That Girl, Darcy

  Future House Publishing

  That Girl, Darcy

  Future House Publishing

  Cover image copyright: Shutterstock.com. Used under license.

  Text © 2015 James Ramos

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at rights@futurehousepublishing.com.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9966193-1-8 (paperback)

  Developmental editing by Mandi Diaz

  Substantive editing by Jenna Parmley

  Copy editing by Allie Bowen and Tara Forbush

  Interior design by Emma Hoggan

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Never Miss a Future House Book Release

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  This is the part where I would thank my loving, long-suffering, and beautiful wife, but, alas, I do not have one of those, so I’d like to thank these people instead:

  Firstly, Jane Austen, without whom this book could never have existed.

  My mom, for instilling in me a need to tell stories.

  My brother, Jordan. You read my stuff when there’s much better stuff out there to read. Your opinion is always invaluable to me. Turd.

  April, my very first editor. Without your enthusiasm and encouragement this project would never have seen the light of day.

  Vashti and Erika, for your unending support and encouragement. It means the world to me.

  The good folks at Marvel comics and DC comics, George Lucas and the people behind Star Wars, as well as each and every person involved in Star Trek. I owe most of my childhood to you all.

  Lastly, a big thank you to all the musicians I listened to while writing this thing, among them, Mindy Gledhill, Grizzly Bear, The Hush Sound, Inara George, Elizaveta, The Neighbourhood, The Rubens, City and Colour, Aqualung, The Griswolds, and Forever the Sickest Kids.

  Chapter 1

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a typical summer day in Phoenix, Arizona, can be lumped into one of two categories: hot or flame-broiled. Today it was only hot, and so I had spent most of it skating around town with some friends and my cousin Jake. My neighbor Lucas had come along to “document our exploits,” as he called it, which really just meant he’d be filming everything with his old camcorder.

  By midday, with the sun directly overhead and the palm trees swaying gently in the dry breeze, we found ourselves at the empty skate park that was nestled between the local library and, incidentally, our high school. The billboard at the entrance of the driveway read, “Welcome, incoming freshmen and returning students! Registration now open.”

  I decided to unveil the trick I’d been working at for days now—the kickflip frontside nose blunt. I had nailed it after six tries last weekend, and now Lucas was eager to capture it.

  “I’m thinking about throwing another party,” Lucas said absently as he busied himself setting up the shot.

  “You just threw a party,” I said. Two weekends ago, in fact. It had been, for lack of a better word, epic. Just like all of Lucas’s parties.

  “Elliott, what’s your point?” he asked.

  Liam, one of my friends, skidded to a halt with an eager gleam in his eyes. “I’m game.”

  “You’re always game,” said Liam’s brother Kyle.

  “As long as there are girls there,” amended Liam.

  “True,” Kyle conceded.

  “Here we go . . .” I muttered, mostly to myself. Liam was only a year younger than Kyle, but the two could pass for twins. Both were the same height with the same jittery manner about them. They had the annoying habit of finishing each other’s sentences, and they were always bickering back and forth, usually about things that didn’t matter. The only subject they ever seemed to agree on was girls.

  It was the common consensus among my friends that unless you were dating somebody, you were failing at life. The pursuit of a significant other—or a “hot date” as they called it—took precedence over all else, including but not limited to friends, work, and school. Especially school. Kyle was choosing which colleges to apply to based on which one he thought had the cutest girls, and Liam had purposefully failed a class once because some girl he liked had failed the same class, only she’d done it on accident.

  I ignored them both and turned back to Lucas. “Why exactly do you want to throw another party?”

  He laughed. “Do I really need a reason? Summer’s over; school starts Monday—this is senior year. Do you realize this is the last summer we’ll have like this?”

  “He’s got a point,” added Liam. “And, no offense guys, but I think it’s safe to say I’m not the only one still holding onto his V-card around here.”

  “Whatever. Are we recording?” I tossed my board down. I didn’t want to think about girls or my V-card or school or whatever happened after school. It was barely August. I still had nine whole months to worry about all of that.

  Lucas took his position and activated his camera, business as usual. “Yes we are!”

  “Good.” I shoved off, skating in a wide arc, looping around to come straight at the rail, kicking faster and faster, building speed. I crouched low, my back foot on the tail of the board. The rail rushed forward to meet me. This was it. I had it this time; I knew it. A week’s worth of bruised shins and bleeding knees had led to this moment. At the last possible second, I slapped the tail of the board down and leapt into the air, dragging the nose forward with my front foot. Up and up I soared, over the rail, my board underneath me. A flick of my foot, and the board twirled, just like it was supposed to.

  It was then, in midair, at the apex of my kickflip, Liam called out urgently. “Guys! Look!”

  I jerked my head up, panic freezing me in my tracks.

