The Bright Effect Read online

  “Not really.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.”

  “Do you still want to go to Homecoming?”

  The thought of Homecoming has me so nauseated I can almost taste the bitter on my tongue. All those people… But that’s the life I signed up for. As Daddy likes to say, I’ve made my bed and now I have to lie in it whether I want to or not.

  “I can’t skip it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” I turn from the door and stop short. I’ve been so upset, I haven’t allowed myself to really take a look at Sebastian.

  He’s got on a black two-button suit over a crisp white shirt. He’s not wearing a tie, but he doesn’t need one to look great. I mean, I’ve already discovered that he’s hot in his daily uniform of holey jeans, sneakers, and the t-shirts he designs, but like this?

  Even though he’s roughed-up from his brawl with Spencer, I can tell that he took the time to do his hair and shave. And with his dark hair slicked back from his forehead and his face clean-cut and completely visible, it becomes obvious that all this time he’s been playing down his looks.

  Sebastian isn’t just attractive or passable. He is unbelievably gorgeous.

  He takes a sharp breath in through his nose and his hard, grey eyes tighten. “Amelia? What is it?”

  My hands fly to my face to hide my blush as I try to regain my train of thought. “I… I can’t just not go to the dance. I’m one of the planners and people are counting on me. Daphne is counting on me.”

  “You think it will make a difference?”

  “I don’t know what happened here, but I can’t just let it go. I have to try to talk to her again.”

  He nods in understanding. “She’s your sister.”

  Inhale, exhale. “No matter what.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bash

  I’m so focused on Amelia and how she’s handling what happened back at her house that I don’t notice it right away. It’s not until we’ve been at the dance for almost an hour that I start to pick up on the whispers and furtive glances being thrown in our direction.

  There’s a big part of me that wants to think these people, the ones we see in the halls every day at school, are admiring Amelia with her hair up and away from her face and her body looking perfect in that blue dress. I would understand because tonight, even after everything that went down, she’s amazing and it’s got my brain going in so many directions I can’t tell up from down.

  But I know that’s not why everyone is looking over here and talking low behind their cupped hands. The fact is that no one sees Amelia looking beautiful or the way she’s making sure this dance goes off without a hitch. They don’t witness her running around in high-heeled shoes, stocking the punch table with plastic cups or checking in with the deejay to remind him what songs to play. Nope, they don’t see anything real about her. They are too preoccupied with the way she’s standing next to me.

  Because it doesn’t matter that I’m dressed up in a stuffy rental suit or that I shaved and used Seth’s gel to tame my hair back. Or that I’m raising a kid and working to support us both. It doesn’t count that I’m going to make the honor roll this term, or that I haven’t so much as smoked a joint or sipped a beer since my mother was diagnosed over a year ago. To this crowd—Amelia’s crowd—I’m nothing but a shady kid who grew up on the wrong side of town and that’s all I’ll ever be.

  I’m no-good Nick Holbrook’s kid. Elected most likely to… Be a drunk. A degenerate. A loser. Get a girl pregnant. Take your pick.

  “What’s wrong?” Amelia asks.

  “Nothing,” I say, tensing and clenching my hands into tight fists. “I should probably be asking you that same question.”

  “Because of Daphne?” Amelia glances over to where her sister and Spencer are laughing and holding court with their whole crew at one of the round banquet-style tables. She furrows her forehead and says, “I don’t know what to do about this, Sebastian. She won’t even talk to me so I don’t think I’m going to be able to get her away from him unless I drag her behind me kicking and screaming the whole way out of here.”

  “And that’s out of the question?”

  At least that gets a small smile out of her even if she bites it back. “It’s like, why isn’t she willing to have a conversation with me? What the heck did I do wrong? She should be mad at Spencer, right? Instead she’s acting like she’s angry with me.”

