The Wrong Side of Kai

by Estelle Maskame

  I’m walking faster and faster. I need to have this out with him.

  “Vans, wait!” Chyna calls after me, her worried voice echoing down the deserted hallway. But I don’t want to wait. I want to get my hands on Harrison, and I don’t care what the consequences are for assaulting someone on school property.

  Mr. Lee’s classroom is in sight. My rage is burning, adrenaline surges through my veins. I push open the door to a sea of faces that all swivel toward me, but I’m only searching for one.

  “How nice of you to finally join us, Miss Murphy,” Mr. Lee drawls from his desk. “Please take your seat while I fill out your detention form.”

  I don’t listen to him. I lock my eyes on Harrison instead – slumped at his desk in the back corner of the room, slowly straightening up as he sees me. He drops his hand from his face and exchanges a glance with Anthony who’s sitting next to him, his features flashing with panic. I bet he expected me to be crying in a bathroom stall or something. And, to be fair, I just was. I bet that’s exactly what he wants – for me to be too ashamed, too mortified to show my face again.

  “C’mon, give us a show!” Anthony calls out, shaking his chest at me, then grins as my classmates release a hushed symphony of laughter that dances around the room.

  With my hands balled into fists by my side, I march across the room, weaving my way around desks and ignoring all of the other murmured remarks. My fiery glare is still set solely on Harrison, and his face turns pale as I near him.

  “Vaness—” he tries, but the whip of my hand against his cheek cuts him off.

  *

  “I’ve spoken with Principal Stone. You’re very lucky that you aren’t getting suspended right now,” my school counselor, Mrs. Delaney, informs me as she walks back into her cramped office.

  “So you can’t be suspended for self-defense. Good to know.”

  “Vanessa, let’s not joke about this,” she says, firing me a stern look as she sinks down into her chair opposite. I look at her graying hair and then down at her bright red Crocs. She’s too old to be a high school counselor, really. What does she know about teenagers? She doesn’t get our humor, that’s for sure. “Why exactly did you raise a hand to Harrison Boyd? Is there something the school should know about?”

  “Because he’s a douchebag,” I say, flippantly waving her away. I don’t like the soft, concerned tone of her voice. This isn’t some therapy appointment. “Can I go now? I accept that I shouldn’t have hit him, so just give me the detention form or whatever and I’ll get out of here.”

  Mrs. Delaney just stares at me. “Vanessa,” she says with a small shake of her head. She almost looks hurt by my lack of participation, but I refuse to confide in my school counselor about the hell that my life has suddenly become. “You hit a fellow student. Why? Did Harrison provoke you?”

  I nearly laugh in her face, but I think better of it and keep my features under control. “Seriously, it’s just personal drama,” I say, growing frustrated. The last thing I want to do is discuss the fallout from a leaked sex tape with a woman who could be my grandmother. I just want to get out of this stuffy office. I rise to my feet, prepared to leave. “We shouldn’t deal with our issues on school property. I get it. Please can I just have the detention form?”

  Mrs. Delaney reluctantly signs me up for two weeks of after-school detention, and I almost have to pry the damn form out of her fingers before she allows me to leave. I head out of her room and into the main office. It’s quiet, the majority of the desks empty, the doors to most private offices closed. Must be a busy morning at Westerville North.

  I heave a sigh and glance down at my hands to examine the damage. I lost two nails slapping Harrison, and another in Mrs. Delaney’s office from digging my fingers into my palms so hard, but scheduling an appointment with my nail tech is the last thing on my mind right now. All I can think about is how embarrassed I feel. I’m not going to classes today. It’s all so fresh, the drama and the gossip. Hell, if it was any other girl in that video, I’d be talking about it too. Scrutinizing her. Mocking her. So, I’m skipping the rest of the day. Chyna is already waiting outside in the parking lot for me, and although we’re not going to run off to Cleveland, we are going to go get ice cream from our favorite ice cream shop uptown.

