Sidetracked: Part 1 Read online

  “She is your sister, though, right?”

  “Yes. Her name is Night.”

  Oh, good.

  “Weird names,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood.

  A candid grimace flashes across his face. I laugh it off, but he glances away again. Talking about her makes him uncomfortable? That’s fine. Family can be complicated. I get that.

  If it’s a problem, I can change the subject—

  But he reaffirms eye contact and cracks a smile. “Speaking of weird, she has a twin named Smoke.”

  “Twins, huh?” I smile. “That’s neat. Ice, Night, and Smoke...”

  “We have eccentric parents.”

  “You’re staying with them over the summer, right?”

  “Yes.” He glances aside, crosses his arms, and leans against the side of the bench as though thinking. “I’m staying with the twins at our parents’ house, here in town. Though, we may as well be housesitting for them since they’re out of the country, on yet another humanitarian mission. For some years now, they’ve made an unfortunate habit of putting us in charge of their domestic affairs when they’re gone.”

  “Unfortunate? That sounds amazing to me.”

  “I suppose it’s not awful. Our parents are good people, working hard to make a difference where they can.” His expression softens, and he meets my gaze again. “Now that I think of it, I should take you by the house sometime. I could give you a tour and introduce the twins properly.”

  “A tour of your house?” My cheeks grow warm, but I want to meet them. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  He flashes a dazzling smile. “Feel free to take me up on that offer any time.”

  THE MOMENT ICE TOLD me about his family, I was dying to visit the house and learn more. I didn’t even wait until he dropped me off at home to make plans—we discussed it on the walk back to his car.

  The twins are two years younger than Ice, and their parents are passionate philanthropists and CEOs of a large tech corporation. They’re influential and dedicated to helping others and improving the lives of disadvantaged people around the world. And, according to Ice, the entire family, himself excluded, is rather atypical and nonconformist.

  How will the Monroe family home reflect that lifestyle?

  I spent the last day and a half wondering, so I’m both excited and a little nervous to find out.

  As I sit in Ice’s car on the drive through town, I imagine a huge, modern house on a hill overlooking the city with a glass wall facing a roundabout driveway and an in-ground swimming pool or tennis court or some other extravagant fixture in the backyard. The type of house a movie star might live in.

  This over-the-top image sticks in my brain until the car comes to a stop in front of a wrought-iron gate blocking the road ahead. There’s a manned guardhouse off to the left and decorative wood signage above.

  Welcome to Westbrooke

  Access Limited to Residents and Invited Guests

  Ice inputs a string of numbers onto an electronic keypad, the gate slides open, and we continue into an upper-class suburban neighborhood full of large, gorgeous homes and perfectly green, manicured lawns. My idealized vision of a solo mansion on a hill is shattered, but a private gated community makes sense.

  “It’s this one,” he says.

  My focus follows his pointed finger through the windshield to a white and blue single-story house with a red Japanese maple and an oblong patch of grass bordered by river rocks in the front yard. It’s by no means the largest or most grandiose home in the neighborhood, but it’s lovely all the same.

  As though what he already told me wasn’t enough, finding out his family lives in this house in this community makes Ice’s fifty-dollar bill, Stanford education, and fancy Porsche add up.

  The Monroes are loaded. A real American Dream family.

  “Well, this is home,” he says as the car pulls into the house’s attached two-car garage.

  “It’s amazing.”

  His lip quirks as our eyes meet. “This is merely the garage.”

  I laugh, but if he thinks I’ll be impressed, he’s probably right.

  Stepping out of the car, I look around. The garage is bright and surprisingly clean, with a row of square windows along the back wall, and a standing freezer, workbench, and two metal cabinets off to one side.

  I make my way around the car to meet up with Ice, who flashes a smile before leading me to the door.

  When he opens it, I peek inside.

  The hallway’s sage green walls and short, cream carpet are an interesting contrast to the house’s blue-accented exterior. A few framed portraits dot the walls, and a clean, fruity scent hangs in the cool air.

