The Bright Effect Read online

  “Carter,” I say to him quietly. “Can you go back to the Bronco and grab your lunch box. I think you left it in the backseat.”

  He swallows and nods, his eyes dark with worry.

  When we’re alone, the woman holds out an ivory-colored business card that I’m too shaken to read. “I’m Elaine Travers,” she says. “And you must be Sebastian Holbrook, the legal guardian of Carter Holbrook?”

  A hundred thoughts tumbling around my head, I nod.

  “We received a complaint about the minor’s living situation and I am here for a surprise inspection of the premises.”

  “You got a complaint? From who?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Her gaze sweeps from me to the door. “If you agree to let me have a look inside, this should be fairly quick and simple.”

  “And if I don’t let you in?”

  “Then I would have to contact my office and let them know that you are not cooperating. And things… well, they would become more complicated.”

  Complicated is not something I want. “What will you need to look for?”

  “This is a general inspection of the premises to make sure that the house is clean, food is available, and there are no signs of any illegal activity.”

  I nod, silently thanking whatever instinct had me go to the grocery store yesterday. At least we have the basics.

  “I’ve already checked Carter’s school attendance records and spoken to his teachers,” she says, surprising me. “If you’re not hiding anything here at the house, you should have nothing to worry about. Your brother’s teacher reports that he’s making strides with his schoolwork.”

  “Okay,” I say, putting my key in the lock. I’m too sick to my stomach to follow her through the door so I stand there on the front porch, watching her move around the living room with her briefcase in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

  “Bash?” Carter whispers, coming up the steps behind me and slipping his hand into mine. His skin is hot and sweaty. “We’re not going to go on a shark hunt tonight, are we?”

  I look down at him and tighten my grip. “No, bud. I don’t think we are.”

  “Is something bad happening?”

  Anger spears my chest. Who would do this to us?

  “No. Everything is going to be fine,” I say, more determined than ever to make this work. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Amelia

  “Are you okay?” I ask, flipping back the page of my notebook and using a pink gel pen to underline one of the vocabulary words that keeps tripping me up.

  “Hmm?” Sebastian grumbles, not looking up from the textbook spread open in front of him.

  It’s Thursday and we’re spending the lunch period in the back corner of the library studying for Spanish class. “I asked if everything is all right.”

  “Things are fine and dandy, Amelia,” he says.

  The curiosity that’s been bothering me for the past ten minutes presses harder against my breastbone. “Really? Because you seem kind of—I don’t know—off.”

  He glances up at me, black hair falling down over his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

  “Is that why you’ve read the same page at least a hundred times?”

  His eyebrows come down and a look of annoyance moves across his face. “I’m studying. Isn’t that why we’re here, Amelia?”

  I feel a prickle of heat in my cheeks and drop my head halfway. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No… it’s me. Shit,” he says, his chest rising slowly as he sucks in air. “I’m not used to explaining myself to anyone.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to.” Good gravy, why am I so dumb? I sound like a public service announcement made by a guidance counselor to fend off peer pressure. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.

  “But I want to,” he says.

  I nibble a little on my lower lip. “Okay?”

  “It’s about Carter.”

  A bolt of concern snakes its way through my body. “What’s wrong? Are you worried that kid is bothering him still?”

  “It’s not like that. When we got home yesterday, there was a woman waiting for us from social services.”

  “What? Why?”

  “A spontaneous inspection of the house,” he says. “Someone filed an anonymous complaint.”

  “About you and Carter?” I ask, thinking that I’m not understanding him right.

  He nods his head. “She went around making sure that it was a safe place for a kid to live. She said she’d have to file an official report but that everything seemed okay so I hope we’re in the clear.”

  “How’s Carter?”

  “The whole time he was scared out of his mind and I’ll tell you, I wasn’t far off,” he says and I can hear the fury in his voice. “I’m trying to get this all straight in my head, but I can’t make sense of who would report us.”

  “Someone who doesn’t know you very well.”

  He looks at me. “Or someone who knows me too well.”

  “I don’t believe that. I’ve seen how you are with Carter. You love him.”

  Sebastian clears his throat and tips back in his chair. “I do, but that’s not all it takes.”

  “It’s a good start.”

  “Maybe.” He shakes away a thought and refocuses his eyes on me.

  “Can I ask you something I’ve wondered before?”

  Sebastian lifts an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  I see a tick in his jaw. “No longer in the picture. And that’s for the best.”

  “Oh.”

  “He was a drunk who used to get his kicks beating up on my mom and me.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Nature.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

  “About three years ago, I was finally bigger than him. So one night when things got real bad, I knocked him down and told him we were better off without him and to turn tail and never show his ugly face again.” He shrugs. “So far he hasn’t.”

  I don’t know how to respond. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. The bell sounds then and I can’t help but think, saved by the bell.

  “Thanks for listening to me, Amelia,” he says, slipping a pencil in between the pages of his book to hold his place. “I’m sorry we didn’t get much Spanish done.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, meaning it. “I’ll just study at home this afternoon. You know you’re welcome to join me if you’re free.”