  “Aren’t you the girl from that video?” a voice says, cutting through the silence, and I stop in my tracks in the middle of the office. I look over at the row of chairs against the wall, only to find a guy slouched back in one with his hands hanging between his legs. Totally nonchalant, totally couldn’t care less. I don’t recognize him as one of my fellow students.

  “Yep, that’s me,” I say. Better to own it, I decide. Less awkward than trying to deny it. “No, I won’t give you a private show.”

  “I hear it’s been kicking up a storm.” The boy studies me curiously as he sits up, his interest piqued. “But I wasn’t going to ask. Trust me, you’re not my type.”

  “Ah, I get it,” I say, as I flash him a knowing grin. I may as well play the part. “You like the sweet innocent type, right? Not trash like me.”

  “Actually, I just prefer blondes.”

  My eyes close shut and a groan rumbles in my throat. I run my hands back through my hair as I take a couple of slow breaths. “Sorry. It’s been a rough morning,” I admit. “I don’t mean to take it out on everyone else.”

  “I bet,” he says. “Can I ask you something?”

  “No, the sex wasn’t worth it.”

  He smiles again and waits for a beat, almost like he’s trying not to let himself laugh out loud. “Actually, I was going to ask if you spill people’s drinks often.”

  I stare at this stranger while my mind catches up. Everything is lagging – my thoughts are dominated by Harrison and that video and the fear that I may still pass out – but suddenly the boy comes into focus and I realize I know exactly who he is.

  He was at Maddie’s party on Saturday when he turned up uninvited with the rest of the Westerville Central football team . . . and I collided into him. I did spill his drink on his jeans, and he told me to watch out, and then he had that stupid brawl with Harrison.

  I may be stone-cold sober right now, but the thoughts that cross my mind are similar to those when I was buzzed that night. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again. I go quiet for a few seconds while I assess him, his presence that’s working wonders at distracting me from the ball of shame thrumming painfully in my chest.

  The curls of his hair, the warm bronze of his skin, the stark blue of his eyes . . . I focus on the slit in his eyebrow again, so I don’t find myself staring at his ridiculously perfect lips.

  “Yeah . . . I’m sorry about that,” I eventually muster, my voice sounding much more like my own now. “What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing around the Westerville North main office as though to remind him that he doesn’t attend this school.

  “Just transferred from Central. It’s my first day,” he says, lips curving into a smile that reveals his immaculate teeth. My heart is still pumping fast, but it feels like it’s for a different reason now. “I was just curious about something,” he goes on. “It’s Harrison Boyd in that video, right? He leaked it?”

  “Yeah, and he can go to hell for all I care.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only person he’s screwed over.” The guy stands and takes a step closer to me, and I rack my brain for his name. I remember Harrison telling me it . . . but my memory is hazy. I’m quiet as I wait, staring up at him. He towers over me, suddenly all ominous and mysterious. “I’ve got a lot of things to say about that guy, and they aren’t nice.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Do you have some weird football rivalry with him?” I ask, lamely.

  “It’s more personal than that,” he says, his tone ambiguous. His eyes darken as he looks down at the floor, the smile wiped from his face, his jaw clenched tight.

  I’m not exactly sure why this guy is
talking to me right now, let alone telling me about his beef with Harrison, but I’m strangely glad to see him again. I figured he would just be one of those gorgeous guys you encounter once and then never cross paths with again, but here he is – standing in my school office, telling me that he hates Harrison Boyd too.

  “Are you going to elaborate?” I ask. My skin’s tingling, but I’m also trying not to sound like I’m being coy.

  “Nope,” he says, popping his lips. He glances around the office, but everyone has yet to return to their desks. “Just wanted to let you know that you aren’t alone. I know the kind of guy Harrison is, and trust me, I probably despise him more than you do.”

