Megan, of course, snorted a laugh. It was all she could do to keep from slapping her hand over her mouth and running away. This was already worse than any Ben Palmer encounter she had ever endured.
“Anyway, I thought I’d come help you with your bags.”
“Uh . . . thanks,” Megan said, sliding away from him and walking around to the trunk of the SUV.
“Nice bike,” he said, glancing at the roof rack, where her silver-and-black Maverick was latched. Back at the airport Megan and Regina had ditched the dented cardboard box the airline had packed it in.
“Uh . . . thanks,” she said again.
She slung her backpack over both shoulders, the helmet that was tied to it bouncing against her hip, and popped open the door.
“This is it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Megan replied.
“Wow. I thought girls were notorious for overpacking.”
“I’m not much of a girl,” Megan replied.
What? What did you just say?
He looked her up and down and smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.”
If the human form could melt spontaneously, Megan would have turned to a puddle of liquid skin right then and there. This six-foot-four, gorgeous hunk of half-naked hottie was flirting with her! Inarticulate, tomboyish, freckle-nosed Megan Meade!
He hoisted the mesh bag of soccer balls out of the trunk and flung it over his shoulder. With his other hand he grabbed the large suitcase, leaving only her laptop bag and the smaller suitcase, filled with Megan’s underwear, bras, and pj’s, for her. Even though he had no idea what was in it, Megan was glad that she didn’t have to watch him carry her lingerie up to the house.
“I’m Evan, by the way,” he said as she reached up to slam the door.
Megan almost choked. “No.”
Evan laughed. “Uh . . . yeah.”
“You’re Evan?”
Pudgy, stringy-haired, snot-bubble-blowing Evan had morphed into this WB-worthy god of Olympic proportions?
“Yeah, I am,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t you hit me over the head with a baseball bat once?”
“It was a wiffleball bat,” she said. “And I think you hung me from a tree first.”
“Huh. I always thought it was a baseball bat,” Evan said.
“I’m freakishly strong,” she said.
Right. Stop talking now. Stop . . . talking . . . now!
But Evan was, in fact, still smiling. They started up the lawn toward the rest of the family.
“So, you’re a soccer player, huh?” Evan said as they approached. “Good thing. You’re gonna need to be quick to survive this crowd.”
Megan looked at the other boys, who were now gathered in a huddle. The youngest one pushed between their legs to get into the middle of the circle, then pushed out again through another space and went in search of his next entry point.
“Yo! What’s ‘kicker’ mean?” one of the boys asked, raising his head from the crowd. He had bleached blond hair cut in a Caesar style and a large diamond earring in his left ear.
Megan looked down at her motorcycle helmet as if she had never seen it before. Written across the back of the black helmet was the word Kicker in quotes.
“Oh, that’s my nickname,” Megan said.
“Lame nickname,” Caesar Boy said.
“She plays soccer, idiot,” Evan said as he placed her bag of soccer balls on the ground.
“Evan! Language!” Regina scolded.
“Okay, but tell him to quit being such a jerk,” Evan replied.
Megan managed a smile.
“I can parent on my own, thank you,” Regina shot back with a smirk. Then she walked over to Caesar Boy and gave him a light whack across the back of his head. He let out a dramatic “Ow!” and rubbed his skull vigorously, scowling.
“So, are you boys going to introduce yourselves, or are you all just going to stand there like a bunch of orangutans?” their father asked.
Grumbling, the boys broke up the circle a bit and one of them stepped forward. He was only slightly shorter than Evan, with a similar athletic build, wavy, tousled, dirty blond hair, and gray-blue eyes. He wore a black T-shirt that had one word on the front in white, old-fashioned typewriter lettering: art.
“Hey, I’m Finn,” he said. His voice was on the soft side. He lifted his hand quickly in greeting. “I think you’re gonna be in my class. Junior, right?”
“Yeah,” Megan said.
“Cool,” Finn replied with a smile. “Um, you met Evan,” he said, then turned to the rest of the clan.
