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  “Nobody thinks you’re stupid, Chelsea.”

  I nearly laughed out loud. “Do you really think I don’t know what people say about me? I’m a pretty girl—not a smart one.” I shoved back a strand of red hair just so I would have something to do with my hands. “That’s a direct quote from my mom, by the way. They sort of have a point. I mean, I totally choked during my SAT test. And then my ex-boyfriend, Logan, dumped me for the smartest girl at school. So he traded up. And every time I see them together it’s like—” I broke off. “I wasn’t good enough. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I never seem to be good enough. So I really am sorry that I hurt you, Amy. And you should know that it’s entirely possible Neal’s rescue will be just one more disaster to add to the list. But at least this time—even if I screw up—the attempt will mean something. That is why I can act so calm.”

  Amy’s arms were suddenly wrapped around my neck, and I couldn’t protest her stranglehold because it felt like . . . friendship. The close kind that forms at a summer camp and disintegrates because the promises to call each other are soon forgotten. And yet, with Amy I thought it could last beyond our crisis with a Cambodian drug cartel.

  I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with her very public display of affection, so I glanced over the back of my seat, fully expecting to see Ben chatting up some female traveler while Houston and Liz planned our next move. Instead, I found all of them staring straight ahead with their attention caught on . . . me.

  The pit of my stomach dropped as I soaked in the mixture of guilt and defiance in their expressions. Houston’s unwavering gaze told me what I needed to know: They had overheard everything. All that stuff about my SAT test and Logan was now common knowledge.

  If there was a gunman on the bus, I found myself hoping he would just take his shot, already. At least that way the situation couldn’t become any more awkward.

  No such luck.

  I coolly held Houston’s gaze, not even bothering to raise my voice. “You say a word about any of this to my dad and—”

  “I already promised that I wouldn’t.” He rolled his eyes before he muttered, “What happens in Cambodia stays in Cambodia.”

  “I knew that was going to catch on!” Ben crowed victoriously. “That was all me.”

  “Yeah, you’re a regular Shakespeare.”

  All four of us gawked at Amy, who looked surprised to find that she had spoken.

  Liz beamed proudly at her. “Nicely delivered, Amy! We’ll have you trash-talking in no time.”

  Houston grinned too—a genuinely amused expression that I’d only glimpsed once or twice before, but which fit his face to perfection. Not that it mattered. What we needed to be figuring out was how to help Neal, not wasting time smiling at one another.

  That’s why I changed the subject. Not because I found myself wondering what it would take to see that expression on his face more often. And definitely not because I felt a surge of something that felt dangerously like attraction when his eyes met mine.

  Nope.

  I was too aware of all of Houston’s flaws to ever be taken in that easily.

  And just to prove it to myself, I started passing out prepaid cell phones from the batch I’d bought right after I logged off with Houston. The ones I’d charged to my dad’s emergency credit card.

  Then I leaned forward confidentially.

  “Okay, so here’s the plan.”

  Chapter 18

  I waited until I had their full attention.

  “If any part of this plan goes wrong, you bail. You take the nearest tuk-tuk to the American consulate and you stay there. Are we all clear on that?”

  They nodded, but I couldn’t let it go.

  “No stupid risks either. If you even think you’re in danger, go to the consulate.”

  Houston laughed. “Seriously, Chelsea? I hate to break it to you, princess, but you are the only person here who needs to hear that warning. I bet you have no intention of following your own advice.”

  I put on my best look of disbelief. “Are you kidding? I’ll be in the first tuk-tuk headed for the embassy.”

  Just as long as Neal is right there with me.

  I knew better than to say that last part out loud.

  Liz nodded. “Okay, so we flee to the embassy if the plan goes horribly wrong. What’s the plan again?”

  “It’s sort of a work in progress, so let’s withhold some of the judgment, okay?”

  Ben and Houston traded looks that made it pretty freaking obvious that they had no intention of withholding anything.

  “Okay, so we don’t know where the police are holding Neal. And we don’t have the political power to make the authorities release him.”

  Everyone looked thoroughly unimpressed with that bit of information, so I quickly moved on.

  “But we do have a Buddha full of heroin.”

  Houston raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said it was cocaine.”

  “I Googled it. And now we just have to use the heroin to our advantage.”

  Ben grinned. “You want to try using it to bargain with a dirty cop?”

  Not the worst idea but definitely more complicated than what I had in mind.

  “Let’s try to avoid any run-ins with the law. In fact, I vote we leave that part to the experts.”

  “The experts in what, exactly?” Liz asked. “Bribing politicians?”

  “Exactly.”

  That momentarily stunned everyone into silence.

  “You’re kidding.” Amy looked as if she expected me to laugh at their gullibility. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Look, it’s a very simple trade. We return the Buddha to a drug cartel and in exchange they give us Neal. Everybody leaves happy.”

  No response.

  “It’s simple!”

  “Sure. Perfect. As long as you don’t factor in this scenario: The cartel shoots you. The cartel takes the drugs. The cartel leaves happy. You leave in a body bag.”

  Well, when Houston put it that way, my plan sounded significantly less brilliant.

