Flat-Out Love

  Flat-Out Love

  By Jessica Park

  Copyright © 2011 by Jessica Park

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  License Notes:

  This efiction is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This efiction may not be re-sold. If you would like to share, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this efiction and it was not purchased for your exclusive use, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all authors, and helping the e-reading community to grow!

  Cover art by Robyn Hyzy: www.robynhyzy.com

  Visit Jessica at her sites: http://flatoutlove.blogspot.com http://yaauthorjessicapark.blogspot.com and http://whatthekidsays.blogspot.com

  For Lori, who makes her own hinges.

  Acknowledgments:

  Tremendous thanks to my entire family for putting up with my obsessive demeanor (and occasional lack of showering) while writing this book. A special thanks to my dad, who put on his psychotherapist hat while reading my manuscript and took copious and helpful notes. I love you, Daddy.

  A gazillion hugs to Jessica Whitney, who always calls me “sweet girl” when I need it the most. Everyone should have such a delightful co-conspirator.

  Lori Gondelman has obtained goddess status. She proof-read chapters, offered endless encouragement, yelled at me to write faster, told me what should stay and what should go, and mailed me bags of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee so I that could throw myself into a caffeine high and write until midnight. I suspect that she would have held my hand as I wrote would it not have interfered with typing. No one could have done more, and I am impossibly grateful for her unfailing belief in this book and in me.

  Christy Poser shared her skydiving experiences with me via telephone and even sent DVD copies of her jumps. Although she is obviously a freakish daredevil, Julie owes her one. As do I.

  Authors Karen MacInerney and Heather Webber are simply brilliant. Both pointed me in the right direction and managed not to be obnoxious about how right they were. They are total smarties, talented writers, and fabulous friends.

  Thank you to Meg Travis, Shelly Toler Franz, Caitlyn Henderson, Carrie Spellman, and Pixie Poe for reading various versions of the outline and manuscript and showering me with support. I’ve known Meg since junior high, and she is as unforgettable now as she was then. Shelly and Caitlyn are both an author’s dream and proof that Facebook friends are, in fact, real friends. Carrie is a trusted reader and reviewer, and her glowing words were the boost I needed to finish the book. Not only is Pixie a book fiend, but she has a cool name and owns a pink Christmas tree. What more can a girl ask for in a friend?

  The obscenely brilliant Adam Conner-Sax deciphered MIT speak and put up with my babbling as I figured out my characters. As he has his entire life, he showed himself to be warm, adorable, and frighteningly well-rounded.

  A captain’s nod to Jonathan Slavin, who enjoys every “Jaws” movie as much as I do.

  The incomparable and devastatingly funny David Pacheco was generous enough to provide the large majority of the status updates for the book. (Dave, pay attention; this is where you are getting credit for your genius.) He patiently tolerated my many questions and answered them all with more attention and humor than they deserved. As a thank you, I will be sending him a zombie, a time travel machine, a ledger for the Procrastinator’s Club, and a spray-cheese sandwich. Follow him on Twitter @whatdoIknow if you think you can keep up. But don’t worry, most of us can’t.

  Carmen Comeaux and Jim Thompson were both kind enough to do fantastic editing work on a very rough manuscript. Carmen bravely forged ahead, even when my grammatical errors caused her to write “Horrors!” in the margins. And Jim will hereby be known as “The Hyphen King.” You two are impeccable, tough, and outrageously skilled.

  Brian Yagel did everything from give me real life technical support to spout off geeky terminology that I still don’t totally understand. But it made sense to him. And he managed to remain charming even when saying things like, “third party app” and “console logs.” Enjoy your two minutes for those FB updates, kiddo.

  Flat-Out Love

  It’s not what you know—or when you see—that matters. It’s about the journey.

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Julie Seagle stared straight ahead and promised herself one thing: She would never again rent an apartment via Craigslist. The strap of her overstuffed suitcase dug into her shoulder, and she let it drop onto the two suitcases that sat on the sidewalk. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to carry them now. Julie squinted in disbelief at the flashing neon sign that touted the best burritos in Boston. Rereading the printout of the email again did nothing to change things. Yup, this was the correct address. While she did love a good burrito, and the small restaurant had a certain charm about it, it seemed pretty clear that the one-story building did not include a three-bedroom apartment that could house college students. She sighed and pulled her cell phone from her purse.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Honey! I gather you made it to Boston? Ohio is missing you already. I can’t believe you’re already off at college. How is the apartment? Have you met your roommates yet?”

  Julie cleared her throat and looked at the flat roof of the restaurant. “The apartment is… airy. It has a very open floor plan.”

  “How is your room? Is it tiny?” Her mother sounded concerned. “Well, even if it is, it’s probably better than some concrete dorm room, right?”

  “My room? Oh, it’s, uh, rather sparse, I’d say.” Julie sat down on one of her bags. A city bus squealed to a halt just behind her, and she flinched at the high-pitched noise.

  “What was that? Is your room right on the street? Oh God, are you on the first floor? That’s dangerous, Julie. It’s much easier for some criminal to break in. Are there locks on the windows? Let me ask your uncle about that. Maybe there is something you could do to make it more secure.”

