Nice
October:
I woke up not knowing where I was.
Parish – who was still asleep – and I were huddled up together in a dark corner of the tool shed we’d retreated to last night as we tried to escape Brent and Javier; and we were both soaked. My t-shirt had been saved thanks to Parish’s thick jacket, but my jeans were wet and clinging to my skin. Parish was more or less the same. We’d been running around in the rain for half an hour, so I wasn’t really surprised over the fact that we were drenched. What did surprise me, however, was that we weren’t alone.
Just a few feet away from where we’d been sleeping, sitting on an empty work bench, Parish and I were being watched by the most beautiful, most exotic girl I’d ever seen. I jolted upright, alarmed at her presence.
How long had she been there? How long had she been watching us sleep? Not breaking eye contact, I reached out and patted Parish’s cheek, waking him.
“What, what, wha—” He clipped his grumbles short when he saw her. “Shit.”
Parish’s hushed swear made the girl smile, sly amusement washed over her face and touched her cat-like eyes. “You know,” she said, her melodic and slightly raspy voice coated in good-humor. “You could have just knocked at the front door. We’d have put you up in the guest room or something. This is the worst place in the world to try and get a good night’s sleep. Trust me, I know.”
“Erm,” Parish glanced at me, unsure how to reply. I shrugged, as uncertain as he was. Did this girl not recognize us? Hadn’t she been watching the news? “We’re sorry. We didn’t know we could just do that.”
Another wave of good-humor flashed in her eyes. Against her glowing, deep olive skin, they looked impossibly bright – the brightest green eyes I’d ever seen on a human being. She was tall, Darren’s height, - about 5’8, I think – with long, glossy black hair that she’d pulled into a high ponytail. And she looked young, twenty years old, at the most. If she’d been Caucasian, she and Bethany could have passed for sisters. From her high cheekbones and sculpted jaw, I assumed she was Native American.
She wasn’t traditionally beautiful. But she had a perfect balance of sharp features and soft features that made her look breathtaking. On anyone else, it would have looked odd. Bethany would never have been able to pull off those large eyes with that full mouth.
“And now you do,” she said, tilting her head slightly. She tossed her head in the direction of the open shed door, “come on. I’ll make you guys some breakfast while you clean up.”
She waited for us to follow. When Parish and I stood up, but made no attempts to move, she frowned – somehow managing to still look gorgeous while doing so. “Look,” Parish started, moving to stand in front of me. “We appreciate the offer and everything, but we really should get moving. Places to be, you know? Besides, we don’t know you.”
I expected her to look insulted or even hurt, but she just nodded understandingly and said, “You don’t want to blindly trust someone who just caught you hiding out in her tool shed, I get that. But I mean it when I say that I just want to help.” Parish opened his mouth to argue but she sped on, “I won’t force you to stay, but maybe at least let me give you guys something to eat? You look famished.”
Right on cue, our stomachs growled in unison. We hadn’t had anything to eat since those sandwiches and from the deli. That was somewhere last evening. It was almost afternoon now.
But despite our hunger, Parish and I glanced at each other again in uncertainty. I wanted to believe the girl; the sincere look in her eyes told me that she really did want to help. But what would she do once she found out who we were? Or who Parish was, in any case? As if reading my thoughts she said, “Look, if I was going to call the cops on you, I’d have done it while you were sleeping.”
“You know who we are?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“I know who he is,” she answered looking at Parish. “Parish Feltman, the Abercoster’s runaway. Seventeen. 5’11”. Light brown hair. Brown eyes. Much cuter than his wanted photo makes him out to be.” She shot him a wink and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing at how embarrassed Parish looked. I also felt a little twinge of... something in my tummy. I decided to ignore it.
It was funny, really. I figured Parish must’ve been used to being complimented on his looks. Apparently not. Grinning at his reaction, the girl turned to me, “You, on the other hand, I have no idea. But I’m sure you’ll tell me when you decide to trust me.”
I noticed she said “when” and not “if”. If anyone else had said it, I’d have instantly been on alert. Anyone who was that certain that we’d eventually trust them surely couldn’t be trustworthy. But there was something about this girl – something in her air – that made me feel that the only reason she’d worded it that way was because she was being honest. She had no intention of turning us in.
I could feel Parish’s eyes on me, waiting for my opinion. I gave him a subtle nod. “We still don’t know who you are,” I told the girl. She smiled, taking my words as a sign that I’d decided she wasn’t all that bad.
“The name’s Ace,” she said, offering me her hand. I shook it. She offered it to Parish who, still blushing, shook it too. “And this,” she took a step back and nodded towards a towering figure in the shadows of the shed that I hadn’t noticed until just now, “is my, friend, colleague and resident lurker, Spade.”
