Sidetracked: Part 1 Page 18

  She owns several nightdresses and pajama sets made from fine cotton or silk. Some simple, some lacy, others a little sexy—which surprises me for some reason. They’re obviously nice pajamas, and the idea of wearing them intimidates me.

  Especially when the sound of the shower running on the other side of the wall reminds me that Ice is here.

  In the end, I settle on a pair of silky green sleep shorts and a cream camisole. They’re simple and comfortable, but definitely a step up from sleeping in cheap cotton gym shorts and whatever undershirt I wore that day.

  Night picks out an off-white nightdress with short sleeves and lacy trim. Then wastes no time in setting up a nail station atop her dressing table. I take the desk stool while she fishes a folding chair from her closet for herself.

  “What color do you want?” she asks.

  She sets a box of assorted nail polish bottles on the table. There are a few neutrals and a handful of brighter colors, but the majority are pastels, earth tones, and various shades of blue and green.

  “Blue,” I say.

  “Blue, huh?” She smiles and points to her eye. “Like this?”

  My face goes hot, and, although water immortal blue was my first thought, I point to the River Sapphire.

  “Um... Maybe more like this?”

  “Alright,” she agrees with a delicate laugh.

  She picks up a shimmery sapphire polish and gets to work.

  We talk idly about this or that, but the unfamiliar environment of her room has me rather distracted. I keep glancing at two of the framed photos on her dressing table. They only catch my attention because both include a younger version of Ice.

  The first is a photo of Night, Smoke, and Ice as young teens, with their house, and its distinctive stained-glass door, in the background. The twins, holding hands, wear white and red school uniforms. Night’s hair is long and done up in curled pigtails, while Smoke’s is cropped short. Both are beaming. Ice wears a different uniform—a white dress shirt, blue tie, and unbuttoned navy blazer with khaki slacks. Compared to the twins, his expression is muted.

  The other picture must be a few years older than the first. It depicts Ice, Night, and her mother in front of a car. Sarai Monroe, a lean, confident woman with kind eyes and short, dark hair, stands between the children with her hands on their shoulders. Night, who looks to be nine or ten, grins. She’s holding up a sheet of paper. Ice smiles as well, but he looks tired. His posture is stiff, and his hair is short and messy.

  I ask about the first photo, and Night says it was taken the year the twins went into eighth grade and Ice started high school. All three went to Wisteria Private Academy—Riverview’s K-12 school for immortals. Carmen mentioned it last week, but Night explains that it’s their version of public school.

  Further deepening the rift between humans and immortals.

  I don’t ask about the second photo.

  “IT’S TOO BAD CARMEN couldn’t join us.” Night returns her makeup case to its place in a drawer and picks up her phone. “At least she can live vicariously through us online.”

  We take a few photos of our finished nails and makeup in the dressing table mirror. She touches them up on her phone before uploading them.

  A notification sound pings in my lap, and I check my phone. After confirming the tag in Night’s FaceSpace post, I scroll through the handful of photos. The ones she chose are cute and a little silly, and she tagged Carmen in the comments.

  I back out of the post and scroll further down my newsfeed for lack of anything better to do until another notification pops up. I tap the banner to find a comment on Night’s post.

  Carmen Choi

  I AM SO JEALOUS!! YOU’RE BOTH SO HOT (T⌓T)

  She laughs. “I suppose she thinks I did a good job.”

  “Well, she’s not wrong.”

  A third notification. I accept Carmen’s friend request and check out her profile. It looks like she hangs out with friends a lot. Half of her posts involve parties and lunch dates and the like, but she shares a lot about music, fashion, and her cosmetology training too.

  I like a set of pictures she uploaded earlier today—of herself, Night, and a handful of other girls. The last photo is of me, with my hair in a neat, braided bun.

  “Are you hungry?” Night asks, tossing her phone onto the bed. “We can grab a snack before we clean up.”

  I nod. She smiles and says she’ll meet me in the kitchen, so I head out alone.