  This is all pretty mysterious. Harrison can be a macho jock at times, but he’s generally well-liked. He’s on the school football team, gets good grades and plenty of girls see him as a bit of a sweetheart – oh, how wrong I was about that. But now it seems I’m not the only person Harrison has messed with, because the guy standing in front of me appears to have his own personal grudge against him. I’m not sure why, but it is nice to know there’s someone else out there who isn’t falling for Harrison’s Mr. Nice Guy charade.

  “I’d so love to mess up his life,” I say, deciding that he doesn’t deserve to have things easy. “Revenge would be sweet.”

  The guy tilts his head to one side, and those blue eyes smolder at me. “Revenge,” he echoes, and he lets the word hang in the air for a while. He furrows his brows, his gaze never leaving mine. I’m feeling an intense presence around him. “That’s not a bad idea, you know.”

  “I was kidding,” I say, though I definitely wasn’t.

  But he ignores me. “Just think about it for a second. You’re pissed at Harrison Boyd; I’m pissed at Harrison Boyd. We really could screw with him,” he says, as though he’s voicing his thoughts out loud. He looks off into the distance as though the gears in his mind are shifting. “A good old taste of his own medicine. It could be fun. We could help each other.”

  My pulse begins hammering in my head. Put like that, it’s an enticing suggestion. He’s right: maybe toying with Harrison could be fun, especially if I don’t have to do it alone. This morning’s been grim and it’s not going away anytime soon. Harrison deserves to suffer too.

  The guy’s gaze finds mine again and all I can do is look blankly back at him. Goddamn, what is his name? “I’m not sure we’ve been properly introduced,” I say stiffly, as if we’re at a business meeting.

  “Well, I know you’re Vanessa,” he teases me, extending his hand. The smile he gives me is mischievous, a little bit devious, but somehow still entirely charming. “What do you say? Partners?”

  I stare at his hand for a moment. This could be interesting. It feels like the final shreds of my dignity were abandoned at Maddie’s party, so what is there to lose? I slip my hand into his and he squeezes mine firmly back, his skin smooth and warm, his touch sending a bolt of electricity all the way from the tips of my fingers to the base of my spine. “Partners, I guess.”

  I hear a door swing open, and Mrs. Delaney’s voice bounces around the office. “Kai Washington? Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “No problem,” he tells her, looking over my shoulder.

  My hand is still in his and he grabs it, turns my palm toward him, pulling a Sharpie out from the pocket of his jeans. It tickles as he scrawls his phone number on my skin, and I can’t help but stare at the way my hand fits into his. Kai Washington, I think, repeating his name in my head.

  “Call me,” he murmurs, then steps around me and heads off into Mrs. Delaney’s office with her.

  I stare after him, bewildered. My body tingles as a thrill runs down my spine. There’s something enchanting about his calm, cool presence. And I know it should be the opposite – I should know that this guy means trouble and I should run a mile in the opposite direction, but I can’t help feeling drawn to him the same way I did at the party.

  My eyes drop to my hand and I roll my eyes at what Kai has written there. I pull out my phone and add the number to my contacts.

  I save it as: Kai Washington (Partner).

  4

  “So you meet up with this weirdo from the school office who you know nothing about, and he lures you out of town, kills you, then dumps your body in a ditch behind some trees. Which song would you like played at your funeral?”

  I glare Chyna down. We should be at school, but instead we’re sitting in Rollies eating a second helping of ice cream. We’re both on good old chocolate chip. “He’s not a weirdo,” I say with disapproval. “He’s from Central, remember?”

  “Oh, even worse,” Chyna groans, slamming her head down toward the table. I love it when she goes all dramatic on me. It makes me laugh, and I could really use some of her humor today.

  “Honestly, he seemed . . . intriguing,” I say, stifling a laugh as I reach for Chyna’s arms and pull her up from the table. I stick my tongue out at her before I scoop up another mouthful of ice cream, and I can’t help but replay my interaction with Kai in my head all over again. I have such a damn soft spot for tall pretty boys, especially when they have blue eyes and an exuberance of confidence. Oomf. He’s been a welcome distraction in the mess of today. “And he’s smoking hot too,” I tell her.