  “At your house?”

  I nod, a nervous feeling flowing through me.

  “Won’t your parents mind?”

  “My father will be at work and my stepmother has her sewing circle this afternoon.”

  He grins. “Okay then. I’ll bring the Red Vines.”

  ***

  Sebastian Holbrook is in my house.

  I repeat this sentence like a mantra as I rush around my room, looking for anything that might cause embarrassment. Frére Jacques, the stuffed rabbit that usually sits on my bed, is the first victim of my cleaning frenzy. With a quick kiss on his pilly forehead, I stuff him inside my nightstand and then I’m on underwear patrol, looking on every surface to make sure that there is not one scrap of offending lace in sight.

  I’m a pretty clean person so this is quick work, which is lucky because I’ve left Sebastian downstairs with Daphne and there’s no telling what will come out of her mouth if given enough time. My one consolation is that Nancy isn’t home this afternoon. It’s hard to imagine her having anything good to say about Sebastian and his messy hair and frayed jeans.

  Again, the thought overwhelms me: Sebastian Holbrook is in my house!

  Panting and wiping my palms on the thighs of my black leggings, I hurl myself down the stairs and fly into the kitchen. He’s sitting on one of the stools in the breakfast bar, eating a rice crispy treat, and listening to Daphne describe (in e
xcruciating detail) the dress she just bought for the Homecoming dance.

  “—and then it comes down in the back like this,” she says, spinning around and showing him with her hand how low the dressline dips. “And it’s got this completely perfect chiffon rose that hides the zipper. I know how it sounds but I promise that it’s not too schmaltzy.”

  Sebastian nods along like he’s following every word and I smile to myself. Honestly, if it weren’t for the mildly glazed look in his eyes, I might even think he found my sister’s opus to her new dress interesting.

  “Hey, you ready?” I ask, thinking how weird it is seeing him here, in my space, with Nancy’s china collection displayed on the wall just over his head.

  “Sure am,” he says, almost leaping off the stool.

  “Well you two have fun.” Daphne sighs and leans up against the granite countertop. “Bash, if you want, I can finish telling you about the dress later.”

  He looks so horrified by the prospect, I almost burst out laughing.

  “Um,” he says, picking up the pace but trying not to be obvious about it. “That would be great, Daphne. Really great.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper to him when we’re on the stairs.

  “For what?”

  “For humoring her. I understand the self-control it takes because I’ve been listening to her describe the dress,” I say, using air quotes, “for two days.”

  He says, “She’s very pro-chiffon.”

  “And tulle.”

  “And ruching—whatever that is.”

  “Don’t leave out the sequins.”

  “Like I would or could forget the sequins.”

  By the time we reach my room, we’re both laughing. I swing the door open and step back to let him pass by.

  Sebastian Holbrook is in my room!

  Nervous, I watch him circle my bed, taking in all the little pieces of me. My old ballet shoes and jewelry hanging on a peg board near the closet. The mason jar full of seashells that Daphne and I collected three summers ago from Pine Island in the Outer Banks. The small collection of music boxes lined up along the back of my desk like a train. The framed photos next to my bed and the pillows piled beneath the window.

  “What’s with all the pillows?” he asks, stopping beside my bookcase.

  “I like to study and read under the window for the light.”

  He doesn’t answer right away, just peers into a shelf, examining a rainbow of worn book spines. “You have a lot of books. Have you read all of them?”

  “Not all of them.”

  He looks at me with that half smile I’m starting to get to know. “But you’ve read most of them, haven’t you?”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Probably, though I don’t have as much time to read as I want to lately.”

  “There’s always time for books,” he says. “And now that I know how much you like to read, I’ll have to introduce you to Neil Gaiman.”

  I remember that he told me Neil Gaiman was his favorite author. “I’d like that.”

  “So which one is your all-time favorite?” he asks, pointing to the shelves.

  Asking a reader to pick one book is a nearly impossible thing. I scan the shelves for a minute, pausing on one of my favorite Sherlock Holmes mysteries and a book about a woman who is trained from childhood as a Geisha, before finally deciding. I pull out the book—one that had originally been my mother’s when she was in college—and show him the cover.

  “Wuthering Heights?”

  I nod.

  Sebastian considers this and says, “So you’re a romantic.”

  “No one has ever called me a romantic before. A planner, an overachiever maybe… not a romantic.”

  “Any girl who chooses Heathcliff and Catherine out of all the characters in the world is either a romantic or mighty depressed.”

  I shrug. “Then maybe I’m depressed.”

  “I remember how you were at the beach so I’m leaning the other way.”

  I have no idea what to say to this so I awkwardly change subject. “So... Spanish?”