“This is Sean.” He pointed to a shorter, stockier guy with dark brown hair and a bit of stubble. Sean wore jeans, even though it was ninety degrees out, and he had the Orange County Choppers logo tattooed on the outside of his right bicep. Megan and her dad had restored two vintage Harleys last year and she had just gotten her motorcycle permit. Sean might be a kindred spirit under that blank expression.
“That’s Doug,” Finn said, pointing out Caesar Boy, who clearly thought he was the second coming of Eminem. He wore a gold cross around his neck and had big, defined arms but an incongruously pudgy stomach. Megan smiled at him, but he looked away from her and sucked his teeth.
“This is Miller,” Finn said. Miller had a blond crew cut and was sporting a New York Yankees T-shirt with a caricature of A-Rod on the front. He stared at the ground and only nodded slightly when Finn said his name.
“That’s Ian,” Finn said, pointing at a chubby kid who looked much like Megan remembered Evan looking seven years ago.
“Hi, Ian,” Megan said.
“Hi, Kicker,” Ian replied, cackling a laugh and holding his stomach.
Wow. He is exactly like Evan was seven years ago, Megan thought.
Out of nowhere the littlest one came running over, making a random revving noise. He ran headfirst into Evan’s knees and laughed.
“And this runt is Caleb,” Evan said, lifting the little boy like he was hoisting a bag of potatoes. Caleb sat comfortably in the crook of Evan’s arm with his head against Evan’s chest and one arm around his back. He touched the tip of his finger to his mouth, smiled shyly, and said, “Hi, Megan.”
Megan took a deep breath. “Hi, Caleb.”
Three for seven, she thought. Could be worse.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Subject: Settling in
Hey Mom and Dad!
Just wanted to let you know everything is fine here. We had barbecue for dinner and I ate a salad with it, I promise. The boys are getting used to me and Regina and John are really nice. Can’t wait to see the new school tomorrow. I miss you guys already. Hope you had a good flight! E-mail and call me as soon as you can.
Love,
Megan
Megan sat back in the window seat of her new bedroom with her laptop propped up in front of her knees. There was one thing Megan could say for her new digs—they were definitely pink. The walls were pink, the bedspread was pink, the flower-shaped throw rug on the wood floor was pink. Regina had even decorated the white dresser with large pink flower decals.
It was the exact opposite of every room Megan had ever lived in.
There was a quick knock on the door and Regina stuck her head in. Megan sat up a little straighter.
“I brought you some towels for the morning,” Regina said with a smile, placing pink towels on the end of the bed. She looked around the room and paused when she saw the still-packed suitcases. “Settling in okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Megan said automatically. She would get around to unpacking eventually, but that would make things seem so final. She needed to get used to the fact that this was actually her space first. She needed to get used to the pink.
“You don’t have to call me ma’am,” Regina said, crossing her arms over her chest and shrugging. “Makes me feel old.”
“Oh. Okay, ma—” Megan bit her tongue. This was definitely going to take getting used to.<
br />
“So, I was thinking we could go shopping tomorrow night,” Regina suggested. “I’m sure there are some things you still need to get for school. New clothes . . . makeup . . . maybe a new purse?”
Wow. This woman is hurting for female companionship, Megan thought.
“Uh . . . okay. Sure,” she said, even though she had everything she needed. Megan didn’t exactly enjoy shopping—a quality that had always puzzled queen-of-the-bargain-hunt Tracy—but she knew she could make the sacrifice when her answer was rewarded with an even huger smile from Regina.
“Great! I know just where to take you. There’s a whole new wing on the mall that I’ve been dying to check out,” Regina said. “We’ll eat at the food court and have a real girls’ night.”
“Sounds great,” Megan said. New wing on the mall? Food court?
“Okay, well, good night,” Regina said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Regina?” Megan said, stopping her as she backed out of the room. “Is it always this . . . quiet around here?”
