Breaking the surface a y.., p.1
Breaking the Surface (A Yellow Wood Series Book 2), page 1
Breaking the Surface
Andrea Ring
“You know,” she says, “people are complex. We’re not just one thing or another. You’ve always been a tomboy, but that doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful. You can be both.”
Table of Contents
Chapter One: BEA
Chapter Two: KATE
Chapter Three: BEA
Chapter Four: KATE
Chapter Five: BEA
Chapter Six: KATE
Chapter Seven: BEA
Chapter Eight: KATE
Chapter Nine: BEA
Chapter Ten: KATE
Chapter Eleven: BEA
Chapter Twelve: KATE
Chapter Thirteen: BEA
Chapter Fourteen: KATE
Chapter Fifteen: BEA
Chapter Sixteen: KATE
Chapter Seventeen: BEA
Chapter Eighteen: KATE
Chapter Nineteen: BEA
Chapter Twenty: KATE
Chapter Twenty-One: BEA
Chapter Twenty-Two: KATE
Chapter Twenty-Three: BEA
Chapter Twenty-Four: KATE
Chapter Twenty-Five: BEA
Chapter Twenty-Six: KATE
Chapter Twenty-Seven: BEA
Chapter Twenty-Eight: KATE
Chapter Twenty-Nine: BEA
Chapter Thirty: KATE
Chapter Thirty-One: BEA
Chapter Thirty-Two: KATE
Chapter Thirty-Three: BEA
Chapter Thirty-Four: KATE
Chapter Thirty-Five: BEA
Chapter Thirty-Six: KATE
Chapter Thirty-Seven: BEA
Chapter Thirty-Eight: KATE
Chapter Thirty-Nine: BEA
Chapter Forty: KATE
Chapter Forty-One: BEA
Chapter Forty-Two: KATE
Chapter Forty-Three: BEA
Chapter Forty-Four: KATE
Chapter Forty-Five: BEA
Chapter Forty-Six: KATE
Chapter Forty-Seven: BEA
Chapter Forty-Eight: KATE
Chapter Forty-Nine: BEA
Chapter Fifty: KATE
Chapter Fifty-One: BEA
Chapter Fifty-Two: KATE
Chapter Fifty-Three: BEA
Chapter Fifty-Four: KATE
Chapter Fifty-Five: BEA
Chapter Fifty-Six: KATE
Chapter Fifty-Seven: BEA
Chapter Fifty-Eight: KATE
Chapter Fifty-Nine: BEA
Chapter Sixty: KATE
Chapter Sixty-One: BEA
Chapter Sixty-Two: KATE
Chapter Sixty-Three: BEA
Epilogue: KATE
FAQs
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Nervous System Excerpt
Copyright
About the Author
Chapter One : BEA
"Why haven't you picked a table?" Nate asks, annoyance clouding his face.
I smile and kiss him.
"Nice to see you, too. I was just deciding."
Nate sighs and looks at the ceiling.
"We can take that booth, there by the window, or we can sit outside. It's nice enough out, but there's a breeze, so, you know, our napkins might get blown away."
Before I can even finish explaining, Nate walks away from me to the booth. He sits down and waves me over. I slide in next to him and try not to show my own irritation.
"We might get the sun in our eyes," I tell him. "The sun's moving even as we speak—"
"Jesus Christ!" Nate says, trying to keep his voice down. "It's a table, not the great debate."
I snap my mouth shut. "Fine. Booth it is." I lean over him to the end of the table and grab a menu.
"Bea, we eat here every frickin' week." He snatches the menu out of my hand and puts it back.
"I'm not sure what I want," I say.
"BLT, extra-crispy on the B." He shifts in the booth and faces me. "You order the same damn thing every time."
"Sorry to be so predictable," I say.
He sighs again. "I don't give a shit what you eat. That's not the point." He picks up his napkin and starts tearing it into little pieces. "We don't need to discuss every decision. You don't have to weigh the consequences of things that have no consequences. Can't you just make a choice like a normal human being?"
