The Nine Lives of Chloe King (4 page)

The music was typical house with just a touch of electronica. No Moby
or
Goa here. Paul would have threatened to walk out, ears covered, before sidling up to the DJ to check out his equipment. It
should
have been the three of them there, not just her alone. But the music throbbed loudly, and Chloe felt like she could go out and dance by herself—she had almost died today; she could do anything.

She went to the bar first, leaning against it and surveying the scene. A few people were dancing and dressed badly, but otherwise it was a pretty hot crowd. What looked like an entire fraternity was loudly but good-naturedly arguing about sports, waving their beers, making an out-of-place businessman and his model very uncomfortable. There was one particularly hot guy across the floor, hanging around in the back, drinking quietly and people watching, just like her. He had black hair, dark skin, and light, light eyes. Exotic. She ducked her head to follow his movements as he ordered a beer, talked to a friend, and wandered into the crowd, but soon she lost him.

She waited patiently, but he didn’t return. No one took his place, either; there were a few runners-up, but the hottest guy in the club had disappeared.

“Buy you a drink?”

He appeared at her side, smiling at her surprise and embarrassment. Up close he was even better looking, with full lips and a light spattering of darker brown freckles across his nose.

Chloe was just about to say No, thank you, like she did every time some twenty-something tried to pick up her fifteen-year-old self. But, “Absolutely!” was what came out instead.

“What’ll it be?”

“Red Bull and vodka.”

He nodded his approval and clinked her drink with his beer glass when the bartender handed it over.

“It’s my birthday in two hours!” she shouted into his ear.

“Really? Cheers!” He sounded British. They toasted each other again and drank. “Happy birthday!” He kissed her delicately on her cheek. Chloe felt her stomach roll over and her mind play dead. An enormous grin spread over her face, completely destroying her cool. She had gotten into the club with no hassle, a dropdead gorgeous guy just bought her a drink—this was turning out to be a pretty great birthday after all.

After another drink they started dancing. He moved in small sways and tiny circles perfect for avoiding other dancers in the tightly packed space. For one song he just put his hands around her waist and let her move, the center of his attention. When they walked through the crowd for a drink or a break, he would very lightly touch his hand to her back or shoulder, leading her protectively but not possessively.

“I’m Chloe!” she shouted at one point.

“I’m Xavier!” he shouted back.

At twelve thirty Chloe decided she was turning into a pumpkin. Near-death experience or no, her mother was going to kill Chloe
herself
if she stayed out all night. Xavier walked her out.

“Let me be the first to wish you a happy birthday,” he said, kissing her gently on the lips in the dark parking lot. His mouth was warm and moist but not wet, and he was a hell of a lot more delicate than the few guys her own age Chloe had kissed. He pulled a card out of his wallet. It was actually engraved:
Xavier Akouri, 453 Mason St., #5A, 011-30-210-567-3981.
It took her a moment to realize that it was an international cell phone number she was looking at.

“Aren’t you going to ask for mine?” Chloe asked.

He smiled and lowered his head so their noses were almost touching, looking directly into her eyes. “And would you have given me your real number?
You
call
me
if you want.”

Her stomach did another flip-flop. Before she knew what she was doing, Chloe grabbed him around the back of the neck and held his head still while she kissed him. He actually let out a little moan. It drove her wild. His hands came up around her hips. Chloe reached around up and under his shirt to feel the skin on his back, kneading his muscles and clawing him with her fingernails. He moaned again, from pleasure or pain, it was hard to tell. But he took one of her legs and wrapped it up around his waist. Chloe felt herself sliding in closer and closer—

What the hell am I doing?

She opened her eyes and saw a handsome Euro kissing her, which might have been fine, wonderful, even—but she was inches from having sex with him in the middle of the parking lot.

“I’m sorry.” She disentangled herself from him and backed off, breathing heavily. She ached and throbbed with want.

Xavier looked confused. His eyes were heavy lidded, and little beads of sweat held on like silver around his brow. His hair was tousled.

