Notable (Smith High) (11 page)

I
waited until I had their full attention.

“If any part of this plan goes wrong, you bail. You take the nearest tuk-tuk to the American consulate and you stay there. Are we all clear on that?”

They nodded, but I couldn’t let it go.

“No stupid risks either. If you even
think
you’re in danger, go to the consulate.”

Houston laughed. “Seriously, Chelsea? I hate to break it to you, princess, but you are the only person here who needs to hear that warning. I bet you have no intention of following your own advice.”

I put on my best look of disbelief. “Are you kidding? I’ll be in the first tuk-tuk headed for the embassy.”

I knew better than to say that last part out loud.

Liz nodded. “Okay, so we flee to the embassy if the plan goes horribly wrong. What’s the plan again?”

“It’s sort of a work in progress, so let’s withhold some of the judgment, okay?”

Ben and Houston traded looks that made it pretty freaking obvious that they had no intention of withholding anything.

“Okay, so we
don’t
know where the police are holding Neal. And we
don’t
have the political power to make the authorities release him.”

Everyone looked thoroughly unimpressed with that bit of information, so I quickly moved on.

“But we do have a Buddha full of heroin.”

Houston raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said it was cocaine.”

“I Googled it. And now we just have to use the heroin to our advantage.”

Ben grinned. “You want to try using it to bargain with a dirty cop?”

Not the
worst
idea but definitely more complicated than what I had in mind.

“Let’s try to avoid any run-ins with the law. In fact, I vote we leave
that
part to the experts.”

“The experts in what, exactly?” Liz asked. “Bribing politicians?”

“Exactly.”

That momentarily stunned everyone into silence.

“You’re kidding.” Amy looked as if she expected me to laugh at their gullibility. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Look, it’s a very simple trade. We return the Buddha to a drug cartel and in exchange they give us Neal. Everybody leaves happy.”

No response.

“It’s simple!”

“Sure. Perfect. As long as you don’t factor in
this
scenario: The cartel shoots you. The cartel takes the drugs. The cartel leaves happy. You leave in a body bag.”

Well, when Houston put it that way, my plan sounded significantly less brilliant.

“I admit it’s a possibility. But what exactly would they have to gain by shooting me?”

“It would send a message to all their competitors.” Houston nodded. “But I see your point. Bloodshed isn’t a requirement.”

“They’ll profit far more by selling you into the sex trade. Young. Blonde. Pretty. They might make more off your body than they would from the drugs.”

That thought made my blood chill. “You’re being overly dramatic.”

“
Right.
Drug kingpins are known for their high moral standards. And no tourists have ever been forced into bad situations abroad.” Houston laughed, but not as if he found the conversation particularly funny. “Keep dreaming, Chelsea.”

“My plan is going to work.”

“And every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”

“Seriously, do you guys need to go to separate corners?” Liz demanded. “Settle down!”

“It’s not my fault that he’s being a jerk.”

“Ouch. You really told me off, Chelsea. Why, if I were a drug lord, I’d be
terrified
right now.”

“All right.” Ben stood up. “I can’t listen to this anymore. If you need me, I’ll be enjoying the lush scenery that this beautiful, beautiful country has to offer.”

And with that he headed several rows away to a group of female tourists who were all wearing the thin cotton pants that I’d seen stall owners hocking in the marketplace. I thought the style made the girls look like bedraggled Shakespearean actors, but Ben appeared far more interested in the way they filled out their shirts.

“Amy, I wanted to ask you more about your independent study idea. Let’s go talk. Y’know . . . not here.” The accompanied jerk of Liz’s head certainly wasn’t subtle, but that didn’t make it any less effective.

“Wha—oh. Right. We’ll catch up with you two later.”

They quickly booked it to the back of the bus, leaving me sitting alone with Houston as the bus lumbered closer to Phnom Penh.

The silence that weighed down the air between us made even breathing feel unnaturally forced.

So closing my eyes, I pretended that once again I was moving gracefully across Ms. P’s dance studio in a filmy pink tutu.

Houston cleared his throat, shattering my fantasy. “I, uh . . . overheard what you said. About your parents.”

“Yeah.” I glared at him. “Funny how that happens when you’re
eavesdropping
.”

He merely did one of his infuriatingly casual shrugs. “Did you mean it?”

