Announcing Trouble Read online

  “I’ve seen you in school, though.” But he doesn’t sound like he’s sure, even though I pass by his locker most days. I’m not the type of girl a guy like Garrett Reeves would notice. I’ve seen the girls hanging out with him and the other players—all the P girls. Pretty. Popular. Perfect.

  I stand and shove in the stool to clear my path to the door.

  “Wait.” He stands, too. I’m five eight, but he’s still four or five inches taller than I am. He slides his hands in his pockets, smiling with the confidence of someone used to issuing orders and having them followed. “What’s your story, Josie-with-no-last-name?”

  “No story. Just a baseball angel of mercy.”

  “You were good.”

  “I know.” It seems like a good line for an exit, so I take it, turning for the door and ignoring his “Wait!” as I let it close behind me.

  I give my eyes a second to adjust to the bright sunlight. Mai is still in the same spot on the bleachers, standing now, with the other fans. The fence around the dugout begins to rattle and shake. The team appears, one at a time, loaded down with bat bags and water jugs. Mai grips the fence as she watches. Her eyes look a little glazed over. Oh hell.

  “Hold up a minute.” It’s Garrett, framed by the open door to the booth. “If that was meant to be a tryout, you’ve got the job.”

  “Not what that was.” I reach Mai and shove her backpack into her arms as I grab mine.

  “You can’t leave me without a partner. I got rid of Nathan for you.”

  I roll my eyes. “You got rid of Nathan because he doesn’t know baseball.”

  “Josie. I need you.” He widens those baby blues and curves his mouth into a flirty smile. A smile that I bet gets him a whole lot of yes.

  “No,” I say. Before he can answer, I grab Mai’s arm and tug her toward the exit.

  She follows, a dreamy smile on her red lips. “That was amazing.”

  “No, that was a mistake. You were supposed to get over your crush.”

  “But this could be my grand passion.”

  “You don’t believe in grand passions.”

  “I’m reconsidering.” Her brown eyes have gone melty. “You should, too.”

  I stop at the edge of the parking lot. Heat from the asphalt rises in a wave that makes me dizzy. Or maybe it’s a delayed reaction. All that baseball and testosterone. Memories that cling to me like sweat. Itchy and uncomfortable.

  “We are not changing our minds,” I tell Mai. “Crush on him from afar if you have to, but no more baseball.”

  Not even my best friend is going to drag me back to another game.

  Chapter Three

  “Mom?” I call. “You home?” I set my pack on the table. The kitchen is usually bright with sunlight when I get home, but it’s in shadow now. She won’t care that I’m back late. But why I’m late…

  I decided on the drive home not to mention the game. I never lie to my mom, but I can’t bring myself to say the word “baseball” in this house. It’s not that cold of a day in hell.

  “Hi, honey.”

  I jump, my hand flying to my chest. “You scared me.”

  She’s carrying a small tub filled with tubes of hydrating serum. “I was in the back bedroom, counting.”

  “Inventory? I thought you were going to do that this morning.”

  Mom runs AromaTher, a one-woman company she created to sell beauty products with essential oils. Her focus is skin care, but along with moisturizers and toners, she carries a full line of essential oils for everything from insomnia to indigestion.

  In another few months, it’s going to be our company.

  “I was.” She clears her throat. “I got a little distracted.”

  Now that I’m paying attention, her eye makeup is smudged and her hair is loose. She always complains about how hot her hair is on her neck when she’s working. She must have gotten more than a little distracted if she didn’t take the time to clip it up. “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Fine.” If anything, her skin turns even pinker. One of the reasons Mom does so well with AromaTher is that she’s beautiful. But it’s the girl-next-door kind of beautiful that ordinary people think they could have with just the right products. Her shoulder-length hair is thick and glossy, dark brown like her eyes, and her smile is apple-pie sweet. I’ve got the same coloring, but I’m more of the Amazon-next-door. Mom says she envies my athletic build. I tell her any time she wants to trade her size six shoes for my size nine, I’m in.

