Page 17 of The Love Interest
I smile as I pick up the first book, a copy ofThe MartianI’ve read at least five times. I go through the pile and find a lot of the books I found refuge in when things got bad at the LIC:Ready Player One,Neuromancer, andDune. These books helped me get through some pretty terrible stuff, and it’s only now that I’m out that I’ve realized how attached to them I am. They’re all a part of me, and these copies, the exact ones I read at the LIC, are the copies I want on my shelf for the rest of my life.
Caden, can you hear me?
Sure can. And Kaylee, thanks for the books. They’re… They mean a lot to me.
I know! You told me you like sci-fi, and I keep track of these things.
Still, I think you should take them back. I’m out now, so I don’t need them as much as the guys who are still there. Yeah, you should definitely take them back.
Nonsense, Caden. If you care that much, I’ll make sure there are new copies for the library. But those books are yours now. Anyway, what do you think of the place?
I glance around my room.I freaking love it.
That’s great! Now, your school uniform is in the closet. Shower, shave, and get yourself ready. Have you memorized the script?
Not yet, but I’m working on it.
Good. Now get ready. Make yourself pretty for your girl!
I open the closet, revealing a chest of drawers and silver coat hangers. Hanging from them are five short-sleeved white shirts with a navy logo in the middle. Then there’s an assortment of button-downs, some plain and therefore wearable, but there’s a lot of plaid. Oh my God, so much plaid. Next are two suit jackets, one black, one navy. Finally, there’s a black cotton T-shirt with a familiar green label on the chest.
Starbucks? What’s that doing here?
Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I got you a job. How good are you at making coffee?
Um, I’m probably the worst coffee maker in history. I’ve never tried! I didn’t even think to learn, but obviously I should’ve. I…
Don’t stress, Caden. It doesn’t matter that much. I got your “mom” to act like a concerned parent who wants to give you a reason to get out of the house after school. The manager there’s a good guy, so he’s given you a few trial shifts. Most important, Juliet goes there every single day after school, so you’ll get a lot of extra time with her. Also, it’ll make you seem responsible, which is a big thing for Nices. Your first shift is tonight. But aside from that, what do you think of the rest of the clothes? I tried to pick things I thought you’d like.
I run my hands through the clothes. Not one item is sky blue. I’m not sure how she knows me well enough to guess what kind of clothes I like to wear, or why she thinks I’m plaid’s biggest fan, but I’m grateful Kaylee took the time to say something nice. If she likes me, maybe she’ll put more effort into keeping me alive.
They’re great. Thanks so much.
No worries. Now get dressed like a big boy; I’m sure you can figure out the school uniform. I’m out!
I pull a short-sleeved dress shirt from its hanger, and then grab a white undershirt and a pair of long gray slacks. I take a pair of undies, gray Calvin Kleins with a white waistband, from the pile and make my way out into the hall.
In the hallway, Dad scratches his bloated, hairy stomach.Gross.
“Know your place,” he says. “And we won’t have a problem.”
He pushes past me, bringing with him the sharp stale scent of body odor. He walks into the bathroom and kicks the door closed behind him. A certifiable army of insults to hurl at him swarms my mind, but I force them down. He’s big and probably violent, but I’m strong, I know I am. I can handle him. Not that it would ever get to that point, because I can’t ever challenge him.
A Nice would silently go back to his room and wait. So that’s what I do.
Once I’m in my room, I place the bundled-up pile of clothes on the end of the bed and turn on the computer. It’s a laptop, sleek and gray and awesome. It boots up. I open Google and stare at the search box. It looks like I could search for anything, but I know my searches will be monitored. I have to make sure I never search for anything that could get me in trouble.
I open the desk drawer and find that it’s filled with gadgets. I pick up a phone, a Samsung, and tuck it into my pocket. Underneath a bundle of cords is an iPod in a blue case. It must be there so I can listen to the music that Juliet likes, but I’ll probably be able to load some of my own music—including, of course, Nicki Minaj’s entire discography—onto it. It’s been a while since I’ve had a headphones-in listening session in my room, so I should have one soon. Plus, like always, applying her words to my life will let me steal a little bit of her behemoth self-confidence, and confidence is what I need if I’m going to win this thing.
The toilet flushes and the bathroom door swings open. Dad walks out, still scratching his gut. It’s covered in little white flakes of God knows what. I scoop my clothes up and walk in after him.
The stench hits, so thick I can taste it. My eyes water and I cough and gag.
Harsh male laughter sounds down the hall. There’s a pause, and a woman’s follows suit, a high-pitched cackle.
I slam the door closed. Worried the stench will infect my clothes, I reopen the door and throw them into my room. Then I undress and step into the shower. A limp stream of lukewarm water trickles over my body. I squirt a splash of body wash onto my hand and rub it into my chest, creating a foamy white lather. Lifting my arms, I rub it into my armpits. I squint, marveling at the hairlessness of my underarms. Apparently, a Nice is not allowed any body hair at all.
The smell of the neon-blue gel, slightly like fruit punch but mainly like chemicals, fills my nostrils, covering the stench of shit. I tilt my head back and let the water run through my hair and down over my face. It feels pleasant, warm, and slightly refreshing.
