by Angel Lawson
My dad finally looks up, eyes sharp. “Watch it.”
“Now Warren, you know I don’t mean—”
“I think you do mean,” he argues. “And I think I’m done hearing all your presumptions about my son. Reynolds is a good man. He’s not a boy. I don’t treat my kid like a child, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either.”
Emory and I look at each other, both cringing. There’s no missing that jab. This could get ugly.
Mrs. Hall gives him a look. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” To my surprise, she actually addresses me directly. “You’ve been through a lot, and although you’re not a child, you’re still young and figuring things out.”
“Who isn’t?” Shockingly, it’s Emory who butts in. “Unless you want her dating a thirty-year-old, you should seriously reassess your expectations.”
Mrs. Hall shifts her aggressive gaze to him. “On board now, are you? So, there’ll be no more ‘pick-up games’ between the two of you?”
Emory pulls a face, flinging a hand toward me. “Fine! I beat him up a little, but I can hold my own against Reyn. What about the next one, hm?” He lazily sips his straw, eyebrow raised. “Think about that.”
“That’s enough!” Vandy hisses over the table. “This isn’t up for debate. You don’t get to decide what phases of my life I’m ready for!”
“Sweetie, I know you’re mad—”
“Emory has two girlfriends!” Her voice is loud enough that its drawing stares. “I’m done sitting on the sidelines, watching him live a normal life while you cage me up. I mean it, Mom. I’m done.”
Mr. Hall, who’s been pinching the bridge of his nose, holds up a hand. “This is going nowhere good. Vandy, you want to keep seeing Reyn?” He watches her nod belligerently. “Denise, you want to sign her up for that rehab program?” Mr. Hall concludes, “Compromise. One for the other.”
Vandy’s forehead creases. “You’re saying if I do the program, I can keep seeing Reyn?” At her father’s nod, her expression firms up. “Deal.”
I don’t know what the program is, but it must have been a particularly sore point of contention, because Mrs. Hall looks like she’s about to faint.
“Oh, Vandy, really?!” Her whole face transforms and she reaches across the table to grab her hand. “It’ll be so good for you, sweetheart.”
Vandy grimaces but doesn’t pull her hand away. “Three weeks, right? Then I can continue outpatient here.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Hall gives her hand a pat. “I’m so glad that you—” She seems to remember there’s a condition attached to this, because her eyes jump to mine. Her lips press into a stern line. “There will be rules, however.”
Vandy argues, “Emory doesn’t have rules!” and I can see a little part of Mr. Hall’s soul die.
“Emory’s girlfriend doesn’t live next door.”
My dad clears his throat. “Neither will Vandy’s boyfriend.”
I look at him. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’ve decided to put the house up for sale.” He bobs his head. “It’s time. You have a lot of problems in that neighborhood, Reyn, and I won’t stand for it anymore.”
I know he’s talking about Fucking Jerry, and I’m just…
I’m shocked.
His eyes search mine. “Are you okay with that? I know they said you needed something familiar, but I think they’re dead wrong.”
It’ll suck, not being next door to Vandy anymore. Not being able to look out my window and into hers. It’ll be hard to let all the other things go, too. The treehouse. The spot between our driveways where the three of us had painted our initials in the wet cement. The sidewalks we used to—very badly—skateboard down. The backyard where my dad had first taught me how to throw and catch a football. So many of our childhood moments live there, suspended in time, and some of them were bad. Some of them were fucking awful. But most of them were good.
Dad’s right, though.
I’ll never be left alone there. It’ll keep chasing me around doggedly, relentlessly. Like with the pills, it’ll only be a matter of time before there’s another misunderstanding. Another infraction. Another dumb mistake made in the service of dodging my reputation. If I’m ever going to become someone bigger than my mistakes, then I’ll need somewhere new to do it.
“I’m okay with it,” I decide.
