by Rachel Jonas
There aren’t many icons for apps, which means it’s not likely he uses it all that often. I start by scrolling through what seems to be a dummy email account set up for linking it to the phone. Nothing sent, nothing received. I move on. The next logical place to snoop is in the text messages and call log. Whatever may have been there at one point is gone now. So, I move on to the gallery and, immediately, I’m confused as hell.
In a different reality, I would’ve been shocked to find pics of some half-naked chick in my father’s possession, but I’m beyond thinking he’s infallible. Women are his weakness. It’s not even a secret at this point. But something does knock the wind out of me when I zoom in and have a clear view of her face.
Because I know the girl in the image.
Well, we haven’t met officially, but … I hadn’t forgotten her face.
I’d first laid eyes on her when she stood framed in flames at the bonfire, little over a month ago. She stood there, doe-eyed, innocent. Shit, you’d never guess that now, seeing what I’m seeing.
She’s posed on a white sheet, full lips smiling up at the camera for a selfie, tits exposed and pointing skyward. At the bonfire, I remember wondering what she’d look like naked, sprawled out in my bed just like this. In fact, if Parker hadn’t distracted me with her promise of ‘the best head I ever had’, I might’ve found out for myself.
P.S. Parker lied. Her head game is weak as hell, but I digress.
The girl in this picture couldn’t be any older than my brothers and me—eighteen, maybe not quite even. In other words, she’s way too young for my father.
I let my eyes drift lower, down the plane of smooth, tan skin, all the way to her navel ring. I find myself wondering if the frame hadn’t ended there, would I find her completely naked?
Realizing I’m actually lusting after this girl, I shake my head to clear it. When I refocus, my new goal is to connect the dots, determine what might’ve led up to the moment. The context is hard to gauge, though.
Had he been there when she captured the moment?
Was this her answer to a special request he made?
Had she just sent it simply to remind him what he was missing?
My stomach turns and I swear my blood becomes venom, burning me up inside as it passes through my veins. Bitches like this only see one thing when they look at my father.
They see money.
What they miss is that there’s a woman standing beside him. A woman who’s been there through everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. My mother’s a hopeless romantic when it comes to his sorry ass. Emphasis on the ‘hopeless’ part. Problem is, he knows she’ll never leave. So, in turn, he never changes.
Now, here comes this new distraction, primed to suck up the tiny fragments of time he doesn’t spend at the office. Another reason for him to stay gone for days on end. Another gold digger to leech off his bank account.
Perfect.
Instead of taking the phone and hoping my father doesn’t notice, I pull out my own and snap a pic of the image.
Whoever she is, whatever she thinks she’s going to take from this family that other women before her haven’t already stolen, she has another thing coming.
When I find her—and I will find her—I swear I won’t stop until I tear her whole fuckin’ world to shreds.
Eye for an eye, bitch.
@QweenPandora: Spotted—a speed demon by the name of Vin Golden, barreling through the streets of downtown Cypress Pointe in his Tahoe. Tsk, tsk, tsk, boys. What on Earth could you three have done to bring down BigDaddy’s wrath?
KingMidas, MrSilver, PrettyBoyD, I don’t extend invites like this often, but … the floor is all yours if you care to explain. Inquiring minds definitely want answers.
Later, Peeps.
—P
Chapter 3
—Late August, seven weeks later—
BLUE
Mike’s door will be nothing but rubble when I’m finished with it. He’s got this long-standing rule about not being disturbed before noon, but screw that, and screw him. Screw the slurred lecture I’ll have to sit through once he’s finally conscious again, too.
Just thinking about it, I can practically smell the day-old whiskey on his breath, feel the moist heat hitting my skin when he gets in my face. A sign he’s really angry.
He’s always angry.
Still, even knowing what’s to come, all that matters is the shut-off notice crumpled in my fist. If I hadn’t been digging through the junk drawer for a pen to forge his signature on papers for Scarlett, I never would’ve found it.
The sound of my palm slamming his door fills the house again.
“One Week, Mike! That’s when the electricity will be turned off. Thank you so much for the heads up!”
Who am I kidding? This is pointless, and as I sink to the floor, I’m reminded that the only thing the man has ever loved besides Mom—dysfunctional as they are—is his booze. And with her gone, he seems to care about everything else even less than before.
Including us, his kids. Father of the year he is not.
The rustling inside his bedroom has me pressing my ear to the door, but then a loud thud and a groan are the last thing I hear before he goes quiet again. Reality sets in and there’s no doubt it’s on me to fix this.
Like always.
Furious tears flood my eyes and I only quench them at the sight of a wobbly, messy-haired girl Frankensteining her way down the hall. Feeling a bit guilty for waking her with my tirade, I force a smile. It’s the best I can do to shield her from the truth of our life here under Mike’s roof.
Mom used to say Scarlett was as much my kid as she was hers. It’s true, even if I do want to throat-punch the girl right out of her flip-flops sometimes. Sure, she’s grown to match my height now, but she’ll always be my little sister.
Always.
“Geez! What’s all the noise?” She slides down the wall until she’s seated beside me, her hip pressed against mine.
