by E. M. Moore
My gaze gets hung up on the corners of white papers sticking out of a copper-colored toolbox. You’d think my father was a hoarder, but that’s not the whole truth. He’s just really passionate about a few areas of his life. Cleaning and filing important papers are not among them.
My “Shit, you’re going to be really late,” internal alarm goes off. Without even looking at what the papers are, I pull them out of the box, shake them off, and avoid the cloud of dust that poofs up as I run back into the house to shut and lock the front door.
My shoes kick up the dirt of the front walkway. By the time I get to my bike, it’s covered in a thin layer of sand. I’ve lived on the outskirts of Clary, Arizona my whole life. I know about dust and heat and desert. Trust me. I shove the paperwork into my book bag, throw it over my shoulder, and then pull my bike upright from where I left it in a heap a few feet away from the front door of my childhood home. I give the rustic exterior a quick glance before I ride back into town.
The familiar sorrow hits me, but at the same time, I know I made the right decision. I can live out in the desert as a hermit like my father—or even worse than my father because at least he had me—or I can live in the dorms at Saint Clary’s and actually try to have a life other than weekend excursions into the Superstitions searching for my father and our family’s legacy.
I chose the latter because...well, I’m not sure it needs any explanation. One is a life, the other isn’t. Every day my father remains missing is cracking my resolve a little further. Lately, I’ve been wondering if I’m ever going to find him at all.
The barren roadway into town is littered with a few prickly cacti, lots and lots of brown, and the occasional rambling shed that masquerades as a home. Ahead of me, the town of Clary opens up, backdropped by the jagged, burnt copper tint of breccia that makes up the Superstitions. It’s the same kind of mountain faces that are famous in the Visit Arizona brochures, but this isn’t a tourist destination for me. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ve lived and breathed the dry air. I know the ranges like the back of my hand, like my family before me. The only thing I don’t know also happens to be my family’s greatest shame.
The wind picks up. A storm cloud rolls in from the west because of-fucking-course it would choose to rain on the first day of school when I’m late and don’t have the family truck. We don’t get much rain here, and because of that, whenever we do, it’s never good timing.
I pedal faster. I swear I can almost see the ornate ironwork of Saint Clary’s front gate as I come around the bend in the road that goes from no signs of life to life. It’s like some pimpled teenager decided to put a village here in a game of Minecraft, except it isn’t that at all. As with other towns near the mountains, Clary originated because of the gold rush. They needed a home base to venture out from, and soon, once the mining veins were found, they started bringing back the gold that built Clary to what it is today. Don’t be fooled. It’s not some thriving metropolis. In fact, it’s only slightly more populated than a ghost town, but it’s claim to fame is my family treasure.
You’d think that would make me popular somehow. A local celebrity, perhaps. Wrong. My family is pretty much the punchline of all Clary jokes. We’re the town’s outcasts. The laughingstock of generations of Clary residents.
With the wrought iron in sight, I slow my bike. Just as I’m about to make the turn onto campus, a silver Audi screeches past me, its brakes slamming to make the turn. As if by some cosmic joke, the clouds darken at the same time, turning the whole scene into a horror movie. Before the first tentative splat of a raindrop falls, a deluge of water hits me square in the chest, followed by cackling laughter.
I blink. My wet shirt clings to me, and I come to a wavering stop against the brick pillar that holds Saint Clary’s gates, scraping my knee against the rough surface. I narrowly avoid the water bottle turned weapon that’s tossed back at me, but the laughter that follows haunts me. The bangs on the car door sound like tribal war drums, calling out the fact that they think they’re top shit and I’m nothing.
Typical Clary bullshit.
It’s easy to target my family. I get it. Never any money, but dreams as big as the world. My father was a recluse at best, but he was a damn good man. Me? I’m not, nor was I ever, like the normal girls in school. I don’t wear makeup or dresses. I’m more apt to show up in dusty overalls without my hair brushed. Not my fault. I have corkscrew curls. As a kid, my father gave up when mornings turned into a never-ending battle of wills, and I was winning. Now, I’m better at taming my hair, but it still seems to always look wild instead of polished.
