Chapter 1

I hadn't inhaled musky layers of smoke since I was home in North Carolina watching the Daytona 500 at my dad's condo where gangs of NASCAR fans would crowd, cigarettes in hand, waiting for the drop of the green flag. Already, the stench of alcohol was lingering outside The Grange. I rolled my ankles on the black strappy heels that were adorning my feet, delaying my entrance. There were instances previous to this occurrence where I would've strutted into that bar without vacillation. Now, I just stared dopey-eyed at the bright red and green neon sign as it flickered above the entrance doors. Suddenly, I found it hard to swallow. The courage I had mustered up plummeted from the top of my head and out the tips of my toes. I steadied myself, bracing my body for what lay ahead of me, and marched across the vacant street.
I had been getting a lot of ribbing from my friends lately about the lack of party-happenings in my life. When I first moved to Tennessee to attend the university, my roommate shrugged it off as a result of my shyness. As did my teammates on the softball team. Along with everyone else I met throughout the course of my presence at UT. My freshman year I was really timid, only befriending those I ran suicides with from showing up late to practice. After pitching a no-hitter against Texas A&M, however, my social life began to bloom. Students I attended classes with gave me pats on the back and invited me to student outings. Professors began to give me the luxury of easy A's on C-work projects, especially Professor Tory, who had strived for years on end to get women's sports into the media.
Apparently, now was the time for change. I had dodged the bar invitations long enough. 'You're making me antsy,'� Sara told me one day after class, bobbing up and down on her toes. 'We need to get you to a bar. Liven you up a little,'� she said, patting my arm. There was once a time in my life where knocking back a few beers at a bonfire party with some friends was considered 'the time of my life.'� That was before 'the time of my life'� almost killed me.

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I held my breath as I made my way through the bumpers and grinders in the club. Dancers basked in the heat of multi-colored spotlights on the dance floor. The DJ sat behind a table stacked with records; his feet propped up, taking shots of what I could only assume was a beverage strong enough to get him through the night. I spotted Sara, Bubba, and France over by the bar. They were discussing the championship game being held tomorrow. A game that I shouldn't be preparing for here.
'Howdy, Ms. Teetotal,'� Bubba greeted me.
'Hey,'� I responded, shoving a lock of loose hair behind my ear.
France sported a cowboy hat with his usual cowboy boots, long johns, and Dixie Outfitter t-shirt. Sara wore halter tops religiously on Friday nights, so I was next to shocked when I saw she had worn a polo instead.
'What happened to your new Sele,'� I asked her.
'Ugh,'� she sighed in disgust. 'My moron sister stole it from me when she came to visit last weekend. The wench.'� She knocked back a gulp of her drink and set the glass down noisily onto the bar. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and commenced to digging through her purse.
'So,'� France said to me. 'Ready for the big game, tomorrow?'� He resituated his hat and leaned back onto the bar, folding his hands over his stomach.
'Ready as I'll ever be,'� I answered. I clutched my purse with both hands and rocked back and forth on my heels. Sara finally found what she had been rummaging for, a pen, and began scribbling something down on the palm of her hand.
'What time did you say your game was tomorrow,'� she asked, still looking at her hand; eyebrows furrowed.
'One thirty.'�
She glanced at me, nodded, and wrote it down.
Someone from behind brushed past me, tipping me off balance and into the arms of an unidentified pair of hands.
'Foster,'� Bubba called out. 'Started to think you weren't gonna show that God-forsaken face of yours there for a minute.'�
Warm lips pecked my cheek, and the hands that assisted in rebalancing me held onto my waist. There was more dialogue exchanged between my rescuer and Bubba. France started in on the conversation and Sara turned around to the bar, ordering up more tonic water and Grey Goose. Jason and I had been together since high school. We both chose UT for sports. Back in North Carolina he was the quarterback of the football team. He led the Huntersville Hounds to three state championships and two undefeated seasons. It was my understanding that after the Huntersville High Varsity Football team won their first championship under Jason's lead, Tennessee's football coach had already started making some calls.
'Here,'� Jason said, offering me a glass of water. 'I bought this for you. Thought it might help calm you down. I know how you hate these places.'�
'What is your beef with a bar, Jade,'� France asked.
I hugged my arms and shrugged. 'I don't know...I just don't like them much.'� I took a sip of my water and concentrated on the cool slither of liquid drizzling down my throat. I gulped harder than necessary and squeezed a smile out of my lips. My palms began to perspire and all the body heat surrounding me was stuffing up my nose. My skin tingled with pricking itchiness, and my back started to ache. I placed a hand on my forehead and knocked back the rest of my water, taking big gasps after I swallowed. Jason eyed me, his concern weighing down on my body. I felt as if I were trapped inside a small box with no holes poked in them for ventilation.
'You alright?'� I jumped, feeling France's knuckles touching my cheek. His fingers felt cool against my skin, easing me a little.
'Yeah,'� I said, placing my water down on the table behind me. 'Just fine.'�
'Maybe you should take her outside,'� France suggested.
Sara turned her attention to me, but it didn't look sympathetic. It actually looked exasperated. I could only imagine that she was thinking how dramatic I was being over a bar. It just wasn't a bar to me, though. It was more than that. It was the caterer to stupidity and irresponsibility's. It fed me hardships and depression with a side of tears and one too many trips to rehab. Most unforgiving, it almost twisted the life out of my body.
'You wanna go outside,'� Jason asked. 'Get some fresh air?'�
'No, I'm fine,'� I reassured him.
And that was that. The rest of the night, I ditched my water and danced my fears away. I couldn't keep holding onto the past forever. I wasn't fourteen anymore. I wasn't vulnerable and impressionable. My body was stronger, and I had actually grown a spine since high school. Albeit, it wasn't a very sturdy spine at times, since I did let Sara talk me into coming to the bar. I tried not to concentrate on any of that, though. I was here now, and I had to deal with that. I was a big girl. I could handle being around a bunch of college hounds and not being influenced to drink. Instead, I kept swinging my head, swaying my hips, and doing the Tina Turner every time the drunk guy by the speakers requested 'Rolling on a River.'� Through all the gyrating and body-pumping, I started to feel queasy. I grabbed my stomach, remembering that I hadn't eaten anything before I came, and there hadn't been any fluids in my body since about three o' clock the day before.
'Are you alright,'� Jason asked.
'Just water,'� I replied. 'I just want water.'� I began to push threw people that had lined up in front of the bar, but Jason stopped me.
'I'll get it,'� he offered. And I let him, watching as he grabbed my cup from the table I'd set it on and glided through the crowd, able to get the bartenders attention right away. He smiled that you're-the-most-important-person-in-the-world grin at the tall, curly-haired guy fixing my drink. The bartender's hair was dark and frizzy. He had no meat on his bones, but offered one heck of a smile as he handed Jason back the glass of water. Jason turned around and cocked his head at me. He didn't smile, but it was a look that told me everything was going to be okay. He'd be coming back with my water and we'd be leaving-
'Oh my God, you're that fabulous softball star everyone's been talking about!'�
A pair of dark-skinned hands grabbed my arms and flung me around. Having to refocus my eyes on her from the whiplash she produced in me, I saw that she had a very loud, excited look plastered on her face. Her grip was tight on my skin. She had short, dreaded hair with pearly white teeth, and a massive amount of red lipstick on.
'I hear about you all the time, girl,'� she said, bringing her hands together in a Paula Abdul clap.
A smile slid onto my face somehow. I had no idea who this girl was, and honestly I was beginning to feel really uncomfortable.
'I saw that all-outer thing you pulled that one time against Fresno,'� she yelled, flicking her wrist at me. 'Girl, that was so awesome.'�
My cheeks flushed as bystander's eyes darted our way.
'Actually,'� I said. 'It was a no-hitter.'� I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear.
'Oh, whatever,'� she said, a little too loudly. 'I can't keep up with those dang sports terms. They confuse me.'�
'Yeah.'�
'Everything alright?'� Jason wrapped his arm around my shoulders and displayed the glass of water in front of my face. 'Hey Tikka,'� he said to the girl.
'Oh, hey Jason. How are you?'�
'Doing good. Jade and I were just about to head out.'�
'Oh, me too, boy,'� she said. 'I've had enough of this place. Too many skanky white girls up in here., you know what I'm sayin'?'�
'Excuse me,'� I said, placing a hand on my chest, half choking on my water.
'Girl, I'm just playin','� she said flicking that same wrist at me. 'Foster, give your girl some chill pills. She look like she need a few.'�
'Alright, I will,'� Jason said, putting a hand up as Tikka departed.
'Are you kidding me,'� I said, turning around after Tikka walked out the door.
Jason sipped his beer, looking away from me and out onto the dance floor. He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and sighed, resuming his focus on me.
'Jade, you do need to calm down. It's just a bar. And Tikka was just joking around with you.'�
As he said these words my eyes caught hold of the crazy-haired bartender. His eyes swam around my face, darting here and there. He looked a little disturbed. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was some kind of Necromancer who had just spotted a demon close by, and was trying to ward it off with his eyes.
I groaned, not caring anymore about what demon the bartending Necromancer might've spotted. 'Let's go.'�
Jason followed me out the door and into the fresh night air. Normally, I'd be scared to death to walk ahead of him, indicating that I was by myself, but at the moment I felt like being far away from him.
'Jade,'� he called after me. 'Jade, wait.'�
I tried quickening my pace, but I was running out of breath just from power walking. Then again, I was in black, strappy heels. Jason eventually caught up with me and brought me to a stop. He gripped my shoulders trying to connect his eyes with mine, but I refused to look at him. He grabbed my chin sternly and dragged my eyes in the direction of his. Our noses brushed, and he kissed my cheek so lightly it tickled. But then our lips connected, and his hand intertwined with mine. He fingered my hair, then cupped my jaw in his hand. I arrested my stubbornness just then. Not wanting to fight anymore. Just let him kiss you, I told myself. Just let him kiss you, and maybe then, it will all go away.

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My keys clanked hard onto the newly furnished nightstand Mel had purchased at a flea market last weekend. Our apartment wasn't too small or too big. It was the right size for two college girls and their dung-emitting puppy. I heard the tapping of tiny claws scurry excitedly over the tile floor. Jezebel danced on her hind legs, waiting for me to pick her up. Mel was knocked out on the couch, her English 102 textbook splayed out across her belly, and a pencil about to make its way up her nose. I did her a favor by removing her study supplies, covered her up with an old afghan that used to lie around my grandparents house, and turned off the lamp. The TV was still playing in the next room, but I didn't bother with turning it off. I had a shower to take. I'd get the TV later.
I stripped my shirt and jeans off as I made my way to the bathroom, where I then removed my undergarments and clipped up my hair. I turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the nothingness of the night's events dribble down my neck and off my feet to drain away forever. Jason played around in my thoughts. His agitating me having faded away, all I could think about now was his kiss. I let down my greasy hair, scrubbing and soothing away all my pains and troubles that fled back to me tonight. I wanted to relinquish the past. Let it go. Move on. But I couldn't.
After cleansing my exhausted body I stepped out of the shower and onto the green, fuzzy rug my dad had bought me when Mel and I first moved into the apartment. I gripped the long fuzz in-between my toes and let it try to tickle the pain away. Maybe I would laugh. Blink, blink. Or maybe I wouldn't. I was about to attempt to force a smile across my face, but a pain as excruciating as the devil himself burst inside my stomach. My knees lurched to the floor, almost bringing my head along with them. I collapsed and tried taking deep breaths, but the pains zigzagged in and out of my intestines with the feeling of something eating me alive from within.
My gasps were croaky and silent. Mel wouldn't be able to hear even if I tried to make a sound. My voice was a terrified scream at a party where no one could hear me. Pains stabbed at my back, my vision blurred, and my head felt as if it were being beaten against a concrete wall. Finally, a wailing scream escaped my mouth. I heard something fall onto the ground and feet charge in my direction. Before I completely blacked out, I heard frantic whimpering and felt a cool rag placed on top of my forehead.


