“If Charlie told Starrla to back off, all that would do is make her decide not to back off,” Wren said.
“You don’t know that,” Tessa said.
“Maybe. But, Tessa?”
“Huh?”
“When it comes to Charlie, those are the only negatives. Well, and my parents. They’re a negative because they could be way more supportive of the fact that I finally found this boy I really, really like.” Whom you love, she admitted to herself. You love him, Wren, and you know it.
“Which do you think bugs your parents more, Guatemala or Charlie?”
Guatemala, Wren started to say. Last night she got onto the family computer to see if any good movies were playing that weekend, and she saw her father’s search history. She knew it was his because he’d left his coffee mug behind, a blue glazed mug with elephant ears and a handle that was supposed to look like the elephant’s tail. It was a Father’s Day gift from when Wren was five.
According to his history, he’d been reading an article called “The Pros and Cons of Taking a Gap Year Before College.” Before that, he’d read “Natural Consequences—Why You Should Let Your Child Crash and Burn,” “How Parents Can Help a Teen Get Back on Track,” and, worst, “The Bad Parent (Proof That Certain People Just Shouldn’t Be Allowed to Procreate).”
Her dad was definitely more bothered by Guatemala.
But before Wren gave Tessa an answer, she thought of her mom, who’d hovered outside Wren’s room last weekend until Wren shot off a “gtg” text to Charlie and put down her phone.
“Mom?” she said.
“Oh, hi,” her mom said. She hovered in Wren’s doorway. “May I …?”
“Mom, yes. Come in.”
She did. She sat next to Wren on Wren’s bed and said, “So, things with Charlie are going well?”
“Uh-huh,” Wren said.
“He’s a nice boy. Ann Wilson, who knows him from that cabinet shop he works at, says he got excellent grades. She says he’s going far.”
“Um, that’s nice,” Wren said.
“Is he the one who talked you into postponing college and going off with Project Unity?”
“What?” Wren said. “Mom, I applied to Project Unity before I even really knew Charlie.” She frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“Not going to Emory might keep you two on more of a level playing field,” her mom said.
Wren stared at her, not comprehending. Charlie was going to college in the fall. He was going to Georgia Tech, which was an excellent school. So what was her mom really alluding to? The fact that Charlie was a foster kid? That Pamela and Chris didn’t have fancy jobs?
“I’m not even touching that, Mom,” she said. “Charlie supports me. I wish you and Dad could believe in me the way he does.”
Her mom had gotten teary. “I just feel like we’ve lost you already.”
Agh, it was all so complicated.
But Tessa’s question. Which bugged her parents more, Charlie or Guatemala?
“I’d say it’s a tie,” Wren finally said to Tessa. “I’d say it’s officially a lose-lose situation.”
“Hmm,” Tessa said. “But you went on the pill for Charlie. Not Guatemala.”
“Tessa? That makes no sense.”
“I’m just saying,” Tessa said smugly.
Wren gestured for the lemonade and finished it off.
Later, Tessa showered, and Wren lay on Tessa’s bed, missing Charlie. From the bathroom, Tessa’s voice rang out loud and pure. She was belting out a country song, all rolling notes and rollicking guitar chords and a chorus that went, “Girl, you make me smi-i-ile!”
Charlie made Wren smile, and she wanted to see him. She and Tessa hadn’t decided what they were going to do that night yet, but if they went out, she wanted Charlie to meet up with them. And at some point, she wanted to sneak off to be with him. Alone.
Wren pointed her toes. Flexed them. She let her fingers trail up and down her body. Tessa was still in the shower—Wren would hear the water turn off when Tessa was done—and Wren was still a little tipsy. She closed her eyes and touched her breasts. She pulled down the collar of her shirt and grazed at the swell of them. She touched herself beneath her bra. Her nipples hardened. She thought of Charlie, and she crossed her feet at her ankles and rolled onto her side.
God, she wanted him.
She groaned, embarrassed and aroused, and pushed herself to a sitting position. Oh, Charlie.