  “I’m not seeing any windows at the moment, Mom.” Julie felt her eyes begin to tear up. This was a nightmare. She had been in Boston, or more specifically Jamaica Plain, for a mere hour, and already her hopes for a glamorous college life were beginning to smell a lot more like South American specialties than she’d envisioned. “I don’t seem to actually have a room.”

  Her mother paused. “What do you mean you don’t have a room? I sent first, last, and a security deposit just like the landlord asked. A cashier’s check, for God’s sake! He gave away your room?” The rising panic in her mother’s voice was not helping.

  “I’m at the correct address. The taxi driver assured me I was in the right place. But my supposed apartment building is a burrito restaurant.”

  “Burritos! Holy mother of God!”

  “I know. Burritos are always alarming.” Julie looked around, totally unsure what she should do next. “Mom, what am I going to do?” Although she didn’t want to freak out her mother more than she had to, Julie couldn’t control the waver in her voice. She was alone in an unfamiliar city, knew no one here, and was sitting on a mountain of luggage.

  At least the advantage of being stranded on a crowded street was that no one seemed to think she looked at all out of place. Plenty of people had walked by without giving her a second glance. It was the first week of September, and she was in a college town; more than one U-Haul truck could be spotted weaving through traffic, delivering students and their possessions to actual apartments that did not double as restaurants. Julie quickly wiped her eyes and pulled her sunglasses down from her head. She’d give anyt
hing to be riding in one of those moving trucks, crammed in with a pile of friends.

  “I don’t have anywhere to live. And all that money you spent… This was supposed to be cheaper than the dorms. And it wasn’t supposed to smell like burritos.” Leaving home for the first time, getting scammed into paying for a non-existent apartment, and finding oneself homeless in Boston was proving to be agitating.

  “Julie, don’t worry about the money right now. This isn’t your fault. I thought the ad looked perfectly normal, too. You sit tight for a few minutes and I’m going to call the college and see if they can help you, OK? Just hold on. You all right?”

  Julie sniffed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Don’t move. I’ll call you right back and we’ll fix this.”

  Julie put in her earphones and passed the next excruciating twenty minutes by listening to morose music, chipping off the deep purple nail polish she’d applied the night before, and updating her Facebook status.

  Julie Seagle Boston, Day 1: Refuse to refer to city as Beantown as would sound too touristy. Still, am full resident now despite not having actual residence.

  The pavement radiated heat, and so far this sauna of a city was not winning her over. A little self-pity seemed in order. All she wanted was a normal college experience and the chance to enjoy school without worrying that her friends would think it was ridiculous that she actually liked learning. She didn’t need to go to the most expensive university in the country, or to the top-rated, be-all-end-all of schools. She just wanted to be free from feeling like she had to hide who she was. It would be nice to finally be comfortable admitting that she was crazy about literature, that she thought curling up with a textbook was soothing, and that she wanted nothing more than to delve into lively classroom discussions. So, wanting a place to live while she started her college career seemed reasonable enough.

  Surely Whitney College wouldn’t let a progressively more and more anxious southern Ohio transplant fend for herself on the streets of Boston? She could always spend the night in a hotel, obviously, but it would certainly be preferable to find a more permanent solution. There must be a few students who changed plans at the last minute, freeing up a dorm room, right? Maybe. Well, the burrito restaurant was hiring, so perhaps this was a sign that she should brush up on her Spanish, cultivate an interest in ethnic cooking…

  Julie’s phone barely got out a full ring before she answered. “Mom?”

  “That damn college was no help whatsoever. Apparently every school within a thirty-mile radius is in the same awful housing crunch, and Whitney is stuck putting up students in hotels themselves. I had another idea. Do you remember Erin Watkins?”

  “Your roommate from college? The big-deal lawyer? I didn’t know you were still friends.”

  “Well, we’re not really. I haven’t talked to her in years, but I remember reading in the alumni magazine that she lives in Cambridge. Her note said she was teaching at Harvard now, and by a stroke of luck, I caught her in her office.”

  “God, this is embarrassing, but does she know of an apartment?” Julie asked hopefully.

  “Well, no. But she insisted that you come and stay with her until you can find a suitable alternative. Her son Matthew is on his way to pick you up. I gave her the address. She says you are not in a good part of town, and it’s a good thing it’s only four o’clock and not getting dark. He’ll be driving a blue Volvo and should be there any minute.”

  “OK. Matt. Dangerous town. Blue Volvo. If I get into the wrong car and get myself murdered and dumped in an alley, I want you to know how much I love you. And don’t look in the third drawer of my desk.”

  “That’s not funny. Anyway, Matthew goes to MIT. Some sort of physics major. Or was it math? Can you believe that? With Erin’s genes, I shouldn’t be surprised she’d have a genius son.”

  “I’m sure he’s incredibly cool. Just the word physics already has me hot and bothered.”

  “I’m not running an escort service here, Julie. I’m trying to get you somewhere safe where I will not worry myself silly about you.”

