Chapter 4: Jude

Portia's room looked like a bomb had detonated. I didn't know how she planned to find anything, and I wasn't sure I could locate her amidst the toys, clothes, and general crap piled on every available surface.

I peered around the mounds to locate her. "Are you in there?"

Her head popped up on the opposite side of the bed, and a huge smile broke out on her face. "Yep. I'm glad you're here."

"Do you need my help escaping? This place is like a landmine." I took a couple of steps in, trying to find a safe place to put my foot without fear of breaking something.

"No, silly." She glanced around with a confused look. "It's all organized."

"Yeah? Into what, chaos?"

Portia squinted and turned her head a bit, giving me an eat-shit look. "Can you go get some of those big, black trash bags from the garage? The ones Ernie uses in the yard."

"Are you giving up? Just going to throw it all away? Burning it in the firepit in the backyard might be easier." I raised my brow in question, to which she launched a stuffed bear in my direction. I caught it before it hit me in the face. The matted fur had a hard texture like it had been singed at some point, although it might have been syrup or jelly that had petrified. "Gross. What's on this thing?" I held it out to my side, pinching it by the ear.

"Aww. That's Woobie. Don't you remember him?"

I hadn't ever seen the thing in my life. "Nope."

She huffed. "You got him for me at Chuck E Cheese's." It didn't ring a bell. "At my tenth birthday party." Still nothing. "Right before Sherlynn Gossman pulled your pants down in front of everyone there." Ah, it was all coming back to me and not in a pretty light.

"You always did have poor taste in friends." I tossed the grungy stuffed animal back at her. "You should get rid of it. That bear should have a biohazard warning on it."

Portia clutched the dingy thing to her chest. "No way. It was the first thing you ever gave me. And that was the first real birthday party I'd ever had. I felt like a princess."

I blew it off and went to get the bags she requested. Girls were weird about that kind of crap. I couldn't remember the first thing Portia had ever given me. In fact, I couldn't remember the last thing she gave me. And it wasn't because her gifts were thoughtless or meager; I had just never cared...as long as she'd been at whatever event warranted a present.

When I returned, Portia hadn't moved, even though it seemed everything else had. There were now defined piles with pathways between them.

She stood and grunted. "What took you so long?"

"I was gone for maybe two minutes." And in that amount of time, she'd put on music and done whatever it was to distinguish the mounds from one another.

Portia was an odd bird. Not on the outside so much as the little nuances that made her who she was. She was the girl next door. I thought she was stunning even if other guys weren't standing in line to date her. Truth be told, maybe I thought she was so beautiful because she was so exceptionally ordinary-like a dandelion growing between cracks in cement. Her music tastes were eclectic, to say the least, and she never listened to the radio. I never quite grasped how she found these indie bands. I just sat back and enjoyed what she uncovered. Today was different, though. Still a playlist, only instead of it being indie-grunge, the room filled with sounds of the Grateful Dead.

"What's up with the music?"

"Just feeling nostalgic." It didn't escape my attention that she refused to make eye contact. "It's a cool mix. You'll like it." When I didn't respond, she peeked up from the pile she was stuffing into the bag. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Grab a bag. All those clothes are going to Goodwill."

"You know you don't have to get rid of your stuff just because you're going to college, right?"

She moved over to the closet and opened it for me to see she wasn't. "I'm not. Just the stuff I don't wear." For a girl who lived in jeans and T-shirts, she had more clothes on the floor to give away than I did in my entire wardrobe.

I sat down between two large piles and began shoveling things into the bag. It took all of two handfuls for me to come across something I didn't want her to let go. "Why are you getting rid of this?"

"Pink Floyd was so ten years ago," she mocked.

"We loved this album." I'd never been a fan until Portia was. I swear, I was so lost-she could have told me she was Dorothy, and I would have followed her down the Yellow Brick Road. Even then, I'd wanted to fit in, if with no one other than her.

"You can have it if you want it."

I just gaped at her, waiting for it to dawn on her. When she stared back, blinking slowly, I stripped off the shirt I wore and put on the one in question.

She giggled. "So maybe it doesn't fit. Fine, give it here. I'll keep it."

Satisfied that I had persuaded her to keep a memento from our past, I continued with my assigned task. Not two minutes later, it was a Disneyland shirt. "So you're keeping some stinky bear but not things that are useful?"

"Seriously? You want me to wear a shirt with Minnie Mouse written in glitter on the front?"

It took everything I had not to tell her to shrink it in the dryer, cut it off, and wear it without a bra. That and a pair of white, cut-off jean shorts would have me salivating from here back to California. "That was an awesome vacation." And it was. The Shaws had even taken my mom with us on that one.

I finally conceded. "Fine. It might be a tad immature." As I continued through the stack, I realized how many of her clothes held memories. And what a girl I was being. In that moment, it dawned on me, I hadn't seen most of these on her in years.

My eyes flicked up, and I realized, staring at her, that the girl I'd grown up with had become a young adult. I'd seen glimpses of it here and there, but today it smacked me upside the head. The youthful, ordinary chick who'd worn jeans and T-shirts now had a very distinct style of her own. If she were in a band, she'd be a natural for the cover of Rolling Stone. The innocent appearance she'd had for years still lingered behind the perfect makeup-not overdone-and the skinny jeans with holes in the knees. Even her hair had an edge to it that I hadn't noticed at the funeral because she'd curled it.

"What are you staring at?"

I hadn't noticed I was staring...well, that I'd been doing so without reservation.

"You look different. When did"-I waved my hand around in her general direction-"that happen?" My dick stirred at the shock of seeing the woman before me. She was undeniably hot.

"That's mean." The pout on her pink lips did nothing other than encourage my body's poor behavior.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way. I just-you grew up."

Her face beamed with pride, and her eyes sparkled. "Thank you."

In that moment, it occurred to me that I would face something I'd never experienced with Portia-competition. She was going to college, and I wouldn't be around. Even when I hadn't been living here, the two of us had gone to the same high school. We didn't hang out with the same crowds, but it was no secret we were very close, and rumors roamed the halls that more existed between us than ever had. Although, that wasn't due to a lack of desire on my part. I'd just never had the balls to tell her. I was always afraid of how it would look.

The student body thought we were siblings-even though there was zero blood relation between us-because I stayed at the Shaws' as often as I did my mom's. The handful of friends I had referred to her as my sister, and likewise with hers. But part of me believed-or maybe just hoped-that guys left her alone because they thought she was taken. That was an unspoken proclamation on my part...her being mine, that is.

I wouldn't have any claim to her when she wasn't in town. No one at the university would know our history or our tie. And looking the way she did, there was no doubt in my mind, guys would go after her. My heart nearly split in half at the mere thought of anyone touching her, and it about shattered when I entertained her growing close to another male, sharing her secrets and feelings.

When I filled the second bag, I stood to move it out into the hall and caught sight of myself in the mirror. Six foot three and a hundred and ninety pounds. Scalding-red hair, freckles on every bare inch of skin, and sad, brown eyes. There was nothing in that image that could appeal to her-not that any freshman in college would want to be with a senior in high school.

Just when my self-esteem was about to tumble over the edge of a cliff, that damn stuffed bear hit me upside the head. "Come on, Fabio. We'll be here all day if you don't stop gawking at yourself in the mirror."

With wounded pride, I gave my attention to Portia, and her crooked tooth and gorgeous smile knocked me back on my feet and solidified my desire.