Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [133]
“Oh, yeah, right!” Jenny rolled her expressive eyes. Along with the black turtleneck sweater, she was dressed in tight black jeans. A huge belt with a gold buckle accentuated her tiny waist. She straightened the buckle, then reached into her top drawer and pulled out a few bills from a jewelry case she kept beneath her bras. Her secret stash of money—over two hundred dollars that she’d saved from her allowance. Tucking the bills into a pocket, she said, “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘three’s a crowd’? Kevin and I don’t need a baby-sitter, if ya know what I mean.”
Becca got it all right. But it bugged her. “So what am I supposed to say if your mom comes in?”
“I don’t know. That…that I got restless and went out to take a walk, or to get something to eat, or something. Anything but that I’m with Kevin, okay? Mom would probably have a coronary, right here in the middle of the room. She thinks Kevin is a…wait a minute, I think the direct quote is, ‘a low-life punk who’s probably on drugs and will never get anywhere.’”
Jenny wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips in an impression of her mother’s persnickety expression that was dead on. Becca couldn’t help but giggle.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Okay?”
It wasn’t, but Becca muttered, “I guess.”
“Good. Tomorrow we’ll go to the mall, I promise.”
Becca hated the mall.
Biting her lip nervously, Jenny carried her black shoes in her hands, and Becca slid lower in the bed. “Here.” Jenny picked up the remote control that had been left between the brushes and CDs on her dresser, then tossed it to Becca. “You can watch Letterman.” Opening the door a crack, she gnawed on her lip and scouted the hallway; then, with one final glance at her cousin, she slipped through the opening, closed the door softly behind her, and slid noiselessly down the hall.
Becca was sweating. She strained to hear any sound through the open window. A cat mewed quietly from a hiding spot in the backyard, a few cars passed on the road in front of the house, and far away a horn honked. Then she heard it, the sound of an engine turning over as Jenny, who always parked her Jetta on the street, started the car and, without the tiniest squeak of tires, took off.
Becca ran to the window and peered through the slats of the blinds in time to see the red taillights of the Jetta disappear around the corner. The night was eerie, blue light from the streetlamps glowing through the palm-tree fronds and branches of the grapefruit trees that shaded the garage. Becca’s heart was thudding, pounding so loudly she was certain Aunt Connie, three doors down, could hear it.
Swallowing hard, Becca wondered why she’d ever wanted to come here. At this moment she hated L.A. and couldn’t help but feel alone, betrayed, and abandoned. Jenny was a turd, and Aunt Connie and Uncle Jim acted funny, always asking her questions about her life in Idaho, about her mother, about how she felt about living so far away, about how her mother spent their money. There had been a few quiet inquiries into her mother’s health and job, and Becca got the feeling something was up—something she might not like. When she’d asked Jenny about it, her cousin had just shrugged.
“They’re always uptight, and with Grandpa in the nursing home, it’s been worse. They’re gonna drag you to see him, you know, because he’s about a goner and they’re all worried about his will. Something about trust funds, I don’t really get it.” She’d rolled her eyes and gone back to filing her nails.
Now, Jenny and her Jetta were long gone, and Becca turned away from the window to flop down on the bed and fight the stupid feeling that she was going to cry. Here in L.A., where she was supposed to be having so much fun, she felt miserably alone. And scared. If Aunt Connie found out that Jenny’d taken