  The den is dark. The usual music in Smoke’s bedroom is quiet. A light is on in the great room, though, and I find Ice sitting at the dining table. He glances up from an iPad as I cross from the carpet to the hardwood.

  For an instant, his eyes are wide, and I can’t tell what he’s looking at. The makeup? The low-cut, silk pajamas? Before I can figure it out, he stifles a laugh and sets his tablet face-down beside a short glass of clear, caramel liquid. Alcohol?

  “What?” I ask, hoping the foundation masks the color in my warm cheeks. “Do I look bad?”

  He shakes his head and flashes a smile. “No, no. You look fine. Though, I have to say I think I prefer your hair down.”

  Down?

  I guess I’m never putting my hair up again.

  If there weren’t five million bobby pins holding this bun in place, I’d let it down right now. Instead, I center the flower crown on my head and step closer.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ask.

  “Oh, you know—” He glances aside and takes a drink. “Work.”

  For his parents’ company? While drinking?

  A soft laugh sounds from somewhere near the den—Night.

  “You’re actually working?” she asks, her voice approaching.

  He rolls his eyes and sets his glass down, but his mild, pleasant expression remains otherwise unaffected.

  “Believe it or not,” he says.

  Night joins me near the dining table and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “So, what do you think of my handiwork? She looks good, right?”

  “Hm?”

  He rests his chin in his hands and checks me out a second time. I smooth the camisole and force a smile, but I can’t stop from scratching my arm.

  “She looks fine,” he says again.

  Night sighs. Her hand falls away from my shoulder. Then she walks past me, past the dining table, and into the kitchen.

  “Fine is not a compliment, Ice.”

  His expression remains vaguely humored as she digs through the snack cabinet with her back to us and continues to berate him for being inconsiderate. She says he needs to think before he talks and work on his conversational skills.

  “Is it a problem that I said you look fine?” he asks, glancing to me with a touch of frustration in his eyes.

  I look between him and Night, who is still quite offended, and I laugh. I cover my mouth, but I can’t stop myself. This is such a dumb thing to argue about. It’s the type of pointless bickering siblings should engage in.

  “It’s fine,” I insist. “You guys are so funny.”

  Ice watches me with wide eyes. “Funny?”

  “There’s nothing funny about it,” Night says under her breath, upending an entire bag of peanut butter pretzels into a serving bowl. “He’s rude. He’s always so rude.”

  I sit at the table, and a smile comes easily. “I’m glad I met you guys. This summer would have been so boring if I hadn’t.”

  Night, finally reassured that Ice didn’t offend me somehow, sits across the table from me. She sets the bowl of pretzels down and glances between me and Ice, who is still rather amused.

  “See,” he says. “I told you it’s fine.”

  She smiles, her eyes dangerously narrow. “I swear, if you say fine one more time—”

  “Being here makes me miss my brother,” I admit.

  “Your brother?” she asks. “I didn’t know you had one.”

  “Yeah, Robbie. He goes to UCLA, so I don’t see him often anymore, but we were close as kids. I almos
t miss arguing about stupid stuff like that.”

  Her expression softens, and she glances toward Ice. His playful smirk fades as their eyes meet. Then she looks at me with a more wistful smile.

  “I can’t imagine being separated from Smoke. I know it’s not quite the same, but... The thought sometimes makes me not want to grow up.”

  Ice raises his glass to his lips. “Why separate at all? I’m sure he’d be satisfied living in the basement of your future home for eternity.”

  “Oh? I planned on saving my future basement for you,” she says. He chokes on his drink, and she laughs. “I’m kidding! You’re doing alright for yourself in Palo Alto, and now you’ve sponsored Jayde. Really moving up in the world, huh?”

  Rubbing his jaw, he clears his throat. “I suppose so. Though—” Our eyes meet, and he frowns. “—it’s late. I should turn in for the night.”

  “Weren’t you working?” I ask.

  “It’s nothing that can’t wait until morning.”

