"The more, the merrier!" Logan laughed as Selena and I started leading him up to the house.
I glanced up at the balcony to see if the guy was still up there, but I didn't get a good look. Helping Selena with Logan required all my concentration, since he barely seemed capable of standing on his feet. I had no idea how she would've managed it on her own, even without the heels.
"Logan decided to start with birthday cocktails early tonight," Selena explained as we weaved between the cars parked in the driveway. "Even though it's my birthday, he thought he needed to go celebrate out at the bar while I was having a party here. And then he called me to pick him up, so I had to leave my own party to get him."
"Hey, hey." Logan held up a finger and tried to defend himself. "Happy birthday." He tried to kiss her on the cheek, and she leaned away.
"You're still gonna be in the doghouse when you sober up," Selena told him.
When we opened the front door, we had to push through people to get to the living room. The entry opened into a massive front hall, with a curved staircase and a chandelier, and even that area was filled to capacity.
As we walked further into the house, it didn't get any less occupied. If I had to guess, I would say that Selena had invited the entire teenage population of Caudry, along with that of the surrounding three parishes.
When we finally made it to the living room, Selena dropped Logan unceremoniously on a white leather sofa.
"There," Selena said, speaking loudly to be heard over the music and the people talking. She smoothed out her dress and stared down at her boyfriend, who appeared to be on the brink of passing out.
"At least he can't cause trouble when he's sleeping," I said.
"You would think so, but knowing him, he'll find away." Selena turned and smiled at me. "You have to at least have a drink, for helping me."
"No, that's okay." I shook my head and smiled. "I don't really drink anyway."
"I'll get you a soda or something, then," Selena said. "Lugging that idiot around was hard work." She gestured to Logan, who had already begun to snore. "You deserve at least one drink."
I'd been to parties before, but never ones like this. Not only was it packed, but everyone here was dressed like they came off MTV or out of a teen magazine. They were all flashy and bright, while I wore a flowing skirt and a denim jacket almost as old I was.
"Just one drink!" Selena was backing away. "Stay right here, and I'll be right back."
She disappeared into the crowd, presumably running off somewhere to get me a soda. I'd planned on waiting for her to return with it, but people kept bumping into me as they tried to get by.
From the outside, the house had looked glorious - albeit foreboding - and now that I was inside, I was thrilled at the prospect of being able to see it on my own. After spending the past decade living in a motorhome, one of my guiltiest pleasures was looking around actual houses, and I'd never been in one quite as nice as this.
It was a strange set up. The classic antebellum architecture clashed against the ultra-modern plastic furnishings, looking more like they belonged in a show room in New York than in a 200-year-old house in the deep south.
Next to the plantation shutters was a round sofa in bright red. A giant shiny white sculpture sat in one corner, but I hadn't the faintest idea what it was supposed to be. An Andy Warhol print hung on one wall, with a Piet Mondrian on another.
Many of the pieces I recognized from my books I'd picked up in my travels. There wasn't much do on the road, so I spent most of the time with my head in a book.
I'd edged my way out of the living room and went into one what I can only guess was another sitting room - this one furnished as garishly as the last - but stopped when I caught sight of another painting.
It was an anarchist drawing of graffiti style writing and paint smeared haphazardly across it, with a cartoon wolf in a top hat lusting after sausage. The only colors were beige, black, white, and red, and there was something abrasive yet captivating about it.
"'Wolf Sausage,'" a guy said from behind.
When I turned back to see who was speaking, my heart skipped a beat. It was him. The guy from the balcony.
The first thing I noticed - after his eyes, which I could finally see up close were an amazing dark golden brown - was how tall he was. While I'm on the short side, he stood nearly a foot taller than me, and the way he kept his chestnut hair pushed back probably added another inch to him.