I lean away from Nate and concentrate on staying calm. We've had this discussion before, but he's never been angry like this.
"It's how I'm built," I mumble. "It's how I communicate. I like to talk about decisions. You know that."
"Well," he says, taking a deep breath, "it's not how I'm built." Nate's eyes soften, and he grabs my hand. "You're a cool girl, Bea."
I smile at him. "Thanks."
He shakes his head. "Don't. I need to say this. I can't do this anymore."
I pull my hand out of his and stuff it in my lap. "You can't do what anymore?"
At least he has the courtesy to look me in the eye. "Us. You're exhausting. I can't...I need to remove myself from the discussion."
I want to argue with him, but my pride steals my tongue. I just nod my head.
"So we're cool?" he asks.
I force myself to smile. "Sure. I get it. No hard feelings."
He looks relieved, and I want to smack him.
"So...do you still want to eat?"
I scoot out of the booth and make the easiest decision of my life. "Let's not."
Nate stands and we walk out of Watson's to the street. He gives me an awkward hug.
"Thanks for not making a scene," he whispers into my hair. He lets me go. "It's one of the things I always liked about you—you're not some girly-girl who uses tears to manipulate a guy."
I smile for real and pat his cheek, maybe a little harder than is appropriate. "What's there to cry about?"
And I turn my back on him and head for home.
c
I try to slip in the door unobtrusively. Coming home hours earlier than expected is sure to elicit an interrogation.
Mom and Dad are sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, and I have to somehow creep past the doorway without catching their attention. I pause, flattening my back to the wall, waiting for my moment.
"They've dated for six months, Clark," Mom is saying. "Anything could have happened by now. There's no point in giving her a curfew."
My ears perk up. They're talking about me. Kate's never had a boyfriend.
"So she hasn't said if anything's happened," Dad says.
"Nope. And I'm pretty sure she'd tell me. At least, I think she would. Wouldn't she?"
I have to stifle a giggle. As if.
But damn her just for saying it. Now I want to spill my guts to both of them. I take a deep breath and round the corner.
"Hey."
"Bea, honey," Mom says. "Hey."
Dad turns around in his chair to look at me. "Hey. We were just talking about you."
"Me?" I say, as if I have no clue. "What about?"
Dad waves me to the seat next to him and I sit. "You and Nate. I was thinking that maybe we should give you a curfew."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"
Dad looks at Mom and laughs. "That's not the reaction I expected."
And that's when the anger, anger at Nate, hits me. "Of course not," I say. "Bea would never react that way. Not Bea. She's supposed to say, 'But Dad, I've never had a curfew before, and I always call and check in. I'm a responsible student with good grades. I never miss practice. My room is clean. And what's the point of a curfew, anyway? I can screw my boyfriend just as easily at 3:00 in the afternoon as I can at midnight.'"
Mom and Dad just stare at me.
"I'm right, aren't I? That's the reaction you expected."
Dad clears his throat. "Well, yes."
"No."
"No?"
"No. I don't want a curfew and don't need one. I'm not gonna argue with you two about it. I'm deciding."
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at them.
Mom cocks her head, considering me. "Good for you."
Dad shakes his head and sighs. "I want to talk about it."
I hang my head and bang it on the table a few times.
"You're head-banging because..." Dad says.
I lift my head, and tears well in my eyes. "I want to talk about it, too. I'm dying to talk about it. What's wrong with me?"
Mom and Dad exchange a puzzled look. "Why would you think something's wrong with you?" Mom asks.
I turn away so they can't see my tears. "Nate dumped me today. He said I have to debate every decision."
Mom stands up, leans over the table, and grabs my head in her hands. She plants a loud smack on the top of my hair.
"I love you, Bea. I'm gonna let Dad handle this one. You need the male perspective." Mom takes her coffee and heads for the living room.
Dad stands and extends a hand to me. I take it and he pulls me into a hug. "Let's go for a walk."
c
We saunter through Old Towne in a comfortable silence. Dad's great at that. He knows when to shut up and when to talk. I guess it's a skill I have yet to master.
