by Danae Ayusso
Great, now you’re making him cry, too.
Price sighed, ignoring the tear that rolled down his cheek. “There’s so much that we have to talk about, so much I need to say,” he explained. “I’ve been trying, Mikhail, Justice, to figure out a way to explain myself and my actions, but I haven’t found the words. It isn’t that I don’t want to tell you, don’t want to explain myself, it’s that I don’t know how. I don’t know why I let him get so close to you, and I want to regret it, but I can’t. Of everything I have regretted in my very long life, you girls are not one of them. And neither is allowing Draven Van Zul in your life this summer. I cannot and will not regret that because he was exactly what you needed, Mikhail. I’m sorry if you can’t see that.”
Ugh! I hate that French fuck already!
Shut up. If you would bother looking at him, you’d like the way his ass looks as much as I do.
Shut up.
Yes, you’re an ass woman like me. You can’t deny it.
No one has a better ass than Papi.
Draven’s is better.
“Girls?” Price asked.
“We’re arguing about who has a better ass,” I said, making a face. “Justice is trying to distract me since she’s pissed I made you cry. I’m mad, Dad. If you had told me the truth when you found out, I wouldn’t be this pissed. I would have been embarrassed, nowhere near as embarrassed as I am now, but I wouldn’t be mad at him and you and everyone else for keeping it from me. I told him things, things I have never told anyone, not even Justice! I told those things to the son of your enemy. That isn’t going to end well. You heard Soren! He wants to uproot everything you hold dear, and that’s us now.”
Price sighed, seemingly understanding. “Draven is Soren’s son, but he is not his father’s son, Mikhail. Don’t hold his father against him, just as he doesn’t hold yours against you. You have no idea the lengths that young man has gone through for you, to be something he hasn’t been in so long: a friend.”
I groaned and stomped my feet.
That is the last thing I wanted to hear.
He chuckled, of course, at my childlike outburst.
“It isn’t funny,” I whined. “How can I look him in the eye when I know what he knows, and because he knows it he can use it against me, against you… That made better sense in my head. Damn it, I’m hungry.”
Price laughed, shaking his head. “You get moody like your mother used to when hungry.”
“You should have packed me more food,” I grumbled.
He looked at me curiously. “I didn’t pack you any food, Mikhail.”
Now it was my turn to look at him curiously.
“Yeah, you did,” I argued and hurried over to Dillon’s desk and pulled the empty kraft box from my bag. “You put it in my bag.”
Price took the box from me then looked at the note. “D?” he read.
“Short for Dad,” I said with a shrug.
He smiled. “Not this time, Mikhail. Who do you know that starts with a D?”
My eyes widened.
“No, no, no! Please tell me it’s Dilly,” I whined.
He shook his head.
“You can’t be serious. That asshole?”
Again, I was whining.
He nodded, finding amusement in my completely normal teenage behavior. “Did you leave your bag unattended?” he asked, knowingly.
When I ran and puked my guts out, yeah. I left it in class and that annoying boy brought it to the bathroom for me.
“Sneaky bastard,” I grumbled. “Now I have to thank him, huh?”
Price laughed. “It would be the polite thing to do, but I’m sure he isn’t looking for your thanks. If he didn’t even tell you he gave it to you, what makes you think he wants your gratitude?”
That’s true.
So why did he do it? Oh shit, were you drugged? If I wake up in a bathtub filled with ice and missing a kidney, I’m going to be so pissed off at you.
I patted my waist and back.
“What are you doing?” Price asked.
“Making sure I have my kidneys still.”
He roared with laughter, shaking his head.
“Justice, you are truly amusing,” he said and we smiled wide. “Are you okay to stay the rest of the day or did you want to come home?”
Again, I dramatically groaned for his amusement.
“If I can handle Philly, I can handle school even after getting into it with the Van Zuls,” I said. “I’m sorry Principal Wallace isn’t going to be very happy. She warned me that she was tired of the founding families fighting, and I wasn’t sure what that meant but I’m assuming it’s us.”
“It is,” he agreed. “We’ll talk tonight if you’re up to it. Did Draven really hit you?” he asked, his eyes turning solid black.
Temper shorter than ours is an understatement!
I nodded. “It wasn’t intentional, I don’t think. I still don’t know how Misha got his ass handed to him by that boyband reject and he came out unscathed. Paul looks like someone beat his ass with a bag full of oranges… And before you ask, I know from experience and it isn’t pretty.”
Price chuckled, his eyes returning to white and brown. “May I call you Daughter now?” he blurted out then instantly blushed.
“I’ve been waiting to hear you call me that since the day I was born,” I said then smiled wide and he nodded, his eyes glistening from the tears threatening to spill from them. “Tonight, if you aren’t too busy pissing on this fire, can we go for a drive or a ride or something? Maybe Moonshine will let me ride him or whatever since he keeps bringing me that thing I’m assuming goes in his mouth. Anyway, what I’m trying to say, in a very discombobulated way, is maybe we can, just you and I, talk it out in a way that only likeminded geniuses can.”
