“Why did you tell me your whole plan?”
He doesn’t flinch, not even for a second.
“Huh,” he says as his eyes widen. “I guess I did. Put that on the list of stupid things I’ve done.”
“Don’t lie. If you were that stupid you never would’ve made it through the tests at the LIC.”
“You think I’m playing you?”
“I’m not an idiot, so yes, I think you’re playing me. I know what our relationship is. Hell, it’s pretty much all I can think about sometimes. And then nights like this come along and my guard goes down and I start having a good time until you do something suspicious like tell me your whole plan and then I feel like an idiot. Because we’re rivals, Dyl. We aren’t supposed to get along. And if you think I’m not going to use everything you just told me against you, then, well, I think you underestimated me. Trust me, I’m not a threat you can dismiss.”
He closes his mouth and turns to the left. When he looks back, his eyes are slightly glassy. “You’re one of the very few people on earth I can be honest with. I know that’s not something you can give me in return, and that’s fine, it’s who you are, but I’m not built to lie. It turns me into a man I hate. So, trust me, I know I could be handing you the gun that shoots me. I really do. But I can’t keep lying to everyone all the time. You … you’re a vent. Telling you the truth keeps me sane.”
“Please don’t call me a vent.”
He looks down and chews his bottom lip.
“I prefer controlled burn,” I say.
“Done. Now that that’s out of the way, CB, do you want to go for a drive with me? I promise I’m not playing you and I promise you won’t regret it.”
I nod. “Lead the way.”
Together, we leap down from the roof and cross the damp grass to his car. It’s a black convertible. It’s not sleek like most modern ones: it’s big and boxy, and it looks a little bit like a monster.
“I want one,” I say.
He opens the passenger door for me. I step inside and sit down. I can feel the cold, smooth leather even through my sweater. It smells dry and earthy and perfect.
“I’d let you drive,” he says as he gets situated in the driver’s seat, “but Judy would have an absolute fit. She thinks this car is like the ultimate way to make Juliet fall in love with me. Like, she’d take one look at it and instantly throw herself at me. If I crashed it they wouldn’t need a Stalker. Judy would rip me apart all on her own.”
I lean back in my seat. There’s no headrest, so my head sits against the top of the seat. I curl my body slightly so that my cheek rests against the leather.
“I don’t want to talk about that. Just drive.”
And drive he does. The world around me turns into a blur of darkness, broken only by the glowing golden orbs of the streetlights. We drive over a bridge, high above a vast stretch of navy water. I turn my head and look at him.
He’s staring forward, his face set once again in a determined look, the same one he used when he was reading from the book of poetry. Both his hands are gripping the steering wheel tight. Without moving his head, he moves his hand down to grab the stick shift, and his foot kicks forward, changing gears. The engine makes a soft roar and the car surges forward.
The sight of him makes me smile.
My eyes widen, and I sit up straighter.
Crap. Ohhhhhhh crap.
I like him.
The realization crystallizes in my mind, making every encounter I’ve had with him make so much more sense than it previously did. Or maybe it’s not so much a like, but I definitely feel something for him. Something more than most guys feel toward other guys.
I imagine him laughing on the plane, then I picture myself looking at him and recall how the sight of him laughing made me laugh harder. Nope, there’s no need to lie to myself. I like him. Crap! I like him. Good job, brain, you can’t have him, so you decide you want him. Typical.
The scary thing is that I’ve felt something like this before, back at the LIC. It was for Toby, a Nice a year older than me who had floppy brown bangs and a deep voice that didn’t match his skinny body at all. He took me under his wing when I first arrived, and he even insisted on calling me Sam, because his philosophy was that everyone should have a proper name. I didn’t know it was a crush at the time; I was pretty sure I was straight. I just thought I really, really wanted him to like me, because he was cool, popular, and knew more about Star Wars than anyone else. I should’ve known what I felt was actually something, as the mere thought of him was enough to make me grin, and I did go hard when I saw him take his shirt off before an examination.
