by Keilan Shea
“You did?” She’s a van, but I didn’t get to say goodbye. My heart lurches and is followed by a pang of sorrow.
“It was time.”
I twist my fingers in my hair and press my lips together to suppress their quivering. My eyes are too dry, and they sting. “We’ll Zoom. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone with driving me back and forth every weekend. Santa Monica isn’t that close to Gilded Academy. We should save it for the holidays.”
“I’ll be your chauffeur,” Lucas chimes in.
I close my eyes as Naomi barks, “Who’s that, Melody? Doesn’t sound like Theo Earnshaw. Not to mention that … growl. Are you in a car with somebody?”
Lucas raises an eyebrow. Naomi spoke the words so loudly that he heard them. I bite the inside of my cheeks, unsure of what to say. I told Naomi I’d stay away from Lucas, but I’m in his car and we’re on our way to dinner. He spent hundreds of dollars on me, and I let him. I could have walked away, been more adamant. I should have—
“Name’s Aaron,” Lucas explains. “Melody and I are lab partners.”
Lab partners. AP chemistry is one of my classes, so it’s a plausible lie and a lucky guess on Lucas’s part. I never mentioned it or my gorgeous, charismatic mad-scientist teacher. I thought about it since I’m fairly certain we share this teacher based on what Lucas said to me in PE on Wednesday, but the right opportunity never presented itself. Not that any of that is applicable. Lucas is lying to Naomi, and I’m letting him.
“I live in Santa Monica, too,” Lucas continues, speaking loud and clear, “so it’s no trouble. I’m planning on driving down to see my family tomorrow and can drop Melody off first. I’ll pick her up on Sunday for the return trip to Gilded Academy. How does that sound?”
Lucas lies effortlessly.
“Melody, let me talk to this boy right now. Hand him the phone.”
I bite the inside of my cheeks harder, drawing blood, as Lucas exits the parking garage and merges into heavy traffic. “He’s driving.” A honking car drowns out my quiet words.
“Where?” Naomi isn’t shouting, but her voice is firm.
“He’s taking me out for dinner.”
“You left Gilded Academy without telling me?”
“He’s my friend, and you signed the perm—”
“What’s Aaron’s last name? Why didn’t you tell me about him before?”
“Because I knew you’d react like this!” I surprise myself with the angry volume of my retort, and the words streaming out of my mouth. “I’m seventeen, Naomi, and this is my first time having friends outside of our family. Don’t take that away from me.”
Naomi is silent. Neither of us say a word for several minutes. Lucas doesn’t either. He taps the steering wheel, bounces his passive leg, but otherwise focuses on the road. The low murmur of Benjamin’s voice drifts through my phone. He doesn’t speak loud enough for me to decipher what he’s saying, but I recognize this tone. He’s pacifying Naomi. At last, Naomi says, “If you feel good about him …”
“I do. I like him. A lot.”
“Have fun, then.” Naomi’s words are stilted, but she’s trying. “Call me later and let me know when you’re coming out. I love you.”
“I love you too, Naomi.”
As I end the call, I suck in air as though I’ll never get another chance to.
“So that was Naomi,” Lucas says. “She keeps you on a tight leash.”
“She just worries.” I frown. “Why did you lie to her?”
“Why did you propagate the lie?”
My frown deepens.
“That’s what I thought.” Lucas grins despite the blatant rejection. “You said you like me. A lot.”
“I-I do.”
“I like you, too. A lot.”
“You haven’t called me lovely since … I stopped being dense.”
Lucas taps his steering wheel harder. “You don’t want me to call you lovely, do you?”
I do. It hasn’t been that long since I heard him say it, but I feel its absence as if a chasm has opened up inside of me. It’s slowly growing, and it hurts. My heart aches and flutters. My belly ignites and smoke rises to my brain, muddying my thoughts. Only one thing is clear: Lucas’s handsome profile, his handsome everything. Until his agitated tapping grows more intense.
“Melly Mel, you really gotta stop looking at me like that.”
I blink. “L-like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you.”
I swallow, but nothing happens. There’s a lump in my throat and it’s there to stay. “I-I’m not.”
