by S. Massery
I leave him standing there with Miranda, more irritated than anything. He’s not Theo. The dance was nice, but… that’s about it. The wild child of the football team, Miranda called him. My mind spins back to Theo. If him and Sebastian get along. If he’s made any friends in the last year outside of his three from high school.
Felicity and others are now dancing inside. The pulse of music assaults my ears, but I welcome the vibrations in my chest. It reminds me that my heart still beats.
I climb the stairs, dodging couples. The smell of weed leads me higher—no pun intended. I follow my nose to one of the last rooms on the third floor. The door is cracked, and cool air blows in from an open window.
I push the door open and pause.
Theo sits on the sill, staring down at the backyard.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He glances at me. “Contemplating murder.”
I press my lips together. Of course he saw the interaction with Sebastian—even if it was just the conversation after the fire was lit. I wonder if he also saw us dancing but quickly dismiss it. If he had, I’d like to think he would’ve been quicker to act.
“Sebastian seems nice,” I say, coming forward and plucking the joint from his hand. I inhale the smoke and hold it in my lungs for a few seconds, until stars burst at the corner of my vision. I release my breath and repeat, finally closing my eyes and offering it back to him. The high will hit me soon enough. I’ve never been much of a smoker, and I have to resist the urge to cough and look like an idiot. Still, I think I need it to get through this conversation.
He’s just so… infuriating.
Theo doesn’t move to touch me. I don’t even think he sees me. I open my eyes to confirm it and nod to myself. His gaze remains trained down below. Still, his energy is what is directed at me.
“Real charmer.” Something in me just has to goad him about Sebastian. I can’t stop talking, can’t resist poking the bear. I hate that he won’t look at me. I want his eyes on me. Hell, I want more than just his eyes. But he gives me nothing, so I continue. “He’s cute, too—”
Now he moves, rising and grabbing my face. He pivots us and pushes me against the wall beside the window, both hands on my jaw, fingers splayed across my neck and into my hair. He presses his thumbs over my mouth, dragging my lower lip down.
My heart hammers. I’ve got an electrical current under my skin, but I manage to hold on to my wits. I stare at him, wide-eyed, and wait. I don’t see blood when I look at him. I don’t taste it on my tongue. I wanted darkness and ugly thoughts and a man who would destroy anyone who took what was his. I’ve wanted that forever.
So this doesn’t scare me.
Not even close.
He seems to be trying to figure out exactly what to do with me.
“I don’t think you realize how close to losing control I am,” he murmurs. “How infuriating it is to watch you with other people.”
I huff, and his fingers tense on my skin. “Enlighten me.”
“You covered the bruise.” One of his hands dips lower, touching my neck. The makeup I covered it with comes away on the pad of his finger, and my stomach swoops in response.
“I couldn’t very well walk around with bruises on my neck. Everyone would want to know what happened.” I wrap my hand around his wrist and pull it away. “Stop.”
“Why?”
I narrow my eyes. “Because you promised.”
“Ah.” He leans in, swaying dangerously close to my mouth. “What’s a promise worth to you, Lux?”
“Everything,” I say without hesitation. “What’s breaking a promise worth to you?”
He brushes his lips against the corner of my mouth. I can’t call it a kiss—I won’t call it a kiss. And my body screams at me to turn my head just a little, to make it official. I wish it was different between us. I wish we could be normal and kiss and not deal with the consequences.
But sometimes kisses and wishes are just smoke and mirrors. An illusion that was never there in the first place.
“Theo,” I whisper.
He straightens. His thumb sweeps over my lower lip one more time, then he takes a step back. Another. Until he’s back at the window, lowering himself into the same position I found him in.
“Leave, Lux.”
I shouldn’t be shaken, but I am. So I do what he says for once, and get the hell out of there.
Lux
Three and a Half Years Ago — Lux’s Freshman Year of High School
I focus on Theo. He moves with his friends out of the locker room. The rest of the team files out behind them and onto the field. They carry their helmets, dangling from fingertips, in one hand and sticks in the other.
I shouldn’t be here, spying on his practice.
But I can’t help it.
My camera is ready. Just a few clicks, enough to satiate my curiosity, and then I’ll leave. I rode my bike across town for this moment, and I picked my spot wisely. I’m hidden between cars in the parking lot, crouched near the wheel. It’s easy enough to peek out.
This feels an awful lot like spying, but I can’t help it.
I sit and watch their practice. It’s fascinating how they catch and carry the ball, moving down the field together. There are people leaving, passing behind me, but they’re background noise.
Unfortunately, everything falls into the background when Theo is front and center.
“Hey,” someone calls.
I automatically flinch, pivoting on my heels to see who snuck up on me.
My sister’s friend, Skylar. She wears a light-pink cropped top and black bike shorts. Her white shoes are spotless—I have to wonder if she ever steps on the grass. Or dirt. Or anything other than concrete and tile. I eye the gold-and-black pom-poms in her grip, propped on her hip.
I’m not sure what she sees in Amelie. My sister is a walking disaster, worse than me. She’s been going through a rebellious streak—partying, drinking, boys. The trifecta of shit that would’ve got me kicked out of the house. If I lived with them.
