Fish out of Water Page 9

  She scrunches her face. “I guess.”

  I get her settled in front of the TV. She picks a talk show while I grab my laptop. We still have three hours until my parents get home, and that feels like an eternity. She makes comments on the show, and I do what Joel suggests—I type down what I’ve learned about her so far.

  Hardly any of it is pleasant, but as I read over what I’ve written something overcomes me. I’m not quite sure what it is, except that reading what I wrote makes me smile more than it should. I think about how Joel said taking care of someone leads to love. Could this be the beginning of affection? I shut the laptop, refusing to think about it more.

  After a couple hours, I get a call on my cell. I don’t know the number, so I don’t pick up. It rings again. After the sixth consecutive attempt I pick up. “Hello?”

  “So you do know how to answer your phone. I was starting to wonder.”

  My eyes go wide at the voice. “Dylan?”

  “Yup. I haven’t been allowed to use a phone for a month and Clark only allowed it so I could call you. Don’t you feel special?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you should. We need to shop for the clothes you’re wearing on Saturday. When’s a good time?” he says matter-of-factly. “Are you still there? Hello?”

  “How’d you get my number?” AnimalZone only has our landline number, not my cell, so I know he didn’t get it from Clark.

  “Shreya.”

  “I’m gonna kill her.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to explode. “I don’t care if Shrey and your uncle think I should go with you. I’m not.”

  “I guess I could pick out your clothes myself, but don’t complain if you don’t like them. What size? I’m guessing two.”

  “No!” I yell, and Betty glares like I’m interrupting her at a movie. I head to the kitchen. “I’m not going to Cypress Point. I’m not shopping with you. This fake relationship is not happening. Tell London to leave you alone, like a normal person!”

  “I have. Several times. It doesn’t work.” He lets out a long sigh. “Fine, I get that this isn’t fair to you at all—I’m not stupid—but do you really want her showing up every week at the store?”

  I cringe, but hold firm. “That’s not enough incentive. What if she comes after me for this? What if your stupid plan doesn’t even work?”

  There’s a pause. “You need to be less smart.”

  “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” I lean on the counter. “You already owe me. I want some kind of payment before I agree to any more of your crap.”

  “Since I’ve only been paid once, I don’t have much money … ” There’s a feeling of panic in his voice, as if the idea is the scariest thing in the world. “Between the Indian food and your outfit, I won’t have anything until my uncle pays me again.”

  My heart traitorously skips. “You don’t have to buy me clothes.”

  “No offense, but you don’t want to go to Cypress Point wearing the wrong thing. It’ll be hard enough as it is, and it’s not fair to make you pay for them.”

  “I still haven’t said I’m going … ” I hate to admit how close I am to being convinced. Cypress Point is legendary—it would be incredible to see in person, a once in a lifetime chance. I just wish the company was more agreeable.

  “Please, Mika. I’m actually begging you. I’ll do anything.”

  “Anything?” If I’m going to say yes anyway, I may as well get something out of it. “Even if it’s cleaning every fish tank in my house for the rest of the summer?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t even know how many there are.”

  “Don’t care. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”

  I purse my lips. This is an incredibly bad idea, I can feel it. But at the same time it’ll tell me everything I need to know about Dylan. And I’m curious. It’s stupid, but I have to know what he’s really like. Because as annoying as he can be, there have been hints of something underneath that I might actually like. Time to roll the dice. “Fine.”

  Chapter 16

  Betty is actually eating nicely at dinner, and my parents seem happy. I want to be more bitter about everything, but they’ve been awesome about taking over the second they get home. They even encourage me to go out and have fun so I don’t have to be around Betty all the time. It’s starting to make me feel guilty for the silent treatment I’ve been trying to employ. I swallow my bite of pizza, deciding that this might be the time to tell them about Cypress Point.

  “So, um … ” I start, but then the words get caught in my mouth.

  “What is it, sweetie?” Mom looks tired, her long hair pulled back into a messy bun. They must have worked extra hard in the bay today.

