Unknown 9, Layton Green [good books to read for 12 year olds txt] 📗

and talking college basketball and southern politics.

It wasn’t Andie’s scene. Not even close. But when she had started at Duke, she figured it was a new chapter in her life and she should make an effort to fit in. Not because she wanted the things these people had for their intrinsic value, but because it might be nice, for the first time in her life, to belong.

One day, Matt asked her if she wanted to go on a morning run. Just the two of them. She knew he was attracted to her, and he was definitely handsome: wavy blond hair, easy smile, broad shoulders. Again, not her type. But maybe he should be. Maybe it was time for her to conform. She had never tried that and didn’t really want to.

Then again, she had never truly been happy.

So she decided to give it a shot, just this once.

With Matt.

After a jaunt through the woods, he led her on a new route that swung by a root cellar which had been in his family for two hundred years. Just past the cellar, beside a curve of the Eno River, was a glade covered in wildflowers. It was early October, the leaves starting to turn, the air dry and pleasant.

“It’s pretty,” Andie had said.

“Want to take a break?”

“You don’t want to finish the route?”

He grinned. “Five miles isn’t enough on a Sunday morning? C’mon, I’ll show you the root cellar.”

“I don’t really like to stop . . . but sure, why not.”

He slowed to a walk and removed the bar on the wooden door set into the hillock. After using a stick to clear away a cobweb, he led her inside the stone-and-mortar cellar. Wooden shelves stocked with cloudy mason jars lined the walls. A dozen barrels took up space in the rear, and a set of garden tools rusted away in a corner.

Just inside the door was a wine rack full of dusty bottles. On top of the rack, she noticed a pair of sparkling glasses and a picnic blanket.

“Why don’t we skip the last mile and call it a day?” Matt said. “Grab a bottle of wine and cool off by the river.”

“Wine before brunch?”

“After that run, I think we deserve it. You pushed me hard.”

To Andie’s left was a trash can. She glanced inside and saw, nestled among the discarded wine bottles, the edge of an empty box of condoms.

“Maybe I’ll just finish the run,” she said.

“Really?” he said, reaching out to touch her arm. Both of them reeked of hard-earned sweat.

“Really.”

“I think we could have some fun together, Andie.”

She took his hand off her arm. “Do you take all the girls in the running club here? Is this the girl-of-the-month club?”

His charming grin remained locked in place like a birthmark. “We both know you’re not like the other girls.”

“Is that right?”

“I can tell you like to have a good time.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“The way you dress, the way you talk, the way you run. I know you like to. . . ” He smiled at her as he trailed off.

“Like to what, Matt?” she said sweetly.

His grin broadened as his arm slipped around her waist this time, then moved down to give her butt a gentle squeeze. “Like to fuck.”

“You can tell, huh? It’s that obvious?”

“From the first time I saw you.”

She kneed him in the groin, doubling him over. “I like lots of things, Matt. Things like stargazing and watching foreign flicks and eating Thai food on my couch with a cold beer. Maybe you should have tried for one of those first, asshole.”

He was holding his groin and gasping for breath. She swept out his legs for good measure, and he crashed to his back on the floor.

“Oh, and I like to kickbox too. Don’t come near me again—and don’t ever touch a girl like that without asking.”

She quit the running club the next day.

From then on, she ran alone.

“Andie? Hey Andie, you with us?”

She realized Cal was gently shaking her.

“We’re about to land,” he continued. The sun had just breached the horizon. Directly ahead she saw a stone villa perched on a golden-brown hill dotted with shrubs.

“I guess I fell asleep.”

The copter continued past the villa, touching down on a dusty landing pad abutting a vineyard. As the whirring blades came to rest, Andie looked out on the palms, coastal firs, and gnarled cork oaks that surrounded the property, shielding it from casual view.

The pilot had a craggy, deeply tanned face and short blond hair. He shouldered a duffel bag as he exited the copter and helped Andie and Cal climb down. Everyone shook out their limbs after the long ride, and Andie inhaled draughts of fresh air that smelled of sage and lavender.

“I never got your name,” Andie said to the pilot.

“There’s a reason for that. Call me Steve if you like.”

“Who owns this place?” Cal asked.

The pilot shrugged. “Same answer as before, partner. Zawadi or her people. It’s a pit stop for me, and let’s just say people don’t ask questions around these parts.” He pointed to a guest cottage on their right, thirty yards from the main villa. “There’s toiletries and spare clothes in the guesthouse. As far as I know, we can stay as long as we need.”

Andie had seen no sign of activity. “Where is everyone?”

The pilot lifted his palms as he started walking toward the cottage. “You’ll probably see a gardener or two, and that’s about it. Don’t ask me how it works.”

Andie kept glancing at the shuttered villa as they made the short walk to the cottage, which was made of pebbled stone and smothered in ivy. Inside, the ceiling was so low Cal barely had clearance. Rustic furniture dotted a common room that opened straight into a kitchen and dining area.

“Bedrooms are down the hall,” the pilot said. “You two can take the larger one on the right.”

Cal held up a hand. “We’ll need two of those.”

“Then the second one’s a couch.”

“Sold.”

“The place is