  “Your sister is embarrassed or scared. Or probably a little bit of both,” I say, thinking back on Mama and how she’d get when my father was in one of his moods. Thank Christ it hadn’t gone that far with lousy, fucking Spencer McGovern. Still, I see the potential and the danger there and it’s got my guard way up.

  “Maybe it really was a misunderstanding or whatever and we don’t know the whole story,” she says, worrying on her bottom lip.

  “It didn’t look that way to me. He walked into your house and went straight for her.”

  “But Daphne’s not like that,” she tells me and I can see how much she wants to believe the truth in her own words. “I mean, she might be into Spencer but she’s not one of those girls. If I could just get her alone for a minute then maybe I could reason with her.”

  “There you are!” Audra Singer comes up behind Amelia. She’s wearing a short yellow dress and heels that add about four inches to her tiny frame. Her bright blond hair is arranged in a halo of curls around her face. “Amelia, you keep runnin’ off when I’m wantin’ to get a group photo!”

  Amelia shakes her head in apology. “Sorry, I guess I’ve been distracted tonight.”

  “I’ll say,” Audra responds, laughing and draping an arm over Amelia’s shoulders. “Looksy, I’m tryin’ to get a shot in before they announce the court. I heard from Chad Wooten, whose girlfriend was in charge of countin’ up the votes, that the happy couple won this thing by a landslide.”

  Amelia’s face crumples. “They did?”

  I follow her gaze to the happy couple. Spencer is holding Daphne possessively against his chest as he leans in and kisses her neck. No wonder Amelia looks like she’s about to be sick.

  “Mr. Brickler is goin’ to announce the king and queen in like ten so let’s get Daphne and Spencer and—wait. Amelia, what in the world is the matter with you?”

  Amelia doesn’t answer. She’s crying and shaking her head.

  Audra glares over at me. “Did you do somethin’ to her, Bash Holbrook? Because I swear to all that is holy, if you hurt my best friend, I will tear your freakin’ balls off so fast you won’t be able to squeal.”

  “It’s not Sebastian!” Amelia sobs.

  “What’s wrong then?”

  “It’s just—” She doesn’t finish. She picks up the hem of her blue dress and takes off, disappearing through the closest exit.

  Audra turns to face me. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

  “No, she’s just… upset.”

  She pops her hip and gives me an annoyed look. “Really, Sherlock? Like I couldn’t tell that Amelia is upset about somethin’. Jeez Louise—what is the problem?”

  “It’s sister stuff,” I say vaguely and hope that Audra doesn’t push me. I’m not sure it’s my place to tell her about what is going on between Amelia and Daphne.

  “Sister stuff,” she repeats slowly, holding up her hands. “Okay… so then why aren’t you goin’ after her like your life depends on it?”

  I eye her, wary. “Maybe she needs to be alone. Or maybe she’d rather talk to you.”

  Audra flicks her wrist impatiently. “Are you stupid or somethin’? Don’t you see how that girl looks at you? Trust me, there is no one else on God’s green earth that Amelia wants to go to her right now.”

  I look off, considering things. Shit, if what Audra is saying is right then I am being a complete fool. “Do you think so?”

  Here comes an eye roll. “Of course I think so. Go on and get your head out of your ass and chase her down alrea
dy.”

  I swallow thickly and take a deep breath before pivoting around. “Thanks.”

  “Well,” she yells after me, “you better be believin’ you owe me one, Bash Holbrook!”

  The door Amelia ran through leads to a dim and sterile hallway that circles around the back of the school gym. I have no idea which direction she went so it takes me a minute to spot her crouched in the shadows the way she is.

  “Amelia!”

  She spins toward me. Her chest is heaving and the skin on her neck is red and splotchy. “Did you see that back there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see the way Daphne was with him?”

  I nod. “I did.”

  “I can’t be here!” She’s almost vibrating with emotion. “Not with the way my sister is acting! I can’t… I can’t watch her and Spencer kissing and cuddling like everything is just fine. It makes me sick to my stomach!”