“I—I can’t do this right now,” she said.

To his credit, Xavier nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Do you—do you want to come back to my place?”

Chloe opened her mouth to say something. She realized it was very close to, Yes, I do—but managed to choke out, “I’m sorry,” again, quickly turning and walking away. She ran all the way home and then once around the block for good measure, hoping to work the desire out of her body. Would her mom notice a look in her eye, a flush on her cheek? She could say it was from running.

When Chloe came in, her mother was reading on the couch, shoes off, glass of red wine on the table near her. Untouched. She was trying to make it look like she was just staying up late, not staying up for Chloe. Their eyes met.

“I’ll be up in a little while,” Mrs. King finally said. “I just want to finish this chapter.”

She’s actually going to be cool about this.
Chloe couldn’t believe it. And from her tone, it was like the late night out hadn’t even happened—like maybe it would never be brought up again.

“Okay. G’night,” Chloe said as gratefully as she could.

She staggered upstairs tiredly, taking her clothes off as she went. She could smell parts of Xavier on her shirt, his hands dangerously close to her breasts when they rested on her waist, his lips on her collar when he was kissing her neck.

She put on boxers and her oversized Invader Zim T-shirt and fell into bed, holding her stuffed pig, still wondering what had happened. Teenage hormones, as they always said, or had it been an up-with-life reaction to her near-death experience? She thought she had heard of such a thing. … She clutched Wilbur more tightly and fell asleep.

Four

It was several
hours into the next day, during first-period American civilization, when it suddenly hit Chloe: what she had done—or almost done—the night before, never mind the part about not dying. She had forgotten it all for a short, happy while.

This wasn’t surprising; her brain barely began working before nine. The hours between being woken by her crappy old clock radio and second bell usually passed in a painless, mindless blur. Her mother, once upon a time playing the happy single mom, used to make her pancakes with syrup smiley faces and ask her about what she was doing that day. Eventually she gave up trying to communicate with her justawake, mumbling daughter, filling the coffeemaker and setting the timer the night before instead. Chloe always tried to remember to grumble “bye” on her way out as Mrs. King did her morning yoga in front of the TV.

Holy crap. I almost had sex with a stranger in a parking lot last night.

Chloe felt tingles when she thought of Xavier; she could remember wanting him that badly but not the feeling itself. She idly tried to sketch his lips in the margin of her notebook. Where had she put his card?

“… the same boot, for either foot. I don’t think any of you kids today with your Florsheims or your tennis shoes could possibly imagine the suffering those soldiers marched in. …”

Neither Paul nor Amy was in this class, so it was triply boring.
What the heck is a Florsheim?
Chloe tried to cover a yawn, but it was so huge that it felt like her jaw had opened up wider than it was supposed to, like in
Alien.
Her teeth snapped back together when it was done, way too loudly. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed—no one except for Alyec, who was watching with raised eyebrows. She blushed but grinned back, actually looking him in his beautiful ice blue eyes. He smiled and made a “sleepy” gesture with his hands on the side of his face. Chloe nodded, and they each went back to note taking or doodling before Ms. Barker took notice.

When the bell rang, Chloe gathered her stuff and prepared to go to the library—it was such a bitch: she had
second
period free. Last year Amy had had first period free and often slept till eight before bothering to come in. As Chloe passed by the popular lockers, she saw Alyec and waved. He was, of course, surrounded by the beautiful people.

Chloe thought about their little interaction in class and her success with the bouncer the night before and walked right up to him, ignoring the others.

“Didn’t Am civ
suck
today?” Once again there she was, doing something she could not believe. First there was falling off a tower, then making out with a stranger, and now going directly up to the most-wanted guy in the junior class and talking to him. She could feel the vicious glares of his coterie impaling her backside, but somehow she wasn’t the least bit nervous. Not even a heartbeat.

This is great. I should almost die
every
day.

“Oh, man,” Alyec said in an accent that was fading but still had foreign overtones. “Watching you—how do you say—moan? Yes? That was the most exciting part of the hour.”