  “I just thought I should warn you that I’m going to Cypress Point on Saturday.”

  My dad’s jaw drops. “What?! With who?”

  “He’s—”

  “A guy?” Dad says with too much interest. “How did you meet a guy who has access to Cypress Point? Are you dating him? Can I get in on this?”

  “Dad!” I knew he’d be more excited than concerned, since Dad loves golf but rarely gets the chance to play. I don’t need any more Dylan fans. “No, you can’t. And his name is Dylan. He’s my boss’s nephew. His friends invited us, so it’s not really a date. I just couldn’t say no … ”

  Dad snorts. “You think? You better take pictures.”

  I put my hand to my face. “I’m not acting like a tourist in front of them.”

  “You can’t ask her to do that,” Mom says.

  “I can’t believe you get to go to Cypress Point and you don’t even know how to play golf.” Dad takes a huge bite of his pizza.

  “I can’t believe you’re jealous of your teenage daughter,” Betty says out of nowhere. I’d almost forgotten she was listening. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about the fact that she’s going with a boy?” She’s says “boy” as if being male is a criminal offense.

  Dad slouches in his seat. “I try not to think about it.”

  Mom tips her chin up. “She dates. She’s responsible. We trust her.”

  “I trusted Jenny, too, and she still got knocked up at sixteen.” Betty glares at me like I could be pregnant this very second.

  I look to Dad instead. “I have cousins?”

  “Three good-for-nothings,” Betty answers.

  Dad straightens his glasses. “I wish I could refute that, but last I heard Slade was in jail. So.”

  Slade? I have a cousin named Slade. Who has been in jail for who-knows-what. Shaking that information off, I say, “I swear it’s not like that with Dylan. He’s barely a friend. I just have to find time to buy clothes is the problem. Should I tell him I have to do it at night?”

  Mom and Dad look at each other. Then Mom says, “We’re finally getting started on the grant work now that Betty is taken care of. We won’t be able to get home any earlier.”

  I nod. “I just needed to know what time to give him.”

  There’s a long silence before Dad clears his throat. “So tell me about Dylan. Mainly, how he’d know people with Cypress Point memberships when his uncle runs AnimalZone.”

  “Daaaaad.” I give up on my pizza and get up from the table. “I actually don’t know. It’s not really something you ask a person.”

  “Sure it is! You say, ‘Hey, so how did your parents get filthy rich and important?’”

  Throwing my plate in the sink, I glare at him. “He doesn’t like to talk about his parents. I’m going to my room now.”

  “You’re no fun!” he calls, and I hear Mom swat his arm.

  I try not to slam my door, but I still shut it loudly. Pacing my room, I can’t quite figure out why I’m so angry. But there’s something I don’t like about my parents’ reaction. My dad usually goes pale the second I mention a guy, but he didn’t even bat an eye this time. Have I just had too many boyfriends? Are they immune now?

  Or is it the money?

  It feels l
ike the money. Dylan is more of an ass than my three exes combined, and yet he gets a pass because his name is tied with Cypress Point. That is supremely unfair.

  Though their reaction makes me want to back out, I call Dylan.

  “Hello?” he says.

  “I can only go after six. For the shopping thing.”

  There’s a pause. “But you get off at noon.”

  I sigh. “I have something else after that, and I can’t get out of it.”

  “What?”

  “Not your business. It’s six or nothing.”

  “Hmm … ” I can picture his smug face, and it makes me even angrier that I gave in like everyone seems to. “I guess that should be enough time, if we’re efficient. Are you a slow shopper?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “No. Why do I get the feeling you like shopping?”

  “Because I do. Tomorrow okay?”

  Maybe shopping is fun when you can buy whatever you want. “Yeah, bye.”

  I flop onto my bed, mad at everything. Myself included. How did this happen? Why did Dylan have to say my name to London? He could have made up anyone, but no. A wave of nerves crashes over me—I’ve never felt insecure about my family’s social or economic standing, but these people …

  I’m so out of my element.