  “I’m almost done,” she says. “I’ve got juniper berry, geranium, and palmarosa left.”

  “I’ll help you finish.”

  She starts toward the office, and I follow. I’m not sure what palmarosa is, but it’s good for skin tone. It doesn’t smell bad, either. That’s the AromaTher promise: Scents that make Sense. That was my line, and it’s now on the bottom of Mom’s business cards. Once I turn eighteen in May and become an official partner, I’ll have business cards of my own. I’m trying to come up with a new line for me.

  Josie Walters. I want to make a healthy profit.

  Yeah, probably not. I love the business and the fact that I’ll be a co-CEO at the age of eighteen. But to me, essential oils are a product, not a passion. Mom can heal the world. Me, I’m going to expand our client base and build the company.

  I stop short at the door of the bedroom we’ve turned into our office-slash-warehouse.

  “I know,” Mom says. “It’s a mess.”

  It’s always a mess. This is more of a disaster.

  She frowns at the tubs that are on the carpet instead of the shelves. “I got partway through and…” Her voice trails off, half finished like the inventory.

  I draw in a breath, and that’s when I smell it. Smell her. I lean closer and sniff her neck. “Oh my God, it’s ylang-ylang.”

  She bats me away with a hand. “Don’t be silly.” But her cheeks have gone from pink to cherry red.

  I know very well what the essential oil of ylang-ylang means. “Were you having a nooner?”

  “It’s much too late for a nooner.” Then she smiles.

  “Mom. Eww.” James must be back. James is Mom’s gentleman friend (she won’t let me call him a boyfriend), and even though I love him, I don’t want to see evidence of that. “Did he just get home?”

  “This morning.”

  James sells computer equipment, so he travels a lot, but they’ve been dating for almost a year, so I know the signs. I sniff again. Yep, there’s driftwood and cinnamon bark. Mom is into essential oils for everything. Including sex. After the divorce was final and she started to date, I always knew there was a new guy because Mom would put together a special mix of fragrances to use in the diffuser for when they were doing it.

  My mom, unlike me, has sex. Two years ago, she insisted we have The Talk. She asked if I was interested, and I told her no way would I ever do that with any of the guys I know. I couldn’t see letting any of them get that close to me.

  That’s when she told me she might be a mother, but that didn’t mean she was sexually dead. I stopped her before she could say something from an eighties movie like “women have needs.”

  It’s not as bad as at Mai’s house, where her scientist parents announce it the way they might announce lunch. “Daddy and I are going to have sex now.” When Mai’s brother, Ethan, was back from Harvard, they had a family meeting. Both kids asked if they could please come up with a euphemism. So her mom started saying things like, “Dad and I are going to wrestle in bed,” or “We’re going to have a bouncy nap.”

  So that didn’t work.

  Mom keeps it low-key, which is cool, but I swear it’s starting to feel like she’s only using him for it. He sneaks in and out when I’m not home, and he doesn’t come over just to watch TV and eat burned grilled cheese sandwiches with us. He wants more. I’ve heard him say so. I’m not sure why she won’t let it move beyond…bouncy naps.

  “You know, it would be fine if he hung out here,” I offer. �
��I like James. I’ve told you that a million times.”

  “I know.” She kneels in front of the shelves and starts replacing the tubs.

  I get down beside her and do the same. “So then what’s the deal?”

  “No deal. He has a life. So do I.”

  “You could have a life together. You deserve to be with a guy who puts you first for a change.”

  She pauses, holding a tub of turmeric. “I’m not in any hurry. I like that it’s just you and me.”

  I smile because I like it, too, even though I know I’m not supposed to. “My friends think it’s weird. They can’t wait to get out of their houses and live in the dorms.”

  “You can still do that if you want.”

  My stomach clenches at the thought because no, I don’t want. “Why should I share a tiny room with someone who might have terrible taste in music and eat peanut butter out of the jar with a finger?” I add, “Besides, my classes are mostly online, so I’ll be here all day—running the business with you. It doesn’t make sense to waste time and money on a dorm room and a commute.”

