Fish out of Water Page 8

  “Dylan!” says a vaguely familiar voice. If I’m not mistaken, it’s that London girl who was looking for him before. I duck down the nearest aisle—he’s totally on his own this time—but I linger to listen.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually here, man!” a guy’s voice says. Brock.

  “London … Brock … ” Dylan doesn’t sound particularly excited to see them. “What’s up?”

  “Just hanging out in Carmel, playing some golf, you know,” says Brock. “Are you seriously working at this place? Rumor has it your parents cut you off from everything.”

  “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” Dylan says.

  “You poor thing.” London sounds like she’s talking to a little kid, and it makes me want to gag. “Let me take you to lunch. You need expensive sushi. I can tell.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea … ” Dylan’s voice sounds nervous, and I wonder if he’s worried his uncle will overhear. I doubt expensive sushi would fly with Clark’s weird training program.

  “Why not?” London whines.

  “Because … I’m kind of seeing someone, and I don’t think she’d like me having lunch with you.”

  I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, even though it doesn’t sound like it.

  “For reals, dude?” Brock laughs. “You’re dating a local, huh? Is she hot? Of course she’s hot.”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, who is she?” London has dropped the baby talk and now sounds pissed. “I seriously doubt anyone around here is good enough for you.”

  “That’s pretty shallow,” he says.

  “You’re avoiding the question! Which means you’re full of it, so there’s no reason I can’t take you out to—”

  “Her name’s Mika, okay?” Dylan says.

  My stomach drops to the ground. Part of me wants to run out there and beat him senseless for using my name, but then my cheeks are on fire and I’d rather not have those rich people see me in my ugly AnimalZone uniform again.

  “Wait … ” London says. “The girl who works here?”

  “Got a problem with that?”

  “Duuuude. Beat me to it.” Brock laughs. “Work hook up!”

  “I still don’t believe you,” she says. “That girl is so not your type.”

  “You have no clue what my type is, London.” Dylan’s voice has lost all warmth. “If you did, you wouldn’t be hunting me down just to take me to lunch.”

  “Fine then. Prove it. If she’s really your girlfriend, then she’ll come with you to Cypress Point for a round of eighteen. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re still fair game.”

  “We’d be happy to come,” he says.

  “Saturday. Nine o’clock tee time.” London’s heels clack down the aisle.

  I lean on the nearest shelf, trying to get enough air. Who the hell makes up crazy lies like that? And Cypress Point? That place makes Pebble Beach look like the ghetto. It’s one of the most elite private golf courses in the world, and the fact that these kids can get in means they must cry diamonds.

  “Mika, there you are,” Dylan says. I look up, and he’s smiling at me like I didn’t just hear what he said. “I have a favor to ask you.”

  Chapter 14

  “No.” I head down the aisle in search of Clark and safety.

  Dylan’s hand comes around my wrist, and he pulls me back. “I haven’t even told you what the favor is yet!”

  I wrench my arm from his. “I can already guess, and the answer is hell-freaking-no. You can go out with London and eat sushi and leave me out of this.”

  He curses. “You heard us.”

  “Duh.”

  He runs his hands through his hair, leaving them at the back of his neck. This seems to be his post-London stress pose. “Please. I know I shouldn’t have done that, but your name was the first one that popped into my head. Just this one time, and she’ll be appeased and leave me alone. I swear.”

  “Why do you want her to leave you alone? You seem perfect together! I can’t think of two people who deserve each other more.”

  His eyes narrow, and his arms come down. “That’s cold.”

  “Whatever.” I stand strong. “I won’t even begin to consider this without knowing why you’d rather pretend we’re in a relationship than go out with her.”

  “Fine,” he says through his teeth. “London doesn’t like people—she likes money and prestige. She doesn’t like me, she likes my family name and status and thinks she can fix the rest. I’m sick of people thinking they can make me into whatever they want me to be, so I’d rather not be her trophy.”

