My Tiki Girl by Jennifer McMahon

Author:Jennifer McMahon [McMahon, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2011-11-27T22:03:21+00:00

“So do we have a name for this band or what?” Troy asks. Practice is over and we’re sitting on the couch eating chips and salsa.

“Don’t know yet,” Dahlia says. “Anyone got any ideas?” She looks right at me when she asks, like I’m the only one who matters. Having her and Albert together in the same room makes me painfully aware of just how stupid it was that I ever went out with him. I never felt anything even close to what I feel for Dahlia when I was with him. I was just going through the motions.

If I ever had any doubts, they’re gone now. I am in love with Dahlia Wainwright. Watching her here with Albert and Troy just makes the whole thing worse. Loving her actually kind of hurts.

“I’ve got an idea,” Troy says, jumping up. “Come on, we’ve gotta go to my room.”

We follow him upstairs, practically running through the living room, where we lose him around a corner. Without thinking, I lead the way through the front hall, up the stairs, and down a long, carpeted corridor and take Dahlia to the last door on the left.

She gives me a puzzled look and says, “Let me guess, you’ve been here before?”

I shrug.

“You’re just full of surprises, LaSamba, aren’t you?”

Troy’s bedroom hasn’t changed at all since last time I was here. It’s huge, with a set of weights and a bench in the corner, a stereo that would make any music lover drool, his own wide-screen TV, posters of Jimi Hendrix on the wall. There’s a massive oak desk that seems to be just a place to throw dirty clothes. Troy pushes some of these aside and pulls out his Magic 8 Ball, which Sukie gave him for his birthday two years ago. It’s just too weird to be here again like this, Dahlia by my side while Troy shakes the very same oracle that once told Sukie she and Troy were going to get married one day.

“Shout out a possible name,” Troy says.

Albert laughs. “Alternate Universe,” he says.

Maybe that’s where I am now, I think.

Troy gives the ball a shake, then reads, “Very doubtful.”

Dahlia’s looking around, taking everything in, when all of a sudden her eyes get huge and pissed-off-looking. I follow her gaze. There, draped over the weight bench, is a rubber devil mask.

“You,” she says accusingly to Troy. “It was you guys who followed us last night in those dumb masks.”

Troy shrugs. “Just a couple devils out looking for a good time.”

“Kind of twisted, Farnham,” she says.

“No more twisted than killing poor innocent garden gnomes,” he says, reminding her of her own crime.

She turns away from him, pulls a cigarette out from her bag, and digs around in there for a lighter. She’s taking everything out and setting it on Troy’s unmade bed. Cigarettes, pens, lipstick, licorice allsorts, the little scissors. She pulls out one of her notebooks and gives it a shake, like a book of matches might be hiding in there.

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