Lucas’s emerald eyes flicker to me then back to the road when the traffic signal changes to green. “Then you’re contemplating how to kill me without marking me up so that you can preserve my beauty postmortem.” He flutters his luscious eyelashes at me when he’s stopped by another blaring red light.
“That’s not funny.” I squeeze my hands and make it a point to stare at them resting in my lap and nowhere else.
“It was a little funny.” Lucas chuckles. “Lighten up! Tell me what you want to do this weekend. When do you want to leave tomorrow?”
“I appreciate your offer to drive, but I don’t want to inconvenience you either. I’ll tell Naomi that ‘Aaron’s’ plans changed.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because I’m spending my weekend in Santa Monica. You’re missing a free ride.”
“Lucas.”
“What?”
“You’re seventeen. Where will you stay?”
“My dad will book a hotel room. Don’t sweat the details. Seriously. You want to go home, don’t you? It won’t inconvenience me. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
I don’t respond. I’m too preoccupied replaying what Lucas said about how I look at him. What Caesar said, too … I’ve never been kissed before, not by a boy I like. I’ve never even had a crush, so this is a ridiculous accusation. I don’t want Lucas to kiss me. I hardly know him.
“At least consider it,” Lucas concludes.
I turn my head away from him and bring my gaze to the window. These streets are darker, quieter, and emptier. The buildings don’t fare much better. They’re dull and marred with faults. Lucas’s car is a foreign object, a sapphire atop a bed of coals. When he said deeper downtown, he didn’t mean the slums, did he? Is this why he hasn’t opened the roof?
We’re on the fringe of destitution, and I think something white and furry just hopped into a shady alley.
CHAPTER 21
Niall’s Cottage is a humble, small structure that’s positively puny when compared to the backdrop of bloody skyscrapers. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a sunset such a gruesome red. The heavy smog exacerbates it, because there is no indication of where the buildings end and the sky begins.
I don’t recognize this area, but the cottage sits on a questionable border. It’s a neighbor to smaller businesses that, like itself, have an impressive number of patrons when a condemned hotel looms over them just a block away. The cracked brick and boarded-up windows make the hotel the ideal location for one of Russel’s horror games or an episode of Hideaway.
“It’s so quaint,” Lucas remarks as he pulls into an isolated parking stall on the blacktop shared between the neighboring businesses. His car is the shiniest one here, but it doesn’t stick out the way it did a few streets ago, so hopefully no one will try to break into it.
Lucas certainly doesn’t seem worried. He hops out of the car, opens my door, and asks, “What do you think?”
I haven’t undone my seat belt and don’t do it now.
“Something wrong?”
“Aren’t we too close to the slums?” I grew up in the slums, but that doesn’t mean I want to revisit them. If I could expunge them from my memories, I would.
“Ouch,” Lucas says, “that hurts. I wouldn’t have taken you here if it wasn’t safe.”
“That’s not what I … meant.”
“Then trust me when I say I did my research.”
Hesitant
ly, I fumble with my seat belt and emerge from the car. Lucas shuts my door and locks the vehicle with his key fob.
“It’s so green,” Lucas comments as we navigate the parking lot. I tear my eyes from the blacktop to see what he means. This time, I don’t let the overbearing surroundings steal my attention. I notice the serene cottage centered within a convincing forest sanctuary.
Niall’s Cottage doesn’t have much land, but what it does have it utilizes to create an effective fairytale-like scene. Its thatched roof is old-timey, like being transported to the 16th century, and the fairy lights add a touch of whimsy. A lively fiddle cuts through the hum of traffic, inviting people to leave their stress behind and dance—or tap their feet. The savory smell of a hearty stew promises to fill empty bellies, and my growling stomach begs to be fed.
I keep on Lucas’s heels, cautiously intrigued. A stone fence hides the outdoor section of the restaurant and pub from anyone who isn’t a patron. It’s too tall for me to peer over, but a flickering orange light kisses the coping.
“Wait a second,” Lucas says. “Let’s check out that street performer.”
