“Just call me Picasso.”
“Atta girl.”
Two hours later, I’ve gotten food tickets that’ll last me a month from Roy—an unexpected bonus—and the rundown from Jada, Roy’s youngest daughter, on the ins and outs of the face-painting booth. It’s all pretty straightforward. She lets me know that we’ll split the days in half with me taking on the mornings, then orders me to practice a couple designs on her. She’s bossy for a fifteen-year-old.
I’m mid-unicorn when a shadow falls over the booth. I look up to find Sebastian staring down at me, his face set in a hard line.
“You’re blocking my light,” I complain. Jada goes stiff, seemingly shocked by his presence.
“Next time you take off, leave a fucking note.”
“Jesus, Sebastian. You’re not my father.”
“You’re right. Your father wouldn’t even notice if you were missing. Leave a note.”
Ouch. Set myself up for that one. I roll my eyes, playing it off. “Aye aye, captain,” I say with a salute that he doesn’t find funny.
He slaps a palm down onto the booth, leaving a piece of paper before turning to walk away without a word. I pick it up, turning it over to find a phone number. Does Sebastian have a cell phone? I don’t know why the thought surprises me. I’ve never seen him with one. He’s like an eighty-year-old in a twenty-two-year-old package. I stuff the number inside my bra, deciding to program it into my phone once I get back to the trailer.
“What?” I ask Jada who’s gaping at me like a fish.
“Is he, like, your boyfriend?”
“God, no.” I laugh, dipping the paintbrush into iridescent glitter before brushing it onto the pink unicorn on her cheek.
“He likes you,” she accuses.
“I’d hate to see how he treats the people he doesn’t like.”
“Do you know how many girls would die to talk to him? I mean, any of the Sons of Eastlake, really. But Sebastian…” she trails off, dreamy-eyed.
I watch Sebastian’s form walking away from me. His broad shoulders, disheveled hair, that self-assured walk. I can’t say I don’t feel flattered at his apparent concern for me. It’s been a long time since I felt that from anyone. But I don’t entirely believe it. I can’t figure out the why of it all. Can’t work out if he likes me or hates me. I don’t think he’s worked it out either.
“All done,” I announce proudly, picking up the handheld mirror to show her the final product.
“Not bad,?
? she remarks, checking it out. “Now let’s try a dragon.”
I sigh, wiping my masterpiece off her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”
For the next five days, I fall into a routine. Eat. Work. Watch the Sons of Eastlake perform. Sleep. Have a few beers with everyone after closing time, then I do it all over again. Eros keeps me company some nights. He’s the closest thing to a friend I have here, when he’s not too busy getting wasted or laid. Or both. Elliott hangs out sometimes, too. I keep what Sebastian said in mind, being polite, yet distant, but until he does something to raise my suspicions, I can’t write him off completely.
Sebastian has been noticeably absent since the day he marched over to the face-painting booth to lecture me on leaving without saying anything. Even the guys have commented on it. He comes and goes, performing each night, but then he’s a ghost. I get the feeling he’s avoiding me specifically. I try not to think about where he is, or who he’s with. My guess would be that Selina girl.
Tres has started to come around. He even brought me an iced coffee the other morning. Lathan still acts like I killed his cat, though. Can’t win them all, I guess.
I feel out of my element and alone, but then again, I’ve always felt that way. My friends were never true friends. My life was a lie. At least I don’t have to put on an act out here.
It’s our last night in Indio. Next up: Washington. As I’m sending out a quick text to my mom, I hear the creaking sound of the trailer door opening. I know it’s Sebastian before I turn around. I can smell him. I can feel his stare on me.
“Saved a seat for you in the front row,” he says by way of greeting.
I turn to face him. He’s wearing his signature leather jacket and rosary. His sweat-slicked hair is pushed back in that perfectly disheveled look he wears so well. “Is that your idea of a peace offering, or is that your way of keeping an eye on me?”
He inhales through his nose, something he does when I’m testing his patience, I’ve come to realize. I don’t know why he seems to think I can’t take care of myself. I may not have won everyone over, but I don’t think anyone’s exactly out to get me either. “Peace offering?”
“Yeah. You know, for ignoring me this past week.”