Escaping Perfect (10 page)

I grabbed the paper, tore off the front page, and balled it up as I tromped over to my bedroom. Tears shaking from my eyes, I hastily shredded the picture into a million tiny, sweat-soaked pieces and let them rain all over my bedroom floor. Little bits of me fluttered everywhere: the corner of my smile, a bit of a nostril, a slice of eye white staring up at me, shattered.

When I was done, I thought I'd feel better, but I didn't. My mouth was dry, my head throbbed, and my heart bounced around like a jackrabbit, trying to break my ribs. I curled up in a ball on my bed, drawing the covers around me, but no matter what I did, I couldn't make myself feel safe.

My friends were asking questions, a dark car was stalking me, and before long the headline would read
MONTGOMERY
HEIR FOUND!
And then there was Jasper and Charlene.

How could he touch her like that, after the way we'd talked? After the way he'd touched me?

Somehow that mental picture was worse than everything else combined.

Chapter Ten

Through a thick haze of sleep
I became dimly aware of an insistent pounding. I pried my eyes open and was instantly blinded by sunlight. When I lifted my head, pain radiated out from the center of my brain into every inch of my skull. My clothes and sheets were soaked with sweat, which was unsurprising since it was about ten thousand degrees inside my room. I had passed out without turning on the ceiling fan or opening any windows, and the sun was high in the sky. What time was it, anyway? Where the hell was Britta?

The pounding started again, and suddenly my heart caught up with the rest of me and started freaking out. I leaped to the window and looked down at the street, expecting to see the mysterious Town Car parked in front of my
building, but it was nowhere in sight. I did, however, see Jasper's Jeep.

“Lia! Are you alive in there?”

Jasper. Damn. I turned around and ran for my closet, ripping out a T-shirt at random, along with a pair of jeans.

“Just a second!” I shouted as I tripped blearily toward the bathroom, shoving my glasses on, my head throbbing with every step. The clock on the microwave read 1:15.

One look at myself in the mirror told me in no uncertain terms that I should not open the door. My skin was gray, my eyes were shot through with red, and my entire body was covered with an unattractive sheen of perspiration. I peeled my dress off, nose scrunching at the splatter of vomit on the skirt and beer stains on the chest, and tossed it in the corner. Trying to do the best I could do in the least possible time, I splashed water on my face, then soaked one of Britta's clean washcloths and ran it down my arms and across my torso.

Sweet relief.

“Lia! Come on! Open the door!”

Cursing under my breath, I yanked on the T-shirt—black with a skull-and-bones motif—and slid into the baggy jeans. Then I slapped my face a few times and headed for the front door.

When I opened it, Jasper barreled in, guitar case in one
hand, sheet music in the other, and didn't even look at me. He went right to the coffee table, plopped the case down, and opened it.

“You have to help me.”

“I'm sorry?”

My head was slowly cracking open. Trying to look nonchalant, I moved to the coffeemaker and dumped stale coffee into a mug, then threw it into the microwave. Once that was churning, I started to search the cabinets for Tylenol, Motrin, Aleve, anything.

“I e-mailed the showcase people and they accepted my application. The audition is tomorrow, and I need your opinion on some songs.”

My brow knit as the microwave beeped, sending a dart of pain through my eyeballs. Weird. “Wait. How did all of this happen already?”

He stood up straight, slinging his guitar strap around his back. “It's after one. I replied to the e-mail late last night and they called about an hour ago.” His eyes flickered as he seemed to see me for the first time. “Did you just wake up? What kind of mischief did you get up to last night?”

My heart sank. All that time at Ruckus and he hadn't even noticed that I was there? Not once? Was Charlene that engrossing?

“Pretty much the same mischief as you,” I said.
Except without the dry-humping on the dance floor,
I added silently. “I was at Ruckus too.”

“Oh.” At least he had the decency to look sheepish. “You saw me there?”

“Yep.” I took the coffee out of the microwave and slammed the door, which brought forth a new wave of pain. “Which begs the question: Why are you looking for my opinion and not the opinion of the girl who has an intimate relationship with your . . . privates?” I said, my gaze flicking toward his belt buckle.

Adorably, Jasper looked down for a second, as if he didn't know what I was talking about. When he looked up again, his face was a blank. “Because you, darlin', are the one who got me into this mess,” he said. Then he smiled a wolfish smile. “Are you jealous?”