I glare at the brake lights of the Audi as it hangs a left into the school parking lot, still driving entirely too fast. It could be anybody, so chasing after it while I’m on two wheels to give them a piece of my mind isn’t happening. Plus, I’m just so fucking tired of it all. The more I fight back, the worse it gets.
As soon as I push off the brick, the fact that the bottled water got me first doesn’t matter. I don’t make it in time to miss the rain. For a moment, I’m barraged by raindrops, soaking straight through to my skin. I ride my bike to the rack, taking my time to lock it up because there’s no use in trying to avoid getting wet now. It already looks like I’ve taken a shower in my clothes and headed to school afterward.
I slip the lock on and walk toward the main doors. Oddly, Saint Clary’s is as gothic as this old west town gets. It’s probably not even considered as true gothic architecture, but when your whole life looks like a western movie, something even a little out of the ordinary is going to stick out.
Honestly, I love the place. It’s just...different. And I like different. It takes me away.
By the time I climb the stone steps to the main entrance, the rain has already stopped, and the sun is once again out in full force. My soggy, wet shoes make a slurp sound as I cross over the marble tile of the foyer. I pause a moment to look in the glass that leads into the administration offices to catch my reflection. The desert climate has never helped my curly hair, but the fact that it just got pummeled with rain is about to make it a thousand times worse.
My shoulders deflate as the frizz is already out of control. I pull the hair tie I always have on my wrist around my hair, piling the curls at the top of my head like a wild top knot. I keep moving down the hall when the Admin door opens right in front of me, and I have to skid to a stop before I faceplant right into it.
The university secretary noses her way out, looking both directions down the hallway with a frown. It isn’t until I come out from around the door to step around her that she pulls back, her hand over her heart. “Miss Wilder.” She breathes out a sigh. “I thought I saw you there.”
I give her a smile, thinking about how she almost maimed me with the door. Well, of course I’m right here.
“This came for you in the mail.” She hands a stark, white envelope to me like it’s gold bars on a platter. “We weren’t sure what it was, but we thought maybe...” She trails off on purpose.
I don’t even bother looking at the return address. If she thinks it’s about my dad’s disappearance, she’s wrong. I tear it from her grip, pull my book bag around, and stuff it in the front pocket. “Thanks,” I say with probably too much sarcasm.
She doesn’t call me out for being rude, she just tells me to have a nice day as I make my way down the hall in wet shoes. Is there anything worse than wet shoes? I’m announcing where I am with every step I take. The back of my neck heats. At least there aren’t many students in the hall right now, but as soon as I walk into History, that will change. You’d think I’d be used to being gawked at as one half of the town crazies, but it’s been a whole different story since my dad went missing. Now, I’m the only crazy, and there’s something very lonely about that.
Despite my father always telling me that normal is boring, normalcy sounds like icing on the cake right now. Normal people don’t have to worry about the piling up of bills and the stepmother who ran away with what
money there was and the—
I turn the knob to open the door into History class where a familiar figure stands at the front. His gray-blue eyes dart to me, and a wicked grin spreads his perfect, bow-tie lips. He finishes talking while holding my gaze. A few people notice where his attention is, and they turn toward me. Snickering erupts. My fellow students start making snide comments, hiding their lips with their hands as if that will stop the law of sound and somehow keep me from hearing their petty words. Even more, however, go back to staring at Stone fucking Jacobs. After all, I’ll always be the weird girl, but Stone? Standing at the front of class like he’s top shit, Stone is a one-percenter. One of the most drop-dead gorgeous guys I’ve ever laid eyes on. Too bad he’s also one of the biggest jackasses I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. He knows it too. So, when it comes to who the world places their attention on, it’s Stone one hundred percent of the time. Not me.
It only takes a moment to figure out what the scene before me means. The book bag slung over his shoulder. The forest green polo paired with his dressy jeans. The dumbass professor standing just off to his side, smiling and nodding.
Motherfucking shit. Stone Jacobs is in my History class. He’s transferred...here?
“What the fuck?”