“I wasn’t moaning, I was
yawning,”
Chloe said with a shy smile. “But if you find a way to make me moan, I’ll let you watch all day.”
Did I just say that?
She could see a whole bunch of jaws drop in her peripheral vision.

“You’re hilarious, King, you know that?” He said it with a genuine laugh.

The second bell rang. “I’ve got to get to the library—but we should hang sometime.”

Keira looked like she was actually going to growl; her lips were pulled back over her teeth.

“Absolutely,” Alyec agreed. “Catch you later, King.”

“See ya.” She strolled past the other girls, trying not to look too smug but unable to keep from smiling a little.

Chloe thought about Xavier for most of her time in the library, staring out the windows and dreaming a little. She did the same during math and lunch. She thought about him more than her fall. It was kind of like her mom said—she fell, she survived, here she was. She was staring into space, pizza halfway to her mouth, when a familiarly annoying clap on her shoulder jolted her back to reality. Gobbets of bright orange oil flew across the table.

“Oh my God, is it
true?”
Amy threw herself into a seat next to her. “I mean,
happy birthday,
but ohmygod, is it really
true,
did you really flirt with Alyec right in front of Halley and Keira and—and everyone?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Chloe said with a smile.

“How are you feeling?”

Chloe shrugged. “Fine, I think. A little weird. Last night—”

“Look, we gotta talk,” Amy interrupted, leaning in close and looking her right in the eyes. “Something
big
is going down with me. I want to discuss. Dinner?”

Bigger than a near-death and near-sex experience?
But Chloe bit back a sarcastic response; Amy really did look worried. And more intense than usual.

“Okay—”

“Cool! See you in English!”

Chloe watched her friend leap up and run off, safety pins and chains jangling as she went, unkempt chestnut hair bouncing. She turned back to her pizza and wondered when life would get back to normal. The grease had congealed into little solid pools of something like orange plastic. Chloe sighed and pushed it away.

Normality seemed to reassert itself at Pateena. As much as she hated sorting the clothes when they came back from the cleaner, there was a soothing familiarity in the folding and the straightening, the random tirades of the manager, the trendy customers. Nothing sexy
or
supernatural. Just a lot of jeans and overpriced old basketball shoes.

Chloe couldn’t help noticing one customer who came in, though—just when she thought she had finally beaten her hormones down. He wore black cords, a ribbed black tee, and a black leather jacket, straight cut, like a regular suit jacket. But there were no hints of the über-goth about him: no tattoos or jewelry or fangs or anything. The outfit, which would have made anyone else look like a wanna-be Johnny Cash, worked perfectly on him; he had very dark brown hair, very slightly tanned, healthy skin, and deep brown eyes with beautiful long lashes.

The kicker, though, was his handmade black knitted cap with kitty cat ears.

Here was a handsome guy with a sense of humor. He thumbed through the polo shirts, frowning.

“Looking for a Halloween costume?” Lania asked him nastily. Chloe groaned, still unable to believe that the little alterna-bitch was allowed to operate the cash register and
she
wasn’t. Just because the other girl was two years older. If Chloe had a dollar for every customer Lania insulted, she would finally be able to afford a new mountain bike. A
nice
one.

But he just chuckled. “No, I’m afraid it’s for an actual meeting with actual executive types.” He looked pretty young to be in business, but this was San Francisco, after all. He was probably a programmer or graphics designer or something.

Chloe went back to her work, wondering what Xavier looked like in the daylight. How many drinks did she have? Just two or three. She
could
have been beer goggling. Maybe those sexy freckles were actually bad acne. …

“Excuse me.” The guy in the kitty hat carefully stepped around her, his purchases clutched to his chest. Apparently Lania had decided to let him pay.

“I like your hat,” Chloe said.

“Really? Thanks!” He took it off and looked at it, as if he was surprised she’d noticed.

“Did your girlfriend make it?”

He grinned. “No, I did.”