The headache focused itself on my forehead, grinding away with no mercy. Was it so obvious I was jealous? The idea that he thought I was made the pain even worse. I closed my eyes, breathed in, breathed out.

“How did you even get in here?” I snapped.

He looked confused. “You let me in.”

“Noooo, into the building. There
is
a lock on the entry door, right?”

He tugged a key out of his pocket and held it up, where it glinted in the sunlight. “I have a key.” He shuffled from foot to foot. Clearly, my annoyance was starting to make him uncomfortable. “Do you . . . uh, want me to go?”

The jury was still out on that one, so I ignored the question and asked the one that was on the tip of my own tongue.

“Why do you have a key?”

Jasper blushed. “I may have kind of used to date that Jen girl. You know, the one who lived here before you?”

I swallowed hard. “And by date you mean . . .”

His blush deepened. Ugh. I was so gonna hurl.

“Could you excuse me for just a second?” I said through my teeth.

Before Jasper could answer, I walked to the bathroom, turned on the water in the sink full blast, and screamed as loud as I could into a towel. It didn't help my headache, but it got out a little bit of my embarrassment, frustration, and residual anger. And yes, jealousy. For the first time I recognized the fact that the mirror was also a medicine cabinet. I popped it open and, eureka, painkillers! I downed a few pills, drank water from my palm, and straightened my posture.

“You are Cecilia Montgomery,” I whispered to myself. “Poise is in your nature.”

I'd never been one for embracing my family legacy, but
this was an emergency situation. Lifting my chin, I walked out into the living room and sat on the couch next to the spot where Jasper had settled himself and his guitar. My posture was straight, my head centered, every movement elegant. I was my mother sitting on Diane Sawyer's couch. Just without the severe fake smile. Or the evil, black heart.

“Are you okay?” Jasper asked, almost timidly.

“I'm fine. What you do, or have done, in your spare time is none of my business.”

I'm not sure either one of us believed that I truly meant that, but it felt good to say it.

“Okay.” I peeled a bit of a magazine page off the sole of my foot, crushed it between my thumb and forefinger, and flicked it across the room. “Let's hear what you've got.”

*  *  *

I sat in a state of breathlessness as the final chords of Jasper's ballad faded, reverberating inside my chest. Jasper had finished the song looking down at the strings and the pick in his hand, and for this I was overwhelmingly grateful. If he'd seen the look on my face right about then, I would have been in serious trouble.

Note to self: When trying not to fall for a player, it's not a good idea to let him sing you love songs.

“Well?” he asked finally.

I cleared my throat, staring at his hands. I couldn't seem to stop staring at his hands. When I wasn't staring at his eyes. “That's the one.”

“Really?” he asked excitedly. “I think so too. But why do
you
think so?”

“Why?” I was starting to feel like it was oral-finals day back at the Worthington School. Nothing made my nerves jump and my brain freeze up like oral-finals day. “Because . . . um, I like it?”

Jasper laughed, crooking his arms to rest them on top of his guitar. “No, I mean,
why
do you like it?”

I scratched my forehead and squeezed my eyes closed, trying to think and giving myself a break from all the staring. “Because it's romantic and heartfelt and all that, but then it picks up tempo in the bridge . . . so you get to see that you can get into a fast song, but it also shows your . . . soulful side?”

I bit my lip. Jasper smiled.

“Wow. Lia Washington thinks I have a soulful side.”

“I'm sorry. I don't really know much about writing love songs. I mostly studied classical. You really should have gone to someone else.”

I started to get up from the couch, embarrassed, but Jasper's hand came down over mine atop the back cushion. I froze, my heart all caught up in his touch.

“No, really,” he said. “This was great. You were perfect.”

I blinked. “
I
was perfect?”

“Well, no. Yeah. I mean . . . what you said was perfect,” he told me, a blush creeping up his chiseled cheekbones. He cleared his throat and looked me in the eye. “Point is, I'm glad I came over here.”

My entire body throbbed with anticipation. Suddenly all I was thinking about was how to get his guitar out of the way so we could kiss.

“I'm glad you came over here too.”

I heard the rattle of keys at the door, and suddenly Britta shoved into the room, carrying three heavy-looking boxes and followed by Fiona and Duncan. The twins were laughing about something, until they saw me and Jasper. Then the laughter died.

Suddenly I felt like I'd just been caught naked under the covers with the wrong boy. I quickly slipped my hand out from underneath Jasper's.