Regina’s brows furrowed. “Basically never. I think we have you to thank for our current peace and quiet. My boys aren’t quite sure how to behave with an actual girl around.”
Just what I didn’t want to hear, Megan thought, a lump forming in her throat. After a quiet dinner during which John and Regina had made all the conversation, the boys had retreated to the basement and their Xbox and Megan hadn’t heard from any of them since. It felt distinctly like a freeze-out. While she didn’t mind avoiding their scrutiny, she didn’t want the boys to hate her, either.
“I hope I’m not making anyone . . . uncomfortable.”
“Please,” Regina said with a wave of her hand. “I may actually get my first good night’s sleep in twenty years. Good night, Megan.”
“’Night,” Megan said.
As the door closed, Megan sighed and reread her message to her parents. “The boys are getting used to me.” Part of her felt guilty for not telling them the whole truth—that the boys were ignoring her and were clearly put out by her presence—but what was the point? She placed her finger on the mouse and clicked send.
Somewhere in the house a floorboard creaked and an outer door slammed; then all was quiet again. This place was definitely not the nuthouse she had expected.
* * *
The next morning Megan opened her door slowly and peeked out into the hallway. Music played from behind one of the closed doors, but the hall was empty and the bathroom door across the way was open. Now was her chance.
Clutching her shower things to her chest, she stepped out at the exact same moment Finn emerged from his room. Megan stopped in her tracks. His wavy hair stuck up in the back and he was wearing a pair of faded Boston College mesh shorts and a white T-shirt. So this was what boys slept in.
“Oh . . . hey. You going in there?” Finn asked.
“Yeah, if it’s okay,” Megan said. “I mean, I don’t have to right now. I don’t want to mess up your morning routine.”
“No, go ahead,” Finn said. “Knock on my door when you’re done?”
“Sure. Okay,” Megan said. “No problem.”
After a quick shower in which she tried not to dwell on the dozens of tiny dark and blond hairs stuck to every surface, Megan wrapped her hair up in a towel and slipped back into her pajamas. It sounded like there was a little more activity in the hallway now. She took a deep breath and wondered if it was always going to be this intimidating to simply move around the house.
Squaring her shoulders, Megan stepped out into the hall and her bare foot was almost flattened by a remote-control car. She jumped out of the way just in time and watched the thing zip down the hall and hop a makeshift ramp. Megan’s eyes widened in horror as she saw what was at the other end of the jump.
Oh . . . my . . . God!
The car slammed into a mountain of wrapped tampons, which exploded all over the hallway at impact. Ian raced past her, laughing maniacally, wielding the controls. Doug came out of his room to check out the commotion, picked up one of the tampons, and smirked.
“Super-absorbency?” he said, just as Evan and Finn emerged from their rooms on opposite sides of the hall.
“What’s super-absorbency?” Ian asked, his forehead wrinkling.
“I don’t even want to know,” Doug replied, chucking the tampon in Megan’s direction. She caught it, feeling like her body temperature could singe a hole in the rug. Doug laughed and took off down the stairs with Ian barreling after him.
“Ignore him. We all do,” Evan said with a groggy smile.
“Uh . . . dude,” Finn said, glancing down at Evan’s boxers, which were covered in cartoon frogs and gaping open. Then Finn glanced over at Megan.
Then Evan went back into his room and closed the door. No shame whatsoever.
“Here, I’ll . . . help you clean this up,” Finn said, dropping to the floor and picking up a few tampons.
“No!” Megan lurched forward and Finn fell back from his knees to his butt. She grabbed the tampons from his hands. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“But I can—”
“No. Just . . . I’m fine,” Megan said, awkwardly gathering up the slippery wrappers in her arms. “Thanks.”
“Okay,” Finn said.
He stood and hovered for a second, prolonging Megan’s mortification. Finally Finn walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Left alone, it was all Megan could do to keep from bursting into tears. They had been in her room. They had gone through her stuff. And Evan had seen her tampons.
