Broken Compass Page 4

And yet I find myself replying, “I was working.”

  She doesn’t reply immediately, and I’m not even sure she heard me. But then, before I turn away again, she says, “You work so late every night?”

  “Yeah.” I put out my cigarette, then stow the rest of it away in my pouch. “In a restaurant.”

  Why the hell am I volunteering info to this girl I barely know?

  “I thought about working in a restaurant,” she says conversationally. “But then I got this babysitting job, and it’s way easier.”

  “Says you. I’d probably get the kids killed.” I wince. “I’m not good with kids.”

  Or people.

  Or any living things. I bring darkness, and death.

  “Bullshit,” she says, and for some reason that makes me grin. “I bet you’d be awesome with them. You’re not strict like West, or all over the place, like Nate.”

  And how would you know that? I think, though what comes out is, “You’re good friends.”

  “Me and the boys? Yeah.” Though there’s a trace of doubt in her voice, like she isn’t sure about it. “I mean, I’ve known them for a while. They’re good guys. You can trust them.”

  Can I?

  Can they trust me?

  Clenching my jaw, reminded of why I’m here, I prepare to walk past her and go up to my room, when she says, “I may have to get a second job.”

  I frown. “What for?”

  “Rent. Bills.” She sighs and although her small face is in shadow, I imagine I see the shine of her eyes, the pale line of her throat. “The usual crap.”

  “Your parents lost their job?”

  She’s still, so still she becomes part of the steps, part of the night. “You could say that,” she says at last, and sounds strangely wistful.

  “I want to find a tutoring job,” I say.

  Still don’t know why I’m talking to her. Jesus.

  She tilts her head to the side, and I take a few steps closer, needing to see her face. “Tutoring, huh? What subjects?”

  “Russian. Physics. History.”

  Her exhale is sharp like a gasp. “Wow. Are you any good?”

  I glare, offended. “Of course I am.”

  In response, she smiles, a flash of white in the dark. “Okay, then. I could find you a student or two.”

  I blink at her. “You could?”

  “Sure. I go to school, remember? I’m just about to turn seventeen. Still a kid, unlike you.”

  Yeah. I’d forgotten, truth be told. Forgotten I’m supposed to be an adult now.

  “That’d be great, thanks.”

  She nods, and I make myself mount the steps and enter the building, leaving her outside. Only, her voice follows me.

  “Hey… have you figured out what you wanna do with your life?”

  Fuck no, the words come unbidden to my mind.

  Fuck this life.

  Fuck all my plans and dreams. All the angsting and worrying about the future proved fucking pointless.

  “Who the hell asks this kind of thing anyway?” I grumble, determined not to be drawn into another useless, dangerous conversation, stopping in the darkness of the foyer. “Have you figured it out?”

  “No,” she says quietly, “but I always ask, in case someone has the answer.”

  Chapter Five

  Sydney

  I’m worried about West.

  Of course, there’s nothing new about this. I’ve worried about him ever since I met him. He’s nothing like Nate—or Kash, now that I’ve met him. West is different. He’s so withdrawn, reserved, private in his interactions, so rigid in his rules that you can tell that if he ever cracks, he’ll shatter into a million pieces.

  And he will eventually crack. There’s that incredible intensity underneath his every look, his every action, that ferocity and heat vibrating beneath his every word and gesture. You can tell he feels things. He feels too much, so he tries to shield himself from the world.

  He’s kinda failing right now.

  We are in the biology lab, and I watch as he struggles with the experiment we’re conducting. We’re studying the mold we have grown in a Petri dish under the microscope, and it is disgusting for me, so I can’t imagine how bad it is for West. I bet he will go home and scrub his whole apartment with chlorine until all the mold dies a horrific and final death.

  But we’ve done experiments like this one before. Studied water and enumerated the microorganisms living in it, took apart the soil from the garden and looked at all the life it contains. Studied earthworms and frogs and other animals.

  Normally West doesn’t struggle. Wait, correction: he never gives any signs that he may be struggling. Outward he’s always cool and collected.