Quickly tucking the shut-off notice into the pocket of my pajama pants, I smile again to mask that I’m so incredibly pissed.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” is the best answer I can come up with without lying. Although, I suppose it’s still a lie. We all needed to worry about sitting in the dark. However, it’s not her burden.
It’s mine.
My only hope of not being questioned to death is to change the subject, so that’s what I do.
“I signed your form. Should be all set for Monday.”
One corner of her mouth tugs up as she leans to rest on my shoulder. “Thanks, Sis.”
I nod to let her know she’s welcome. “So, a few more days and you’re officially a high schooler. How’s it feel?” When I nudge her knee with my own, she shrugs.
“Fine, I guess. Would’ve been cool to have you around, though.”
Guilt follows those words, even though I wasn’t the one who secretly applied for my Cypress Prep scholarship. Hunter was to blame for that. Apparently, he saw something in me he didn’t trust our parents ever would. So, submitting the application in secret was his way of showing me I was more than I realized.
And then, he went away.
His efforts got me waitlisted a year ago, and then the admission letter finally came for me to attend this coming semester, the start of senior year. You know, when all teens love being shoved into a new school where they don’t know a soul.
Insert sarcasm here.
I felt obligated to say “yes” when the letter arrived, but giving that answer comes with a high price. It means leaving Scarlett to face the harsh landscape of South Cypress High—the worst of the city’s iffy schools—on her own. Sure, Jules will look after her, but I’m not convinced anyone can do that job as well as I can.
I keep telling myself she’ll be fine, because she and I are resilient like that, but I worry. We can’t afford to let emotion rule our decisions right now, though. I have to do this, for both of us.
“I’m no
t the one who should be nervous, Preppy,” she teases. “How will you adjust being under Pandora’s watchful eye?”
I frown. “Who is this Pandora person? I’ve heard Jules mention her.”
Apparently, my ignorance annoys my sister, because I get a big eye roll in response.
“You live under a rock. I swear,” she scoffs. “She—or he, no one really knows— is a social media influencer. She posts whatever she or her minions see. I mean, like, on her app and all her social accounts. If it goes down at C.P.A., and it’s newsworthy, you best believe Pandora knows about it and she will tell. It’s usually only stuff about northsiders, but everyone follows,” she adds. “So, consider yourself warned.”
I can’t help but to laugh. Scarlett means well, but she’s always been a bit dramatic.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m going to start my year invisible and end it the same way. So, no need to worry I’ll sully our good family name,” I tease, knowing our name means crap around here.
On cue, as if to punctuate the thought I’ve just had, Mike—still drunk and passed out—lets a huge fart rip on the other side of the door.
Scarlett’s mouth gapes open while struggling not to laugh, and then we both lose it at the same time. That’s us, cut from the finest cloth. A real class-act.
My eyes shift to the clock on the wall, just over the long, catch-all table that holds the clutter and junk we’ve been too lazy to put away over the past week.
“Shoot!” I bolt up from the ground. “Gotta go. Senior orientation starts soon.”
“You’re always running off somewhere,” she says casually, but it gets me right in the heart anyway. I pulled a lot of hours at the diner this summer, with hopes of having enough left to get us both a few new things for school. But after the bills were paid, and now with the shutoff notice, I’m not so sure that’ll happen.
“I know,” I sigh. “Seems never ending.”
“Well, do yourself a favor,” Scarlett calls out.
I slam my bedroom door and wriggle into a pair of jean shorts. “What’s that?”
“I’m shooting you a text with the link to download the gossip app,” she says from the hallway. “If you intend to survive the drama, I suggest you stay ahead of it.”
Again, with the dramatics.
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I ask, “Why are you so interested in all this anyway? I mean, you don’t even know these people. Isn’t it just a bunch of dirt on northsiders? A bunch of snobs bragging that they’ve returned from their latest European tour, or how they just turned down an invite to some movie premier?”
I’m trying my best not to sound bitter and frustrated, but the pink paper that just ruined my morning makes that difficult.
“You couldn’t possibly want to be a part of that world,” I say to her, but when there’s silence from the hallway, I tuck in only the front of my tank top and snatch the door open to ask again. “You couldn’t possibly want to be a part of that world, right, Scarlett?”
She shrugs but doesn’t give a straight answer.
“I mean, don’t we all kinda want that? To have the world in the palm of our hand?”
I bite my tongue to keep from saying what’s come to mind. That dreaming about those things has led a lot of girls to do some incredibly stupid and reckless things.
“Careful, kid. You’ve got stars in your eyes,” I warn, but can’t say for sure I’m being heard.
She sticks her tongue out and, as I pass her in the hallway, I mess up her pink-tinted hair more than it already is. Reaching the kitchen table, I bend to grab the pair of Mom’s sneakers I borrowed from underneath it.
“Download the app,” Scar repeats. I roll my eyes while she isn’t looking.
“Fine, but only if you do the dishes while I’m gone. They’ve been sitting here for three days and the house is starting to smell worse than your socks.”
My statement barely gets a response because, like always, her eyes are glued to the brightly glowing screen in her hand.