The adoring gazes and snide remarks turn into jaw drops and unrestrained gasps. I have the whole attention of the room now as I stare at one part of my family’s archenemies. He crosses his arms in front of his chest as he stares me down, but the stare isn’t a normal one of mutual hatred and disrespect amongst those who dislike each other. It never was. His is one of complete distaste, like he could wipe me from this earth and not care one iota.
That’s Stone Jacobs for you, and I’m completely fucked.
2
“Dakota!” Mr. Burns chastises.
His rebuke barely registers. Stone’s steady smirk and bright eyes stay on me as the titters of my classmates chirp like surround sound. He holds my gaze until he takes a seat near the front. My seat, to be exact. I always sit in the front. He places his bag next to him and slowly unpacks it like he has all the time in the world. A pen. A notebook. A piece of chewing gum. All the while, I can’t stop staring.
“Jesus, Blue’s Clues. Sit your ass down. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I shift, looking straight into the eyes of Meghan Tanner. Mean girl extraordinaire, who happens to look like she doesn’t belong anywhere near Clary. Maybe on Rodeo Drive in California. Or Broadway in New York City. Not near these parts where everything looks dead, and if it’s not dead, it’s deadly.
Her eyes widen as she takes in my still unmoving body. She lowers her voice. “Get a clue, Dakota. You’re trash.” She sneers at my soaking wet outfit like she’s just realized I’m standing here soaked straight through to my skin. The air conditioner kicks on behind me, and goosebumps skitter over my suddenly chilled body. It has to be the sudden appearance of Stone that I’m responding to. Out in the mountains, we’re even. I like to think I top him even. In the real world, though, I might as well be the shit on the underside of Stone’s shoes.
A boy behind Meghan, who’s always trying to flirt with her, looks up. He does a double-take, stare plastered to my chest. “Damn, Blue’s Clues, I’ll take some of those nips.” He sticks his tongue out, furiously flicking the air in short strokes.
Meghan slaps his arm. “Please. You’ll get a disease or something.”
Though he stops tonguing the air, he still ogles my chest when Meghan turns back around. I grab hold of my book bag straps and carefully maneuver my hands to hide my erect nipples. It’s the fucking air conditioner’s fault, dammit, but when I finally glance away, Stone catches my eye again. He’s glaring at me with narrowed eyes and a chiseled chin. He holds my gaze, not looking away this time either. Everything is a contest with him. I look away first when the professor speaks from the front again, “Miss Wilder, I see you plan on disrupting the entire class. Either take a seat or see your way out.”
Embarrassment rushes through me in a tidal wave of heat, and my breasts definitely stop nipping now. I turn and slop my way to the back row. Mr. Burns just stares at me incredulously, the suctioning of my wet shoes offending him until I finally plant my ass on a chair.
Class goes by in a blur. I stare at the back of Stone’s perfectly coiffed blond hair, questions racing through my mind. Taking center stage is wondering why the fuck he’s back in Clary. He has no reason to be here. His mom packed up and left hours before the news came that there was no trace of my father. She was already gone when I made it back to the house after the press conference, not even bothering to say goodbye. I don’t know where she moved to, but she took everything with her. The money in the accounts—what little of it there was, anyway. She pillaged the house for valuables, even. The only thing she left me was the truck and Dad’s house. And who knows if I even have that.
As I stare at Stone, my hatred for him and his whole family grows brighter and brighter until I’m a sitting inferno. I’m surprised my classmates sitting around me haven’t felt my fire yet. I loathe Stone Jacobs with everything in me. I hate his father, his mother, and his entire family tree. Losing my father has only made it worse because while I’m just barely getting by, the Jacobs are thriving. They have their money and their fancy jobs and their fancy treks up into the mountain while I’ve been venturing out by myself week after week, searching with no luck.
At the end of class, Meghan saunters up to Stone’s desk, leaning over to put her hand on his shoulder. He gazes at her with those discerning, twinkling eyes that are practically made of diamonds. I’ve seen diamonds in their natural state, and trust me, they match Stone Jacobs in every way. Cutting and beautiful.
