Float, page 12
“Par-tee over,” Isabel said.
“Fine,” Lena finally sighed. “Party over. Let’s go.”
We turned and had taken no more than a couple of steps before I spotted dark curls hovering above the crowd. I grabbed Lena’s shoulder to get her attention and pointed him out. Lena hiked Isabel up on her hip and we started toward the other end of the room.
As we got closer, the guy with the curls turned around.
I was glad to see that it was, indeed, Jesse Fletcher.
But why did he look like he was clueless?
I mean, he was clueless. But usually, he just had a big idiotic grin on his face. His eyes scanned the crowd nervously, searching for someone. When Lena and I finally broke through the crowd, we realized why he looked so distressed.
He had a girl in his arms.
It was Alissa Hastings, passed out and wearing a little neon-orange bikini.
“Where’d you get the baby?” Jesse asked.
“Where’d you get the girl?” Lena shot back.
“She was in the home theater,” Jesse said, his voice a couple of octaves higher than usual and his cheeks turning bright red as Alissa’s head rolled to the side and landed against the crook of his neck. “Blake and I found her trying to put on a movie. I think she threw up in the popcorn machine. And of course, Blake’s convinced it’s all Ethan’s fault, so I decided I’d try to get Lissa out of here as quick as possible to cool him off, but then . . .” Jesse trailed off and, at a loss for words, settled for motioning his head at the chaos in Ethan’s living room.
“Right.” Lena nodded. “Let’s get her out to the front porch.”
The three of us (four if you count Isabel; five if you count Alissa, unconscious and snoring) made our way through the crowd. By the time we finally spilled onto Ethan’s front porch, we all looked like we had just walked through the eye of a tornado. Jesse’s shirt was askew and his curls had deflated a bit on one side of his head. Lena’s bun had little corkscrew curls poking out in every direction. Alissa was still completely out, but even her slick, black hair had been mussed up on the side that wasn’t resting against Jesse’s shoulder.
Isabel was pink cheeked and grinning like she’d just had the best night of her young life.
“Did you bring the car?” Lena asked her twin.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I parked just around the corner.”
Lena pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment in thought.
“Okay, go ahead and drive Waverly back to Blake’s, and then drive Alissa home,” she told Jesse, already turning to me to hand over Isabel.
“Wave-ree,” she said in greeting.
“Hey, kiddo.” I sighed.
“What about you?” Jesse frowned at his sister.
“You can come pick me up in a half hour or so,” she explained.
“Lena.” Jesse sighed. “I really don’t want you joining the fight.”
“I’m not going to!” she argued. “I’m first-aid certified, Jesse! It’s my duty to go back in there and help those drunk, injured morons. Besides, we’re still missing someone.”
Jesse’s eyebrows drew together.
“Who?” he asked, glancing around the porch.
“Blake!” Lena cried. “Who else do you think, you—”
“Baby listening,” I interjected.
“—cucumber!” she finished, flustered.
Jesse cocked an eyebrow. Lena looked ready to fight him.
“Why don’t you go back in there and play Mother Teresa?” I suggested, tapping her shoulder.
Lena sighed and spun around. After shooting one final glare at Jesse over her shoulder, she slipped back into the chaos that had encompassed Ethan’s living room.
I turned back around to face Jesse, ready to ask him where exactly he had parked his car. But what I saw before me made the words catch in the back of my throat.
Jesse had shifted his weight so he could hold Alissa, who really looked quite small compared to Jesse’s tall frame, in one arm. He had brought his free hand up to push the tangled mess of long, black hair from Alissa’s eyes, and was gazing down at her like she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life. When he realized I was watching him, Jesse froze, his fingers still hovering over Alissa’s cheek.
We stared at each other for a moment, me with my mouth hanging open and him with eyes as wide as golf balls and a faint, pink blush spreading across his entire face. His ears turned bright red.
“Waverly, it’s not—” Jesse began, his voice cracking.
And at that moment, I realized something. Back when I had first met Jesse, in the ice cream parlor, he’d seemed so ticked off by how upset Alissa was about being dumped by Blake. He’d wanted her to just get over him already. I thought he just couldn’t stand her wailing about the breakup because it was annoying.
But now, it was clear.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “You’re in love with her!”
Jesse lunged forward and clapped his hand over my mouth.
Isabel cackled.
“Keep it down!” he told me. “I don’t want anyone to know!”
“But it’s true?” I gasped into Jesse’s palm.
Jesse narrowed his eyes at me in the least intimidating glare I’d ever seen. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he sighed and gave up. Even Jesse had to know that in comparison to his sister, he was about as threatening as a puppy.
“Can we talk about this in the car or something?” he asked sheepishly.
“Fine,” I said, slapping his hand away from my mouth.
Jesse turned and started down the porch steps.
I followed him, and together we walked in silence down the street. Jesse went a couple of steps ahead of me, but occasionally he stopped to shift Alissa in his arms so she wouldn’t tumble onto the sidewalk. We turned at the corner of the street and kept walking, the distant thump of the music blasting back at Ethan’s house growing softer.