Spade stepped forward, letting the thin beams of late morning sunlight that were spilling in through the small windows fall across his face. I tried not to gasp. Like his colleague, Spade was a definite looker. He was lean and tall, towering over all of us at a height well over six feet and, judging by his toned biceps and the way his shirt clung to him, was either a swimmer or a runner. He looked older than Ace, early to mid twenties, I guessed, and seemed to have a very laidback air about him. He nodded a friendly “hey” to us before turning his attention to Ace.
“I am not a lurker,” he said indignantly. His voice, I noticed, was very deep – deeper than Parish’s even, which was saying something – and extremely husky. In a good way.
“Sure you aren’t,” Ace grinned and Spade’s indignation immediately seeped out of his face. He rolled his eyes.
“Hold on,” Parish said, his gaze moving between the two of them. “Ace and Spade? Really?”
“Would you believe me if I said that that was purely coincidental?” Spade asked, one side of his mouth quirking into a half-smile. Parish and I shook our heads in unison. Those were names straight out of a badly written novel. Spade sighed. “No one ever does,” he mumbled grumpily.
Ace patted him on the arm sympathetically, “The universe decided to play a sick joke on the two of us via our parents. You wouldn’t believe how many people have laughed at us over our names.”
“Uh-huh.” Parish said, shooting me a look. I knew what he was thinking; why were these people being so friendly towards us? I studied the pair for a moment, trying to understand what was going on. Spade looked a little more suspicious of us than Ace did; a little more reserved. But Ace seemed to fully trust us and was really trying to help… and it looked like he was trusting her judgment. His slight discomfort was what sold me.
Giving Parish a pointed look that I hoped to God said, “trust me,” I looked to Ace and smiled, “What were you saying about breakfast?”
Ace beamed as if I’d told her Christmas had come early. “Let’s get you guys cleaned up first, huh?” She whipped around on one foot and led the way out of the shed, moving with feline-like grace. Parish and I followed, side by side, still not completely willing to trust them not to pull a fast one on us. Spade brought up the rear, locking the tool shed behind us. Ace she stopped abruptly, “You guys wouldn’t happen to have any friends hiding out with you, would you?” Confused, Parish and I shook our heads. “It’s just you two?”
We nodded, still confused. Pleased with our answer, Ace held out her hand and gave Spade a pointed look. Spade groaned and stuffed his hand into his back pocket, pulling out a ten dollar note and pressing it into her palm. Satisfied, Ace whipped back around and continued to lead the way into the house, stuffing the note into the back pocket of her jeans as she went. For the fifth time since we’d met them, Parish and I exchanged confused looks. Shaking his head, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around mine, giving me a reassuring squeeze. In this together.
As we walked towards the large house, Ace asked me and Parish what we would like to eat. “I really don’t care. I’d eat a horse if that’s what you served us,” Parish said, running a sleepy hand down the side of his face where a little stubble was starting to spring up.
Over her shoulder, Ace gave us both a mischievous look, “Is that so?”
Parish stopped in his tracks, watching as Ace slipped into the house through the open back door. “I was joking!” He told her retreating figure. He looked over at Spade, who was shaking his head in exasperation and trying his very best not to laugh. “She knows I was joking, right?” He asked. Spade chuckled instead of answering, ushering us inside where Ace had already dug up two fresh towels.
Wow. She was a fast worker.
We stepped into the kitchen. It was a cozy room, with light colored walls and dark wood furnishing. It was smaller than the one back in Abercoster’s but bigger than Parish’s kitchen had been – and equally as homey. A large, modern refrigerator sat in the corner of the room, just across from the kitchen door. The sturdy table in the center was wiped clean, with only a vase of bright flowers in the middle as a centerpiece. Two steaming mugs sat on the tiled countertop, one white with intricate teal patterns swirling across its surface and the other cream, with a giant bowtie on the front. Spade’s and Ace’s, I assumed.
“I’ll lend you something of mine to wear for the moment,” Ace told me, putting a soft pastel pink towel in my hands. She placed the other one – a white one – in Parish’s arms. “Your clothes will be too big for Parish, won’t they?” She asked Spade, nodding at Parish with a slightly worried expression.
He nodded. “Yes, but he looks to be about Hart’s size. I’ll look around and see if he’s left anything of his.”
“Hart’s a little skinnier, though…” she mumbled, looking Parish up and down. He looked at me, seeming a little self-conscious again.
“I have a few shirts of mine,” Parish said, gesturing towards his backpack.
“It’ll have to do for now. We’ll figure something out later,” Spade said. Their combined words seemed to reassure Ace. She smiled.
“Alright. I’ll take…” She looked at me and frowned, “Honey, you didn’t tell us your name.”
“Oh, right.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Parish give me a subtle nod. They didn’t show it, but I think Ace and Spade noticed it too. “October,” I said.
Ace smiled and its tenderness reminded me so much of someone I’d tried not to think about since I’d been landed in Abercoster’s that it hurt. “October?” she said. “That’s pretty.”