I cried when he left, and then the feelings faded until I pretty much forgot about them. I just thought it was a weird thing that happened once and would never happen again. Yet, here we are, starting round two.
Wait, what about Juliet? I like her, sure; she’s a lovely girl. Smart, funny, and pretty. I thought I could fall for her. Now those thoughts feel like wishful thinking from a naive boy. With guys, it’s different. It’s always been different, I just didn’t realize how different until now. I’ve always liked how they look, and I’ve always felt drawn toward boys with bright eyes or cute smiles or jaws lined with stubble. With girls, it always felt very conscious, like I was pushing my thoughts in a direction they didn’t want to go. And now I know why it felt like that.
I exhale, but my heart is still beating really hard. This is a thing that happens to people. It’s not unprecedented. It’s, like, a legitimate thing. And that thing that happens to people? It’s clearly happening to me. Because, all of a sudden, all I can think about is what it would be like to hold his hand.
I push the thought away. I can never pursue anything with Dyl, or any guy for that matter, so this has to be kept down. This … crush or whatever it is can’t go anywhere, because Dyl isn’t like me. The odds of that are so, so slim.
But in the corner of my vision, I see him turn his head and look at me, just how I looked at him.
PART TWO
ANTAGONIST
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
“Caden!” screams M. I sit up and yawn, scratching the matted hair on the side of my head. At the LIC they shaved us every three weeks, keeping it short. I was due for a shearing the week I left, so this is the longest it’s ever been. How long have I been out now? A couple weeks? I check my calendar: it’s been nineteen days. “Someone’s at the door for you.”
“Wait, why am I waiting for you?” says Kaylee from down the hall. “You work for me, remember?”
Quick footsteps sound. Crap. I slide out of bed and pull on a white shirt. My room is a mess, so I scoop up the clothes on the floor and throw them into my closet. The desk is still cluttered and my bed is unmade, but there just isn’t enough time to do anything about that. I straighten up as my door swings open.
Kaylee stands in the doorway panting. She’s wearing a sky-blue dress and heels. “Caden, we need to talk.”
I swallow hard. Memories of my regular nighttime activities—Dyl and I, in his car, driving through the city—replay in my mind. Each night we go somewhere different. It’s rapidly become the part of the day I look forward to most. That must be why she’s here, to scream at me for spending so much time with him. Or maybe she tuned in to my nonplatonic thoughts about him. I meet her stare. “We do?”
“Of course we do! The costume party is coming up, and we need to choose your costume.” She sits down at the computer. “Now, the theme is good versus evil. So, obviously, you’ll be dressing up as someone good. Do you have any ideas?”
Whew.
“Jesus? He’s one of the good ones, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Now is not the time to try to be funny, Caden! This party is a huge moment in the school’s social calendar. Plus, Juliet will be in a costume. And you know what that means?”
“Truthfully, I don’t have a clue.”
“She’ll be more open to things! That’s why costume parties ex
ist. You mustn’t forget, most people are always forced to be themselves, which totally sucks, by the way. By wearing a costume, Juliet gets a chance to do what you and other Love Interests are so fortunate to do every single day and become someone else. And when you’re someone else, it’s easier to be brave and act on what you really want. So, at this party, I think Juliet will make her first move. I bet she will kiss one of you. If you show up as Cletus the Slack-jawed Yokel, the chances of you being the one she kisses go way down.”
“Oh man, that was my dream costume! I even had a perfect bit of straw picked out.”
“Very funny. Now, how much skin do you want to show?”
Her fingers tap on the keys, and a black box pops up on the monitor. It’s a program I don’t recognize. On the screen is a blond 3-D character in white briefs standing on a gray box. Beside him is a table filled with clothes. It looks sort of like Create A Sim, only someone has gone to an extreme amount of effort to make sure this avatar looks super buff. Like, comic-book level of absurd, unreachable muscle definition.
