Dear Ava

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I glance up at him, taking in the bulge in his pants, the tight expression on his face. A tendril of unease washes over me. “What’s wrong?”

  He licks his lips, tearing his gaze off of me. “We can’t do this.”

  My chest squeezes. “Why?”

  He takes a step away from me, avoiding my eyes. “Stop asking me questions I can’t answer.”

  Some of those old insecurities come crawling right back, slicing through me and going straight to my head. I remind myself of his coldness for the past two days.

  “Am I not good enough? Not up to your standards? Afraid of what your friends might say? Not bleacher-worthy?” I don’t mean that last part, because I don’t want to be that girl, but he’s distancing himself. Again.

  And if there’s one shred of anything I have left after that night in the woods, it’s my pride. Hell, if anything, I should be the one pushing the Shark away.

  I’ve opened myself up and he’s the one retreating?

  Can’t also means no, and he’s said it very clearly.

  He closes his eyes briefly and looks as if he might say something, but he doesn’t, and sometimes when people don’t speak, they say everything, don’t they?

  Maybe he doesn’t really think of me…like that.

  Maybe…

  Shit.

  PITY. He feels sorry for me.

  Because of his mom. Because he didn’t take me to the hospital.

  Red flames on my cheeks as I gather myself together mentally, trying to separate my body from how hot we felt together.

  And he’s still just standing there, his expression uncertain.

  “Ah, I see how it is,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Do you?” he says, and then the rest of his words come at me in an angry rush. “You want to pretend I haven’t wanted you? Go ahead, tell yourself those lies. But the truth is, you don’t know who hurt you that night. You’re still reeling from the aftershocks and I’m not good for you—” He stops abruptly. “Forget that. We have to get out of here before we get caught. There’s a side exit to the right that leads outside and goes around to the library. You take that and I’ll walk through the auditorium—”

  He’s dismissing me. Us.

  “Don’t tell me how I feel about that night! Maybe it was your brother who hurt me.”

  He looks stricken. “No, no, Tulip. It wasn’t.”

  All that seething anger rushes back and fills me up, wiping away everything we just talked about. My fists curl. If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that Knox will protect him until the end—and me? I’m just collateral damage.

  I glare at him and he stares back, reading my face. “Tulip, don’t leave pissed. I didn’t mean for this to happen. We can just forget about it—”

  Forget? Ha!

  I cross my arms. “Too late for that. You just ruined what could have been—nothing, just nothing! You take the exit and I’ll walk through the auditorium, Cold and Evil.”

  “Please. Don’t—”

  Ignoring him, I whip around and fumble through the curtains until I’m in the small stairwell that leads to the aisles.

  Halfway running, I dash through the students filling the seats. I find my backpack near the rear, grab it, and run for the double doors. I don’t stop, my breathing torn and weak as I stumble into the stairwell and make it all the way down to the first floor.

  Forget him, dammit. Forget him forever.

  14

  I’m jogging down our quiet street on Saturday morning when I see Dad’s white BMW glide up to our wrought iron gates at the end of our road. His finger pushes in the code and his car moves down the lane to our three-story, Spanish-style mansion. About damn time. Sweat drips off me, and my muscles feel like lead after getting up early and running, but I pick up my pace. Normally, I’d sleep in a few hours on Saturday, saving my run for the gym later, but I woke up early, my head replaying Ava and me in the auditorium on Friday.

  Ava with her lips on me.

  Ava walking away from me.

  She says she doesn’t blame me for what happened, but it doesn’t change the fact that deep down, part of me knows I can’t be involved with her.

  There’s too much going on with me.

  Dad looks up from the kitchen counter where he’s making coffee. “Hey! I thought you were asleep still. Morning run?” He half-smiles, but there’s appreciation in his tone that I’m keeping my endurance up for football. He played quarterback for Camden back in his day, and him watching Dane and me play has been the only stabilizing aspect of our relationship.

  Wearing a suit, even on a Saturday, he’s tall, about six four, with dark brown hair. In his early forties, he’s going gray a little at his temples, but that doesn’t stop women from falling all over him. Maybe he dates while he’s in New York, but somehow I doubt there’s ever been a serious girlfriend. In the years since Mom passed, he’s never once mentioned a woman.