“What's this about?” Britta asked, dropping the boxes on the floor next to the kitchen island.

“Shouldn't you be getting ready for your shift?” Fiona asked. She tucked her hands under her arms, looking almost petulant.

“Crap. What time is it?” I stood up and my head went
weightless. When I reached back for the arm of the couch to steady myself, Jasper jumped up to catch me by the elbow. Every single person in the room focused on his hand.

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked me.

My pulse fluttered weakly. “No, actually. I didn't think to.”

Britta was already taking a bowl down from the cabinet for herself. “Want some cereal?”

“Sure.”

She removed another bowl, and I walked slowly past Fiona and Duncan to the kitchen. Why were they looking at me like I'd just offended them? Yes, Duncan and I had flirted a little the other night, but it wasn't like we were together. And it also wasn't like Jasper and I had actually been doing anything. Had we?

“Thanks for last night, Fiona,” I said tentatively, trying to break the ice. “I don't think I would have found the bathroom in time if it wasn't for you.”

“No problem,” she said with a tight smile. “Where did you disappear to? I was worried until Britta got home and found you passed out in your room.”

“Right. Sorry about that. I took a wrong turn, and when I found myself outside, I just kind of staggered home,” I lied.

“You've really gotta get yourself a cell phone,” Britta said as she placed a full bowl of cereal in front of me.

“Yeah. Soon as I get paid.” Though I wasn't entirely sure a phone would be my first priority. I had to buy some food. And do some laundry. How did people do laundry around here, anyway? Actually, how did people do laundry, period? I'd never had to take care of my own clothes.

“When
do
we get paid?” I asked.

“Every Friday,” Duncan told me. “But since you started Thursday, Dad figured he'd roll it all into one big payday this coming Friday. I'm sure you can get an advance if you need it, though. I could talk to him if you—”

“No. That's okay. But thanks.” I managed a wan smile. I could make it till Friday. Hopefully.

I dropped down on one of the island stools. Aside from my sudden ravenous hunger, my heart was pounding thanks to Jasper, and my mouth was completely dry and fuzzy thanks to the hangover. I almost felt faint. There was also a vague memory tugging at the corners of my mind. Duncan with his arm around me. Duncan's face, concerned. Then it hit me.

“Did you . . . walk me home last night?” I asked, blinking at him.

“Um, yeah. Kind of. We bumped into each other,” he said, sheepish.

“Where?” I asked. “You weren't at the club, right?”

“No. Just out,” he said. “For a run. I run sometimes. At night.”

A dish clattered, and Britta muttered an apology.

“Well, thank you,” I said, still unclear on the details, which was monumentally disturbing. “That was really nice of you.”

“Anytime. So . . . what were you guys doing?” Duncan asked, eyeing Jasper.

“I've got an audition tomorrow night.” Jasper placed his guitar into its case and flipped it shut. “Lia was just helping me pick out a song.”

I took a tentative bite, and my stomach turned, then settled and screamed for more.

“Thank you,” I said to Britta.

“No problem.” Britta's shrewd eyes traveled from me to Jasper to Fiona to Duncan, taking in the tension.

“What're
you
doing here?” I asked Duncan, though it came out more accusatory than I meant it to sound.

He hesitated before answering. The look on his face was utterly betrayed. But all we'd done was flirt a little. In front of his sister and her best friend, no less. Of course, I'd felt betrayed by Jasper when he'd gone out with Charlene, and all
we'd
done was flirt.

So yeah, on top of everything else I was possibly a humongous hypocrite.

“I was going to offer to walk you to work,” Duncan told me. “We have the same shift.”

“Oh, yeah? Cool,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “That'll be fun.”

Though the very thought of leaving the apartment made me want to curl up and cry. My shift was three p.m. to midnight. There was no way I was going to make it. But I had to. I needed the money. And the dragging hours would be a lot more tolerable with Duncan there. If he stopped looking at me like I'd just kicked the walker out from under his grandmother.

“Don't work too hard. We're taking you out to Lake Pleasant in the morning,” Britta said through a mouthful of cereal flakes.

“You are?”

“It's the only block of time in the next week when none of us are working,” Fiona explained. She hadn't moved an inch since she'd walked through the door. I could sort of assume why Duncan looked so bereft, but why Fiona? Was she mad at me about last night? Irritated on her brother's behalf? Her eyes flicked to the living room. “Jasper, do you want to come?”