Meghan turns her head to stare at me, giving me a small smirk that says she knows she’s about to get something that I want. That’s the fate of all Wilders, isn’t it? Never getting what they truly want. I hate to break it to her though. She can have Stone Jacobs. I couldn’t care less. I don’t want to be within five feet of my stepbrother.
Instead of stooping to her level, I give her a smile of my own, grab my bag, and try to leave the class with more dignity than when I entered, which honestly, is easy to do, considering the mess I brought in with me.
I can’t believe Stone fucking Jacobs is here, I keep telling myself. I simultaneously want to confront him and pretend he’s a walking case of COVID-19. Keep my fucking distance, that’s what I should do. Nothing good ever came from getting too close to a member of the Jacobs family.
How dare he enroll in Saint Clary’s though. He knows I go here, and last I heard, he and his friends were attending Arizona State. Even if he wanted to transfer, aren’t there a lot of colleges in Phoenix that are probably ten times better than this one? Lord knows he can afford to go to a more expensive school. Saint Clary’s is the cheapest college in all of Arizona. I know that for a fact because that’s why I go here.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I don’t see the towering body in front of me when I step out of the classroom. I run straight into a chest and bounce back. The first thing I see is the brim of a black cowboy hat. When he lifts his head, though, the face comes into view. In that instant, I can’t fathom how this day could get even worse. “Lookie here, Lucas. It’s our friend Dakota.”
Cowboy wannabe and Stone’s best friend, Wyatt Longhorn, slings his arm around Stone’s other best friend, Lucas Govern. A cold chill runs through me as they lift their gazes over my head to greet someone behind me. My back heats, and I just know Stone is right there within touching distance. I scamper out of the way like I’m a mouse and they’re feral barn cats. If Meghan is a mean girl, Stone, Wyatt, and Lucas are her counterparts in every way. They’re mean boys.
Wyatt laughs, the sound dark and rich, sliding into my crevices. Lucas, as usual, says nothing, preferring to observe instead. His brown hair in disarray and with a complete look of disinterest that turns mocking sometimes. He’s like a stray off the street. Always aware and skittish.
Doesn’t say much but knows the territory far better than anyone else.
I glance over my shoulder to find Stone introducing Meghan to the duo that make up Stone’s best friends who are more like his family. She looks like she died and went to hot boy heaven. In her defense, Clary doesn’t have much in the way of selection. Our high school had a total of one hundred and fifty students, which has only marginally increased at Saint Clary’s. I can’t blame outside people for not wanting to come here. The big cities might be relatively close by, but in the meantime, there’s nothing to do here. Clary is for simple people, and I can’t help but wonder why the fuck that brought Stone and his little crew here.
For the rest of the day, I simultaneously try and fail not to notice Stone, Wyatt, and Lucas wherever they go. I guess that’s the curse of a small campus. I share several classes with each of them, and unfortunately, we eat in the cafeteria at the same time where I watch Meghan and all her cheerleader friends from high school get all up in the new guys’ business.
I knew this would happen if the Jacobs ever made Clary their permanent residence, which was why I was always so grateful they only showed up during the summers, and even when they did, they were so focused on the treasure that they never did anything else. I knew they’d flock to him like vultures. As pretty as he is—and Wyatt and Lucas—they’re going to be the talk of the town for a while now. They’ll be a prick in my skin. A thorn in my side. It’ll be like rubbing against a cactus every few minutes. I used to only get that pleasure during the summer, but it seems like fate has more in store for me than just taking away my father.
By the time my last class ends, I’m jonesing to leave campus. That never happens. Saint Clary’s is a respite for me, kind of like the books I love to read. It’s a place I don’t have to worry about money, thanks to the full scholarship they gifted me, and a place where I can conform to the crowd as much as possible. Just another average college student supposedly living off ramen noodles and Chef Boyardee. I’ve talked myself into believing that, in class, we’re all equal. I was just fooling myself the entire time though, blatantly looking away from the cliques that still exist from two years ago when we crossed the graduation stage. Nothing’s changed.