Kennedy and Jess listen to me ramble on. They’re good listeners whenever I have drama.
Jess puts her book down. This must be serious. “Lyric. I love you. You know this, right?” I nod, even though I know nothing good ever follows an intro like that. “Good. Everything you just said is ridiculous.” She stops. I’m waiting for the rest but it doesn’t come.
“And?” I ask.
“And what?”
She genuinely looks like she doesn’t know what I mean. “The rest of your sentence. Where is it?”
“That was it,” she says so seriously that it makes Kennedy crack up.
“If I can elaborate on our unusually brief friend here, I think she means that...”
“I get what she means.”
I have to finish getting ready. Jess is already looking hotter than both of us while she sits there reading her book on. . . oh Jesus I forgot already. . . something boring. Kennedy can multitask—put on makeup and criticize me at the same time—but I’m having trouble even picking out an outfit.
“Don’t be mad. We’re just trying to be your friends here. If you want us to stop doing that, just snap your fingers and we’ll go back to letting you live in your little delusion where Kyle is your boyfriend.”
“I’m not trying to live in a delusion.” I’m not trying to, but I might be anyhow. I do appreciate their opinions, I just don’t agree totally.
“Listen Miss I-Want-To-Be-A-Psychologist, what would you tell some girl if she came into your office one day and said what you’re saying to us?”
Low blow, Ken, but it worked. “I’m not sure.” Bullshit. I’d tell her she had no self-confidence and that she’s better than being some boy’s dark little secret.
Kennedy stops putting her makeup on, which is kind of a big deal because she takes her makeup very seriously, and sits on the bed next to me. “Look, I don’t care what the situation is, any boy who wants to keep you a secret is lying to you about how he feels. Straight up. And if you’re accepting that shit, from anyone, even one of the Alphas, you need to think about why.”
I know what she’s thinking—what they’re both thinking, and its so cliché I don’t want either of them to actually say it out loud. They think I have serious daddy issues because he left us when Jess and I were in 3rd grade, after having an affair with some skank. A messy divorce followed and left my mom a complete mess and me without a dad.
“Let me state my total lack of experience here,” Jess says. “But still—as sweet as you may think he is, Kyle is still a dyed in the wool Alpha, and you know what that means. We all do. The whole town does.”
The Alphas.
Even hearing their name is enough to make my cheap, processed school lunch hike it’s way back up my throat. Draven, Kyle, and all the other sons of the upper 1% of richest families in the West End. Their fathers are corporate lawyers, politicians, and men of influence. Their moms are all FABSAHMS—self-appointed Fabulous Stay At Home Moms (I know. . . vomit rising. . . they have a private Facebook group and everything).
Their family roots ran deep in this town, but it was more than last names that kept them strutting around school with their noses stuck firmly in the air. It was their attitudes—their almost irrational levels of self-confidence. That, coupled with the fact that they stayed as a unit and always had each other’s backs helped them hold on to power, and it was rare to see one of them without at least one other Alpha. It didn’t help that the adults—the teachers, staff, and even the cops—treated them differently than they treated everyone else.
Every pack has a leader—and the leader of the Alphas was Draven.
He was the crowned Prince of Arkham—the son of an investment banking mogul who had branches all over the east coast of the U.S.
To make matters even more sickening, his Instagram his handle is @FKBOI17, and it was about the most appropriate handle I’ve ever seen. Understand that I’ve spent exactly zero minutes of my life thinking or caring about where Draven stuck his entitled dick, but you’d have to be blind and deaf to not notice the sheer volume of girls he and the other Alphas were getting with.
Their hook ups were industrial in scale, and their reputations for pumping and dumping were about as well known as their reputations as vicious competitors on the field during home games. Still, that didn’t seem to stop any girls from jumping in line, like getting fucked by an Alpha was a graduation requirement.
The other guys were bad in their own right, but Draven had a body count like a World War II sniper.
The girls he chose crossed grades (when things got desperate, he’d troll the 9th graders with limited experience and loose morals), body types (he liked them thick and anorexic alike, only difference was what he admitted to publicly), and races (which is to say he banged the one token half Dominican girl in our otherwise lily-white high school). It’s like Draven was trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for most sperm expelled from a dick in a single calendar year.
If that was a thing, my money would be squarely on him. Safe bet.
The Alphas were legendary for all the wrong reasons, and my friends missed no chance to remind me that Kyle was one of them.
Kennedy jumps in to balance the competing forces of blunt honesty and walking on eggshells. “I think what Jessalyn is saying is, do you—we’re your girls and we’re here for you. Just be careful, alright?”
“I know. And thanks. Now can one of you stop analyzing my love life and help me pick out something to wear?”
“That we can do.”
“In different news, did you guys hear?” Kennedy always has the gossip.
“Hear what?”
“About next year,” she says. “Mary Williams is closing.”
That news snaps me out of my own internal drama thinking about whether I’m Kyle’s side chick or not. “For real?” I ask. “Like, confirmed?”
“Confirmed. I have my sources.”
“And by sources, you mean your dad?” Kennedy’s dad is on the Arkham city council, and he gets news like this before anyone else.