“Bridle,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That thing Moonshine keeps bringing you is called a bridle, and I think that’s a wonderful idea. Consider it a father-daughter date.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” we said with a smile.
Gym.
Who invented this ridiculous form of torture?
What level of Hell is this?!
Dante never gave us a heads up on this one, Sis.
First, they gave me a locker in the boys’ locker room because of my name. Then I had to hear more lesbian jokes until Justice informed them I took a punch from a three time state champion wrestler and it didn’t faze me, and that this lesbian can totally kick ass.
That didn’t help any, but she found it beyond hilarious.
“Is it true? Is it true? Is it true?” Skeeter asked, bouncing up and down next to me, fiddling with the drawstring to his gray gym shorts.
I was tugging at the string on my school issued gym shorts as well, but I was trying to pull it tighter; they’re falling off my bony ass.
“Is what true?” I grumbled.
“Did the founding families really get into it again, in a big ass, knockdown, drag out fight?” he asked. “Did you seriously get hit by Draven? Why didn’t you fall? Are you really a ninja assassin? Oh my God, that would be so cool!”
And he busts out with the ridiculous ninja moves.
Okay, they aren’t ninja moves. He looks like a runner up at the Special Olympics.
“Can you show me how to take a punch?” he asked, looking at me with pleading, puppy dog eyes. “People like to hit me for some reason. The prevailing opinion is because I never shut up and I’m a real annoying asshole, their words not mine, but no one’s tried to shove me in my locker today, so that’s cool. But, the day’s still young and there are like, four periods left, well only three if you count this one as being completed even though it’s in the process… Well, more like a sixth of the way through the hour, so let’s round it to three and a half periods left in the day. Either way, that is still better odds than the beginning of the day… What were we talking about again?” His head tilted to the side, and he looked at me with a vacant expression on his cute little white boy face.
“Must be in the air,” he said, laughing.
“Start running!” the gym teacher barked out, and most of the class complained.
Skeeter waved towards the track. “Shall we, milady?” he ask, bowing.
“Thanks.” I laughed and we started jogging.
I don’t mind running.
Usually I’m running from someone, like the police, bangers, dealers, crackwhore mom of the year, or shit that I thought was only in my head but now I’m learning that it’s all real.
Skeeter said something that I was going to get a lesson in tonight from Price, but I’d like an outsiders opinion on it first.
“When you said founding families, what did you mean?” I asked.
He scratched his head. “Um... I run cross-country. Can you keep up?”
“Bring it, Stick Boy.”
We broke off from the pack, our long, skinny legs stepping in time, easily out distancing the rest of the class.
“Founding families, foundation families, the Hatfields and the McCoys, whatever you want to call them,” he explained, talking slowly this time.
Obviously running helps to slow his mouth and mind down.
“They’re the families that founded the area prior to the mines taking off: the Simoeaus and the Van Zuls,” he explained. “It’s rumored that they have been at war with each other for centuries. The Van Zuls are a strange bunch that has old money, blueblood money they call it, I think. And the Simoeaus work for their money by breeding horses, teaching, coaching, building, amongst other things. Their ranch has produced more cup winners than any other ranch in the world.”
I haven’t a clue what that means, but it’s interesting.
“What do you know about them, any of them?” I asked.
“Well...” he started, sprinting.
We sprinted past the pack when we caught up to them and once they were behind us, he started talking again.
“You should know since you’re a Simoeau, right?” Skeeter asked, giving me a look.
“Newly acquired Simoeau,” I explained.
“Oh, okay. The Van Zuls are assholes. They think they walk on water, screw anything they can get their hands on, and party and drink their asses off as much as possible. The eldest at school is Paul. He’s a real prick.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Paul’s a fifth year senior and oldest of the bunch, but the hands down authority and leader of Anaconda High’s Van Zul population is Draven: what he says is law. Paul’s butt-hurt that Draven didn’t go to Paris because it ended his self-imposed reign of terror at Anaconda High before it even began. As much of an asshole as Draven can be, he saved everyone from Paul’s reign.”
Interesting that Draven has a fraction of an endearing quality.
“Draven’s a man whore, as Remi calls him, and then some. He has a thing for fast women, faster cars and motorcycles, designer clothes, expensive alcohol, and prides himself on deflowering any girl that he can get his slimy hands on. Stay far, far away from him.”
And this is the asshole you’ve been sharing all of our darkest secrets with?
That Daddy allows us to share with.
Touché.
“Lizzy and Christian are twins,” Skeeter continued. “Both are juniors that took summer school courses so they have enough credits to graduate in June with the others in order to get their trust funds. Christian is queerer than a bedazzled three-dollar bill and doesn’t give a shit who knows, and anyone that tries to flip him shit about it will be lucky to survive his wrath. Last year, one of the wrestlers spouted off about him being a colon cowboy or something and the dude ended up in a coma for three days and still hasn’t regained proper function in his right arm. Lizzy is a slut. Think of her as the wannabe female version of Draven without the car and motorcycle fetish, and instead of deflowering, she likes to sleep with other people’s boyfriends and husbands and then tells everyone so it causes drama like you wouldn’t believe.”
