Thin White Line Read online

  It shows just how much power Ryder has over the girls who like him. I make a mental note to absolutely not change my looks or myself to please anyone else.

  I am borderline nauseous when Ryder’s attention turns to Cicely. He glances at her, smiles—or at least begins to—until Cicely picks an apple off Ryder’s tray and bites into it. He lifts a brow as though to say, what the hell are you doing? And she instantly sets the apple back down, looking embarrassed.

  Most girls I know lose their appetite when they are depressed. Not me. I gorge on sweets and junk food. I can feel the urge to devour every bite on my plate, so I push the pizza away from me.

  “We used to be best friends from the time we were in second grade up until seventh grade.”

  “You and Cicely?”

  She nods.

  I think back on the summers that we spent together at our grandmother’s house and try my best to recall any mention of Cicely. I do remember her talking about a good friend with curly brown hair. In fact, she had a picture of her BFF from a photo booth. The two had matching haircuts. “What happened?”

  Brooke shrugs as she finishes off my chips and takes a drink of my pop. “People change.”

  I watch her closely. “You mean that she changed?”

  After checking to be sure Cicely’s buddies aren’t listening to our conversation, Brooke lowers her voice. “She said I changed, but it seems an odd coincidence that she cut me off the summer I got fat.”

  I straighten. “When did you get fat?”

  “Summer of seventh grade. After Grandma died that June I went on an eating binge. When I started school that fall, I’d gained almost twenty pounds over the summer.” Brooke crushes the empty bag of chips in her hand. “Let’s just say, puberty was not kind to me. Cicely never said that my weight-gain was the issue, but it seemed like a pretty strange coincidence and it didn’t help when I overheard her calling me names while I was walking down the hall one day.”

  “How shallow,” I say, thinking about Ange and how she’s been there for me through every difficult point of my life. I could have gained fifty pounds and she wouldn’t have dumped me. “What did she do when you lost weight?”

  “By then, it was too late,” Brooke says with a forced grin. For the first time, I see vulnerability in those doe-like eyes. “I mean, she asked me to come over, but when I did, too much had changed. I had changed. I was wiser and I realized I deserved better.”

  “Good for you.”

  Cicely’s past cattiness cut Brooke to the bone and it says so much about her character. “So if she’s with Ryder, do you hang out with the same people?”

  Brooke shakes her head. “Not at all. She’s a cheerleader and, therefore, a fixture on the jock circuit. She even dated a twenty-four year-old guy who is now a professional hockey player. They broke up about a month or so ago and, immediately after, she started showing up at our gigs.”

  “Maybe she’ll get back together with her ex.”

  Brooke shakes her head. “No, I heard he’s being traded to a team back east, so I’m assuming he’s already out of here. I don’t need to worry, though. Ryder has about a two week rebound rate. Trust me, by this coming weekend, he will have found someone else to sleep with. He bores easily.”

  “Is Cicely his usual type?”

  “Ryder doesn’t necessarily have a type. Any girl is his type. Personally, I’d steer clear of him; and to be perfectly honest, I don’t need the drama, especially with family.”

  I nod. “It doesn’t hurt to look, though.”

  Brooke laughs.

  We must have been talking too loud because a second later the brunette gets up and rushes over to Cicely, no doubt eager to repeat every single word of our conversation.

  “She’s staring at us,” I tell Brooke, feeling sick to my stomach as the brunette whispers in Cicely’s ear. She turns and looks directly at me. The last thing I want is to make Brooke’s life more complicated, but it seems like I just unintentionally did.

  Brooke glances over her shoulder and glares.

  “Do you think she heard me talk about Ryder?”

  “By the expression on her face, yes; I’d say she’s pissed,” Brooke says, now grinning from ear-to-ear. “That’ll give her something to worry about.”

  Brooke leans forward and motions for me to do the same. The smile has disappeared and her eyes are stone cold. “If she tries to be buddies with you, do yourself a favor and run in the opposite direction.” There is a definite edge to Brooke’s voice. “Seriously, she’s dangerous, and the closer she gets to a person, the more damage she can do.”