  “What about the social part?” she asks.

  “Mai will be gone, but I can still see Jasmine and Avi on the weekends.”

  Our eyes meet, and even though everything I’ve said is 100 percent true, her gaze says she knows none of it is the real reason.

  I shrug and speak through a suddenly tight throat. “I want this to be home for a little while longer.”

  “It is your home, Josie. For as long as you want.”

  She slides the last tub in place with a sigh, and I know we both feel the weight of those years, those moves. I didn’t mind at the time. Didn’t think I minded. It was part of the deal—while my father was chasing the game, we had to move to where the opportunities were. I knew it wouldn’t be like that forever. But I still woke up some mornings not sure where I was. And even though I got good at walking into strange schools, it never got easier.

  It wasn’t until he was gone that the nightmares started. I’d wake in the middle of the night in a panic—afraid he was leaving. That he would leave me behind. I’d fly out of bed, heart pounding, before I remembered that we were in Phoenix now. That he’d already left me behind. Shame and disgust would follow me back to bed. Even after everything, I was still trying to follow him. I haven’t woken up like that in a long time, and I never want to again.

  “We’re in a good place now,” Mom says.

  “The best,” I agree.

  “And I have some great news,” she adds as we both stand. “I made an appointment with the business attorney. We’ll sign the partnership forms and make it official on your eighteenth birthday.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Melissa and Josie Walters, Partners.”

  “Or maybe Josie and Melissa Walters. That sounds even better.”

  She laughs. “Already power hungry. I like it.” Her smile reflects my happiness. “But we do need to be ready.”

  I brush a streak of dust off her sleeve. “Why does this feel like a segue into the website?”

  “Because it is.” She looks at me with a hint more exasperation than the last time she brought it up. “You still haven’t started it, have you?”

  “You’re awfully bossy for a partner.”

  “We’re not partners until May fourth. I’m still in charge for another eight weeks.”

  “I’m going to start it this week. I promise. It’ll be done by the time we’re official.”

  Her eyes soften. “We’ve come a long way from that first summer, haven’t we?”

  “You didn’t think we could do it.”

  “I couldn’t have without you.”

  I nod, my heart full. Dad had left, but Mom didn’t want to uproot me, so we stayed in Florida for my final year of middle school. Money was tight. Dad promised the checks would come, but he promised a lot of things. Mom had started AromaTher a few years before, building it slowly. But now it’s our main source of income. I had to help Mom expand things, tagging along to parties and working farmers markets. It started as a necessity, became a distraction, and then an anchor.

  Now here we are in Phoenix where Mom grew up. This room might look like a mess, but the business is established now. Grounded. Like I am. Mai thinks AromaTher is my way of settling for stability. But after the way I grew up, stability isn’t a bad thing.

  It’s everything.

  Chapter Four

  The hallways are packed before first lunch. It feels like we’re being carried along by a stampede of wild animals, all of them braying at the top of their lungs. Mai is shoved by a skinny girl in a shirt that reads, “I hate people.” When Mai turns to her with a “Hey!” she gets a middle finger in response.

  “That’s who I’ll be talking to.” Mai raises her voice in frustration—and to be heard over the crowd. “Do you see what I’m up against?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say,” I tell her. “She won’t listen.”

  We take a left and start the trek from Building A to B and my calculus class and Mai’s AP Stats. It’s warmer in this hall—even the inspiring quotes stenciled on the maroon walls look wilted.

  “It’s my job to make her listen. I’ve been given a sacred task to guide these people into the future.”

  “You’re taking this valedictorian thing too seriously.”

  “It is serious. I want to leave these deviants with advice they can use.”

  “Go easy on the body spray?”

  She pauses to glare at me. “That’s not the direction I was hoping for.”

  I laugh. “I thought you already had the speech written?”

  “I did. I’m rethinking.”

