Flat-Out Love
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity
to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
This book was originally published in a slightly different format by the author
in 2011.
Amazon Children’s Publishing first edition, July 2012.
Text copyright © 2011 Jessica Park
Cover art by Robyn Hyzy
www.robynhyzy.com
Visit Jessica at her sites:
http://flatoutlove.blogspot.com
http://yaauthorjessicapark.blogspot.com
http://whatthekidsays.blogspot.com
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright
owner. Request for permission should be addressed to:
Amazon Publishing
Attn: Amazon Children’s Publishing
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89149
www.amazon.com/amazonchildrenspublishing
ISBN-13: 9781477810255
ISBN-10: 1477810250
For Lori, who makes her own hinges
.
It’s not what you know—or when you see—that matters. It’s about the journey
.
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Julie Seagle stared straight ahead and promised herself one thing: she would never again rent an apartment via Craigslist. The strap of her overstuffed suitcase dug into her shoulder, and she let it drop onto the two suitcases that sat on the sidewalk. It wasn’t as if she had anywhere to carry them now. Julie squinted in disbelief at the flashing neon sign that touted the best burritos in Boston. Rereading the printout of the e-mail again did nothing to change things. Yup, this was the correct address. While she did love a good burrito, and the small restaurant had a certain charm, it seemed pretty clear that the one-story building did not include a three-bedroom apartment that could house college students. She sighed and pulled her cell phone from her purse.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Honey! I gather you made it to Boston? Ohio is missing you already. I can’t believe you’re already off at college. How is the apartment? Have you met your roommates yet?”
Julie cleared her throat and looked at the flat roof of the restaurant. “The apartment is…airy. It has a very open floor plan.”
“How is your room? Is it tiny?” Her mother sounded concerned. “Well, even if it is, it’s probably better than some concrete dorm room, right?”
“My room? Oh, it’s, uh, rather sparse, I’d say.” Julie sat down on one of her bags. A city bus squealed to a halt just behind her, and she flinched at the high-pitched noise.
“What was that? Is your room right on the street? Oh God, are you on the first floor? That’s dangerous, Julie. It’s much easier for some criminal to break in. Are there locks on the windows? Let me ask your uncle about that. Maybe there is something you could do to make it more secure.”
“I’m not seeing any windows at the moment, Mom.” Julie felt her eyes begin to tear up. This was a nightmare. She had been in Boston, or more specifically Jamaica Plain, for a mere hour, and already her hopes for a glamorous college life were beginning to smell a lot more like South American specialties than she’d envisioned. “I don’t seem to actually have a room.”
Her mother paused. “What do you mean you don’t have a room? I sent first, last, and a security deposit, just like the landlord asked. A cashier’s check, for God’s sake! He gave away your room?” The rising panic in her mother’s voice was not helping.
“I’m at the correct address. The taxi driver assured me I was in the right place. But my supposed apartment building is a burrito restaurant.”
“Burritos! Holy mother of God!”
“I know. Burritos are always alarming.” Julie looked around, totally unsure what she should do next. “Mom, what am I going to do?” Although she didn’t want to freak out her mother more than she had to, Julie couldn’t control the waver in her voice. She was alone in an unfamiliar city, knew no one here, and was sitting on a mountain of luggage.
At least the advantage of being stranded on a crowded street was that no one seemed to think she looked at all out of place. Plenty of people had walked by without giving her a second glance. It was the first week of September, and she was in
a college town; more than one U-Haul truck could be spotted weaving through traffic, delivering students and their possessions to actual apartments that did not double as restaurants. Julie quickly wiped her eyes and pulled her sunglasses down from her head. She’d give anything to be riding in one of those moving trucks, crammed in with a pile of friends.
“I don’t have anywhere to live. And all that money you spent…This was supposed to be cheaper than the dorms. And it wasn’t supposed to smell like burritos.” Leaving home for the first time, getting scammed into paying for a nonexistent apartment, and finding oneself homeless in Boston was proving to be agitating.
“Julie, don’t worry about the money right now. This isn’t your fault. I thought the ad looked perfectly normal too. You sit tight for a few minutes, and I’m going to call the college and see if they can help you, OK? Just hold on. You all right?”
Julie sniffed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Don’t move. I’ll call you right back, and we’ll fix this.”
Julie put in her earphones and passed the next excruciating twenty minutes by listening to morose music, chipping off the deep purple nail polish she’d applied the night before, and updating her Facebook status.
Julie Seagle
Boston, Day 1: Refuse to refer to city as Beantown as would sound too touristy. Still, am full resident now despite not having actual residence
.
