Southbound Surrender Read online

  I wipe my hands on my wet shorts and realize I have to pick up my game if I want a chance of staying here longer than two minutes. I see the wheels of her brain ticking, calculating what to make of me. It won’t be long before her foot is in my ass kicking me out the door, but all I can think about is how her foot would be touching me.

  “Wipe your shoes off so you don’t leave tracks in the house.” She points down at my shoes, and I realize how obnoxious my knock-off Chucks look on the way too-expensive rug. I can’t believe I’m even standing on it and now she’s asking me to wipe my shoes on it, but I follow her directions. I pick out a darker area of the rug and wipe vigorously.

  “Good.” She nods her head in approval before disappearing down a hallway. A glass chandelier dangles above me, threatening with a hundred glass spikes aimed at my head. I take a step over and crank my neck to see where she went.

  “In case of what?” I call out to her. “Why did I leave my bike out by the fence and why am I leaving my shoes on?”

  “In case.” She reappears with a towel in her hand and a pink, flowing dress over her swimsuit. Although I should be disappointed that I can’t see Piper and all her bikini glory anymore, I’m actually not. The fact that she’s covered her body might give me a shot at staying here. I could maybe formulate some intelligent thoughts. She tosses me the towel and moves into what I assume is a living room, but the sheer size takes me aback. My whole house could probably fit in this room. She holds her arms out and sweeps them around in a small circle. “What do you think?”

  “It’s nice. Huge. I’ve never been in a house this big before.” I scan the living room and its brand new furniture and impeccably placed decorations that look entirely like a mansion from Clue except twenty years newer (I kind of have a thing for 80’s movies). The twenty foot ceilings are crisscrossed with large, wooden beams. “You could play one hell of a game of tic tac toe up there.”

  “Hmm, good thought. You could use humans as the pieces. I’m pretty sure I could fit inside one of those squares.” Her eyes follow mine to the ceiling before she flails out her arms and legs into an X shape. “It’s all a little too much, don’t you think? For two people. Just me and old pops.”

  “What does your dad do besides storm after two teenagers who are watching his daughter?”

  “He’s a drug lord.” She pops open a wooden box that’s perched on a table and runs her fingers across a row of cigars. “Each one of these cigars is two hundred dollars. He smokes them after he scores a big deal, usually only over a quarter of a million dollars.”

  Panic waves over me as I think about Piper’s words “in case.” In case your drug lord father comes home with a bunch of thugs and shoots me machine-gun style? I see myself falling into the pool, my body decorated with a hundred holes floating in red. The murder-mystery investigation would consist of not who shot me, but where they buried my body. It was Professor Plum with a candlestick in the conservatory. My stomach drops, and I look for the nearest exit.

  “Oh my God,” she laughs. “You should have seen the look on your face. I wish I had a camera. I’d tweet that. Hash tag: RowlandsaSucker.”

  “So, no drug lord father?” I ask slowly, feeling my blood pressure begin to level down from the spike. I’m guessing it went up twenty points.

  “No, he’s a neurosurgeon,” she answers. The look on my face must not convince her because she adds, “No, really. He’s a brain surgeon. He specializes in brain and spinal cord tumors, brain aneurysms and vascular malformation.”

  “Oh, that explains the house.” The fact that Piper’s dad is a neurosurgeon doesn’t bring me much more comfort than the drug lord explanation. Neurosurgeons are the top of the food chain when it comes to doctors and subsequently, an intimidating cloud over the girl standing next to me. “Why did you sic your dad on us yesterday?”

  She gives a half-shrug and asks, “Are you hungry?” She studies me with her razor eyes.

  “Sure.”

  She leads us into a kitchen about half the size of my house with an industrial stove so intense I imagine most professional chefs would kill for it. But the kitchen’s monstrosity doesn’t pique my interest as much as the copy of Gray’s Anatomy that’s on the island.

  “Is this your dad’s?”

  “No, it’s mine,” she answers without looking.

  Praise Jesus Almighty.