  My phone chirps. I glare at Shreya’s name. Did Dylan call u yet?

  I’m so sick of his name I could scream. And I can’t stand how everyone in my life seems happy to shove me right into his arms.

  When I don’t reply, Shreya sends another message. Are u mad @ me?

  Pressing the power button, I turn off my phone.

  The next day, Betty sits on my bed while I rifle through my closet. I don’t know why I feel the need to dress up, but I do. Maybe I want to prove that the AnimalZone uniform is not my best look. I swear it adds ten pounds.

  “You have a lot of fish,” Betty says. For the third time.

  “Yup.” I pull out a blue top and some black skinny jeans. Normally I’d be running my outfit by Shreya and Olivia, but I’m still mad at Shrey and Olivia needs to stop being in Tahiti. At least I can count on Betty for brutal honesty. “What do you think of this?”

  She scrunches her face. “What are you trying to say? Because that says, ‘I want to impress you.’”

  “Ugh.” I throw the clothes on the floor. “Not that then. I want to look … pretty, but not in a seductive way. This isn’t a date.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “You look pretty in everything, though.”

  I raise an eyebrow, surprised she’d say something like that. “You really think so?”

  “Yeah. Thin, nice legs, exotic.”

  I hold in my laugh. Yes, I’m so exotic. Next I grab a black tank and red jeans. “What about this?”

  She frowns. “You’d look tough in that.”

  “Tough. I’ll take it.” I shoo her out for a moment while I dress, hoping she doesn’t do anything while alone. We had a scare earlier today when I took a bathroom break—came out to find her hand in one of our aquariums. She had a fit when I told her she couldn’t pet the fish.

  Luckily, she’s standing right in the hall where I left her. She comes back in, appraising my look. “What shoes?”

  I smirk. Maybe she’s more useful than I thought she’d be. “How did you know I was about to ask that?”

  “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten ready for a date, Mia.”

  “It’s Mika, and this isn’t a date.” It’s preparation for a fake relationship. “Sneakers or flats?”

  She points to the flats. “In case you have to buy shoes, too.”

  “You have done this before.” I slip them on, spin around once. “So I look okay?”

  For a second I think I’m seeing things, but Betty is tearing up. I get the sense that she’s … proud of me. Weird. “You are beautiful, and a very good person. Even if you are Oriental.”

  I deflate. She has a gift for balancing out those nice words with horrible ones. I hear a door slam and then footsteps. “Sounds like Mom and Dad are home. How about you go see them while I finish my makeup?”

  “Sure.”

  I stand at my closet mirror, applying blush and eye shadow and wondering if I’m overdoing it. Part of me wants to rebel and wear grungy clothes, but my bet is we’ll be going to a nice store and I don’t want to stand out. Why is my insecurity suddenly winning?

  The doorbell rings, and my heart doubles speed as I run to get there before my parents. I pull it open, and there, standing next to Dylan, is Shreya.

  Chapter 17

  Shreya shrinks under my glare, looking genuinely remorseful, though I’d rather not admit it. “I’m sorry, okay? I was just excited to surprise you with food and thought it would be fun. I didn’t think you’d freak out—I had no idea what it was for.”

  “It’s true,” Dylan says. “I totally lied to her.”

  I’m not sure how to react, because I’m fairly certain he brought her to help make up for having to do this. Which is really considerate of him. I’d much rather have her help with clothes than his. “Why am I not surprised?”

  He shrugs. “Old habits die hard.”

  “Is this Dylan?” my dad says. I spin around, finding my parents looking on curiously.

  “Yup. I’ll be back in a few hours.” I grab my bag and hurry out before my dad can ask any embarrassing questions about Cypress Point.

  “Are you ashamed of me?” Dylan says as we head towards Clark’s non-descript silver car, which I usually see parked behind AnimalZone.

  “Yes, that, plus my dad fantasizes about Cypress Point. I’d rather not have him latching on to you.”

