Claimed

by Portia Moore

  “I’m sorry about how I came off earlier, Rain. I never meant to…”

  “It’s okay. I know you’re just looking out for me,” I tell her, sincerely. She nods and lets out a breath.

  “I can see you’re falling for him, And I can see why. He seems amazing...” she says quietly, and my heart flutters as I glance back at him.

  “I’m happy for you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I head back to the car once Mallory is safely inside our apartment, and I hate that I think about her words the whole ride to Vincent’s apartment. But once we’re inside, he makes me forget about everything else but him.

  Chapter 18

  Rain

  Three years earlier

  For a few days, it seems like things are getting back to normal. Zach doesn’t ask me about the writing group—and I don’t say anything else about meeting his friends. We don’t mention the kiss, either. It feels like an uneasy truce, and I realize that this is the first time there’s been any kind of real divide between us. We’ve fought now and then, of course, but this feels like a subject we can’t touch, something we carefully tiptoe around. It’s a new feeling, and not one that I like.

  Instead, I try to focus on looking forward to the writing group. The first meet-up is a week away, and I spend my evenings in my bedroom scribbling out ideas for stories, even though Marcus said I’ll be given a prompt.

  Marcus.

  For the first time, I catch myself daydreaming about a boy who isn’t Zach. Every time I feel disloyal, I remember that Zach has dated girls, that he’s refused to date me, and when I catch myself thinking wistfully of the kiss that Zach and I shared in the garage, I push my thoughts to Marcus instead. He’s handsome, and funny, and smart—and I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, but he seems to like me, too. At the very least, he was excited for me to come join the group. It might just be because they want more members—but I allow myself to hope that maybe that’s not the only reason.

  I’m sixteen years old. I want to feel wanted. I want to be flirted with. I’m tired of Zach treating me like a non-option. I’m tired of throwing myself at someone who seems to only see me as a friend.

  Hey, I type. Didn’t see u at school this morning. U ok?

  I push my food—some kind of watery stroganoff—around my plate as I wait for him to respond.

  It feels like forever before my phone buzzes with a response.

  I’m alright. Skipping today. Come over after?

  To your house??? I respond, suddenly nervous. Zach rarely ever invites me over—and definitely hasn’t since The Kiss, as I think about it now.

  Yeah. Dad isn’t home and my mom will be out for a while. some kind of charity church bullshit.

  I frown. I’ve never been sure what’s going on with Zach’s family. He’s never talked about them much. He doesn’t ever talk about them, really. I don’t bring it up because I don’t want to upset him or make him uncomfortable. I know I don’t like talking about mine.

  I tell him I’ll be there once I get out of class.

  I can’t concentrate for the rest of the day, wondering what’s so important that Zach wants me to come over to his house to talk to him about. It must be something that can’t wait for school tomorrow.

  I know I shouldn’t hope that it has something to do with us, but I can’t help but think about it—that maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe something has made him see that we’d be a good couple, after all.

  Once my final class is done, I ride my bike as fast as I can to Zach’s house. Unsurprisingly, he’s in the garage and under the hood of his car. I can smell the engine oil from yards away. It’s a warm, late spring afternoon, and my stomach erupts in butterflies when I see that he’s not wearing a shirt. There’s grease on his arms, and when I get closer, I can see some has gotten smeared on his cheek as well. I want to grasp his face in my hand and wipe it away, but of course, that’s not going to happen.

  He looks up at the sound of my footsteps, startled, and immediately grabs for his shirt. “Shit, Rain, you got here fast,” he says with a chuckle, pulling it over his head much to my disappointment. I see the muscles in his stomach and arms flex as he shrugs it on, and I can’t help the way my stomach flips over, my pulse speeding up.

  “It’s good exercise,” I say nonchalantly, walking into the garage as he grabs a rag and wipes the grease from his arms and hands. “You’ve got something there,” I tell him, pointing at his face and resisting the urge to reach out and rub it off myself. My heart is pounding, and I want to touch him so badly that I feel dizzy with it.

