by Jacie Lennon
Brock grabs it from me and studies the screen two inches from his face.
“I’m so drunk.” He pulls the phone back and furrows his brow, and it sends me into a fit of laughter again. “Hold on,” he says. “It’s from Trixie.”
“What?” I grab the phone and look at it again. “Shit, it is? I can’t fucking tell.”
“Give it to me,” Corbin says, putting his hand out. He raises the phone, and I watch his eyes dart back and forth. “She’s at a party, and she wants you to come get her.” He mouths the words again and then looks up at me, confused.
“You are fucking with me.” I snatch the phone back again and shake my head. Finally, I can see the words.
Trixie: Bodhi, come get me from this party. 4425 Alexander Street, Heywood.
My heart leaps. Trix needs me. It’s like my brain completely forgets about all the shit that went down between us. I’m ready to go.
“No. Fuck no. We aren’t going to Heywood to pick up your ex-girlfriend.” Brock shakes his head.
“It could be a trap, man,” Corbin says, and I glare at him.
“Trixie wouldn’t try and trap me,” I snarl, and he shrugs.
“Seems odd,” he says.
I drum my fingers on my thigh. We are wasted, too drunk to drive anywhere.
“Does she always start off your messages with your name? Seems obvious that it’s you she’s texting.”
“Why are you analyzing the message? She needs me,” I say, my chest thumping when I realize that’s what I’ve been missing. Someone who needs me.
It seems I’m always the one needing something. A mother, love, friendship, attention. I need her to need me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand and grimace.
Too much.
Too many thoughts.
Too drunk.
“Look, don’t beat yourself up. We will go if it means that much to you.” Brock stills my wrist. “I’ll get an Uber.”
He brings up the app on his phone and then stands.
“Come on. We’ve got to get to the main road for them to pick us up since you know Hank in the guardhouse won’t let an Uber in at this time of night.”
I check my phone and see Brock’s right. It’s eight thirty, and we would get in trouble if anyone found out we were off school grounds. No leniency even if school hasn’t technically started. As soon as we are on Almadale Prep property, we belong to them.
But only if they find out.
We head down the back stairs and take the emergency exit out to the back of the dorms. We cross the clearing and stick to the tree line. It’s not the first time we’ve ever snuck out, but it’s the first time we’ve been hammered while trying to do it. I remembered to grab us some bottled water before we left, and we’ve been drunkenly trying to drink it and walk in a straight line. There’s been lots of laughter and shushing.
As we get to the high wrought iron fence surrounding the property, we follow it to the guard shack. I peer around the side, seeing Hank inside, reading a newspaper.
Huh. I didn’t know people did that anymore. I should tell him that he can get news on his phone now.
We plaster ourselves to the back of the guard shack. If we time it right, we can run across the small fence opening when the security cameras switch over, but we have to be sure to get his attention facing the other direction. Brock picks up a large rock, and I peek around the corner, eyeing the security monitor. I hold up my fingers and then lower them as the images on the monitor change.
Three … two … one.
Brock throws the rock in the opposite direction, and Hank swivels his chair. The monitor bumps over to the second camera, and I take off, Brock and Corbin behind me. We shoot down the fence line on the opposite side until we get to the bend in the road, which ensures Hank isn’t able to see us anymore.
I’m breathing heavily, and I lean over, hands on my knees. I don’t feel so good.
“Dude, I—” And it happens. I throw up the copious amounts of scotch that I drank earlier.
“Gross,” Corbin says, stepping away.
When my stomach is done heaving, I stand and wipe my mouth.
“I feel a lot better,” I say with a nod. Still loopy but not as much.
It’s time to go get my girl.
As if on cue, headlights appear, and we wave, the Uber light in the front dash making us smile. The window rolls down, and the guy stares at us.
“Brock Montgomery?” he asks, confused.
“Yep,” Brock says, opening the back door, and we pile in.
“Going to Heywood?” he asks, and we give a chorus of, “Yes.”
This is going to go good for me or bad for all of us.
13
Trixie
“What kind of surprise?” I ask.
Seth grins again as he propels me toward the circular white couches in the formal living room. Other kids our age and a little older litter the room, and Seth makes a pair of girls move, so we can sit down. They simper at him and glare at me but only for a second. Don’t want to outright dis me in front of him. I’m sure that will eventually happen behind his back.
“I can’t spoil it. Wait for a bit,” he says, sitting and pulling me to perch on his lap.
He’s staking his claim, marking me for everyone in the room to see. I feel like an object, someone he’s trying to show off, and I cringe at all the eyes on us.
“Fine, but after that, can I go?”
“You don’t like it here?” he asks, one brow cocked, as if he is truly surprised that I am not overjoyed to be sitting at this party. He grabs my drink and sniffs it. “Tsk, tsk. I thought I told you to get something to loosen you up.”
“Water is loosening. It lubricates your joints and stuff, so you can move,” I say in defense of my drink.
He laughs a little too loudly, and I flush.