  Ice walks in ahead of me. I follow, and the tour begins.

  He waves toward the first door on my left—a restroom with a utility room across from it. Then he offers a knowing look as we pass the next door. An ovular sign hangs on it, the swirly letters that spell NIGHT painstakingly painted to resemble a star-speckled galaxy. It’s simultaneously cute and tacky, and I can only assume it was made many years ago.

  “Night’s bedroom, of course,” he says.

  Ice’s room is on the right, after which the hallway opens into a larger space, brightly lit but separate from the rest of the house. The room features a flat-screen TV on a short, glass TV stand in front of two loveseats. Muffled rock music filters in through a door beside a row of short bookcases, and a wide mirror hangs on the same wall between the small couches.

  Ice refers to this room as the den.

  To my right, a sliding glass door leads out onto a wooden patio and the backyard. More short, green grass and two garden beds full of greenery. To my left, a wide arch cut into the wall opens the room up to the main living space.

  We leave the den and enter the great room. The open floor plan is split between a formal living room, dining area, and kitchen. One half has the same cream carpet as the hallway and den, while the other half has glossy hardwood flooring. The space is meticulously clean and flooded with natural light as the large windows have their heavy curtains drawn open.

  In the carpeted half of the room, two matching armchairs and a large, leather couch are situated around a glass coffee table. Night sits at one end of the couch, holding a worn paperback novel. She’s been staring, more-or-less expressionlessly, in my direction since Ice and I first entered the room.

  I wave. She offers a hesitant smile and returns her attention to the book. Ice ignores her, gestures to a door behind the couch, and carries on with the tour as though she doesn’t exist.

  “That door leads to the master suite...”

  Short, white bookcases border a modern, gas fireplace and line the wall separating the great room and den. No TV here. A large mirror hangs above the hearth, and open shelving around the room is decorated with framed photographs and multi-cultural trinkets—souvenirs I assume they collected from around the world. A lit wax warmer rests on one of the shelves, surely the source of the fruity smell that fills the house.

  More framed photos and several large pieces of bright, abstract artwork dot the walls between the shelves. The family portraits appear professional and formal for the most part, but they lend the room a personal, homey touch.

  Oh, wow!

  How did I miss the front door when I came in? It’s navy blue, inlaid with intricate stained-glass panels, and set between two tall, thin windows of a similar design. The colorful, abstract glasswork looks custom. Gorgeous.

  I suddenly feel lame for renting a cookie-cutter cottage. It’s sad, considering I used to think living in a cottage cluster was the coolest thing even if the small homes look like basic, modern townhouses.

  Ice talks about the other half of the room for a while. The breakfast nook with cushioned booth seats in front of a large bay window. A glass dining table with tall, dark chairs. The kitchen looks like it was ripped straight out of a home decor magazine, complete with marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, a skylight in the center of the ceili
ng, and pans hanging beneath the wall cabinets.

  Ice concludes his tour here. He touches me, his hand resting on my arm, and smiles with bright eyes.

  I’m still convinced he’s showing off just to impress me—for all I know, the house isn’t always this put together—but it worked. I have never been inside such a nice house. I’ve only seen them on TV and in photos.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “It’s amazing,” I say—for the second time.

  He laughs. “We try.”

  I laugh too, but I shy away from his warm touch. He drops his hand and glances aside, his expression mellow.

  “Well,” I say meekly, “everything makes a lot of sense now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh. I just didn’t realize you were so...affluent.”

  I worried he might take offense to being called rich. Affluent was the softest alternative I could come up with, but it still sounds a little harsh. There’s nothing wrong with having money, but...

  “Affluent?” He laughs easily. “I suppose we are reasonably well off.”

  Reasonably? You’re kidding, right?

  I tuck a few strands of stray hair behind my ear and muster up a smile. “Sorry if that was weird.”

