Halfway Perfect Page 12

  “At least she doesn’t have it in her hair,” Elana says, plucking at a long dark strand full of multicolored paint.

  “We should have gotten her hair. She was mocking us. No one gets to mock us and keep their perfectly white sweatshirt clean.”

  When I glance over my shoulder, Eve is staring at me.

  Chapter 17: Eve

  I’m totally into him.

  I’m so into him that I’m staring at the back of Alex’s retreating form, and Janessa has to say my name three times before I can allow my brain to figure out that this requires an action on my part.

  She’s standing behind me with Russ beside her. “Let’s go over the pictures.”

  I glance down at my newly painted sweatshirt. I’m a complete mess. But so is she. I head over in Janessa’s direction and sit on the floor beside her, keeping myself carefully positioned on the giant drop cloth.

  The weirdest part of figuring out that I’m into Alex is that it’s not actually weird at all. I like him. I’m pretty sure he likes me. We’re both eighteen. Is it really possible that I’ve managed to have a normal experience?

  Okay, my ex is his agent and he is in a fake relationship with a fourteen-year-old future supermodel, so maybe that takes things out of the normal category. But even with that, it’s the closest I’ve been to ordinary.

  I hope he’s not too humiliated by his “momentary lapse in focus” to talk to me. I’d been just as turned on as he had, but fortunately, I don’t have to wear those feelings for the entire crew to see.

  “Eve?” Janessa asks. I shake my head, focusing on the monitor in front of us. “Here’s your pose.”

  I stare at the tangible creation of the vision I’d had in my head. Elana looks gorgeous and Alex looks completely at her mercy. I laugh under my breath. I guess he sort of is.

  “What do you think?” I ask Janessa. I’m already biting my nails. It’s one thing to be her assistant, a totally different thing to have her use my idea and compare it directly to her own.

  Janessa concentrates on the monitor for a long time, her expression completely blank. “I think it’s the anti–Fifty Shades image.”

  I sit perfectly still, waiting for her to explain.

  “If I had to do it over,” she says, “I would bring their arms lower, covering her belly button, and have their hands be the top of the picture and continue the image from the waist down.”

  I’m already nodding and cursing myself for not thinking of that. “That would have been so much better.”

  Janessa shrugs. “But it’s not a bad picture, Eve. In fact, it’s a good picture, and a pose that I wouldn’t have thought up on my own. But there’s always something to be learned, right?”

  “Right.”

  “However,” she says, flipping back to a previous image, “I might like this one better.”

  I’m expecting another Alex/Elana photo, but it’s not. It’s me and Alex testing the lights, which weren’t quite perfect yet, but seeing our arms twisted together and Alex’s face buried in my neck, it’s so good it makes me blush.

  “You’re best when you don’t overthink,” Janessa says. “When you were in the pose, you were feeling your way through it. But when you placed Elana and Alex, you were under the gun, and everybody was watching. You got caught up in the exactness and forgot to make it look natural. Taking a random photo and directing someone are two different skills. But both are very important skills.”

  “Yeah, totally.” I can’t tear my eyes from the picture, but I’m listening and she’s making a lot of sense.

  “You have a roommate, right?” Janessa asks and I nod. “Use her or another student or two and take some practice photos this weekend. Give them direction and see what you can learn.”

  “Sure, great idea. Thanks.” I glance up and see Alex walking my way, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I reach over and turn off the monitor, getting rid of the picture of us. Janessa’s moved on to discussing the photos with Russ, so I tell her I’ll see her tomorrow and then meet Alex in the middle.

  He’s got a towel in his hand. He raises it to my face and wipes off the paint that he’d rubbed all over my cheek earlier. He’s still got paint in his hair and on his ear and neck.

  “I’m going home to shower,” he says. “Most likely a few times.”

  “Me too. I’m hoping wet paint will get me a seat on the subway.” I look right at Alex and try to imagine being somewhere else with him. Like at the coffee shop last night.