“Oh, you are funny. Too clever for what I like.” His hand clamps around my thigh, fingers digging in, and I squirm at the pressure. “Next time, you do what I tell you.”
Translation: you need to be a boring cookie-cutter girlfriend that I can control.
“You don’t own me, Seth,” I say, panic building in my chest.
“That’s where you are wrong.” His hand releases, and I exhale. “When you see that bruise on your leg later, remember who owns you, little Beatrice Northcutt.”
Before I can respond, a wave of quiet descends over the room, and footsteps claim my attention. I look toward the opening of the broad living room door and gasp when I see Bodhi, Brock, and Corbin standing there.
What are they doing at a Heywood party?
“Surprise,” Seth whispers in my ear.
I can feel the blood draining from my face. I open my purse, digging inside, and then look back up at the three. My phone is gone.
“Looking for this?” Seth holds it up in front of my face, and my eyes widen.
He stands, unceremoniously dumping me to my feet, but before I can move, he snags me around my waist and pulls me into his side. I can’t look up. I can’t see Bodhi’s face the moment he realizes he’s been tricked. I can’t have this moment burned into my brain.
“Trixie.” Bodhi’s voice echoes around the silent room, and I shut my eyes.
Seth chuckles.
“Trixie,” he says again, louder, as if I didn’t hear him the first time. “Did you text me?”
I look up.
His eyes are on me, staring right into me as his question hangs in the air between us. Seth’s fingers grip my flesh at my waist, pinching me. I squirm away from the pain. His nails dig deeper.
“Answer his question,” Seth whispers.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask.
“So you learn not to challenge me—ever.”
“No,” I say, looking at Bodhi. I shake my head and hope that he can see the remorse on my face.
“Good little dog,” Seth says, laughing. “She calls for you, and you come running.”
His hand finally releases me, and I sag. Bodhi continues to watch me. He hasn’t looked at Seth once.
“Just leave,” I beg, hoping he will turn and get out.
“Oh no,” Seth says, lifting a finger and wagging it back and forth. “This is too much fun. I wanted you to be here, Montgomery. And I guess you too, other Montgomery. And that one guy from the boat who acts like he belongs.” Seth sniffs the air. “I smell poor on you.”
Everyone in the room laughs. As if they made the money they use. Everyone here leeches off of mommy and daddy for what they have.
Connor steps beside me as Seth moves forward. I look up at him, tears in my eyes, and he shakes his head slightly.
Don’t give in. Don’t let Seth get what he wants. To break me, to bend me to his will.
“I wanted to see if Bodhi here would go behind my back and try to take my girl.”
“She isn’t yours,” Bodhi says, finally looking at Seth.
“And she’s yours?”
Yes.
“No. She’s a human. She doesn’t belong to anyone.”
Am I your human, Bodhi?
“That’s where you are wrong,” Seth says, spinning in a circle. “Right, everyone? Trixie is mine, and we don’t want to see your face around here ever again.”
There are jeers and yells from around the room. Seth’s speech is gaining momentum. A tension sweeps through the room, violence in the air, and I silently will the three of them to leave. Brock grabs Bodhi’s arm and tries to pull him back, but Bodhi steps forward, shaking him off.
“Is this what you want, Trixie? This guy?” Bodhi asks, and my heart cracks.
Seth looks back at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Bodhi looks agonized.
“You are dead to me. To all of us,” he says as calmly as can be.
“That’s harsh,” Corbin says.
Bodhi glares at him. “She made her choice.”
“Yes, and it wasn’t you,” Seth says, sticking his finger in Bodhi’s chest. Bodhi hits his arm away. “Oh, this is too good.”
“Don’t put your fucking hands on me,” Bodhi says.
Seth pokes him one more time. Bodhi’s fist comes up and connects with Seth’s cheek, and pandemonium breaks loose. I try to see what’s going on, but a crowd gathers, more bodies jumping into the fray. Connor picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder as he strides from the room, leaving my past and my future behind to work it out among themselves.
Bodhi
“You’ve got to stop fighting,” Brock says, pinching his nose between his fingers.
Blood is pouring down his face, and Corbin’s holding his wrist with the opposite hand. I don’t feel anything.
“Doucheface deserved it. I’m going to punch him every single time I see him.”
We are walking down the road. No one has an Uber coming or anything. At this rate, we are walking home to Almadale.
“Trixie deserves whatever happens to her. Picking him over me. They say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I’ll keep Seth close, so I can deck him in the eye over and over.”
“You’re ranting,” Corbin says, and I turn, stopping in the middle of the road.
“She broke my fucking heart,” I say, arms open wide. “Right here,” I say as I pound my chest. I know it’s dramatic, and my high blood alcohol level probably has something to do with it. “I hope I fucking broke hers back there. I hate her.”
“No, you don’t,” Brock says.
“Who the hell in their right mind would pick someone like him over me?”
No one says anything because they know I’m right. It’s ludicrous.
“You know what? She doesn’t deserve me. Hope she and Seth asshat Hastings are happy with each other. They go together like my fist and his face.”