  “Yes, Mother. I will find another Boston-based dating service online.” Julie stood up and smoothed the front of her top. She faced the street, relieved to at least be able to stand expectantly waiting for a ride rather than attempting to look anything but misplaced. “When was the last time you even talked to Erin?”

  “Years ago. We’ve only spoken a handful of times since graduation. Every now and then I hear something about her. The friends you make in college are friends you’ll have for life, even if you don’t talk for years at a time. You’ll see.”

  A dark car slowed and pulled to a stop, double-parking in front of Julie. “Mom, I have to go. I think this Matt character is here.”

  “Are you sure it’s him?”

  Julie peered into the car as the window lowered. “I see a maniacal-looking guy with brightly-colored candy in one hand, and he’s waving a bloody sickle with the other. Oh! He’s beckoning me to the car. This must be my ride.”

  “Julie, stop it!” her mother ordered. “You have no idea how I feel, knowing that my only child is stranded in Boston. I wish I were there with you. Make sure it’s Matthew. Ask to see his license.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. I’ll call if I make it to the house. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, honey. I’m so sorry about this mess. Thank Erin for me, and I’ll talk to you both later.”

  Julie hung up and looked hopefully at the guy rounding the car and walking toward her. “Matt?”

  “I’m guessing by the suitcases that you must be Julie? Or else I’m about to kidnap the wrong girl.” He smiled softly and reached out to shake her hand.

  He was tall, at least six feet, with dirty blond hair that hung over his eyes. His pale skin told Julie that he hadn’t seen much sun this past summer, and a peek at his T-shirt gave a clue why. The shirt, tucked into his ill-fitting jeans read, Nietzsche Is My Homeboy. Clearly, he was not a run-with-the-in-crowd kind of guy, and she suspected that he’d been holed up in the library all summer. But he was kind enough to drop whatever he’d been doing to come and get her. Besides, Julie had her geeky moments herself—though she wasn’t dumb enough to announce them on a T-shirt. She hid them. The way any socially skilled person would.

  “Thank you so much for picking me up. I really didn’t know what I was going to do. I hope I’m not putting you too much out of your way?” Julie helped Matt load her bags into the trunk of the Volvo and then slid into the front seat. The September sun had heated up the car, and Julie automatically fanned her shirt, trying to get some air flowing across her skin.

  “No problem. Sorry it’s so hot. The AC doesn’t work in this car, and no one’s bothered to get it fixed. It’s not a long drive, though.” Matt turned the key to start the car, and a blast of sputtering noises had Julie fearing a longer stay on this now hated street. “Don’t worry. It always does this when I try to start it so soon after turning it off. Just a little more gas… There we go!”

  Julie glimpsed at herself in the passenger-side mirror. She looked undeniably haggard. And sweaty. And not sweaty in a way that could be construed as glistening. She ran a finger under each eye, wiping away the brown eyeliner that had started to smear, and quickly tried to smooth out her bangs that were beginning to curl. Her highlighted brown hair was not faring well in this humidity. She wasn’t about to whip out a compact and pat powder over the dusting of freckles that ran across her nose, but she would have preferred to make a better first impression when she showed up to crash at the Watkins’.

  Matt yanked the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a speeding car that cut him off. “Welcome to Boston, known primarily for its vehicular aggression.”

  “I’m loving it already. Between being ripped off, now broke, without permanent housing, and about to start college, I’m really off to a good start here, huh?” Julie smiled weakly, leaned her head against the window frame, and took in the breeze.

&
nbsp; “It could be worse. You could be living at home like I do. And you will love Boston. Any major city has its drawbacks, but Boston is a great place to go to school, so once you get everything straightened out, you will be fine. You’re starting at Whitney?”

  “Yeah. It’s not exactly MIT, though,” she said with a teasing smile. “I’m sure Literature 101 can’t compete with, what? Adoration of Differential Equations?”

  Matt laughed. “Close. That was last year. This year it’s Obsessive Devotion to Fourier Analysis Theory and Applications. And my personal favorite, Quantum Physics II: Romantic Entanglements of Energy and Matter.”

  Julie turned her head to Matt. “You’re a double major? Physics and math? Jesus…”

  “I know. Nerdy.” He shrugged.

  “No, I’m impressed. I’m just surprised your brains fit in your head.”

  “I was fitted with a specially designed compression filter that allows excessive information to lie dormant until I need to access it. It’s only the Beta version, so excuse any kinks that may appear. I really can’t be held responsible.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Julie nodded seriously. “I don’t know what I’ll major in. Maybe psychology? Or English? Not sure. So, are we still in Jamaica Plain?”

  “Nope. Now we’re in Cambridge. And that,” he started, as they turned a corner and went over a bridge, “is the Charles River. This is Memorial Drive, and Harvard Square is right there. We can cut through if you want to see.” Julie nodded eagerly. “There’s a T stop right here, and it’s only a few minutes’ walk from my parents’ house.”

  For the first time since the plane had landed, Julie felt excited to be here. The river was gorgeous and dotted with people canoeing and kayaking, their bright vests smattering the water with color. They drove past archways and iron gates, crowded sidewalks, cobbled pathways between buildings, and plenty of shops and restaurants. She liked the busy atmosphere here.