  He sets his empty glass on the nearest counter before walking past the table. I turn to say, “goodnight,” and he stops. He glances over his shoulder and smiles.

  “Goodnight, Jayde.”

  Then he leaves. His bedroom door closes in the hallway, and Night sighs before turning to me.

  “Sorry,” she says with an apologetic smile, “but bringing up his personal life is the fastest way to scare him off—just a friendly piece of advice.”

  “You wanted him to leave?”

  She laughs. “You didn’t just now?”

  I frown. My blue nails sparkle, appearing a shade brighter beneath the white light cast by the chandelier overhead.

  “He thinks I look better with my hair down.”

  “He said that?”

  She sounds surprised. When I glance up, her head is tipped to one side, her expression curious but neutral. He didn’t say those words exactly, but... I nod anyway.

  “Hm.” She glances aside and pushes her chair out. “You want some water while we’re in here?”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  I watch as she works in the kitchen, setting Ice’s glass in the sink before filling two new glasses with filtered water from the fridge tap. After a while spent sitting at the dining table, she suggests we wash our faces in the bathroom.

  It’s a shame to wash it off right after she applied it, but even I know I shouldn’t sleep wearing a full face of makeup. So we stand around in the bathroom with the overhead fan buzzing, and we eat pretzels while wiping our faces with reusable cotton pads soaked in makeup remover.

  “About Ice,” she says slowly. “I know you like him, so I’m sorry about what he said earlier.”

  I shrug. “Fine isn’t the best compliment, but—”

  “Not that. That was just him being an idiot. I mean what he said to Carmen at the park.”

  “Which thing—? Oh.” That thing. “It’s, um... It’s not your fault, but has he ever said anything to you about whether he thinks we’re dating?”

  She turns the water on and rinses her cotton pad. I hand her the one I used and start picking bobby pins out of my hair.

  “We’ve discussed it,” she says, her voice dry. “Or, rather, I’ve asked. A few times. He doesn’t often let people get close to him, so it made me curious, but he, ah... Well, he never wants to talk about you for long.”

  “It’s a good sign that he wants to hang out, though, right?”

  She smiles. “Things like Music@ThePark tend to bore him, but he suddenly wanted to go after I mentioned you were interested.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She laughs delicately. “So, whether he wants to admit it or not, I’m sure it’s fine as long as you’re both having fun.”

  twenty-three

  WE WAKE UP TO NIGHT’S new age piano ringtone. I feel the vibration on the dressing table through the floor as the phone rings.

  She hefts herself out of bed to answer it. I sit up and rub my eyes, a bit surprised by how well-rested I feel considering I slept on a mat on the floor.

  “Today?” She checks her phone screen and grimaces. “In two hours? Talk about short notice. Well, what is this about?”

  She sorts through the dresses hanging in her closet while I fold the blanket she let me borrow.

  “Oh, I see,” she says with a sigh, lifting a navy dress off the rod. “And it has to be me? They can’t meet with you and Douglas or... Perhaps Ice could...?”

  “Everything okay?”

  She offers me an apologetic smile and returns her focus to the phone at her ear. “No, of course. I can meet you at one-thirty. Okay. Thanks, Erica.”

  The phone call ends, and she sighs heavily.

  “Work?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’m the MonroeWorks heiress, and duty calls,” she says, her humored smile a little tired. “We’ll have to reschedule lunch, though. This meeting won’t be brief.”

  “We can always do something after instead.”

  “Tea might be nice,” she agrees. “But what will you do until I’m done? Go home? Stay here?”

  I pile the guest bedding near the foot of her bed and grab my purse. “I can hang out at the mall for a few hours.”

  “Ask Ice to go with you,” she says, collecting more clothes.

  Maybe I will.

  After borrowing one of Night’s less intricate outfits, I take a quick shower and get dressed in the bathroom while she changes in her bedroom. I comb and dry my hair and still make it out to the den before her.

  Ice is sat on one of the loveseats with the iPad from last night in his lap. He glances up as I step out of the hallway.