  And then I know I’m going to do something Stephanie would be very proud of. A huge giant leap for Eve Nowakowski. I open my mouth, and the words tumble out. “My roommate and I—”

  “Hot roommate.” He grins at me. “I like where this is going.”

  I snatch the towel from him and start rubbing paint from my arms. “We’re going to this frat party on Friday and…do you want to go?” I blurt out.

  He opens his mouth and then closes it quickly. His forehead is all scrunched up. “I was gonna ask you out.”

  I stand there trying not to laugh. “Should I take it back?”

  He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “A frat party, huh? Think it’ll be free of tabloid spies, or should I bring the old lady?”

  Wait, did he just say yes? “No tabloid spies. Guaranteed. But not a good place for a high school freshman.”

  My eyes follow his hand as he frantically digs for his phone in his pocket. “Shit.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Sorry, I have to answer this…but yes, Friday. Party. With Stephanie.”

  He gives me another smile and then turns around to answer his phone. He remembered my roommate’s name? I only mentioned it once last night.

  I decide to leave before anything can go wrong because that went a little too perfectly.

  Once I’m out of the studio, I pull out my phone and send a text to Reese Witherspoon (a.k.a. Steph).

  ME: I have a date for the party on Friday.

  REESE WITHERSPOON: Who?!

  ME: Alex

  REESE WITHERSPOON: The CK model? Omg. Best roommate ever. Does he have a friend?

  ME: Don’t know about the friend, but remember Wes?

  REESE WITHERSPOON: Of course! He’s not coming too, is he? If so, I might have to remove his balls.

  ME: No, Wes is not coming!!! But he’s Alex’s agent, remember?

  Okay, so maybe the perfect moment had to end right now with me prepping Steph for Friday night, but at least I’ll get it out of the way sooner rather than later. Alex might know that Wes and I have some tension between us, but unlike Steph, he has no idea about our real past.

  REESE WITHERSPOON: Oh boy.

  ME: I don’t want him to know about me and Wes.

  REESE WITHERSPOON: Gotcha. Consider me prepped.

  Where was Stephanie two years ago when I could have really used a friend? My phone buzzes again, distracting me.

  REESE WITHERSPOON: Don’t forget, you promised me drunkenness and kissing.

  ME: Yeah. I know. Remind me to tell you a funny story later. It involves underwear…

  Before I can put any distance between me and the studio, I spot Elana outside alone, eyes darting around like she’s waiting for someone.

  “Hey,” I say. “Where’s Lumina? I haven’t seen her all day.”

  Elana glances at me and smiles. “Her grandmother died early this morning. She’s flying home for a few days.”

  It doesn’t seem right, leaving her alone out here in New York City.

  “Are you waiting for a car? Or do you need a cab?” Before she can answer, I spot a black town car pulling into the only available space nearly half a block away.

  And then I see him climbing out of the car. Wes. Coming to pick her up. Just like he did so many times with me.

  A sick feeling washes over me, but Elana looks relieved to see Wes. Her relief
doesn’t stop my heart from pounding, my palms sticky with sweat. Why do I have to be the one to see this? Why do I have to carry this information when I’m trying so hard to let go of the past?

  Calm down, Eve. You’re jumping to conclusions.

  I stand there like an idiot while Wes rests his hands on Elana’s arms and then kisses both of her cheeks. “So sorry to make you wait out here. Kara had a meeting and couldn’t make it.”

  “It’s okay,” Elana says, glancing from Wes to me, then back to Wes.

  “Evie, look”—his eyes move up and down me—“messy.”

  My mouth falls open to respond, but nothing comes out. I’m surprised I can even hear over the thud of my heart. I don’t know what I’m doing, just that I can’t let her get in that car with Wes alone.

  “Actually,” I manage to stutter, looking right at Elana, “I was going to ask you if you wanted to…to grab some food, maybe see a movie? Go shopping?” Fly to the Caribbean, rob a bank, file our taxes for next year?

