The Girl of Sand & Fog Read Free

as well as see them? Neil Stanton has been dead over
ten years.”
    The guy shrugs again, leans his head back against
the wall and closes his eyes. “You’re funnier than Alan Manzone. He’s a real
prick these days.”
    Before I can stop myself, yet again I respond to
his baiting. “Alan Manzone is a prick every day.”
    The boy just shakes his head. “No, he’s actually
a really cool guy.”
    “He’s a narcissistic asshole.”
    “You really hate him, don’t you?”
    “Wouldn’t you if you were me?”
    “Probably,” he says. “Do you want to get out of
here? If we stay, Williams will keep us until after six cleaning the bleachers.
We won’t get in trouble, you know. No one wants to deal with my mother so they
won’t call her. I don’t think they’ll call your mother either. I never stay for
detention. Do you want to get out of here?”
    I stare up at him apprehensively. Who is this
guy? He says everything with such an air of knowing unenthusiasm. Debating with
myself over whether to leave with him, I ask, “If you don’t stay why were you
on the bench?”
    “I saw you leaving class with the pink slip.”
    That pleases me more than I want to be. Direct
and honest in a no-bullshit type of way. Another rarity at PP Academy.
    I give him the stare. “You know, you could
have just said ‘hi’ to me in the halls. You didn’t have to be a stalker about
the whole thing.”
    “Sure, I could have. But meeting on the detention
bench makes a more interesting story, don’t you think?”
    “Interesting for who?”
    “My mom and dad, who by the way, think that I am
gay.”
    That level of honesty wrapped in self-confidence
is too appealing. I don’t want to get close to any guy, something tells me
especially not this guy, but somehow I feel myself being drawn to him.
    I sink farther back into my seat. “And are you
gay?”
    “Hell no. I just like to fuck with my dad.”
    I find myself laughing again and I really don’t
like it.
    “Well, do you want to get out of here or not?” he
asks, starting to collect his things.
    I let out an aggravated sigh and rise to my feet,
jerking my heavy tote bag over my shoulder. In the deserted hallways he doesn’t
talk and just kind of lumbers indifferently beside me. There is a scattering of
students in the parking lot when we get there, and I continue purposely toward
my car, thinking maybe he intends to cut out here.
    I fumble in my shoulder tote for my keys to keep
from looking at him, but when I lift my face I find him standing by my
passenger door even though I haven’t invited him to leave campus with me. “Are
you going to tell me who you are? I’d have to be an idiot to let a complete
stranger in LA into my car, even here.”
    He looks amused. “We already know each other.”
    Over the roof of my car I give him another sharp
study. “Drawing a blank here. Can you give me a clue?”
    He leans with his elbows on the roof and fixes
those interesting green eyes on me. “I know your dad. More importantly, I know
Alan Manzone is your dad.”
    Impatient now, irritated and showing it, I snap,
“Why do you keep saying that? How the fuck would you know what I don’t even
know for sure? You are some strange stalker, aren’t you?”
    “Yep, you’re Alan Manzone’s daughter. I know
because my parents say you are. My dad is Len Rowan. I’m Bobby Rowan.”

 
     
    CHAPTER 2
     
    Oh
fuck!
    Bobby Rowan. Shit, how could I have not
recognized him? He was practically my only friend when I was little, a
card-carrying member, just like me, of that strange insider circle I’m forced
to live in.
    The son of Blackpoll’s legendary bass player, Len
Rowan. He’s part of my prick of a father’s neat, tight little elite rocker
universe that used to include Mom and me until the asshole got tired and walked
out on us when I was eight. Bobby’s mother, Linda Rowan, is still friends with
my mom, but hell, I haven’t seen Bobby since my dad banished us from his world,
and my mom