This was definitely the worst morning of her life.
Megan stood up, clamped her things to her chest, walked into her room, and dropped everything on her bed.
Okay, get a grip, she told herself. It could have been worse. Somehow.
With a deep, bolstering breath, she started to lift her pajama top over her head but then saw something out of the corner of her eye and screamed. Doug and Ian were now in the oak tree in the backyard, armed with binoculars, looking right through her window.
“What are you doing?” Megan shouted.
Doug snickered and waved. “How ya like my room?”
“Your room?”
“Hey, I don’t mind bunking with Mill the Dill Hole if I get to check out his view,” Doug called with a laugh.
Jaw hanging open, Megan yanked on the cord next to the window, lowering the blinds.
“Kids! Breakfast!” Regina shouted from downstairs. “If you don’t get your butts down here in the next five minutes, you’re all going to be late!”
Deep breath, Megan told herself. She grabbed the wooden chair from in front of her desk and jabbed it under the doorknob as she had seen done so many times in the movies. Dropping to her knees, she opened her large suitcase and her shoulders slumped.
“What the?”
There were purple marks all over the front of her favorite white T-shirt. She picked it up and unfolded it. Drawn right on the front were two huge circles, each with a dot in its center. Breasts. From their simple rendering it was clear they had been drawn by one of the younger boys. And it wasn’t just this shirt. Someone had drawn on three of her favorite tees. Did John and Regina know that their kids were criminally insane?
Just breathe, Megan told herself. She tossed the T-shirts in the garbage can by the desk. She took out her heather gray army tee and got dressed quickly, then blew her hair half dry and put it back in a ponytail. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get to school. It had to be a hell of a lot better than this place. How had she ever thought that last night’s peace and quiet was disturbing?
She opened the closet door to grab her sneakers and tripped back in surprise. Caleb was standing right in front of her with her pink bra tied around his head, the cups sticking up like ears.
“Ha ha ha! Scared ya!” Caleb’s little tongue wagged as he laughed.
Megan’s heart was pounding. She made a grab for him, but he shot right past her.
“I got you
r bra-ah! I got your bra-ah!” he sang, dancing around in her room.
“Caleb!” Megan shouted, lunging.
The little sucker was too quick. He dodged her fingers, yanked the chair down with a crash, and made a break for it. Megan chased him to the stairs, but Caleb straddled the banister and slid down it, his feet hitting the ground before Megan could even make it to the second step. He turned, grinned at her, and headed for the kitchen.
“Caleb! No!” Megan wailed.
Down in the kitchen the rest of the boys were talking and laughing and chowing down. Megan barreled down the staircase and raced through the living room.
Megan rounded the corner into the hallway just as Caleb was about to push through the swinging door.
“Stop!” she shouted.
Just then Sean appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed the little guy around the waist with one arm and hauled him up.
“Lemme go! Lemme go!” Caleb shouted over and over again.
Sean snapped the bra from Caleb’s head and handed it to Megan. Megan just stood where she was. She had no idea what to say or do.
“There’s no controlling that one,” Sean said. They were the first words Megan had heard him speak.
“Yeah . . . thank you,” Megan replied. “If he had gotten in there . . .”
Sean looked at her for a moment. His brown hair stood straight up and there was a streak of blackish-green grease below his right ear. He was handsome in a rugged, dangerous kind of way, but there was something about him that was off-putting. Maybe it was the appraising and almost quizzical way that he was staring at her. Like he wasn’t quite sure what she was.
“Yeah, well,” he said.
Then he turned and walked back down a short hallway. Megan watched as he opened the door that led to the garage. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke hit her nostrils and she caught a glimpse of a couple of guys and a girl lounging on an old set of living room furniture. Everyone was wearing black. There was a drum set in the center of the garage, surrounded by amps and microphones. Just before the door closed again, Megan saw the back end of a mint Harley, its side panels gleaming as if it had been recently waxed.