Eventually, we arrived at Jesse’s beat-up Jeep, with its dented rear bumper and faded forest-green paint that was starting to chip around the door handles. I guessed that what with Jesse’s general obliviousness to everything around him, the poor car had been through a lot. The image of the Fletcher twins bickering in the front seat, with dark curls and lanky limbs flying everywhere, popped into my head. I couldn’t help but snort with laughter.
Jesse lay Alissa across the bench in the backseat, then hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Are you getting in?” he asked when he noticed I was still on the sidewalk.
“I don’t have her car seat,” I said, nodding at Isabel. “It’s in my aunt’s car. Which Blake has the keys to.”
“I can drive really slow,” Jesse offered. “It’s like a mile back to Blake’s place, and there’s no traffic this time of night. I know it’s not, like, legal. Or safe. But I’ve gotta get you home.”
And I had to get there before Blake’s parents did. I couldn’t imagine how worried they’d be if they came home to find Isabel missing.
I slid into the passenger’s seat apprehensively and placed Isabel on my lap. She bounced her feet against my knees as I buckled in.
“Superslow, okay,” I insisted. “Seriously. Grandma slow.”
Jesse nodded and pulled away from the curb delicately, settling on a pace slow enough that I could’ve gotten out of the car and walked next to it. The clicking of the Jeep’s hazard lights and the low rumble of the road beneath our tires lulled Isabel to sleep within thirty seconds.
When we were a couple of streets away from Ethan’s house, I turned to him.
“So,” I prompted.
“What?” Jesse asked warily.
“How long have you been in love with her?” I asked, smirking slightly.
“Could you not use that word, please,” Jesse mumbled, sinking into his seat a little.
“What word?” I frowned.
Jesse turned a shade redder.
“Love,” he said, wincing as if it was painful to say.
“Fine. How long have you been in like with her?”
Jesse sighed heavily.
“Three years, seven months, and eight days,” he told me, sounding dejected.
Jesse didn’t just have a little crush on Alissa Hastings. No, he was seriously and uncontrollably in love with her. When a guy counts the days he’s been head over heels for a girl, you know it’s serious. But I had been expecting Jesse to say something in the time frame of a couple of weeks. Not three and a half years.
“Wait a second,” I said. “When did she and Blake start dating?”
Jesse shrugged. “The start of last year.”
He was hunched over the steering wheel now but, he kept shooting glances at the rearview mirror so he could check on Alissa. I wasn’t sure if he was worried that she’d wake up and hear our conversation or that she’d puke all over the interior of his car.
Or maybe he just liked to look at her.
“But didn’t you ever tell Blake that you liked her?” I asked him. “Why would he go after her if he knew that you were in love with—”
“He didn’t know,” Jesse said miserably.
“You’ve never told him?”
“He always said he thought Alissa was stuck up. You know, he’d call her names and make fun of her for being so high maintenance. I couldn’t tell him I liked her. He would’ve made fun of me too.”
I pursed my lips. “Why did he change his mind?”
“I don’t know,” Jesse said with a sigh. “He never told me.”
Well, that didn’t help. Now I had a million more questions, and it looked like Jesse couldn’t answer any of them. My stomach twisted as I imagined several different scenarios, all in which Blake and Alissa first fell in love. Maybe they had bonded over their love of the ocean; I pictured them swimming together, smiling and laughing and splashing each other.
“How far is Blake’s house?” My voice sounded odd and strangled.
“A couple of blocks,” Jesse said.
His eyes lingered on me, and for a moment I was worried that Jesse knew what I was thinking. Could he tell that I was about to cry? Could he tell that I had a massive, embarrassing crush on his best friend?
“Eyes on the road,” I snapped.
“Okay, okay!” Jesse said, facing forward again before mumbling to himself. “God, it’s like having a second Lena.”
I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been so miserable.
When Rachel’s sunset-orange house rolled into view, I felt only slight relief at the sight of the empty driveway. The Hamiltons’ driveway, too, was empty, and the only lights on inside the pale-green house were in the living room. It was only once Jesse pulled his Jeep up against the curb in front of the house that I realized I didn’t have a set of keys to the Hamiltons’ house.
I turned to Jesse.
“Hey, do you by chance have a—”
I stopped halfway through my question when I noticed the silver key Jesse was holding out to me, a slight smile on his face. I held my hand out and he dropped the key into my palm.
“Thanks, Jesse,” I told him. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem,” Jesse replied, then reached up a lanky hand to scratch the curls at the back of his neck. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Sure. Anything,” I said as I unbuckled my seat belt and started to open the door.
“Could you not tell Lena about . . . you know.” Jesse tilted his head toward the backseat, where Alissa had begun to snore audibly. She was a picture of elegance, passed out in the backseat of Jesse’s Jeep wearing that little neon-orange bikini with her tan limbs bent at odd angles. It seemed unfair that anyone could look like a Vogue cover model under such conditions.
“I pinkie swear I won’t say a word,” I said.
“Thanks. I meant it, Waverly. I owe you one.”
