Maybe it was rude of me, but I was so surprised that I interrupted her. “Didn’t you say you hated him?”
Amelia looked up and swallowed. “Yeah, of course I hate him. The only thing he’s capable of doing is getting himself and everyone around him into trouble.”
“See? It’s better to just steer clear of him.”
“Do you think it’s enough to just keep your distance?” she inquired.
“Yeah.” I shrugged, fully convinced.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with. If he wants you, he’ll have you.”
Astounded, I blinked several times. I could’ve burst out laughing or sat in shock, but I did neither. Instead, I shielded my eyes from the sun’s glare and looked far in the opposite direction.
4
June
“June, give me your number. Let’s go out tonight.”
I was stunned as I gave her my number. Up to this point, I’d transferred from one school to another without making a single friend. But since moving to Los Angeles, I’d already met two people. Maybe Amelia was asking me out of pity? I still wasn’t 100 percent sure, but it sounded like she had invited me to the skate park with Brian and one of his friends.
“I’ll think about it,” I answered reluctantly, as I headed home.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea of hanging out with them. The real reason was much more embarrassing: I had no idea what to wear. I’d never gone out at night except to take out the trash.
My life is so exciting, isn’t it?
I looked through my closet in search of something cute.
Jeans, jeans, and more jeans.
Okay, I give in. I’ll wear these.
My drawers were even worse as I rummaged and only found T-shirts. I knew that’s what I’d find, but I kept digging through my dresser as if I could conjure up something gorgeous out of thin air.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t updated my summer clothes in a while. Sweatshirts and windbreakers has been my battle uniforms in Seattle. But it was too hot for that in California, so I had to change my style, if you can call wearing something like an oversize T-shirt and jeans style.
I opted for a white T-shirt and a pair of comfortable jeans.
I gave myself the once-over in the mirror with just enough time to brush my hair and groom my eyebrows.
I went downstairs to find my tennis shoes.
“June, sit down.” My mom’s voice sounded anything but promising. She was sitting on the couch, and regarded me cautiously. “My painting collection is selling better than I expected. A gallery curator wants to see my new pieces . . .”
Normally, I automatically tuned her out every time she started talking about her doodles or art in general.
“. . . and he invited me to have dinner with him.”
My ears perked up when I heard this.
“Is that a joke?” I demanded, as I rummaged through the shoe rack on the door. I folded my arms and turned around to face her.
“What did you think I said? He can help me exhibit at more than one gallery. He wants to talk about exhibiting at the Hammer Museum. If someone wants to buy a piece, I’d make a mint, June. And after everything we’ve been through—”
“Get to the point.” I cut her off, annoyed at how long she was taking.
“We could be here for another year.”