  “Hey, West.” I nudge him in the ribs—or try to. He’s grown so tall over the past six months, it’s ridiculous. “My turn.”

  “I’m not done yet,” he grinds out, but steps back anyway.

  “Yeah?” I adjust the microscope and peer down through it. Who knew bread and meat mold could look so beautiful? Like the flowering branches of trees. Like small galaxies. “That’s okay.”

  He grunts. I translate that as not okay.

  “Everything all right at home?”

  Another grunt.

  Nope. Not all right at all.

  “What about your granddad? He didn’t catch that flu that’s been going around, has he?”

  “He’s fine,” West bites out.

  Okay, good. His grandfather seems like an ornery old man, and he looks nothing like West, but he’s raised him, so that’s a plus in my book. “And your sis? She okay?”

  This time the grunt sounds positive, so I leave it at that. Man, sometimes getting information out of Weston is like pulling nails. Your own nails, in fact, with a red-hot poker. It requires patience and finesse—and I possess neither.

  “Not sleeping well, then?” I say.

  A shot in the dark, but hey, I know he has nightmares.

  “No,” he agrees, and I relax a bit, because that’s not so bad, not as bad as his family being unwell.

  Nate told me about the nightmares once, and let slip that West has them often. I just don’t know why.

  Maybe there doesn’t have to be a reason, I remind myself. I’ve Googled it. They can be caused by anything from anxiety to bad or too little sleep. People have nightmares, period. No need to worry about West, not over this.

  And yet when I step back to let him have another go at the funky mold, my heart clenches at his bowed head, the downturned corners of his mouth, the dark lashes hiding those pretty blue eyes.

  A deep pulse goes through me, and an ache starts between my legs.

  Heat licks my cheeks. What’s happening to me? It’s wrong to want someone when they’re down, right?

  It’s wrong to want your friends that way, period. It’s not just West. My body reacts the same way to Nate, and lately…

  Yeah, lately to Kash.

  My body is a filthy slut. There’s no other explanation. Though it doesn’t react at all to the boys in my classroom, or other neighborhood boys. Just these three.

  As if that’s not already too many.

  God.

  Kash is fair game, I tell myself. I barely know him. Also he’s older than me. It’s normal to feel attracted to older boys, right? They have this worldly air about them, that experienced I’ve-seen-it-all-already allure.

  Plus, hey, tattoos and piercings. A bad boy. Come on, it’s only natural.

  If I focus on Kash, my body will forget this strange attraction it has to West and Nate who’ve been like brothers to me ever since I met them.

  It has to.

  But I don’t see Kash in the days that follow. Days that turn into a week, then two. He manages to slip under my radar, leaving Nate’s apartment, leaving our building and returning to it when I’m not looking.

  The whole thing makes me feel like a stalker. I need to stop. If I happen to see him, then that’s it.

  I see Nate, though. Hard not to when w
e have classes together.

  I have fun with Nate. He’s funny, and affectionate, and so sweet sometimes, like when he brings me my favorite bubble gum and leaves doodles of cute little monsters in the margins of my notebook during English.

  I’m not attracted to him, I tell myself, doing my best not to stare at his warm eyes, the light scruff on his jaw, his floppy brown hair and wide shoulders.

  His wide, tempting mouth.

  It’s not working. My skin flushes when I’m sitting close to him, his smell of leather and boy seeping into my skin, befuddling my senses.

  It’s as if the fire in me has changed. It flows in different pathways under my skin. Makes me want things. Want to touch and be touched.

  Want to kiss and be kissed.

  “So we’re set?” Nate asks.

  “What?”

  “About tomorrow. It’s Saturday. You’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

  I rewind to what he’d been talking about a minute ago. “I’ll have to check with the family I babysit for, but… no wait, they’re out of town for the weekend.”

  Which means less money for me.

  Crap.

  “Awesome, then.” He slaps his hand lightly on my desk as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and goes past me. “You’re coming.”

  Coming to… a brunch, apparently. At West’s apartment downstairs from his.

