Then I got up and got dressed, quick, in case she texted back. Because yeah, I was weak.
Courteney:Meet me by the pool.
I went out to the pool, but she wasn’t there. The curtain on her window was still closed.
I sat on the edge of one of the lounge chairs and waited for her in the near-dark. Small, golden lanterns hung around the backyard and the pool; they went on at dusk, and they were glowing now. I was pretty sure I’d be able to see her coming.
But I heard her before I saw her. A door opening at the back of the house, one of the ones off the living room. Her bare feet whispering on the stone path between the trees.
She came over and sat on the edge of a lounge chair, two over from mine. She was sort of facing me but not looking at me. She stared at the pool.
It was July, but even in the peak of summer Vancouver often cooled off at night. She was wearing jeans and one of her trademark oversized hoodies, with the hood down. Her long hair was down around her shoulders.
Courteney didn’t wear much makeup, and she didn’t seem to be wearing any now. The lantern light gave her hair and skin an angelic glow. Her full, pouty lips were frowning a little. And I heard Trey’s smart-ass voice in my head.
That little honey giving you grief?
“I just need to make one thing clear.” Her voice was soft in the night.
“Okay.”
“I hate you.”
Finally, she looked at me. Her face was pretty blank, other than that slight frown. Her guard was up around me. Way up. And I knew why.
We were both there, in my car, just three weeks ago. And I’d made an impression on her that night that she wouldn’t soon forget.
The whole story blazed in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. “I got that.”
“Good.”
“You didn’t always hate me, though.”
Why I had to poke her like that, I didn’t know. It was an automatic response, like breathing.
“I was a child,” she said flatly. “Children are dumb.”
“Courteney—”
“Can you just steer clear when my friends are around? I’m living here, too. You’ll leave again on tour, but this is my home now.”
“Your home?” I repeated. “For how long?”
“That’s none of your business.” She looked away. “And I don’t know how long. As long as I need to be.”
“And… how will you know when that is?”
She didn’t answer that.
“So you’re really working for Cary now? You think that’s a good idea?”
She didn’t respond.
“What about college?”
“It’s none of your business what I think or what I do,” she said. “And I don’t care what you do. Just don’t do it with my friends, okay?”
