Juliana Stone - Boys Like You

Instead, he looked at me as if I was a retard. “That would be stupid.”

Okay, so the girlfriend thing was a sore subject, and he totally didn’t care what I was thinking. In fact, he seemed kinda pissed. “It’s been known to happen,” I retorted.

His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to figure me out, and that’s when I realized it was time to go. I was sinking out here, and suddenly the effort to stay on solid ground was too much. I felt a little woozy and thought of my bed.

I took a step back. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Sure. Nice meeting you, princess.”

“It’s Monroe,” I shot back with the voice of a five-year-old. Hello. What was it about this boy that turned me into an immature child with no filters?

Nathan bent over to open up his paint can without saying another word, and I hurried back to the house. Not once did I look back. Not even when I reached the maze and could have snuck a peek without him seeing.

I marched straight into the house and, once inside, drank two glasses of water before the weariness of my life—my very existence—pulled me down. It took way too much energy to be anything other than apathetic.

It was a heavy feeling and one I was used to, so I did what I always did when it hit. I trudged upstairs, flopped onto my bed, and thought longingly of the little blue pills that were no longer mine to enjoy.

I closed my eyes, turned and snuggled into my pillow, and prayed for sleep.

Nathan

When my cell dinged for the fifth time in just over an hour, I swore and yanked it out of my shorts.

Rachel.

Did the girl not understand that some of us have to work? Didn’t she know that some of us have court-appointed work dates to keep our asses out of juvie? Anger rushed through me with a hot, hard thrust, and I had to take a minute. What part of that didn’t she get?

Ever since the accident, she acted as if nothing had changed. Like we were the same. Like she needed us to be the same to deal with the fact that Trevor was in the hospital and probably never coming out.

But I couldn’t do that, and whenever I tried to talk to her about it, she shut me down. She tried to change the subject or tried to have sex. She was willing to do pretty much anything not to talk about that night, but pretending that everything was going to be okay was freaking exhausting.

God, Rachel was so exhausting.

I heaved a sigh and glanced at the text message.

Find a way to come. I miss u.

Her words were like sugar, but they made me angrier than I already was, and I considered calling her right there and then. I considered having it out right there and then, but after a few moments, I turned off my cell instead and shoved it into my front pocket. This had to be done face-to-face.

I dunked the edge of my paintbrush in the can and spread another coat of fresh black paint over the iron fence section I was working on. It was close to five and I was about half done with the job. I figured if I got an early start on Monday, I’d have the entire fence finished by noon. Or I could just keep painting until dark, because it’s not like I had anything better to do.

I paused for a bit and grabbed a bottle of water out of my bag, my gaze focused on the smaller house, beyond the plantation home. I took a good long drink, not taking my eyes from the place.

Monroe.

No, more like Princess Monroe. I smiled at that. Princess Monroe with the big chip on her shoulder.

What the hell was her story?

I suppose most guys would consider her hot. Heck, I considered her hot. That little tank top she had been wearing showed some curves, and with all that dark hair and big eyes, she was definitely nice to look at. But her attitude was not something I wanted to tangle with. I was pretty sure she was high maintenance and a snob to boot. She was from New York City, after all.

Shit. I screwed the cap back onto my water bottle and tossed it back into my bag. Technically, I was still with Rachel, even if mentally I’d left weeks ago, so why was I even thinking about this girl?

“Nathan?”

Surprised, I turned as Mrs. Blackwell walked toward me. Where the hell had she come from? She was a nice lady, and I’d always liked her, especially considering she was a huge football fan. She didn’t miss a Friday night game and sure liked to ride Coach when she didn’t agree with a play.

I smiled. “Hey, Mrs. Blackwell. I’m okay to keep going, if that’s all right with you.”

She smiled back at me, and as I studied her, I realized exactly where Princess Monroe got her unusual eye color. Funny, I’d never noticed it before, but then again, it’s not like I spent much time checking out anyone over the age of twenty-five. That would be weird.

“You most certainly will not. It’s five o’clock, and you’ve been out here for hours.” She glanced at the fence and her eyes softened some more. “It looks wonderful, Nathan.”

For a moment, the two of us stared at the half-done fence that surrounded her family crypt. The iron had been forged into a pretty intricate design, and though I thought it was kinda creepy—keeping your family bones on the property—I wasn’t about to judge anyone. Around these parts, a lot of folks did the same.

“All I did was slap some paint on it, Mrs. Blackwell. It’s pretty hard to screw that up.”

“I suppose.” She smiled and turned back to me, her hands on her hips. “Your uncle called. He’s been trying to get hold of you but your cell phone must be dead. He’s still having problems at one of his work sites, so he won’t be able to give you a lift home.”

Her eyes settled on me with a clarity that made me uncomfortable. Of course she knew about that night. Of course she knew that I was suspended from driving. Everyone in the whole freaking parish knew about that night.

I thought of the fridge at home. It was full of Dad’s beer, and I knew that if I locked myself away in the dark and took the time to get good and drunk, then maybe I wouldn’t think about that night. I wouldn’t care about the dark holes in my head. The ones that I’d been desperate to fill. The ones that shouldn’t be there. The ones that would tell me why I’d been so damn stupid.

But for now, I just wanted to forget everything.