I kept my eyes trained out the window because I knew that pity was the one thing I couldn’t handle coming from Houston. He hadn’t tried to sympathize with me when my parents shipped me off to Cambodia or when Jake’s name first came up at the massage parlor. There had been no attempt to bond over the more painful parts of my life. No offered condolences or shoulder pats. And oddly enough, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Even Houston’s annoying habit of calling me “princess” didn’t really bother me anymore. Coming from him it was just a nickname, not a subtle way of treating me like a doll whose only purpose was to be put on display. And I didn’t worry that he was secretly trying to sweet-talk or manipulate me into his way of thinking because Houston didn’t work that way. He had no problem confronting me directly.

Somehow that made the idea of him looking at me with pity even worse.

I crossed my arms defiantly. “Does it make a difference? My parents can think whatever they want.”

Houston shook his head in disbelief. “So you do believe that crap then. Chelsea, your dad doesn’t think you’re stupid. He worries that you’ll make stupid choices. There’s a difference.”

“Wow, thanks. Next time I need a pep talk, I’ll be sure to avoid you.”

He looked disgusted, but I couldn’t tell if it was with me or with himself. Probably both.

“Trust me on this one, Chelsea. Your dad just wants to keep you safe.”

“Right,” I scoffed. “And you know this how, exactly? Did the two of you have a long talk about his
feelings
or something?”

“He let something slip about a nasty ex-boyfriend of yours. Lyle, right?”

“Logan,”
I corrected defensively. “And both of my parents loved him.”

Houston raised an eyebrow. “But Lawson’s no longer interested, right?”

I pulled back, stung. Houston’s blunt style of confrontation definitely felt less endearing now. I fought to keep my voice even.

“None of your business.”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s time for you to move on, kid. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble dating someone closer to your age.”

“Logan
is
my age.”

“Then who was the jerk at the Christmas party last year?”

Oh. My. God.

He knew about Jake. Not all the details—my dad couldn’t share information that he didn’t have—but Houston’s reference to the dreaded annual Christmas party hit
way
too close to home.

“What, uh . . . what did my dad say happened?” I asked carefully.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” I shot back. “If he didn’t mention the Christmas party, then how did you hear about it?”

“I was there. And I saw the whole thing.” A chill crept into my bones as Houston lazily stretched out his legs. He looked as if we were chatting about nothing more personal than the last Portland Timbers game. “But feel free to fill me in on whatever it is you think I missed. I’ve already promised to keep my mouth shut.”

“Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

Houston’s palm touched my knee and I shot bolt upright. There was nothing sexual or even flirtatious about the feeling, but it was still too . . . intimate. He must have felt the same way because he quickly stuffed his hand into the front pocket of his jeans.

But if he was equally flustered his voice didn’t betray it. “It’s about time we cleared the air, don’t you think?”

Much to my surprise the answer to that was finally
yes.

“All right, cowboy. You’re on.”

“S
o who was the Christmas crasher?”

I should have known Houston would prod straight at the heart of the disaster. He couldn’t ease into the conversation with something relatively simple like,
Why were you drinking so heavily at your parents’ annual Christmas party?

Nope, he went right for
Jake the Mistake.

“Somebody that I used to date,” I said wryly, hoping to lighten the conversation.

Houston nodded thoughtfully. “He didn’t seem to get the message that it was over.”

I felt a quick surge of satisfaction as I remembered how surprised Jake had been to discover that I had grown a tougher skin since he dumped me. Jake had probably expected me to be overjoyed at the idea of picking up right where we left off during his infrequent visits home from college. He’d been so confident when he explained that we just needed to be mature about the situation. Monogamy wouldn’t work for us. The whole concept was woefully outdated, practically guaranteed to end in disappointment and hurt feelings. An open relationship, on the other hand . . . well, all of his college buddies were enjoying them.

I shook my head to dispel the memory of Jake’s words and focused on Houston.

“He wasn’t ready to accept that it was over.” I mimicked one of Houston’s shrugs. “Enough said.”

“He nearly convinced you to ditch the party, Chelsea.”

After downing way more than my share of wine, almost anything had seemed better than faking a functioning family. If Logan had been the one offering me an escape, I wouldn’t have hesitated. If some random stranger had offered me a ride, it would’ve been a hard offer to resist.

It was no real surprise that even knowing exactly how capable Jake was at toying with me, I had almost accepted the offer.

“That’s because I didn’t want to stay there even a minute longer,” I said defiantly. “Believe it or not, being paraded around like a show dog isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.” I pitched my voice higher in a spot-on impersonation of my mom. “Have you met my daughter?
Sit, Chelsea! Speak! Good girl.
”

Houston’s fist tightened within his pocket. “Yeah, your mom is pretty . . . intense. I noticed that myself. So is that why you started drinking? Or did you pick the red wine because it matched the color of your dress?”

