AJ glanced at their dad, a worn card shark. The more he drank, the quieter he got, watching for tells, waiting to strike. Jack Graves had asingular ability to cut people down with a look or a word. His rages, though rare, were terrifying—enough to keep the family in check.
For the most part.
Mike’s Game Boy unleashed an arpeggio of artillery.
“Mike.” Their father slammed his can down on the table with a hollow thud.
For a moment, everyone froze.
Then Patrick angled his body to shield Mike from view. “I thought Noah was doing better,” he said swiftly. “I heard he got into West Point. I hope that’s true. He was scary smart.”
“Smart enough to get out of town after he pyro-ed the Sherwins’ garage,” Libby added as their dad’s glare refocused on Patrick.
“The Sherwins? That can’t be true,” said AJ, only half aware of what she was saying. The three of them were practiced at this, at performing tricks on a table their father had just set on fire.
Libby’s eyes widened. “Are youdefendinghim?” She gasped. “Oh my God, Age. You like him!”
Fuck.“Actually, I don’t.”
Mike finally powered down his game as Libby sang, “Guys.Jaydeis on theprowl.”
Several sets of white, fang-like incisors flashed around the table—a family trait.
AJ’s face was ablaze. Seventeen years ago, in a moment of pure insanity, her parents had named her Ashlee Jayde, the trashiest, worst name in an entire family of average-named people. When her siblings wanted to make AJ wish for death, they wheeled outJayde,her stripper alter ego. For AJ, who had never been kissed and feltverybehind, this was beyond mortifying.
“Ow-ow,” said Patrick.
“Ow-ow,” Emily parroted.
Their dad smirked at AJ’s faded jersey, her flyaway hair. “You do paint quite a picture.”
He didn’t need to laugh for AJ to know he was laughing at her, at the absurdity of her ever being someone’s idea of attractive. As if AJ didn’t already know that beside tiny, perfect Libby, she was anovergrown ginger Muppet. AJ’s chest buckled, but she refused to so much as blink.
“Better to look good than to feel good,” she said dryly, referencing an old Billy CrystalSNLbit.
Her dad nodded, then tipped back the last of his beer, satisfied.
For AJ was the joker. Humor was her armor and also her straitjacket; AJ didn’t have a voice, unless she used it to lighten the mood. This was how it had always been at home and at school: she was the sidekick, the comic relief.
And thanks to her accident, she always would be.
“Can I have dessert,please,” said Emily, louder this time.
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” said Katie Graves, taking the opportunity to clear the table.
Like any good dealer, their mother saw everything and said nothing.
Noah Drew worked almostexclusively in the back room, but it didn’t matter. His presence sullied everything AJ treasured about Reel World—her ability to relax, her freedom to move about without judgment. BingingAstronauticalsin his presence felt like a massive faux pas. Ditto writing fan fiction inspired by one of his relatives.
What AJ burned to know waswhy?Whywas he here?Whydid someone who was Hollywood royalty need a shitty part-time job? And most of all,why this one?
Unlike the colorful customer-facing part of the store, the rear was a monochromatic catacomb, a library of white DVD shells stacked in alphabetical order. Over several bathroom trips, AJ ascertained that when Noah wasn’t shelving inventory, he was seated on a stool watching Ken Burns documentaries on the store’s backup TV, or reading, or just brooding into space.
AJ was pretty sure she hated him based purely on his dank, wall-to-wall moodiness. But she confirmed it the day she went in back to grabHeartburnfor a customer and found him sprawled on the floor readingWaiting for Godot.
So pretentious.AJ smiled to herself as she moved toward the next row.
“Yes?” said Noah. His voice sounded rough, like he hadn’t used it all day.