If my parents hadn’t already decided I wasn’t worth the effort to raise.
As it is, I’m doing community service on my weekends for spray-painting the backside of a billboard. No jail time, thanks to good ol’ pops. No press, either. No fuss. Just Lucy Page serving her time.
But I wasn’t that much of a wildcard back then. When they pushed me on my grandparents.
Skylar raises her eyebrows, and I realize she must’ve asked me a question. I stare at her blankly, hoping she’ll repeat it, or at least give me a clue where this conversation should be going.
She points to my camera.
“Practicing with different settings,” I manage. I rise and take off the lens, then quickly twist on the caps.
She watches in silence as I return the pieces to their proper places in the case, then stow it in my backpack.
“Are you here to see Amelie?”
We do sometimes catch dinner when our parents will be working late, so it isn’t out of the question. Our parents tend toward workaholism, not that I ever fully absorbed the impact of that. As I said, I’ve been living with my grandparents for a while. They’re both retired. Grandpa is ex-military.
Dad probably thought it would give me structure, but… retirement is retirement. They were done raising kids when Dad’s youngest sibling moved out of the house. There are rules for me, but only a handful. If I stop causing waves, I get more freedom.
That’s since diminished because of the paint incident, but I digress.
I have no good excuse to be here, watching the Emery-Rose Elite lacrosse team’s practice. Hiding. Spying.
So I find myself nodding, and I don’t dare look over my shoulder at the boys on the field.
“She’s over here,” Skylar says. “We changed fields for practice because of the recent rain. Our regular one seems to catch it all, and the whole thing turns into a swamp. Although we haven’t started yet, so she’s in the locker room.”
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“Sure,” I say faintly. “Why were you in the parking lot?”
“I’d left my sneakers.” She grins. “How’s Lion’s Head?”
I grab my bike and wheel it along, catching up to her. I contemplate pretending it isn’t mine, but someone might steal it. And then I’d be stuck walking home.
Although, I don’t know where I’ll put it if Amelie does drive me home. It would be an interesting fit, stuffing it into her trunk. A wheel might hang out.
A slightly manic glee overtakes me for a moment. She’d be horrified at that. Anything to put a dent in her reputation…
“Lucy.” Skylar laughs. “Do you know how to have a conversation?”
I wince, and I almost say no. I talk to a handful of people outside of family, and only when I have to. My practice in social communication is dreadfully low. But I can’t say that. I definitely can’t say it’s because I’ve got a screw loose. That tends to scare people off faster than random silences.
So I say, “Um, Lion’s Head is fine. I’m writing for the school paper. Covering the games…”
She shakes a pom-pom. “Make sure to get a good one of me, then, huh? We play you guys in a few weeks.”
I smile. “Sure.”
We stop at a side door into the building. “Do you want to wait here? I’ll grab her.”
I swallow. Amelie might be confused to find me here, but maybe she’ll play along. I can count on one hand the times I’ve met her at school… and most of the time it’s because one of my grandparents had a late appointment and dropped me off.
Riding here on my bike took longer than I’d admit. I skipped part of my last period to make it before the sports started.
She disappears inside, and I lean against the brick wall. It isn’t long before Amelie shoves the door open and stops dead.
“What are you doing here?”
I wince. “I, um…”
She eyes me. “Did Grandma drop you off?” Her gaze goes to the bike. “Oh. You’re not running away, are you?”
Okay, so we don’t have the best relationship at the moment—I blame our parents. Spitefully.
“I can’t hang out,” she says in a lower voice. “I have practice.”
I nod quickly. “We can get dinner or something later? When you’re done?”
Fuck.
She smiles tightly, glancing over her shoulder. “Sure. You just wait here, okay?”
I smile. “Absolutely.”
Her eyes move up and down, taking in everything. My ripped jeans, black shirt. The armful of leather bracelets with silver studs on them. Under these conditions, I barely look like I should be related to her. My grandmother has been trying to change my wardrobe for months, slowly stealing the black band t-shirts from my closet and replacing them with more demur blouses.
I’ve taken to hiding my favorites.
Amelie closes the door, and I slide to the grass. My back presses against the brick, and I take out my camera again. I have a decent view of the lacrosse field from here, and I’m still hidden…
Most of my shots are blurry, or the exposure washed everything out.
Soon enough, the lacrosse players are packing up and heading back to the locker room. Toward me.
I don’t move, and instead bury my head in my bag, pretending to search for something. Most don’t say anything. Actually, no one says a word to me. I am the invisible girl.
When I finally glance up, I’m alone.
Another few minutes pass. Birds chirp. The sun is out. It’s a nice spring day, really… until cars pull out of their spots and drive away.
I hop to my feet. Amelie didn’t come out, and that should’ve been my first indication that something was wrong. But no, I was too busy taking photos and watching Theo run across the field.
Damn it.
He has a habit of ignoring me. When our interactions aren’t forced, I remain in his background. I desperately want to be seen by him.
The door cracks, and I whirl around. I expect my sister. To be elated—and relieved—that she didn’t forget me.
But instead, my stomach jumps into my throat.
Theo Alistair stares at me.
