Complicit in His Chaos Book 1: Tempted

by Keilan Shea

  The doors leading into the gymnasium burst open with a low roiling BOOM. The source of irreverence strolls inside, his lips puckered as he whistles a jaunty tune. Lucas Ignacio. It amazes me how he can appear both orderly and chaotic. His uniform is patently crisp and worn as required, but his mannerisms, unruly darker-than-black hair, and that gleam in his eyes counteract the would-be model-student persona.

  Wet hair. Water droplets glisten and drip. A large globule almost assaults his right eye, but he runs his fingers through the rebellious strands to comb them back; though, they bounce forward with a vengeance. Why is his hair wet?

  Lucas repeatedly wipes his neck to stop the accumulating water from soaking into the collar of his uniform.

  Coach Dahl folds his thick arms, obscene muscles bulging. “Nice of you to join us, Ignacio.”

  “I have a note.” Using his dry hand, Lucas whips out a lavender-hued slip of paper from his pants pocket. It’s somehow unwrinkled. He presents it to Coach Dahl, who creases and almost tears the paper when he wrenches it from Lucas’s grasp. He scans the note then grunts. “Fall in line.”

  Lucas saunters toward me. My heart hammers in my chest as he claims his place on my empty left side.

  Coach Dahl resumes pacing and speaking, explaining the modules making up the class, but I don’t hear him. Lucas inches closer to me. While he doesn’t touch me, I’m hyperaware of his proximity. He bends down and whispers into my ear. “My chemistry teacher is a little too ebullient. She’s the stereotypical mad-scientist type—except she could totally be a model in Vogue. Everything else, though: pure mad scientist. It was ‘cleanup in classroom C13,’ and I was the lucky student volunteered for the job.”

  His warm breath coils around the shell of my ear. It’s strange when coupled with the coolness emanating from his wet hair. There’s hot and cold all at once—again—and it makes me shudder.

  “To be fair,” Lucas continues with a chuckle, “I was the job. We’re a volatile combination.”

  I slide my gaze to him, doing my best to remain inconspicuous while inspecting him. Did he spill a corrosive chemical on himself? That’s dangerous. Luckily, it must not have been too serious if so. Other than his wet hair, nothing is out of place.

  Lucas straightens, feigning innocence, when Coach Dahl returns to spit the rest of his speech into our faces. “Dodgeball. Before we start our basketball module, I will assess each of you by watching you play dodgeball. Don’t think this class is an easy grade. I’ll run you into the ground if you aren’t serious. Is that understood, Lopez?”

  I swallow, eyes shimmering as I strain to maintain eye contact. “Understood, Coach.”

  “And you, Ignacio. If you’re late again, it won’t matter if you have a note.”

  Lucas smiles pleasantly. “No ifs, ands, or buts.”

  “No mouthing off either.”

  Lucas salutes, which makes Coach Dahl growl like a grizzly bear.

  “What?” Lucas asks. “How do you want me to respond? I’ll adapt accordingly.” He listened to Hannah; he’s wearing Oxfords instead of his combat boots today.

  I forget how to breathe when Coach Dahl cracks his knuckles. “All of you, get dressed. You have five minutes.”

  Intimidation is an excellent motivator. Sports will be agony enough without being on Coach Dahl’s bad side, so I do that thing I hate: I run to the girls’ locker room.

  After setting my backpack on one of the benches to retrieve my phone, my female classmates enter and head straight for their assigned lockers. I search my student account until I learn which one I’ve been assigned and follow suit.

  The clock is ticking.

  I fumble with my student ID and tap it against the black panel embedded into the locker door. It clicks and opens simultaneously, letting out a puff of what smells like a rose perfume. A neatly folded white shirt branded with a golden phoenix embroidery lies inside. White shorts. White sneakers. More gold detailing. The material is different from what I’m wearing, though. It’s lighter, even more breathable. Oh, there are socks too, and a sports bra with the kind of support I need.

  Stop marveling at it all. The clock is still ticking.