Vandy’s voice is wounded. “Reyn…”
“Hey, I doubt we’ll be going far.” I nudge her knee with mine. “Plus, there’s still school.” I’m seized by sudden panic, whipping around to look at my dad. “There is still school, right? Collins isn’t booting me, is he? The charges were dropped, but the scholarship is morally conditional and if—”
“I’ll handle Headmaster Collins,” my dad assures me. “I’m sure we can all clear things up.”
Our food arrives just then. We all crowd back into the booths while it fills the table, and I wasn’t lying before. I can absolutely eat my food and Vandy’s. No question.
We’re about halfway through the meal when Vandy suddenly bursts, “I want to get my license.”
Her dad groans. “Can we not take it one thing at a time? You don’t even know how to drive yet.”
Emory smoothly replies. “Yeah she does.”
Vandy looks at him gratefully. “And I’m good at it, too.”
Her mom drops her fork. “Since when?!”
“I taught her,” Emory explains, shrugging. “She’s right, she’s pretty good. I’d rather see her drive herself than be someone else’s passenger. Uh, no offense, Reyn. You know how it is, can’t help it.”
I nod back. “I get it.”
Mr. Hall intervenes, “This is something we can discuss later.”
But I already know from the look on Vandy’s face that she’s going to win. Not because she’ll be eighteen in four months and won’t need their permission for anything, but because I was right. My girl knows what she wants.
And she’s not afraid to fight for it.
Not anymore.
On Wednesday morning, I wait for her at my Jeep, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Even begging off school and sleeping most of the day yesterday, I’m still working off a massive sleep deficit. It probably didn’t help that I’d been up late, video chatting with Vandy. At this point, sneaking through her window would be a stupid move. Beyond stupid. So we’re resigned to settling.
A sane person would have skipped school again to catch up on sleep, but then that sane person probably isn’t on thin ice with the administration for being arrested over the weekend. That sane person also probably isn’t dating Vandy Hall, because the sight of her in her uniform skirt tends to make me feel the exact opposite of sane. I prod my sore lip with my tongue as I watch her come toward me, my eyes dragging down to catch a glimpse of the skin beneath her hemline. The way her eyebrow quirks when she drops her bookbag on the driveway tells me she knows.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out to tug the waist of her skirt.
She falls into the space between my legs without hesitation, winding her arms around my neck, and if I start every day with her looking up at me like that—head tilted, smiling, eyes shining—then I’ll never get tired of it. “Your bruises look better today,” she notes, eyes tracking over my face.
I wrap my arms around her waist, trying not to feel nervous about the public display. The driveway is a lot more private than Preston will be. “Emory still looks like shit though, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you big strong manly man, you won. Your ego can sleep soundly.”
Satisfied by this, I ask, “Did you talk to your mom?”
Vandy frowns, pitching forward until her forehead lands on my shoulder. “I leave next Friday. I’ll be back by Christmas, but it still sucks.”
The rehab program, I discovered, is out of state and strictly in-patient. That means Vandy has to leave for three weeks. I keep reminding myself that it’s a good thing. Vandy needs to get help from people who are qu
alified to give it. If things were perfect, I’d be everything she needs. But they’re not.
I brush her hair back. “We can video chat.”
She exhales loudly, pushing back to look at me. “You think we can find time? Like, before I leave? To…” Her cheeks flush a vivid pink and she scans the driveway. “To, you know.”
“Show you my stamp collection?” She fixes me with a look and I chuckle. “We’ll think of something. There’s always the treehouse, and failing that, the Kmart parking lot has a certain ambiance that I’ve found can really get you going.”
“This sucks! I can’t wait until you move.” She got over being upset about me moving approximately the same time she realized how much easier it’d be to come over when my house wasn’t in view of her own. She reaches down to straighten my tie, eyes averted. “Plus, I miss sleeping with you. I always have good dreams when you’re there.”
