Dear Ava

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Plus, there’s the video of me with football players, her boyfriend included.

  Just another sick carnival ride.

  The young detective taps a pen on the table. “Miss Harris, is it possible you consented to sex? Your behavior at the party was, well, indicative of…” His dry voice trails off, but I get his meaning. “I know most of these boys. Good parents. Great football players. It’s okay if you had consensual sex with—”

  “No!” I call out. “No, no, no…” My shoulders hunch and I want to crawl away.

  “There’s video of you dancing with Liam Barnes, Dane Grayson, Brandon Wilkes…” He lists several more, each name a slice of pain. “Let me show you.”

  He sticks a laptop in my face and hits play. I don’t know who took it or who gave it to them. It’s dark and grainy, but there’s no mistaking my tank top and blonde hair. Or the guys. I’m in a circle dancing and laughing up at them, my hands on their shoulders, moving one to another. My eyes are shut. “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails blares.

  “Turn it off,” I whisper, holding my stomach. “Please.”

  “Hello? Are you listening, moron?” Jolena says. She’s shorter than me, even in her high heels, and I tower over her, thankful at least for my five foot, eight inches. I’ve never met my sperm donor—some man who got my mom pregnant—but I figure I get my height from him since she’s petite.

  “Move out of my way,” I say, keeping my voice low, struggling to keep it from cracking.

  “Oh, it has claws. Make me.” She takes a step closer until I can smell the cloying scent of her flowery perfume.

  I battle my jumpy stomach. “Trust me, I’ve known meaner girls than you. Wanna try me?”

  Her lips curl and she laughs, the sound tinkling out to several other students who’ve stopped to watch. She throws her gaze around, surveying them all, and some of them visibly shrink away. Others come closer, their faces almost fascinated, wondering what I’ll do, what she’ll do…

  A delicate shrug comes from her. “Consider yourself warned. None of the cheerleaders want you back. We don’t need sluts on our squad.”

  My gut reaction is to just dart away. It’s what I would have done if I’d had an interaction with her in the past, because I just wanted to make things easy for myself here. Don’t make waves. Graduate.

  I hear her muttering behind me as I walk away, calling out a juicy name, but I tune it out, focusing on deep breathing. My hands tremble as I fumble with the locker combination I received in the mail with my registration packet last week.

  “You look different,” are the words I hear from my left. My eyes dart to the guy who said them, taking in the clipped light brown hair on the sides, the top longer and swept back, the dark brown eyes. About six foot and muscular with a hint of mischief in his gaze, he flashes a grin. “You used to have light hair. The black is wicked cool. Saw you when you parked your car.” His accent is obviously Bostonian, maybe Southie, with the R sound missing. Pahked yah cah.

  He arches a brow, and the silver piercing there glints in the florescent lighting. “Name’s Wyatt. I’m new since last January, but I heard all about you. I’ve seen your picture in the yearbook. We’re locker neighbors.” Locka neigbahs. Another grin as he leans in closer to me. “People are staring at you like crazy. You’re like…a celebrity. Welcome back. I’m honored to be your neighbor.” He places a hand over his heart.

  Ha.

  I didn’t expect anyone to be nice, and I don’t trust the feeling. I turn toward my locker, gripping the lock. The combination doesn’t work, and he watches me try it a third time until it finally gives. I fling it open, blocking his face.

  Wyatt shuts his locker and shuffles away in my peripheral vision. My eyes move down to a sealed envelope at the bottom of my locker. I frown. How did this get here? I check the outside and glance at the small vents where someone must have pushed it through.

  For Ava is scrawled across the envelope, and chills ghost over my neck, imagining who would have left it. Plus, how did someone find out my locker number? I received all the information about registration details just a few days ago. I chew on my lips and stuff my lunchbox inside the space, tempted to just leave the letter there. I eye it and my hand shifts closer, my fingers an inch away when I stop. What if it contains anthrax? I roll my eyes at my own ridiculousness. I’m smart enough to know anthrax spores released into the air could harm not only me but several people, including the person who delivered the letter. Okay, fine, but I’m still not touching it. I’ll grab some gloves from the science lab later and then toss it in the trash.