  He shrugs. “It’s alright. I find it charming.”

  Charming can’t possibly be the best compliment I’ve received, but my fluttering heart disagrees. As I glance away, I catch Night rolling her eyes—though, I may have imagined it.

  Either way, Ice turns his attention on her. He clears his throat, but she ignores him and continues reading.

  “It’s come to my attention that you’ve already met,” he says. “Even so—Jayde, this is my younger sister, Night.”

  She looks up from her book and slowly, painfully slowly, sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  Ice’s amiable expression grows forced. “Night, this is Jayde.”

  I sense some...unpleasant familial tension brewing. Not that they’ve been trying to hide it. I’m unfortunately well-acquainted with this atmosphere, though, so I pretend I don’t notice anything amiss, slap a smile on my face, and wave again.

  “It’s nice to meet you. Officially. I’m sorry I was so rude the other day.”

  “Hello,” she says. “Again.”

  Worried, I turn to Ice.

  He glances up from the smartwatch peeking out from beneath his sleeve to offer me an unexpectedly terse smile. “I have a feeling you two will get along.”

  Really? Why?

  I say nothing. Night doesn’t comment either. Instead, she meets my gaze and flashes a more genuine smile as she stands from the couch.

  “I’ll fetch Smoke,” she says. “I’m sure you want to introduce him as well.”

  Ice smothers a grimace, but he nods, and Night leaves the great room. She knocks on a door in the den, and the muffled music stops. A moment of dead, awkward silence later, she returns with another person in tow—a thin, dark-haired young man.

  Smoke Monroe.

  While Night keeps her shoulder-length hair neat and polished, her brother’s is choppy and left more-or-less unstyled past the long, side-swept bangs that partially obscure his right eye. His clothing is dark and loose, his eyeliner is heavy, and he has a lip piercing.

  He looks like the type of person I would have been afraid of in middle school, but there’s something cool about it as an adult.

  Ice sighs, looking more disinterested than Smoke does.

  “I’ll leave you three to chat. I left my phone in the garage.”

  The moment he’s out of sight, having retreated down the hallway, Night pats her twin on the back.

  “Jayde, this is my brother, Smoke.”

  His lips form a thin smile as he looks to me, and our eyes meet. He says, “Hey,” and his casual voice clashes with his appearance in a way I didn’t expect.

  I return the greeting. Then feel my own smile falter.

  What is it...?

  Night and Smoke are twins, but their resemblance is almost uncanny. Not only are they similar in height and build, but they share near-identical facial features. Their eyes are the exact same shape. The same vibrant blue color.

  They exchange a glance, smile at each other, and look to me at the same time with eerily similar expressions.

  “This might sound strange,” Night says, “but we’re actually identical twins.”

  She laughs at whatever stupid face I pulled.

  “Smoke is transgender,” she explains. “He was assigned female at birth—like me, since we’re twins—but we both knew from a young age that he wasn’t a girl. Without going into too much detail, he came out in middle school and has presented as male ever since.”

  I glance between the two to compare and contrast their features again. Smoke is slightly taller than his sister, and his face and build are more masculine. And, of course, his voice is deeper. Still, I never would have guessed if Night hadn’t told me. He looks like any other guy, so I would have chalked it up to coincidence since they are twins.

  If anything, he’s the perfect male version of her.

  He watches me with some apprehension, though. And Night’s smile, while still kind, is expectant and careful.

  I wonder... How many times has he gone through this type of introduction? I’ve never met a transgender person before—as far as I know—so I don’t want to sound rude by mistake.

  “That’s kind of cool,” I say finally.

  “I think so too,” Night agrees, appearing satisfied with my response. “We’re identical twins, but Smoke is the opposite gender. I doubt many get to say that.”

  He shrugs impassively when she grins at him, but he does seem more comfortable now that it’s out of the way.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” I say.

  “Same.” Glancing from his sister to me, he cracks a lazy half-smile. “So, I hear you’re hanging around Ice.”