He had this imposing presence to him, even though his tone had been friendly, and part of me felt like I should be afraid. It wasn't that he was handsome - though he was. Dark arched eyebrows, high cheek bones, and a hint of something devilish playing on the smile on his lips - almost like Jim Morrison but with his short hair tamed instead of Morrison's uncontrolled mane.
I couldn't really define it - not what should've frightened me about him, and not what made me defy that fear. But it was there, quickening my pulse and heightening my senses, and I found myself smiling back at him.
"What?" I asked before I'd gone too long staring at him without speaking.
"The painting," he said but he kept his eyes on me. "It's by Jean-Michel Basquiat, and it's called 'Wolf Sausage.'"
I glanced back at the picture and noticed that both the words "wolf" and "sausage" had been written on it several times. "That seems like an apt title."
"Yeah, it is." A bemused smile curled up at the edge of his lips, but his eyes narrowed slightly, as if inspecting me. "I saw you outside."
"You may have," I said, pretending not to know what he was talking about. "I was enjoying the night air."
"Are you a friend of Selena's then?" he asked.
Before I could answer, he reached out suddenly and pushed me to the side so a few people could get by. They were laughing loudly and liquid sloshed out of their plastic cups. I would've found myself covered in beer if he hadn't moved me out of the way.
To save me from getting soaked, he'd put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. Our bodies weren't touching - not exactly, but when he breathed deeply, his chest pressed against mine.
I considered staying in his arms, but that would probably seem creepy and weird since we just met. As soon as the people had gone by, I moved away from him, and he dropped his arm.
"So you never answered my question," he said. "Are you friends with Selena?"
"Kind of, I guess. I just met her."
"Hmm," he said, almost as if he didn't believe me, and I met his gaze evenly. "How did you get invited to this party exactly?"
"There you are!" Selena shouted, saving me from an explanation, as she hurried over to us with a can of Pepsi. "I was afraid you'd left."
"Nope. I'm still here," I said.
She handed me the can. "I wasn't sure what kind you'd like, so I hope this is fine."
I smiled. "Pepsi is great, thanks."
"So. I see you met my little brother." Selena put her elbow on his shoulder, attempting to lean on him, but since he was much taller than her too, it left her a comically awkward angle. "I don't know what Mom and Dad fed him as a kid, but he just wouldn't stop growing."
He glanced down at his sister. "We were just talking about how you two know each other."
"Logan is completely smashed, and she helped me haul him inside," Selena explained, straightening up so she wasn't leaning on him so inelegantly.
"And yet Logan is still the best boyfriend you've had so far," he said with a thin smile.
Selena swatted him on the arm, but kept her attention on me. "I know you said your name outside, but I'm sorry, it's totally slipped my mind."
"Mara," I said.
"Mara?" her brother repeated.
I nodded. "Mara Beznik."
"Gabe Alvarado." He held his hand out for me to shake. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," I said as his hand enveloped mine.
"And I'm Selena Alvarado." She leaned forward, interjecting her hand, so I shook it. "Anyway. This is my party, so I should
mingle. But I do hope you stay and have fun." She stepped back, then clapped Gabe on the arm. "Play nice."
"I always do," he told her.
"Well, I don't want to be a party crasher," I said after Selena had disappeared into the party. "I should probably head out."
"You're not crashing," Gabe insisted. "You promised my sister you'd stay for a drink, so you should at the very least do that."
"I guess I can." I opened the soda and sipped slowly from it. "So this is your house?"
"Well, my parents' house, but yeah, I live here with them and my sister." He looked around, as if noticing how grand the house was for the first time.
"It's a nice place," I said, admiring it. "Your parents don't mind that you're having a party?"
"Well, they're out of town for tonight," he admitted, looking around. "But they're used there being huge parties. My uncle Beau used to have these big blow outs every spring, and people from all over the country would come."
My eyes widened. "Wow. And I thought this party was big."
"Yeah." He leaned closer to me then. "It's kind of noisy down here. Why don't we go someplace quieter so we can talk?"