  The only problem was, my tracks happened to be in the air.

  I came down hard, smacking my shins into the rail and scraping them both as I folded in a jumble of limbs. My board skidded off down the pavement, and the next thing I knew I was laying on my back, staring up at the pure blue sky with my body aching and my legs probably bleeding again.

  “Daaang!” Kyle and Liam said in unison. I heard the rushing of feet coming toward me, and I was met with four faces peering down at me.

  “You alright, bro?” Lucas asked.

  Kyle leaned in. “Anything broken?”

  “Should we call your mom?” Liam offered.

  “Or your dad?” Kyle added.

  “No, don’t call his dad!” Liam warned.

  Lucas shoved the others aside and glared down at me. “What the heck happen
ed, dude? You totally had that in the bag!”

  Jake reached down and pulled me up by the collar. I massaged my head, still dazed.

  “That happened . . .” said Liam. He was nodding in the other direction, and we all turned to see what he was looking at. She was walking down the street, toward the library. A girl with black hair and huge eyes that by chance met mine at that exact moment. Beside her was another girl, this one smaller and with a curly blonde ponytail. I had never seen either of them before.

  Lucas smirked. “I’m definitely having a party now.”

  “Who are they?” asked Kyle, watching the girls with a starry-eyed expression. Neither of them were paying us any attention, instead making their way toward the library parking lot.

  “I don’t know,” answered Liam, “but I totally call dibs.”

  Unassisted, I managed to drag myself to my feet. “You can’t call dibs on a person,” I said.

  Liam was undeterred. “There are two of them, you know; you can call dibs too.”

  I rolled my eyes while Lucas dusted imaginary dirt from his pants and flipped his camera closed.

  “Well, losers,” he announced, “see you on the flip side.” With that he followed after the girls.

  “Wait, where are you going?” asked Kyle.

  “Where do you think?” Lucas called back.

  He continued on, walking with confident pep. We just looked on as he started jogging briskly to catch up to the girls as they reached the parking lot.

  “He’s crazy,” said Jake, the first words out of his mouth in nearly an hour.

  I could only shake my head. “You’re telling me. And I’m fine, by the way.” I limped to fetch my board and came back to join the others as they pretended not to watch Lucas. He caught up with the girls, and they stopped. The black-haired girl had her arms crossed, and while I couldn’t quite make out her expression, it didn’t look inviting. The blonde seemed eager to meet him, even shaking his hand. At one point, Lucas gestured back to where we were huddled, causing Kyle and Liam to quickly disperse, suddenly preoccupied with their longboards.

  Finally the meeting was over, and the girls went their separate way while Lucas came strolling back to us, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

  “Well?” demanded Kyle the second he was within earshot. “Who were they?”

  “More importantly, were they hot?” asked Liam.

  “Or single?” asked Kyle.

  “Or both?” Liam looked hopeful.

  Lucas shrugged and gave them a sly grin. “All I’ll say is this: I was definitely impressed. If you want to know more than that, you’ll just have to be at my party tonight, won’t you?”

  I frowned. “Tonight? Dude, it’s already almost two o’clock!”

  “Yes it is, which means I need to go make some phone calls. You guys in?”

  “Definitely!” said Liam and Kyle at the same time.

  Jake glanced at me. I sighed and nodded. “Sure, we’ll be there.”

  Lucas laughed. “Perfect. Later. I’ve got a party to plan.”

  He kicked up his board and skated away. Kyle and Liam followed him.

  “You sure you’re alright?” Jake asked. I turned to see my cousin studying me. Jake was good at picking up on the subtleties.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He gave me a scrutinizing eye. “You sure?”

  “Yes, dude, I’m sure. Let’s go.”

  I picked up my board, too sore to ride it just yet. Unlike Kyle and Liam, I couldn’t really care less about either of the girls. I didn’t know them, they didn’t know me, and I wasn’t in a hurry to change that. So by the time I was halfway home, I had just about forgotten them completely.

  * * *

  I got to my house and made a beeline for the fridge. My dad was sitting at the kitchen table with his entire face obscured by the newspaper in his hands. Dad sort of reminded me of Santa Claus—if Santa Claus was brown, had a shorter beard, and was perpetually unsmiling. He was still in his navy blue suit and brown oxfords. I never understood how he could just hang out in dress clothes like that. I also didn’t get why he religiously read the newspaper when the internet existed, but at least I could appreciate his respect for the written word.

  “The circus is back in town, I see,” he said when I came in. “Where are the rest of the clowns?”

  “Very funny.” Dad prided himself on his wit, which he called dry—although I think sardonic would have been the more appropriate word. “How was work?”

  He huffed. “We weren’t robbed, unfortunately.”

