Chapter Three

He pulled out a chair and spun it, straddling it with his arms folded on its back. He held two beers and handed me one across the table.

"So," he said, and I smiled slowly, sitting up straight, breathing shallow, unable to take my eyes off of him. There was something about him…A danger. An edge. And an inherent sweetness, too. The way he looked at me was intense and predatory, and yet, when he smiled, it was gone, and he looked like a drunk goof.

"Sooo," I said slowly, and he laughed. "Leon."

"Yeah! You remember me."

"Yes," I said, and swallowed, scanning the room again for my parents before bringing the bottle to my lips and taking a drink. It was disgusting, tasted like piss, but I wanted him to think I was cool, not a 17-year-old tit baby rich girl, and I kept a straight face. "You work here?"

"Mmm, and live here," he said. "In four-oh-five. Couple houses down from you."

"You do?" I couldn't hide my surprise.

"Yeah, with some friends," he said. Some girls standing in a cluster at the bar were looking at him, in his white tank top and blue work pants, at the wallet chain and the black lug-sole shoes. They weren't admiring him, they were being snobs. He noticed it too, and tipped his beer at them. "I don't really hang out with anyone else here."

"No," I said. "I don't either. I haven't been here since I was a kid."

"Still are a kid," he said, and I cocked my head, wondering what he wanted with me. If this was a pickup or if he just wanted someone to talk to. "What are you, fifteen? Sixteen?" I didn't answer him, just stared at him with wry indifference. "Anyway, just thought I'd let you know that your parents are busy on the beach. And they're sauced. I wouldn't wait for them, I doubt they're coming." Now I was pissed. My parents were busy on the beach? What?Christ. And who did he think he was, anyway? Did he think this was funny? He sure had a big enough smile on his face…My discomfort was hilarious to him, and he was just watching me with those cool green eyes and pissing me off and turning me on.

"I'm leaving," I said, and he nodded slowly.

"Me too. I'll walk you home."

"No," I said, "I'm fine."

"I have to pass your house to get to mine," he said. "It wasn't an offer. You don't have a choice."

I slammed the beer down on the table, grabbed my little handbag, and took off, stalked out through the crowd, and the group of girls followed me with their eyes all the way, and Leon, too, as he was right on my heels.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said. I ignored him, kicking my pace up a notch. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm sorry I was a punk. Come on." I stopped but didn't turn to face him, and I felt his hands on my waist. "Come on. What're you gonna do, go home and sit in that big house all alone? Be pissed at me?" Honestly, I didn't know what I planned to do. Probably something along those lines. "Come back to my place. We've got movies, PS2, we're grillin' out, got some real music on. All kindsa shit to do."

"Why are you stalking me?" I asked.

"Stalking you? You can be a bitch, you know that? I buy you a beer, tip you off so you don't have to sit by yourself drinking ice water for two hours, and invite you to my place. I'm not stalking you, girl. I'm bein' a nice guy."

"Okay, why, then. Why are you bein' a nice guy." I slapped his hands off my waist and turned around to meet his gaze.

"Because," he said. "You're blue. And you're not like the other ones."

"Other…?"

"Rich bitches. The little daddies' girls that come around this place, their heads up their asses."

"I'm not?"

"No, you're not."

"And how do you know that?" I countered.

"Because," he said, and a slow, cocky grin spread across his face like butter. "I've been working here two months and you're the first one to check out my ass while I'm loadin' your luggage." I rolled my eyes, embarrassed and amused in unison. He laughed and it was contagious. "And because of the scars on your knuckles," he continued, taking one of my hands in both of his and running his thumbs over the fine silver lines. "Whose ass you been kickin'?"

"No one's," I said, pulling the hand back. "That was a long time ago." Eighth grade. Thought I was tough shit. Got kicked out of school. Dad's hated me since.

"So you want to come?"

"No," I said. "I'm tired still. I'm going to bed. But I'll see you around." He nodded.

"Yeah, sure."

"No, really. I'm just so tired. Come by tomorrow if you want."

"Yeah, all right," he said. "All right. Later." And he continued on down the street. There was a tattoo of an Indian chief's head on his right arm, encircled by serpents and vines, and it glinted in the streetlight as he walked away.

"Bye," I said softly, and went inside. I didn't even change. Flopped down on the bed in my dress and fell instantly asleep with Leon on the brain.

When I woke, it was eleven a.m. I had not slept that late since…since…I had never slept that late. Again, the house was quiet. And again, a note on the dresser: "Gone golfing, back by dinner. Money on the kitchen countertop. Have fun."

It was so hot. It was so goddamn hot. I changed into a sundress and it wasn't enough. There was no AC, and I was sure I was dying. My mouth was spitless and my skin was wet. My hair stuck to me all over. I needed it to be cut. Now.

I hunted around for a scissors, found one in the bathroom on the vanity, and watched in the mirror as I cut about a foot off my hair. Cut it so it was to my angelbones only, then pulled it back away from my face with a scrunchie and washed all the hair off of me in the bath. Ten minutes out of the bath, sweat had mingled with the water. I was miserable. Since I had grown 'the body,' I had avoided wearing a bathing suit. I wasn't comfortable with the way I looked, with what had happened to me all of a sudden. But I cried uncle that day. Hauled out my simple black one-piece and headed to the Cabana, where there was a giant pool, rafts floating lazily.

The pool was all but empty. In fact, the entire Villa was all but empty. I passed the golf course as I walked down the narrow little street, heard the gentle rush of the ocean. I could have swam there, but it didn't occur to me, and it scared me, sort of…so big…so endless. I could gaze at it forever but I wouldn't swim.

I set my beach bag down on one of the white plastic lawn chairs on the concrete deck of the pool and pulled the sundress up over my head, kicking off my sandals. My whole body felt lighter without the hair, free, cool. I could feel the wind on my back for the first time in years. I was looking at the chipped polish on my toenails as I approached the pool and nearly ran head-on to a dark girl in a white bikini.

"Watch it," she said, and I looked up over my shoulder as she walked away. Not very tall, but with impressive muscle definition in her arms and thighs. Seems I had taken her chair, too; with one foot, she kicked my bag onto the ground, untied the top of her suit, and took it off, stretching out topless on her stomach on the chair. She folded her arms before her and rested her chin on her hands, glaring at me from beneath long black lashes with giant obsidian eyes and a smooth meanness I'd never seen in a woman before.