  “I’d never be her friend after the way she treated you.”

  Brooke’s eyes soften. “Promise?”

  “I swear.”

  I glance once more at Cicely, and sure enough, she’s still watching me with narrowed eyes. “I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t want to be my friend. In fact, I’m pretty sure I just made my first enemy.”

  CHAPTER 4

  My mom’s expression upon seeing Brooke for the first time in years is priceless.

  I can’t keep the grin off my face when, with completely rigid posture and a forced smile, Mom gives Brooke a hug while trying, not very successfully, to not look at her piercings.

  Brooke is doing an incredible job at complimenting my mom on her beautiful taste in home décor (OMG, and she was calling me a kiss ass!). “No wonder Mom hired you to help her out with sets, Aunt Melissa. You have great style.” Brooke bends down and gives a kiss to the forehead of Shakespeare’s bust that takes pride of place on a side table in the cramped living room. “You have kind of an old world charm going on here.”

  Our houses have always been impeccably furnished and Mom has worked with my dad as a consultant on the restaurants within each resort we owned. She’s done an amazing job.

  I am actually relieved my dad hasn’t fought her for any of the household possessions once the house had been sold because I find comfort in the familiar. Unlike my dad’s soulless, fully-furnished condo that is decorated in a cold, oriental, minimalistic style; our apartment is warm and full of life. I’ve been to his condo only one time, on what felt to be an endless Saturday afternoon, and I never went back.

  I hate everything about that ultra-modern space, especially the fact his girlfriend lives there.

  “And you look amazing, Aunt Melissa. I swear you and Kenzie could be sisters.”

  Now Brooke was pushing it a bit. Though I do resemble my mom with her blue eyes and blonde hair, our facial features are very different. I look more like my dad’s sister, but my mom always hated hearing that.

  “Aren’t you sweet,” Mom says, perking up. “Your mom told me you’re in a band. How fun!”

  “It is fun,” Brooke replies, folding her hands together in front of her and flashing a charming smile. “I love it. Thanks for letting Kenz come hear us. I’m thinking she can be our go-fer. We desperately need someone to get us water and snacks during practice and gigs.”

  I like the sound of that. I’m not so sure my mom likes the idea, though, from the frown on her face.

  “We usually run over on practice nights, Aunt Melissa. I hope you don’t mind if she’s home a little later. Plus, it is Friday night.”

  “So where do you practice, exactly?” Mom asks, her gaze shifting to my outfit. I dressed up a little for the occasion and she looks suspect.

  “My friend’s house. We practice in the basement.”

  “The neighbors don’t mind?” Mom questions.

  Brooke shakes her head. “Not at all. We’ve been practicing there for three years now.”

  I see the concern in my mom’s expression. I can almost read her mind. I’ve never had this kind of freedom. My idea of a night out in San Diego was attending a bonfire on the beach after one of my brother’s football games. There had always been supervision with Mom usually the one chaperoning.

  Mom watches Brooke closely. “There won’t be any drinking, right?”

 
“Aunt Melissa, this is a practice, not a party,” Brooke says, actually sounding a bit wounded. “This is work to me. My band is my future.”

  Damn, she’s good.

  Mom instantly relaxes. “So...you mentioned being late. What time do you think you’ll be back?”

  “Well, we’re picking up Sadie and she lives a little ways out, so probably like one-ish.”

  “One?” Mom’s gaze shifts to the clock on the wall. It’s almost eight. I can see her mentally counting the hours between now and one a.m.. She sighs heavily. “Okay, one o’clock, but not a minute after.”

  I know how hard it is for my mom to relinquish control and let me have a life. This is a huge step for her.

  The sides of Brooke’s mouth curve in a soft smile. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” Mom says, giving us both hugs.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask, feeling a little guilty about leaving her alone for the night.