  “Then let’s go,” I say, carefully stepping closer.

  Tears threaten to spill over. “Just leave Homecoming?”

  “Yep. We can walk right out of here and go to Seth’s show.”

  “I don’t know that I’m the best company right now,” she cries, her shoulders trembling. “I just… I’m not sure I’m fit to be around people.”

  “Then we’ll skip the show. We’ll leave the dance and go someplace just the two of us. Hell, I’ll take you straight home if that’s what you want.”

  “You make it sound simple, but it’s not, Sebastian. I can’t just leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of Daphne.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not exactly doing your sister any good crying back here,” I say. “Amelia, I’m the first to agree that you need to have a good talk with her, but maybe this isn’t the right time or place.”

  She gives a frustrated sigh and shakes her head. “You don’t understand.”

  “What don’t I understand?” I ask, stalking even closer. “Explain it to me.”

  “Everyone is expecting me to be here and to act a certain way. They want me to be student government Amelia or tennis team Amelia. They want me to be Daphne’s smiling sister, standing up on that stage when they choose her for Homecoming Queen. And I know they’ll talk about me if I disappear.”

  I shrug. “So what? Don’t you know that everyone was talking about you the minute you walked through the door with me?”

  She sniffles and manages a crooked smile. “I mean… you kind of have a point.”

  “Amelia, you don’t have to stay here with these people because of a one-sided obligation. Christ, you don’t have to stay anywhere you don’t want to be.” I tuck my finger under her chin and lift her face to mine. “So let’s leave.”

  She blinks those soft brown eyes at me. “Where would we go?”

  Wiping her tears away with my thumb, I say, “I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Amelia

  By the time we pull off of Route 321 and start up a rough dirt road toward the old water tower, it’s full night. The sky is black and cloudy, punctuated only by the murky outline of a partial moon.

  I have no idea why we’re here or why we stopped by the hardware store where Sebastian works. I’m also clueless as to what’s in the plastic shopping bag he carries with him as we get out of the truck and make our way toward the abandoned structure.

  “You’re not going to tell me anything? Even now?” I ask, using my phone as a flashlight to shine a light in front of my feet. Tufts of yellow grass cover the ground where I step.

  “Just wait,” he says, giving me some eyebrow action. “You know, I thought you’d be a lot more patient than this.”

  “That’s because you’ve never seen me on Christmas morning.”

  He laughs then drops the bag and tells me to wait where I am for a second. I watch him scale a cinderblock wall and skip over one of the metal rungs of the water tower. He disappears from my sight and a few seconds later, a flood light comes on, illuminating the bottom of the tower and the wall, which I now see is covered with graffiti.

  I gently pull aside a leafy green kudzu vine so that I can get a better look at one of the portions of the wall. “I never knew this was out here,” I say in amazement.

  Sebastian hops down and picks up the bag and I finally get a glimpse of what’s inside.

  “So that’s why you stopped? To pick up paint?”

  “My boss is a grade-A dick who drinks way too much whiskey, but he lets me have the damaged paint cans. That’s one of the reasons I stay at the job,” he says with a shrug. “I also picked up some sample-sized latex paints and brushes. Thought they’d be easier for you to handle than the spray cans.”

  “Won’t we get caught?” I ask, looking over my shoulder, half expecting a dozen police officers in full SWAT gear to jump from the shadows of the pine trees that surround the water tower.

  “Nah, I wouldn’t take you someplace that would get you into any kind of trouble. The cops know that a couple of us come out here sometimes and no one seems to care. This water tower hasn’t been used in over a decade.”

  “Oh.”

  “In the winter when it’s not so hot, I come down here a lot,” he says. “It feels good to lose myself for a time.”

  I watch with interest as he pulls a couple of cans of spray paint from the bag and shakes them up. Then he passes the bag to me.

  “Um, what am I supposed to do with this?” I ask, gazing down at the contents.