  He wipes the rag across his face and tosses it aside, sitting down on the edge of his weight bench. He looks up at me, his blue eyes dark with concern, and I forget all about my frustrating crush, immediately switching to worry.

  “Did something happen?” I ask, leaning up against the wall. “Why did you want me to come over?”

  He bites his lower lip. “I’ve got something to tell you, Rain. You’re not gonna like it, but hear me out, okay?”

  He’s going to say he’s dating someone. It’s the first thought that goes through my head, and I’m immediately nauseous. He’s met another girl, and he’s trying to let me down easy.

  He takes a deep breath. “Rain, I’m dropping out of school.”

  It’s so completely not what I expected that it takes me a minute to even think of what to say. I know my expression is one of horror as I stare at him. “Zach, what…you can’t do that! Why would you do that? You only have a year left after this one, and the school year is almost over…”

  He’s shaking his head already. “I just can’t do it anymore, Rain. I’ll figure something out. But I’m not going back.”

  Panic flares up in me. I’ve been raised my whole life to believe school is the most important thing, that an education matters more than anything else in life. My mother is a teacher. Hearing Zach say he’s dropping out of school is, to my ears, him saying that he’s throwing his entire life away.

  “What am I supposed to do without you there? You’re my best friend.” I try that approach, hoping it’ll change his mind. But I can see from the expression on his face that he isn’t budging.

  “You’ll make other friends. And we’ll still see each other when you’re not in school. It’s almost summer break. We’ll have the whole summer.”

  “But why?” I feel very close to tears. Panic and anger well up in me, in a confusing mass of emotion that I can’t seem to untangle. “Zach, I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know how to explain it,” he says helplessly. “I just…I don’t belong there.”

  “In school? Everyone belongs in school.”

  “Not me.” His tone is flat, and I can tell I’m not going to be able to talk him out of this. Now I feel helpless too, and I hate that feeling more than anything. I feel that way at home every day. I don’t want to feel it here, with Zach—my best friend—too.

  “So what?” I can hear my voice rising, but I can’t stop it. “You’re just going to hang out all day, work on your car and steal shit, and make that your life? That’s all you’re ever going to do? What kind of a life is that? Did your idiot friends tell you that you should do this?”

  “Rain, no.” Zach sounds tired. “They’re not bad people, okay? They’re my people. I mean hell, they’re the reason I’m able to get shit for us. You know that. School is a waste of time for me. I’m not going to college. I’m not going to work a job and wear a suit and tie. It’s a waste of time.”

  He takes a look at my expression and runs a hand through his shaggy hair as he sighs. “I don’t want you to worry about this, about me. I’ll be okay. This will be better for everyone. Just don’t be upset. Come hang out with me, with the guys. It’ll make you feel better.” He’s wearing a smile, but it’s lifeless.

  He looks so miserable that all of my anger drains away, but not my disappointment. “Okay,” I whisper, moving to sit next to him on the bench. “I’m sorry, Zach. I
didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  “I get it. You’re upset. You just gotta understand that this isn’t about us, okay? It’s not about our friendship. It’s about me…and stuff I don’t want to get into.”

  “Your family?”

  He nods. “Yeah, my family.”

  I let him leave it at that. I lay my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—sweat and warm skin and motor oil, the tang of sun-heated metal in the background. I want to bury my face in his shirt and pull him close to me. I want to touch him, kiss him, find a way to smooth all of the pain out of his face with my fingers. I want to help him stop hurting.

  I love him. I’m certain of it all over again, with the intensity of the feeling in my chest, the ache that makes me want to reach out to him. I try to think of something to still convince him not to give up, that he’s almost done, but nothing comes. I decide to approach it later when he’s in a better mood or, at the very least, bring up that he should get a GED. Zach has so much more potential than he knows. All thoughts about wanting to be more than a friend are on hold now.

  Right now, what he needs is just a friend, and regardless of the feelings I have for him, he’s been the best friend I’ve ever had.