She felt for her phone, remembered she’d taken it out of her pocket, but forgot where she’d put it after doing so. Wow, she was more than tipsy. She rubbed her eyes and glanced around Tessa’s room. Oh, right. She’d left it with the big teddy bear that lived on Tessa’s floor, propped against the wall and smiling blandly. The teddy bear was almost as big as Tessa, and at one point, Tessa had dubbed it her boyfriend. He had a name … what was it?
Lorenzo. Yes. And Lorenzo was holding Wren’s phone in his paw.
Wren made her way across the bed on her tummy and inchwormed onto the floor. Hello, carpet. She crawled over to Lorenzo, reclaimed her phone, and tapped Charlie’s name from her favorites list. She leaned sideways against Lorenzo, desperate for Charlie to pick up.
Pick up, pick up, pick up, Charlie. Char-lie. Pick up, Charlie-Charlie.
“Baby, hey,” Charlie said, and the warmth in his voice sent shivers up and down Wren’s body.
“Hi,” she said. “I miss you like crazy.” Her eyes widened, because as a rule she didn’t say things like that. She felt them, and she wanted to say them, but the words often got stuck in her mind. It was harder than she liked to say what she was feeling.
She clutched the phone. “Sorry,” she said.
“Sorry for what?” Charlie said. “For missing me?”
“No! I guess I’m just embarrassed.”
“Don’t ever say you’re sorry for missing me. And, Wren, I miss you, too. I miss you whenever I’m not with you. I miss you all the time.”
“You do?” she whispered. “Do you … think about me? Like, about kissing me? Because I wish I could kiss you right now. Is that bad?”
“Is that bad? Why would that be bad? How could that ever be bad?”
“Oh. Um, good?”
“Wren, I want to spend my whole life kissing you. Don’t you know that?”
She did, but it was glorious to hear. She had a feeling she was smiling foolishly.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At Tessa’s. You?”
“The shop. Gotta finish this one order, though for safety’s sake I’d better take a short break.”
“Safety’s sake? Me no understand.”
“Power tools. Not good to use when you’re … distracted.”
Distracted. By her. She drew her knees to her chest.
“In that case, you have to take a break,” she said. “I don’t want you ending up in the hospital.”
“The hospital’s not so bad,” Charlie said. “I’ve met some awesome people at the hospital.”
“You have?”
“And sexy.”
“Sexy?”
“The sexiest.”
Wren’s toes curled. She had never—ever—experienced anything like this. Talking like this. Feeling like this. “But I’m not at the hospital. So if you went now, would you still get an awesome, sexy person? To fix you up?”
“Not a chance, which is why I’m being careful.”
“Good. You are a very, very good boy, Charlie Parker.”
Charlie laughed, and it was beautiful. It was a laugh that said I like you, Wren. So much. And it’s great, isn’t it? This. Us.
“Yes,” Wren said aloud.
“Yes?” Charlie repeated. “Yes, what?”
A wildness swirled through her. “Yes, I want to … have sex. With you. Or make love to you. With you. Whatever.”
He was quiet for a moment, leaving her hanging, and she thought, Oh crap. Oh crap, oh crap. I want to have sex with you. Did she really say those words?
Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she just thought she …?
“I want that, too,” he said.
She held still. “You do?”
“Are you kidding?” His voice. God. It was deeper now than before, and she’d done that. Hearing his desire heightened her own.
From the bathroom, Tessa’s voice floated over the sound of pounding water. But Charlie was close, even though he was miles away. A private bubble, just the two of them, his voice in her ear and her body yearning toward him.
“I wish I were with you,” she said. “I wish I were with you right now.”
“Baby, I wish that, too.”
She was heady with love, and drunk, and wild. She thought of something Tessa told her she did, for P.G. She could do that for Charlie. She would do anything for Charlie. “Do you … want me to send you a picture?”
She heard Charlie inhale. He stumbled over his words. “You mean of … of you?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. She unbuttoned her light summer blouse. Blue, like periwinkles. “Can your ghetto phone receive pictures?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
She glanced at the door that led to the bathroom. It was closed, and the shower was still on. Tessa loved long showers. Still, Wren’s heart beat faster.