A shiver racks my body and threatens to dismantle my skeleton. There, peeking out from a shadowy alley stands an unnaturally skinny figure with a much-too-large head. Clothed in a black swallow-tail coat, the figure would be as dark as night if not for its stark-white fur. My eyes stick on one feature and then another: a pink nose, transparent whiskers, glowing red eyes, ears that defy gravity. That bulbous head rotates like an owl’s, and my brain buzzes. My heart pounds in my ears, making it impossible to think straight and assuage my fears with facts, but I try anyway.
This is not a human-sized white rabbit. It’s a man wearing a rabbit head. Further proof can be found outside of him. Spoiled children and their doting parents crowd him, begging for the products he has stashed inside a burlap sack at his feet. Masks. Plastic rabbit masks. They’re simplistic, unlike their source, but that doesn’t change anything. One after the other, kids bound away, until a squealing white-rabbit colony fills the sidewalks.
I inch toward the heavy mahogany door leading into Niall’s Cottage, but I don’t turn my back on the multiplying rabbits.
“Where are you going?” Lucas calls. When did this distance open between us? He must have been walking while I was oblivious, preoccupied with … white rabbits. Two of them dart past Lucas and come after me like guard dogs, jaws snapping, spittle oozing down their chins.
“Y-you go,” I call back and then raise my voice because I can’t hear it over my thrashing heart. “I’ll get us a table!”
The door shuts behind me with a dull thud. New sounds ring in my ears, overpowering my heartbeat, as people bustle about, their figures soft and cool against the warm light of an electric fireplace emitting no heat. Dancers display rapid footwork and rigid torsos in a space clear of tables. Servers deliver food, dishes clattering. Patrons talk and their conversations combine, one layered atop the other, into a calming hum punctuated by the chipper tone of a wooden flute and a familiar lively fiddle streaming in from a propped-open side door.
Lucas didn’t follow me inside. I’m on my own, but I’m safe. There are no white rabbits in here.
My eyes drift to the ground, where I spot flowing saffron-yellow fabric swirling around slender ankles and a pair of petite bare feet. “Welcome to Niall’s Cottage. Can I get you a table?”
I lift my gaze to meet the server’s. “Y-yes, thank you. Oh, but I’m waiting for a boy named Lucas to join me. He should be here within five minutes.” I hope.
“Not to worry.” Her smooth voice and slight accent soothe the last of my frazzled nerves. I can breathe again. “I’ll send him your way when he moseys on in here. There’s one table open and I don’t want you to miss it.”
The woman leads me to the fenced-off yard, where a cobblestone path takes us to a rough-wood table with a plain candle centerpiece. Lush green grass, shrubs, and trees are strategically placed to build atmosphere but not to crowd out the available seating space and the spread of cobblestone in the center of the yard, where live entertainment circles a small fire pit. The musicians and other dancers claim the outdoors—though based on the modern clothes some of them wear, several customers have joined the dancers. A few more customers join at the beckoning of bare-foot women. Then a little girl runs from her parents to take center stage, bouncing and clapping to the rhythm of the music.
“Here’s your menu,” my guide says. “I’ll keep an eye out for your boy and return shortly.” Then she dances away, her torso rigidly straight despite the complicated steps and intermittent jumps.
The infectious cheer makes me smile, but then anxiety manifests as a swarm of insects thrumming inside my stomach and what-ifs spiraling in my mind. Lucas will come, won’t he? I have enough money to cover a meal, but how will I get back to Gilded Academy if he leaves me? Would he leave me? Maybe he would. I left him first.
I take my phone out of my brand-new purse and call Lucas. On the first ring, an upbeat techno tune cuts through the Irish jig from behind me. Startled, I reflexively look over my shoulder to see … shiny white ears, a shiny pink nose, and shiny red eyes. I shriek, but the plastic rabbit has human hands. With one, it seals my mouth. With the other, it grips my nape to hold me still. I’m in a restaurant, in the middle of a group of people, but the only thought running on repeat through my mind is “I’m going to die.” All it would take is a well-placed knife.
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About the Author
They say anyone can be redeemed. Let’s test that theory.
Keilan Shea writes mature YA/NA contemporary romance on the darker and more suspenseful side of the genre. Think sexy bad boys, girls who take no shit, and plots driven by dangerous secrets and games. Hold on to your seat and your heart because you’re in for a ride.
Keilan's website: keilanshea.com