Our pace is exactly the same, which I appreciate. Because I'm six foot one, few people can keep up with me. Dad's an inch taller than I am, so I can stand up straight and walk normally with him. When I'm with my friends, I have to hunch and shuffle.
"You want frozen yo gurt?" he asks.
I nod. I missed lunch, and I'm starving. So we head for Cherry on Top in the Circle.
"You want to talk about what happened?"
I shrug. "It happened pretty much the way I said it did."
Dad purses his lips. "You know, dating is like shopping for a prom dress. You're trying people out, looking for the right fit."
"You're talking to the wrong daughter," I tell him. "I don't understand clothing analogies."
He bumps his shoulder into mine. "It's like finding the best position on the court. You have to try out forward, try out point guard, see what feels right."
"I know," I tell him. "I know Nate wasn't THE ONE, but the things he said..."
"He hurt you," Dad says, "because there was a grain of truth there."
He stops walking and puts his hands on my shoulders. I nod.
He squeezes and lets go, and we resume our walk. "Beatrix, men are simple creatures. We're solution-oriented. We want an answer to the problem, and we want it now."
"You're not like that, though," I remind him. "You and Mom debate everything."
"Not everything. Only the important stuff. We pick our battles. Sometimes you drive us crazy when you can't make a decision."
"Thanks for the pep talk," I say.
Dad smiles. "You know the rule—only truth between us. You're amazing and brilliant and you'll run circles around all your professors in college debating all the great questions in life, but sometimes you just have to choose. Your life is not going to end because you choose blueberry pie instead of apple."
"I don't think it will," I say. "It's not that I can't make a choice, it's just that I like to talk about the choices. I like the conversation, the process. I want to know what the other person thinks."
"That's an admirable quality," Dad says. "You just have to learn when it's important. Not everything requires a debate."
"That's what Nate said," I tell him.
"Okay. So we've established Nate wasn't totally wrong. But Bea, someday someone is going to fall in love with you precisely because you love to discuss things. Those men are out there. It may be tomorrow, or it may be ten years from now, but that guy is totally out there."
"He's probably locked in a tower somewhere, waiting for me to scale the walls and rescue him."
Dad stops walking and looks at me. "What else did Nate say?"
I look away. "Nothing. Why'd you think he said something else?"
"Bea."
I finally meet his eyes. "He said he appreciated that I'm not some girly-girl, crying all over him and begging him not to leave."
"Bea, you're a beautiful girl—"
"Yeah, right."
He shakes my arm. "I mean it. Only truth. You are beautiful. Feminine. Amazonian."
"Gee, Dad."
Dad grins. "Truth. You're tall and athletic. So what? Just wait until you get to college. Guys are gonna be all over you. I'll have to stand over your bed with a baseball bat to beat them off."
I smile and link my arm through his. "You'd do it, too."
He nods. "Damn straight."
c
Cherry on Top is self-serve and has about twenty different flavors of frozen yogurt to choose from. I grit my teeth, grab two cups, and hand one to Dad. He heads straight for the chocolate.
I could do chocolate, but I also love the sour pineapple. If I choose chocolate, I'll have to go with nuts and crunchy stuff for the toppings—maybe sprinkles—but the pineapple pairs well with fruit, and since I didn't eat lunch, fruit would definitely sit better in my stomach.
"Beatrix."
Dad is glaring at me, his filled cup already sitting on the scale.
I fill my cup with pineapple yogurt, fresh strawberries and kiwi, and a sprinkle of almonds.
As he hands the lady a ten, he winks at me. "Nicely done," he whispers.
If he only knew.
"Excuse me."
I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around.
"Yes?"
A well-dressed middle-aged woman holds out her hand to me. I shake it.
"I'm Vanessa. Vanessa Shea, with West Coast Model Management. It's nice to meet you."
Dad has carried our yogurt over to a table, and I can see him eyeing us.
