Sidetracked: Part 1 Read online

  “It’s not that,” I insist. “You just seem very comfortable—like all the time.”

  “I may not be timid, but I am undoubtedly an introvert,” he says with a laugh.

  I shake my head and wave my hands in front of my chest. “Oh, no, it’s not that I’m timid—”

  “No?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I make you nervous, then?”

  He sees right through me.

  I glance away, my smile growing uneasy. “No offense, but you are kind of intimidating.”

  “No offense taken.”

  I’m not the best at casual conversation, but I’ve never acted as desperately awkward as I have in the short time since I met Ice. Functioning like a normal human being has always been easy enough. The social anxiety was manageable—negligible even.

  But, now...

  I doubt I’ve ever felt so utterly inadequate compared to another person in my life. I wish I were prettier. Less boring. More impressive.

  My thigh still itches. I ignore it and pick at the grass beside my leg, pulling up blades and dropping them again.

  “Do you enjoy spending time with me?” he asks.

  I should ask you that question. Not the other way around.

  “This is better than what I could be doing,” I say.

  He laughs again. “That’s good to know.”

  I do enjoy talking to him. He’s well-spoken and engaging, but it doesn’t matter exactly what he says. His voice has an alluring quality. It’s smooth and confident—like auditory honey.

  Not to mention he’s total eye candy.

  It’s too bad he has to leave at the end of the summer.

  I watch him in my peripheral vision, careful to avoid staring.

  Once again, he gazes into the tree canopy. With intense eyes and a soft frown, he looks peaceful and introspective. Splotches of shade dance over his face as the leaves shift in the breeze, and his eyes close like he’s savoring the fresh air.

  Ice Monroe is a truly beautiful person.

  “Do you ever consider the fragility of this world?” he asks.

  Consider...the fragility of this world?

  The question came out of nowhere. I haven’t the slightest idea what he means. I’m sure it’s something deep and philosophical—after all, he is a psychology major—but I can’t seem to conjure an adequately intelligent response.

  “Not really,” I admit.

  He looks to me and flashes a smile. “Try it sometime.”

  “I will...consider it.”

  Whatever that means!

  He laughs. Then he stands in one fluid, graceful motion. After he smooths out his shirt, he extends a hand to help me up. I meet his eyes, take in his cool expression, and hesitate.

  Is hanging out with him a good idea? If our relationship turns into anything more than a series of fun, meaningless dates, won’t it hurt when he leaves?

  His smile softens.

  Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

  His grip is warm and strong. The muscles work in his arm as he pulls me to my feet, but it didn’t seem to take any real effort on his part. Whoa. Awareness of his presence overwhelms me—the faint scent of cinnamon.

  We’re too close.

  My gaze flicks from his chest to his face. Our eyes meet, and mild confusion creeps into his, and my breath catches.

  Oh. I still have ahold of his hand.

  Breaking eye contact, I pull away and let out a weak laugh.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but pauses as something distracts him. His expression shifts. Smile faltering. Eyes narrowing.

  He glances over his shoulder.

  I follow his gaze and spot someone in the distance—a young woman. She stands motionless on the raised curb, as her white sundress sways in the gentle breeze. Pale in the sunlight, with feathery, dark hair, she reminds me of a ghost from so far away.

  My skin prickles. How long has she been there?

  Ice catches my attention to offer a terse smile. “Sorry, but I’m afraid I have to cut this outing short.”

  “O–okay?”

  What else can I say?

  I glance from his face to the girl near the parking lot and back again. He watches her with neutral eyes and a hint of tension in his jaw. Whoever she is, he is not pleased to see her.

  “Call me soon,” he says, turning away. “I hope you will.”

  I do nothing to stop him as he walks through the grass toward the girl. As he approaches her, she steps off the curb and plants her hands on her hips.

  My chest tightens. I grasp the shoulder strap of my purse, and I turn around—a complete one-eighty. I do not want to watch him talk to her. Or see him leave with her.

  I mess with my hair, passing long strands through my hands. My headband gets in the way, so I stash it in my purse.

  Without another glance in the direction of the parking lot, I ignore the heat and wander out onto the busy playground. A single swing is free. I claim it and watch the children. There are a dozen or so running around and climbing the play equipment.

  I lose track of time, swinging and watching the kids play, but I eventually dig my heels into the wood chips beneath my feet and bring my slow swing to a stop.

  I hoped getting away would distract me, but it didn’t. Even if it’s none of my business, it’s annoying. He left in the middle of our date. He apologized, I guess, but he offered no real explanation, and he abandoned me at the park without a ride home.

  Well, abandoned is a little dramatic. I’m not stranded or anything. I can take the bus home no problem. But what if I hadn’t brought my purse or left it in his car or something?

  Ugh...

  He told me to call him later, though, so it’s probably nothing.

  Probably.

  Even if it is nothing—even if I tell myself it’s not a big deal—nothing changes. The pit in my stomach doesn’t go away. I’m no less confused and no less upset.

  Who was she?

  seven

  YESTERDAY SUCKED.