  I raise an eyebrow, the answer deeper than I expected. Almost commendable, even. “And why is she so persistent when you shut her down so hard?”

  He cringes. “We … may have hooked up a couple times. She got the wrong idea.”

  “Ugh, I’m out.” There’s no way I’m getting involved with him and his obsessive stalker hookup. I turn back around, head for the kitten aisle where Clark probably is. “You can sleep in that bed for all I—”

  His hands come down on my shoulders. “C’mon. I was smashed. That’s all.”

  “So not helping your case.” I shrug him off.

  “It’s not a big deal! You’re acting like such a prude.”

  I glare back at him. “I am not. Stop assuming I’m some innocent, straight-laced girl.”

  His eyes light up, and it makes me want to kick him. “You’re not?”

  “I’m just a girl who thinks hookups are stupid. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I prefer being intimate with someone I care about and enjoy being with. You’re neither, so you can wipe that pervy grin off your face.” I start walking. Fast.

  “So that’s a no?” he calls.

  I force myself not to smile. That was not funny. This time I’m the one flipping the bird.

  Clark is in the kitten room cleaning out litter when I find him. The kittens jump all over him, and he laughs. The guy might be weird, but he loves his job and I respect that. I tap on the glass, and he gives me a nod that means, “I’ll be right out.”

  I force myself not to pace, to calm down, to think of something happy. It’s sad that nothing comes to mind except bedazzled Joel trying to tame Betty. That has to be sitcom material. Horrible situations are always funnier on screen than in real life.

  “What’s up?” Clark asks when he comes out. There’s a fresh scratch on his arm, which he dabs with a paper towel.

  “Oh, I just wanted to let you know that our aide came today.” I didn’t want to tell him about Betty’s arrival and all that’s happened since, but I had to so he’d know I couldn’t keep taking on extra hours.

  He nods. “And how’s the aide?”

  Sparkly. Annoyingly happy. Painfully thoughtful. “I think he’ll be a huge help.”

  “That’s good to hear.” His smile is so genuine. I don’t know how he can be related to his liar of a nephew. “Do you need anything else?”

  I’m tempted to tell him about Dylan’s friends showing up, but I can’t get myself to do it. Maybe because I don’t know which would be worse for Dylan—dealing with London or facing his uncle’s punishment. For now, my bet is on London. “Nope. I’ll go check on the fish now.”

  When I get back to my station, Dylan has this smirk on his face that makes me uneasy. He usually scowls all day. As I inspect the tanks, he even starts laughing to himself. I glare at him. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he says, but I can’t shake the feeling that I have something on my face. Or my fly is down. Or my hair is messed up.

  I take a deep breath and force myself to ignore it. He won’t get to me. About an hour later, one of my favorite customers shows up—Mr. Castillo. He’s a goldfish enthusiast like me, and I wave as he approaches.

  “Mika! How are you?” he says with his smooth accent.

  “Good. It’s been awhile since you’ve been in. What can I help you with?”

  “I’m looking for a new fancy.” He eyes the tanks. “I re
cently bought a bigger tank for my full grown oranda and blackmoor, and I’m thinking they need a more … colorful companion.”

  I smile. “Definitely. How big are they now?”

  “About this big.” He holds out his palm. “So I need one that’s pretty large.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Goldfish are known for eating just about anything, and sometimes that means smaller goldfish. I look over the tanks, but even the two biggest might not be large enough. “You know, I have one at home named Simba that’s bigger than these. He’s a pretty orange one with white fins.”

  Mr. Castillo lights up. “Really? You’d give me one of yours?”

  I nod. “I buy my fish here—I’ve sold them on occasion when I know they’ll go to a good home. He’s about two years old. Should I take a picture of him for you so you can see if he fits the bill?”

  “That would be wonderful. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  “Great!” I wave to him as he goes. That’s when I realize Dylan is staring at me like I’m a difficult math problem. “Seriously, what?”