  On Friday, when I meet Zach at his house, he drives us to meet his other friends. After months of work, his car is finally drivable, and I can’t help but feel my heart race a little when he backs it out of the garage. It’s a black, early 70s model Camaro, and seeing Zach in the driver’s seat in his torn blue jeans and white t-shirt, his blond hair falling over his face, makes my stomach flutter and my heart pound.

  I wonder if I’m ever going to not have this terrible crush on him. I wonder if I want it to stop. What would it be like to not feel like I can’t breathe every time I see him?

  Zach is quiet on the drive over. We end up in front of a run-down ranch-style house with a large shed-like building in the backyard that has the door wide open. Zach pulls up in front, and when we walk in, to my surprise, I see that the inside is actually fairly homey. There’s couches and chairs, a huge television with a gaming system, a refrigerator, and a coffee table covered with snacks. A dark-haired guy who looks about our age is lounging on one of the couches, a beer in hand, and a pretty red-haired girl curled up next to him.

  There’s a ton of people here—probably eight or nine guys, and a handful of girls. All of the girls are dressed in tight jeans and crop tops or short skirts and tanks, makeup done, hair cut in edgy styles or dyed bright colors. The redhead sitting on the couch has one side of her head shaved, the other cut in long layers, and a braid curving over the top of the shaved portion. Her makeup is flawless, and she’s wearing a frayed denim skirt and a tight white tank top, her cleavage straining against it. She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen, and I’m instantly both envious and insecure.

  These are the kind of girls who hang out around Zach’s friends—and therefore Zach. No wonder he doesn’t want to date me, I think miserably, looking down at my worn Vans, my black jeans ripped at the knees, and my old Led Zeppelin t-shirt that I cut the sleeves off of and knotted at the waist. It shows a thin strip of my flat belly, but I still can’t compare to these girls. I’m not wearing any makeup, even though my skin is thankfully clear for once, and my blonde hair is just…straight. No cool cut or style, just hanging below my shoulders.

  Zach gently propels me forward towards the brunet guy. “Hey, Bryan,” he says easily. “This is Rain. I’ve told you about her.”

  Bryan’s eyes run up and down over my body, and it’s the first time I’ve ever been so blatantly checked out by a guy. What’s weirder is that his girlfriend doesn’t seem to care—until he shrugs and looks away, clearly not impressed in the slightest. I flush red with embarrassment…but honestly, why would he be? His girlfriend is a ten, and in this environment, I’m a six at best.

  Zach doesn’t seem to notice. He points around the room. “This is Chris,” he says, indicating a stocky blond guy built like a football player. “Spike, Josh, and Devon.” Spike is a short kid with freckles and dark hair, Josh is tall and lean, and Devon is another blond, with a casual surfer-guy aesthetic to him. None of them look like what I pictured, but they all look at me with the interested expression of lions evaluating their next kill…and then quickly decide I’m not worth their time.

  I remember standing in front of my mirror the night I was supposed to meet Zach and thinking that maybe I was beautiful. Now I feel the exact opposite. I feel mousy and boring, and I’m starting to regret ever coming.

  “So, Zach, did you tell your little girlfriend the news?” Bryan asks, handing Zach a bottle of tequila. To my surprise, he takes it.

  “Perks of parents who drink a lot but are never around,” Bryan says to me, seeing my shocked expression. “Jesus, Zach, where did you find her? Church?”

  I flush even brighter red, feeling humiliated.

  “Look, Rain’s my best friend, don’t give her any shit,” Zach says defensively.

  I realize I’m being talked over, as if I’m not even in the room, and I don’t like it. But I don’t know what to do about it. I see the redhead look at me sympathetically, and that makes me feel even worse. I don’t want to be pitied.

  “Aw fuck, man, I’m just kidding.” Bryan takes a deep swig of his beer. “Let’s go outside and have a smoke, guys. I want to fill you in on what we’re doing tomorrow. Away from the ladies.”

