The Girl in the Road

No Dice

Aspen

I’ve obviously been dealt a few blows lately, but I think the worst was losing my job at the Pizza Hole.

The thing is, it wasn’t my first job, or even my second. I’ve had a grand total of seven jobs in the small town of Rucker, California, and I don’t anticipate the eighth being easy to find. Word gets around, and in this case, that word is that Aspen Hart Is Not a Savvy Hire.

It’s not entirely fair, for the record. Sure, I have less-than-stellar attendance rates, and I tend to show up late from time to time, but I can’t exactly afford a car, and the buses in Rucker aren’t exactly reliable. I was able to bike to the Pizza Hole from my house, which was great, but unfortunately that didn’t stop them from firing me when I was a no-call, no-show for three days straight.

“I got hit by a car!” I insisted to Felix, my manager, when Blue brought me there from the hospital. “I didn’t have my phone with me!”

“And you couldn’t call me from the hospital to explain that?” Felix demanded. “Your little rich boyfriend couldn’t have lent you his phone?”

I’ve really got to stop hitching rides with boys who drive Beemers and Porches. It seriously lowers my credibility in my own hood.

There is another option, of course—one I’m going to have to go with if I want any chance of paying Blue’s mother back any time in the next decade. I’ve avoided it thus far, but I’m running low on options at this point.

It’s the local strip club—the Red Light.

Not that I would dance, mind you. I reserve no judgment towards any woman who chooses to do so, but the thought of my brother River watching me from wherever he is and seeing me take off my clothes for money is a thought too terrible for me to bear. So, no, I wouldn’t dance.

But I’m not sure he’d be thrilled by my waitressing at a strip club, either.

Anyway, I set up my job interview through Crystal, who does dance there and is sort of like a twisted version of a godmother to me, for Friday night. Once all that was settled, I texted back Cam, who still seems to care about me for reasons I can’t quite fathom, and that turned into a rather heated phone call.

I still can’t believe I asked him about his girlfriend like that. Really, what the hell is wrong with me? He probably thinks I’m deranged.

I probably am deranged.

When I wake up the next morning to get ready for school, I’m surprised to find Mom already awake, standing at my stove, cooking breakfast.

(I call it “my stove” because technically this trailer is mine and the one across from it is hers. But that’s a story for another time.)

“What’s the occasion?” I ask her as I pull on River’s old Zeppelin tee.

“The occasion is that my daughter survived a hit and run,” she says as she sips what I can only hope is orange juice and not something stronger. The food smells pretty good, though, I must say. “Can’t a woman be thankful she didn’t have to bury two children instead of one?”

Her words stab me with a pain I wasn’t quite prepared for, and I step over to touch her hand, indicating that I’m ready to take over the cooking. I’ve done almost all the cooking for myself (and often for her, too) in the two years since River died, and I even did most of it in the years before that.

Back then, of course, it wasn’t because of her drinking; it was because she was busy working hard to provide for us.

I really miss those days.

- - - - -

Despite the cast on my wrist and the numerous cuts, bruises, and scars all over me, Trina Taylor and Josh Brian are as ruthless to me as ever at school the next day.

“What happened to you, ugly?” Trina asks me with a wrinkled nose when she takes her seat to my right in World History. “Get into a fight with another trash panda?”

I do my best to ignore her, focusing instead on the text I just got from Cam: Good morning. Can’t help feeling this strange need to apologize to you. Like maybe I went too far when we talked yesterday.

I don't know that he went too far, but he definitely came close. I like when Cam pushes to get to know me better, I just… really don’t like sharing.

“Earth to w*********h,” says Josh from Trina’s other side. “Or are you too busy texting your little blue-haired b***h?”

Just as Trina is my ex-best friend, Josh is my ex-boyfriend. You’d think at least one of them would have had a bit of patience and understanding in their hearts when I lost River, but they didn’t. The moment I said I needed my space to recover, they decided I was on their s**t list and turned to each other, instead.

And neither of them took kindly to my friendship with Blue, the rich prep school bassist who picks me up from school in his Beemer—did I mention this part already?—every day after school. Especially when it meant my ditching the cheer squad to join a rock band.

I know what you’re thinking. The similarities to Cam’s situation, only in reverse, are a bit uncanny.

Well, you aren’t wrong. It’s one of the many things that intrigue me about him.

Morning, I reply. No need to apologize. I should have just said I was with my mom and that I was OK.

“I don’t think it’s the blue-haired b***h,” Trina tells Josh as she peers over at my phone, trying to make out the text. “Who’s Cam?”

“Cam Styles?” suggests Rick Jones, Josh’s friend and teammate. One of the creepiest guys on the planet, also. But more on that later. “The Hollis QB?”

Josh laughs out loud. “Please. Like he’d have any interest in Aspen.”

“You did,” I point out, surprising myself. “You suggesting Cam Styles is better than you?”

I’d like to see you again. When could we do that?

Is it just me, or is he flirting with me?

“I dated you for a few months for an easy lay,” Josh says dismissively. “Which I got.”

Several of the boys around him high-five him. I roll my eyes as I compose my reply to Cam—I’ve got band practice and you’ve got football practice, so I guess this weekend?—then say to Josh, “You were easy, too. Quick and easy.” I turn to Trina and flash her a sweet smile. “What’s the longest he’s lasted for you, Treen? I think our record was a minute and a half.”

(I’m exaggerating, but barely.)

Trina’s face turns pale white as Josh’s turns tomato red. His teammates, who seconds ago were high-fiving him, now exchange howls and cackles at his expense.

“She’s lying, obviously!” Trina wails through the sound of their laughter. But the teacher comes and breaks it up at that, and I turn my attention to the latest text from Cam:

Any chance Blue will let me come to band practice?

- - - - -

“No way,” Blue says when I hop into his BMW that afternoon after school. “Not a chance in hell.”

I had a feeling he’d say that. “Come on. He’s not that bad, is he?”

“He’s the worst! He completely abandoned me—and the band—to go be a popular kid! And he’s not even happy!”

I glance up at him, caring more than I should about that last bit. “What do you mean by that?”

“There’s a reason he’s had so many girlfriends—they aren’t his type. Neither are the guys he rolls with now. He’s trying to be someone he’s not, and he’s miserable because of it.”

I think of River, who always walked the line between popular jock and music geek with such grace. Is Blue right that Cam’s having a harder time with it? Or is it just the wishful thinking of the friend who got left behind?

“Maybe he’s miserable because he misses you,” I suggest. “Maybe if you gave him a chance—”

“He doesn’t want a chance with me,” Blue says firmly. “He wants a chance with you. Which, considering he has a beautiful, blond girlfriend, is even more concerning. You should stay away from him, Asp. For your own sake.”

“Right,” I say, sensing that it’s time to let this go—for now.

No dice, I text Cam. Not without that apology.