“Parish and October…” Spade said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe. “And you were laughing at our names.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen, Spade. They didn’t laugh,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. She glanced over at me and said, “The only October I’ve ever heard of before was that one in that horror movie you made me watch.”
“Stay Alive?”
“Yup. She was the goth girl with the bangs, right?”
“Sophia Bush,” Spade supplied.
“That’s the one.”
Parish and I watched them talk, eyes moving from one person to another, like we were watching a ping pong match; they had such a good rapport going on. It made me wonder how long they’d know each other.
Spade tossed his head back, a pleased smile on his face, “Ah, love me some Sophia Bush.”
Ace turned away from him, rolling her eyes. “Men,” she mouthed to me with a dramatic huff. Parish and I sniggered. I didn’t know about him, but I was feeling strangely at ease around these two. They were funny, easy-going and had this soothing air about them. I didn’t know whether to be worried about that or not. The rational part of me told me I shouldn’t trust them – shouldn’t trust anyone except Parish. But there was this twinge in my gut that told me these two were the good guys. “Come on, October,” Ace said, gently taking hold of my wrist and dragging me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I heard the familiar sound of wood scraping against tile and assumed that one of the boys had sat down.
I followed Ace up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left. Hers, judging by the looks of it. It was a very personal space, littered photos, books, clothes, belongings and other knickknacks – like her whole life could be summarized by the contents of her room. My room wouldn’t be able to tell tales like Ace’s room could and for a moment I envied her. She stalked over to her dresser and pulled one of the drawers open, rummaging through it until she found a lovely navy blue top. She tossed it onto the bed and shut the drawer, quickly opening another one and pulling out a short white skirt with an elastic waist. “They’re both new so don’t worry about any Ace germs,” she said with a grin.
“I promise not to spill anything on them,” I told her, truly touched that she was letting me, a complete stranger, wear her brand new clothes. I could see the plastic tag still on the skirt.
“Why would promise me that?” She cocked her head to the side and tossed the skirt onto the bed with the top. “They’re yours. Ruin them if you must. Or not. Whatever floats your boat.” I opened my mouth to object, but Ace let out a curse and cut me off. “Underwear, underwear, underwear…” She mumbled, opening and closing a bunch on drawers. “Shit. No new underwear.”
I wanted to hug her, really I did. I was so incredibly touched by how comfortable she was trying to make me – and Parish – feel, and the fact that she was actually ransacking her drawers to find new underwear for me. From the crushed look on her face, I could tell that she didn’t have any. Not that it would have mattered anyway; anything she owned would have been in her size and, while she was lean and athletic, she was also pretty curvaceous. She had an hourglass figure and completely filled her jeans and t-shirt. What curves I had were meager, especially with my recent runaway-induced weight loss. I could manage with the top and the skirt, but I definitely would not fit in underwear bought for her.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thank you, though, for the clothes. I’ll pay you back. We have money.” She waved a dismissive hand. The look on her face told me that no matter how much I pressed it, she wouldn’t let me reimburse her. I’d have to thank her some other way.
“Give me your clothes once you get in there. I’ll wash and dry them for you.”
I blanched a little at the thought of giving a stranger my dirty underwear to wash. “Um, it’s fine. I’ll hand-wash them first and then maybe put them in the dryer or something…?”
“We have this magical thing called a washing machine, October. It’ll be done in a jiff.” she said, her voice full of good humor and understanding. She understood my reluctance. “It’s no problem, I’ll just dump them in and hopefully, they’ll be dry and ready for wear by the time you’re done.” How long did she think I took to shower? “Seriously, it’s no big deal. I’m not squeamish, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She didn’t look like she was going to back down, and really, I did appreciate the idea of being able to wear my own underwear, cleaned and fresh. I wasn’t comfortable with my other alternative – to go without. Finally, I agreed, “Alright. I’ll give you the clothes.”
Again, Ace brightened up at my agreeing to let her help me. It was strange how much pleasure she took from this – us allowing her to do nice things for us. I’d never met anyone like that before. It was… nice. Weird, yeah, but nice. “Great,” she said, opening the bathroom door and gesturing for me to step inside. She pointed at the shelves built into the wall, “There’s a new in-case-of-emergency toothbrush there that you can use. And, um, help yourself to whatever. I’ve got three different shampoos, conditioners and shower gels but there’s also soap if you’re more comfortable with that,” I tried not to gape. She said that all in one breath “Seriously, don’t be shy. Use whatever you want.”
Nodding, I let her close the door behind me and quickly shed my filthy clothes. I wrapped the towel she’d given me around my body and, after folding the clothes in a neat pile, opened the door. Ace was at her dresser again, pulling hairbrushes and ponytail holders and setting them out for me. Hearing the door open, she dropped what she was doing and walked over, taking the clothes from me with a genuine smile. “I’ll bring these back ASAP,” she said.
“Thanks,” I shut the door.