There’d been rumors for the whole school year that Mary Williams High—the school that the East End kids went to—was closing, and that they might be coming to Arkham if that actually happened. Even though our town had two sides, the population wasn’t distributed evenly. The East End was a series of only about four to five blocks, and they had way fewer kids and teens than the West End. The only reason we didn’t go to school with those kids in the first place was because years ago West Enders on the town council—people like Draven’s and Kyle’s grandfathers—made sure to allocate money to have a small school built, and then promptly re-zone the school districts so that the new East End families would be sure to not send their kids to Arkham High.
“Don’t belittle my sources—you wish you had sources.”
“But wait,” I ask. “If Mary Williams closes, then that means. . .”
“That we’re going to have some criminals to make friends with our senior year.”
Kennedy had moments like that all the time. I call them her West Ender moments—the ones where she’s just like everyone else in this part of town, full of stereotypes. Don’t get me wrong, she’s never treated me badly since the first day I met her. Her family loves me and treats me like I’m one of their own, but none of us can escape the culture we were raised in, and she was raised in one that’s full of that kind of thinking.
“They’re not all criminals, Ken. You know that. I’m from there. I haven’t tried to steal your bag yet, have I?”
“You’re barely from there.”
She’s referring to the fact that the house I grew up in was literally the last house on the last block that separates the two sides of town, but that divide mattered. “And you think that matters to the people around here? That I almost grew up here? That my mom would grocery shop in the West End because it was closer to our house? It doesn’t matter, Ken, you know that. I’ll always be an East Ender to them.”
&
nbsp; “Maybe,” she says. “But I wouldn’t exactly lump you in with the people like that guy who got arrested here last summer. Remember?”
“Of course I do. No one will let me forget.”
Everyone remembered what Kennedy was talking about, it was the big local news for a few weeks, and the kind of news that made it hard to argue that East Enders were good, upstanding citizens. The guy she’s referring to—some junkie—came into the west side of town and tried to rob a local convenience store. He didn’t hurt anyone, but he had a gun. The local cops arrested him right away and nothing really happened, but it set relations between the two sides back even further than it already was. What Kennedy and everyone else didn’t get was that even the wrong side of town has its own wrong side of town.
Parts of the East End weren’t criminal, they were just poor. People like Kennedy had trouble understanding the difference.
“Gee, thanks. I promise I’ll do my best not to rob any 711’s,” I joke. “Did your dad say why it was closing?”
“Something about the budget. A low tax base, blah, blah. I stopped listening when it got boring, which was all the words after ‘the school is closing’.”
“Jesus, Kennedy, you have the attention span of a gnat.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m failing math. Kind of makes sense now that I think of it. I never know what the hell Ms. Greene is talking about. Maybe I’m a bad listener.”
“Maybe?” I joke.
“Quiet, you. And if this whole thing turns out to be true, we’re going to have an interesting senior year.”
We sure will. But I can’t think about some random kids right now. There’s only one kid I’m thinking about, and I can’t wait to see him in a few minutes.
Three— Lyric
The Present
My heart pounds furiously.
How the hell did he find me?
I moved far away from Arkham the second I had an opportunity to escape everything about my past, and a huge part of that everything included what happened with Preacher.
But he’s found me somehow, and now my heart won’t stop racing in my chest. Not only has he found me, but he’s my four o’clock appointment!
Sophie looks at me like I’m crazy. I don’t blame her, I’m not exactly acting like myself. Usually I’m the picture of poise and professionalism, but at the moment I’m pacing up and down the front of my office like I’m about to jump out of my skin. But how could I be myself right now? The boy who destroyed me is back, and I’m about to see him for the first time in forever.
I look at the clock on the wall.
3:57.
Then I nervously look at my watch.
3:58.
Shit. Which is it? At most I have two minutes, probably less. I hate the way I feel right now. My heart is pounding and I can feel beads of sweat forming in places I’ve only felt during brutal hot yoga sessions.
I swore that I’d never let him do this to me again—to hold power over my mind or my body. I gave all of that to him once and I’ll never make that mistake again.
“Are you alright?”
Of course I’m not alright. And neither would you be Sophie, if you knew who was about to walk through that door.
“I need to go into my office. Just have him come in when he arrives, okay?”
“I will. And Lyric?”
“Yeah?”
“Breathe.”
Sophie’s either really intuitive, or I’m just that much of a mess.
It’s the second one. I’m definitely a mess. But I have good reason to be.
One hundred and twenty seconds never passed so slowly. I sit on the edge of my desk and do some deep breathing while I wait. My mind won’t stop racing with questions.
I hear the footsteps of heavy shoes outside the office and I know that he’s here.
I hear the heavy steps approaching, and then a double knock at my door.
My heart is about to jump out of my chest as I get up off my desk and put my hand on the door knob.
Four—Lyric
The Past
“You are. . .the angel and the devil that sit on my awkward shoulders at all times.”
I don’t know when a house stops being a house and officially earns mansion status, but I’m pretty sure Draven’s house is there. He’s had this end of year party since 9th grade, but this is the first time I dragged myself to the hallowed Griffin halls of expensive booze, weed, and hooking up. Why? Because Kyle’s going to be there and, in my mind, him inviting me means that I somehow belong, even though I know I really don’t.