I'd been taking a drink from my Pepsi, and I had to put my hand over my mouth when I started laughing.
"What?" Gabe straightened up, a confused expression on his face.
"I didn't know people actually used that line." I wiped at the soda from my mouth and smirked up at him. "Does it usually work?"
"Sometimes, yeah." He nodded. "So?"
"So what?" I asked.
"So I do want to talk to you." He stared down at me, a smile playing on his lips, but his eyes were hopeful. "And it is awfully loud down here. Will you go someplace quieter to talk? I promise I won't try anything else." He paused. "Not unless you want me to."
I looked up at him and considered my options. I could leave this party and walk back to my trailer, where my mother and Blossom would already be asleep, and I'd either finish my V. C. Andrews novel or go to sleep myself.
Or I could stay here at this party and talk to this guy with bedroom eyes. Maybe he'd try to kiss me, and if he was nice enough, I might even let him. Or not, but the option of a real kiss was almost always better than a night in bed with a book.
"Okay," I said finally. "Let's go someplace quiet."
"Excellent." He grinned.
"Your bedroom?" I asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Really?"
Gabe stood in the doorway with a look of exaggerated innocence. He'd flicked on the light and gestured back to the room behind him.
"It's just quiet. That's it," he assured me. "And there's plenty of room. So, you don't even have to sit next anywhere near me."
I leaned forward, peering into his room, surprised by how spacious it was. It was probably bigger than my whole trailer, but I would never tell him that. His unmade bed had to be at least twice of the size of the narrow twin mattress I slept on every night.
A small TV sat on a dresser with a Nintendo hooked up to it, and a bean bag chair sat in front of it. Band posters covered the walls, mostly for INXS and The Smiths, but there was one of one of a scantily clad Madonna. The stereo in the corner was buried underneath cassette tapes and records.
Dirty clothes were overflowing from a hamper. Otherwise, it looked fairly clean for a teenaged guy's room. Or at least compared to the guys' rooms I'd seen.
"What do you say?" Gabe asked, leaning on his door with an imploring look in his eyes. "Are you in or are you out?"
"Well, I have come this far already." I sighed dramatically, causing Gabe to laugh a little as I stepped into his room.
"You made the right call."
He shut the bedroom behind me, instantly muffling the noise of the party. The voices were almost silent, but the thumping bass from Run D.M.C. still made it through the walls.
"Why don't I put on music?" Gabe suggested. "But at much more reasonable decibel."
I slipped off my jacket and tossed it on his bed, while he rummaged through his cassettes. "Sure."
"Do you like U2?" Gabe asked as he adjusted the volume.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I haven't heard that much by them."
While he played around with his stereo, I walked around, admiring his room.
The sense of permanence I felt in this room was something I would never feel in my trailer. No faux paneling. No crank-operated skylights that leaked whenever it rained. This was a home, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Not necessarily of Gabe, but just of being able to have a life like this, of having a home that didn't change location every week.
"So," Gabe said when he finished adjusting his stereo, and music played softly.
I stood at the far wall and looked back at him over my shoulder.
His mouth was open slightly, and he stared at me with the strangest expression on his face. I waited a moment for him to say something, but when he didn't, I began to feel self-conscious and rubbed at my arms left bare from my sleeveless lace top.
"What?" I asked finally.
"Nothing." An embarrassed smile broke out on his face, and he shook his head.
I sat down on the bed, deliberately keeping space between the two of us. "Have you lived here a long time?"
"Not really. I was actually born here, but we moved away for a while. We just came back this past summer." He motioned around us. "This is actually the family home, like my grandparents owned it, and their parents before them, and on and on."
"I thought I hadn't detected a Southern accent," I commented.
"No, I grew up in upstate New York. My mom has a strong accent, but the rest of us don't."
"So are you glad to be back down here?" I asked.
"I don't know. If I'm being honest, I didn't really wanna come back. I was supposed to be starting college this past fall, and I had everything all planned."
"How did you end up here?"