I’d like to go home now.
You and me both.
“How many times did you want to pass them?” Skeeter asked.
I shrugged. “Sorry. How many is that now?”
“Eight.”
Damn.
“Might as well make it a dozen,” I said. “What about the Simoeau family?”
“Aside from you?” he teased and I nodded. “There isn’t much that I can really tell you about them other than the obvious. Price Simoeau, you know who that is, right?”
I nodded.
He’s our Daddy!
Ew, your issues are getting to be annoying.
That’s what you get for going off and snapping at him like you did.
Fair enough.
“Price is pretty quiet and reserved, very generous and caring though, and super smart,” Skeeter said, pulling my attention. “If someone needs help with their homework, even if it isn’t shop class related, he’ll help them with it instead of making them put it away for study hall. In the spring he coaches soccer, and is dreamy, according to my mom and every other woman with a pulse.”
Ew.
Please! None of these bitches are good enough for our daddy.
“Don’t tell my dad,” Skeeter said. “Well, actually, my dad knows. Dad thinks he’s hot, too. Goddamn hippies and their free love way of thinking.”
I could have lived without that mental picture.
You and me both, Sis.
“There isn’t a Mrs. Price Simoeau, but the woman of the house is his grandmother: Ellie. She smokes a lot of weed with my parents… A lot of weed. I’m surprised she can find her way home she smokes so much weed. Amusing really since his brothers, her grandsons, that are local are in law enforcement: Simian is the local sheriff and William is a U.S. Marshall. There are many kids. Some are at the college in Missoula and others are at the grade school. And then there are the ranch hands that are like family, and from what I’ve come to understand, they have been dedicated to the family for as long as the Simoeau family has been in the states... Which is weird and semi-slave servatude’esque, but whatever. Shep is a good guy, sweet, kind of quiet, and keeps to himself, for the most part. The silent twins are really creepy, but I don’t know who they belong to.”
Some of that I already knew, but not all of it, and what I didn’t know raises many questions that I never thought I would have to ask, but I’m not entirely sure how to ask them either.
“So what’s your story? Did your mom really get stabbed to death?” Skeeter asked.
Blunt much?
“Oh, you heard about that.”
He nodded. “Everyone has. Lizzy made sure of it.”
That bitch is dead!
Dandy will have dinner company after all.
I like the way you think, Sis!
“I don’t want to talk about it, Skeet,” I said.
He nodded. “Sorry. I totally understand. Well, not really, but it seems like something that would be completely understandable. Did you give me a pet name?”
I nodded. “I guess I did. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Of course! I like it. Do you have a boyfriend?”
I snorted. “No.”
“Do you want one?” he asked with a face-consuming smile.
Again I snorted; that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with anyone, let alone Skeeter.
“No,” I said. “I don’t like to be touched. People in my space causes me to get… No, I don’t want one.”
His smile fell and he nodded. “I understand. You didn’t get sick in flex hour because I was too close, did you?” he asked. “Dad said it might have been because of me after Draven said something.”
I shook my head. “Not at all, Skeet. Believe it or not, you remind me of one of my homies from Philly: Moe. He was hilarious and talked as if he were hopped up on meth… Usually he was, but he was a good guy. His demons, on the other hand, didn’t play well with his heart and sense of humor. I didn’t get an anxiety
attack from your proximity.”
Skeeter smiled wide.
“But I’m not teaching you to take a punch,” I added, going back to the original conversation he started. “That would invite every asshole in the world to hit you, and if you must know, if someone puts their hands on you I’ll put my hands on them. I protect my homies.”
He roared with laughter and it made me smile.
“It is truly beneath you when you go ghetto,” an annoyingly familiar voice said from the other side of me. “Geek, be gone,” he said, dismissively waving Skeeter away.
I punched Draven in the arm, causing him to stumble before he regained his footing.
Skeeter chuckled. “That’s what you get, Dickweed,” he said before sprinting off.
“Don’t even,” I warned.
Draven looked at me. “I’ve assaulted people for far less,” he informed me.
“I have no doubt, but if you touch him, your balls will have another date with my knee,” I warned.
He pulled me to a stop and I pulled away from him.
“Don’t touch me,” I sneered. “Don’t ever touch me.”
“Of course,” he said, rolling his eyes.
It’s a struggle to keep from punching him in the face.
The jogging pack the class had become ran around and through us before we were alone again.
“What do you want?” I asked, resting my hands on my head.
Draven’s eyes moved over me many times. “I should apologize for hitting you-”
“You punch like a bitch. Crackwhore extraordinaire hit harder than you. Something to work on,” I said.