White Girl Problems (7 page)

My face was burning. “No. I was going to say Englemont. It’s a suburb of Los Angeles.”

“You are a big fat liar. I’ll have you know, I had braces when I was a boy. I got them in America. My father is a kin… kind of liaison in New York. We spent a spring there once and I got braces then.”

I laughed. “You sound so old. The way you say liaison is weird—intense. Now tell me where we’re going.”

“No.” He drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. “So you don't do drugs at all?”

I scoffed. “No. What’s your obsession? If you wanna get high, just get high. It doesn't offend me. I can drive, dude.”

He looked as offended as I did. “I don't do drugs.”

I rolled my eyes and looked out the window. “Whatever.” He was making me feel weird.

We drove for like an hour in silence. I was antsy and bored by the time he turned the car into something I assumed was a joke. It was a village, maybe a fishing village. He drove to a huge lighthouse and parked the car. There were only a couple cars in the parking lot, probably because the rain was brutal. He got out without saying anything. I watched him, confused, as he went to the trunk. He came back a second later with raincoats. The one he passed me was yellow like the fishermen in the pictures of Newfoundland.

“Here, let me help you.” He pulled his on and ran around the car to my door. He opened it. I scowled as the cold rain dumped on my legs and he held out a hand. “Come on.”

“What are you doing? We’re going to drown out there.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the coat, shoving my arm into it. I jerked back. “What are you doing?”

He shook his head. “I’m not taking no for an answer. So you can put the coat on, or I can carry you out there without it. Either way, you’re coming.” His eyes were lit up, but my indignant and stubborn side kicked in, and I pulled back more. “No! I hate rain!”

He chuckled again, running his hands over his soaked head. “Can you not make this painful? Please?” The rain was pouring down on him. He reached in and dragged me from the car. I kicked and screamed, but he tossed me over his shoulder and closed the car door.

“I HATE THE RAIN!”

He ignored me and walked along the parking lot. I wiggled and flailed, but it wasn’t doing any good. After a minute, I hung there limp, soaked and breathing heavily. He carried me under a shelter and placed me on the ground. “Put your coat on.” He handed it to me, giving me a smirk. “Trust me, you’re going to like it.”

“You sound like a pervert.”

He sighed. “I think I’ve proven I am not a pervert. I’m a nice person.”

I was shivering and angry, but I put it on. My fingers struggled with the buttons. He pushed my hands out of the way and did them up for me. “You are a pain in the ass. I knew you would be the minute I met you.” He lifted my chin. “I also knew you weren’t what you pretend to be.” He was fumbling with the buttons.

“JUST STOP!” I fixed the buttons. He threw his hands in the air and walked off. I looked back at the car and then him. He had the keys. I sighed and trekked behind him.

He looked back at me, cocking a dark eyebrow. “Just trust me. I realize this is hard for you, but come on.”

“Why do you think it’s hard for me?”

“You’re making it hard and I can tell you don't trust easily.”

“Whatever.” I looked around at the lighthouse and pissing rain.

“What is your problem?”

My eyes widened. “Are you kidding me right now? You walk in on me changing, drag me to an old guy’s room, and show me the sweetest thing I have ever seen. Then you vanish for three weeks. You come back and make me get in the car and then don’t talk to me except to ask about my crack addiction. Meanwhile, you’re dragging me out into the middle of nowhere, in the worst rainstorm I’ve ever seen, and holding me hostage on a big rock. What is your problem? What did I ever do to you?”

He smiled and looked like the boy he was in the dining hall with the ladies. “I knew you’d say no if I asked. I called Hattie while I was away to ask for your email address, but she said no email. She told me everything you’d done. She said you can’t get out of your own way and that you sabotage all the good things in your life. I figured this was the best way to get you here. I figured you needed a friend who would help you get out of your own way.”

I wiped the rain from my face. “I hate that you told me that you know all the bad stuff about me. I hate Hattie right now, and I hate the goddamned rain. So screw you and Hattie. Take me home, NOW!”

He laughed harder and grabbed my hand. “She told me you would say that.”

