by Jacie Lennon
I jump off the bed, striding over to pick up the piece of jewelry, and hold it up to the window. The Friends on hers glitters in the light streaming through.
What a joke. I set it back down, reaching down around my ankle and pulling my own half of the heart off. The small chain snaps in half as I yank, leaving a welted line around my skin as I throw my Best next to hers.
“There, together again.” I spin and look at her. I reach up, running my hand along my neck before grabbing the strands of hair and pulling. “Fuck, Trixie. This doesn’t make any sense. I don’t even know what to say to you right now. The Trixie I know would have never done this. Who even are you?”
“I’m still the same person, Bo.”
“No, you don’t get to call me Bo anymore. No cute nicknames. We aren’t cute anymore. You made damn sure of that.”
“Bodhi—”
“In fact, don’t call me anything. I’m so angry right now; I can’t even see you sitting there. And you are sitting there, not even trying to fight for us. But I guess if you tried to fight, this wouldn’t be happening because this is all you. You did this. Remember that. And for what reason? Who fucking knows? I don’t even think you know.”
“Bodhi—”
“I’m not fucking done. I shared pieces of my heart with you, things no one else knows, and you know how I feel about people leaving me. And that’s exactly what you are doing. Leaving me. It would be better if I knew why, but since you aren’t giving me that, I guess I’ll make this easy for both of us and be the one who walks away. Don’t talk to me anymore. I don’t want to see your face. In fact, leave Almadale.”
Trixie is sobbing by this point, but I don’t have it in me to care or comfort her. I’m devastated, and I need to get myself together. Her door crashes open, causing us both to jump and look to see who is there. Her dad, his face red and mouth set in a grim line, stalks toward me.
“I should have you arrested for breaking and entering,” he says, grabbing my upper arm, and I don’t even try to stop him. “Get yourself together, Beatrice. You have company,” he barks as I look at Trixie one last time before he pushes me through the door. His hand is cutting off the blood supply to my arm, but I don’t even care.
Mr. Northcutt is dragging me down the stairs, and as we come to the front foyer, I glance up, the blood in my face draining and my jaw going slack. Seth Hastings is standing beside the entry table, a large grin on his face as he watches me get hustled to the front door. He raises one hand in a small wave before slipping it into his pocket.
“Get out of my house,” Mr. Northcutt growls before opening the front door, shoving me through it, and closing it with a resounding bang for the second time today.
I listen to the dead bolt being locked while reaching up to rub the feeling back into my bicep.
I turn, seeing that Brock and Corbin pulled back up—not completely in front of the house, but close enough that I can get to them quickly. I throw open the back door since Corbin has moved up into the passenger seat and get in, shutting the door behind me with a bang.
“We saw fucking Seth. What happened?” Brock asks, turning to look at me.
“We are about to go to a fucking party, is what’s happening.” I connect my phone to the car’s speakers through Bluetooth and pull up my music. I blast “Love the Way You Lie” by Eminem through the sound system and hope the two in the front get the hint that I don’t want to talk about it as we pull down the driveway.
Brock opens up the car, speeding away from the Northcutts’ mansion and away from the girl I thought I loved and who I thought loved me.
12
Trixie
Sophomore Year - August
I know Bodhi said not to return to Almadale, but I think it was a little silly for him to think he could order me around like that. After I cried for a month straight, I finally got my life together and tried to accept my fate.
Okay, I haven’t accepted it, but I haven’t figured a way out of it yet. All I know is, I have to stay away from Bodhi and his friends. It’s going to be hard to see him and not be near him or talk to him. I don’t know how I’m going to handle it yet, but I have to.
I considered calling Linna after everything went down, but what would she do? I can’t run away and live with her. I’m a minor, and my parents would track me down and haul me back. I wonder if this has something to do with Linna and her leaving.
What did my parents try to force her into?
I guess they realized their mistake when she turned eighteen and could legally escape them.
I sigh and spin around my dorm room. I don’t have a roommate yet. Either I wasn’t assigned one or no one wanted to stay with me. I wouldn’t be surprised by either outcome. It seems I’m a social pariah now since everyone has heard about my and Bodhi’s breakup. Thankfully, no one has said anything about Seth yet, which leads me to believe Bodhi and his crew haven’t talked. What few classmates talked to me before all of this have avoided me all summer, and I’ve been so lonely.
But I have a backbone. I do. I won’t cower or back down because life has thrown something at me that I don’t like. I have to press on, forge my own destiny.
I sit on my bed with a snort.
Forge my own destiny.
What destiny can I create for myself? My future has been planned out for me, down to the person I’m going to marry. I’m sure if my parents could do it, they would pick the number of kids I had and the sex of each one.
My phone pings beside me, and I groan. I know who it is; it’s the only person who bothers to text me these days and only when he wants something. I contemplate not even reading it, but I know that if I wait any more than ten minutes, I’ll get a phone call. I wouldn’t put him above showing up here if I didn’t answer a call.
I raise my phone, swiping and then checking my messages.
Seth: Time to debut our new relationship. Back-to-school party tonight.