  I want to text Ice—to demand an explanation—but what would I say? I don’t want to come across as paranoid. Or annoying. Or...clingy. It’s presumptuous to let it bother me at all, isn’t it? We went on two casual dates, but we’re not dating. Nothing is official, let alone exclusive.

  I have no right to be jealous.

  Maybe taking a walk will clear my head.

  This early in the day during the middle of the week, I don’t expect to see many people out on the Windsor Park trails. I come across a woman with a cute dog, an older man speed-walking by himself, and a couple feeding the ducks at the pond.

  I watch the birds for a while, once again wishing I’d brought bread with me. I feel better, though, so I leave the way I came. Not five minutes later, someone rounds a corner on the trail ahead.

  Her dark hair is pulled back in a stubby ponytail, and she wears coordinated, name-brand activewear instead of a white dress, but it’s definitely the same girl—or woman, rather—that Ice ran off with at Riverside yesterday.

  And she’s heading my way.

  While I am surprised to see her, I expect her to not recognize me and run past without paying me any attention.

  Instead, her leisurely jog slows to a walk as we near each other. She drapes the cord of her earbuds around her neck, opens her eyes, and makes deliberate eye contact with me.

  Entirely bothered, I stop walking.

  Her large almond eyes are the same shade as Ice’s, the bright, saturated blue a stark contrast to her black hair and medium-toned skin. She’s dainty and gorgeous and didn’t break a sweat jogging in the morning’s rising heat.

  She offers me a small smile. “Good morning.”

  Her voice is soft and disarming. It suits her appearance, and she sounds kind. Even so, I find myself profoundly threatened. My guard shoots up, my attention locked on her doll-like face.

  “Good morning?” I echo.

  “I know you don’t know me, but I need to ask.” She glances away, but her e
yes quickly dart back to meet mine. “What did Ice want with you yesterday?”

  Want with me? Uhh—

  Her expression remains level. My skin prickles.

  We ran into each other by chance, or so I want to believe, but she doesn’t appear the least bit surprised. She even stopped to talk, and for what? Just to ask a weird question about Ice?

  I should ignore her and go home, but I’m intrigued. And very concerned.

  “We were just hanging out—and talking.”

  She nods. “What were you talking about?”

  “What does it matter?” I ask. “Who are you, anyway?”

  Ugh... Is it awful to be so defensive?

  Ice ditched me at the park to talk to her, and I assume they left together—because I sure didn’t see him again. Yet she appeared out of nowhere to question me like I’m in the wrong?

  She sighs and raises a hand to her forehead. “You can relax. Ice is family. I’m his sister.”

  Oh. I was expecting something else completely, but— They’re siblings? Oh, great. She’s probably going to tell him how rude I was. I would if I were her.

  God, I’m so stupid.

  “Sorry,” I stammer, forcing a laugh and nervous smile. “But, um, we weren’t talking about anything in particular yesterday, y’know? It was small talk, mostly.”

  She glances away. “He’s been kind to you, right? He hasn’t said anything weird, has he?”

  “Weird?”

  “Such as...” As she trails off, she purses her lips.

  The whole consider the fragility of the world bit caught me off guard, but he hasn’t said any other strange things. Though, we’ve only hung out twice, and most of our conversations have consisted of little more than basic icebreakers. Just the kind of things you talk about with someone you don’t know very well. Nothing deep or notably unusual—at least nothing I can put my finger on.

  “Never mind,” she says, looking rather embarrassed.

  “It’s fine. I mean...” I laugh again despite myself. “It is kind of weird that he wants to spend time with me at all, isn’t it?”

  She smiles. “I see. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

  “And I’m sorry for being so rude.”

  I seriously wish I could have a do-over of the last few minutes.

  “No harm done,” she says. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

  Is that all?

  “Yeah,” I agree slowly. “I’m heading home now, anyway.”

  She pops her earbuds back in and continues onward, but she meets my gaze as she passes me on the trail. Her expression is mild and curious.

  “It’s Jayde Palmer, right?”

  A cool shiver runs down my spine.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” she says.

  My eyes track her as she walks by, but I can’t bring myself to follow, stop her, or say anything as her pace increases to a slow jog. She disappears into the forest while I’m frozen in place in the middle of the empty trail.

  How does she know my last name?

  I’VE WORRIED FOR HOURS, debating whether I should tell Ice I ran into his sister—assuming she is who she said she is—or pretend it never happened. He asked me to call, and I want to, but I have no idea how to approach the subject.

  What would I say?

  Hey, Ice! I randomly met your sister in the woods behind my house, and she somehow knew my last name. I haven’t even told you my last name yet. Isn’t that totally weird?

  Yeah... No.

  I cave and send a text instead.

  Hey! I ran into your sister... The girl

  from the park yesterday? Anyway,

  she asked about you, so I thought

  you should know.

  The “read” indicator appears beneath my message, and he starts typing. I bite my lip, more nervous than I should be as I watch the three dots on the screen.

  Interesting.

  Is that it?

  No. He’s still typing.

  I’m in the mood for a movie.

  Care to join me?

  Wow. Way to change the subject...