  Now for the dreaded “getting dressed in front of other people” part. At least the showers are in private stalls. Still, the quicker I get this done, the better. I stare at the full-length mirror inside the door of my locker and try to ignore Chloe in the background. Of course her locker has to be opposite of mine. She’s so pretty and skinny, and I’m so fat. I ignore the urge to pinch my flabby stomach or frown at my “saggy” boobs as I switch bras. It doesn’t matter, anyway. What I told Naomi is true. Lucas can’t be interested in me. He must be messing with me.

  I’m fully dressed and pulling my shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail when a girl walks up to Chloe and says, “Blake really transferred to another school? How could he do this to us? Now we bow to King Caesar?”

  “It’s complicated,” Chloe replies, “but no. We don’t bow to ‘King’ Caesar.”

  “We do. The war is over. Blake isn’t here to defend his kingdom.”

  “We’re still here. If Caesar is abusing his power, we have to stop him.”

  “I’m scared, Chloe. If Blake were here—”

  “Snivel over Blake all you want, but it won’t do you any good.” Another girl joins them, flashing her Caesar badge. “He doesn’t give a damn about you. That’s why so many of his supporters have switched sides. Caesar isn’t abusing his power. He’s using it while Blake insultingly discarded it.”

  I don’t want to hear any more and don’t want to go over our allotted five minutes, so I close my locker, leaving everything inside except for my student ID. These shorts have glorious zipper pockets, which is what I choose to focus on as I reenter the gymnasium. The line of students is almost how I left it and is quickly filling out to be just that. Except for Lucas sitting cross-legged on the floor with several feet between him and the student nearest to him.

  He’s an outcast in every way. Worse than me.

  At least he was able to dry his hair some.

  I resist the urge to join him and ask about everything I heard and read last night. It wouldn’t matter, because he could tell me anything. He could lie. So, I head for the opposite end of the line.

  Lucas glances at me, shattering my thoughts into millions of particle-sized pieces that I can’t hope to reassemble. He makes no move for me and doesn’t invite me over because I’m shunning him too. He must not care, though, since he grins from ear to ear and shifts his gaze to the skylights as he stands in time for the last student to join the line.

  “I need two team captains,” Coach Dahl says. “Any volunteers?”

  Two hands spring up.

  “Caesar and Chloe, assemble your teams. Or do we need a coin toss to determine who starts?”

  Caesar presses his hand to his heart and offers a slight bow. “Ladies first.”

  “The first person I pick is Melody,” Chloe says.

  Melody. That’s me. She’s looking at me. How does she know who I am?

  I’m stunned into inaction, but Coach Dahl grows impatient. “Today, Lopez. Join your team.”

  I stumble over to Chloe. She welcomes me with a nod and her pretty actress smile. “Welcome.”

  “W-why am I on your team?” I dare to ask while Caesar chooses Jet for his first teammate.

  “Theo vouches for you and that’s all the reassurance I need.”

  It gets weirder as Coach Dahl steps away to set up the game. Everyone who has a badge has pinned it to the hem of their shirts—inside so that they aren’t visible unless they’re intentionally flashed. There must not be as many Blake supporters in this class, because I don’t notice the badges until Chloe starts choosing Caesar supporters. She picks them over Lucas, who’s last and therefore Caesar’s.

  “Finally,” Lucas says. “You won’t regret this decision, Captain, because you had no choice in the matter.”

  Caesar guffaws. “No disrespect,
Ignacio, but I don’t know what you’re made of.”

  “Don’t lie. You know exactly what I’m made of. It nauseates all of you Gilded purebreds and your beloved nouveau riche, who are a bunch of poseurs if you ask me.”

  Theo wilts, Jet hyena-laughs, and Ritsuki says, “Shut up, asshole.”

  “Careful,” Caesar agrees. “You might offend someone.”

  “Are you offended?” Lucas asks.

  “Not at all, but it’s my job to aid all of Gilded Academy’s students, including you.”

  “Get your butts over here!” Coach Dahl shouts. When each team has claimed one side of the basketball court, he explains the rules we’ll be playing by. “If you get hit by a ball thrown by the opposing team, you’re out. If you catch the ball, however, the thrower is out. The game ends when one team is wiped off the map. Now start!”