It’s the absolute last thing that I want to do, but my life isn’t mine anymore. Looks like I’m going to a party. School starts on Monday, and my parents sent me off yesterday to get “settled in.” I think that’s code for we don’t want to deal with you anymore, so go sit in your dorm all weekend. At least this party will give me something to do.
Trixie: Okay.
The one-worded answer will irritate him, and nothing gives me more pleasure than pissing him off. But I can only do it subtly, no outright rebellion against him.
Seth: Meet me at Portman’s at seven to pregame.
Gee, thanks for offering to come pick me up.
I send him back a thumbs-up emoji and then throw my phone on my fluffy comforter. I lie back, letting my hands settle on my stomach as I stare up at the ceiling.
Pregaming at any sort of get-together with Seth Jr. sounds like hell, especially at his buddy Portman’s house. He drinks too much and then gets handsy, and no one acts like they care, even when they can see that I’m uncomfortable. I can only hope his friend Connor is there. He’s been nice to me—well, nicer than anyone else from that town.
The town of Heywood backs up to the town of Almadale, but the divide between their school and ours is huge. It goes back to the beginning when friends became enemies and started rival schools, and the tradition carries down. It’s not as bad now. There are those who are friends between the schools, but I think students still have those feelings of rivalry, so I don’t know how everyone will take it when they find out I’m actually “dating” a Heywood rival. It’s bigger than being friends.
I check the time and see that it’s only two in the afternoon, so I pull my shorts off and climb under my covers, determined to take a nap before the disaster that tonight will no doubt be.
I step into Portman’s house, unimpressed by the splendor because that’s all this life is. Opulence, decadence, and overindulgence. It’s tiring sometimes. When my heart feels like I should be in some grungy basement party with riffraff. I don’t actually know what that’s like, as I’ve only seen it
depicted in movies, but it seems to be an accurate representation of my emotions right now.
Instead, I’m amid million-dollar paintings and thousand-dollar clothing that surrounds one-dollar personalities.
“There she is, my golden-haired angel,” Seth says, wrapping one arm around my waist, and I can already smell the liquor.
Pregame, my ass. He’s been pregaming since noon, is my bet.
“Come on. Let’s get you something to drink. Maybe loosen you up a little? You are too uptight.”
Loosened up is the last thing I want to be around these people. I see the hateful glares being thrown my way. This is the first time I’ll be meeting Seth’s Heywood friends, and I’m not prepared. I know that, technically, I’ve snagged a hot commodity, but if it were up to me, I’d give him back.
I can’t see what’s so great about him anyway. So far, he’s been condescending, pompous, an asshole, and an overbearing dictator when it comes to me and what I can and can’t do.
Do my parents know this? Did they sign me up for a future with this guy, knowing what it would be like?
“I’m not uptight,” I say, trying to wiggle out of his hold.
“Babe, only uptight people say that.” He continues to propel me toward wherever the drinks are being kept. “Yo, Dawson, fix my lady up.” He pushes me toward the counter and then leans to whisper in my ear, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
To most girls, that would mean that he wants to be able to find me easily when he gets back, but to me, I know it’s a warning. I’m allowed to stand here with Dawson, and that’s it. I don’t watch him walk away. I don’t care where he’s going.
“So, you are Seth’s new girl,” the guy across the long bar says.
I’m assuming this is Dawson.
“Sure,” I say with a shoulder shrug. “I’ll take a water.”
“Are you sure? We have some of everything.”
Am I sure that I want to keep my head on straight in this situation? Yes.
“Yeah, a water is good. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
Is it that weird that I’m not drinking alcohol? We are fifteen, for heaven’s sake. I’ve barely had anything to drink at this point in my life.
My mind remembers the taste of the champagne on my fifteenth birthday.
I don’t think I’ve ever been celebrated like that. Just seen and wanted.
Stop it, Trixie.
“Did you say something?” Dawson asks.
I glance up. “Uh, no.”
I don’t think I spoke out loud.
“Here’s your virgin drink,” he says with a grin.
Is that supposed to be funny?
I can’t tell.
“Thanks,” I say as I take it and spin, my back to the bar as I survey the scene in front of me. I don’t know anyone’s face, and I feel out of place.
“You look like you would rather be anyplace but here,” a voice at my side says.
I jump and turn, water sloshing out onto my hand as I see Connor standing there.
“God, you scared me,” I say.
“Sorry.”
“I would rather be anyplace than here,” I say, sighing and leaning back against the bar.
“Me too,” Connor says, and I look over at him.
“Then, why are you here?”
Connor works his jaw back and forth as he stares out at some girls stumbling around, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I guess I can leave at any time.”
“Lucky you,” I say with an eye roll, turning and leaning my elbows on the bar top.
“Yeah, lucky.” Connor raps on the bar, and Dawson looks at us. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
“You two are the most boring people I’ve ever met,” Dawson complains, and I grin at Connor.
“Talking shit about my girl, Daw?” Seth says from behind me.
He grabs my hips and presses himself against me. I tense. Connor watches me over the rim of the water Dawson passed him. I give him a smile that I hope is convincing.