Chapter 2

I was commando underneath the sheets of my bed when I woke up. My head was groggy, throat dry, and I felt like I could sleep for another fifty years.
'Thanks for clothing me,'� I muttered sarcastically.
'No problem,'� Mel said with a facetious smile as she entered the room.
She handed a white and blue cup to me that said Chapin on one side and Eagles on the other. I studied the drink, sniffed, and denied.
'You have to drink it,'� Mel said.
'Chapin?'�
'Its my alma-mater. Sort of. One of them anyways,'� she said waving it off with her hand.
Mel's dad was a businessman. He owned a chain company of about thirty, and had constantly moved his family from town to town, opening, setting, and running every single one of them. By the time Mel was eleven she had already been to ten different elementary schools. She was intellectual, sheek, and laid-back; always toting around a seemingly care-free attitude, but mentally in shape and gratifying.
'Which one was your favorite, by the way?'�
'Chapin,'� she answered almost immediately. 'Definitely not Lincolnton. Their administration sucked. And plus, the Eagles had the best cheerleading squad from here to France.'�
'Speaking of France-'�
'Lord, don't even go there,'� Mel said, slapping a hand over her face.
'He was at the bar last night.'�
'Did he ask about me,'� she asked, peeking through the slits of her fingers.
'No.'�
'Thank God.'�
We were interrupted by an old Destiny's Child tune blaring from my cell phone. I started to get up, but Mel pushed me back down onto the bed and retrieved my phone herself. 'You're naked, remember?'� I rolled my eyes.
'This is Jade Granger's phone,'� she announced with receptionist smile. 'Mel speaking.'� Pause. 'Uh-huh.'� Pause. 'Uh-huh.'� Pause. 'Sure thing.'� She hung up my phone, and made her way back over to my bed.
'That was Rachel. She's coming to pick you up in about an hour, and she's bringing biscuits.'�
'Oh, God,'� I groaned. 'The game.'�
'Well, duh, the game,'� Mel said, hitting me upside the head. 'How could you forget about the game?'�
'Ow!'� I grabbed my head and began rubbing it. 'I don't know. God, Mel. I only about died last night.'�
'Yeah, what was that all about anyhow?'�
'I don't know.'�
'You didn't drink did you,'� she asked cautiously.
'No! God, I haven't had a drink since I was'�I don't know, at least 14.'�
'Okay,'� she said, holding up her hands in defense. 'I was just checking.'�
Mel got up and pulled a Diet Pepsi from the fridge. She knew all of my past faults, not to mention my present ones. Like the time during freshman year when I almost caved into an apple martini. Not to mention the time France brought over a twelve pack of Bud's on my birthday last summer. The Diet Pepsi fizzed and crackled loudly when opened. I concentrated on the sound, drifting off into La La Land, willing the relation of the sound of an open can of Diet Pepsi to that of a Miller light away.
'You still need to drink that,'� she said, leaving the room.
I looked at the cup. Chapin on one side, Eagles on the other. Blue stripes and a faded birds claw decorated on the white plastic.
'Yeah, yeah,'� I mumbled, studying the solution.
What happened to me?

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Rachel's brown, highlighted hair danced in the wind as we made our way to the stadium in her Spider, the top down. I took a sip of the Diet Pepsi I had brought with me and reached to turn the radio down. Rachel popped my fingers away from the volume control and continued dancing in her seat.
'You're going to get us killed,'� I yelled. 'I need to talk to you.'�
'Ugh,'� she sighed, and turned down the volume, at the same time letting the top up.
'Yes,'� she asked after the top closed.
I pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear and picked at my fingernails. I needed to let someone know that last night had not been a good night for me, and I was feeling a little bit sick. It wasn't anything I wanted to lay down on the table. The team was counting on me to play my best. I couldn't let them down. Someone pitching for me wasn't even an option. Miranda pitched in the tournament that got us into the championship game to begin with. It was my turn now to bring home the gold.
'I, uh'�Last night'�Well, I-'�
'Spit it out,'� she said impatiently.
I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding, gripped the handle on the door, and took one last sip of Diet Pepsi.
'Last night, I think I might've caught a bit of a bug.'� Which was a complete understatement, of course. 'And I'm not feeling too hot this morning.'� I squeezed my eyes shut and sank down in my seat, preparing for an outburst. Rachel was always that type to go psycho on someone for getting sick before a game, even though she knew the person couldn't help it'�in most cases, anyway. She didn't flinch, I noticed, taking a peek through my thick eyelashes. She sat, calmly glancing out the window as we passed by a gang of noisy students outside of a Hardees.
'You gonna be okay,'� she asked.
I was a bit surprised. I had expected a little more ire from her, considering it was game day, and many people were counting on us to win.
'I think so,'� I answered. But even as the words fell clumsily out of my mouth I knew that I was lying. I was fighting regurgitation as we spoke. My stomach was still churning, flip-flopping, and stinging. Any sudden movement made me weary and dizzy. My legs felt weak and unmanageable. I didn't know what I was going to do. My vision was slowly processing the sights before my eyes. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I just couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was that did this. All I had to drink was water.

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I slipped the pink earphone of my iPod into my ear as I began my 20 minute warm-up jog around the field. My skin tingled with goose bumps and my stomach was doing flip-flops. My feet seemed to travel at twice the speed of someone running on a patch of hot charcoal, despite my condition. I was chomping so hard on my Juicy Fruit strappleberry gum that my jaws were aching and a headache began to formulate. Needless to say, Jack Johnson was the only person who could calm my nerves at the moment. That is, until the iPod died. I took comfort in substituting my iPod for the soothing sound of the jingling bangle bracelets hanging loosely on my wrists. Once the wind picked up I was able to take deep breaths and get some air into my lungs, which was more or less helped pacify my churning stomach. I slowed my pace and took the time to notice the cloudless sky and the flittering bees. I felt relaxed and free of pressure. Whenever I received a bad grade in high school or had a fight with a boyfriend, I would take long jogs up and down the trails behind our house to sooth my thoughts.
Some shirtless bleach-blonde guys tailgating in the parking lot next to the field whistled as I ran by them. I rolled my eyes and sped my pace, allowing my long legs to cover as much ground as possible, and to get away from the Ken Dolls quicker. As I rounded third base my eyes did a 360. Trying to keep my pace steady and moving, my legs began to give out, and soon I found myself kissing home plate. Hard.
'Oh my God!'� Someone yelled, others gasped, people ran to my rescue.
'She said on the way over here that she wasn't feeling well,'� I heard Rachel say.
Feet pitter-pattered around me, people coming to my aide.
'Jade?'� Miranda. 'Jade, can you hear me?'�
I groaned. My knees were on fire. I opened my eyes as much as I could, but saw only stars and blurry nude-colored objects. Oh, God. Who was the monster with the worm sticking out of his ear?
'Jade?'�
'Coach'�'� My bad. That would be ear hair.
'Somebody help her up and get her an icepack and some water.'�
People groped my arms and waist, lifting my next-to-lifeless body, and helping me limp over to the dugout. I could hardly stand myself up, much less walk. Even with the assistance of others. I sat down gently and felt the wooden benches poke splinters into my skin. Someone rubbed ice over my forehead and poured Vitamin Water into my mouth. My lips tasted like burnt sand and dry dust. My skin still tingled from the heat and the people pouring over me with concern didn't help. This couldn't be happening. The game was scheduled to start in less than an hour. I only had so long to whip myself back into shape before taking the field.
'Do you think she's gonna be alright,'� someone whispered.
'I'll be fine,'� I said a little breathlessly. 'I swear, y'all. I'm playing.'�
'I don't know-,'� I heard Coach Connelly say.
'What are you crazy,'� someone yelled. The voice sounding like an overly-anxious Miranda. 'You have to play her.'� Someone caressed my arm. 'I did my duty the other day getting us into this game. I can't pitch ag-'�
'I realize that Miranda,'� Coach yelled.
The person who had been caressing my arms was now fiddling with my hair, which about put me into a slumber. My eyelids felt like bricks had been strapped to them and my body had some kind of gravitational pull towards the ground.
'Jade!'� Someone yelled in my ear making me bolt upright real fast like. Elizabeth Cameron was staring me in the face, her eyes shedding apprehension and her hands clutching my shoulders, her recently manicured fingernails digging into my skin.
'Ow,'� I whispered, undoing her grip. She smiled apologetically, jerking her hands away.
'Maybe we should get you checked by Doc Miller,'� Coach suggested. 'He might can give you something that'll-'�
'No,'� I said so forcefully it almost came out as a shout. 'I, uh'�I just need some water and rest. I'll be good.'�
'I don't know if that's-'�
'Coach. Please, I'll be fine.'�
The last thing I wanted was to be groped by some doctor who probably wouldn't find anything wrong with me anyway. I hated people touching me. Unless of course a massage was involved. That was to be overlooked.
'Alright,'� Coach said, holding up his hands, giving in. 'Batter up.'�

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You can do this, I told myself. All you have to do is throw. No curves yet, no tricks, just throw. And so I did.
'Ball,'� the umpire roared.
God.
Please.
Help.
I sniffed, wiped my nose, and stumbled a little over the pitcher's mound, but righted myself quick enough, hopefully, to where no one noticed. My breaths were few and far between. I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and reared my leg for another pitch.
'Ball!'�
Damn it.
'Come on, Granger,'� coach yelled.
'Let's go, Jade!'�
'Get 'em girl!'�
'You got this Jay.'�
Everyone's chants flooded my head. It was hard to concentrate, breathe, and focus all at the same time. Focus, meaning that of my vision. Right now Jessica Amaker, number 21 of the Texas A&M Aggies, looked like a puddle of walking play-doh. I had what I could only imagine being a constipated look on my face. I stroked the yellow ball, caressing the yarn that held it together, with my thumb. With every breath my eyes grew heavier, my stomach churning harder, and my head pounding miserably beneath my scalp. Jessica rocked back and forth on her feet, swinging the bat over home plate three times before rearing it across her right shoulder. She scuffed her feet, stirring up dust, and rolled her neck before finally settling for the pitch. A tense silence hovered over the stadium. The faces in the crowd colored ill. Before I pitched the ball, an image of the waiter from the night before at The Grange interrupted my thoughts. I remembered the look on his face being almost that of alarm and queasiness. I raised my leg; my arm tensing, my wrist locking. The ball flew from my anxious palm, dampened with sweat.
The moment the ball was released my body did something. It jolted, shivered, then collapsed. I heard a scream bellowed above me. Sounds darted above and around my back. I lifted my head, seeing Jessica kneeling at home plate, tears falling from her eyes like a waterfall. Her hands shook, people were tending to her fingers. Her knuckles, maybe? I let my head rest on the dirt. The gritty sand pinching my temple and cheek. Someone rolled me over, but all I saw was the bright sun smiling widely down on the field. Later, when I woke up in Doc Miller's office, I quickly discovered there was nothing to be smiling about.