  Wes flashes me his smug professional grin. “She’s got castings all evening, Evie. That’s why I’m here. To accompany her.”

  It’s like my brain snaps back to reality. This isn’t a fucking Lifetime movie, Eve. Get a grip.

  Elana looks disappointed and even lets out a little sigh of protest, showing her real age. “Another time?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Wes says nothing, only raises an eyebrow as if silently asking me what I’m up to, when I really want to ask him what he’s up to. He could have sent anyone to accompany Elana. Or just sent the car without a chaperone.

  I stand there and watch as he rests a hand on the small of her back and guides her to the car. I can’t shake the feeling that I know something I shouldn’t. But why is it my responsibility to act? Two years ago, I finally mustered up the courage to tell someone about me and Wes, and that person humiliated me and accused me of lying. No one will believe me now either. No one will care.

  Besides, it’s probably all in my head. Maybe Wes wasn’t even as bad as I remembered. Maybe that’s all in my head too.

  I almost text Alex to ask him if he knew Wes was picking up Elana today and see what his reaction is, but selfish me is really looking forward to our date and I want to be normal and not throw this into the mix of our weird drama.

  Is that awful of me?

  • • •

  My brain is still clouded with Elana and Alex stuff when I get off the subway near Columbia and pull my ringing phone from my bag.

  It’s Jeff, my fellow hometown outcast and the guy I shared an apartment with during most of the gap between leaving New York and coming back this past August.

  “Hey, Jeff!” I try to sound excited to talk to him. I like Jeff a lot. He basically saved me from being forced to stay with my parents in their trailer after they squandered almost all of my modeling income on God knows what. But talking to him reminds me that I’m not quite as together as I like people to think. And the longer I go without these reminders-of-my-past phone calls, the more I begin to feel free of those chains. Free to choose my own path.

  “Eve, the Ivy League Diva,” he says in his famous girlie voice that is so endearing. “How’s New York? Are you really working for Calvin Klein? I assumed you were bullshitting me in that email.”

  I laugh. “It’s true, but I wish I weren’t working for CK. Although today wasn’t too bad.”

  “I need phone numbers, Eve,” he says. “You owe me at least a couple of digits belonging to some hot boys in tight jeans.”

  “I’ll give you two digits and you can guess the rest.”

  “Smartass.” I hear a sigh that’s significant enough to get my stomach churning. The real reason he’s calling is coming. “I thought you should know that your dad was in the ER last night.”

  I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, dread sweeping over me. “What for?”

  “He ran his truck into a stop sign, smashed the front end in. Hit his head pretty hard on the dash,” Jeff says. “I tried to avoid him, but he pissed off all the other nurses, and they had to send me in. And I had to test him. There wasn’t any way to get around it. His blood alcohol was point two—”

  “Jesus.” I let out a breath, trying to calm my anxiety. “Was he conscious? Did he say anything to you?” Jeff is silent for three long beats so I prompt him again. “Jeff?”

  “He said, aren’t you that fag sleeping with my daughter,” he finally admits. I close my eyes and shake my head. Fucking unbelievable. “Does he even realize how many things are wrong with that statement?”

  “God, Jeff, I’m so sorry.”

  “His head is fine. Mild concussion,” he continues. “But I don’t know if he’s going to be able to post bail, and the cop that came to pick him up said that it’s his third DUI in twelve months.”

  “Uh-uh,” I say, anger building in me. “I’m not helping him. Let him stay there. The entire town is probably safer that way.” Besides, I can’t bail him out. My parents took most of my money, and I handed what was left over to the Columbia bursar’s office.

  “You know me, Eve, I don’t like to get involved in your family business, and I’d never judge you for keeping that asshole locked up,” he says. “I just thought you should know what happened in case you hear it from someone else or if your mom calls sobbing and makes up the details to work in her favor.”

  “Thanks.” I take a few breaths of fresh October air and release them slowly like the yoga instructor taught us when Steph dragged me to class last week. “Jeff, you gotta get out of that town. Seriously. It’s never going to get any better for people like you or me.”