  “I admit it’s a possibility. But what exactly would they have to gain by shooting me?”

  “It would send a message to all their competitors.” Houston nodded. “But I see your point. Bloodshed isn’t a requirement.”

  “See!”

  “They’ll profit far more by selling you into the sex trade. Young. Blonde. Pretty. They might make more off your body than they would from the drugs.”

  That thought made my blood chill. “You’re being overly dramatic.”

  “Right. Drug kingpins are known for their high moral standards. And no tourists have ever been forced into bad situations abroad.” Houston laughed, but not as if he found the conversation particularly funny. “Keep dreaming, Chelsea.”

  “My plan is going to work.”

  “And every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”

  “Seriously, do you guys need to go to separate corners?” Liz demanded. “Settle down!”

  “It’s not my fault that he’s being a jerk.”

  “Ouch. You really told me off, Chelsea. Why, if I were a drug lord, I’d be terrified right now.”

  “All right.” Ben stood up. “I can’t listen to this anymore. If you need me, I’ll be enjoying the lush scenery that this beautiful, beautiful country has to offer.”

  And with that he headed several rows away to a group of female tourists who were all wearing the thin cotton pants that I’d seen stall owners hocking in the marketplace. I thought the style made the girls look like bedraggled Shakespearean actors, but Ben appeared far more interested in the way they filled out their shirts.

  “Amy, I wanted to ask you more about your independent study idea. Let’s go talk. Y’know . . . not here.” The accompanied jerk of Liz’s head certainly wasn’t subtle, but that didn’t make it any less effective.

  “Wha—oh. Right. We’ll catch up with you two later.”

  They quickly booked it to the back of th
e bus, leaving me sitting alone with Houston as the bus lumbered closer to Phnom Penh.

  The silence that weighed down the air between us made even breathing feel unnaturally forced.

  So closing my eyes, I pretended that once again I was moving gracefully across Ms. P’s dance studio in a filmy pink tutu.

  Houston cleared his throat, shattering my fantasy. “I, uh . . . overheard what you said. About your parents.”

  “Yeah.” I glared at him. “Funny how that happens when you’re eavesdropping.”

  He merely did one of his infuriatingly casual shrugs. “Did you mean it?”

  I kept my eyes trained out the window because I knew that pity was the one thing I couldn’t handle coming from Houston. He hadn’t tried to sympathize with me when my parents shipped me off to Cambodia or when Jake’s name first came up at the massage parlor. There had been no attempt to bond over the more painful parts of my life. No offered condolences or shoulder pats. And oddly enough, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

  Even Houston’s annoying habit of calling me “princess” didn’t really bother me anymore. Coming from him it was just a nickname, not a subtle way of treating me like a doll whose only purpose was to be put on display. And I didn’t worry that he was secretly trying to sweet-talk or manipulate me into his way of thinking because Houston didn’t work that way. He had no problem confronting me directly.

  Somehow that made the idea of him looking at me with pity even worse.

  I crossed my arms defiantly. “Does it make a difference? My parents can think whatever they want.”

  Houston shook his head in disbelief. “So you do believe that crap then. Chelsea, your dad doesn’t think you’re stupid. He worries that you’ll make stupid choices. There’s a difference.”

  “Wow, thanks. Next time I need a pep talk, I’ll be sure to avoid you.”

  He looked disgusted, but I couldn’t tell if it was with me or with himself. Probably both.

  “Trust me on this one, Chelsea. Your dad just wants to keep you safe.”

  “Right,” I scoffed. “And you know this how, exactly? Did the two of you have a long talk about his feelings or something?”

  “He let something slip about a nasty ex-boyfriend of yours. Lyle, right?”

  “Logan,” I corrected defensively. “And both of my parents loved him.”

  I did too.

  Houston raised an eyebrow. “But Lawson’s no longer interested, right?”

  I pulled back, stung. Houston’s blunt style of confrontation definitely felt less endearing now. I fought to keep my voice even.

  “None of your business.”

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s time for you to move on, kid. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble dating someone closer to your age.”

  “Logan is my age.”

  “Then who was the jerk at the Christmas party last year?”

  Oh. My. God.

  He knew about Jake. Not all the details—my dad couldn’t share information that he didn’t have—but Houston’s reference to the dreaded annual Christmas party hit way too close to home.

  “What, uh . . . what did my dad say happened?” I asked carefully.

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, right,” I shot back. “If he didn’t mention the Christmas party, then how did you hear about it?”

  “I was there. And I saw the whole thing.” A chill crept into my bones as Houston lazily stretched out his legs. He looked as if we were chatting about nothing more personal than the last Portland Timbers game. “But feel free to fill me in on whatever it is you think I missed. I’ve already promised to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

  Houston’s palm touched my knee and I shot bolt upright. There was nothing sexual or even flirtatious about the feeling, but it was still too . . . intimate. He must have felt the same way because he quickly stuffed his hand into the front pocket of his jeans.

  But if he was equally flustered his voice didn’t betray it. “It’s about time we cleared the air, don’t you think?”

  Much to my surprise the answer to that was finally yes.