"My mom's brother died, and he left us the house and everything. Since it's the family estate, my mom refused to sell it, and she insisted that my sister and I postpone all our plans for higher education and come back here."
"That seems like a weird thing for a parent to insist," I said. "I don't have any experience with higher education, but I thought that parents usually pushed for you to go."
"Yeah, my mom can be strange sometimes." He shook his head. "What about you?"
"I'm mostly just passing through," I evaded the question as best I could. Things always went much better when people didn't know I lived with a travelling carnival.
He leaned back, and I felt his eyes searching me again. "So, what are you some kind of vagabond?"
"What?" I laughed to cover up how caught off-guard I felt. "Why do you ask that?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "You implied that you're travelling soon, and you kinda look bohemian."
"How do bohemians look?" I asked.
"Like you?" he asked, then shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's the earrings."
My earrings were dangling feathers, and I touched one. "The feathers? Madonna has an earring like this."
He looked down and pointed to my arms. "What about those? Do they mean anything?"
All down my left forearm, I had tattoos of little black paw prints leaving a trail from my inner elbow down to my wrist. I touched at them when Gabe leaned over to get a better look. He was so close, I could smell the mousse in his hair, clean and fresh.
"Not really. I just thought it'd be cool."
"They are pretty cool," Gabe agreed.
He reached out to touch them, and the light umber skin of his hand was nearly as dark as my own. His fingers trailed across my skin, sending small tingles down my arm everywhere he touched.
Then he stopped and leaned back to look up at me. His eyes were mesmerizing, but it was his mouth that really caught me. His lips seemed to have this permanent smile at the edges, even when he wasn't really grinning, like he knew some kind of private joke.
His eyes weren't enchanting because of the rich c
olor, but the wicked glimmer to them. Somehow, even when I was outside and too far away to really see, I'd noticed that gleam - a promise of something a little sinful and dangerous - that made my heart pound loudly. As he looked at me now, I felt my pulse quicken and heat flush my skin.
That's what I'd thought I should've feared when I was downstairs, but in truth, it was that glint of something else that had brought me here.
"Do you have any more tattoos?" he asked.
"A couple. But they're hidden under my clothes."
He smiled crookedly. "Maybe I can see them some other time then."
I laughed but didn't disagree with him. "What about you? Do you have any tattoos?"
"None yet, but it's for the best. My parents would kill me if I got one."
"Where are these alleged parents of yours?"
"They're out of town for the night. Selena's birthday's actually next week, but she planned the party for tonight because they were gone."
I nodded in approval. "Smart."
The music stopped, followed by the sound of the tape clicking a few seconds later. Gabe got up and went over to the stereo so he could switch it over. While he was up, he took off his blazer and tossed it on his hamper, leaving him in just a white tee shirt that fit nicely over his toned frame.
The music started playing again, and Gabe sat down next to me again, sitting closer than he had before, but I didn't comment on the mere inches between us. He leaned back a bit so he propped himself up on his elbows.
When he did, his shirt rode up just a little bit, exposing the smooth flesh above his jeans. I saw the hint of the outlines of his muscles, before he pulled his shirt back down, covering himself, and I looked away before he caught me staring at him.
"I just realized something," Gabe said. "We've talking about me the whole time, and you've hardly said anything about yourself."
I shrugged. "There's not much to tell."
"Oh, I really doubt that. You're all dark and mysterious." He swirled his hand in front of me, as to emphasize the mystery. "I bet you're filled with untold secrets."
I laughed. "I'm not really."
"Prove it," he challenged me. "Tell me a secret. Any secret."
"Okay." I bit my lip, thinking. "What constitutes as a secret?"
"Something you've never told anyone before."
"Not anyone ever?" I asked.
He shook his head resolutely. "Nope."
I leaned back and crossed my leg over my knee as I thought. Truthfully, I had plenty of secrets. But it was hard to think of something that I would want this guy to know.