  My mob of a team runs to the centerline, leaving me in the dust. I’m not trying to hang back, but I can’t find an opening between shifting bodies. Then balls pock the air like a barrage of missiles. I’m too afraid of tripping someone or getting impaled, so I focus on dodging—which I’m terrible at. A ball ripping through the air with excessive force comes near me—near me, not at me—and I step into its trajectory when Ritsuki steps out. My mouth opens with the reflex to scream, but Ritsuki returns, leaping in front of me and catching the ball with a painful “Oof!”

  “I fucking hate this game,” he grumbles and passes the ball to a boy on our team with the launching power of a catapult.

  “You okay?” Theo asks as he dashes to my side.

  “You should be asking if I’m okay.” Ritsuki gingerly rubs his chest.

  I belatedly reply, “Yeah.”

  Theo nods and takes off, Ritsuki on his heels, as a ball comes for him. Him. Not me. I freeze and find myself in a clear zone. Am I … not a target? The game blurs around me, sheer pandemonium, but it doesn’t matter how long I stay still. I remain untouched while both teams’ numbers slowly whittle down.

  What kind of score is Coach Dahl going to give me? He’s leaning against a sandstone-brick wall, holding a tablet, glancing up, tapping the tablet’s screen. A lump clogs my throat and I double my efforts to involve myself in the game, but it’s already too late.

  “Conniving bastard,” Ritsuki mutters and adds, “You’re on your own now, new girl,” as he ambles off the court, abandoning me. I’m the last person standing on my team.

  With my head pounding, I reluctantly scan the opposing team. Two people remain: Caesar and Lucas. I brace for impact, but neither of them is holding a ball because they’re all behind me, except for the one that taps the toe of my left sneaker.

  “Your move,” Caesar says.

  My eyes drift to his rock-hard biceps and then to Lucas’s. Caesar must be flexing. Lucas is toned too, but he’s not drawing attention to his physique. He’s slouched, dragging his sneakers. The glossy hardwood floor responds with ear-piercing shrieks.

  “Do you mind?” Caesar presses a finger into his right ear to hide a wince.

  “Nope,” Lucas singsongs. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Lopez!” Coach Dahl barks. “Pick up a ball and throw it!”

  An undignified squeak leaks through my lips as I scramble for the ball at my feet. My sweaty fingers slip across the semi-slick surface and I drop it, but I get a good grip on it the second time around. I muster all my courage and strength, winding my arm back, trying to remember what Papa told me about throwing a ball—though I didn’t pay much attention because I didn’t care—and toss the rubber weapon. Unsurprisingly, it’s completely off course.

  Caesar runs to catch it and I silently cheer him on because I’d rather he catch it than throw it at me to win the game. But then Lucas comes in from the opposite direction. Caesar calls the catch, warning Lucas off, but Lucas trips and slams into Caesar. Their limbs tangle and the ball drops, tapping Caesar on the head and then Lucas. It’s like a scene from a cartoon or one of those cheesy comedy movies.

  “Out!” Coach Dahl calls. “Chloe’s team wins.”

  Caesar shoves Lucas off him and climbs back to his feet. Lucas rolls on the ground, laughing until he can’t breathe. When he calms enough to sit, he says, “Well done, Melly Mel! You won the game. That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Theo runs to my side. “That was lucky.”

  “Yeah, it was.” I frown. “Theo, I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.” He’s still being nice to me even after what I said. Maybe I should face his confrontational friends … specifically Olive. Chloe was nice to me. Ritsuki took a bruising hit for me.

  “You didn’t,” Theo says. “I understand.”

  Why didn’t anyone throw a ball at me, though?

  These obscure social dynamics are driving me crazy.

  “Go on, then,” Coach Dahl orders. “The bell will ring in five minutes. Shower, dress, and get out of here.”

  “See you later, Melody,” Theo says. “You have my number if you need anything. Oh, and I started reading The Sister Star last night. Thanks for the recommendation.” His smile is small, genuine, as he turns away to follow Ritsuki into the boys’ locker room.

  Theo’s reached out all he can, and it’s up to me if I want to reciprocate. He started reading The Sister Star! My cheeks hurt with how wide I smile at the thought. It’s lunchtime. Maybe we could discuss what he’s read—

  A hand waves in front of my face and I startle, tripping over my feet as I backtrack.