“She left,” he says.
I lift my chin. I know he means Amelie—I’m not an idiot.
And I know I should feel hurt… or surprise. She left, he just said, but it barely weighs on my conscience. Of course she left. She could’ve forgotten all about her sister waiting for her, or she did it on purpose to get out of hanging out with me. To skirt the dilemma of where to put the bike and what to do with me.
God forbid she talk to me.
“Not surprising,” Theo continues. “She’s got a reputation to uphold.”
Something comes alive within me. I can’t really explain it, but having his eyes on me sets my soul on fire. I just can’t tell right now if it’s a good pain or a bad one.
“I have a reputation, too.”
His gaze flickers over me. “Do you?”
“One of terror.” I smirk. “You know any children in need of frightening?”
He steps fully outside, letting the door bang closed behind him. “You vandalized that billboard, didn’t you?”
“Me?” I ignore the drum of my heartbeat. “Paint is so messy, though.”
“Suits you.”
Suits us, I almost come back with. But he didn’t see my fixation with him in middle school. I doubt he’s ever actually laid eyes on me until now. But still, he’s right: I am chaotic. Like spray paint, I have a tendency to get everywhere. Under nail beds, in hair. I’m bad to breathe in without protection.
“You don’t know me,” I say.
He shrugs. I can’t do anything except gawk at him as he steps around me and pauses beside my bike. He then takes it with him, back toward the parking lot, and my brain lags. Then, suddenly, I snap to attention and rush after him.
“What are you doing?”
“Lucille, right?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Theodore.” I plant my feet and cross my arms.
As expected, he stops and gives me his full attention. Like this, here, he’s not so scary. He’s not the bulldozer he is on the field, or the brooding boy in the hallways when we went to school together. He’s not the lost soul who witnessed something unspeakable with me.
He abandons the bike and stalks forward. I hold my ground, and I can’t flinch when he grabs my jaw. I can’t because I’m frozen in place with disbelief. He tilts my head up, to the side, staring hard into my eyes.
“Hmm,” he says. “I know you.”
“We went to school together,” I say.
He nods, but that’s all he does. He doesn’t pick my bike back up. He doesn’t say anything else. He just… leaves me standing there like an idiot.
Long after he’s gone, my face flames. My eyes burn.
And it’s at that moment that I decide he’ll never walk away from me again.
7
Lux
I wake up to my new roommate trying to shove two large suitcases through the door ahead of her. She’s a petite girl with long dark hair and a fringe of bangs cut straight across her forehead. She kicks one of the pieces of luggage through, and it skitters across the tile, then topples onto its side.
Her gaze goes from its dramatic entrance to me, and her eyes widen. “Oh god. Oh no. What a first impression, huh? I’m so sorry. I thought for sure I’d be the first one here.”
I clear my throat. “Ruby, was it?”
“Yes!” She drops the handle of the other suitcase and it, too, falls on its side. She stops just beside my bed, extending her hand.
I take it and shake. Her hand is cool, skin smooth. She squeezes twice, an odd movement, before releasing me.
“Did Felicity tell you anything?” she asks.
“Um, not really. Just that today is move-in day.”
She stares at me a beat, then nods. “Right. Yes, so I’m Ruby, and you’re Lucy—”
“Lux,” I interrupt, smiling sheepishly
. “College is the time to reinvent yourself, right?”
I get the impression that Ruby doesn’t know what to make of me. I don’t know what to make of the nonsense coming out of my mouth right now, either. Theo’s the only one to have ever called me Lux, and now I’m inviting a stranger to do the same.
“You sure?” she asks. “I only ask because you made a face just now.”
I sigh. “No, maybe Luce would be better. Or just… Lucy.”
“Well, as long as you don’t call me Rubix Cube, we’ll be fast friends.”
“Deal.”
“So, Luce.” She shoots me a look. “What brings you to LBU West, if not for the secrets? Or rather, keeping secrets?”
I can’t swallow for a moment, a slice of fear flickering through me. I lean forward. “What does that mean?”
She grins. “Everyone has secrets, but LBU West is infamous for collecting those who don’t want to be part of the main campus. It’s our thing. And I did some digging on you.” She abruptly returns to one of the suitcases. Where it fell has propped open the door, but now she drags it forward and locks the door. She pulls her phone from a tiny front pouch and comes back, gesturing to the bed.
I draw my feet in and nod.
She sits cross-legged, facing me, and a pang resounds in my chest. The motion reminds me of Amelie. If she was feeling any particular way strongly, she’d climb in my bed. Sad, angry, trapped, excited. I got all the high emotions dumped on me, because I… I guess I could process them. Or ignore them.
She taps her screen, then glances at me. Her eyes are an amazing shade of turquoise. “Lucy Page,” she recites. “Second child of Michael and Elise Page. Attended Lion’s Head School until she graduated with high honors this past spring. Did not apply to LBU. Did not, from what could be found on the internet, attend Senior Prank Day, Senior Day, or prom.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you found a lot of pictures of those days, though.”
“That I did. Your school seemed a bit abysmal. No offense. Everyone just looked very uppity.”
“And the credits on those photos…”