  She flings open a cupboard, tosses a box of Twinkies on the granite and leans across the counter. “There’s something you should know about me, Cash Rowland,” she says. I lean across the other side of the counter, mimicking her stance. Our eyes meet in a deadlock. Neither of us breaks the gaze.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “I like stretching the truth, and I really, really, really like Twinkies.” Her lips curve up into a wicked grin.

  “This book isn’t yours?”

  “No, it actually is mine.”

  I give her a puzzled look. “So you like to lie? Like, your father being a drug lord?”

  “I don’t lie. I stretch the truth. I exaggerate. He does use drugs while he works, and he does consider himself a God or Lord.” She unwraps a Twinkie and hands it to me.

  “He prescribes,” I correct and take a bite of the horrible, artificial nothingness that is a Twinkie. All I can think about is that she owns a copy of Gray’s Anatomy.

  “Same thing.”

  “Not really,” I mumble before I swallow. “There’s something you should know about me, Piper Sullivan.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” she muses.

  “I never lie. I never could, and I really, really, really hate Twinkies. They’re disgusting.”

  “Lies or Twinkies?”

  “Both.”

  “Duly noted. I think they’re both a delicacy,” she laughs as she stuffs the whole Twinkie in her mouth.

  “So, you don’t have a 2.0 GPA?”

  She shakes her head no and covers her hand over her mouth as she chews.

  “You’re not an Atheist?”

  Another no.

  “You didn’t apply to Harvard, Yale, or Princeton?”

  She wobbles her hand back and forth before holding up one finger.

  “Harvard?”

  No.

  “Yale?”

  No.

  “Princeton?”

  She nods her head yes.

  So not only is Piper strikingly beautiful, she’s wicked smart with a neurosurgeon father, and I realize more than ever that my Luella Intuition was unfortunately spot on. I’ve got a good smile and boyish good looks, but I’m scrawny and it pales in comparison to the tiger stripes on Piper.

  Insert melodramatic string quartet here.

  “Do you want to go swimming?” She takes a hard swallow before grabbing two glasses out of a different cupboard. She fills them from the kitchen faucet, and I find it both odd and refreshing that she’s willing to drink out of the faucet considering there’s a row of bottled water on the counter behind her. She hands me a glass.

  “Are you serious? It’s lightning out,” I say. “Swimming during a thunderstorm is one of the single most dangerous things you can do. Lightning strikes water all the time, and since water conducts electricity, lightning can be deadly or cause some serious damage. We both might end up under your father’s knife then.”

  “I know, but you didn’t answer my question. Do you want to go swimming?”

  “I don’t have a death wish. I’ll take a rain check.”

  “A literal rain check,” she says before taking another sip of water. “I’ll take it.”

  A quiet thud echoes from the other side of the kitchen. Our eyes meet and her eyebrows rise into that gentle u-shape I fell in love with last night.

  “It’s that in case type of situation,” she calmly says with a shrug of her shoulders before pointing to the door that leads to the backyard. “You should go out the back.”

  I slide the cup across the counter and bolt toward the door. Rain cascades down the glass in
sheets as I grab the handle and hear her sweet voice one last time.

  “I think I like you, Cash Rowland. I still have your pen.”

  By the time I duck into the rain, my whole body is melting. I sprint past the pool and across the yard until I reach the fence and realize that there’s no opening to get out. I take a few steps away from the fence to get a running start and lunge at the top of the fence. My shoe slips, and I land ass first on the grass. I’m sure Piper is loving this sight. I scramble back up and hit the top of the fence on the second attempt. I swing my legs over and land, ungracefully sprawled, on the other side before hopping onto my bike.

  As I start the engine, I determine that I’ve learned two important things today:

  Piper and I don’t see eye-to-eye on lies and Twinkies.

  Piper Sullivan is making me fall all over myself.