  Chyna snaps her fingers in front of my face. “So, is this about getting revenge on Harrison, or is this about you meeting a new hot guy?”

  “The revenge, for sure,” I say. No lie there. Having a hot partner-in-crime just so happens to be a bonus in this mission. I point my spoon at her. “You mentioned slashing the tires of Harrison’s truck. I like that idea. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Vans . . . Are you sure you want to do this?” Chyna questions, looking worried. She doesn’t seem entirely convinced about the morality – or legality – of my plan. She’s good like that. Always nice, always sensible. Except for her magpie stationery habits. “Sure, go ahead and get even, but don’t get into trouble.”

  Honestly, what with the ice cream and the encounter with Kai, I’m managing to squeeze thoughts about that video being shared all around town out of my head for a minute or two at a time. Instead I’m focusing on getting my revenge on Harrison and all the possible ways to do it. It’s almost thrilling. I’m realizing that it’s much easier to channel my energy into payback rather than to let myself be consumed by the hurt and the betrayal, the shame and the embarrassment. “Do you have any other ideas?”

  “I don’t know about trucks, but I am good with computers, so just holler if you need me to do any hacking rather than slashing,” Chyna murmurs under her breath, picking at her ice cream as though she’s wary of getting involved now that the idea’s caught fire in my mind. She glances up. “It’s lunch period, you know. Call this hot weirdo. I want to find out what he says.”

  I glance up at the vintage Hershey’s ice cream clock on the wall, watching it tick on for a few seconds. It’s only been a couple hours since I met Kai in the office. “Shouldn’t I wait until tonight?”

  “Call him,” Chyna orders, more firmly this time.

  I don’t put up much of a fight. I’m desperate to know exactly how my arrangement with this guy is going to play out. Like, what’s first on our agenda? Is he on board with potentially slashing some truck tires? “Okay. Okay. Calling him.” I grab my phone and pull up the number for Kai Washington (Partner), then call it before I can hesitate.

  It rings for so long that I think it’s going to go to voicemail, but then someone answers, “No, I don’t want to claim your free prize for some contest that I never entered, and no, I’m not prepared to disclose any of my info.”

  Maybe Chyna’s right. Maybe he is a weirdo. “Kai? It’s Vanessa,” I say, but my voice sounds pathetic. I sound . . . nervous. Which is crazy. I’m used to calling up guys and making my voice sultry while I flirt, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m not used to talking to a boy under more platonic circumstances.

  “Hey, partner,” Kai says, and now he’s totally unsurprise
d to hear from me so soon. His voice has a smooth, husky undertone to it that I notice more over the phone than I did when he was standing in front of me. “Should we have code names for each other? I’ll be . . . Captain Washington for now until I think of something cooler. You?”

  Okay, definitely a weirdo. “Um . . .”

  “Nessie, then,” he says without a pause.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Listen up, Nessie,” he continues. “Captain Washington here. We should meet up tonight to discuss our battle plan. My place or yours?”

  I blink, taken aback by how forward he is. For all that we are total strangers to one another, Captain Washington sure does move fast. He’s calling me nicknames and inviting me over to his house already?

  “I hope this isn’t just some ploy to get me upstairs with you.”

  “Again, Nessie, you’re not my type,” Kai says firmly.

  Right. He likes blondes, and I’m the darkest shade of brunette you can get. Chyna is on the edge of her seat across from me, eyes wide, impatiently waiting for my feedback on what Kai’s saying, but I quickly shake my head at her. I can feel a smile playing on my lips as I turn to face the window.

  “Let’s meet somewhere more public,” I say. I’m not worried about Kai murdering me or anything. I just don’t want to go to a stranger’s house, and I certainly don’t want to invite him into the unwelcoming, cold house that is mine.