  “Why?” I ask. “It was good. Work hard. Choose your path wisely.” I veer left and Mai veers right to avoid colliding with three kids who are pooling spare change. It reminds me that today is Wednesday—churro day at the food cart. “What else do you need to say?”

  “My mom read it,” Mai says. “She thinks my vision for the future is bleak.”

  “That’s your mom.” I flip a hand dismissively.

  Uncertainty flashes across her face, and I realize she’s not dismissing this at all. “What if she’s right? What if—”

  Mai gives a sharp cry and lurches forward.

  I grab her arm, steadying her as someone stumbles into me from behind. For a minute it’s a drunken dance as we regain our balance. A wave of students is heading our way, creating a bottleneck. Then I see who’s made the wave. The tall, broad-shouldered variety of boy. They’re like coyotes. They rove in packs.

  Cholla High is not a bastion of intellect. We’re a public school in a not-so-rich area and though we’ve got a respectable number of brains, they don’t produce trophies. Our school is known for two things: baseball and football. They bring us glory, which is why the players who compete are treated like heroes. I try to steer clear, but it’s impossible to miss them. I’m not sure they actually attend class, but they do use the same halls.

  Mai pops up on her tiptoes, and I know she’s searching for Anthony. “There he is.” She presses a hand over her heart. “I had my thighs wrapped around that neck.”

  I sigh, blaming myself. If I hadn’t been working extra hours at the bookstore over spring break, Mai would have been safely floating on a raft in her backyard pool with me. Instead, bored on her own, she went to the public pool. Anthony was there, along with a group of his buddies, and a game of chicken started. Anthony needed someone to ride his neck and knock other girls off other well-muscled shoulders. He picked Mai. She described it to me in hushed tones—as if it was a moment when time stood still. Their eyes met. Their DNA called to each other. Personally, I think he saw a beautiful girl light enough to carry around easily. And as it turned out, Mai is a ferocious chicken competitor. No surprise there.

  “You’ve got to admit,” she says now, “it will be the best ‘why-we-got-together’ story in history.”

  A twinge of worry filters into my voice as I say, “You know this thing with A
nthony isn’t real, right?”

  “I know.” A small, secretive smile tugs at her lips. “But it feels better than real. It feels…fun.”

  Mai is driven—she always has been. She’s into science, like her parents, and when she says she wants to save the world, she means it. One day, she’s going to be on the team that discovers a cure for cancer or Alzheimer’s. I always thought she thrived on that sense of purpose. But thrived is maybe not the same thing as a laugh-riot. I feel guilty for raining on her Anthony parade. I’m even ready to send good vibes his way, but then I see Blondie and my heart ticks up. He’s in the middle of the crowd, his arm raised for a high five with another nameless hulk, grinning like he owns the world. Or at least this hall.

  Suddenly, his gaze hooks on mine. His eyes widen. “Josie Walters!” he calls. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  How does he know my last name?

  “Where have you been hiding all day?”

  I grip the strap of my pack. “In classrooms. You might visit one before graduation.”

  His grin widens. “I thought I’d dreamed that acid wit.”

  “Garrett Reeves is dreaming about you?” Mai asks.

  Heads turn my way. The girls following along like human magnets are wondering who I am, and more importantly, why Garrett knows who I am. I roll my eyes because the whole thing seems so…high school.

  Garrett shoots a finger gun at me. “You and me. We need to talk.”

  Does anyone tell this guy no? “We really don’t.”

  “After school. I’ll be at the flagpole. Find me.”

  He did not just say that, did he?

  I shoot a finger gun back at him along with a huge phony smile. “Yeah. For sure. Coolio.”

  The wave of his friends carries him past us and on toward the cafeteria.

  Mai fixes her dark brown eyes on me. “Did you say ‘coolio’?”

  “Laid it on too thick?”

  She shrugs a shoulder. “I thought it was a nice touch.”

  “This is why you should never have anything to do with an athlete. They think the world revolves around them.”

  “But they do have nice arms.”