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'There seems to be some drugs in your system.'�
Doc Miller lowered his glasses to the bridge of his nose, inspecting my eyes.
'Not only that, but alcohol as well, Ms. Granger.'�
My eyes were glazed over. I stared at him like a doe-eyed deer watching her mother get shot and strapped to the back of a pick-up truck. Coach yelled something inaudible and the girls around me gasped and cursed. My eyes swelled up, my face in a pinch. I sat there imagining the thoughts swirling around in my teammates' heads. We had lost the game 10-2. Since Miranda wasn't legally aloud to pitch again they had to play Josie, who was only a freshman with little to no experience against the bigger teams. A cloud of disappointment hovered over me. I felt ashamed and embarrassed, though I can't say why. I didn't drink last night and no way had I taken any drugs. I couldn't make sense of anything Doc was telling me.
'This is bullshit, Jade,'� Coach yelled.
Tears leaked from my eyes. Miranda placed her hands on her waist, cocking her hips to the right, grinding her teeth, speechless. Rachel let her head fall to her hands, cupping her face in her palms. She pinched the bridge of her nose, turning away from me. I refused to let myself sob, but vowed to do so as soon as they let me go. Coach Connelly balled and un-balled his fists, his elbows locked, steam almost visibly escaping his ears. He rearranged the baseball cap on his head and let out a deep sigh.
'Get out of here, Jade,'� he said with utter disappointment passing his lips.
I got up slowly from the paper-covered leather bed and made my way out the door. I stepped out of Doc's office cautiously, fearing that someone was outside the room ready to maul me. I took a moment to lean against the door and say a soft prayer. Many punishments could elude from this accusation. It wasn't much of an accusation, though, unfortunately. Doc showed me the results from the urine test I had to take. There really had been alcohol and drugs in my system. How they got there was beyond me. It was clear that someone had spiked my drink. It could've been anyone, though. I had left my drink sitting on some random table, and hadn't even thought twice about it until Jason went to refill it. I rounded up my thoughts and dragged myself out of the care center. I was just getting ready to text Mel when she nearly ran into me coming out of the bathroom.
'Oh my God,'� she yelled.
'Mel,'� I said grabbing her wrists. 'Sh'�please, I need a ride back to the apartment.'�
'But-but-but'�are you alright?'�
'Mel please,'� I begged trying my hardest to dodge the subject for now.
'Yeah, okay, but give me some reassurance here,'� she said, pushing sweaty hair that had fallen out of my pony tail behind my ear. 'Are you alright?'�
'No,'� I said, choking back tears. 'I'm not.'�

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The first thing I did when we arrived back at our apartment was shower, apply some cherry flavored chapstick to my lips, and took a long, needed nap. My eyes were encrusted with gunk upon waking up. Once my vision cleared I redirected my head to Mel, her back facing me, sitting on the bar, talking in silent tones to someone on- wait. Was that my cell phone? She had changed into a purple tank and white shorts, thrown her hair up into a messy bun, and from where I was laying it seemed she had painted her toenails with the Prelude To A Kiss sheer misty pink color by Lippman she had brought back with her last weekend from home.
Her head turned slightly to get a glimpse of me and, noticing I was awake, turned around abruptly to face the bar and hung up the phone, telling whoever she had been talking to 'she's up-gotta go-I'll tell her-yeah.'� She swung her legs around the stool and stepped off gracefully. She yanked the pony-tail holder out of her hair and swooshed her locks around so that they settled presentably over her shoulders. Her face fell into a look of misery when she finally settled her wandering eyes on my face. Not only were her toenails done up, but her fingernails, too. She had applied more make-up than I thought she could manage. I saw an old issue of a Seventeen Magazine flipped to the beauty section, displaying the proper way to apply mascara and eye-shadow to get that dark, dusty look. Her eyes matched the pictures exactly.
She fiddled with her nails, bit them, picked at them. Her hand glided through her hair easily and effortlessly, starting at the crown of her head and ending at the base of her neck. I watched her, studied her, then ignored her. If she was just going to stand there like an undernourished twig hanging desperately onto a tree, then I was going back to sleep.
'Wait,'� she said the moment I let my head hit the pillow. 'We need to talk.'�
'Ah.'� I shut my eyes recounting the ways I could bury myself alive. I daydreamed of stars falling from the sky, shattering as they hit concrete ground and skyscrapers and buildings. I imagined myself picking one up in the middle of UT's ball field and swallowing it. I would choke from its jagged edges and explode, bursts of light expanding through my body until there was no body left of me. Mel scooted onto my bed and laid down beside me. She put her hands together and rested her cheek on top of her fingers and knuckles. She looked at me in despair, wanting so bad to tell me something. Knowing that I needed to know, had to know, but was just to scared to say it.
'Any day now, Mel,'� I said to her, my eyes shut, still dreaming of eating broken stars.
'That was your Coach,'� she whispered.
My eyes jolted open, focusing on her lips.
'Its over, Jade,'� she whimpered. 'They kicked you off the team, out of the university.'�
I sat up slowly, my brain trying its hardest to process her words. I turned to look at the bathroom door. It was a disgusting, tacky pink. A project Mel and I had taken on last summer two days before classes were to begin. We had gone to Lowe's, our minds set on Cosmic Pink, but they didn't have anymore of that shade in stock. So, we had to settle for something else, which ended up being really awful looking. We spent the whole night after painting it leaning up against the washing machine, digging into some cookie dough, complaining about how gross it was.
'You have a meeting with the dean in the morning,'� she said. 'Coach Connelly said it was best if you went ahead and started packing.'�
All I could think at that moment was no more late nights eating Chinese with Mel, no more pulling pranks on Coach after practice with Rachel and Miranda, no more discussing the 101 Ways to Nab Kenny Chesney at A Concert with Professor Tory when we were supposed to be discussing the 101 Best Ways to Nab a Job Interview. My mood changed just then. No more this, no more that, no more future. I'll have to go home to North Carolina and enroll in the technical college to keep my GPA up just so I could try to get into somewhere else. And God, no more Jason. What would he think? It would be just my luck that he would think I got vulnerable at the bar and snuck a few drinks before going to bed last night. How was I going to explain this to him? How was I going to back this up? Better yet, how was I going to find out who spiked my drink when I was hundreds of miles away in North Carolina?

Chapter 3

I walked into the Ingles located ten minutes from my house, the suction from the electrical doors practically peeling the eyelashes off my face. The sound of rolling buggies, screaming toddlers, and beeping registers welcomed me home - for the most part. I rubbed my arms for warmth as I scanned the magazine/book section. A few trashy romance novels caught my I, but I wasn't really in the mood. Instead, I picked up a Marie-Claire for when I'd be locked up in my room all weekend and a racing magazine as a peace offering for my dad. He had called me on my way home, his voice stone cold -straight, and to the point.
'Ingles-Kellogg's-milk-2%.'�
'Yes, daddy.'�
'Make that skim. I'm on a diet.'� I had smiled at this, knowing he never stuck to his diets.
I ran my finger along boxes of Cheez-Itz and canned foods. I snatched a box of Yogos and made a mental note to grab some banana pudding on my way out; more bribery tactics - just in case. I began to make my way to the frozen food section when my ears were tugged by the interest of a conversation going on behind me. I halted, pretended to contemplate between mild and spicy salsa, and listened in.
'Dude, I'm tell'n ya,'� one of the voices said. 'You're gonna need somebody to look after the house when I move out. You don't have anybody else, dude. Cha Cha quit and-'�
'Must you call her that?'� a male with a southern twang asked.
'That was her name, dude-'�
'And if you don't stop saying dude'�'�
'Sorry.'� There was a short pause before the 'Dude Voice'� spoke again. 'Just ask around for some help. Hire somebody else.'�
'I don't want anyone rambling around my house putting their grubby fingers all over my stuff,'� the twanged voice exclaimed.
'What about Cha Cha?'� Dude asked.
'Cha Cha was a friend of the family.'�
Dude sighed and made a slapping sound with his hands in defeat. 'Fine, have a pig-sty house,'� Dude said. 'I don't care, man.'�
A smile crawled through my lips noticing the change of reference from Dude to Man that Dude Voice used on Twang. I caught myself listening so intently to their conversation that I obliviously commenced to doodling invisible circles on the Cheez-Itz box. So, he was looking for a helping hand. Well, the last thing I wanted to do was go home to my father's wrath. I would be scorned. Belittled. Disregarded in all trustworthiness. Maybe what I needed was a break. In all honesty the last thing I wanted to do was succumb to a community college. Ack. I turned the possibility over and over in my head before finally coming to a decision.
'I'll take the job.'� My voice sounded more desperate than eager upon turning around to face them, which when I did so was utterly surprised by what lay before my eyes. One of the guys looked to be in his mid to late twenties, stubbly chin, and blue eyes. The other looked considerably young, about the same age as me. They resembled each other in a brotherly fashion, but one's hair was blonde and the other's brown.
'Excuse me?'� That was Twang, blue eyes and all. Meanwhile, whom I assumed to be Dude Voice, was grinning from ear to ear.
'I'd like to take the job. Or, or'�apply for the job.'� My words stumbled over the sheer beauty of Twang's eyes, his porcelain skin, and blatant movie star eyebrows. He looked at me, one eyebrow up, one eyebrow down. He was either hysterically amused or visibly uninterested. I nearly quailed under his judgment.
'You're hired,'� Dude said in mock Donald Trump, only with a slightly different answer.
'What?'� Twang and I asked in unison. I more delighted than Twang, no doubt.
'You can't hire her,'� Twang objected. 'I'm sorry,'� he said to me. 'But you're fired.'�
'You can't turn her away,'� Dude argued. 'She's probably the only help that will willingly throw herself out there for your pompous ass.'�
I snickered, which Twang did not find at all humorous. I began to turn away, but Dude grabbed my elbow and yanked me back around. 'Don't go anywhere just yet,'� he demanded. 'Come on man,'� Dude pleaded. 'You need some help. You haven't been able to do anything for yourself since the wreck, and you won't have time to do it now. You have to readjust to the car, and to the lifestyle, and-'�
'I've been out of the car for one week, Carter,'� Twang said. 'And I drove it to the first caution before Dan took over.'�
'Um, guys,'� I interrupted.
'Oh yeah,'� Carter said. 'So, come on man. You'll need help. I wouldn't be nagging you if I weren't worried about you. Mom is, too. Hell, everybody is. Even your haters.'�
"Okay," Twang said. "But there will be a test. And that comes tonight at 7:30. Be at my house at six. I'm having some friends over for a special get-together and I need help setting up and fixing food."
'Are you serious?'� I asked.
Twang nodded his head, but not in confidence. I wouldn't blame him. After all, I did just get kicked out of college for involuntary drug and alcohol use. Not to mention, he doesn't even know who I am, seems to have a lot of trust issues, and is offended by the word dude.
"I regret it already.'�

····

My eyes popped out of their sockets upon pulling through Ash's driveway. That was Twang's name I learned before leaving the Ingles. Ash. Ash Callaway. He didn't give any other details as to who he was other than his home phone number, cell phone number, street address, and directions to his house. He never elaborated on the 'get-together.'� He never offered any explanation as to why he dyed his hair. He never explained that I would need a sedative after rolling into his garage from the absolute beauty of his home. I mean, the scenery was amazing. My eyes were introduced to a gray brick house with charcoal roofing and a pond in the background where, might I add, there were swans floating around nonchalantly as if they were Nicole Kidman pulling out a cigarette during a press conference; not a care in the world. The walkway was granite stoned, the steps as white as bleached teeth, roofing as pure as a newborn baby - and did that staircase lead up to a gazebo?
I got out of my sapphire red 1998 V6 Ford Mustang and sulked past the black Viper tucked comfortably away in the $20,000 garage. I puffed out my cheeks and held my breath, counted to three and cracked my neck, massaged my temples and popped my knuckles, all before finally dinging the $500 doorbell. I waited'�and waited'�and did some more waiting. I know five minutes may seem like a short time, but only when you're wrapped up in the enthusiasm of a game of solitaire. When the second hand on my three dollar watch from Wal-Mart clicked 12 for the fifty-millionth time the door finally opened.
Serenading saxophones erupted in my mind. Ash was wearing a tight gray shirt with muscles bulging out of his sleeves. His hair was tousled, he looked exhausted, and somehow he managed to get circles under his eyes since I saw him at the Ingles. Or maybe that had been a feature I overlooked.
'Hi,'� I squeaked. 'Ahem, I mean, hi.'�
It took him a minute, but eventually he answered, 'hey.'�
'I'm sorry,'� he said, after a moment's pause. 'Please, come in.'�
I ducked under his arm, which he didn't bother taking down from leaning against the doorway to let me by. There were steps leading down to the living room and underneath them was a pool of fish swimming around; some nibbling on pellets of food. The living room wasn't as huge as it appeared, but it was still very nice. Patent leather couches, flat screen T.V., and a fire place. The kitchen was the next room over, and off to the corner was a little nook. I immediately envisioned myself curled up on the couch in the nook snoozing away from the comfort of the fire and chirping of the birds from the tree outside the window.
'Nice place,'� I said.
'Thanks.'� Ash rubbed the back of his head and walked into the kitchen. 'Can I get you something to drink?'�
'Just water, please.'�
He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a glass, filled it up with iced water, and handed it to me. 'Thank you,'� I mumbled. His fingers lingered on the glass before letting go.
'Look,'� he started. 'I don't want you to think that you're not welcome here. But, I'�I'm a busy man. And, I just have some trust issues with people.'�
Told ya.
'I understand,'� I reassured him.
'Just as long as we're on the same page.'� He released his fingers and walked over to the couch in the living room. He patted his hand on the seat and grabbed the remote to turn the T.V. on.
'So, what do you do?'� I asked, sitting down.
Ash snickered, but didn't rush to respond.
'I mean, you just,'� I paused, looking around at all of his things, 'have a lot of stuff.'�
He settled on a racing channel where they were talking about an upcoming race. So, I guessed he like that sort of thing. Him and my dad would just love each other. I looked over to Ash waiting for a response, but he still didn't offer one. I bent my head forward, urging him on, but no such luck. I looked around the house for any kind of clues, any hints as to what he might do for a living. Let's see. He had a busy schedule, a house stock full of valuable objects, an upstairs gazebo, and impressive roofing.
'Are you a doctor?'�
You know, I figured I was jumping out on a limb when I asked that, but I wasn't expecting him to go into full blown laughter. He slapped his leg, banged his foot, and cocked his head back like I had just performed the best stand-up comedy routine since Ron White.
'Believe or not,'� I said defensively, 'that was a serious question.'�
He continued chuckling as he said, 'come on. There's something I want to show you.'� He stood up and gestured for me to follow. He led me upstairs to a game room full of trophies. There was a guitar, a grandfather clock, and many, many plaques. Then over to the corner I saw it. My mind instantly went into flashback mode. Of course! Ash Callaway. Hello, stupid woman, he's only you're father's favorite racecar driver. The Nextel Cup wasn't faithfully a cup. It was more like two waving flags opposite each other that joined at the bottom to begin forming a cup.
'Oh my God,'� I whispered.
'I just thought I should let you know before the boys came over tonight,'� he explained. 'I wasn't sure if you knew who I was at the store. To be honest I thought you were some crazed fan just trying to find a way in my house. Maybe even in my pants, but you know, I was sincerely hoping not.'�
I hardly listened as he said all of this. I was still trying to comprehend it all. Ash Callaway, leading Dodge driver for Brandon Pendleton. I remember seeing a news article on him in a paper my dad brought home from the gas station one morning. How did I not recognize that face?
'We're having a team meeting. You see, we haven't been performing up to our potential lately. We're coming off of a booming season from last year and so far this year's been nothing but disappointment after disappointment.'�
'I'm sorry to hear that,'� I managed, not half knowing what he was talking about.
'Last week we had a fairly good car,'� he said. 'Definitely a top ten contender, but she got loose coming off of turn two and I spun the bitch out. Never touched the wall, thank God.'�
'What's your number?'� I asked, trying to be a little more interested in what he was saying.
'Seventy-nine. I drive the Hammer Energy drink Dodge for Pendleton Motorsports.'�
'PMS?'� I inquired of the acronym.
'Brandon's in the process of getting it changed. It was his father's company before. Brandon vowed on his dad's death-bed that he wouldn't change the name of the company, but then his female truck series driver blew a gasket on a NASCAR official, which led to some derogatory comments in relation to her gender with Pendleton Motorsports. So, Brandon had to take back his promise.'�
'Female driver?'�
'Yes,'� Ash smirked. 'Girls drive, too.'�
'Interesting.'�
Ash's cell phone rang, and he excused himself to answer the call. Ten minutes later he came back to give me the low down.
'Okay,'� he said. 'The guys are gonna be here in an hour and a half. Do you know how to chop onions?'�
'Of course,'� I said as if that were the stupidest question on earth. After mom's death I had to learn to do a lot of things for myself. Laundry, dusting, vacuuming, Swiffering, chopping onions, you name it.
'The onions are in the refrigerator, right side, second shelf on the door. The knives are in the drawer by the microwave. When you're done with that there's a pile of clothes on the pantry floor that need to be washed. I'm going to be up here cleaning the upstairs. This is usually where we congregate. In the game room. The crew likes shooting some pool while contemplating strategies.'�
'Strategies?'�
'For how we're gonna run the race.'�
'Oh.'�
'Alright,'� he said, slapping his thighs. 'I'll leave ya to it.'� And with that he began fixing up the game room, dusting off the grandfather clock, the notorious Nextel Cup, and tweaking the strings of the guitar hanging on the wall. I made my way downstairs to begin this man's dirty work. Onions, laundry - is it any coincidence that I'm having to deal with everything smelly?

····

The 'Hammerheads,'� which I later learned was the nickname of Ash's crew, loved shrimp. So, when Brandon snatched the last cocktail from the black plastic tray I opted to go out and buy some more from the Ingles, because let me tell you, the last thing you want is an angry bunch of men who dealt with screwdrivers and wrenches all day on your case because you can't supply them with their favorite finger food. Again, I found myself wandering the isles of the grocery store, taking my time, not really putting forth a lot of effort into hurrying back to Ash's house. I just needed some time to think things over. All night I had been waiting on the guys hand and foot. While they made me feel at home and unexpectedly welcome among their group, their demands were already nipping my nerves away one trip to the cooler after another. I wasn't used to having to wait on someone other than myself. My mother was always doing things for me when I was younger. She cleaned my room, scrubbed my toilets, did my science projects, fixed my dinner, folded my clothes, wiped my mirror, vacuumed my floor. It wasn't until after her death that I realized all she did for me. On top of my petty little chores she listened to me drone on and on about my latest fling, complain about my irritating science teacher who never gave A's, and moan about my insecurities with random zits that kept popping up on my face. When she was gone I realized how much I needed her. How much I didn't do for myself. How exhausting I was. What little I did to help out around the house. After her death I became annoyed with people's paltry complaints, their laziness, and not wanting to do things for themselves. Just settling for something half-ass and being fine with that just so they wouldn't have to put forth the effort to work hard and maybe break a sweat.
I was constantly reminding myself throughout the night that I was Ash Callaway's housemaid and I was expected to cater to him and his guests' every need. Without that there was no excuse as to why those guys couldn't go out and buy their own damn shrimp cocktail. After about an hour of the Hammerheads' arrival I had succumbed to a ponytail. These guys were exhausting. My hair kept getting stuck on my chap stick, my bangs were constantly in my eyes, and Brandon was baby-sitting his nephew that night. Guess who got to watch after him? And guess what his favorite thing to play with was? My hair was thin enough as it was, now I had a little two year-old plucking at my strands.
I grabbed the shrimp cocktail from the frozen food section and some crab strips for a midnight snack. I was nervous as hell about spending the night with Ash, but he insisted. I gave him some cockamamie story about how my dad and I didn't really get along, which probably would be the truth had I actually went home like I was supposed to, and Ash told me that it was perfectly fine, he had a guest bedroom upstairs waiting to be used. After tonight he had a sister about fifteen minutes away who was looking for a roommate in her apartment. He told me that we would get along great. How he determined that after only 10 minutes of conversing with me, I had no idea.
When I got back to Ash's place it was like I was a war hero. The guys mauled me trying to get to the shrimp. I had to force them down and hasten to the counter where I sat down the cocktail and prepared it as quickly as possible. The Hammerheads' tongues were slapping every which-a-way like a dog being teased with jerky. Finally, I stepped aside and let them demolish the tray. I went over to the nook and collapsed onto the couch, placing the back of my hand to my forehead and closing my eyes, taking deep breaths and basking in a moment of peace.
'They're a handful aren't they?'�
I opened my eyes to see Ash hovering over me. He had his hands on his hips, and the look on his face was a bit of a smirk, almost as if he were enjoying my hassles.
'Well,'� I said, 'they're not sedated that's for sure.'�
'Aw, come on,'� he chuckled. 'They're only excited because our super speedway program's really picked up. Brandon's put together a lot that will help us out in Sunday's race.'�
'Where are y'all racing this weekend?'�
'Daytona.'�
'Oh. This is the one that triggers all the hype and hoo-ha, huh?'�
'Yep, this is the big one. The Super-'�
'Bowl of NASCAR,'� I finished for him. 'Yeah, I know. My dad's a big fan.'�
'Really? Who does he pull for?'�
I almost said 'you,'� but something stopped me. 'Dale Jr.'�
'Oh,'� he said in an almost disappointing manner. As if Dale Jr. didn't have enough fans already. I guess it could've been worse. I could've said Jeff Gordon.
'Okay,'� a burly man said, barging in on our conversation. 'We've figured out that Max Brody is not the man to draft with, Bud. He'll leave you hangin' like a pirate on a noose.'�
'Thanks, Tom,'� Ash said patting the man's bulging shoulder. 'As if I didn't already know that,'� he muttered to me after Tom walked away. I smiled, then let my hair down. My curls probably jutted out in every direction, but at that moment I could've cared less. All I wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed. And maybe have a few crab strips.
'So, um,'� Ash started. 'You watch racing?'�
I licked my lips and swallowed. 'Not really. I'm more of a softball/baseball type girl.'�
'Oh, so you play ball?'�
'I played ball.'�
'What happened?'�
'I don't really wanna talk about it yet. It was a horrible thing what happened to me. And the worst part about it is that I had no idea it was going on.'�
'Do you wanna beer,'� he asked in a way that told me he was just trying to be nice.
'No,'� I nearly shouted.
His eyebrows shot up, and immediately I felt spazzy.
'I'm sorry,'� I offered. 'Me and alcohol'�we don't really get along.'�
'Okay,'� he said. 'I respect that. To be honest the last thing a few of these guys need tonight is another beer.'�
I laughed, but it was weak and forced. After the guys left I went ahead and took my shower. Ash showed me where the towels were and that the hot notch in the shower was really cold and the cold notch was really hot. Thirty minutes later I laid in my bed, gnawing on a crab strip, watching a rerun of The Golden Girls.
'Picture it,'� Sophia said. 'Germany, 1922.'�
'I thought your stories always took place in Sicily,'� Blanche asked.
'Can't someone get away for the weekend?'�

Chapter 4

I woke up, stomach down, the comforter in Ash's guest bedroom wrapped around my legs like tentacles, and the horrid aftertaste of imitation crab legs reeking in my mouth.
'Mhmm'�'�
I moaned and pushed my upper body up with my left hand, only to slide right out from under my palm and fall face first into the pillow. My eyes were crusty with leftover make-up from the night before and the roots of my hair were stinging, thanks to Brandon's nephew. A loud buzzing noise went off beside my ear. I flung my arm out to hit the alarm clock, but nothing was there. I hit at it again and only succeeded in jabbing my forearm on the corner of the nightstand. With great effort I raised my head, then my eyelids, and saw my cell phone jumping around, waiting to be answered.
Uh-oh.
I swept my bangs out of my eyes and sat myself up. I needed to answer this. I really, really needed to answer this. I took a deep breath, still eyeing my dancing phone.
Come on, you can do it.
I grabbed the phone as I slapped a hand over my face and peeped through my fingers at the caller-ID.
Gulp.
My dad, alright.
Dang it.
I opened the phone and flirted with the call button, rubbing my thumb over the green key.
Knock, knock.
I flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the nightstand, quickly shoved myself under the covers, the top of my head hitting the bedrail, extended my arms and legs, making it seem like I was in a restless slumber, and shut my eyes. The knocking continued, but I didn't budge. More knocking. I lifted one eyelid to see the doorknob turning. Shutting my right eye quickly, I made soft snoring noises to imply that I was still asleep.
The hinges of the door squeaked and footsteps invaded my faux slumber. They sounded like Wheat Waterbuck colored Timberland's my dad worked in during the summer. He would stay outside all day hanging ferns, raking pine straw, planting corn. There would always be a stripe of dirt above his left eyebrow where he would wipe the back of his right hand across his forehead after a long day's work.
The footsteps came closer and closer until finally it felt like the person was standing right over me. They were so close I could smell the cinnamon-scented cologne draipsing their neck. I stirred, suggesting that I was nearing consciousness, moaned to spice up my awakening, outstretched my arms, arched my back, and squealed, letting the cricks in my neck and back pop. I heard a chuckle and slowly opened my eyes. My vision was blurred for a second due to squeezing my eyes shut so tightly. Dude, whose name was really Carter Callaway, Ash's younger brother, stood over me, his face resting in the palm of his hand as if he were greatly amused by my strident awakening.
'The boss calls for your attention,'� he said, shaking his head, clearly amused.
'Mmm'�'� was all I had to say to him.
I flopped back down onto the bed and waited for Carter's departure before officially getting up. Only, he didn't move. I raised an eyebrow at him, he returned the gesture. Huffing, I righted myself up and swung my head in his direction.
'Are you going to leave me to get dressed or would you like to stay for the show?'� I asked. 'Five dollars admission if the latter.'�
'Boss wants you now,'� he chuckled.
This time I raised both eyebrows.
'Not in that way,'� he said throwing up his hands.
'Well, it's a good thing,'� I said. 'Because I am in no condition to be-'�
'Look, just make it snappy and get downstairs. He's a little irritable this morning.'�
'Okay.'�
Carter left and I began to get dressed. I slipped on an old softball hoodie I'd had since ninth grade and a pair of jeans I got for 12 bucks from a random Target store on a fishing trip with my dad a couple years ago. After brushing my teeth and hair, and lotioning up my feet and face, I headed downstairs. Under the flopping of my Rainbows I heard Carter and Ash discussing some kind of strategic problem with Ash's racecar. I didn't know how to present myself so I held back until they took it upon themselves to notice me. It was Ash that looked up first.
'Sleep well?'� he asked.
'Just fine,'� I replied. 'What's your problem?'�
'Well, Dodge has changed the nose of their racecars this season, and Brandon and the gang can't seem to figure it out,'� Carter explained.
As I was cracking the cricks out of my neck I took notice of two pictures lying on the countertop. They were snapshots of two racecars' front fenders. One nose was smooth and rounded while the other one's contained two diagonal dents on each side of the fender. In all honesty I could've cared less about their nose issues, but the look on Ash's face made my bones crumble. His eyebrows were in a permanent furrow, his cheeks sucked in, and he wouldn't stop fiddling with his thumbs.
'Which one's the newer one?'� I asked.
'This one,'� Ash said pointing to the rounded nose.
'Wouldn't tape help with aerodynamics?'�
'We already use tape.'�
'Well, can't you just use the tape to imitate the nose from last year.'�
'I don't think NASCAR would go for that,'� Carter said. 'The whole point of the change to the nose was to make the performance better, but the tests we've run aren't enough to make any real progress.'�
'If we had the money-'� Ash started.
'Which we don't,'� Carter cut in.
Ash rolled his eyes, then continued. 'We could put the cars in our own wind tunnel and test them at the shop.'�
'But, uh, we have no such mulah,'� Carter explained.
'Oh,'� I said.
It got quiet after that. Carter went to the refrigerator and fixed himself a cup of iced water, Ash dug through a batch of bananas searching for one with no bruises, I assumed. And I stood there, feeling immensely uncomfortable.
'Was there anything you needed me for?'� I asked to whoever would answer first.
'Oh, yeah,'� Ash said, picking up a yellow sticky note. 'I hate to play annoying mommy to you, but I wrote out a list of - well, I hate to say chores - but, a list of things around the house I need done today.'�
'Okay.'�
Is it weird that when he handed me the sticky note, and our fingers brushed, that my cheeks turned an undeniable crimson red? The way Ash's eyes averted to the floor and the way his lips tightened made me wonder if he had noticed that I was blushing. Or was he blushing too? I am so confused.

····

With Ash gone off to the shop and Carter on his way to South Carolina to be with his pregnant girlfriend, I pretty much had the house all to myself, with the exception of Dexter, the grisly Beagle I had to look after until Ash returned. Dexter was no more than a year old with a major attitude. Not to mention he growled every time I walked by his bed, peed on the kitchen floor just to watch me clean it up, and hacked up some beef jerky I offered him as a peace offering all over my new Pumas. By the time lunch had rolled around I had had enough of that stupid mutt. While I removed clothes from the washing machine and dryer, Dexter started pulling Ash's clean clothes off the couch, flipped over the trash can on Ash's carpet, and scratched up the front door with his claws when there was a perfectly usable doggy door that led out onto the porch. It took me two hours to try and find the matching paint Ash had used on his door.
Because I was feeling forgiving of Dexter's 'contributions'� to my chores, all I did was lock him up in the pantry with a chew toy, his water bowl, and some beef jerky for the rest of the day. At one o' clock, Ash had called to see how things were going my first official day on the job. I told him things were fine, sidestepping Dexter's annoying schemes and replacing them with reassurances. Yes, your kitchen floor smells like Fresh Lemons (after I mopped it five times since the dog urinated on it). Yes, he's being a good boy (since the only thing I have to tolerate now is his constant whining and carrying on). Yes, I fed him the beef flavored puppy chow (with a side order of poison if I could've found any). After thirty minutes of ticking off each completed chore with Ash, he finally let me go.
By mid-afternoon I had accomplished the dishes, the dusting, the mopping, the folding, the sweeping, the scrubbing, and anything else I noted needed tending to with the addition of Ash's original list. At 5:30 I slumped on the couch with a bag of crunchy cheetos and watched an old rerun of Saturday Night Live. It was then that I remembered Dexter still shacked up in the pantry, probably leaving me a nice, pleasant mess to clean up. Clearly he had Ash wrapped around his little finger-well, paw. Regardless, I slowly pushed the mahogany door opened to allow Dexter his freedom. His little head peeped out, then with such dejection, he hiked up his leg and made a huge puddle of nastiness all over my foot. My bare foot, might I add.
'Son of a-'�

····

Ash Callaway's house was like a majestic palace. Even doves as white as snow glided gracefully across the pond in his backyard, not a stir even from the fish swimming underneath the water. I was standing in front of the window over the sink looking out on the yard. A beautiful garden flourished from the depths of the White-House-green grass, not a pest in sight to allow any disarray. I touched the window with the tips of my fingers only to slap them away, charging immediately to the pantry for the Windex. This was not my home to be greasing up with my Bath-and-Body-Works-Warm-Vanilla-Sugar-scented-fingers. I placed the Windex bottle on the counter, setting the rag I used to wipe away my fingerprints on top of it. Letting out a long sigh, I rested my hands on my hips, taking notice of the lack of pudge in my stomach. It wasn't that I had been skipping meals on purpose, it was just that I couldn't bring myself to eat any large amounts of food at one time. Since the incident with the bar and the hangover and the losing Nationals, I just couldn't bring myself to do much of anything except what was expected of me. Like clean some racecar driver's toilets and pick up his dog's smelly poop, even though he was undeniably cute. The dog, I mean. Not Ash. Not that Ash wasn't cute because he was. I mean, good Lord the man's a vision, but I was talking about- Oh, never mind.
Seconds later, after collecting my thoughts, I saw a woman with a straw hat, red and blue striped tank top, and jeans shorts on, enter the graces of Ashes yard. At first I was alarmed. What to think? A random woman waltzing into Ash's kingdom without a second thought was a little unusual. She carried a small shovel with her and had on some gardening gloves that were dirtied up from excessive use. She wiped her forehead with the back of her left wrist, much in the same way my father did, and rested her hands on her hips, much in the same way I did when exhausted. I laughed at myself when I discovered my eyes searching for the stripe of dirt above the woman's right eyebrow, as if she were my father standing there, contemplating his next project.
The woman was tall and tan with wavy blonde hair and eyes as clear as the Caribbean. With one fluid movement she grasped a handful of hair, unlatched a clip from her belt loop, and fastened her waves up into a twist. I was frozen, unsure of what to do, yet oddly calm about the situation. Do I call Ash? Do I confront her? Do I sit back and watch her scratch her chin in contemplation, analyzing the dying flowers in Ash's back yard? I decided I would take my chances on approaching the woman. If anything should happen, there was always the shovel I saw propped up against the faucet.
I took many precautions before finally opening the slide door. For example, I placed my car keys in my pocket, allowing the key itself to dangle out. That way, if the woman was in fact dangerous it would be easier to just slip the keys from my pocket and jab her in the eye. I know that sounds a bit ridiculous - okay, very ridiculous, but people have to be careful these days. The world was no place to not be prepared for the worst. There was also the little bit of pepper spray I put in my jacket pocket that Sarah had given me before I went to The Grange.
'Here,'� she had said, handing it to me that day after class. 'If you're so afraid you're going to get mauled, or something, keep this in your pocket when you come tonight.'�
I had, but with the reassurance of Jason I didn't really feel the need to keep the pepper spray within easy reach. Besides, I was never afraid of getting mauled. It was just the atmosphere of the place.
Finally, after five minutes of mustering up the courage to walk out onto the porch, I slid the slide door open and stepped outside. The woman didn't see me at first. By this time she had helped herself to Ash's Gerber Daisy's. I placed a hand over my keys as I gradually made my way down the steps, my other hand sliding carefully down the railing.
I stood diagonal to her, wondering what I should do. I was afraid to speak, afraid to move, frozen still. I didn't have much time to contemplate before she made the first move. She looked up at me, smiled, and said: 'I tell him time and time again not to plant flowers in this weather if he's not going to take the time to water them. He's always been the hardheaded one of the family.'� I assumed she meant Ash. Regardless, I had no idea what to say to that. For a minute I just let her carry on, taking her shovel to the Chrysanthemums. 'I do have to give him some credit, though,'� she continued. 'At least he has the taste to arrange these Daisy's around these Chrysanthemums- hi, I'm Ruby, Ash's mother.'� She turned to stand up and offered her hand.
'Hi,'� I responded, warily placing my hand in hers.
'Oh, what a weak handshake,'� she pointed out. 'Ash said you were pretty timid. Give 'em a strong handshake.'� She demonstrated this, pumping my hand with vigor. 'Make them know you're there, and that you mean business.'�
I couldn't speak for a minute. I was more startled than anything, and part of me felt really stupid for keeping my keys at hand and my pepper spray within reach. To think, if I would've acted from sheer fear I would've gouged my boss's mother's eyes out.
'I'm sorry,'� I said, completely flabbergasted. 'I just- I just feel really stupid right now.'�
'I apologize if I came up here too suddenly. I wasn't sure if Ash told you that I would be stopping by or not.'�
'No, he didn't.'�
'Oh, goodness,'� she cooed, placing a hand on her chest. 'No wonder you have your keys hanging half way out your pants.'�
'No, no, these were just for-'�
'Its okay,'� she reassured me, grasping my hands. 'I used to be as cautious as an obsessive-compulsive sex addict. I even carried pepper spray around everywhere with me.'�
I curled my lips under and slipped the bottle of pepper spray out of my pocket, clearly embarrassed that she could read me so well. She laughed uproariously at this, much in the same way Ash had laughed at me before.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,'� she kept burbling through fits of laughter. 'You just remind me so much of myself in my earlier years.'�
After calming down, she took a breath, placing her hand on her chest, shaking her hand and letting out a big sigh. She took my hand and led me back inside the house. 'Come on,'� she said. 'I'll make you some lunch.'�
'Oh, I ate a while ago,'� I said, jogging up the porch steps behind her.
'Oh, well then let me whip you up some of my famous brownies. Ash always keeps the ingredients over here. I cook dinner for him every Tuesday night, and I always make my brownies for dessert. Him and his crew come over and eat with us. It's their bonding time. Things are so hard for them over at the shop these days, they need a way to get their minds off of their troubles and to just enjoy life outside of the racetrack.'�
'That's really sweet of you, Mrs. Calloway,'� I said as we entered the house.
She smiled and began to rummage through Ash's cabinets for the ingredients. I studied her movement, so graceful and smooth. She was a very calm, cool, and relaxed person with a bubbly personality. I liked that so much about her. I even somewhat envied her. All my life I've been so paranoid or nervous, and easy to agitate. I've never known how to stand up for myself, or my beliefs, usually just keeping my sarcastic points of view to myself.
I noted how much Ruby's eyes got into her work, how they followed each movement precisely. I wondered what she was like when she was sad, or angry, or nervous. She just let out this jovial aura as if she didn't even know what a negative feeling or thought was.
In high school, my father wasn't too keen on me going out and about with friends. Not that I ever really had any, just a few acquaintances here and there. Of course I was asked out by a guy or two, and a short girl with pink highlights always sparked my interest as a companion, but she was what my mother would've called fast and my father called slut-stricken. Her name was Kara. She had a little mousy voice, and a lot of spunk. She did gymnastics and was rumored to be a part of the Junior Olympics team. She told me that all of that was a lie. It wasn't Junior Olympics it was Special Olympics because she had remained 4'11 on her 16th birthday and was a legal midget. 'But let them think what they want,'� she had said with a coy smile and a flick of her wrist.
Kara and I had hung out a few times here and there. After school I would make up excuses about having to go to the El Chico's restaurant at the mall for a Spanish assignment, or about how I needed to get some fabric for my interior design class, then meet Kara for latte's at the Starbucks located between both excuses. Mostly we talked about boys, and gossiped over girls who wore too much make-up, and freshmen who couldn't keep out of the way, and the new librarian who always had a stick up her butt when you returned overdue books. 'Like, hello, at least we didn't lose them, Platypus butt,'� Kara would say.
While on our secret rendezvous', I learned a lot about Kara that I found very titillating. She did aerobics in her older sister's used ballet costumes, she was in Britney Spears music video once, which a lot of people don't believe, but I downloaded a copy of the video from the internet and saw that it really was her swaying her hips on top of a couch that sat behind Britney while she rolled her belly in front of the camera. Kara had been captain of her old high school's dance team, and when she moved to Huntersville freshman year, was caught making out with the most popular girl in school's boyfriend's twin brother. Which, led to a lot of controversy because apparently the Most Popular Girl in School's boyfriend's twin brother was home schooled while the Most Popular Girl in School's boyfriend was not. Therefore, it was led to believe that Kara was shacking up with MPGS's boyfriend, which she wasn't, and got a whole lotta hell for it.
'The dumbasses wouldn't even take up for me,'� she had growled about MPGS's boyfriend's twin brother. My little escapades with Kara didn't last after junior year, though. The last I had hear from her was the summer of senior year while she was in Aruba on vacation. She never returned to Huntersville for 12th grade, and never got in touch with me when she came home. I just assumed she fell off the face of the earth. Or, you know, just moved far, far away where she couldn't afford long distance calls.
An hour later, Ruby was done with her brownies, and one bite sent me into a Heaven better than any Dove, Hershey, or Reese's commercial could've proclaimed. It was over my head how she got those savory morsels of chocolate to taste so good, but man did they hit they spot. With what was left of the day, Ruby pulled out some old baby pictures from Ash's closet. I was introduced to Uncle Beau, the most recent member of the Orange County Choppers and Aunt Mira, who was only 17 years old because of an 'accident'� with Ruby's husband's parents.
'But don't you worry,'� Ruby assured me. 'Cliff's momma did not deliver that child herself, nosiree. She put the curse on some poor twenty year old she'd met out in Cancun one year on a cruise.'�
'Oh my,'� I said.
'Oh my, indeed. But, all's well. Tammy, the Cancun native, ended up being a very dear friend of Ash's grandmother, and was more than willing to help out.'�
'So, Ash really has an aunt younger than him?'�
'Yep. Sure does.'�
'Wow.'�
'Amazing isn't it? Now, here's Cousin Jo Ellen'�'�

Chapter 5

'About my sister'�'�
Not five minutes after Ash's mother left me to finish off her sweet brownies, Ash came home. We were sitting at the dinner table eating Chinese food he had picked up after leaving the shop.
'I got a whole mess of things,'� he had said, placing a big plastic bag on the counter. 'So just take your pick.'�
I was currently savoring the honey-doused crabmeat as we began to discuss my living arrangements.
'She has vacated the premises of her apartment this week to visit our aunt in Thailand.'�
'You have an aunt in Thailand?'� I asked, dabbing my chin with a napkin.
'Yeah, by marriage. Our uncle met her on an overseas internship when he was in college, brought her home, and married her. He passed away a couple years back, but Jesse still visits Aunt Mauve once every year.'�
'That's so sweet of her.'�
'Yeah, she's a character, that one,'� he said before taking a sip of sweet tea. 'So, it looks like you'll be bunking here for a few more. I hope you're okay with that.'�
'I'm fine,'� I told him, though I was still unsure about it. Last night was one thing, but for the rest of the week?
'I just-'� he started saying. 'Maybe this,'� he said, making circles with his hands, indicating the two of us. 'Maybe this is what we need to get to know each other better.'�
His choice of words startled me, making it sound more like we were a couple in dire need of marriage counseling.
'Yes,'� I said licking my lips. 'You're right. We hardly know anything about each other.'�
'Well, I know you played ball. What else do you do?'�
'Well'�'� I began. 'I, um, I like to read. I like to take pictures. I was actually studying photography at Tennessee. I was hoping to get an internship at Teen Vogue or something over the summer to get my name and my work out there, should softball not work out for me, but, uh, obviously, that's not going to happen. Neither one of them.'�
'I'm sorry to hear that.'�
'Yeah.'�
It was quiet for a moment. Ash gnawed on his cheek while I bounced my foot around spastically underneath the table. I wasn't one for small talk. It made me feel weird. I always believed that a good, solid relationship hit it off right away, and that's how you could tell that two people really clicked. Obviously, Ash and I didn't have any real clickage going on.
I finished the last of my crabmeat and put my dishes in the sink, rinsing them thoroughly so I wouldn't have to scrub them clean the next day.
'I think I'm going to go up and shower.'�
'Look,'� Ash said abruptly, scooting his chair out loudly from underneath him. 'Uh, would you- do you want to go for lunch tomorrow?'�
'Wha'�Well, I-'�
'I know, it's a bit of a rush, but I figure the atmosphere would be much more normal, and more calming for you. I mean-'�
'Ash, that's very kind of you, but I, uh'�I have a boyfriend.'� Who I haven't talked to in two whole days.
He didn't say anything for a moment. Instead just fiddling with his thumbs, but then went on. 'Well, yeah, yeah. Of course you do. I just meant, you know. To get more acquainted.'� When he said these last couple of words he shoved his hand in his pocket, while the other one made two little circles, as if he were about to bow to me.
'Right,'� I said a little too loudly. 'Of course, I'm sorry. I'm just- I'm just really scatterbrained right now, and-'�
'Jade,'� he said softly, stepping a little bit closer to me. 'What's wrong? What happened to you?'�
I took a few steps back, always being the cautious one, even in the most harmless of circumstances. My breath was a little huffy, and I was taken aback, not knowing how to handle the situation. I wasn't ready to talk about it. Didn't I tell him that the other night? Why couldn't guys just understand women? And why, for the life of them, couldn't they remember these things? Did they not listen?
'Look, I told you last night, I'm not ready to talk about it.'�
'I know that's what you said, but- You'�'�
'Yes?'�
'You just-'�
'Yes?'�
'You're being weird'�about it.'�
'I'm what- I'm weird?'�
'No,'� he said instantaneously. 'You're not weird. You're just being weird.'�
'Okay, we've known each other all of two days and all of sudden you know enough about me to call me weird?'�
'Well,'� he said nodding his head enthusiastically. 'Yes. Yes I do.'�
Now I was the one gnawing on my cheek. 'Unbelievable. I'll be in the shower.'�
'Jade, wait.'�
'No,'� I said turning around, sticking a hand in front of his face. 'I've been waiting on guys for too long to pick up their messes, and I won't do it any longer,'� I said patting his chest.
'You see, and I have no idea what you're talking about because you won't talk to me.'�
'And why do you deserve to get talked to by me?'�
'Because I believe talking to be the foundation of a strong relationship.'�
'You what,'� I said jutting my chin out and putting my hands on my hips.
'I said, I believe talking is the-'�
'I know what you said, Casanova. But, what makes you think this is going to blossom into some kind of relationship?'�
'Well,'� he said moving his chin to the side. 'I'm your boss. That reason enough for ya?'�
'Ugh,'� I moaned, flicked my hair, and marched up the stairs.
'That's what I thought,'� he muttered. 'See you at Longhorns.'�
'What?'� I asked whipping around.
'It's a sponsorship thing.'�
'You're going to drag me along on a sponsorship gig and expect to become more acquainted with me at the same time?'�
'See you there,'� he said.
Apparently so.

····

I have been to many Longhorns in the 19 years I have been alive, and the one in Huntersville was dangerously close to my personal headquarters. Dad used to come here every other Wednesday with the Men's Bible Club from church, and today just happened to be one of those traditionally, special Wednesday's. Only, this day was special for other reasons. One, being that Ash was making a personal appearance to sign autographs and make some kind of speech to the media, who wasted no time in shoving their tape recorders up Ash's nose upon his arrival. Two, being that some lucky gal was having quite the birthday party as well.
'I'm finally legal,'� the girl shouted, jumping up onto her chair, making a demanding scene. Through all of the bouncing and gyrating, her hair fell off, and all that was left was a bunch of make-up and a buzz cut. I immediately grieved for her, thinking she must have some kind of illness. Cancer, alopecia?
'Brad,'� a hairy, bohemian-looking guy yelled in the girl's direction. 'Put your wig back on, you estrogen wannabe!'�
Well, that explains the wig.
And the buzz cut.
I cut through the birthday crowd, trying not to lose sight of Ash, who had already gotten caught up in the mix of screaming fans, autographing t-shirts, and answering press questions over his shoulder. The birthday bunch were increasingly getting rowdier, and another headache was thumping against my brain. Make that banging. I pinched my forehead with my index finger and thumb, trying to concentrate solely on the task at hand: becoming more acquainted with my boss.
I had stayed up to do lots of thinking last night. I was working for one of the elite in the sport of NASCAR, racing's finest (in more ways than one). All I had to do was clean up his house for a few months and along the way introduce the idea of possibly photographing him for a living. I had snuck into his office late last night to look up his website on his Dell latitude C600 Notebook. There were some very impressive pictures taken of him and his fans at the racetracks. My giddiness rose with each click of the 'next' button on the photo album. If I could get him to check out some of my work, maybe he could hook me up with someone who could give me an internship of some sort. Well, obviously not a 'real' internship, since I'm currently not enrolled in school, but some kind of training course. Maybe someone in the racing photography world owed Ash a favor, and maybe I could be that favor.
'Jade,'� someone yelled out, snapping me back to reality. 'Come on.'� It was Ash, waving me over to a table surrounded by frivolous fans.
As I approached the table, many a fourteen year-old girl welcomed me, more or less, with scathing facials. Every one of them sported some sort of Ash Callaway paraphernalia, whether it was a t-shirt, baseball cap, die-cast car, or baby bib. I had only lived in the NASCAR world going on three days now and already I was amazed at the apparel and memorabilia the sport festooned. Ever since running into Ash at the Ingles, I've noticed numerous 79 decals on the back of 4x4's, not to mention other numbers such as 8's, 9's, 24's, 99's, 11's, 31's, and so on.
'Ash, do you have a girlfriend?'� someone in the crowd yelled out.
'Is she your girlfriend?'� yelled another.
'People, people,'� a demanding female voice boomed over the massive crowd. An older, blonde woman began pushing and elbowing her way through the fans as if she owned the place. She wore black skinny pants that fit her perfectly in all the right places and a furry, black crossover sweater that made her look more chestier than what she probably really was. Along with her black ensemble, came her black Miu Miu Oversized Shield Sunglasses. Clearly, this lady was all about the label. Upon further inspection, I detected that those black skinnies were from none other than the Off 5th Saks Fifth Avenue store in the Concord Mills Outlet located thirty minutes from my house. I had seen those same exact pants on display on a visit back home three months ago, wishing so badly I had the greens to snag me a pair. 'People of the Club,'� she carried on. 'What is the first, and most important rule, of being an Ash Callaway Fan Club member?'�
There was an in sync response of different versions of not beleaguering Ash about his love life.
'That's what I thought,'� she said sternly.
'It's okay, Cybil,'� Ash reassured the woman in black. 'But, the answer is no,'� he announced to the crowd. 'I do not have a girlfriend.'�
'Ergo,'� Cybil continued. 'Miss'�'� She then looked at me questioningly, inquiring my name.
'Jade Granger,'� I answered.
'Ergo, Ms. Jade Granger is not Ash Callaway's romantic interest, lucky enough for you smoldering'� twenty-something's,'� she said, dismissing the crowd with a wave of her hand.
'Cybil,'� Ash said in a warning tone of voice.
'What?'� she pondered innocently. 'Okay, then. Single file, single file,'� she snapped, clapping her hands at the antsy horde of Ash Callaway fans. 'Hurry, hurry, so Mr. Callaway can get on with the session.'�
While the fans bustled about, trying to beat each other for the closest spot in line, Ash asked me, 'would you like to help me with these?'�
'With what?,'� I asked.
'The autographs.'�
'You want me to help you autograph?'� I asked quizzically.
'No, no,'� he chuckled. 'Some of the fans will have a lot of stuff. You can just take their things one-by-one and slide them over to me. You know, to keep a steady flow.'�
'Okay,'� I agreed.
'Also, here's a pair of scissors,'� he said laying them down next to my hand. 'Make sure you cut their wristbands off before I start signing them.'�
'Okay.'�
'You can multi-task, right,'� he asked.
'Of course.'�
'Good, because we're still on for getting more acquainted.'�

····

By the time the last ten or so fans were coming up to get their Ash Callaway memorabilia signed, I felt like I had known Ash forever. For instance, I knew that until Ash got into middle school he had always thought that Michael Jackson was a girl. His first kiss was given to him by a girl named Topanga, who moved to North Carolina from Sweden in the third grade. He didn't stop sucking his thumb until his seventh birthday exactly, and he was misdiagnosed with ADD two days after his thirteenth birthday.
'The doctors thought it was ADD,'� Ash told me. 'But really, I was just beginning to realize what becoming a woman meant.'�
'But, you're a guy,'� I stated confusedly.
'I know,'� he responded. 'Get it?'�
I twisted my mouth a bit, pondering what he had said. If he were a guy, realizing the becomings of a'�
'Oh'�'� I blurted out.
'Uh-huh,'� he said, nodding his head. 'Teachers couldn't keep my attention for more than two seconds,'� he said.
'But you seem so humble,'� I told him. 'You don't seem to me like the type of a guy to drool over a girls nunga's,'� I said, air-squeezing my breasts to emphasize the word nunga's.
Ash chuckled, then calmly reassured me that 'I was never disgustingly enthralled with a woman's body, so much as I was enthralled with my'�'� he trailed off a minute, contemplating his words. 'blossoming feelings for them, we'll say.'�
'Blossoming, what are you a girl?'�
'Haha,'� he laughed jokingly. 'So, what about yourself?'�
When I first met Ash, I never planned on telling him my whole life's story. I just took my position as a handsome man's housekeeper to be very fortuitous. I took a deep breath, as I often found myself doing these days before having to deliver some kind of stressful information, and told him everything. I told him that I was always a very bright and endearing child. At the age of seven, I was reading fifth grade level books. By the age of ten, I had been on my Rec League's All-Star team all four years I had been playing ball. I told him that the day I turned 12, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, and that when I was 13 I met an older boy who made me forget all about it.
'How much older?'� Ash asked.
I bit my lip, getting very uncomfortable and self-conscious in front of him. This next little bit was nothing I was proud of, and I began to worry that Ash would think much less of me if he knew about it. I contemplated telling him a lie, or only half the truth. But I sighed, thinking to myself that nobody had any use for liars.
'He was 16 at the time.'�
Instead of grimacing, like I assumed he would, Ash just nodded his head and allowed me to keep going. I continued with how I met the boy, Chase Abram, at a party one night, and he listened to my every complaint about my mom's sickness and how it was ruining my life. Chase's way of comforting me? A steady flow of Jack Daniels. With each sip, I began to loosen up more and more, confiding in him my every thought and feeling. I felt as if I could trust Chase Abram, that he could be my escape from all the madness and mayhem that was taking over my home. The more the words spilled out of my mouth, the more comfortable I got telling Ash my darkest secrets. I told him that every time I found something new to complain about, the closer Chase eased over to me. Before I could finish explaining how every second of my day centered around my mom, Chase's lips found mine, and suddenly I had forgotten all about my mother.
Chase told me that he was going to make everything feel better, and with each stroke of his hand against my arm, I believed him. I believed him as he unbuttoned my blouse, I believed him as he flirted with my bra straps, and I believed him as he laid me down on someone's old, smelly couch. It wasn't exactly how I pictured my first time, but at that moment, I felt that it was close enough.
When I was threw confiding in Ash, my eyes began to burn. I had only blinked three times during the whole story, and when I blinked again, my eyes began to tear, but not because they were trying to moisten up again. The tears just came, and kept coming. Most of the fans had left, but a few of the girls hung around to catch Ash when he left the restaurant.
'Come on,'� he told me, taking my arm ever so gently, leading me out the restaurant, and kindly dismissing the fans who had stuck around. I felt like such a child. I thought I had grown to be stronger than this, and here I was making a scene in front of my boss. I felt embarrassed, like a stupid girl who couldn't keep her wits together, someone who craved attention so much they would do anything. Like cry in front of their boss who just happened to be a millionaire race car driver.
'I'm sorry,'� I said, pulling my elbow from his grip, but he only latched on to my arms after I tried to walk away.
'Look at me,'� he said. But I couldn't. I felt like an idiot. I shouldn't have told him. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel sorry for me. I had had enough of people feeling sorry for me for one lifetime. 'Jade, please.'� He titled my chin up, but I still refused to look into his eyes. 'Jade,'� he pressed.
'I don't need your sympathy,'� I said, jerking away, furiously wiping the tears from my eyes with the base of my palms. He reached out for my arm again, but I pulled away before he could grab me. I was threw with this. I didn't have to stand around and be pitied. I certainly wasn't going to let some guy I barely even knew lure me into any sympathy traps. I was better than that. I didn't need a man to make me feel good about myself. I could do it on my own.
At the same time I started walking away, two things happened. The birthday group stumbled out, drunk as a bunch of sailors, and my father pulled up with his Bible buddies for their traditional Wedensday dinner. I stopped dead in my tracks, ramming my hip into a green newspaper stand carrying The New York Times. If I didn't run back into Ash's arms quick or pull something drastic, I was going to be in deep doo-doo. Thankfully, but not fortunately, the birthday boy was still in drag, wearing his black, tangled up wig out to his party's car. Before he had a chance to step off the sidewalk, though, I yanked the ratty thing off his head and slapped it down on mine. A wig alone wouldn't disguise me, however. I needed something big to cover my face. Digging spastically through my purse, I found my American Eagle sunglasses that covered half my face. This ought to do it, I thought, turning back around to face my father. While all of this was going on, the birthday boy stared at me incredulously, like I had just lost my mind, which, at the time, I certainly would've believed it had I been someone else. Say, Ash, maybe?
'Woot!'� I yelled ecstatically. 'He's finally legal,'� I shouted in my dad's face as if it were the best thing in the world. He looked at me like he had 'piss off'� stamped on his forehead, but I screamed and hollered a little more. Never in his life would his little girl be gyrating like an idiot-savant out in the middle of a Longhorn's parking lot, no sir. I waited for my father to make his way well into the restaurant before jerking off my masquerade. 'Here,'� I said breathlessly, flopping the wig back onto the birthday boy's head. He stared at it with a dumbfounded expression before saying, 'That was awesome, dude! I had no idea you were that excited for me. And I don't even know you!'�
'Yeah,'� I whispered, dismissing him, and headed off to Ash's car, who looked at me as if I were wearing a toga coupled with a Free Paris t-shirt.
'What was that,'� he asked, falling into step beside me.
'Nothing, let's just go home.'�
As Ash backed his Viper out of his parking spot, I tried searching for my father in the restaurant. When I spotted him, he was smiling up at the waitress ordering a round of beer for him and the boys. I glanced at the windshield then averted my eyes back to my dad. He was squinting through the glass windows from his table on the other side of the restaurant, looking directly at me.

Chapter 6

I thought that maybe I should call Jason. So, when Ash and I arrived at his house, I bolted up the stairs to the guest bedroom, locked the door, and collapsed on my bed, yanked my cell phone out of my jacket pocket, and zealously dialed Jason's number, all in total teenaged fashion. Jason would want to know where I am. He'd most likely know where I'm not. And he'd demand valid information, because either he was eerily psychic, or knew in the tone of someone's voice when they were lying, no matter how good at it they were. With each ring, I debated hanging up on him, but he wouldn't like that too much. Besides, he deserved a call from me. So did my father, but that was a different route I would have to take later on. Much later on.
'Where the hell are you?'� a voice boomed over the telephone.
The words were tangled up in my tonsels, not being able to squeeze their way through my lips.
'Jade,'� the voice boomed. 'I know it's you. Say something.'�
Okay, this wasn't as easy as I thought it was going to be. Before I knew it, my phone was chucked to the other end of the room, closing as it toppled towards the door. Not a second later it began buzzing. A chill ran through my back. I really shouldn't have done that. I mean, I know I said that I shouldn't have told Ash my whole life's story, but, I really, really shouldn't have done what I just did. I relaxed a bit as the vibrating stopped, but two seconds later it started up again. Steadily, I walked over to the phone, picked it up gently, and seriously reconsidered answering the call. I couldn't, though. I just couldn't. I needed some more time to think. I needed some more time to figure out where to go from here. I had already mapped out the next decade of my life. What with the NASCAR photography and all. I couldn't give up on that yet. It may be the only way my dad would reconsider putting me back on the family tree.
I decided that I needed some air. I walked over to the window and opened it up gracefully, as if I were the daughter of some British general high up in government, welcoming a new day that offered new beginnings and fresh starts. I sat on the windowsill, taking in Ruby's flowers and Ash's Nicole Kidman swans. There was a swing underneath one of the trees out by the pond that I hadn't noticed before. It was a beautiful picture; a lovely backyard setting. I grabbed my camera off the nightstand and began clicking away at the scenery. In Jade Granger's Life Magazine the front cover would be painted with Ash's backyard, the headline reading: 'Deprecated Volunteer's Softball Player Finds Peace and New Beginnings In Home of Famous Racecar Driver.'�
Lowering the camera from my eye, I studied the setting a moment more before taking one last snapshot. A window's breath of fresh air wasn't enough to satisfy my lungs, so I took off down the stairs, out the door, and to the swing, where I sat down and rocked myself to hypnotization. The birdsong was so comforting and peaceful. I imagined myself floating on my back in the cool water, sleeping to the chirps and whistles of the birds. I stood up, the world feeling upside down as I tried to right myself before walking to the edge of the pond. As I stood there, I played with the antenna of my phone, dangling it over the water, then letting it slip from my grasp, a few sprinkles of water hitting my toes from the splash.
'Did you just drop your phone in my pond?'� someone said from behind me.
I turned my head slightly, resting my chin on my shoulder. Ash jogged up next to me, his eyes confused and dilated. 'Let it go is more what I did.'�
I rolled my neck around, releasing the air from my bones, popping noises fleeing from my joints.
'Well, aren't you going to get it?'� he asked, taking a step forward.
'Now, why would I do that?'�
'Um, because you kind of might need it in the near future.'�
'Who says?'�
'Well, what if I need to get in touch with you this weekend while I'm at the race?'�
'Don't I get any off days?'�
'Yes, you get off days,'� he said irksomely. 'You just-'�
'I just what?'�
He paused a moment, biting his lower lip, then went on. 'I don't know if this is going to work out,'� he mumbled.
'What? What are you talking about? What do you mean?'�
I grabbed his elbow in a demanding fashion. His eyes shot to my fingers pulling on his blue sweater. It looked nice on him, matching his crystal eyes perfectly.
'Look, you're a beautiful girl with amazing talents-'�
'How do you know,'� I asked irritatingly. I pulled away from him and pivoted on my heel, crossing my arms as a means of self-protection. 'You've never seen me play ball or seen any of my pictures.'�
'And, see,'� he said, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. 'That's what I'm talking about. You're unnecessarily haughty.'�
'What?'� I shouted.
'Every time I try to get close to you, you push me away.'� When he said push, he stepped in front of me and gave my shoulders a little thrust. I dropped my arms, stepping backwards defensively. 'Right when I think things are going fine, suddenly they're not. I understand if you want to be in control, but you can't just open up to me and then shut down.'�
'I'll do whatever I damn well please, Ash.'�
'You're like that annoying little restaurant,'� he continued, ignoring my words. 'You're open when I don't have time to eat there, and you're closed when I want it so bad it hurts.'�
'Are you sure that's a good analogy to be using?'� I asked, somewhat uncomfortably, but not enough to where I allowed it to show.
'I value relationships, Jade,'� he said, grabbing hold of my arms and staring me hard in the eyes. I stood stock still, my bottom lip quivering. 'You know,'� he said finally releasing me. 'It's like we've traded places or something. When I first met you at the Ingles, you were the last person I would've considered hiring. You looked like just the type of person who only wanted the job because of who I was. When I found out you didn't have a clue about me, I was relieved. And it was the only reason I let you stick around. I thought I could have a real relationship with you, don't you understand? You were that much more appealing to me because you were so damn clueless.'�
A drop of rain splattered on my hand. I sucked it off, immediately lowering myself to that degrading level of hopelessness. I hadn't thought of how hard I was making things for Ash. I pushed him into hiring me, only for me to clam up and disallow myself to get close to him. I stumbled over an 'I'm sorry,'� and walked around him to sit back down on the swing. He joined me, and placed a hand on my knee, only to jerk it away when my eyes gave him my undivided attention. Did I want more from him? Was I just scared of becoming close to someone I didn't know because I didn't trust them yet? I replaced his hand back on my knee, not letting go of his fingers until his eyes found mine. He stared at his hand for a moment, and I wondered what in hell I was doing. He traced my knee with his index finger. It tickled, but somehow I wasn't able to laugh. He cupped my knee in his hand and scattered his eyes rapidly over my body. When they found my face, my breathing actually steadied. I actually felt calm and comfortable, like anything that happened next would be completely fine with me. Then, I kissed him. It was a quick peck on the lips, but a lingering one, with only a finger space between us afterwards. He kissed me back. His lips were soft, and not too eager. It was just right. He cupped his hands around the base of my head and came in closer. Why was it that I felt more protected in Ash's arms than in Jason's?

