabe go looking through someone else’s medicine cabinet?
A second later, Gabe appeared wearing a faded black concert T-shirt. He looked so different. It took all my willpower to hold back the laughter that wanted to burst forth through my clenched teeth. I pressed my lips together and pinched back a smile.
“You look . . . good.”
Mockingly, Gabe cocked his head.
“No, you do.” I stifled another giggle. I didn’t want to embarrass him; I knew he must have felt as uncomfortable as I did.
Jake glanced at him and smirked.
Gabe looked down at the concert T-shirt. “So you listen to this old band?”
“No.” Jake shook his head. “Never heard of them.”
“Then why do you have their concert T-shirt in your drawer?” I asked, perplexed.
“Salvation Army. It had closed for the night when we got there, but some lady was dropping off boxes of old clothes. She saw us milling around and offered a bunch of stuff to us.” He looked embarrassed.
I felt bad for him and had no clue what to say. “…That was nice of her.” I forced
a smile.
“Yeah, we needed clothes and other stuff.” He let out a long breath. “And like they say, beggars can’t be choosers.”
I wanted to ask him why he had no clothing, but Gabe spoke first. “I might have some old clothes you can have.”
“Thanks, man, but I’m fine.” Jake waved him off and tugged at his shirt. “This style sends a better message anyway.”
With all the black he wore, I wondered if the message he wanted it to send was stay away.
Gabe awkwardly looked around. “Um . . . How you feeling Simplicity?”
“Better. How does my chin look?” I posed my face under the hallway light for them to examine better. I wanted their opinion on my cover-up makeup job. “Can you see the welt?”
They stared at me, but neither of them answered. I looked at their weird expressions. “You can’t tell I’ve got a bruise, right?”
Gabe cleared his throat. “No, Simplicity. When they look at you, they won’t notice that at all.”
I exhaled. “Oh, good.”
Jake and Gabe flashed a smile at each other.
We stood there for a second just hanging out. It was that curious kind of silence where no one speaks but everyone feels comfortable. I thought it was cool how the morning’s events had connected the three of us.
I’d known Gabe since I was a little girl. My dad had played on the men’s basketball team with his father for years. I loved his mom. She visited constantly after my mom died. She was such a blessing. She taught my dad how to cook and do laundry. All the stuff he had to learn to do, now that he was a single dad. Gabe would tag along, and we would play checkers or cards to pass the time. I liked Gabe, but I always felt like there was some hidden part of him he held back. Today, though, I was seeing a deeper side to his personality.
Jake, on the other hand, was an enigma. There was a selfless part about him that I really liked, but then again, I had only just met him. He clearly had a difficult home life. However, my father said I had good intuition about people, and so I usually trusted what my gut told me. My dad called it my “Spidey-sense.”
Jake smoothly pushed himself off the wall and walked down the hallway. “Do you guys want something to drink?”
Gabe perked right up. “What? Beer or something?”
Jake cocked an eyebrow at him. “No. I meant water.”
“Water?” Gabe slouched. “No, thanks.”
As we headed back into the kitchen, I scanned the house, hoping it might reveal more about this mysterious new guy.
Looking embarrassed, Jake compulsively straightened things as we walked. “We moved in sort of quickly, so I haven’t really had time to clean everything.”
I nodded. “My house can get messy too, and we’ve lived there for years,” I said trying to reassure him.
He gave me a smile.
“Did your father find a job yet?” Gabe asked.
“My father . . .” Jake looked thrown by the ordinary question.
Jake cleared his throat. “Yeah. My dad found work at a machine shop over in Derrybrook. Thanks to his cousin.”
I smiled. “Where’d you move from?”
“Umm . . .”
As I stepped back into the living room, my head snapped up. Behind the worn-out recliner was the butt of a gun. I stepped to the side and got a better look at it. It was a long-scoped hunting rifle. Most girls would have no clue exactly what type of gun it was—but I did. I’d gone to enough gun shows with my dad to tell the difference between a Glock 17 and a 9mm Smith and Wesson.
It was beyond stupid not to have it locked up in a gun cabinet. Then something else caught my eye; underneath was a box. Without Jake seeing me, I squinted and read the label: 5.56 Nato Pmc X-Tac 62-grade. Green Tip Light—ARMOR PIERCING AMMO.
As fear raced through me, the hairs went up on the back of my neck. I knew what my dad had called that type of bullet—cop killers.
That ammo was dangerous; the rounds could easily pierce through bulletproof vests.
I had thought they were illegal in this state. As my anger rose, I tried to remain calm and not show any emotion. Then I realized Jake still hadn’t responded to my question and now I wanted some answers. I turned and feigned an angelic smile. “Where did you say you moved from?”
He eyed me cautiously. “Umm . . . Phoenix.”
It may have been by changed attitude, but his answer seemed suspicious. I quickly thought of a way to trip him up. I recalled the wall map from my geography class, and lightened my tone. “Oh, really? My cousins live in Phoenix.”
—a fib—
“We went to visit them a few times. It’s such a beautiful city right on the edge of the Colorado River. What a pretty view that city has overlooking the Grand Canyon. They took me for a hike along the rim every morning. Did you hike there much?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. I hiked there.”
“Oh.” I smiled and nodded as I kept my cool.
Jake never lived in Phoenix or he would’ve known that the Grand Canyon was over two hundred miles north—nowhere near the city. Quickly, I calculated the distance. It would be at least a three-hour drive each way. He would have to know that if he had ever lived in the city of Phoenix.
Clearly—he was lying.