  Sometimes I’m afraid I’m going to end up just like him, pushing everything down and locking it away. We barely saw him this summer except for a short vacation at our beach house on Kiawah Island where he spent the majority of his time on his laptop and phone while Dane and I roamed nearby Charleston.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” I say before walking to the fridge, grabbing a Gatorade, and chugging it down.

  He pours his coffee in a mug and takes a long sip.

  I settle in on one of the barstools at the white granite island in the middle of the kitchen. “It’s good to see you.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice and he hears it, a grimace crossing his face.

  “I missed your first week back at Camden. How was it?” He does a double take when he searches my face. “Your eye has purple under it. Fighting already?”

  My lips tighten. I’ve been known to use my fists, especially in middle school when everything went down with Mom. Most of the time, I save it for my opponents on the football field. I’ve learned to control my temper, but this week, well… “Shitty. You need to be here more. Dane’s not right.”

  Sighing, he takes a seat. “He seemed fine this summer. Isn’t he taking his meds? Should we call his therapist and get him more sessions?”

  “Maybe. I can’t exactly watch over him every day. He’s using again, more than usual. I know he’s been high at school, and he didn’t come home last night.”

  He starts. “Suzy—”

  I frown. “She’s mostly here during the day, and she isn’t his parent. I’m the one trying to keep up with him. And don’t freak out. He texted me that he was at Liam’s.”

  He loosens his tie and gives me a sweeping look, a scowl on his face as he takes my words in. “So, Ava Harris is back. I saw where the bank cut a check to Camden for housing. I assume it was for her since Trask mentioned she’d requested it?”

  I press my lips together.

  “You’re still spending your money on her? On a girl you barely know?” He inhales.

  “I don’t barely know her. She sits next to me in class.”

  He starts, frowning heavily as he gives me a hard look, as if trying to figure me out. He never liked me hiring the P.I. back in November, but Dane and I both have access to our own money that Mama left to us. I insisted and insisted and threw in his face that it was my money and I could do whatever I wanted with it. That was a strained few days after we got back from the U2 concert after our police interviews and I told him what I was doing. He told me I was ridiculous, his face angry. He looked like he wanted to tussle with me, but that’s never been his style. I told him I didn’t give a shit what he thought. He wasn’t the one at that party. He wasn’t the one who left. Eventually, he came around to the idea because he thought it might help clear Dane and me if the police pressed us harder. They didn’t.

  “I did pay for it.”

  “Why?” His eyes search my face. “You can’t change what happened, and you had nothing to do with it.”

  “I’m not trying to make up for what happened to her,” I say tightly. “No
thing can do that.”

  But…

  I want her to be happy.

  And being with me won’t do that. The fact that she even wanted to kiss me blows my mind.

  Changing directions, I say, “Dane keeps dreaming he was there in the woods with her.”

  Dad pales and his mug clatters on the countertop. “What the hell?”

  A long exhalation comes from me.

  “Guilt?” he whispers.

  I stare at him, refusing to answer that niggling question. “Regardless of the reason, don’t you think you need to stay home for a while?”

  He nods, brushing my words away. “How are you? Football good? You hear from any scouts?”

  Jesus. I wish he’d wake up and see what’s going on. “Season starts in one week. Home game. I’d like to see you there.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it, son. I’m just…overwhelmed at work.”

  Dane picks that moment to show up, stumbling into the kitchen from the same outside entrance I used. I hear the roar of Liam’s car as he pulls out.

  “Dad! Hey! You came home!” He smirks as he leans against the counter. His jeans and gold Dragons shirt are rumpled. There’s a joint tucked behind his ear.

  Dane’s flat eyes find mine, and I shrug. This is on you, dude. You knew Dad was arriving today.

  “Late night?” Dad says tightly, eyeing him, lingering on his ear.

  “I tried to tell you,” I murmur as I walk past Dad to grab milk for some cereal.

  Dane sighs. “I’m standing right here, bro.”