  Chapter 4

  It’s been sixty-five hours since I left Piper standing in her kitchen wearing a pink dress and a pink bikini with Twinkie remnants on her lips. I scoured all the social media sites but couldn’t find her, not that I’m a Facebook or Twitter guru. Hudson made me join earlier this summer so I didn’t cramp his style. According to him, his best friend shouldn’t be socially inept, so Hudson made my profiles, slapped the passwords in my hand, and chirped some friends my way or whatever the hell it is that Twitterers do. Now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure Piper said tweet. So, Hudson tweets for me, occasionally. I couldn’t ask for more in a best friend.

  Believe me, I thought about going back to her house more than once over the past two dreadfully long and agonizing days. I want nothing else than to see her again, but she didn’t exactly invite me back, and I don’t want to seem like a bigger stalker than I already am. I came close last night, my nerves on end while I paced my bedroom floor. Hudson advised me from his spot on my bed. “Play it cool, Cash. You can’t seem desperate. Chicks don’t dig desperation.” As if he knows. The truth is neither of us knew what the right move was around girls, but I resort to playing it safe. I can’t keep showing up in that neighborhood on a flamed Yamaha without turning some heads.

  I roll over to see the clock has moved only one minute since I checked it last. I am one minute closer to seeing Piper on the first day of my senior year. Even though it’s more than an hour before Hudson will pick me up, I resort to showering, shaving the stubble that doesn’t exist, and getting ready. I stand in my towel with a blood soaked piece of tissue on my face in front of my near empty closet and wish I had something to wear besides my usual plain colored t-shirts – white, black, or blue Hanes variety – and plaid shorts. Something nicer for Piper.

  But you know what they say about wishing.

  I throw on the usual flare, or lack thereof, and stumble to the kitchen where Big Dave is already dressed in his custodial uniform and dropping frozen waffles in the toaster.

  “Good morning, senior. Big year ahead of you,” he says with a grin. The yellow giant smiley face on his mug beams at me before he takes a sip of his steaming coffee.

  “Yeah, monumental year.” I roll my eyes and shuffle toward the toaster. I tried not to let on about Piper, but Big Dave knows. He always knows and mercifully, he doesn’t mention her this morning. He’s exhausted us both over the last two days with his prodding about “the girl.”

  “Want to change your mind and ride with your old dad to school to be nostalgic? You know, it marks the beginning of the end to an era I’ve enjoyed over the last couple of years.” He looks at me with soft eyes. He’s really laying it on, and I think just for a second that I might cave until he leans toward me and takes a big whiff. “What is that smell?”

  “Hudson’s picking me up,” I say as I pour syrup over my plate of waffles. I lean against the counter and begin stuffing waffles in my mouth.

  “It’s woodsy with a smell of lavender,” he says as he wrinkles his nose. He cocks his head as if he’s contemplating the meaning of life. “But the tail end is not so pleasant.”

  “Got it,” I say between chews. The signal is loud and clear: buy new cologne. But the problem is that I’ve spent what extra money I had from helping Big Dave this summer sending in college applications over the past two days. And if you’re wondering, I did begin the application process for Princeton but still need two teachers to fill out the university’s recommendation forms.

  “You know, I was the same way with your mom. I knew the second I saw her that I was going to marry her except she didn’t know that. And she still didn’t know it six months after I finally convinced her to date me. It took me a few years of meddling in high school and then later in college, but it was worth it. Your mom was quite the catch. Sometimes all they need is a little convincing, that’s all,” he says before he moves his hand like an ocean wave. “Just ease into it.”

  “Tell me what she was like,” I say. It’s another one of our games that Big Dave likes to play, and I give him this small victory on a day that is probably harder for him than it is for me.

  “We don’t have to,” he says as he waves me off and brings the mug back to his lips. I swear the giant smiley face is winking at me now.

  “Tell me what she was like,” I mumble with waffles crammed in my mouth.

  “Beautiful. Breathtaking with long chocolate hair and eyes the color of a tranquil sea. And her smile, it was wide and bright and playful. Your mom never went anywhere without a smile on her face. It was contagious. Everything about her was contagious. Her laugh and attitude about life. But most of all, your mom was wickedly funny. Her jokes. Man, they were dirty, and she swore like a sailor when she told them. It got me going every single time.” He starts to laugh like he always does. This is usually where he tells one of her jokes that is borderline inappropriate for a seventeen-year-old, but instead he says, “And she loved you. God, did she ever love you. She still loves you. She always will.”