  “You have a two-year-old goldfish?” he asks.

  I brace for the impending criticism. “I have a ten-year-old goldfish and pretty much every age under that.”

  His eyebrow raises. “Just how many do you have?”

  “Including the koi? Thirty-seven.”

  “Really?”

  I sigh, not particularly interested in whatever insult will come out of his mouth next. “You already know I’m the crazy fish girl. No need to act so surprised.”

  “Do they all have names?”

  “Of course they do.”

  He snorts. “Sand sculpture. Goldfish. You are so weird.”

  “At least I’m interesting.” I tip my chin up. “You’re boring. You just sulk all day, and when you do talk it’s rude or critical or a lie. Maybe you should get a weird hobby so you actually have something valuable to say.”

  “Maybe.” To my surprise, he looks away. “Except I’m never allowed to do the things I want. You have no idea how lucky you are.”

  His face is so sad that I feel bad for what I said. “Why don’t you get to?”

  “Because it’s not who I’m ‘supposed’ to be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  His chest heaves up and down, and it feels like he has words building up inside him. “Never mind.”

  He walks away, and I’m left to work alone. Though this time I almost wish Dylan had stayed and told me what was on his mind.

  Noon comes quickly. I have an hour before I need to be home. As I head for the back, I run through places I might go for lunch, but the closer I get the more I catch the distinct scent of curry. I take in a big whiff to make sure I’m not hallucinating. No, I’d know that smell anywhere.

  I run for the break room, and when I catch sight of Shreya my jaw drops. Dylan smiles wide at my reaction, and I get the feeling this is why he was smirking all morning.

  “Surprise!” Shreya holds out her hands to the curry, which is set up and ready to eat.

  “How … ?” I manage to get out.

  “Dylan called me to ask what your favorite food was—he wanted to buy you lunch! Isn’t that sweet?” Shreya looks over at him like he’s a shining example of romance.

  “Where did he get your number?” I glare at him, knowing very well that this is a bribe to get me to come to Cypress Point. He hasn’t given up on the fake date yet, and I’m starting to worry his insistence will only get worse.

  She looks sheepish. “He called me on your phone.”

  I grit my teeth. “So he went through my purse and stalked you down? That’s not sweet—that’s creepy.”

  Dylan frowns. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

  “The answer is still no.” I sit down, because good curry should not be wasted. And Shreya brought all my favorites—saag paneer, shrimp korma, butter chicken. I will eat it all and refuse his pleas. Win-win.

  “We’ll see.” Dylan tries to grab the korma, but I move it away from him. “So that’s how you’re gonna be?”

  “Yup.” I take a big bite. “You bought it for me, right? Who says I have to share?”

  Shreya laughs. “You guys are so cute together!”

  I give her my worst glare, but Dylan laughs. “See? Shreya’s on my team.”

  “Traitor,” I grumble between bites.

  “Tell her she has to go to Cypress Point with me on Saturday.” He tries to get the saag but I snap that up too. “She totally turned me down. It hurt.”

  Shreya gives me a disapproving look, but I smack her. “Don’t feel sorry for him! He’s trying to make me go on a fake date so his hookup stalker will think he’s taken!” I point at him. “Don’t lie to my friend.”

  “Do you always have to be so tech—?” Dylan’s eyes go wide, and I spin around to see Clark emerging from his office. He folds his arms over his chest, and it’s obvious he heard what we were talking about. “Uncle Clark, look, it’s not … ”

  He stops when Clark holds up a hand.

  A huge smile breaks out on my face. Dylan is so dead.

  Finally. There is justice in this world.

  His uncle stares at him, seeming to contemplate which punishment would be best. “I think you should go, Mika. Dylan needs help getting away from that girl. I’ll let him borrow my car.”

  Dylan bursts into laughter, and I hang my head in defeat.