The pavement radiated heat, and so far this sauna of a city was not winning her over. A little self-pity seemed in order. All she wanted was a normal college experience and the chance to enjoy school without worrying that her friends would think it was ridiculous that she actually liked learning. She didn’t need
to go to the most expensive university in the country or to the top-rated, be-all-end-all of schools. She just wanted to be free from feeling like she had to hide who she was. It would be nice to finally be comfortable admitting that she was crazy about literature, that she thought curling up with a textbook was soothing, and that she wanted nothing more than to delve into lively classroom discussions. So wanting a place to live while she started her college career seemed reasonable enough.
Surely Whitney College wouldn’t let a progressively more anxious southern Ohio transplant fend for herself on the streets of Boston? She could always spend the night in a hotel, obviously, but it would certainly be preferable to find a more permanent solution. There must be a few students who had changed plans at the last minute, freeing up a dorm room, right? Maybe. Well, the burrito restaurant was hiring, so perhaps this was a sign that she should brush up on her Spanish, cultivate an interest in ethnic cooking…
Julie’s phone barely got out a full ring before she answered. “Mom?”
“That damn college was no help whatsoever. Apparently every school within a thirty-mile radius is in the same awful housing crunch, and Whitney is stuck putting up students in hotels themselves. I had another idea. Do you remember Erin Watkins?”
“Your roommate from college? The big-deal lawyer? I didn’t know you were still friends.”
“Well, we’re not really. I haven’t talked to her in years, but I remember reading in the alumni magazine that she lives in Cambridge. Her note said she was teaching at Harvard now, and by a stroke of luck, I caught her in her office.”
“God, this is embarrassing, but does she know of an apartment?” Julie asked hopefully.
“Well, no. But she insisted that you come and stay with her until you can find a suitable alternative. Her son Matt is on his way to pick you up. I gave her the address. She says you are not in a good part of town, and it’s a good thing it’s only four o’clock and not getting dark. He’ll be driving a blue Volvo and should be there any minute.”
“OK. Matt. Dangerous town. Blue Volvo. If I get into the wrong car and get myself murdered and dumped in an alley, I want you to know how much I love you. And don’t look in the third drawer of my desk.”
“That’s not funny. Anyway, Matthew goes to MIT. Some sort of physics major. Or was it math? Can you believe that? With Erin’s genes, I shouldn’t be surprised she’d have a genius son.”
“I’m sure he’s incredibly cool. Just the word
physics
already has me hot and bothered.”
“I’m not running an escort service here, Julie. I’m trying to get you somewhere safe where I will not worry myself silly about you.”
“Yes, Mother. I will find another Boston-based dating service online.” Julie stood up and smoothed the front of her top. She faced the street, relieved to at least be able to stand expectantly waiting for a ride rather than attempting to look anything but misplaced. “When was the last time you even talked to Erin?”
“Years ago. We’ve only spoken a handful of times since graduation. Every now and then I hear something about her. The friends you make in college are friends you’ll have for life, even if you don’t talk for years at a time. You’ll see.”
A dark car slowed and pulled to a stop, double-parking in front of Julie. “Mom, I have to go. I think this Matt character is here.”
“Are you sure it’s him?”
Julie peered into the car as the window lowered. “I see a maniacal-looking guy with brightly colored candy in one hand, and he’s waving a bloody sickle with the other. Oh! He’s beckoning me to the car. This must be my ride.”
“Julie, stop it!” her mother ordered. “You have no idea how I feel, knowing that my only child is stranded in Boston. I wish I were there with you. Make sure it’s Matthew. Ask to see his license.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. I’ll call if I make it to the house. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, honey. I’m so sorry about this mess. Thank Erin for me, and I’ll talk to you both later.”
Julie hung up and looked hopefully at the guy rounding the car and walking toward her. “Matt?”
“I’m guessing by the suitcases that you must be Julie? Or else I’m about to kidnap the wrong girl.” He smiled softly and reached out to shake her hand.
He was tall, at least six feet, with dirty blond hair that hung over his eyes. His pale skin told Julie that he hadn’t seen much sun this past summer, and a peek at his T-shirt gave a clue why. The shirt, tucked into his ill-fitting jeans, read,
Nietzsche Is My Homeboy
. Clearly he was not a run-with-the-in-crowd kind of guy, and she suspected that he’d been holed up in the library all summer. But he was kind enough to drop whatever he’d been doing to come and get her. Besides, Julie had her geeky moments herself—though she wasn’t dumb enough to announce them on a T-shirt. She hid them. The way any socially skilled person would.
“Thank you so much for picking me up. I really didn’t know what I was going to do. I hope I’m not putting you too much out of your way?” Julie helped Matt load her bags into the trunk of
the Volvo and then slid into the front seat. The September sun had heated up the car, and Julie automatically fanned her shirt, trying to get some air flowing across her skin.