  I stop chewing the waffles in my mouth, unsure if Big Dave will break into tears, but instead he comes over and wraps his arm around me.

  “Whoever this girl is, I hope she deserves you. I want you to love someone as much as I loved your mom. You’ll know when you find her. After all, she’s making you shave and wear cologne that smells like dirty socks.”

  I swallow hard and peel the red-stained tissue off my face. “I will, Big Dave. I will.”

  ***

  We roll up to school, Cash and Hudson style, cramped in the Dodge Neon with Hudson’s sister Natalie in the back. She says something snappy, gets out with a flick of her hair and joins a group of sophomore girls herded together like sheep. Hudson rolls his eyes as we get out of the car and head into school. I straighten my shirt and run my hand through my hair, trying to calm the nerves that strike with every step as we maneuver through the hall. Big Dave gives me a wave before ducking into a classroom. I search through the sea of familiar faces, desperate to see the woman among girls.

  There are just over five hundred kids at Xavier High School, and this year’s senior class has a little over a hundred students. With Piper, it’s one-hundred-six to be exact. So the odds of having Piper in most of my advanced classes are pretty promising, or least that’s what I think as I start the day. She has to be here because there’s no way I’m going another day without seeing her.

  Hudson gives me a head nod when we separate for first hour. I slide into my seat and hold my breath while I watch the door first hour and then second hour and then third hour, but Piper Sullivan never walks through any of the doors. I try to ignore all the buzz about last Friday night’s party, but that turns out to be impossible.

  “Can you believe Jina did that?” Sarah whispers to Heidi who’s sitting behind me. I don’t turn around, but I cover my ears and shake my head. The irony of senior girls at a Catholic school putting out and talking about it while Mr. Rupert lectures about theology is underwhelming. I swear Catholic girls are more promiscuous than the public school girls. And who names their daughter Jina with a J?

  “Cash, you’re so lame,” Heidi te
ases before nudging me with her finger. Sarah lets out a small squeal that makes me want to shove sharpened pencils inside my ears. Despite the odds, I somehow managed not becoming a huge outcast at our school, most likely because I hang around Hudson. No one messes with Hudson, and therefore, no one messes much with me. Plus, Big Dave has somehow managed to become a loveable fixture of the school. I guess it shouldn’t really surprise me. He fist bumps and encourages a reasonable level of shenanigans, considering it is a Catholic school and all. As the girls continue whispering back and forth, I suddenly wonder if senior year is over yet.

  I’m in all accelerated and college preparatory classes in the morning, like AP Anatomy and History, and I know Piper should be in these same classes. Hudson, although he could hack it if he tried a little harder, isn’t in any AP classes, but our schedules collide in the afternoon. While I sit in fourth hour next to the open window and listen to Mr. Lee talk with his hands about the syllabus, semester, our futures, and the Cold War, I catch a faint whiff of smoke. I look around at the rest of the class taking notes and nodding their heads and realize I should do the same. Everyone in this class will take the AP test at the end of the semester to try to earn college credit and my recent change of heart about college has me thinking I should get my act together.

  Then I smell it again. It’s definitely there, and it’s definitely smoke. Cherry-tinged smoke.

  I snag a bathroom pass with barely a glance from Mr. Lee and trot down the stairs to the basement. Although students aren’t allowed on this floor, I know I won’t be questioned if a teacher or anyone else sees me. After all, I’m the son of the domain’s owner, Big Dave, and therefore, a lucky frequenter of the supply closets and maintenance rooms.

  I count the doors, positioning myself where Mr. Lee’s classroom is a floor above, and I land at Supply Closet A. I get down on my hands and knees to see if the light is on, but it’s black. I listen, waiting to hear a rustle inside the closet, but it’s silent. That’s when I smell the faint hint of cherry smoke again, and I know there is only one person in this school who would smoke a cigar in the middle of class – the girl I’ve been looking for all day.