····

Thursday, around lunch, Ash headed off for Daytona. All he had been able to talk about that morning was the race. I could see it in his eyes, the way his hands trembled, the way he couldn't stop moving or fidgetting, that he was excited about Sunday. Carter had come back Wedensday at around midnight. We had stayed up and played some Knock Poker before finally moping off to bed. I had actually felt like I belonged with them. The kiss, however, had yet to be discussed. Of course Carter didn't know, unless Ash told him. Which I doubt he did. But Carter did look at me kind of funny Thursday morning while we were gathered around the table eating Cheerios and watching Comedy Central.
'I'll leave my phone here for you,'� Ash had told me before walking out the door, not exactly meeting my gaze. 'Call me on this number.'� He scribbled some digits down onto a notepad and stuck it on the fridge. 'It's Brandon's.'� He looked at me, leaning in just a little bit, then stopped, smiled, and walked to the door. 'Good-bye,'� he said before stepping outside.
Stifling a smile, I responded, 'bye.'� Then watched him and Carter pull out the driveway. It dawned on me then, that I was left with that mangy mutt Ash liked to call a pet. Mine and Dexter's relationship had not progressed in a positive fashion. It had died completely, if anything. He still peed on the floor, sending me flying to the pantry for carpet cleaner, and he had actually thrown up on my shoes, yet again, after Ash left. 'Okay, now you're just doing it for fun, you sick mutt.'� He growled at me after that.
I wasn't worried about the dog anymore, though. I wasn't even worrying about the kiss Ash and I had shared. My mind scraped along the edges of my expulsion from Tennessee. I didn't have to sneak into Ash's office anymore now that he was gone. So, I helped myself to his laptop, nibbling on a stick of cheese as I browsed through the sports pages. I needed to stomach my situation. The only way to do that was to read the news.

Top Tennesse Pitcher Tanks Championship Hopes

Volunteer's Star, Jade Granger, Drinks Away Hopes of Championship Title

Granger Expelled From UT After Night Out on the Town

Jade Granger of the Tennesse Volunteers struggled to keep her wits together Sunday afternoon during the National Championship game. As the star pitcher, Granger was carrying the weight of her teammates hopes for their first title in nearly four years. Granger had showed major promise since her freshman year, especially after her no-hitter performance this past season after teammate Miranda Sanchez suffered a broken arm, but this afternoon she failed to contain the pressure to perform. Last night, Granger was seen by her boyfriend Jason Foster, the Volunteer's leading quarterback in football, at The Grange, a fast paced dance club. He had this to say on his girlfriend's motives for being at the club:

'I knew she was planning on going to the club that night, and I told her not to go, that it probably wasn't in her best interest. What with the championships being the next day and all. She didn't listen, though. She just wanted to have a good time. Too much of good time.'�

'Son of a-'�
Ash's phone set off in a high-pitched trill of salsa music.
'Hello,'� I answered a little too angrily.
'Who is this?'�
'I'm Jade, Ash Callaway's housekeeper.'�
I bit my lip, silently cursing myself for being so impatiently rude to the person on the other line.
'Puh!,'� the girl shouted, laughing so hard I had to pull the phone away from my ear.
'Um,'� I began, but she cut me off.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just'�God, a housekeeper. He has a housekeeper, now?'� More laughing followed.
'Yes, um, may I ask who's calling?'�
'Yeah, this is Mira.'� I caught my breath. 'I'm Ash's youngest aunt. How do you do?'�
'Oh, hi,'� I said, surprised at who I was talking to. 'Yeah, Ruby told me all about you. I saw your pictures.'�
'Oh, Gawd, she showed you those ugly 'ole things?'�
'Yeah,'� I said, not knowing exactly how I should respond.
'Look,'� she continued. 'I just need to come over and get a roll of film real quick. I left some there by accident the last time I visited Ash, and I'm supposed to catch a flight to Daytona in about twenty minutes. I'm more than positive that I'm going to miss it.'�
'Okay, yeah, sure. Come on over.'�
'Okay, thanks, girl. I'll be over in a snap,'� She hung up the phone, and I swear I actually heard her snap.
I resumed studying over articles on my expulsion, each one adding more coal to the burning fire in my stomach. I felt sick. I was half surprised that my dad hadn't contacted Mel to see if she knew where I had gone. I was half surprised he hadn't sent out a search warrant. I started thinking that maybe I should call him in case he got any crazy ideas. I decided I would phone Mel. She had planned to come home for a week before school started back up. Maybe I could get her to cover for me.
'Hello,'� she answered.
'Mel,'� I whispered. 'It's Jade.'�
'Jade, hi! Whose phone are you calling from?'�
'Look, about that. I'm not really at home.'�
'Oh. Well, where are you?'�
'No, Mel. I mean, I haven't been home yet. I kind of never went.'�
There was a moment's pause. I imagined Mel perched on her pink fuzzy comforter, her head cocked to the side, biting on her lip, contemplating this bit of information. 'So, where are you?'�
'Well, it's kind of a funny story. You see, I was at the Ingles getting milk for my dad before I headed home and ran into this guy who needed help keeping up his house, and I took the job. So, now I'm here living with him. I know it sounds crazy and ridiculous, but-'�
'Whoa, whoa, whoa,'� she said. 'You're living with some dude you don't even know?'�
'Well, it's not exactly like that. I mean, I don't know him. Well, I do now. In fact, I know him very well now. Well, not well, well, as in, I've-known-him-all-my-life well, but you know, I've gotten to know him. And my dad knows him a little'�kind of.'�
The line went silent. Now, I could see her furrowed eyebrows, her lip raised, thinking that either I had lost my mind or she was in dire need of Starbucks.
'Mmkay, you're not making any sense,'� she said.
'Okay, look,'� I sighed. 'The guy I'm living with is my dad's favorite race car driver. You know, Ash Callaway, the one you saw on TV that one time and about died over.'�
'Oh my God!'� she yelled. I could see her clasping her hand over her mouth so hard that it put a red ring around her lips. She was probably wiping strawberry flavored Lipsmackers lipgloss off her fingers right now. 'He's'�he's so'�omigosh.'�
'Yep, that's the one.'�
'You get to live with that?'� she yelled.
'Yeah, I do,'� I said, a smile slowly creeping through my lips.
'So do you do it?'�
'Melissa!'�
'I'm just asking. I know I would.'�
'Whatever, you couldn't pick your jaw up off the floor long enough for him to kiss you.'�
'Puh-lease'�.'�
'Anyways,'� I said shaking my head. 'I need you to do me a favor.'�
'Anything you want, as long as I get some of Ash Callaway.'�
'Okay, fine,'� I said before thinking. 'I just'�I just need you to agree with my dad that I'm staying over at your place for a while in case he tries to contact you. You know, to figure things out.'�
'You what- You want me lie to your father? What, do you want me to get a chainsaw to my ass?'�
'He's not going to come at you with a chainsaw, Mel.'�
'Oh, yeah? You think I'm stupid? I've seen his temper. I've seen that chainsaw he keeps in his shed.'�
'Okay, A),'� I began, nicking off a finger. 'You make him out to be some kind of child abuser, which he's not. And, B) that chainsaw is from his Leatherface Halloween costume from two years ago. It's not even real. In fact, it's made of plastic, and a little bit of rubber.'�
'Oh,'� she said, somewhat relieved. 'I knew that.'�
'Right. Anyways, would you please do me this favor? I could really use the help.'�
'Honey, if this favor means getting you hooked up with a hottie like Ash I will do all the favors you want.'�
'Thanks Mel.'�
'You're welcome.'�
I kept the phone hovering over my ear, sensing that she really wasn't about to hang up.
'And Jade?'�
'Yeah?'�
'I went to The Grange. I asked some people, mostly bartenders, if they served you that night.'�
'And?'�
'There was this one bartender. He'�he had crazy, wild hair. It was brown, curly, frizzy. When I questioned him about you he just'�I don't know, he just'�got all weird on me. Like, he knew something, but wasn't telling me.'�

····

I set down Ash's phone, my eyes glazed over, barely blinking. Mira was due any second. I could feel the tension between us already. She pulled up into the driveway, but I couldn't watch her get out and come to the door. Instead, I sat on the couch and pretended to watch a Jay Leno re-run. I heard heels clicking up the steps. There was a pause, a moment of hesitation. She must have felt it too, that cold wall stuck between us. I hadn't seen her in years. I wondered why she changed her name. Those pictures that Ruby had showed me of the family, they were shocking, mind-blowing. I raised myself, clutching a glass of iced water. Walking over to the door, I tried to picture her reaction. What would she look like? Black hair, pink highlights still? Or maybe a more classy, mature look? It was hard to tell. Apparently, she wasn't really who she said she was at school. She was a made up character in a sitcom whose name was the title of the show. Like Reba, According to Jim, The Cosby Show.
The blinds were closed over the window on the door. I touched the doorknob, my eager fingers telling me I would have to face her sooner or later. She was digging through her purse when I finally opened the door. She wore jeans and a t-shirt that said 'Keep It Clean'