“He was joking,” I say, turning and placing my hands on Seth’s chest, defusing the situation. “Come on. I want to sit down. These heels are killing me.”
“Okay,” Seth says, dipping his head to right beside my ear. “I have a surprise for you.” He pulls back, giving me a wolfish grin. He leers with a bit of devious joy behind it.
Bodhi
“But, Mommy, don’t you love me?”
“What is love, Bodhi? You are three. You can’t even comprehend the most basic of things.”
I frown, confused.
“I’m not three, Mommy. I’m full grown. I know what love is!”
“You are a fool.”
I reach out, trying to grasp her hand and keep her with me. “No. Don’t leave me.”
“Everyone leaves at some point,” she says, smiling.
Her mouth keeps growing and growing into a grotesque image. It’s too big for her face. Her body fades away, leaving her mouth in a grinning grimace, and I scream. I turn, yelling, and run, but my feet are stuck. I can’t lift my legs. My arms won’t move. I feel like I’m in sludge.
Her mouth gets closer, opening.
“Bodhi. Wake the fuck up,” I hear someone say, and my body is shaking.
“Bodhi, wake the fuck up,” the mouth says, and I try to move again. Another scream. “Bodhi, wake up. You aren’t loved.” The mouth laughs.
My body shakes again, and my eyes fly open. I push myself up to sitting and look around with wide eyes.
“Fuck, you were having a nightmare again,” Brock says, his hand still on my shoulder.
“A nightmare?” I glance around again. There’s no large mouth waiting to eat me. Only despair left in my chest, aching.
“Yeah. Are you okay?” Brock bends down.
I reach up and wipe my eyes. They are wet.
“I’m fine,” I say gruffly, pushing his hand away.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Same old dream as usual,” I tell him, and he nods.
He knows about my nightmares, about Mom leaving. He doesn’t have them, but sometimes, I think he has the same amount of pain; he just gets it out in other ways.
“You need to talk to someone,” he says, sinking to sit beside me.
I lean over to my desk and grab my cigarettes. I put one in my mouth and light it.
“Jeez, open a window before doing that, will you?” He crosses to open ours and then sits back down.
The nicotine hits my blood and creates a buzz, a little high that makes me forget my problems for a moment.
“I don’t need a shrink.”
“Maybe not. But maybe you do. Or at least talk to Dad.”
“I’m fine, Brock.”
“Your dreams have gotten worse. This is the fifth time I’ve had to wake you up since—”
“I know. It’s a breakup. I’ll get over it.”
But I don’t know that I will. I have such a fear of rejection. It stems from my mom leaving when I was so young, and I’m sure it’s the reason I make sure everyone likes me. I’ve succeeded so far.
“Look, I know I was hateful about the whole thing. I don’t like seeing you upset.”
I take another drag of the cigarette.
“Thanks, bro. That means a lot,” I say with a grin. “Getting soft on me?” I elbow him, and he punches my arm.
“No. I know that you took Mom leaving hard—”
“It was years ago. I’m getting over it.”
“I don’t think we will ever get over it.”
I whip my head toward his, surprised. Brock hasn’t ever talked about it much. I’m usually the one bringing it up whenever I get in a weird headspace.
“No, I don’t think we will.” It’s something that has fucked me up for a long time.
Dad does what he can for us, and I love him for it. But I think we definitely are missing that motherly touch. That sweeter side.
&
nbsp; I think of Trixie and how she might have helped fill that void.
Fuck.
“Do I have mommy issues?” I ask Brock, and he chuckles.
“Fuck yeah. Me too.”
“Maybe I didn’t really like Trixie,” I say with a shrug.
“Maybe not. But you could have fooled me.” Brock lies back.
I cross over to stub my cigarette out on the windowsill, and then I flick it out the open window. I lie back beside him, and we both stare at the ceiling.
“This reminds me of the conversations we have on the roof at home,” I say.
The door swings open, and Brock and I raise our heads.
“Is this a weird twin thing?” Corbin asks, stepping into the room.
“Grab the scotch I stole from home—bottom of my closet,” I say and scoot back to lean against the wall.
Corbin walks to my closet and retrieves the bottle, and Brock sits up beside me.
I pat the bed on my other side and give Corbin a flirty grin. “Saved you a seat right here, big guy,” I say.
“You’re fucking strange,” he says but sits beside me anyway.
I grab the bottle from him and take the top off, holding it up between us.
“This bottle represents me right now—dark, depressing, and a little vanilla,” I say, taking a sniff of the opening.
Corbin chuckles, and Brock grins.
I take a swig and hand it to Brock, who gulps twice and gives it to Corbin.
“God, that burns,” Brock says, and I pound his back while he coughs.
“Don’t try to chug it like it’s water,” I say.
Corbin takes his shot and returns it to me. We continue like that for a while until our heads are pressed against the wall and we are laughing hard at nothing. I can’t even remember what was said.
My phone pings from my bedside table, and I lean over to grab it, still laughing. I swipe it open and squint to read the message. It swims before my eyes, and I blink a few times.
“Fuck, I can’t read this,” I say, holding my phone up and glancing at Brock and Corbin.