  “Well, Aunt Shelley invited me over, but I think I might stay in. I’m kind of wiped out after this week.”

  “You should hang with mom for a bit. She’d be bummed out if you bailed on her,” Brooke says, already walking for the door.

  “We’ll see,” Mom says, but I have a feeling she’s not leaving the house. “And thank you for showing Kenzie around school this week.”

  “No problem, Aunt Melissa.”

  I give Mom a reassuring smile before I walk out the door.

  Brooke is practically skipping to the SUV. Someone is excited about tonight. The black cargo pants fit her like a second skin and the black blazer she’s wearing is fitted, showing off her tiny waist.

  The second we hit the SUV she ditches the blazer. She wears a black and purple halter that shows off the majority of her super-toned back. I am stunned to see she has a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder.

  “An eighteenth birthday present to myself.”

  “I like it and you look amazing,” I say and her brows furrow together. Obviously, she is better giving out compliments versus taking one.

  “I like those jeans, but I’m warning you right now—I’m going to burn those other ones.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The ones that look painted on.”

  “The ultra-skinny ones?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes, the ultra-skinny jeans. No one looks good in those, except for super thin rocker boys.

  I make a mental note to toss out the jeans when I get home.

  “Anyway, the jeans you have on now are great...but that shirt is fucking hideous.”

  I glance down at my shirt. It’s actually one of my favorites. “What’s wrong with it?”

  She reaches into the cluttered backseat and a second later tosses something at my head. “Put this on.”

  I wait until she pulls out of the neighborhood before I remove my shirt. Brooke gives me a side-long glance. “Black with pink lace. I’m shocked. Who knew my goody too-shoes cousin has a naughty side.”

  I shrug. What can I say—I have a thing for fancy underwear and bras. “I don’t know about this vest.” I slide it on and button it. “I can barely breathe and it’s sort of revealing.”

  “Who cares about breathing? You look amazing.”

  “Really?” I glance down at my chest. I’ve never shown so much cleavage in my life. My mom would have a coronary. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

  She actually snorts. “Seriously? There is never a thing as too much cleavage. You should see what some of these bitches wear to our shows. I’m almost embarrassed for them.”

  I can only imagine what girls do to get Ryder’s attention.

  “You should add eyeliner or something.” Brooke rummages through her purse and tosses me a plastic makeup bag. “The face needs to match the outfit, if you know what I mean.”

  “So you want me to look like a slut?”

  She laughs and the high-pitched sound makes me laugh, too.

  I humor her and put on smoky-colored eyeliner, lots of mascara, and even go for a darker lip stain than I normally wear.

  “Are those fake eyelashes?” she asks.

  I’ve had a lot of people ask the same question before. “No.”

  “Lucky. I didn’t get any of the good family traits.”

  “Do you own a mirror?” I ask, but she blows me off with a wave of her hand.

  “So, tell me about Sally.”

  Her brows furrow. “Who the fuck is Sally?”

  “Isn’t that who we’re picking up?”

  She laughs. “Sadie.”

  “Right, Sadie.”

  “We’ve been friends for a couple of years. I actually met her through Curtis, the guitar player in our band. By the way, just so you know, Curtis is off-limits...because we kind of have a thing going on.” She flashes a smug grin.

  “Oh really?” I say, intrigued. “What kind of a thing?”

  She shrugs. “A lady never tells.”

  “That sounds exactly like something our moms would say.”

  Brooke laughs under her breath, but offers nothing else. I’m anxious to meet Curtis. I’m thinking tattooed, bad boy biker.

  We pull into the driveway of a townhouse and Brooke lays on the horn. “I told her to be waiting for us.”

  The words haven’t left her mouth when the door to the townhouse opens and a tall brunette steps out. She’s wearing a tight, red shirt and a silver miniskirt over leggings that have horizontal rips from the outer hip to ankle. A leather jacket and four-inch red stilettos finish off the look.

  She is stunning.

  “Should I sit in the back?” I ask, and reach for the door handle.