  “I wanted you to hear it, asshole,” I say. “Did you enjoy your night?” I pull out the rolled joint. I really don’t care about the pot. I’ve done my own dabbling on and off, but I dislike the lack of control.

  He snatches it back. “Practically legal.”

  “Not in Tennessee,” Dad mutters as he takes it from Dane. He rakes his gaze over his son, no doubt seeing the bloodshot eyes. “What did you do last night?”

  He shrugs, shifting his eyes from me to Dad. “Liam had a shindig at his place.”

  I bark out a laugh. A party I wasn’t invited to, not that I give a shit. “Who was there?”

  Dane straightens, giving me a glare. “Most of the defensive guys, some girls from Hampton High. Very low-key.”

  Yeah, I bet. I’ve been to Liam’s parties. He lives on a ten-acre estate in the boonies and his parents give him free rein to do whatever he wants out at the barn.

  Dane eyes the kitchen stairwell that leads upstairs to the second floor. “I just want to crash.”

  I look expectantly at Dad, hoping he’ll do something.

  “Your curfew is midnight on weekends,” he says to Dane as he rubs his jaw. I think I see helplessness in his eyes. “Pull an all-nighter again, and you’re grounded. Your car is still in the shop, but once it gets out, you won’t get it back until I say so, got it? And I’ll take that phone away. Football season is here and you need to focus.”

  “Didn’t know you cared so much,” he mutters.

  A few moments tick by, the tension in the room ramping up.

  Dad lets out a long sigh. “I do care, Dane. I’m going to take some time off. I just need to handle a few more meetings in New York—”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dane says, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “Heard it all before.”

  Anger blooms red on Dad’s face, his fists tightening. “I’m going to make an appointment with Dr. Forest for you.”

  Dane slams down his water. “Fuck that. I’m not going to therapy.”

  “You will,” Dad says. “I’m still your parent—”

  “You don’t have a clue what I do!” Dane cries out. “I hate this empty fucking house and I hate you.” Those last words whimper off, his voice cracking in anger. He’s perilously close to tears, and his fists clench even as he eyes the stairwell again.

  Dad closes his eyes.

  “Head on up,” I say softly to Dane. “Sleep. I’ll get us takeout for lunch later. We can all sit and talk.”

  He shuffles off, but before he gets to the steps, he stops and looks back. “Dad, I don’t…I don’t hate you. I’m just tired.”

  “I know, son. We’ll talk later.”

  He nods and goes up the stairs.

  As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn back to my father.

  He slumps. “He’s just like Vivie, all the ups and downs.”

  “It’s worse now, and if you can’t see it, you’re choosing not to.”

  Frustration hounds me. Jesus. I want to be a man, but I’m just a kid, only seventeen, and I don’t know how to fix this—my dad, my brother, our spiraling relationship.

  He picks his coffee up. Worry lines his face. “I’ll work on this, okay? I promise.”

  Later, after I’ve gone out and picked up lunch, I head up the stairs to check on Dane. I don’t see him in his bedroom or his bath, so I head to mine, and that’s where I find him. Huddled under my covers, clutching a pillow to his chest. The blinds are up and I ease them shut then put the TV on mute, letting it play. For some reason, I bring up a blog on my phone about how to watch the Star Wars movies in chronological order of events, and I click on A Phantom Menace. I wince. That’s the one with Jar Jar Binks, and I’ve seen it, but this time, it will be with fresh eyes, and I’ll think about Ava and her enthusiasm, her lips on mine—

  Shit.

  I bring the movie up on the TV, and soon I’m sucked right back into my childhood when I watched it with Dane and Dad.

  With a sigh, I sit down on the side of the bed with him next to me. Even while sleeping, it’s clear by his drawn expression and the paleness of his skin that he isn’t really resting.

  He’s going to be okay, I tell myself as I watch the movie.

  He will. He’s all I have, and I’ll make sure of it, no matter what.

  15

  “Welcome back to the hellhole, Louise,” I murmur as I get out of my car and pat her. Another week has slowly passed by and it’s the start of a new one, but I’m still freaking here, digging my heels in.

  Today is week three, and I’m going to get through it. I AM.