  “Darn it,” I said in mock disappointment. Dad worked for a bank, the same bank he’d worked for since as far back as I could remember. And as far back as I could remember he’d always complained about how they never paid him enough, especially since he usually had to work Saturdays, like today. Once when I was twelve I’d asked him why he didn’t just get a different job, and he’d laughed and said he couldn’t afford to leave the one he had. He’d then explained to me that this was the definition of irony.

  “You’re limping,” he said, somehow noticing this without having looked up from the paper. “Did you get into a fight with the hooligans at the park? What did you break this time?”

  I reached into the fridge and pulled out a gallon of orange juice. “Yep, a good old fashioned melee. I bruised three ribs and knocked out all of my front teeth.”

  “Have your mother make you a smoothie,” Dad said as he switched pages. “And she’ll put you in the blender too if she catches you in her refrigerator with dirty hands.”

  As if on cue Mom popped in from the backyard. She had her blonde-gray hair pulled into a ponytail and was wearing tattered sweatpants, a yellow shirt with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows, and the biggest, ugliest pair of hot pink Crocs I had ever seen. Her gardening gloves were covered in what I hoped was dirt and not manure. Her face was flushed pink from exhaustion. She’d decided to give gardening a go, and although she’d planted everything from cilantro to lettuce, it was only the tomatoes that seemed to be doing anything, and they were still in little cups lining the window over the sink. I was fairly certain this was neither the season nor the environment for plants to thrive.

  “There you are, sweetheart!” she said, breathing heavily. “How was skating?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  She pulled the gloves off and kicked out of the hideous Crocs. “Somebody’s bought the Manor,” she announced gleefully.

  The Manor was what people called the house on the other side of the golf course and park that lay smack dab in the middle of our community. It was the biggest residence on the block, bigger than all the others on this side of town. I sometimes wondered why someone had built such a huge place here. It didn’t belong, like a sedan in a parking lot full of smart cars. It had been empty since before we’d moved in. Every once in a while someone would come to take a look at it, but so far there’d been no buyers.

  “Wonder who was dumb enough to do that,” I said.

  “Elliott!” Mom swatted at me. “They’re moving in right now. Why don’t you mosey on over and introduce yourself? I’m sure they could use some help with all those boxes.”

  I peeked out the window and squinted out across the field, where I could just make out people coming in and out of the house, dragging boxes and furniture out of a U-Haul.

  “I think if they can afford the Manor they can afford to hire movers,” I said with a laugh.

  “You’re such an introvert,” Mom sighed, resting her hands on her hips. “Who’s to say there isn’t a pretty girl over there?”

  “Who’s to say there is?” I scoffed. “Besides, I have plans tonight.”

  Dad arched an eyebrow. “Do those plans happen to include figuring out what you’ll be doing this time next year?”

  Mom washed her hands at the sink. I shuffled past her to pluck a glass from the cupboard. “I don’t plan that far ahead.”
<
br />   “We know, but perhaps you should,” Dad said.

  I groaned. I knew exactly where this conversation was headed. It was the same one we’d been having since junior year ended. If it had just been me and Dad, this conversation would already be over. He wasn’t the type to beat a dead horse. But Mom was exactly that type. Not only would she beat a dead horse, she would drag that dead horse until it came back to life, then she would hop on and ride it to death all over again.

  “Your father’s got a point,” Mom said from behind me. “You can’t expect to spend the rest of your life working at some bookstore.”

  “The Cranny is not just some bookstore, it’s a haven for those with a thirst for literature, an oasis of words and—”

  “This isn’t a game, Elliott,” Mom interrupted. “You’re about to graduate. You’ve got to have some sort of plan, some sort of goal, or else you’ll end up drifting through life and never accomplishing anything meaningful.”

  I poured my juice and chugged the entire glass. What if I wanted to drift? What if I didn’t want to have a plan, or set goals, or achieve something meaningful? Who said I was obligated to do any of that? Was it a rule written somewhere? Was there some contractual agreement that said I had to plot out my entire life course at the tender age of seventeen?

  I didn’t say any of that aloud like I wanted to. Instead I dumped my glass in the sink, said “I’ll get right on that,” and hurried to the sanctuary of my room before either of my parents could continue their rant.

  Chapter 2

  My room, as always, was a mess. Books were strewn all over the place, giving it the feel of a library after a tornado had hit. One of the perks of working for a bookstore was the discount. I had a few bookshelves, but they were all full. I’d resorted to stacking books on top of them, and soon those stacks had migrated to the floor. The other night I’d tried organizing them, but had gotten bored after fifteen minutes and given up. I scooped up a pile that included Jane Eyre, To Kill a Mockingbird, and 1984. I was stumbling over H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine when I got a call from Mark, one of my classmates who worked at the Cranny with me.