  Chapter 15

  After the great AnimalZone betrayal, I’m actually excited to go home to Betty and Joel. Surely even they wouldn’t agree with this mock date ridiculousness. And I’m still not going. I don’t care what anyone says. I can’t think of a worse way to spend my Saturday.

  When I get there Joel and Betty are sitting on the porch sipping tea. Joel gives me a big smile. “Welcome home! Would you like some?”

  “Please.” I pull my bike up the step and lock it in place. “How did things go?”

  Betty glares at her tea. “He tried to undress me. It was very rude.”

  Joel laughs as he hands me a cup. “I wanted to help with her buttons. It might be good if you invested in some clothing that’s easier for her to take on and off unassisted.”

  I take a sip, and it calms me. “I’ll let my parents know.”

  “Excellent.” He hops up. “You stay here while I grab my things, and then I’ll get you up to speed.”

  He dashes into the house, and I take his seat next to Betty though I’d rather take a nap after all that curry. She looks out to the street, and I study her face. It’s so different from mine, and yet the more I see her the more Dad appears in her features, and therefore mine as well. I’m not sure I like that.

  I make no effort to start up a conversation, but as usual, when she’s in the right mood, Betty talks to me like I’m an old friend. “We had a porch like this when I was a little girl, and we’d sit and drink iced tea in the hot summer evenings. Grace and I would play in the front yard, while Mom and Dad looked on with big smiles on their faces. Those were the good times. I wish I could live in those moments forever.”

  I want to ask her why, but last time we got on the topic of her father she got hardcore racist and crazy. There’s no way I’m going there again, even if I am curious.

  “Did you have a good childhood?” she asks.

  “I think so.” I take another sip of my tea, unsure of what else to say. My parents have been amazing as far as parents go … at least until recently, but the circumstances have messed us all up. Still, I know more than anything they want me to be happy.

  She sighs. “I think what hurts most is that I can’t blame Stan for leaving. He turned out a lot better because he did … you have everything I wished for growing up.”

  I hate it when she says stuff like this, because in these moments my heart traitorously warms. If she were always this way, I think I could like her. Then she starts crying. I try not to panic, but it seems like I have a way of doing this to her.

  “Why did he have to leave?” she sobs
.

  “I don’t know … ” I’m not sure who she’s talking about, my dad or her father or her husband. All the options make me feel bad for her, and I squirm at the thought that I could pity her when she’s been so rude to me. I should straight up hate her, but … I don’t know what to feel.

  “Mom said he died, but I knew—knew—she was lying.” Must be her father then. “The men in uniform came to your house when soldiers died. That’s what happened to my friend Mabel. They never came.”

  “Betty!” Joel says when he comes out. “Why all the tears, sweetie?”

  I wince. “Sorry. She started talking about her childhood. I didn’t know what to do, so I just listened.”

  He gives a sad smile. “She’s been nostalgic today. Sometimes that happens. You may want to write it down because she’ll lose those things eventually.”

  “Okay.” I never thought about writing anything down, but since Dad won’t talk about it the stories might be lost forever otherwise.

  “Let me give you the run-down,” Joel says. “She had her lunch, but she gets distracted while eating. We need to keep her on task there. Despite her protests, we got her cleaned up and she had a blast while I did her hair. As for your part, try to get her moving. Maybe a walk around the backyard or down the street. She needs a snack around two or three—your parents should take care of dinner and bedtime.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I say.

  “You are very welcome. We’ll have a lot of fun, Mika.” He waves as he gets in his little blue car.

  I manage to convince Betty to take a stroll around the block. There’s no more talk about her childhood, but she has plenty to say about all the rock yards. She hates rock yards. She finds them unfriendly and ugly and pretty much the worst idea ever. I try to distract her with the beautiful trees or flowers also in these yards, which works for about a minute before she tells me no one in their right mind would put rocks in their yard. By the time we get home, I am on the verge of screaming at her for being ridiculous.

  She stops when we get back to the house. “Is this the right place?”

  “Yup. I know it has rocks, but can you look past that and come inside?”