  “Is Kash going to be there?” I call after Nate who’s almost at the door of the classroom.

  He stops and turns. He’s not smiling. “You want him to be?”

  I shrug, a prickling of unease in my stomach. “He doesn’t know anyone here. Might be nice for him to meet people. Why not?”

  Nate makes a face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “No reason. You really like Kash, huh?”

  “You like him, too.”

  “Not the point.”

  “Then what is the point?” I tear my gaze away from Nate with an effort. God, why is it so hard to do? And what does he mean? “Tell me.”

  “I just…” He stops. His eyes narrow, and his jaw tightens. “Nothing. I’ll invite him for you, though I can’t guarantee he’ll come. But hey, whatever makes you happy, girl.”

  Will it make me happy? I have no idea if having Kash there when Nate is clearly unhappy about it would please me. But apparently it’s a done deal because Nate turns around and leaves, and for the first time in what feels like forever he doesn’t wait for me.

  I sit there with my heart pounding and tears burning the back of my eyes, wondering what that means.

  Still I manage to get excited about the brunch the next day. I lie awake in bed, staring at the blue morning sky outside, and smiling. Just the thought of being with the boys lightens my thoughts.

  Though at this point, I’d take almost any company. Sad, isn’t it?

  Don’t let yourself get too lonely. That’s the first rule. We humans are social animals, my biology teacher once said. Not loners.

  Keep busy.

  I broke that rule. What I should do is find another job, or a hobby. Preferably one that lets me meet with people and feel like myself again.

  Okay, so I’d take any company, but they wouldn’t make me feel so excited about getting up and getting ready to go meet them. The thought of meeting Nate and West has me stretching like a cat and going over my clothes, going over ways to be close to them, things to tell them.

  And Kash. The taciturn, mysterious Kash will be there—if Nate convinced him to come.

  Though Nate doesn’t want him to come.

  My smile slips.

  Sometimes I wish I had a girlfriend to share secrets and talk about boys. Last year, I met this girl at school, Gigi. She’s fun and she’s sweet, and she’s in love with this boy, a neighbor called Jarett. I tried to be friends, but she wanted to stay the night with me, and I blurted out my mom wasn’t here. She was shocked I live alone, and I got nervous and lied about my age, said I was older than I really am, that I was almost eighteen, and… it was a mess.

  Not that she figured out I was lying, but I felt weird about myself. It made me think I can’t have normal friends, because I don’t live a normal life, and it hit me hard.

  But that’s all silly, because I’m fine with the way things are. Really, I am. Besides, I always got along better with boys. They don’t expect anything from me. They aren’t complicated.

  Right?

  I’m the one complicating things with my desires and lack of control. I’m fire. I destroy things. But I won’t let myself destroy this friendship. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s all I have.

  Mood dampened, I drag myself out of bed and shower, then throw the doors of my closet open and stare at my outfits.

  I think of Weston’s blue eyes, so serious and dark with shadows during the biology lab.

  I think of Nathan’s bright whiskey gaze on me as he stood at the classroom door.

  I think of Kash and his face barely visible in the dark as he stood outside, talking to me about his job and tutoring, so many things left unsaid between the lines.

  Don’t, Sydney. Don’t break this. Don’t burn it down.

  Frowning, I yank out a denim skirt and a yellow tank top that leaves my midriff bare. Hey, it’s warm. Normal summer clothes, all right? No push-up bra, and no lace. No make-up, no nothing.

  See? I’m being good. Just your friendly next-door neighbor. Not trying to go after any of them. Just trying to be friends.

  But damn, it’s hard. Nearly impossible, when I find them so cute and sexy. Why couldn’t I have ugly, old, nasty neighbors instead of this group of heartthrobs, huh?

  Totally unfair, let me tell you.

  Slipping my feet into my pink flip flops, I run a brush through my unruly hair, trying to tame the curls—then give up and put it up in two pigtails, tidying up stray curls with golden barrettes.

  There.

  I hesitate. I said no make-up, right? But wouldn’t that look like trying too hard to look like I don’t care?