  “Hey!” It’s Lucas. “You were zoning out. I asked you a question, but you didn’t hear me.”

  I take another step back so I can’t smell his mocha-latte scent. “W-what?”

  “Have any plans for lunch?”

  “Yes,” I say hastily, evasively. “I’m eating with Theo.”

  “All right. Catch you later, then.” The vivid emerald green of Lucas’s eyes dims, but his smirk grows. “Maybe.”

  CHAPTER 12

  When I stumble out of the Infinity Fitness Center, the midday sun beats me with its dauntless heat. August is my least favorite month because of this. Usually SoCal treats my temperature sensitivity well, but no place is perfect. Maybe it feels worse right now because of PE—the class where I hardly moved. I hope tomorrow is more … normal.

  I turn up the brightness on my phone and stare at a blank message box. I want to send Theo a text, but don’t know how to word it. I couldn’t bring myself to intercept him and invite myself along for lunch. Besides, lunch won’t leave much time for a book discussion. No, what we need is a book club. I’ll do my research to ensure it’s viable, then I’ll figure out how to propose that idea to him before lunch is over. Besides, it’ll keep me preoccupied while I eat alone.

  I puff a labored breath and lament how spread out the buildings are. We’re given ten minutes between classes for a reason, but thank God I don’t have classes on opposite ends of the campus back-to-back. I’d have to take up jogging. It’s possible Coach Dahl will require that anyway after today.

  Where is the cafeteria from here? I have no idea. I can’t see it with all the tall buildings obstructing the view. Until I’ve memorized my daily routine and route, consulting the campus map is necessary. I reluctantly summon my student account by tapping the academy’s app on my phone. I wouldn’t mind splitting my attention like this if I hadn’t barreled into Lucas yesterday.

  And then it happens. Something, a metal pole or maybe the sharp corner of a short brick wall, jabs my rib cage. My teeth clench as I try to hold my throbbing chest and stretch out my hands at the same time. Nothing’s there when I double over, wheezing, glasses sliding down my nose, as my phone flies out of my hand. It cracks against the sun-warmed walkway, fissures painting a spiderweb-like pattern across the screen. I squeeze my eyes shut and cough as my hand rests gingerly on my abused ribs. Nothing soothes the throbbing. My eyes sting with unshed tears and I don’t know if I can hold them back.

  “Watch where you’re going,” a boy warns. A boy. Is he what hit me? He m
ust have hit me. Intentionally.

  I shudder a breath. My tear-blurred eyes counteract the effects of my glasses as I right them. Those same tears leak over my lower eyelids and slide down my cheeks because the pain doesn’t stop and my phone has gone dark. It’s busted.

  While scrambling to my feet, I snatch my phone and hastily wipe my eyes, meaning to dart past my antagonist without causing a bigger scene. But there are two more male students with him and they block me as he grabs my shoulder with punishing fingers. He must be the ringleader. “Where do you think you’re going? You didn’t apologize.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” I choke out.

  The ringleader probes me with narrowed eyes. “I recognize you. You ran out of Richter Palace when Theo Earnshaw knocked over his chair.”

  One of the boys with him shakes his head. “Doubt many people saw you, but he was publicly scolded.”

  “It’s nice to see an Earnshaw reprimanded,” the third boy says and then chortles. “Times are changing.”

  Theo got in trouble because of me? He didn’t bring it up, and I haven’t heard anything—not that I’ve talked to many people outside of my teachers today. Even at breakfast, I made sure to find a secluded corner of the cafeteria to eat in peace. Knowing this makes me feel worse about what I said to Theo.

  My ribs settle into a deep ache and the guilt weighing heavily on my heart expands it. I duck my head. “I truly am sorry. Please excuse me.”

  The ringleader tightens his grip on my shoulder. My lower lip trembles as I stare at his rumpled shirt collar. A gold badge with a red rim peeks out from underneath, commanding my attention. CB.

  Another voice enters the conversation, one I recognize. It’s a deep, charismatic baritone. “Are they disturbing you, Melody?” Caesar asks.