I hated that too. I turned to walk back to the car, but I looked back at him and groaned. He still had the keys. He had started walking down the rocky pathway. I kicked a rock and followed him until we got closer to the lighthouse. We climbed up a staircase and when we got to the top, I stopped fighting him on the whole thing.

“Oh my God.”

He was smug. “I know, right?”

I scoffed. “Don’t talk to me. I think I might hate you right now.” I walked toward the lighthouse. Below it were weird wide and flat rocks outlining the choppiest sea I’d ever seen. The rain was letting up, but the wind there at the top of the rocks was intense. I walked along the lighthouse, looking out at the swells, stunned by the sheer intensity of the ocean here. I sat on a wet rock and let it overwhelm me. He sat next to me. As far as I could see, we were surrounded by the strange rocks. It looked like an alien planet.

“The story is that there was a terrible storm in the 1700s, probably a hurricane. It was October and the storm was apparently really bad. The settlers of the cove found a young girl washed up on the rocks as the storm ended. She didn’t remember her name so the family who took her in named her Margret, Peggy for short. She was the sole survivor of a shipwreck on the rocks. The waves had washed every other trace of the boat back to the ocean. She married a man from the cove and became Peggy of the Cove. Now they call it Peggy’s Cove. There are some who say they have seen Peggy as a ghost walking the shoreline here in storms, looking for her family.”

I glanced at him, taking him all in. He was passionate and intense but so handsome. Even in the rain, looking like a drowned fisherman, he was beautiful. His dark hair was shaggy, like it needed a cut, but wasn’t long. His blue eyes seemed to match whatever the sky was doing. In the blue skies, they were bright blue, but there on the grey rocks with the grey seas, his too were grey. He had amazing lips and a perfect smile. The kind that made you smile too. The killers, though, were the long inky lashes. They were what every girl dreamed of having.

He stared out at the waves but spoke softly. “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

My face swung over hard. “What!”

He sighed. “I saw the bandage and Hattie told me your friend said you cut yourself. She thought you were a cutter, but that scar is deep. Cutters don’t normally go that deep, and you only have one scar. Cutters have lots of little scars. They only need a little cut to feel again.”

It was freaking me out how much he knew about cutters. I held up a hand. “Okay, firstly, not a cutter. I never cut myself. I don’t care what anyone says. I once passed out from getting a piece of glass out of my foot. Out cold. Secondly, Hattie has no right to go gossiping about me. She doesn’t have the story. She has Sheila’s version and she hates… hates me.”

He looked at me, making me suck in my breath. “Tell me the story.”

I scowled. “I don’t even know you.”

“That's the whole point of this, getting to know each other. I want to get to know you. I need to know what it is about you that's consuming me.”

I was consuming him? Oh my God. I looked at the water. I couldn’t face him or the stupid story. “I stole a lip-gloss. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life, but I did. I wanted to try. Apparently, I’m a sucky thief because I got caught. I lied to my dad about it, went to a party, got very drunk. I think I must have fallen into a rosebush and got this wound. I woke up at the hospital where they said I had drugs in my system and everyone sort of looked at me like I did this to myself. But I never do drugs and I never would hurt myself. It made no sense.”

He was still looking at me. I could see it in my peripheral. “What else?”

I shook my head. “That’s it.”

“That got you sent to the other side of the country?”

“And to a different country.”

He sighed. “Tell me the truth about it.”

Anger started creeping about inside me. “That is the truth.”

He shook his head. “I wish you felt like you could trust me.”

For whatever reason, the look in his grey eyes and the hurt on his face was killing me inside. I didn’t know him, but I did trust him. I didn’t even know why. Maybe it was the way he laughed when he was at the table with the ladies. Or the way he did crazy things, sporadically, like drag me to Jack’s room and show me that photo. I liked him, and for no reason at all, or maybe for every reason.

I couldn't stop looking at him. “My stepmom hates me. And I mean hate. She told me she would put drugs in my room and call the cops.” A tear slipped down my cheek. “I think she might have drugged me to get rid of me. She knew I had pushed my last button with my dad, and I think she did this to me on purpose.” I held out my wrist. “I’m not brave enough to cut myself like this. I can’t even worm a hook. I tried once, big mistake. I can’t hurt things, not even me. I think she drugged me and I hurt myself in the roses and she lied to my dad.”