“We get the picture, Bodhi. Corbin told you this was a trap in the first place.” Brock checks under his nose and finds it’s still bleeding.
“Well, congratu-fucking-lations. You were right. Is that what you want to hear?” I throw my head back. “You were fucking right!” I yell.
A front door to one of the houses opens, and a man steps out.
“Take your shit somewhere else,” he yells at us, and I turn, saluting him.
“Sure thing,” I yell back and then stick my middle fingers up at him.
He scowls before stepping back inside and shutting the door.
“I meant what I said. Trixie is dead to us. Got that?”
“Yeah,” Corbin says.
“Yes. Now, please shut the fuck up and get us a ride home,” Brock says.
I feel it deep in my bones—an ache at being cast aside for another. I am having flashbacks of my childhood, where I didn’t know if I would ever find someone to love me. If I were lovable, would two women have left me? If I were lovable, would I have to fight for it? Aren’t lovable people just … loved?
I pound my chest one more time and lose all my air. A sob stuck in my throat. It’s really sinking in that she doesn’t want to be with me.
And I don’t want to think anymore.
I open my phone and hit a name, calling my dealer instead of a car.
“Yo, you got any?” I ask as soon as he answers.
“Supply? Or—”
“Everything,” I say.
“It’ll cost you,” he says.
I laugh. “It won’t cost more than the price I’ve already paid.”
“Is that some poet shit?” he asks, and I smile.
“That’s life. I want to get fucked up.”
“Finally,” he replies. “Good to have you on board, B.”
“I’ll ping you my location.”
“Sending a car now,” he says.
I hang up and then text him where we are.
“Boys, I’ve got us a party to go to,” I turn and tell Brock and Corbin.
“We left a party,” Corbin points out, and I roll my eyes.
“This one is the real deal. Alcohol, drugs, and girls as far as the eye can see.”
Brock and Corbin look at each other, frowning, and then back at me.
“You sure about this?” Corbin asks.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. I’m the new me.” I step between them, placing my arms on their shoulders, and start to whistle.
It’s time I lost myself.
14
Sophomore Year
Bodhi
Trixie
15
Junior Year
Bodhi
Trixie
16
Bodhi
Present Day: Senior Year—March
Hell, I’m doing it.
This has gone on for too long, and it’s almost the end of the school year. Almost the end of our high school career. I’ve waited, and tonight, I’m going to set the record straight. I’m going to find out what is going on. I’m going to get my answers.
I stand in my bedroom, staring into my mirror, glad that Brock and Corbin are busy with their own girls and can’t harass me about mine. Yeah, I still consider Trixie mine even if she cut me off, froze me out, and left me with a Trixie-sized hole in my heart.
I adjust the bow tie once, twice, and one more time before it finally sits straight against the column of my throat. I smooth my hands down the front of my tux, making sure everything is in place, and then I give myself a wink.
“You can do this,” I whisper, smiling at my reflection before leaning forward to smooth one errant hair.
I grab my wallet and cigarettes from my dresser and stuff them inside my tux coat pocket.
Deep breaths.
This night will go one of two ways. Really fucking good or really fucking bad.
I’m definitely hoping for the first option.
I make my way to the garage and run my hand down my sleek black car, glancing over at Indigo as she rests. I haven’t driven her since freshman year—when I couldn’t even legally drive. She’s still beautiful, but it aches when I look at her. Like looking
at Trix. Sure, I’ve covered it up well over the years. Partying, girls, and even drugs. But I’m not doing that shit anymore.
It’s time for me to straighten up and go after what I want, like a man. No more thinking she’s going to come running back to me. Sure, she did what she did, and she will have to pay for that, but I’m tired of waiting around for her.
I get in, pull out of the garage, and gun down the drive. At this point, I don’t care if anyone hears me leave. I’ll be gone before they can even care enough to look for me. I’m on a mission, and I’ll be damned if anyone tries to deter me from it.
I don’t think of much on the drive over. It seems I blink, and I’m pulling around the back of the Northcutts’ mansion, to the workers’ entrance. I see people milling in and out of the door, like little ants setting up for the party.
My girl is turning eighteen. We are technically adults in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of everyone around us. But my heart froze back when I was fifteen. When Trixie broke the hell out of it and sent me spiraling. That won’t happen tonight. I pieced it back together with whatever I could find, and I think it’s stronger now. It still wants her, but it’s felt rejection two times over from women I loved, and I think if it happened again, it would cope a lot better.
Maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. I don’t know.
I step out of my car, smoothing my tux down again. I’m two hours early. Trixie should be in her room, getting ready to stun everyone at her party, and I cross my fingers, raise my chin, paste my smirk on, and stride toward the door, acting for all the world that I have a right to be here.
No one tries to stop me or even bats an eyelash my way as I cut through the workers’ entrance, through the large kitchen, and up the back stairway. I take a right out of the stairs door and a left at the end of the hall. Her room is the second door on the left, and suddenly, I’m standing in front of it, sweating underneath my finery. I can feel the tiny beads of sweat along my forehead.