  “Hell no, you’re family. She can sit in the back.”

  Sadie opens the back door to the SUV. “What a shit hole. Seriously, would it kill you to clean this car out?”

  “And fuck you, too,” Brooke says.

  I turn in my seat and smile. “Hi, I’m Kenzie.”

  “Hello, cousin Kenzie. I’m Sadie.”

  She is even more beautiful up close with an amazingly voluptuous body. Her bangs have been braided into an intricate design, she’s wearing fake eyelashes, dark makeup and red lipstick. Her hair and makeup are so flawless that I’d bet my life she’s a cosmetologist.

  “How was your first week at Pacific?” Sadie asks, tossing clothes aside with a disgusted look on her face.

  “Good,” I answer. “Do you go there?”

  Sadie shakes her head. “I graduated last year, thank God.”

  “She’s lucky she even got her diploma,” Brooke remarks.

  Sadie hits her in the shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m the first to confess that I wouldn’t have graduated if it hadn’t have been for Brooke. My girl here saved my ass.”

  Brooke nods in agreement. “I did. If I’d known high school would suck so much without you, I wouldn’t have worked so hard to help.”

  “Now you have your cousin to keep you company.”

  Brooke grins. “Yep, now I have Kenz.”

  We drive up to an older house in the downtown area of Vancouver. In the driveway is a lifted pickup, a brand new sports car and an old, beat-to-shit four-door with a bumper sticker that says, COEXIST.

  Random cars are parked along the block and Brooke pulls up beside an old oak tree.

  I get out of the car and close the door behind me. My heart nearly beats out of my chest and I feel a mixture of excitement as well as anticipation rush through me at the prospect of seeing Ryder again.

  “You look nervous,” Brooke says, lighting up another cigarette.

  I tug at the bottom of the vest, wondering if I should bring my jacket along just in case.

  As though reading my mind, Brooke grins. “Stop it. You look great. Doesn’t she, Sadie?”

  “You’re gorgeous,” she says, her gaze sliding down my body and up again. “I’d totally do you.”

  My eyes widen making both Sadie and Brooke laugh. It is definitely going to take me some time to get used to their
sense of humor. They are both so different than Ange.

  “Plus, it gets like a sauna in there when they start playing.”

  I can hardly wait to see Brooke’s band. “So the neighbors really don’t care about you playing?”

  “They’re backed up to an industrial warehouse that shuts down after six each night and is closed on weekends. Most of the neighbors are old folks who were friends with the grandparents before they left to a retirement home, besides, they pretty much just turn off their hearing aids when they go to sleep. Plus, they love the guys. Curtis and his brother spent nearly every weekend here growing up.”

  “And I think they mow the neighbors’ yards as a trade-off for putting up with the noise,” Sadie adds, putting a new coat of lip-gloss on. She presses her lips together.

  The two story house has a fresh coat of paint and is surrounded by a chain-link fence. The yard is manicured with fresh bark dust and flowers.

  Four steps lead to a porch where a bistro table and two chairs sit beside a freshly-painted porch swing. A makeshift table holds an ashtray that is surprisingly clear of cigarette butts. Definitely not what I expected.

  Brooke walks straight into the house without knocking with Sadie staying right on her heels.

  Uncomfortable, I stop short at the door. “Are you guys sure it’s okay to just walk in?”

  “It’s her boyfriend’s house,” Sadie answers in way of explanation.

  Boyfriend? So the relationship is a little more serious than what Brooke let on.

  Feeling awkward and completely out of my element, I follow behind Brooke and Sadie into a living room that is painted a muted grey and has a black leather couch with a matching loveseat. A sixty-inch big screen sits in the corner on a metal stand.

  The outside of the house says retired homeowner, while the inside screams bachelor pad.

  We walk straight through the living room and Brooke opens a door.

  The music blasts up to greet us.

  I hold onto the smooth handrail as we descend the stairs to a cellar-type basement with a concrete floor. To the right there is a door that is closed.