  “I see.” He opens the door for me, and I stare at him as the reality of this arrangement sinks in. He really is trying to make it look like we’re together … and it doesn’t seem like he minds as much as I do. Why are his eyes so soft as they take me in? Cue freak out.

  “What?” he asks when I don’t get in.

  “Nothing.” I move to the backseat door and open it myself, determined to make this look nothing like a date. “Shrey, go ahead and take shotgun.”

  “Can you be more stubborn?” She rolls her eyes but gets in.

  Dylan looks like he wants to say something to me, but he shuts Shreya’s door and heads for the driver’s side. I get in back, happy to have space. He starts the car, and we’re off. No one talks as he heads for whatever shopping place he’s decided to go to, but from his direction I’m guessing we’re headed to Carmel. Of course we are. Carmel is where rich tourists like to hang out and take themselves too seriously.

  My phone chirps, and I grab it, relieved that I have something to busy myself with. I try not to laugh when I read Shreya’s name. Please don’t be mad anymore.

  I’m fine. This is just weird, I type back.

  It is. I’ll give u that. He really asked u to be his pretend gf?

  More like told a lie and now has to cover his tracks.

  I need details.

  Later. It’s involved.

  “Are you guys seriously texting each other so I can’t hear what you’re talking about?” Dylan asks.

  “Maybe.” I look up. He’s eyeing me in the rearview mirror.

  “You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Shreya laughs, and I can’t restrain my smile. I expect Dylan to glare at me, but when his eyes meet mine again they look sad. For some reason this makes it impossible for me to send another text, but I’m not planning on starting a conversation, either. Was he expecting me to give in and embrace this? He has another thing coming if he did. I plan on dragging my feet every step of the way.

  In complete predictability, Dylan parks at the Carmel Plaza, a ritzy shopping center full of designer stores. I’m glad I at least tried to look nice. He takes in a deep breath, looking practically giddy. “I’ve missed this. Even if I’m not shopping for myself, this’ll be fun.”

  I stare at him. “You’re weird.”

  “You�
��re one to talk, Fish Girl.” He grabs my hand, and I reflexively pull back. He doesn’t let me go. “Just in case. London or other people who know her could be here.”

  “You seriously expect me to buy that?” I growl, trying to get free of his grip. “What, does she live at the mall or something?”

  “No.” He points past me. “But her parents’ second home is about five minutes that way. And they stay in Carmel every summer and hold all sorts of parties. London’s favorite place to eat is the Patisserie Boissere, which is here. So chances are good.”

  I cringe because he has a point, but I’m not ready for this. The way his hand feels in mine … no, I can’t go there. “The deal was one day.”

  “Which is twenty-four hours—Saturday will only be seven, tops.” He gives me a wicked grin. “That, plus three tonight, means I’ll still have fourteen hours left to use.”

  Shreya puts her hand over her mouth, probably knowing I’ll kill her if she laughs. I relax my arm, but I refuse to hold his hand back. “Exploiting me, huh? You can’t make up extra loopholes.”

  He pulls me along, seeming to have no problem with my resistance. “You should have specified terms if you didn’t want loopholes.”

  “What are you? Some kind of lawyer?”

  “My father hoped I’d get a law degree. After business school, of course.” His voice is colder than usual, but then he stops and clears his throat. “Never mind that. I’m guessing you can’t play golf, right?”

  “She’s even bad at the miniature variety,” Shreya says.

  “Thanks for pointing that out.” I put my free hand on my hip. She gives me a mock innocent look. “No, I am not interested in golf and thus I suck. My dad took me to Poppy Hills once and refused to let me try after the tenth dent.”

  “Divot. Not dent,” he says with a surprising lack of condescension. He purses his lips, thinking. “Then the goal should be to avoid playing—I can’t have you ruining the green. London is really good, and she’ll tear your form to pieces.”

  “I would prefer to avoid tearing.”

  “So that means not golf attire?” Shreya asks.

  “Precisely, but it still has to have the right look.” He starts walking again, and, kill me now, we end up at J. Crew. I was secretly hoping for Anthropologie.