  “You sure slept in.”

  I laugh and pull my hair over one shoulder. “It was a late night. Anyway, Night got called into a meeting, so I was wondering if you want to hang out with me for a few hours instead?”

  He looks at his iPad. Then at me again.

  “And do what?” he asks.

  “I was thinking of going to the mall. I have some money I’ve been saving since my birthday, so—”

  He flashes a smile. “You want to go shopping?”

  “Oh. Maybe?”

  He sets his tablet on the arm of the couch and crosses the room, his fingers brushing my arm as he walks by. My breath catches. I turn to keep an eye on him, and he glances over his shoulder.

  “Come with me,” he says.

  I follow Ice into his room. He stops at the desk, opens the top drawer, and removes a plain, white mailing envelope.

  “I’m afraid I’m too busy to join you, but I’m more than happy to help.”

  He opens the envelope, revealing the thick stack of crisp, green bills stuffed inside. As he runs a thumb over the top edge, he meets my gaze. His smile is crooked, but he somehow doesn’t look smug at all.

  He then offers me several large bills folded together.

  I protest, hoping to protect what little dignity I have left after the past few weeks, but he shushes me and plants the cash in my hand. I stare at the mess of twenties and fifties in alarm.

  This is easily three hundred dollars. How much is just sitting in that envelope?

  “Are you sure?” I stammer.

  “This is nothing.” He laughs breezily and returns the envelope of cash to his desk. “Do with it as you will.”

  “Um...”

  This is too much to give someone out of nowhere so casually. I have no idea what this money means to Ice or how it might relate to his feelings for me, but I give up and thank him.

  Then I jump at a knock on the door frame behind me.

  “Almost ready to head out?” Night asks.

  “I guess.”

  Still holding the money, I turn to face her. She leans against the doorjamb, wearing a navy cocktail dress, dark ankle boots, sharp eyeliner, and red lipstick. The whole look is bolder and more serious than her usual aesthetic, but her smile is confident.

  “What kind of meeting is this, exactly?” Ice asks.

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, sh
ut up. I like dressing up, and I find it helps to adopt a vaguely threatening aura when dealing with young, male CEOs from kitschy start-ups.”

  “Is that so?”

  She feigns a scowl, but he laughs. A gentle hand rests on top of my head and ruffles my hair before falling away. Then he walks past me.

  “Have fun,” he says.

  Our eyes meet for an instant before he passes Night on his way out. After watching him walk down the hallway, she crosses her arms and turns to me again.

  “He didn’t do anything to upset you, right?”

  “Oh, ah—” I shake my head to clear my mind. “No. Why? Do I look upset?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. But you turn around, blank-faced with a stack of cash in your hand after talking with Ice, and I get a little worried.”

  “I did nothing!” he calls from the den.

  Of course, she doesn’t appear genuinely concerned. She’s teasing him, and his retort only prompted another smile.

  Not that she should worry.

  The money was a surprise, but I am fine.

  Still... Is it an immortal thing? A rich person thing? I don’t know how any of this works...

  I force a smile and stuff the haphazardly folded bills into my purse. “It’s all good. He gave it to me because he’s too busy to come to the mall.”

  I guess.

  “Busy. Right. Well, it’s his loss. Let’s go.”

  I avoid looking at Ice on our way through the den. He doesn’t say anything either, so we make it out of the house unscathed. I carefully close the front door behind us.

  “It’s totally weird that he handed me a ton of cash, right?”

  She laughs—sort of. “It sounds like something Ice would do. He’s convinced he knows how others think, but he doesn’t understand women at all. Time doesn’t always equal money.”

  “Should I spend it?”

  “Why not? He’s your sponsor, right? It’s silly, but you can let him treat you every once in a while.”

  I ATE LUNCH AND FINISHED my smoothie, but I’ve been sitting at this table for a while. I just...don’t know where to start. I counted the money before I ordered the Chinese food, and he gave me $370 simply because he was too busy to hang out.