  I type out a response, resolved to accept his invitation despite its evasive nature, but he sends a third text before I finish.

  Call me. Now, please.

  Weird, but alright...

  He answers on the first ring. “So, you met my sister?”

  Is he upset? I honestly can’t tell.

  “I guess so,” I reply, more confused than I was this morning. “We only spoke for a minute, but— Is she really your sister?”

  “I’d imagine so, if she said she is. Now then, about the movie; will you come?”

  Right... I’d rather get the weirdness involving his sister over with, but he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it right now. That’s fine. It’s whatever. I’m sure he’ll tell me what her problem is when he’s ready.

  “What movie?” I ask, struggling to mask my rising frustration. “When?”

  “A surprise. Tomorrow afternoon. If you’re free, I can pick you up at two-thirty.”

  I sigh. “Sure. I’m free, as usual.”

  “Don’t worry,” he says with a sigh of his own. “We can discuss my sister after the movie.”

  When you put it that way, it sounds like I don’t have a choice.

  “I’ll see you then,” I agree.

  “I look forward to it, Jayde.”

  The call ends rather abruptly, and I stare at my phone until the screen fades to black. I am definitely interested in going on another date with Ice, but would it kill him to answer a simple question when it’s asked?

  eight

  THE MOVIE WAS OKAY, and Ice kept his word. He didn’t mention his sister a single time, either before or during the film.

  Even as I follow him outside, he’s relatively quiet. We leave his car in the parking lot and walk down a random street a couple blocks from the theater. The hot air and blue sky do little to offset a sense of nagging anxiety from creeping in as we walk.

  Thanks, stupid horror movie!

  “So... Where are we going exactly?”

  “There’s a park about a quarter mile down this road,” he says. “It’s next to the river.”

  I never knew there was a park around here—down a narrow, unpaved road behind the movie theater—but okay. I let it go and continue walking at his side, periodically glancing at the aging houses and gnarled trees on our right.

  Hoping to brush off the creepy vibe, I spark a safe, casual conversation. We talk about nothing for a few minutes. Then I ask if he liked the movie.

  “I’m the one who invited you out,” he says. “I should ask you.”

  Unsure how to respond, I play dumb and scratch my cheek.

  His smile turns wry. “Well, did you like the movie?”

  “It was okay,” I say slowly.

  The movie was more psychological and confusing than scary. It was fine—it wasn’t awful or gory or anything—but I don’t know how to explain how I feel about it. Horror movies aren’t my thing in the first place. I only watch them with Rose when neither of us can sleep, and we’re both bored out of our minds.

  “Did you like it, though?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, but he stops walking to watch me. I have no idea what he’s thinking, let alone what he might be searching for in my expression, but he looks vaguely amused.

  By my question? Or what?

  I stop and stare back at him.

  “No,” he says, cracking a smile.

  He tucks his thumbs in his belt loops and continues down the road. My heart skips a beat, and I run the last couple steps to catch up with him.

  “No?” I ask.

  “I hated it,” he says, but he laughs easily. “It was a god-awful movie—tacky and cliché, with weak characters and even weaker writing. I absolutely hated it. All one hundred and seven minutes of it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. It was terrible. That’s why I wanted to see it.”

  I feel myself frown.
“You wanted to watch a movie you knew you would hate? That doesn’t make sense, you know?”

  “Of course, I know.”

  Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of watching a movie in theater if you know you’re going to hate it? Not to mention it’s a waste of ten dollars.

  Though, I’m sure that’s not a problem for him.

  He flashes a surprisingly hesitant half-smile. “Despite disliking the film, the experience was enjoyable.”

  Yeah. This is getting strange.

  I glance away.

  I think he did too.

  The park Ice mentioned is so small and unassuming, I would have walked past it had he not pointed it out. It’s more like a neatly mowed patch of grass on the riverbank than an actual park. There isn’t even a picnic table—only an old, wrought-iron bench in the shade of a willow tree—but it’s cute.

  I sit at one end of the bench while Ice remains standing, and I look out over the water to distract myself from the fleeting disappointment. This section of river is wide and deep. The water is a dark teal, the surface still like glass, and trees line the steep bank on the far side.

  This is a beautiful spot, but why take me here when we could have gone literally anywhere else after the movie? The setup was creepy and weird. I’d rather hang out somewhere like Riverside or just sit in his air-conditioned car.

  “I assume you want to talk about yesterday,” he says.

  To be honest, I forgot.

  But I nod. “There are some nature trails behind my house—you know, all those trees? Well, it’s actually a park. Windsor Park? Anyway, I ran into her on my way home from a walk, and she stopped to...chat?”

  “Behind your house?” he asks with a sigh. “Well, let’s hear it. What did she have to say?”

  “Not much,” I admit. A fish breaks the river’s surface to catch a bug, sending a series of ripples across the water. “But she knew my last name somehow.”

  “Imagine that.”

  His tone bothers me.

  When I look up, he’s staring out over the water. His lips form a soft frown, but I still can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling. He’s always been fairly difficult to read—I noticed it the first time we met—but it’s just now becoming a real source of frustration.