  “It just so happens that I applied for a job in Indianapolis,” he says. “And I have an interview next week.”

  “That’s great! Really great. I’m so happy for you.”

  After he tells me a little about the job and the area, we hang up and I find a bench to sit down on. My feelings drift from elation for the fact that I’m not thirty-two like Jeff and still trying to get out of our town, to guilt and anger as I stare at my mom’s name in my phone, trying to decide if I should call her to see what she’s going to do about Dad.

  Reluctantly, I hit call and put the phone against my ear. The miles between us now give me a bit of confidence, especially knowing that I literally can’t run home to help.

  “Mom, it’s me, Eve,” I say after she picks up.

  “Let me guess, you’re home again, aren’t you?”

  The condescending “you think you’re so much better than me, but you aren’t” tone grates at my last nerve. “No, Mom, I’m in New York.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Well I’m on my way to Florida to stay with Betty. She’s got a place near Miami now.”

  Betty is my mom’s sister and she’s an evil-eyed, bitter lady pothead. “I thought Dad wrecked the truck?”

  “You heard about that, did you?” She sounds nervous, maybe because she’s abandoning her husband while he’s in jail. “Well, I told him not to go out after he’d been drinking. He’s done it to himself. I got Grandpa’s truck. He can’t drive no more anyway.”

  There’s so much to absorb all at once that I’m speechless for a good thirty seconds. Growing up, I’d always felt like I had a lot in common with Matilda. I guess it helps a tad to know my mom is just as likely to neglect Dad as she was me. All this time, I’d thought it was just me.

  “I’m not going to go home, Mom,” I say firmly. “I’m not gonna bail him out or even talk to him if he calls me for help. Maybe if I had money left I could do something more.” Probably not bail him out though. Rehab, maybe. Since I’m an expert on rehab.

  I don’t wait for her to reply. I’ve said what I needed to say. All that’s left to do is hang up the phone and tuck it back into my bag.

  I wish I could say this is all done without guilt because I know I’m right, but th
at would be a lie. They’re still my parents. Writing them off has not been easy; I’m not sure it ever will be. Maybe someday I can bring them back into my life. But right now, they’re a sinking ship, and I’m barely treading water. If all three of us end up drowning, what would that accomplish? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Chapter 18: Alex

  October 13, 6:30 p.m.

  Eve approaches a really big old building and slides a key into the door.

  “Is this the party house?” I ask. I have no idea where we are and where we’re going. The words John Jay are written on the building. Doesn’t sound like a frat house, but what the hell do I know?

  “This,” she says, pushing open the big front door, “is where I live.”

  I follow her inside and glance around the halls and the dining room as we walk through.

  So this is a college dorm.

  She smiles at me before pushing the button on the elevator. “I need to change before we go anywhere, and Steph is at a study session for her poetry class so she’s not back yet. Is that okay?”

  “Totally okay.” I lean against the wall beside the elevator, watching her face carefully. “So I get to see your room?”

  She rolls her eyes, probably at the implied innuendos. “Yes.”

  After we get off on the eleventh floor and walk down a long hallway, Eve unlocks the door to a very tiny room. There’s a twin bed pushed against each side of the room and a desk at the end of the bed. One side of the room is purple and white and the other is brown and teal. The wall on the purple and white side is covered with band posters, ticket stubs, receipts, and random labels. The teal side has dozens of photos taped to the wall. The back wall has built-in dressers and a small closet. No TV or game systems or couch. Just a minifridge with a microwave on top.

  I walk through the doorway and sit on the brown and teal bed. “It’s very…quaint.”

  Eve’s already sifting through the closet. “This dorm is supposed to be all singles and all freshmen, but the housing waitlist was so long this year that they took corner rooms and turned them into doubles. Supposedly they’re bigger. I don’t really believe it. Anyway, a few sophomores got thrown in here too. Like my roommate.”