I hate what I’m about to do, but storm toward her anyway.
A loudly spoken, “Hey!” hits my ears, and I fully expect the look that darts my way after snatching her phone.
“I asked you to get them done days ago, Scar. So, I’ll keep your phone until you follow through,” I declare, which makes her mouth fall open.
“What the …?
“If there’s an emergency while I’m out, Ms. Levinson won’t mind you using her landline.”
“But what if Shane tries to text?”
I envision her too-cute-to-be-trusted bestie and shrug. “I’ll text him back to let him know you’re grounded. Meanwhile, if he stops by, you’re allowed to sit on the porch and talk. Provided the dishes are done,” I add. “But I mean it, he is not to come inside the house while I’m gone. Understood?”
A defiant huff hits the air. “Seriously? I’m not allowed to have friends inside now?”
“Not ones with dicks,” I say quietly to myself.
“We’ve known the Ruiz’s our whole lives, Blue. Be reasonable.”
She has no idea that reminding me of Shane’s relation to Ricky is only hurting her argument.
“He’s helping me plan for the bake sale,” she adds.
I do a double-take. “Bake sale?”
She rolls her eyes, which means she’s about to give a recap of something we’ve already discussed. Something I should already remember.
“I’m selling cookies and brownies again at the block party next weekend. Figure whatever I sell can help toward groceries or something.”
Heart. Broken.
She’s fourteen. Where our next meal is coming from should be the least of her worries. But … alas.
My only hope of not getting emotional is to stick to my guns. So, I pretend to ignore the fact that she’s starting to feel the burden of the household bills like I have for years.
“He’s not to come within six feet of this house, Scar,” I reiterate. “Understood?”
She rolls her eyes again. “Yes, rat. I understand.”
“Good.” When I flash a big, toothy grin just to annoy her, she grabs the closest thing she can find from the hallway floor—a thin notebook—and throws it my way.
She misses and I rush to the back door, purse and keys in hand. The paperwork I’ll need for this morning is already filled out and waiting on the passenger seat.
“Bye, kiddo,” I tease. “Dishes.”
“You’re a dictator!” she yells. “Emphasis on the ‘dick’ part.”
“Keep talking and the phone’s mine ‘til Monday.”
“Okay, okay, okay! Stop being so serious all the time!” she concedes, knowing my threat is anything but empty. “Just … download the app. Please.”
She does that stupid puppy dog thing with her eyes that shouldn’t work on a big sister, but like I said, she’s more like my kid than anything.
“Fine …,” I cave, sighing as I close and lock the door behind me.
As soon as I buckle into the Cutlass, I find the app and make good on my promise. A pink and black, tiger-striped icon pops up on my screen, and I’m officially connected to this online world my sister insists I ought to be a part of.
Curious, I nearly open it, but come to my senses and toss the phone to the passenger seat instead. Scarlett will not goad me into following her down this rabbit hole, digging through the digital laundry hampers of the rich, the elite.
Their filth is none of my business.
With that, I resist the urge to pry and start my engine instead, pumping the pedal until she purrs. The day I do more than simply allow this app to exist on my phone to quiet my sister, will be the day hell freezes over.
@QweenPandora: Attention seniors: No pressure, but you might want to put the pedal to the metal. Orientation starts in twenty, and we all know Headmaster Harrison has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to tardiness. To any newbs entering the lion’s den this year, good luck. You’ll need it…
Later,
Peeps.
—P
Chapter 4
WEST
Summer basically ended for the team two weeks ago, the moment mandatory two-a-day practices commenced. Since then, it’s been all day in the sun, very few breaks, and zero sympathy. When we aren’t on the field, we’re in the weight room.
With varsity mostly being seniors, we were given a rare pass today for orientation. Then, it’s back to the grind at eight a.m. tomorrow morning for a Saturday make-up practice.
Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through this every year, but then remember the rush only football has ever given me.
I use the ten minutes we have before this thing starts to wipe the water droplets beading down from the mirrors after a quick run through the car wash. If the stars align, I’ll have the Chevelle road-ready soon, too. Possibly in time for Homecoming if I’m lucky.
I glance up every now and then, usually when a short skirt passes by. The girls wearing them wave once they have my attention and, already, I know it’s about to be a good year.
Dane’s in the passenger seat posing. With one foot down on the pavement, he leans until half his face is in the sunlight for a selfie. His vain ass thinks his followers are obsessed with his green eyes. Then again, with how they eat that shit up, I guess he’s right.
“I hear South Cypress High might be a problem this year,” Sterling sighs, resting against my hood.
I peer up. “How so?”
“Apparently, they just had a kid transfer in from Ohio. He’s supposed to be some kind of football phenom.”
“Position?” Dane pauses from his photoshoot to ask.
“Quarterback,” Sterling answers.
“Stats?” I’m curious, but not worried.
“Throws a seventy-yard pass in the air. He’s got a good eye, too. Reads the field like a pro.”
“Big deal. I throw a seventy,” I counter.
“Yeah, but … not coming out of freshman year, you didn’t.”