I frown. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“Yes. Now, you can go as a sexy angel. It’s a classic. How are your abs?” She reaches across, grabs the hem of my shirt, and lifts it up. I flex, making my stomach muscles shudder. Is my body all I am to her? Haven’t I shown that my strength, as a person and a Love Interest, comes from my mind, not my body? If Juliet is falling for me, surely it isn’t because I have abs. They probably help, sure, but there’s more to me than that, right?
“Still good,” she says. “But not as good as they used to be. Do more crunches.”
The insult stings, but I push through it. “Do you think Juliet would want me to be naked? That’s what Dyl is doing. I should go as something modest but funny. I know her, and that’s what she’ll like.”
“Like what?”
“You’re the one who works for an all-knowing spy organization. You tell me!”
She bounces up and down on her seat. “Caden! I’ve got it! Juliet’s favorite character is Spider-Man. She’s, like, borderline obsessed with him. I’ll order you a costume. There, you won’t have to be naked, but it’ll still be sexy. How’s your butt?” She pushes me around and stares at my backside. I bow my head slightly, feeling like a hunk of beef.
“It’s good. One of her favorite things about Spider-Man is his butt in tights. Seriously, the amount of times she’s Googled ‘Spidey-butt’ is sort of embarrassing. But that ass of yours will be like a wet dream of hers.”
Gross.
“Great.”
She slides off the chair and stands up. “You should be grateful I care this much, Caden.”
“Because I have so much to be grateful for in this life I’m living?”
She crosses her arms. “What’s going on with you? You never used to talk to me like that.”
I could tell her so many things. I could tell her that, sometimes, I’d rather say what I think than some scripted Nice guy answer. That spending time with Dyl has shown me how satisfying it is to be myself, or that being Nice is becoming more difficult.
The flare of defiance quickly dies, leaving a gigantic expanse of freezing-cold fear in my chest. A Love Interest is who I am, and it’s all I’ll ever be. Questioning that, or letting people like Kaylee know that I’m questioning it, will result in my death. I’m sure I’ll fondly recall my snarky comments while they march me to the incinerator. I rub my eyes. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”
She’s clearly not fooled. “Careful now, Caden. You’re doing well, but this contest isn’t over yet. Anyway, you actually do have a lot to be grateful for. At least you’re not a Solo.”
“Why is that?”
“They have to have the traits of both a Nice and a Bad. You think you have to act? You should see the hoops those poor guys have to jump through. Also, they have to be obsessed with their Chosens, like to the point where they don’t do anything other than obsess over them. At least this way you get some semblance of a life outside of your relationship with Juliet. Like your time with Dylan.”
My eyes widen and a queasy feeling builds in my gut.
“Oh, don’t look so scared, I get that you’ve become friends, and that’s fine. It’ll only become a problem if it interferes with your relationship with Juliet. Speaking of Juliet, is it working? Is she falling for you?”
“Um, I think so?”
“Well, are you falling for her? How does she make you feel?”
“She … she makes me the happiest man on earth.”
Kaylee raises an eyebrow. “I hope you’re more convincing with her. Now, it’s time for you to get ready for school. I’m going to get the costume and I’ll leave it under your bed. It’ll be ready for the party on Friday. Isn’t this so exciting?”
* * *
A huge banner that says MAPLETON ACADEMY COSTUME EXTRAVAGANZA is tacked on the wall. Beneath the words, a male devil and a female angel are posing and smiling. Beside them are the words GOOD VS. EVIL written in silver and red glitter respectively. Beneath that, Batman is punching the Joker and Harry Potter is casting a spell on Voldemort. It looks like a banner made by a five-year-old using newspaper clippings and a hot-glue gun.
Juliet and I are standing in the middle of the hallway, inspecting the poster. Around us, students rush past. It’s sports day, so everyone is dressed in blue polo shirts and gym shorts. It’s also freakishly hot, like to the point where my shirt keeps sticking to my back.
I turn to her. “I wonder what makes it an extravaganza.”
