Seeders: A Novel Read Free Page B

He pretended to unscrew something behind the monitor.
    Monica took a long drag from her cigarette and blew smoke through the window screen. She flicked the ashes onto the ledge, since the ashtray was a couple inches out of reach, and took a swig from a bottle of brandy she had stolen from a cabinet in the living room. She chased it down with a Starburst Fruit Chew.
    Luke could hardly believe she was in his bedroom, just inches from his bed. He wanted to grab his iPhone and snap a picture for the Robotics Club, but it was buried inside a knapsack. Instead, he strained for something witty to say.
    “So, uh … how was your last day of school?” It sounded so lame, his eyes shut tight.
    Monica blew out a sarcastic breath. “Your school sucks. The girls are phony twats and the guys are pretentious dicks.”
    Luke was surprised she knew the word pretentious, but Monica was a walking bundle of contradictions. She was feminine, in a butch kind of way. She could speak fluent French, yet she didn’t know Brooklyn was part of New York City. Her dyed black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which revealed platinum-blond roots that matched her nearly invisible eyebrows. She had a butterfly tattoo on her left ankle and a severed hand giving the finger on her right.
    She pulled up the window screen and flicked the burning cigarette into the street.
    Luke cleared his throat. “So … how’s your mom?”
    “Don’t talk about my mom.”
    “Sorry.”
    “She’s such a bitch.”
    “Really?”
    “You wouldn’t get it.” She heaved a long sigh. “Damn, I miss my friends.”
    Luke wondered if Monica had any friends. There were no calls in or out of the apartment since she arrived. She didn’t even own a cell phone, which was astounding since every girl Luke knew spent most of the day texting each other. At school, Monica walked around staring at the floor and never sat with anyone at lunch. Trinity was filled with mostly bright, wealthy students who regarded her as street trash. Even Luke never acknowledged her in the hallways when they passed. Not that he was wildly popular either. Sure, he’d made a couple of friends in the Robotics Club, but they never did anything outside of school.
    He looked sideways at Monica, cleaning dirt from her fingernails, and wondered if she was a prostitute like her mother. The thought made him feel sad and excited at the same time. Maybe he should have offered to pay for sex weeks ago, instead of trying to win her over with charm. The proposition seemed dangerous. Someone with her kind of experience might laugh at his shortcomings. On the other hand, a knowledgeable partner could give him some pointers. Sort of like a sex tutor.
    “Do tutors make good money?” she said.
    Luke froze.
    “You tutor math and science, right?” She was standing by the dresser, holding his Tutor of the Year award.
    He recovered with a sigh. “Yeah. I guess. Like twenty an hour.”
    She choked down a laugh. “That sucks.”
    “How much do you make?”
    Her lips clamped tight and she set the trophy down hard. “I’m not presently employed, but if I was, it would be more than twenty an hour.” She turned the trophy so it faced the wall. “My mom’s taking me to Paris when she gets out. I’m gonna be a famous artist.”
    Luke had seen several of her childlike drawings of fruit bowls and couldn’t imagine the French art world welcoming her talent.
    She spun all his other trophies around so they faced the wall, then turned all the knobs on his stereo and leafed through his CD collection. “Beatles … Rolling Stones … Elvis ?” She rolled her eyes, and pulled out a CD. “Who the hell is Beth Oven?”
    “It’s Beethoven.”
    “I knew that, Einstein .”
    There wasn’t much left on the dresser to mishandle so she stopped in front of a model skyscraper, an intricate, near-perfect replica of the Freedom Tower. Luke had made it in school and entered in a contest for a chance to win a $25,000 scholarship.