  “All right, cowboy. You’re on.”

  Chapter 19

  “So who was the Christmas crasher?”

  I should have known Houston would prod straight at the heart of the disaster. He couldn’t ease into the conversation with something relatively simple like, Why were you drinking so heavily at your parents’ annual Christmas party?

  Nope, he went right for Jake the Mistake.

  “Somebody that I used to date,” I said wryly, hoping to lighten the conversation.

  Houston nodded thoughtfully. “He didn’t seem to get the message that it was over.”

  I felt a quick surge of satisfaction as I remembered how surprised Jake had been to discover that I had grown a tougher skin since he dumped me. Jake had probably expected me to be overjoyed at the idea of picking up right where we left off during his infrequent visits home from college. He’d been so confident when he explained that we just needed to be mature about the situation. Monogamy wouldn’t work for us. The whole concept was woefully outdated, practically guaranteed to end in disappointment and hurt feelings. An open relationship, on the other hand . . . well, all of his college buddies were enjoying them.

  If you ever really loved me, you’ll agree to do it too.

  C’mon, Chelsea. Don’t you remember how good we were together? Don’t you miss it, babe?

  You know that nobody will ever love you as much as I do.

  I shook my head to dispel the memory of Jake’s words and focused on Houston.

  “He wasn’t ready to accept that it was over.” I mimicked one of Houston’s shrugs. “Enough said.”

  “He nearly convinced you to ditch the party, Chelsea.”

  After downing way more than my share of wine, almost anything had seemed better than faking a functioning family. If Logan had been the one offering me an escape, I wouldn’t have hesitated. If some random stranger had offered me a ride, it would’ve been a hard offer to resist.

  It was no real surprise that even knowing exactly how capable Jake was at toying with me, I had almost accepted the offer.

  “That’s because I didn’t want to stay there even a minute longer,” I said defiantly. “Believe it or not, being paraded around like a show dog isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.” I pitched my voice higher in a spot-on impersonation of my mom. “Have you met my daughter? Sit, Chelsea! Speak! Good girl.”

  Houston’s fist tightened within his pocket. “Yeah, your mom is pretty . . . intense. I noticed that myself. So is that why you started drinking? Or did you pick the red wine because it matched the color of your dress?”

  He remembered my outfit. It was such a ridiculously girly thing to get a thrill over. Especially because we were at a freaking Christmas party where all the women either wore a red dress and called it “festive” or pulled out a slinky black number for the occasion. For all I knew, Houston had just made a very lucky guess.

  Except Houston didn’t waste his time making up stuff.

  He had seen me at the party and remembered the color of my dress . . . but for the life of me I couldn’t place him at the scene. I studied his face, hoping that any second I’d be able to connect his aquiline nose and dark green eyes with their tiny flecks of gray to a good moment from the party. Nothing came to mind.

  Then again, I also couldn’t remember enjoying myself at any point of the evening.

  “You seem to remember an awful lot about that night,” I observed.

  Houston’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Yeah, I wasn’t the one drinking. That tends to help.”

  I laughed self-consciously, but I refused to let him get away with changing the subject that easily. “Seriously, though, cowboy. Why don’t I remember you? Did you avoid speaking to me or something?”

  The sparkle faded as he turned his gaze straight ahead. “Or something.”

  Releasin
g a frustrated breath, I nudged him with my shoulder. “Come on! What am I missing here?”

  Houston smiled tightly. “Maybe this will refresh your memory: Leave me alone, charity case. I don’t want you here.”

  Oh crap.

  “That was . . . you?” I couldn’t believe that the student my dad had insisted on inviting to our Christmas party was Houston. It just didn’t compute. From what I could dimly recall, the dork had been super-lanky, as if he’d recently spurted a few inches and didn’t know what to do with the extra height. His cheap tweed suit jacket hadn’t done him any favors either. Not that his looks had anything to do with my bitchiness.

  My dad’s insistence on inviting one of his most promising students had stung so sharply it burned. It had been one of the few times I’d actually seen my dad override my mom’s objections. And was it to defend his only daughter? To encourage her to pursue ballet dancing, instead of casually dismissing it as a pipe dream?

  No, it wasn’t.

  Thanks, Dad. Way to be supportive.

  So I had avoided the scrawny college freshman because I was obviously going to feel every bit as intellectually inferior around him as I did near Mackenzie Wellesley. That’s also when I started drinking my wine straight from the bottle.

  I definitely hadn’t made a good impression on anyone that night.

  A vague memory slid into place. “Did you try to order me to my room?”

  He shrugged. “You were acting like a petulant child.”

  No, I was acting like an insecure teenager who was sick of pretending everything was fine. And if I couldn’t get my parents to notice the things I could do right, well, then I was going to find some other way to get their attention.

  “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Really? Because I wasn’t determined to get trashed. Let’s see, you flounced around in a short red dress, tried to chug a bottle of wine, and then—and this part was everyone’s highlight—you got into a screaming match outside with your boyfriend.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected automatically. “He had some trouble understanding the meaning of the word ‘no,’ so I needed to repeat it a few times. Loudly.”