He remembered my outfit. It was such a ridiculously girly thing to get a thrill over. Especially because we were at a freaking
Christmas
party where all the women either wore a red dress and called it “festive” or pulled out a slinky black number for the occasion. For all I knew, Houston had just made a very lucky guess.

Except Houston didn’t waste his time making up stuff.

He had seen me at the party and remembered the color of my dress . . . but for the life of me I couldn’t place him at the scene. I studied his face, hoping that any second I’d be able to connect his aquiline nose and dark green eyes with their tiny flecks of gray to a good moment from the party. Nothing came to mind.

Then again, I also couldn’t remember enjoying myself at any point of the evening.

“You seem to remember an awful lot about that night,” I observed.

Houston’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Yeah, I wasn’t the one drinking. That tends to help.”

I laughed self-consciously, but I refused to let him get away with changing the subject that easily. “Seriously, though, cowboy. Why don’t I remember you? Did you avoid speaking to me or something?”

The sparkle faded as he turned his gaze straight ahead. “Or something.”

Releasing a frustrated breath, I nudged him with my shoulder. “Come on! What am I missing here?”

Houston smiled tightly. “Maybe this will refresh your memory:
Leave me alone, charity case. I don’t want you here.
”

Oh crap.

“That was . . .
you?
” I couldn’t believe that the student my dad had insisted on inviting to our Christmas party was
Houston
. It just didn’t compute. From what I could dimly recall, the dork had been super-lanky, as if he’d recently spurted a few inches and didn’t know what to do with the extra height. His cheap tweed suit jacket hadn’t done him any favors either. Not that his looks had anything to do with my bitchiness.

My dad’s insistence on inviting one of his most promising students had stung so sharply it burned. It had been one of the few times I’d actually seen my dad override my mom’s objections. And was it to defend his only daughter? To encourage her to pursue ballet dancing, instead of casually dismissing it as a pipe dream?

No, it wasn’t.

So I had avoided the scrawny college freshman because I was obviously going to feel every bit as intellectually inferior around him as I did near Mackenzie Wellesley. That’s also when I started drinking my wine straight from the bottle.

I definitely hadn’t made a good impression on anyone that night.

A vague memory slid into place. “Did you try to order me to my room?”

He shrugged. “You were acting like a petulant child.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Really? Because I
wasn’t
determined to get trashed. Let’s see, you flounced around in a short red dress, tried to chug a bottle of wine, and then—and this part was everyone’s highlight—you got into a screaming match outside with your boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected automatically. “He had some trouble understanding the meaning of the word ‘no,’ so I needed to repeat it a few times. Loudly.”

He stiffened, and once again his eyes locked on the front of the bus. “Your dad was really worried about you.”

I laughed, but the sound was utterly without humor. “Yeah, he deserves a Father of the Year award for shipping me off to Cambodia. I’m so glad we got that all cleared up. You can stop prying into my private life now.”

“It’s not really a ‘private’ life if your ex publicly announces that all it takes to get into your pants is some tequila and a quick chat about your mom.”

I reeled back as if I’d been slapped across the face. Those vicious words had haunted me for months, and there were still times I thought I’d never be able to rid myself of them.

Apparently, I had been right. They had followed me all the way to Cambodia.

“Sorry. I’m . . . I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Houston raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know I’m screwing this up, and you can hate me for it later, but I watched you nearly climb into that jerk’s car. So if you’ve got some kind of a death wish or
. . .
I don’t know, a self-destructive pattern, then I want you to get the help you need.” He looked out the window before he continued uncomfortably. “Your dad isn’t the only one who cares.”

He thought I needed a shrink.

It was almost laughable. I had actually been thinking maybe we were becoming real friends—that despite my flaws and insecurities, Houston liked
me
—but what he really wanted was to send me to the nearest therapist’s couch.

I straightened my spine because those last few words of his had made me feel dangerously weak. “I’ll . . . consider your suggestion. But just for the record, Jake was wrong about a whole bunch of things. Including what it takes to get me into bed.”

“I’m sure Ben will be very disappointed to hear it.” Houston managed to keep a straight face for all of three seconds before we both starting laughing.

It was strange sharing an inside joke with him at first. If someone had asked me in the airport which scenario I thought was more likely to happen—that I’d accidentally steal a Buddha full of heroin or that I would
ever
feel comfortable around Houston—I’d have picked the drugs. I wouldn’t have hesitated over such a no-brainer. Houston was practically the male version of Mackenzie Wellesley, and I wasn’t exactly going to become besties with
her
anytime soon.

