Velvet and Ink: A Novel

[PART ONE] Chapter One

August 2, 2007

November "Milly" Ray crouches underneath the front window of her gray stucco house. Her chest heaves under the sharp California sun.

A man's deep voice yells from the open window above her, "Where are you?"

Milly covers her mouth to quiet her breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

She doesn't dare move her feet, even though tall, dead grass pokes at her legs and butt. She slicks sweat away from her forehead and keeps her eyes forward, willing the red Jeep with the curly-haired boy to appear.

The stucco wall to digs into her back. Hurry up, Charlie, she thinks.

A beaded bracelet hangs loosely on her wrist, and Milly clutches one of its beads between her fingertips that are slowly turning white.

Above her, her father, Jonah, mumbles to himself; his voice is hard, but the words are strung together like a bracelet, indistinguishable from one to the other.

Milly's fingers stroke the differently textured beads threaded together on her wrist until she feels the bead she's looking for. Her eyes lock onto a square, blue bead. Inhale. She looks across the street, searching for similar objects—the neighbor's hose box across. Exhale. A garage door. Inhale. A window. Exhale. She looks down the street, but Charlie's car is still no where to be seen. Inhale. She sees other houses, all the same two-story, gray-colored stucco as hers. At the far end, ten houses down and a good half mile, the cul-de-sac seems to form around one house that sticks out among the rest: a deep blue, two story home with horizontal boards and a wrap around porch—Charlie's house. Exhale.

The front door slams open.

"Crap," Milly says. She jolts up and starts running down the street. The sun pricks at her skin and beads of sweat bubble from her forehead. The dry air sucks the moisture from her mouth. After passing five houses, Milly's eyes flick back to her house. But Jonah is nowhere in sight. She slows down, careful to avoid the uneven slabs and cracks in the pavement.

Suddenly, a red Jeep blows through a stop sign at the end of the street.

"Finally," she says and flops onto the grass of a neighboring house, hiding in the shade of a canyon oak tree.

The Jeep slows in front of her until it putters to a stop and a plum of smoke rises from the exhaust.

Milly goes to it and yanks the door open. "You're late, Charlie. Again," she says.

Charlie offers her full-tooth smile. "So sorry, princess, practice took forever."

Milly rolls her eyes.

He looks her up and down. "Why were you walking?"

"I just needed some air."

"It's 104 degrees."

She shrugs.

His eyes narrow and gaze in the direction of her house. "Is Jonah home?"

Again, she shrugs. "Move your crap, so I can sit down."

"Sorry," Charlie laughs as he grabs a half-drank gallon of water from the passenger seat and throws it into the back seat. It lands on top of his wrestling bag. Milly plops into the seat, and maneuvers her feet away from the graveyard of Red Bull on the floor. The seatbelt clicks as Charlie slams the engine into gear. Milly cranks the AC, and rests back, listening to the Van Halen CD booming from the Jeep's speakers.

Charlie, Milly's best friend since childhood, is tall and lean—built for wrestling. He has brown eyes and milk chocolate skin. His face is oval shaped with sharp cheekbones and a smile that could melt the hardest heart—he's easily one of the more attractive guys at their high school, but to Milly, he's like a little brother.