“Okay, hold on,” Wren said. Charlie said something in reply, but she’d moved the phone from her ear, and she didn’t catch it. She felt flushed all over, because of Charlie. Charlie did that to her.
She wedged her phone between her knees and multitasked over to the camera. She toggled to the front-facing camera lens, and there she was on the phone’s screen. Oh my God, oh my God. She heard Charlie saying more things, but no, not yet. First this, before she lost her nerve.
She let her blouse fall open. Her bra was one of her prettier ones, and she looked good just as she was. Or, she thought she did. Hoped she did. The fabric was sheer, and her nipples—still hard—were clearly visible. But that was okay … wasn’t it?
Although maybe …
She pulled down the cup of her bra on one side. She cupped her breast with her hand, lifting it higher, and—quick, do it now, or you never will—used her other hand to tap the shutter button on her phone.
There. Done. Charlie’s voice was urgent on the other end, and she laughed. She liked his urgency. He wanted her back, and she liked it. “One sec,” she said, and she hit SEND, texting him the picture before common sense could return.
“Um, I did it,” she said, putting the phone back to her ear. She was beaming. Her pulse raced as she fumbled with her buttons. “Did you get it?”
“—so incredibly sorry, but I’ll call as soon as I can, all right?”
His words didn’t make sense. “What?”
“It’s Pamela. She’s saying something about Dev, so bye, baby,” he said, fast and agitated. “Call you soon.”
“Charlie?” she said. “Charlie?!” She jiggled her phone, then held it out and looked at it. No more Charlie. He’d hung up. The phone had gone back to its home screen, which showed a picture of Wren and Charlie laughing, their faces pressed together.
She felt lost. Then she felt numb. Then she felt hot, but not in a good way. She’d taken a naked picture of herself (naked enough) and sent it to Charlie, thinking he’d be thrilled. Wanting him to be thrilled. And he … hung up? Bye, baby. Call you soon?
Mortified, she deleted the picture. She deleted it from her photo folder; she deleted it from the transcript of her texts with Charlie.
The shower turned off, but Tessa kept singing. She sauntered into her bedroom, one towel around her hair and another around her body. Wren shoved her phone under her leg.
“I am revived and fresh as a daisy,” Tessa declared. “In fact, I feel like we should go somewhere fun and finish that lemonade. You in?”
“Yes,” Wren said. “Please.” She wanted anything that would give her a shot at oblivion. “But we finished the lemonade already.”
“Not a problem,” Tessa said. “We’ll make more.”
Starrla opened the door. She wore sweats and an oversize T-shirt, which meant she was truly despondent. Starrla only wore unflattering clothes when she didn’t give a damn about life, or didn’t think life was worth giving a damn for. But all Charlie gave a damn about was figuring out who’d died or where the fire was. He was only here because his need to protect ran so deep. He wanted to do what he had to do and get back to Wren.
“Thanks for coming,” Starrla said sourly. She wasn’t using her “I’s so bad” way of talking, another indication of her mood. “Where were you? With Wren?”
“No, I was at the shop,” Charlie said, looking around. “What’s going on?”
“Was she there, too?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Charlie almost put his hand on her shoulder. “Starrla. You said—”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you have table sex, or is she too afraid to get dirty?”
Ah, shit. His hand fell to his side. Starrla hated Wren. Starrla didn’t know Wren, but she hated her. And, yes, Charlie and Starrla had had table sex—or a table fuck; with Starrla it was always “fucking”—in Chris’s shop one Saturday afternoon long, long ago. Starrla had been on top. Charlie had gotten a splinter.
Starrla swiped at her eyes, which were smeared with circles of mascara. She gestured into her mom’s apartment. “Well, come in if you’re going to.”
He did, because he didn’t know how not to. Starrla’s mom was a waitress, and she didn’t have time to clean, cook, go grocery shopping, or take care of her eighteen-year-old daughter. “I wish you were never born,” Starrla’s mom had said to Starrla in front of Charlie, to which Starrla had replied, “You and me both, bitch.”