  I scratch my cheek. “Yeah. We’ve gone out a few times.”

  “Isn’t that something?”

  Night swipes him on the arm. A playful gesture. She laughs easily, but her smile appears the tiniest bit strained, and he raises his hands in feigned submission before rolling his eyes.

  “Whatever,” he relents. “I get it. You seem alright, anyway.”

  Um... Thanks?

  Night tells me a bit more about him—his penchant for video gaming and art. The indie music he listens to. Then he gets a notification on his phone, frowns, and excuses himself.

  A door closes in the den. The muffled music resumes playing. Then Ice dips out of the hallway and reenters the great room.

  Convenient timing, I suppose.

  “He’s not very social,” Night says under her breath.

  Do I even want to know?

  I don’t ask.

  Ice stops by my side, his attention locked on his sister rather than on me. With his thumbs tucked in his jean pockets, he looks mildly bored.

  She stares back at him, though, smiling again. “I’m glad you decided to introduce your new friend properly.”

  Friend, huh?

  “You may see her around more often,” he replies.

  Night’s gaze lands on me, her eyes cool, and her expression soft and pleasant. Then she smiles more broadly at Ice.

  “I think you’re right,” she says. “I think we will get along. Can she stay for dinner?”

  nine

  ICE AND I SIT AT THE dining table, and I chat with Night while she cooks. We talk about my day. About the horror movie I watched with Ice yesterday. About the weather. A lot of small talk. This and that. But she’s sociable and comes up with a new topic every time I run out of words.

  All the while, Smoke is hiding out in his bedroom, his muffled music faintly audible despite the distance, my conversation, and the skillet sizzling on the stove. When I ask, they confirm this sort of thing is normal for him. He’s busy or wary of new people or...something—they don’t say—but it has nothing to do wit
h me. He’ll come out when dinner is done.

  “He only leaves his room to eat,” Ice says, the sarcasm so thin I nearly miss it.

  Night huffs, wiping a hand on her apron. “You’re one to talk.”

  “Ha.” He looks to me, his smile dry. “You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

  “It’s not like I had plans.”

  I hold my glass of water with both hands. I wasn’t expecting to stay, and I wasn’t expecting this atmosphere. It’s not tense, exactly, but the way Ice and Night interact is...peculiar. Her easy banter. His brisk responses. The way he glances at me to gauge my reaction after every remark either one makes.

  Kind of weird.

  At the same time, I’m strangely comfortable here. Even with their parents gone, it feels the way a real home should—like I want to be here, sitting at this dining table, more than I want to be at home.

  “You go to RCC?” Night asks. When I nod, she returns to chopping vegetables. “Me too. I feel like I’ve seen you around.”

  “Oh? Did we have a class together?”

  I feel like I would remember if we sat in the same room on a regular basis for weeks. She is beautiful, and both her appearance and style are quite striking, but—

  She shakes her head. “No. Just around campus, you know?”

  “Have you really?” Ice asks, propping his chin in his hands.

  “Just around campus,” she says again. “I take most of my classes online, so I don’t spend much time there.”

  Maybe that’s why she knew my last name? Maybe she heard it from another student? One of Rose’s friends? Or Rose herself? Does she know Rose? I could ask, but I’d hate to make things awkward. Or more awkward than they already are.

  “What’s your major?” I ask instead.

  “Sustainability Science and Business Administration.”

  “You’re double-majoring too?”

  They’re both unbelievable.

  “Sort of,” she says slowly, “but I’m in a transfer program, and I’m pacing myself. It’s easier to take care of things at home if we’re less busy. I never know when we’ll get called up to Fresno for one reason or another. I’m not sure what Ice has told you, but our parents’ company, MonroeWorks Global, is based there—in Fresno. The assistants can handle themselves more often than not, but you never know, so it’s best to keep our schedules open while our parents are overseas.” She trails off and laughs. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining.”