  I’m putting my lock back on when I change my mind and fling the door open again, snatch up the letter, and tear at the flap. What if it’s from Piper?

  Dear Ava,

  Your eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea.

  Shit. That’s stupid.

  What I really mean is…you look at me and I feel something REAL. And that never happens.

  It’s been ten months since you were here, but I can’t forget you.

  I’ve missed seeing you walk down the hall.

  I’ve missed you cheering at my football games.

  I’ve missed the smell of your hair.

  And then everything fell apart that night.

  If you need anything, I want to be there for you. Text me. Please. 105-555-9201

  P.S. I’m a Shark, but I’d never hurt you.

  P.P.S. I’ve tried to fight it with everything I have, but I want you. Still.

  My heart pounds as I read the words, and I’m vaguely aware of a bell ringing and students streaming past me, heading to classes. I want to crumple the letter and set it on fire. I want to piss on it.

  And that makes me laugh.

  Who left this?

  Of course, I don’t believe it for a second. First of all, it’s from one of the football players—a Shark—and they all despise me. It was their party, and they were the ones the police focused their investigation on.

  They all said the same thing: Ava Harris was drinking when she came. No one gave her drugs or a drink. No one saw her go into the woods. No one assaulted her.

  The late bell rings, startling me out of the past, and I stuff the letter into my backpack, slam my locker, and bolt for my first class.

  3

  I park my black Mercedes-Benz G-Class in a spot and turn the ignition off.

  “Fucking hot new ride,” Chance says from the back seat as he gets out, slinging his backpack over his arm. His pale blue eyes crinkle in the corners, still sporting a tan from his vacation in Maui this past week. “You always get the best toys, Knox.” He huffs out a laugh, and I shrug, knowing there’s no jealousy in the words. His family wealth is old money, passed down from generations of well-to-do lawyers and even a governor, but it doesn’t rank up there with mine and Dane’s—our dad’s a real estate millionaire.

  I step out of the car. “Nothing but the best for the Graysons.” There’s sarcasm in my tone. No one gets it but my twin.

  My brother Dane gets out of the passenger side and pats the hood of the car. “Yeah, dear old Dad was feeling guilty for leaving us home most of the summer to work in New York. Nice way to appease us, don’t you think?” His tone is deadpan, his face expressionless except for the lines of tension around his lips.

  He’s fine, I tell myself, my eyes following him as he walks around to join us.

  Liam crawls out from the back seat. A six-four linebacker for our team, he’s our star defensive player and on his way to a big college. ESPN has him ranked higher than anyone on the team, including me. He needed a ride this morning but told me his dad is dropping something off for him later—a new black Escalade.

  With a wicked grin, he smiles as he straightens, stretches out his arms, and looks over at the school, taking in the stately structure, the turrets on each side, the ivy that grows from the bottom, draping the gray stones. “Are you getting chills like I am, boys? Senior year—it’s ours.” He cracks his knuckles and rubs his hands to
gether. “And I’m going to bang every girl I want. More than you assholes. As my dad likes to say, boys will be boys.” He laughs.

  “Only you keep score,” Chance says with an eye roll.

  “So you and Jolena are off again?” comes from Dane. “Guess I’m not surprised. You two are a soap opera.” He laughs, amusement wiping some of the tension away. He’s like that, swinging from one emotion to the other.

  Liam shrugs broad shoulders, running a hand through his side-swept, white-blond bangs—old-style Justin Bieber. “Too many girls in the world to be tied down to just one.”

  “You’ll be back together before the day is over,” Dane muses.

  Chance chuckles. “Careful there, Liam. I do recall you getting a rash on your dick this summer from one of those college girls you picked up at the club we snuck into. Damn, she was hot—but an STD? That doctor’s appointment had to be embarrassing.”