“Come have dinner with us—”

I started to protest. “No, really, Mrs. Blackwell, I’ll just head home. I don’t mind.”

“Nathan Everets.”

I stood a little straighter, because in my world, when a lady spoke at you like that, you paid attention.

“I know for a fact your parents are on holiday, and I’ll bet you haven’t had a proper meal all week.”

“Honestly, I’m cool with working some more and heading home before dark.”

I didn’t want to see Monroe, and I sure as hell preferred to be by myself.

“It’s not a bother, really, and after dinner, I’ll have my granddaughter drive you home.”

I shook my head, but she wouldn’t listen, and five minutes later, I found myself in a small bathroom just off the kitchen, scrubbing the dirt and grime from my hands and trying to clean up as best I could.

My stomach rumbled as the smell of good old Louisiana barbecue wafted in from the kitchen.

“Better than the frozen crap at home,” I muttered. My mom had made me a few casseroles, but they were still in the freezer where she’d left them. I’d been surviving on frozen pizza and burgers from The Grill whenever Link came to visit.

One last glance in the mirror told me it was as good as it was gonna get, so I tugged off my bandana and shoved it in my pocket, pulling out my cell as I did so. I turned it back on, and a quick glance told me Rachel had texted a few more times, the last one barely intelligible.

U cmign?

Guess the party was in full swing up at the cabin.

“Dinner’s ready, Nathan.”

I pushed the door open, and the first thing I saw was Monroe. She’d changed out of the tight little top she’d been wearing and the short shorts were gone too. Bummer, because even though she was a prickly little thing, the shorts were kinda hot. She placed a bowl of taters on the table and slid into her seat. She looked pale, paler than anyone I knew, but that could be a New York thing.

I thought of Rachel and her obsession with being tanned and skinny. It’s all the girl talked about when she wasn’t shoving beers down her throat and avoiding anything that wasn’t green and leafy. I tried to explain once that beer and alcohol were just as bad as eating a Big Mac, but she laughed and said, “not when you puke it all up, it isn’t.”

Pretty hard to argue with that kind of logic.

Mrs. Blackwell sat down and passed a plate of barbecued chicken and ribs over to Monroe. Without skipping a beat, she grabbed a half rack and tossed it onto her plate before passing the platter along to me, her chin thrust forward as if waiting for me to say something.

Wow. They really did make them different in New York.

Monroe

I wasn’t happy to be sharing dinner with Captain Sweaty Pants and I wasn’t sure why Gram thought it was a good idea. I guess she was just being polite, but I liked our low-key evenings. Dinner was done and the mess cleaned up by six. Gram changed into her comfortable clothes—I never seemed to get out of mine—and I read while she watched the Home and Garden channel. That was how it had been every night since I arrived.

There had been no fuss, no long involved conversations, and I hadn’t had to pretend to be normal. Or happy.

I made a mental note to email my therapist later. Apparently I wasn’t completely dead inside. There were things I cared about after all.

I liked quiet.

I liked simple.

I liked comfortable.

And the guy across from me was anything but those three things. He was one of those boys. One of the dark and complicated ones. He was a boy who could probably get any girl he wanted just by sliding a smile her way (a) because he had a nice smile, and (b) I was guessing a smile from him would make a girl think she was the only one he was looking at. A smile from him just might make her feel special.

Lucky for me, I didn’t want anything to do with boys like him—you know, the complicated ones. I wasn’t here at Gram’s to socialize. In fact, I hated socializing.

About a month ago, my friend Kate had convinced me to go to a party at Blake Mathew’s place. His parents were out of town and his older brother was home from college. It was supposed to be the summer kickoff party. I knew it was a mistake, but Kate had begged and I’d given in. At the time, I’d thought that maybe I was ready to move on. Maybe I was ready to be normal again.

I’d spent the entire night hiding in a dark corner, sipping the same warm beer. Any guy who approached was shot down because I had no idea how to act or what to say.

I studied my friends. I watched them laugh and have fun. I watched them dance and act crazy, and I watched them kiss and cuddle.

It made me furious. It made me sick…and it made me so sad. Because no matter how hard I tried to be that girl—to be the one who was light and happy, the one who my parents wanted back—I couldn’t be her. I knew she didn’t exist anymore, and I was pretty sure she was never coming back.

I frowned as I yanked on my top—the cami was long gone, but the coral blouse I’d thrown on was a little snug across the chest. I’d also axed the shorts, because, well, they were way too short, opting for a jean skirt instead. The fact that I’d finally brushed out my hair had nothing to do with Nathan Everets, even though I could tell that’s exactly what Gram was thinking.

But she’d be wrong. Way wrong.

Nathan, on the other hand, looked totally relaxed. He had tossed his bandana but covered up his muscles with a white T-shirt. It did nothing to hide the six-pack that I knew was underneath, mostly because it fit him like a second skin and was threadbare as if it had been washed many times. The Cramps spelled out across his chest in faded red letters.

Though it was rather presumptuous of me to claim the popular New York alternative band as my own, it bugged me that he even knew who they were. They were edgy and political, not hillbilly country blues.

I knew I was generalizing but couldn’t seem to help myself.

I passed Nathan the platter of ribs, after throwing enough pork onto my plate to feed a small country. I wasn’t even hungry, so what was up with that?