  I sit back into one of the chairs as Zach gives me an apologetic glance and then follows Bryan outside. I see the redhead watching me out of the corner of her eye, and I look around the room. There’s a lot of blondes with dark makeup, and one tall, thin brunette girl with huge boobs wearing a short black denim skirt, a tight tank top, and motorcycle boots. She looks like a model. I sink deeper into the chair.

  Then, to my surprise, the redhead gets up and walks over to me, perching on the edge of the chair’s arm. “Hey,” she says, sticking out a hand. Her nails are short and painted black. “I’m Veronica; you can call me Roni. I hate Vicky.”

  “Rain,” I say in a small voice, shaking her hand. She smells like watermelon. Her lips are painted deep red, and her eyes are a brilliant blue. Everything about her seems larger than life and a little dangerous. Sexy.

  I want to be like that. But I wouldn’t even know where to start.

  “Look, don’t let these guys intimidate you. Bryan can be an ass sometimes. But he means well. All of them do. I know Zach gives you a lot of the shit he gets in the hauls. He talks about you a lot.”

  “He does?” I try not to sound too interested.

  A small smile flickers on her lips. “He does,” she confirms. She looks me up and down, considering. “You like him, don’t you?”

  I don’t even know what to say. My silence is, however, apparently confirmation enough. “You just have to make him jealous. He’ll be all over you if he thinks there’s competition,” she says confidently. I shrug.

  “Are there any guys in here you think you could make him jealous with? You’d want to,” she asks with a sly smirk. I gawk at her, horrified.

  “No!” I say quickly, and she laughs.

  “You have good taste,” she says, giving me a nudge.

  “Zach doesn’t know what he’s got,” she tells me.

  “I like you. I think we should be friends. Let’s hang out,” she says easily. I look at her, feeling flattered but confused.

  “You don’t even know me.” I’m amazed by how brazen she is, talking to me as if we’re friends. But it’s also intriguing. I want to be that confident.

  “Your vibe says it all.” She pats my hand. Vibe? She giggles at my confused expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all to you. What are you doing this weekend? You want to do some shopping?”

  “I don’t know.” I glance away from her, hoping that maybe she’ll take the hint. It’s not like I have any girlfriends—but is this the kind of girl I really want to make friends with? She seems light-years ahead of where I am in my lif
e.

  She looks as if she’s about to argue with me, but before she can say anything, the door opens and the guys spill back inside, laughing. I can smell cigarette and weed smoke wafting in with them, and I glance at Zach, wondering if he smoked and if so, which one. Everything here is loud and overwhelming and unfamiliar—and I both want to leave and want to be a part of it at the same time.

  The only other time I’ve felt this confused was when Zach and I kissed. Is this confusion just a part of growing up? I don’t know, but I don’t like it.

  Zach seems to catch my signal that I don’t want to be on my own right now, but just as he turns to walk over to me, he’s intercepted by a tall blonde girl who was lounging on one of the chairs as he walked in. He stops in his tracks, and I feel my heart drop as I see her flirtatiously sweep her hair over her shoulder, moving closer to him as she talks. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but just looking at her makes me feel miserable. She’s wearing tight skinny jeans and a gold top that stops just below her breasts, and she has a floral tattoo on one shoulder. Her hair is bleached blonde, lighter than mine, but her eyes are blue, ringed in dark makeup. Her skin is flawless, her eyes huge, her lips full.

  I feel Roni nudge me. “You kind of look like her.”

  Is she kidding? At first I think she’s making fun of me, but then I see her expression is serious. I look back over at the girl. Yeah, maybe if I was a year or two older, and a lot cooler. Like Roni, she’s edgy and sexy and looks like a girl who knows what she wants.

  The only time I’ve ever felt like I knew what I wanted is when I’m with Zach. And he doesn’t want me in return.

  I glance over and see that Roni is still perched on the arm of the chair, and she’s looking at Zach and the blonde girl, too. I meet her eyes and see a knowing expression there. She knows exactly what I’m thinking.