  Liam’s face reddens. “It was curable, okay? Don’t be telling people—it will kill my game.”

  I smirk. “I’m going to make it the morning announcement.” I mimic tapping a microphone. “Welcome back, students. This is Knox Grayson, your quarterback for the Dragons. It’s going to be a fine year at Camden Prep, but before we get started today, I’d like to touch on STDs—well, not actually touch, but you know what I mean. We’ll be using Liam Barnes as our visual aid. Also, a riddle to brighten your day: What’s worse than lobsters on your piano? Anyone?” I throw a glance around at the guys, smirking at Liam’s red face, the color deepening. “It’s crabs on your organ, of course. Just ask Liam.”

  Chance snickers, and Dane guffaws. “Good one, bro.”

  I shrug. “I have my moments.”

  “And Liam makes excellent material.” Chance gives me a fist bump.

  “Screw you, QB1,” Liam mutters. “You just wait and see what happens on the field.”

  I arch a brow, feigning nonchalance at his little threat, but my hackles rise. Doesn’t seem to take much these days, especially when it comes to mouthy football players. “It’s just a joke.”

  Liam’s face flattens. “Still not amused. I don’t appreciate being the butt of your joke.”

  I laugh then, deep and long, satisfaction washing over me because I annoyed him. There’s weird competitiveness between us. Maybe it’s an offense-versus-defense kind of thing, but mostly it stems from me being in charge of the team, coupled with the fact that I had Jolena sophomore year before him. I tapped that fast and got out, and for all his blustering about not being serious with her, he doesn’t want me near her.

  Sex with her was just water to me—tasteless, meaningless, nothing but passing the time. I’m not even sure she really wanted me, but she made all the right noises and pretended, eager to be one of my girls under the bleachers. She didn’t give a shit about who I was, but you can bet she told everyone she had the quarterback. Funny—I never tell anyone who I fuck, but people always know.

  Liam rolls his shoulders. “You’ve been acting weird lately, Knox. Worried about winning a state championship already?” He gives me a once-over. “Don’t worry, I’ll win those games for us. You just throw some pretty passes and I’ll do all the hard work.”

  “Fuck off,” I say softly.

  Then, I smile.

  He gives me a double take then darts his eyes away. Distaste is evident on his face. Four years with this scar on my face and he still can’t stomach it.

  Dane grows still next to me and gives me side-eye, which I refuse to acknowledge. Liam is his best friend, and like the good twin he is, we’re in sync; he knows when I want to use my fists.

  “Come on, let’s go in,” Dane murmurs, his shoulder jostling mine.

  “Mmmm, maybe Liam and I need to hash out some shit before we walk in,” I say lightly.

  Liam swings his head back to me, meeting my eyes and turning his unease into a careful smile. “Ah, man, forget it. It’s gonna be a good year, alright? Our team’s going to win that trophy this year. You and me, right, Knox? We’re tight. We’ve been tight since freshman year.”

  It’s me and Dane who are tight, asshole. Never you. “Yeah,” I say.

  The four of us step onto the long sidewalk that leads to the entrance. Liam opens the door, and I head in first, carefully searching the faces in the foyer then the hallway.

  Nothing.

  She isn’t here yet.

  Wait.

  A blonde girl catches my eye down the hall, her face hidden and ducked. My steps falter, pausing as I trail behind the other three guys. I’m about to head toward her—

  I touch my scar, rubbing it.

  Nope. Nope.

  Don’t follow her, Knox. Let it go. Right.

  A familiar dark green Jeep flashes in my peripheral as it whips into the lot and speeds past the sidewalk. I frown, my gut tensing up. Ava. So the blonde wasn’t her. A tight feeling settles in my chest, and unease mingled with excitement washes over me as I watch her park and get out of her car. I bite my lower lip, my body tightening.

  With what?

  Tension? Fear? Lust?

  Yeah, I’m a regular split personality.