"Hello," I say.
She rummages in her purse and produces a business card. "Have you ever done any modeling?"
I look around me, sure she's speaking to someone else. "Me?"
She smiles. "Yes, you. And you are?"
I can't remember my own name. "Oh, uh, Bea. Beatrix Jones. My name's Bea."
"Bea. Lovely name. I'm a scout. For models. You're really very striking."
I bark a laugh. "You're kidding, right?"
She shakes her head. "Of course not. I'm sorry if I caught you off guard, it's just, I really think you have the look. I'd love for you to come into my office and take some test shots."
I stare hard at the business card she handed me. "You think I would make a good model?"
"Physically, yes. That's only one piece of the puzzle, but it's a crucial piece."
I shake my head and hold the card back out to her. "I appreciate, wow, I really appreciate that, Ms. Shea, but I don't think I'm cut out to be a model."
She gently curls my fingers back over the card.
"I caught you off guard, Bea. I understand. Just think about it. Keep the card. You can look us up on our website and make sure everything's legitimate. If you think it's something you might want to explore, give me a call. Any time." She pats my arm. "Go eat your yogurt before it melts. I look forward to hearing from you."
I walk to our table in a daze and plop down heavily in a chair.
"What was that all about?" Dad asks.
I hand him the card. "She thinks I can model."
Dad just gives me a knowing grin. "Told you so."
Chapter Two: KATE
I poke my head into Bea's room. She's bent over, rummaging in her closet, and all I see is her butt.
"Looking for something?"
Bea straightens and quickly hides her hands behind her back.
"Hey. No."
"Liar."
I flop on her bed. Bea turns with me so I can't see what she's hiding.
"I was, you know, just organizing."
I grin. "Come on. You're gonna cave and tell me eventually. Give it up."
Bea sighs and holds out hands. She's got my red sequined tank top scrunched in her fists.
I raise an eyebrow at her. "Hot date with Nate?"
"I wish," she says. "Actually no, I don't wish. Nate broke up with me today."
"Bummer."
Bea glares at me. "You could at least show a little sympathy."
I sit up and shrug. "Why? Nate was like toast. Plain toast. No butter or jelly, even."
Bea cracks a smile. "Toast, huh?"
"Plain toast," I say, nodding. "You're better off."
Bea crosses the room and sits next to me. "It's pathetic, but you're right."
"I'm always right. So what's with the tank top?"
She looks at it as though she's forgotten she's holding it. "Oh. It's...something really weird happened today." She tells me about the modeling agent approaching her.
"That's amazing," I tell her. "Which agency?"
"West Coast Model Management."
"Whoa. Bea, they're like in the top five agencies in the world. I'm totally impressed."
Bea shrugs. "I've never heard of them."
I shake her arm. "Because it's not your world. Doesn't mean they're not at the top of their game."
"Then why would they want me?"
Honestly, all I can do is gape at her. I've never met someone as self-unaware as my sister.
If this were one of my friends asking the question, I'd roll my eyes at her and dismiss it as fishing. But Bea is actually clueless.
"Bea, really? You're tall and thin, perfectly in shape. You have gorgeous hair, though nobody ever gets to see it 'cause you always wear it in a ponytail. Your skin is flawless. You didn't have a lick of makeup on, did you?"
"I don't wear makeup," she mumbles.
"See? Au naturale, and this lady still wanted you. You're beautiful."
Bea finally gifts me with a small smile. "Thanks, Kate."
I give her a hug and pull the ponytail holder out of her hair. I run my hands through it and fluff it up.
"Fuck Nate. You deserve better. So do you think you're gonna do this modeling thing?"
Bea laughs. "No! I mean, really, can you see me walking the catwalk? Tweezing my eyebrows? Jesus, I'm lucky if I remember to shave my legs once a week."
"I'll help you," I tell her.
Bea eyes my face. I'm sure she's taking in the black liner, the emerald shadow, the crimson lips, and probably the eyebrow ring.