  Sebastian knows what I’m doing but plays along and we each take a floor pillow and start to go over our notes and quiz each other on vocabulary words. It turns out that Sebastian is not the slacker I originally thought he was and just because he sits in the back of the classroom doesn’t mean he’s not following Mr. Gubera’s lessons. His notes are actually more helpful than mine and I use them to make a new set of study cards.

  “Amelia?”

  At this point we’ve been studying for about an hour. “Yeah?”

  “Something is bothering me.”

  My stomach tightens as I look up from the index cards I’m working on. There’s something in his voice that lets me know his question has nothing to do with Spanish. “What is it?”

  “Where’s your Sky Magic wall?”

  “Oh…” I look around at the familiar dryer lint colored walls. “I haven’t gotten to it yet.”

  “It’s been weeks.”

  “I know but I’ve never painted before and I wasn’t sure what I was doing, so…”

  “C’mon,” he says, standing up from the floor and stretching his arms over his head. “It’s not that hard and I’ll help you do it. Where’s the paint?”

  “You want to paint the wall right now?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “But… but…” I sputter. “Don’t you have to get Carter from school?”

  Sebastian shrugs. “Seth already picked him up for me because I told him we were studying. He texted me ten minutes ago to let me know they were going to go get lost at the arcade for the next couple of hours so I’m good.”

  “What about Spanish?”

  “I figure with how we’ve been going, we’re both primed to ace the hell out of the exam,” he says. “Now, where’s that paint?”

  Reluctantly, I show him the can of paint and the supplies hidden under the dust ruffle of my bed. The brushes are still in the plastic bags I brought them home in.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I tell him as we lay protective sheeting over the carpet in my room. We’ve already moved my desk and knick knacks away from the wall.

  “Actually,” he says, surveying our work, “I think I do need to do this for my own sanity. Exactly how long have you had this paint now?”

  “Point taken,” I say, finding a ponytail holder and securing my hair into a messy bun.

  Sebastian gives the can a good shaking before opening the lid and carefully setting it aside. “You’ll do tape and trim and I’ll roll,” he tells me and hands over a roll of blue painter’s tape.

  It takes longer than I think it will to get the tape right, but eventually I’m standing on a chair with a brush in my hand and Sebastian is walking me through the process. At first, I get too much paint on the brush and have to hurriedly clean up my drips, but after a couple of tries, I get it right. Or, at least, Sebastian seems satisfied enough with my work to leave me on my own.

  “What do you have going on a week from Saturday?” he asks me, rolling the blue paint all the way to the ceiling with one confident pass. “Carter has a sleepover at his friend Nathan’s house and Seth is playing a show down at The Biltmore. I was going to see if you wanted to check it out with me.”

  These words dangle in the air for a moment until he follows them up with, “Or not.”

  “No, I was just thinking that it’s the same night as Homecoming.”

  He balls his left hand into a fist and rubs it over his face. “Oh right.”

  “Yeah…” I keep my eyes on the paintbrush, making sure to get a clean line. “I’m on the committee so I at least have to put in an appearance. And Daphne is on the court this year and she would probably murder me in my sleep if I miss her big moment. Or should I say—the dress’ big moment?”

  He laughs and I suck in a breath and continue, “Otherwise, I would have loved to go with you. I didn’t even know that Seth was in a band.”

  “He is the band.
There will be a guy to come in on drums when he needs them, but it’s really him and his guitar.”

  Sebastian tells me a little more about Seth and how he’s been playing since he was nine and is hoping to make an album of original songs in the next few years. As we talk, the wall begins to fill in with the new color, casting my entire room in cool bluish light. It’s not even done and I can already tell that I love it. Wiping my hair from my forehead, I step back to appreciate our work.

  “It looks amazing.”

  Sebastian is using the roller to reach the tape along the baseboards. He looks at me over his shoulder and laughs.

  “What?” I ask, biting down on my lip.

  “You have blue all over your forehead.”

  I look down and see that my hands are splattered with paint. “Ughhh! I must have smeared it with my hands.”

  “It will come off.”

  “As long as I can get paint free by Homecoming I’m okay.”

  He turns, plunking the roller into the pan to soak up more paint. “I didn’t ask you before—who’s your date?”

  “I don’t have one,” I say, feeling inexplicably awkward to be answering this question. Sebastian and I have been beating around this whole friendship bush awhile now, but other than that first night at the beach, neither of us has brought up our dating lives. At all.

  “You’re not going with anyone?”

  “A lot of people go alone. And Audra had wanted to set me up with some guy she knows from Middleburg High, but then she said he kept asking how tall I am and whether or not I was going to be wearing heels and, if so, how high…” I inhale deeply. “Anyway, I decided that the whole thing was becoming too much of an ordeal and I don’t want to spend my night with some guy who may or may not be battling a Napoleon complex.”

  “Probably a sound plan.”

  I smile.

  He glances over, catches me smiling then looks away. “I could always go and we could hit up Seth’s show afterward. He doesn’t go on until after ten.”

  There is a little silence before I manage to pull my head together and say, “You want to go to Homecoming?”