Starrla dropped down onto the ratty sofa in the TV room. The cushions had lost their plumpness long ago, so Starrla had shoved towels inside the lining to make them hold their shape. Charlie sat down beside her. They’d had sex on this sofa, too. More than once.
“So have you?” Starrla said in a surly tone.
“Have I what?” Charlie said.
“Banged her yet. Your pretty, perfect girlfriend.”
Hopelessness stabbed Charlie deep in his gut. Starrla wasn’t allowed to talk about Wren like that, and she knew it, just as she knew Charlie wouldn’t dignify her question with a response. But Charlie couldn’t help feeling bad for Starrla.
And he was here, dammit. If someone was in pain, and he could possibly help, he had no choice but to try. Even if it was Starrla. Even if, again and again, he told himself he was done.
At the same time, being here with Starrla made him miss Wren. Wren had taught Charlie what love was, what love truly was. It was nothing like the twisted back-and-forth of need Charlie had shared with Starrla.
Also, Wren wanted to have sex with him. “Make love” with him. She was so heartbreakingly adorable about it. He had a memory, unexpected but wonderful, of Wren lying next to him in their ditch. She’d reached her arms above her head and stretched, closing her eyes and making a sweet almost-yawn sound. He wanted to be with her now.
“My mom got arrested,” Starrla said, finally giving up on getting a rise out of him by talking about Wren.
“Ah shit,” Charlie said. “What for this time?”
There was a section of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution on the coffee table, along with more than a dozen cigarette butts, and Starrla grabbed it and tossed it to him. It was the local crime section, dated with today’s date.
Charlie scanned the lists of phoned-in complaints, police calls, and one account of a gas station robbery. Was that it? No. He read a little farther and came to this:
A woman described as heavyset and naked except for her shoes was pulled off Northside Drive on Tuesday morning, and while cops and medical personnel were evaluating her, she threw off a blanket that had been wrapped around her, walked up onto the hood of a nearby car that was stalled in traffic, and kicked in the windshield. The owner, Jamaal Farsai, shared th
e statement he made to his insurance company. “They asked if the car was damaged on the side of a street or in a parking lot,” said Farsai. “I told them, ‘No, a naked woman just got on my hood and stomped around.’”
Charlie folded the section of newspaper and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Classy,” he said.
“You know what she said? Once she got released and saw the paper? That she was going to sue the fucker who described her as ‘heavyset.’” She tugged at the hem of her shirt. “She spent the night in jail. Didn’t bother to call me, of course.”
“Why’d she do it?” Charlie asked. “Was she high?”
“What the fuck, Charlie?” She threw herself against the back of the sofa. “What. The. Fuck.”
“Where is she now? Does she need help?”
“You know what? Her life, her problems. But she disappeared with the car, so how am I supposed to get to work?” Starrla hitched her shoulders. “I told Marcus. He laughed—big surprise.”
Charlie didn’t know who Marcus was, not specifically. He knew Starrla well enough to know Marcus in general, however. Probably into drugs. Definitely a partier. And after he’d laughed, he’d no doubt oh, honey-ed her, gotten her clothes off, and offered a different brand of comfort.
“I’m such a dumb-ass,” she said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She started to cry, and Charlie felt trapped. He wanted to call Wren, to tell her how beautiful and sexy she was. That picture she’d texted …
God, he loved that girl. He wanted to be with her, not Starrla.
Starrla moved closer to him on the sofa. She put her head on his shoulder. His muscles tensed.
“You’re the only guy who’s ever been good to me,” she said. “The only guy, Charlie.”
“Starrla …”
“You are, you dumb-ass.” Tears choked her laughter. “You’ll always be a dumb-ass, but hell, you’re my dumb-ass.”
I’m not your dumb-ass, Charlie thought.
She took his arm and put it around her. He smelled her familiar scent. He awkwardly patted her shoulder.
“Do you need a ride to Rite Aid?” he asked.