I slid out of the car as gently as I could, trying not to jostle Isabel. Thankfully, all the activity of the evening had exhausted her. The kid was sleeping like a rock.
“Good luck with your sleeping beauty,” I said, jabbing my thumb at the backseat.
Jesse snorted. “Yours too.”
I shook my hand in a half wave, then turned and marched across the Hamiltons’ recently watered front lawn.
Just as I put my foot on the first step, a car honked very gingerly behind me.
I clapped my hand over Isabel’s ear (although she didn’t so much as twitch) and spun around, scared shitless that I was going to see George and Chloe Hamilton pull into the driveway in their silver sedan. But it was just Jesse, who had leaned across the passenger’s seat to poke his head out through the window, face twisted in a wince.
“Sorry,” he called, “I just thought you should know that he likes you too.”
“What?” I whisper-hissed.
“Blake likes you too.”
And with that, Jesse leaned back into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. I watched his beat-up Jeep jolt and bounce down the street until it disappeared around the corner.
Then I was alone, standing at the base of the Hamiltons’ front steps, unsure what to make of what had just happened. It was a quiet night in Holden, Florida; the pavement was still radiating heat from a long day under the scorching sunshine, but there was a cool breeze that carried over from the Atlantic Ocean. After a few moments, I shifted Isabel in my arms and climbed the porch steps.
As much as I wanted to write off what he had said as Jesse being his goofy self, I couldn’t bite back my smile or shove down the feeling bubbling up in me.
It felt an awful lot like hope.
Chapter 11
Isabel snored. And not those soft, almost kittenlike murmurs that you’d find adorable. No, Isabel sounded more like one of those heavy-duty lawn mowers they sell at Home Depot. A broken lawn mower, at that. It’s hard to believe a child so small could generate that type of noise.
Aside from the horrific electric gardening tool impersonation she was doing, Isabel looked angelic when I set her down in her crib. Her wispy curls were like a halo.
With the toddler safely delivered, I went back downstairs to the living room, where I collapsed on the couch. Now that I was finally alone, I noticed that the throbbing pain in the back of my head hadn’t disappeared. Not to mention, my cheek was pretty tender where I’d been jabbed by that unidentified elbow.
I closed my eyes and exhaled wearily.
“Well,” I said aloud, “that went about as well as predicted.”
I was never going to follow along with one of Blake Hamilton’s ludicrous plans ever again.
Speaking of which: where was he?
I kicked my legs over the side of the couch and hopped up, then crossed the room to stand by the curtain-framed window that had a decent view of the Hamiltons’ front yard and the houses across the street. I cupped my hands against the glass, trying to block the reflection of the living-room lights to see if Rachel’s neon-green Volkswagen was back in front of her house.
It wasn’t.
Fucking Blake Hamilton. He was more trouble than he was worth.
I marched back across the room and into the kitchen, anxiety twisting my stomach into knots. I knew I didn’t really need a snack, because I wasn’t actually hungry, but I raided the Hamiltons’ cupboards anyway, eventually locating a large box of Ritz Crackers. With the family-sized box tucked under my arm, I headed back to the living room to claim my lookout spot under the window. But before I could plop back down on the couch, I heard the unmistakable clatter of house keys against the front door.
Someone was home.
For a moment, I thought Chloe and George might be back. Which wasn’t good, considering their son hadn’t gotten home yet and was, for all I knew, still hunting down Ethan. I braced my arms around my box of crackers and held it up in front of me like a shield as the front door swung open—and there stood Blake Hamilton, looking like he’d just been hit by a bus.
“Holy shit,” I cried. “What happened to your face?”
A dark, shadowy spot had appeared on the right side of his jaw, along with an angry red scrape over his right eyebrow. And maybe it was just me, but I thought I saw a bit of dried blood on his cheek.
“What happened to your face?” he shot back.
Of all the immature things to say.
“I’m serious,” I said, chucking my emotional support box of Ritz onto the couch.
“So am I.” Blake kicked the front door closed behind him and crossed the living room to where I stood, ducking his head and narrowing his eyes as he scanned my face. “What happened? Did you run into a wall or something?”
Now I was really confused. “What are you even talking about?”
Blake glanced around the living room. Then, suddenly, he stepped forward, grabbed me by the sleeve of my shirt, and dragged me over to an ornate gold wall-mounted mirror.
Hamilton was right. I looked like I’d walked into a wall cheek first.
“Oh no,” I breathed, lifting my fingers and pressing them softly to the large, purplish spot directly under my eye. It was exactly where I’d been elbowed at Ethan’s party. “Oh, it’s bad.”
“What did you do?” Blake asked. “Shit. Is Isabel all right?”
“She’s fine.” I spun around to face Blake again. I hadn’t realized he was standing so close behind me, though, so I nearly whacked him in the chest with my hand. “And I didn’t do anything. It’s not my fault some douche bag has hard elbows.”
Blake’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Some jerk elbowed me in the—”
“Who?” Blake demanded, voice deathly low. “Who did this to you?”
“I didn’t see his face. And even if I did, I only know, like, seven people in this town by name.”