But even knowing that Houston was the brilliant student my dad had invited to the Christmas party . . . it didn’t intimidate me. I didn’t suddenly start worrying that he would dismiss my opinions as a waste of his time. And I knew he would never preface a dumb blonde joke with the always insulting words, “No offense.”

He was still just . . .
Houston.

“It’s your turn to share, cowboy,” I decided. “Why do you care so much about my dad?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way.”

I just shot him my best
oh, really?
look and waited for him to crack under the pressure.

“Besides the fact that he’s a nice guy and a brilliant teacher? Your dad talked to the people in the financial aid office for me. He’s the reason I’m not living at home and applying to my local community college right now.”

I nodded and then forced myself to ask the follow-up question I probably should have already known. “Um . . . so where are you from?”

“Texas.”

“Seriously?”

Houston took one look at my admittedly surprised face and burst out laughing. “Not even close. I’m from Colorado.”

I crossed my arms but couldn’t hold back an answering grin of my own. “So how did your parents come up with the name then?”

“Funny story, actually.” He leaned back in the seat as his smile became smaller and yet somehow sweeter. “My mom went into labor three weeks early while my dad was away on a business trip. They had done all of these preparation classes together, and he had promised to be with her every step of the way. So when she went into early labor, she completely panicked. She actually called up my aunt Meredith and said, ‘My water just broke, but I’m going to Houston. Book me a ticket, will you?’ ”

“What did your aunt say?”

Houston’s smile deepened. “Meredith promised to drive her to the airport and took her straight to the hospital instead. Then she told her to just keep focusing on Houston.”

“So you
were
named after the city!”

“Not exactly. My dad was in Toronto.”

I stared at him in disbelief before I was the one to burst out laughing. “Um . . . what?”

“My dad is a freelance writer who specializes in agricultural issues. It’s kind of hard to explain what
exactly
he does, but he travels a lot in the summer and . . . my mom got his trips mixed up.”

“So what happened?” I shifted in my seat as I tried to get more comfortable, and my arm accidentally brushed against his.

Houston didn’t seem to notice, or at least he didn’t comment on it.

“My mom called him from the hospital, determined to play it cool, and said, ‘Hey, honey! How’s everything in Houston?’ ”

I giggled. “Let me guess . . . your dad let her know he wasn’t there?”

“Yes, he did.”

“What did she say to
that?
”

“I’m pretty sure there was some swearing involved. But she had already signed off on my birth certificate and didn’t like the idea of naming me
Toronto.
” He shrugged. “So the name stuck.”

“Your parents sound pretty cool. I’m guessing you told them about, y’know, the whole Neal situation?”

Houston yawned. “Yeah, but I may have failed to mention a few things. My little brother has some serious anxiety issues, so I’d rather not have them worrying about me.”

I knew he was exhausted; I was struggling to stay awake too. But I couldn’t resist asking, “What did they name your brother?”

“Denver.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Are you messing with me again?”

“Maybe.” He tried to stifle another yawn and failed. “Listen, I seriously need to sleep, so if you want to move somewhere else, now would be a good time to do it.”

“I’m fine with staying here.”

“I thought you didn’t like sleeping around other people.” The intense pressure of his stare had me quickly pretending to find the woven upholstery on all the seats absolutely fascinating.

“I don’t.”

He considered that for a moment and then shrugged. “Okay, princess. Just wake me before we get to Phnom Penh, please.”

He closed his eyes and probably would have drifted off right then if I hadn’t murmured, “Uh, Houston? One last question, I promise. Did you email your ex-girlfriend?”

Houston blinked as if he was having trouble processing the question. It had seemed fairly straightforward to me. “What’s with the fishing expedition, princess?”

“I’m curious. You said you didn’t want your family worrying, and I just wondered . . . did you email your ex-girlfriend?”

“Okay, I’m fairly sure there is some weird subtext to this question that I’m missing. But I don’t get it, and I’m pretty sure I don’t like it.”

“That’s not an answer,” I pointed out.

“No, I didn’t email Carolyn.” He stated the words slowly to make sure there was no room for misinterpretation or any follow-up questions. “Now I’m going to sleep. Wake me at your peril.”

I closed my eyes and tried to block out my hyperawareness of his body’s proximity to mine by focusing on the jolting rhythm of the bus.

“Sure, cowboy. No problem.”

Then I drifted off to sleep.