  “Paint.”

  Right. Just paint like it’s no big deal.

  I feel downright useless as I take out the paints and make myself a little spread on the flattened shopping bag. I’m no artist and I have zero idea what I’m doing or how I should get started.

  I glance over at Sebastian, who has taken up a post about fifteen feet away from me. He’s removed his jacket and button-down shirt and is now in a pair of black pants that hang low on his narrow hips and a thin white tank top that only highlights his tanned arms and muscular chest.

  Gawd.

  I breathe in, seeking equilibrium, and turn back to face the wall. This portion is layered with splatters of orange and green. There’s a black slash of spray paint cutting across the center. Just below it someone has scrawled words I can’t quite read and then finished it off with SCREAM DONKEYS SCREAM.

  Donkeys? Talk about weird. Of course, screaming might feel pretty good right about now, I think and a memory rises to the top of my mind.

  The summer after seventh grade, we’d all gone with Daddy on a business trip to San Francisco. While he was in meetings, Nancy took us sightseeing. We did the normal stuff—Fisherman’s Wharf, Alcatraz, the Ghirardelli chocolate factory. And then on the last day she packed us into the rental car and drove us north of the city, along the coast. Then she pulled over and told us to climb out. For a fraction of a moment, I wondered if she was going to leave us there in the middle of nowhere like kittens she didn’t want to take care of any more.

  But she didn’t. She walked us to the edge of that cliff and we all stood there with the sun shining brightly into our eyes. I don’t know what was going on in Nancy’s head, but all I could think was that it felt like I was about to jump off the edge of the world and sail through the sky. And then Daphne had grabbed onto my hand and she’d started howling and, in a fit of recklessness, I’d joined in. And I remember how Daphne’s scream had turned into uncontrollable laughter and she’d collapsed to the ground beside me with her head thrown back and her eyes glowing with sunshine.

  It’s a good memory.

  Buoyed, I unscrew the cap on one of the jars of blue paint and I dip the brush in. I push aside the niggling worries about my sister and Spencer and the Homecoming dance and I set in on the wall, finding a rhythm I can keep and only allowing myself to think of that long ago summer day in northern California.

  Endless moments later, I drop the brush to the plastic bag and tilt my head to the side. It’s not exa
ctly a Matisse, but it’s not terrible.

  Wiping my dripping fingers together so that the paint balls up, I start to back away from my painting. I bump into something and give a frightened jump.

  “Whoa,” Sebastian says, steadying me with his hands. His bare arms press against mine for a second too long. He pulls away and juts his chin forward. “What is it?”

  I flush, maybe because he’s asking about my mural or maybe because he’s standing so close I can feel him breathing.

  “It’s kind of abstract I guess. Like a memory,” I say but it actually comes out more like a question. “When Daphne and I were in middle school, our step-mom took us to this cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean and we screamed our heads off until we had nothing left in our lungs.”

  Out loud it sounds stupid.

  “It’s the sky?”

  I nod, embarrassed.

  Sebastian walks closer but he doesn’t touch the wall because he knows the paint is still wet and I’m guessing he doesn’t want to smear it.

  “And this is the sun?” he asks, pointing to the yellow and pink pinpricks I’ve painted in a kind of swirling vortex. Now that I look again, it’s more like a pastel tornado than a sun.

  “Sort of,” I say, trying not to notice a bead of sweat dripping down his neck or the rock-hard chest that his tank top is doing little to conceal. “Now that I’ve showed you mine, it’s only fair for you to show me yours.”

  Ack, that did not sound so dirty in my head.

  Hiding a grin, he leads me down the wall. I turn to look and my breath catches.

  In front of me is a dark, secretive ocean and a black sky filled with stars. A somber moon bathes the entire scene in ghostly light.

  My heart stutters, each new beat coming faster than the last.

  That’s our moon.

  Sebastian has painted our night at the beach. And it’s utterly beautiful.