“Me, too,” I admit, aching just as much for that—a long, warm sleep with Vandy beside me—as I ache for other, far more naked things. “But hey, at least now we get to do this…” I hook a finger under her chin and tip her face up, pressing a soft, slow kiss to her lips. She curls her hand around the tie, tugging me closer, and our lips part. The kiss is lazy and unhurried, full of her warm breaths and the way I’m clutching at the small of her back like I can mold her to me.
“Okay, that’s a hard no.” We break apart in a flinch, turning to see Emory standing at his truck. “We’re going to have set some ground rules. Rule number one; no making out in the driveway. It’s gross and I don’t like it. Rule number two,” he goes on, throwing his bag into the truck. “No sex while occupying the same building. Rule number three—”
Vandy groans, “Oh my god,” and swipes her bag from the ground. “The amount of times I’ve had to see you sucking some poor girl’s face are unquantifiable.”
He barks, “AIS, V!” and climbs behind the wheel, craning out to give me a look. “You and I will discuss rule three later.” His eyebrows say that rule three is something meant only for me.
I’ll follow it, whatever it is.
I get into my Jeep and wait for them to back out before following closely behind. There’s going to come a day when Emory isn’t here to drive her to school. When that day comes, maybe I’ll be the one to do it. Hell, maybe she’ll just do it herself. But for now, this is their thing. I’ve always known that V and Em are a package deal. Some things might change, but that never will.
Campus is already buzzing with life when we arrive, pulling our cars into neighboring spots. It’s hard to imagine that the homecoming prank happened just four nights ago, but I can already tell that everyone’s still talking about it, drunk on the melodrama of mystery and mischief.
I get out fast enough that I can open her door, extending a hand to help her down. She doesn’t need it, but she lets me anyway, pressing our palms tightly together as she steps out.
Instead of letting go, we lace our fingers together.
“Can I walk you to class?” I already know I technically can. My no-tolerance no-contact regulation as it relates to Vandy has already been lifted.
It’s just nice to see her smile up at me and say, “Okay.”
Emory’s behind us, making gagging sounds. “Barf.”
“Sorry that some of us have game and you don’t.”
“Rule three!” he calls from behind us. “No using game on my sister!”
It’s hard to tell if the looks we’re getting are because I look like I went eight rounds with a hammer, or if it’s because I’m holding hands with Vandy. I can tell she feels it too, because she keeps looking down at her feet. I worry at first she’s being shy, or worse, embarrassed.
But then I catch a peek of a grin.
“Hey,” I say, squeezing her hand. “We forgot about the Stairway.” At her confused glance, I elaborate, “You know, as a Kmart alternative.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes! Oh my god, Reyn, I have third period free on Wednesdays.”
I laugh, because I wasn’t actually being serious. Only now that I think about it… “That could actually work.”
We run into Sydney on the way into the building. She’s standing by a massive stone urn with Fiona, adjusting her ponytail. Her eyes skid to a stop when they land on us, hands freezing in her hair. She quickly recovers, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder and looking away.
But Vandy sees.
She must, because suddenly she’s tugging me that way, a determined set to her jaw. “Syd.”
Sydney does this little shimmy with her shoulders and turns, plastering a snide smile on her face. “Vandy. Reyn.”
“I want you to know,” Vandy starts, “that I’m sorry if the way I’ve disappeared lately hurt your feelings. I was actually really grateful to have you as a friend. And even though you were kind of mean to me and always calling attention to my issues, we had some good times, and I’m going to miss them.”
Sydney looks completely thrown off guard by this, that snide look melting off her face. Without it, she just looks big-eyed and… if I didn’t know better, mournful.
And then Vandy adds, “But if you ever try to make a move on my boyfriend again, I will make you fucking regret it.”
With that, Vandy squeezes my hand and tugs me back toward the building. I can’t help the shit-eating grin I send Sydney’s way, because damn. My girl really sounded like she could back that shit up. I have no doubt she could, either.