I’m not just talking about the party, either.
I was different in all the ways that mattered to them, and that left me an outsider at my own school.
But after we were done making out after 8th period on Thursday, Kyle whispered an invitation to the big event in my ear. “Why don’t you stop by Draven’s thing Saturday night? We’ll all be there.”
I almost peed myself I was so excited. “Then so will I.” The way I saw it, his invite wasn’t just an invite—it was a form of acceptance, something I wanted so desperately but was afraid to admit. “Can I bring my sister?” I asked him. “She needs to get her face out of books and have fun for a night.”
“Yeah,” he said, his hard on pressing into me big time. He would have given me anything I asked him for at that moment, but I’m not the manipulative type—but Jessalyn’s invite was all I wanted. Still, though, I should have asked him to buy me a car. “That’s fine, bring whoever you want. Draven’s got the space for the whole school.”
I thought he was kidding, but as Kennedy parks on the lawn of Wayne Goddamn Manner I see that Kyle was being literal.
The party is a sonic wave that attacks all of my senses as soon as we walk in the door. The bass is literally moving the floor. Coupled with the dim lights and volume of people in here, it’s enough to make me dizzy.
I follow Kennedy like a puppy, letting her body carve a path through the frantic crowd of kids, and I walk behind her until we have our own little spot. Jessalyn walks behind me.
We stand and talk for a few minutes after grabbing our requisite red solo cups that come free with every high school party. I’m trying to talk but it’s more like screaming at this point.
“Having fun?” I yell in my sister’s ear. She looks thrilled — like invasive doctor appointment thrilled. This isn’t her scene. I’m not sure Jess even has a scene. Wait, that’s not true. There’s the school library, the public library, and basically any bookstore ever built.
“Oh yeah.” Her sarcasm game is strong. I always appreciate that. “I’m just waiting for Time of Your Life from Dirty Dancing to start playing so the song can perfectly match my mood. I love when that happens.”
She makes me laugh. It interrupts my anxiety just long enough for it to feel even worse when it rages back a second later.
I sip my beer because why not?
It’s gross. Beer’s gross, but it’s helping with my nerves. My anxiety has anxiety right now. I don’t know why—Kyle invited me, I know that, but I also know the rest of his friends will also be here. And her. She’ll be here, and I really don’t want to see her.
Miranda.
Of all the people I don’t want to see right now, she tops the list for obvious reasons.
I scan the room as best as I can, a room where everyone blends seamlessly into a faceless blob of drunk or high bodies. Through that scan my eyes eventually find Kyle, standing next to Draven and all the other guys.
We lock eyes through the crowd and he gives me that slightly goofy, slightly cocky grin that he had on his face when he first approached me. I must be smiling because I always do around him. There’s just something about a boy like him wanting a girl like me—whatever that even means—that always makes me light up when I see him. He sees things in me I don’t even see in myself, and he just makes me happy to be around.
Kennedy went off to talk to one of her cheer friends, but Jess is still standing next to me
. It happens quickly, but Kyle makes our signal. His finger slides across his eyebrow and I know that means that he wants to see me—alone.
“I could be wrong,” Jessalyn says, breaking my concentration. “But I think your boy is calling his side piece.” I break eye contact with Kyle and give my sister what we both call the twin look—it’s a hybrid of shut-the-fuck-up, what-the-hell, and a whole bunch of other emotions wrapped into one. “Just saying.”
“I’m going to see him.”
She leans into me so I can hear her voice over the pounding music. “I figured—with the googly eyes you’re giving him right now.”
“I do not make googly eyes.”
“Text me if you need me. I don’t like this.”
My sister worries about me like she’s our mom—probably because our actual mom is too busy with her own drama to pay much attention to us these days. Still, it’s annoying sometimes, like now.
“I guarantee I won’t need you.”
I leave her there and step away towards the giant staircase where Kyle’s standing. “Hey there.” he says.
“Hey yourself.”
“Wanna go upstairs?”
Now, here’s the thing with that question—I was expecting it, but at the same time I’m not totally ready. Upstairs means something new. It means no boundaries. It means that things can go further than they ever could at school, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that or not. But I also know that I have difficulty saying no to him when he’s giving me those eyes.
“Yeah. That sounds great.”
I’m so dumb.
“I’m just gonna hit the bathroom real fast—too much beer, you know?”
“Oh totally, I understand.” I tell him. “Is it okay if I head up there?”
“Totally. Draven’s room is just up the steps, first room on the right. I’ll meet you up there in a minute. Cool?”
“Cool.” I want to add a question mark to the end of that sentence but I don’t. Draven’s room? Did Kyle arrange this with him or something? I’m not sure how comfortable with this whole thing, but again, dumb. I head up the long staircase. Draven’s door is open to a room that screams teenaged boy no matter where your eyes go. There are hard rock band posters, crumpled up clothes, and the overwhelming stench of old weed and beer filling my nostrils. I think I’m getting high just breathing the air.
Preacher: The East End Boys Page 3