  With a sigh, I jog through the parking lot toward the entrance. My hair is up in a high ponytail and swishes against my back. It’s scorching hot today, and I whip off my blazer and drape it over my arms before heading in. My shoulders shift inside my snug shirt, moving around to loosen the seams. It’s not a good fit for me, and I guess I’ve filled out more since last year. I could put in a request for a new uniform since all scholarship students are allowed three new ones each year, but there hasn’t been time.

  Several Sharks, maybe seven or eight—Knox, Dane, Chance, and Liam included—lean against the wall in the foyer when I open the door. Girls encircle them.

  “Slut,” comes from a low male voice in their group as I pass, and the girls giggle, the sound grating and clawing, but I keep walking.

  Tyler, I remind myself. He’s the endgame.

  A low thump comes from behind me and I turn around to see that Knox has shoved Brandon against the wall, pinning him with one hand, the other at his neck, knotted in his collar. Their backpacks lie scattered on the marble tile. Knox’s face is flushed and Dane pulls at his arm, trying to talk him down.

  As I stand rooted to the spot—dammit, why am I standing here watching them?—Chance’s gaze sweeps over the hallway, probably checking for teachers, and stops on me.

  He freezes, his nostrils flaring as he studies me, taking in my face.

  I flip him off. Childish. Don’t care. Screw them all.

  “Ignore them. Testosterone-addled morons,” Wyatt murmurs next to me and tosses an arm over my shoulder, and I lean into him, needing reassurance.

  “Do you have any clue how much I adore you? If you weren’t gay, I’d kiss you,” I say on a long sigh, taking my gaze off the Sharks.

  He brushes a hand over his gelled hair then taps me on the nose. “I’m irresistible to all sexes. I could pretend I’ve had a sudden chan
ge of heart, tell everyone your beauty turned me straight and all I want is you. Would you like that, locker neighbor?”

  “You’re only offering to make me feel better. And don’t you have a teensy little crush on your teammate Jagger?” He mentioned it grudgingly at lunch one day when I asked how baseball was going.

  A grunt and a thud sound come from where the Sharks are, and Wyatt stares over at them. “Don’t look, but Knox just slammed his fist right into Brandon’s face. And again. Shit.”

  I flinch, and of course I look. There’s a circle around their group, and it’s impossible to see what’s going on.

  “Chin up, love. Don’t let them see you even care about their petty squabbles.”

  I groan. “It’s about me. Someone called me a slut when I walked in.” I turn my face away from them. “Is… Do you see Knox? Is he okay?”

  “Oh, it’s breaking up. Mmmm, his fine ass is good, nary a scratch, but he’s pissed as hell. Brandon is bleeding like a stuck pig and holding his nose.” He laughs. “Oh, and here comes Trask, so they’re all scurrying like rats. Time to adios! Let’s scram.”

  He pissed off the team, Dane said.

  I shove down the ache that blooms in my heart for Knox—even if he has been ignoring me in class, only speaking when we have to and barely looking at me.

  As we head to our lockers, someone catches Wyatt’s gaze and he turns red. Craning my neck, I see Jagger. Lean and muscular with buzzed hair and an easy grin, I don’t know him well, but he seems nice. He isn’t part of the popular inner circle, so there’s that.

  I poke Wyatt in the arm, trying to forget the scuffle. “Did you have a good weekend? Hang out with the baseball guys?”

  He smiles.

  “Any progress?”

  His eyes linger on his crush. “Nope. He’s not out of the closet, obviously, or I’d be all over that, but I get this feeling from him when he looks at me, ya know? We went to this pizza place Saturday, kind of a teambuilding thing, and he sat next to me. He smells so good…” He lets his voice trail off and sighs wistfully.

  Leaning against my locker, I settle in next to him as we both watch Jagger talk to a girl who lives in the room across from me at Arlington Dorm. Her name is Camilla, a cute senior from California. With short, pixie-style blonde hair and delicate features, she has a soft, quiet, reassuring air about her. I’ve attempted a few conversations with her, but she just frowns and rushes back into her room. I get it. Besides Wyatt and Piper, no one wants to be my friend.