One day, I’ll tell Vandy about how I’ve gone back there, to that dark deserted road that almost ended it all. I’ll tell her how I parked and listened, waited, coming to the slow, mind-blowing comprehension of just how much the universe had to conspire to get us in that exact spot, at that exact time. I’ll tell her how something in my chest all at once shattered and mended at the awareness that maybe we were just…
Just fucking unlucky.
We know better than most that all it takes is one blink, one wrong turn of the wheel, one bad decision to end it all. But what people like Sydney and Mrs. Hall don’t understand is that the universe conspired—so fucking painstakingly—and we didn’t flicker out or fade away. We survived. Call it luck or chance, or really good engineering, it doesn’t matter.
I’m calling it ours.
Epilogue
Vandy
I hear the motorboat entire minutes before I see the dark shape of it gliding across the glassy surface. Running lights reflect off the water the closer it comes, and when it’s near enough to make out the driver of the boat, my stomach flips.
The person is dressed from head-to-toe in black, including the ski mask covering his face. It’s a guy, I can tell that much from the silhouette. He docks the boat and cuts the motor, looping the tie around the post to keep it in place. He does this all in an easy, casual display of competence. I stare at that mask, the clothes, and am suddenly overcome by the excitement of this moment.
These are the things I do now. Sometimes impulsive, occasionally brash behavior isn’t such a strange look on me. Not anymore. I don’t always stay home. I read books and I binge watch ridiculous teen dramas on Netflix, but I also go out. Have a bite with the Playthings. Meet my boyfriend in a make-out spot. Go to the movies with my brother.
Get initiated into a super exclusive, underground secret society.
The guy steps easily off the boat, takes a few paces in my direction, and extends a large, gloved hand. “Let me see your envelope.”
I take one last look at the final missive, found in my locker earlier that day:
Initiate,
To unseal your fate, meet at the Cedar Shoals boat ramp, 10pm.
“You never walk alone. Even the devil is the lord of flies.”
Elevatio Infernum
I look up. “What do I get in return?”
My captor pauses, dropping his hand. “Well, what do you want?”
I tap the card on my hand. “Take off your mask.”
“Can’t.” He shrugs. “Said I had to wear it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Just the bottom half then.”
He tilts his head, watching me curiously, but ultimately does as I ask, hooking his thumbs beneath the mask and shimmying it up to his nose.
I step up to him, peering into the dark, shadowed eyes that are watching me, and use a hand on his shoulder to balance myself as I strain up to kiss him.
“You know,” he says, sounding perturbed as he rips off his mask. “What if it ended up being someone else under this thing?”
I scoff. “Come on, it was so clearly you.”
“It was supposed to be Bass.” Reyn takes the card from my hand. “Lucky for me, Em was having one of his moments.”
My smile falls. “Is he okay?”
Reyn takes my hand and helps me over the edge, sure hands steadying my hips. “He is now that he knows it’s me.”
It really isn’t fair. Everyone thinks the aftermath of the accident is exclusive to me and Reyn, but that’s not true. Emory’s been opening up a lot more about his anxiety and stress. No one’s told me directly, but I’m pretty sure he has his own appointment with Doctor Cordell after I leave tomorrow night.
I grimace when I see the hood he has for me.
“Sorry,” he says, placing it over the crown of my head. Before he tugs it all the way over, he pitches forward and kisses me again, lips soft and warm. “It’s going to be fine.”
Masked and cold, I sit on the vinyl cushions, trusting Reyn to get us there safely.
A moment later, the motor cranks. Reyn pushes the throttle so that the boat flies over the water, gliding over the glassy surface. I hold onto my hood with one hand and my seat with the other, and it doesn’t matter that I can’t see anything, because I have Reyn driving me, and I can feel it all. The crisp winter wind across my face, damp and ripe. The bare tree limbs waving as we pass, rattling in grim celebration. I can’t see the moon overhead, but I can feel the pull of it, loud in its magnetism.
You are alive, it’s screaming. You are free.