“Early one?”
“Yeah. Can I get a lift?” I’d get there half an hour early if Dad dropped me off before heading to work, but it would be better than walking and taking the bus in this heat.
“Sure thing.”
“Good night.”
“Night.” He waved me off, heading to wake up Mom.
The next day, I got home from my double shift around ten. Mom was already drifting off on the couch, but she startled awake when I came in and offered to heat up the casserole they’d had for dinner.
“No thanks. I ate at the diner.” The pay was shitty, but at least Leah—the owner of the aptly named Leah’s Diner—fed us when we worked long shifts. Leah had been friends with my mom in high school, and they’d reconnected when we’d moved back to Devilbend just before I started high school. Just before my life turned into hell on earth.
Actually, high school wasn’t hell—it was more like limbo. It wasn’t constant daily torture, although there was some of that too. No, it was punishment through alienation. Unless I was being sneered at, laughed at, or having something thrown at me, I didn’t exist.
Most of the time I preferred it that way—preferred that people didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at the hideous birthmark on my face. But fuck, it was lonely sometimes.
The purple birthmark started at the inner corner of my right eye, pooling out down the side of my nose and the top of my cheek like spilled wine—which was probably why they were called “port-wine stains.”
It wasn’t raised or bumpy; it wasn’t a rash or an infectious disease. It was just something I was born with. Something I couldn’t escape. Something I hated. Most people stared. Some clearly thought it was contagious, shrinking away from me. The kids at school just used it as fuel for their ridicule.
I took a quick shower, then brought my lotion out to the balcony. As soon as the sliding door was closed and I’d settled myself on the little chair, I heard movement on the other side of the bamboo.
“Neighbor?” There was that ocean voice, immediately making me smile.
“Hey, stranger,” I called back, propping one foot on the railing so I could rub lotion into my leg.
“I was just about to head to bed. Glad I caught you. Long day?”
“Yeah. I pulled a double shift.” I didn’t say where I worked—there was still a chance he was an axe murderer.
“That’s rough.” He sounded unsure; some of the ease of our banter from the previous night was gone.
“It’s OK.” I fought to keep my tone casual. “I only work part time, so I’m happy to take the extra shifts when I can.” I moved on to my other leg.
He sighed. “I gotta get a job.”
“Yeah? What do you do?” This was the part where he told me he was a professional whatever and way too old for me.
He laughed. “Whatever I can. Although it would be nothing if it were up to my dad.”
“Really?” Hope blossomed. Most adults didn’t let their parents dictate what they did for work, right?
“Yeah. He’d prefer I focus on . . . other things.”
I frowned. Neither of us spoke. That was vague and weird.
“It’s getting late. I better go.” As he moved, his balcony light threw his shadow over the bamboo screen. He was tall, broad shouldered.
When I didn’t speak, he did. “Cute toes.”
And then he was gone. The sound of his sliding door closing made me shake my head at my idiocy. Why hadn’t I told him good night or something? But hey, I sure was glad I’d let my mom paint my toes that deep red on the weekend. They did look cute.
The next day, I got home just after lunch. Mom and Dad were both at work, and there was nothing to stop me from racing through the apartment like a maniac, changing out of my work uniform and into a T-shirt dress, and launching myself onto the balcony. He wasn’t there. I waited all afternoon, going inside only for snacks. The sun was setting and I was packing up after my second makeup look when the slide of a balcony door made me pause.
Someone settled in on the other side of the bamboo screen. My heart leapt into my throat, and my hand froze over my makeup bag, several brushes clutched in my fist.
Then I rolled my eyes at myself and let the brushes drop with a clatter.
“Hey, stranger.” This time, I let the smile show in my voice.
“Oh, hey!” He sounded a little surprised. “You’re early tonight.”
“Didn’t work this afternoon. Been sitting out here for hours.” Shit! I cringed. Now I sounded like a creepy moron who’d been waiting for him all day.
But he didn’t skip a beat. “I would’ve come out sooner, but the smell of feet has finally vacated the premises, and I got dragged into a particularly frustrating campaign on Halo.”
“Well, I’m glad to know the stink is gone, but, er, what’s a Halo?”
“Oh!” His laugh this time was a little nervous. “It’s a video game. But not, like, a kid’s game or whatever. It’s got a parental advisory and everything. It’s super violent, actually. Not that I like it for the violence! It actually requires strong problem-solving skills and . . . I’m rambling.”
“Yeah, a bit.” I laughed.
“Sorry. I just didn’t want you to think I was a kid or anything.”
Fuck. How old was he? I was so damn confused.
“I still watch SpongeBob SquarePants on Saturday mornings,” I blurted, “if I’m not working. There’s just something comforting about cartoons and cereal, ya know?”
“Yeah. Takes me back to a time when everything felt right with the world and I didn’t have so much to worry about.”
“Yeah . . .” I was a little surprised he understood so immediately. What heavy shit was he dealing with? Was it as bad as the reason I was dreading going back to school? Was it worse?
The following day I had the late shift and was kicking myself for not telling the boy next door I wouldn’t be home in the evening. Then I was rolling my eyes for assuming he cared enough to notice I wouldn’t be around.
Work was busy—the Saturday night dinner crowd keeping us on our toes, especially considering it was the last weekend before school started. I didn’t get home until almost eleven. The apartment was dark and quiet, and my dad went straight to bed after picking me up.
I didn’t even bother changing—I just went straight out to the balcony.
“Neighbor?” His voice came as soon as I closed the door. It was softer than usual.
“Hey.” I smiled, matching his quiet tone. I guessed we were both aware of the thousands of sleeping people in close proximity. “You’re still up.”
“Yeah . . .” He didn’t sound as happy as he usually did. Maybe it wasn’t the late hour keeping his voice muted. “I’ve been sitting out here for hours. I’m kind of avoiding my dad—he’s in a mood. I wanted to hear your voice.”
That warm feeling in my chest intensified even as my brows drew together. His ocean-deep voice had dropped even further, hinting at tumultuous currents underneath.
I pushed aside the chair I usually sat in and lowered myself to the ground, leaning back against the wall. This was where he usually sat—they’d only just moved in, and I had a feeling there was no patio furniture on their balcony.