Natalie and Trevor are behind us. His arm is slung over her shoulder, and they’re making googly eyes at each other. Their obliviousness to the rest of the world has become a sort of joke between Juliet and me. Whenever we get a spare second, we pull stupid faces at them and wait until they respond. It usually takes a while.
“Don’t doubt this party’s extravagance, Caden. It’s going to be off the freaking chain! I’m talking streamers, I’m talking fruit punch, I’m even talking balloons of differing colors!”
I laugh, but it’s short lived. I’m lying to her. She’s hilarious and kind, so it’s easy to pretend we’re real friends. Then I remember who I am and all that comes crashing down. I’m not, nor will I ever be, her friend.
All I’ll ever be is the scumbag who manipulated her into falling in love with him.
She frowns. “What’s up with you? That sounded fake and you look tired.”
I can’t let anything show, but I feel like screaming. That’s two people today who’ve seen right through my act. I’m slipping, and I need to up my game if I want to survive. From now on, I’m going to be Nice all the time and I’m never going to let the real me show. Any thoughts or feelings that don’t fit the role need to be eliminated.
I rub my cheeks. “I can’t get anything past you, can I? You’re right, I didn’t sleep well for some reason.”
“Oh good, I thought you were sick or something. Because in case Trevor let you forget, the swimming carnival is tonight, and it would be fun to have someone of my own to cheer on for once.”
Be daring, Caden. Ask her if it’s a date.
Blood rushes to my cheeks. “Oh cool, yeah, sweet.” My voice is a pitch higher than it usually is, and it sounds frail. I don’t need to act nervous because I am nervous. If I ask her out too early and she rejects me it’ll be tough to make her like me in the way I need her to. “Sounds good.”
“Did someone say my name?” asks Trevor. “I swear I heard someone say my name.”
Juliet reaches her locker and opens it. “I was telling Caden about the carnival today.” She pauses. Sitting in the middle of her locker, in front of the perfectly organized books, is a single red rose.
“Caden,” says Natalie, slapping my arm. “You’re a sweetheart!”
“It wasn’t me,” I say.
“Oh.”
I press my fist against my locker. Dyl never told me about the rose. And unless Juliet has another suitor, one who hasn’t shown his or her fa
ce yet, he put the rose there. Yet he didn’t tell me about it. I can’t blame him, because I never tell him anything about what I plan on doing with Juliet, but still, this is noteworthy. He normally tells me everything.
Juliet shelves the book she was holding and closes the door. Good, I think. She left the rose in the locker, which must mean she doesn’t care about it. Or maybe she’s saving it for later? I wish I could just ask her how she feels about it, but that would draw more attention to the romantic thing Dyl did. I need to act like it isn’t a big deal, even though all I can think about now is that stupid red flower.
“We were talking about the swimming carnival,” I say. “You know, the one that I’m going to win this afternoon?”
Trevor chuckles. “Man, if you beat me, my dream would be dead, but I would still feel sorry for you. I have no idea what kind of punishment Natalie would dish out to whoever beats me, but I know it would be brutal.”
We move away from the locker and turn the corner, and then we walk through the double doors into the gym. It’s a big, open room, with white walls and timber floors covered in blue mats. Plastered on the walls are posters of sweaty, half-naked men and women with body builders’ physiques surrounded by phrases like YOU CAN DO IT and LIVE YOUR DREAM.
In a messy circle in the middle of the room is the rest of our class, as well as a dark-haired man in a white martial arts uniform that looks tough and uncomfortable. The fabric doesn’t fit together properly, revealing some of his pale and hairy chest.
Behind him is Dyl. He’s stretching his arms, his face set in his Bad sneer. He raises his arms above his head and stretches, showing a sliver of the V-shaped muscles of his stomach. As always, his hair is messy and there are dark circles under his eyes, but they somehow make him look good. Tortured, as he would say.
The instructor claps his hands together. The sound booms around the room, making me flinch.
The Love Interest Page 11