  Part of me never wants to see her face again, but the other side of me…well, that’s the one I have to worry about.

  * * *

  Liam rushes off to the headmaster’s office to get his schedule figured out while Dane, Chance, and I linger close to the door, checking out the incoming freshmen and waiting for the friends we haven’t seen over the summer.

  But I know why I’m really standing here.

  Dane leans his head against the wall and scrubs his face.

  “What’s up with you?” I ask, one eye on the door, watching.

  He raises his head. “Nothing. Stop hovering.” Gray eyes the same color as mine give me a look. His pupils are dilated.

  My jaw grinds, but I keep my lips zipped. The more I ride him, the more belligerent he gets, and you can’t argue with—

  Shit.

  There she is.

  It’s been months since she graced the hallowed halls of Camden with her long, lean legs and big aquamarine eyes.

  A suffocating feeling grows in my chest.

  She.

  Is.

  Here.

  My thoughts jumble back to the past. I still remember the day she showed up freshman year, that look of hope on her face, full of optimism that Camden was going to be a new beginning for her. She made me look at her, and I hated it. Even now, I itch to peel the sensation right off my skin.

  No feelings allowed in this body for her.

  Not a single one.

  “She’s back,” Dane says, straightening up from the wall, an enigmatic expression on his face. “Gotta give it to her—she’s got balls.”

  “Mmmm,” I say, studying her while she isn’t looking. Gone is the long blonde hair, replaced with jet black. She looks harder. Her mouth is frozen in a smirk with bright red, glittery lipstick on her full lips, accentuating the sensual curves there, the paleness of her skin. Small freckles dot over her nose, same as before, but it’s the tense set of her jaw that tells you she’s not the same. Her skirt is a hair too short by the school guidelines, the hem hitting about three inches above her knee instead of the required two. I wonder if scholarship students get the last pick when it comes to uniforms. I guess their clothes are free, like the textbooks. Do they give her just a couple of sets of each one? Two jackets, a few shirts and skirts? I can’t even count the number of uniforms in my closet at home, so many khakis, perfectly starched white shirts, and a myriad of ties.

  Her red blazer with the Camden dragon crest is draped over her arm, her white blouse snug around the fullness of her breasts. On her feet are ragged black Converse. My gaze lingers, taking in the tall white socks on her calves.

  “Why are you staring at her like that?” Chance hisses at me, standing on my other side.

  “Like what?”

  Who is she deep down? To walk into this place, eyes lit with a vicious edge.

&n
bsp; My hands curl.

  She’s so sweet.

  So forbidden.

  “Like you’re fascinated or some shit.” His voice is hushed.

  “Mmmm,” I murmur.

  I can feel him still watching me watching her as he says, “Leave her be.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, not even listening to him, feeling annoyed by the vulnerable hunch in her shoulders that grows, the one she keeps attempting to straighten as she walks closer to us.

  I shrug, keeping the movement cool and light. “She’s definitely a spark that just might ignite and catch fire.”

  “And burn us all down in the process,” Dane mutters. “I agree with Chance—stop.”

  “Can’t do it,” I answer under my breath. I lick my lips, battling internally to drop my gaze from her, feeling baffled by it.

  She came back, she came back, she really did it.

  Chance’s jaw pops as he watches her, grappling with control.

  She seems rooted to her place in the hall, sweeping her eyes over us. Students jostle past her, giving her a wide berth.

  Come on, little Ava.

  Come closer to me, fierce girl.

  One more step.

  Let me touch you. On the arm. Your hand. Anything.

  Please.

  My fingers twitch.

  “I can’t believe she’s back,” Chance grunts and looks at me, keeping his voice low so she can’t hear us. “Did you know?”

  “Why would you think I’d know?” I say dryly.

  “Because you always know shit. Your dad is on the board.”

  I laugh. Oh, if he only knew the information I have—all of it about defiant, charity case Ava. I have so many details about her life it makes my head spin, makes my cock hard—