His eyes narrowed. “You really think she would do that to you?”

”Yeah.”

“You don't think maybe it’s all your drinking that’s making you suspicious and in denial about the harm you’re doing to yourself?”

“No! Who the hell do you think you are?” I was floored. I stood up and stormed off in the hideous rain.

I got to the gift shop before he grabbed my arm. “Fin, wait.”

I shoved him off of me. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” I turned and stormed into the restrooms. They smelled funny, like an outhouse at a campground. I’d only seen one once, but it was enough to damage my nose permanently.

I couldn't believe he would think that. I hated he thought that.

The door opened and he walked in. “Fin, I just wanted to be sure you weren’t a danger to yourself. That's all. I swear. I believe you. But I had to know, before we… Well, I just had to know. I believe you.”

I backed away. “No, you don't. I can tell.”

He shook his head, looking down on me. His hair was dripping down his face. “I brought you here because I knew you needed to see it in the rain. Only in a storm can you imagine seeing a girl being washed up on the rocks, losing everything. I like you. I know I shouldn't. I don't even know you.” He stepped closer. “No matter how hard I tried to focus on my dying grandfather, I couldn't. I was stuck on you. Your face, your troubled eyes, your scar, every bit of you plagued me.”

I shook my head. “We can’t do this. We don't even know each other and I have a horrid feeling you’re like bipolar or off your meds for something really intense.”

He looked upset, but he stopped walking toward me and held out his hand. “Friends, then? At least until you realize you’re as crazy about me as I am about you.”

I put my hand in his. “I think you’re just crazy, but friends works for me.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Yes, we will be amazing friends. Now let’s go get you a dry shirt. Not that I don't love this one.”

I looked down at my see-through shirt and pulled the wet jacket over my chest better.

“And maybe something hot. It’s freezing out there. Did you like it though?”

“Besides your obvious insanity, this place is pretty cool.” I looked up. “Thanks for showing me this.”

He smiled. “Thanks for being a pain in the arse and making it more worthwhile.”

“I’m not a pain in the arse.”

He sighed. “You are. But you’re my pain in the arse. Let’s go get a hot beverage.”

We walked out of the ladies’ washroom, getting frowns from the two old ladies walking in. I sighed. “I wish I had my phone. I wish we could take a picture of this.”

He laughed. “So you can put it on Instagram?”

I nudged him. “Shut up.” It totes was, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

Why do people always think pretty white girls are cheerleaders?

What the hell is there to be cheery about anyway?

Chapter Six

It’s Real to Him so It’s Real to Me

I sat at the table with Jack and Millie and listened to his story. “Our children never understood our desire to leave London behind when we retired. But we had seen the great city flourish, starve, suffer bombs, and all the royal weddings one could manage. We had no more desire to be part of it. We needed inspiration and freedom. I’m ninety-two years old. I believe we have made it thus far because of the escape we made from our stifling lives. Our children were old enough to manage the expectations of our families, so we did the only thing we could think of. We ran.”

Millie sipped her tea, always making me nervous at the way her hands shook. “We have traveled through Africa, Australia, Europe, and Asia. But Canada has been our favorite. There is a peace and quiet here that you don’t see anywhere else. People here are so private; they don’t pry or have paparazzi chasing you and taking note of everything you do. You’re not watched and stalked constantly. London has become so overcrowded. You have to go into the country to be alone. Here, I have actually been alone in Halifax on the street. And when I did pass by people, they greeted me. It’s like London in the earlier years.”

I loved how they talked. Everything was Shakespeare, even if it was nonsense or nothing at all. Their imaginations must have been rampant—worry about paparazzi. I shrugged. “I haven’t seen much besides this place and Vancouver. Where have you been here?”

Jack smiled. “We have seen Victoria, Regina, Ottawa, Old Quebec, Charlottetown, and Halifax. We love both coasts.”

“This side of Canada does seem nice, but I like the Wild West better. ‘Course I haven’t seen Halifax. I think there might be an embargo against my ever having fun here.”