Page 63 of The Backtrack
There was a long electric guitar intro, but Sam knew the opening to “The Curse of Curves” by Cute Is What We Aim For from just about anywhere. She’d had more than a crush on the dreamy lead singer, with his shoulder-length hair and square jaw as he sang about being a charming guy who wanted to sleep with a girl he thought was hot.
Lust. A song about pure and unadulterated lust. Something she and Damon had in the present as well. So this would likely be another glimpse of how right they were for each other, which was exactly the kind of reassurance Sam needed.
Sam closed her eyes and there was the usualwhooshas she traveled from the real world to the alternate one. When she was able to catch her breath, there was cold metal beneath her, and she shivered as an equally icy blast of AC shot down from a vent above. It was the smell, though—sugary artificial vanilla—that immediately told her everything she needed to know.
Mermaid’s Ice Cream had been Sam’s after-school job starting at the age of fourteen. Drizzling hot fudge over banana splits to earn spending money and, later, help pay for school expenses.
The Scenes of Tybee calendar on the wall marked the month of July of 2010, the summer before Sam started flight school. When Sam took the headphones off, “The Curse of Curves” hummed out from the speakers in the store.
The click of a lock made Sam turn, and she watched as Alt-Sam pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and flipped the Open sign to Closed. She went behind the counter and readjusted her skinny scarf before she grabbed a wet rag and began the process of wiping the counters. Then she took a spray bottle and spritzed the glass display window.
Well, she supposed not all of her visions could be momentous. But “The Curse of Curves” was such a specific song. And where was Damon?
Her thoughts were interrupted when a random guy came out of the back storeroom. His face was obscured by enormous containers of ice cream, and Sam stood to try to get a good look at him. As she did, he set the two bins down on the floor and stretched out his arms.
Myles. The rude jock who was now friends with Damon in the real world. What the hell was he doing there? Sam had never worked with him.
“Hey, boss, you ready to let the dogs out?” He gave Alt-Sam a kind of amused smirk that Sam didn’t much like the look of. He tugged on the collar of his Hollister shirt as he waited for a response, then added, “That’s a quote fromThe Hangover.”
“I’m not your boss,” Alt-Sam replied while she wiped down the glass with a paper towel. “And that movie was lame.”
“It was not lame. A movie about a vampire and a dog is lame.” Myles reached into the cooler to remove a mostly empty tub of ice cream.
“If you’re talking about theTwilightmovies, there’s no dog. Jacob is a shapeshifter who can become a wolf. There’s a difference.”
“You heard yourself, right?” Myles hefted in the new tub. “If you’re not my boss, then why do you take 60 percent of the tips?”
“That’s my fee for training and, in general, putting up with you.”
Clever girl, Sam thought. But also, where was Damon? Why was she being shown this vision if he wasn’t even here?
“Because you’re my boss.” He gave the same cocky smirk she remembered from the bar. “I really need the money before going to Emory.”
Alt-Sam shrugged as she crumpled up the paper towel and deftly tossed it into the trash can. “I hate hauling those ice cream bins. So keep up the grunt work.”
So Myles the asshat had gotten into Emory University, and Sam was training him? Well, that was certainly different.
Alt-Sam blew out a long breath as she counted out her tips. Myles watched and licked his lips. If Sam didn’t know any better, she’d say his eyes were appraising Alt-Sam.
Then Myles grabbed a can of whipped cream from the back counter, shook the bottle and sprayed it into his open mouth. Alt-Sam turned and gawked. “What the hell, Myles?”
“It’s good,” he said through a full mouth of whipped cream. “Give it a try.”
“I’m not guzzling whipped cream like some frat boy,” Alt-Sam said. “And we’re going to have to throw that out.” But she turned to Myles, all the same, and watched him.
“Might as well enjoy it, then.” Myles shrugged and sprayed more into his mouth. Then, without warning, he sprayed some of the whipped cream at Alt-Sam.
Alt-Sam held her hands up in defense and let out a surprised holler. Myles laughed. Then Alt-Sam quickly grabbed a cup of sprinkles and launched them at Myles like rainbow confetti.
“Oh, is that how we’re playing it, then?” Myles pointed the whipped cream at her, and she grabbed a cup of shredded coconut. They held their weapons, waiting for one of them to move first.
Myles bit his bottom lip, and Alt-Sam couldn’t hide the tight smile that crossed hers.
“You aren’t, like,friendswith this jerk, right?” Sam asked.
As she waited for the answer that would never come, there was a tap on the front door. They all turned, and there was Damon with an uneasy expression.
Alt-Sam looked surprised, but quickly recovered and grinned back. She glanced at Myles, whose expression turned stoic as he eyed the door.