  Does this even make sense?

  Sighing, I grab my mascara and apply a layer on my pale lashes, then slather some cherry lip-gloss on my lips and call it done. The Sydney-Who-Isn’t-Attracted-To-You-But-Is-Super-Cool look by yours truly.

  The butterflies in my belly swarm and crash, like every time I think of the boys. There’s no escape.

  Or maybe I’m just hungry. The thought of West’s cooking always gets my mouth watering, much like the boy himself.

  Jesus. Stop.

  With some time left to kill, I skip down the stairs and get out. The sunlight pours through the foliage of the tree in the front like a rain of gold, and I stand bathed in it, closing my eyes.

  Today will be a good day. This will be a good summer. A good year. Everything will be set to rights, I can feel it in my bones.

  Please let it be a good year.

  “Syd! Hey, you coming?” Nate’s voice breaks through the warm sunlight and wraps around me.

  Smiling, because I can’t help myself around him, I walk back to the building entrance where he’s standing, staring at me.

  Kash is with him. That’s the first thing that registers.

  He’s standing beside Nate, hands in his skinny jeans pockets, arms covered in dark ink, blond-streaked hair falling in his eyes. It’s cut shorter at the sides and back where it’s dyed blue, though the fringe is so pale it’s almost silver, and it brings attention to the silver hoop in his elegant nose and to his full mouth.

  God. Damn. It’s the first time I see him in broad daylight, and he’s just breathtaking. I think I might be drooling.

  “Earth to Sydney.” Nate’s normally warm voice is equal parts sharp and amused. “Do I have to drag you upstairs, Squirt?”

  “Stop calling me that,” I say automatically, and make the mistake of looking at him.

  Because, jeez, Nate looks damn fine, too, in his white tank top showing off his muscled, tanned arms. He’s taller than Kash and his jaw is more square, his brows heavie
r and darker, and…

  “I give up.” Nate throws his hands up in the air with a huff and walks back inside. “Sometimes I feel like I’m your imaginary friend.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” I glance at Kash who lifts his bony shoulders in a shrug and then I hurry back inside. “What’s up with you, Nate? Wait up.”

  “Why, afraid you won’t find West’s apartment? That you’ll lose the way?”

  “Very funny.” I lost my way long ago, but I don’t say that. My face too hot, I follow him, and Kash falls into step with me as we climb the stairs to the first floor.

  “You owe me!” Nate calls out, not slowing down, rounding the first landing.

  “What for?”

  “For dragging him,” he jabs a thumb over his shoulder at Kash, “kicking and screaming out of the apartment.”

  “He forced you to come?” I turn to Kash, and one corner of his mouth lifts at my outrage.

  “Well, he did threaten me with bodily harm,” he says in that quiet, deep voice of his. “So how is it going?”

  “Um, fine. I mean, it’s going fine. You?”

  I’m about to tell him that I may have a student lined up for his tutoring lessons, and thinking that God, I’d love him to tutor me in something other than Russian and physics, when something catches my eye.

  I’m not the most observant of people. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived with my head buried in the sand for so long, I don’t look, in the belief that others won’t look back at me, either. But the ring of black at the top of Nate’s arm when he lifts his hand to ring the doorbell to West’s apartment is hard to miss.

  Nate has no tattoos. His skin is pale gold, smooth and unmarred.

  Or so I thought.

  “Is that…” Unthinkingly I make a grab for Kash, grip his taut forearm and he hisses out in surprise. “Are those bruises on Nate?”

  The word doesn’t fit in a sentence with Nate in it. It can’t.

  “I dunno,” Kash says. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  I turn my frown on Kash, but he pulls his arm free of my grip easily and turns away to roll a cigarette, pulling a wad of tobacco from a black pouch.

  Think, Sydney, think. The bruises must be from the sparring. Yes, this must be it. West and Nate have been sparring a lot more lately, God knows why, as it means cutting down on their sacred gameplaying time, but there’s the explanation for the bruises. I was so shocked to see them that my mind went blank for a moment.