by Rachel Jonas
Out of sight, out of mind.
I’m also reminded why I let him into the house that night a little over a year ago. He’d stopped by to see Hunter, but I was the only one home. It wasn’t unheard of for him to stick around to keep me company, so I still let him in. However, at some point in our otherwise innocent friendship, things between us got … weird.
The brief sibling-like hugs we shared on occasion since elementary school started lasting a little longer. Then there was the ‘accidental’ kiss when I was fourteen and he was sixteen. Then, the other accidental kiss two years later. The next thing I knew, my v-card was in Ricky’s pocket, and after the first time, it happened with him a lot of times.
Like … a lot of times.
Yep, definitely shouldn’t have turned around.
He’s every bit as attractive as when I first started avoiding him. The shadow of his dark, buzzed hair is freshly lined up, and he’s rocking a low goatee now. It suits him, which makes me uncomfortable to acknowledge.
A fitted tee and dark jeans look as new as the crisp-white sneakers on his feet. That’s not unusual for him, though. He has more than enough cash coming in to afford it. At the thought, the diamond stud in his ear catches the sunlight and the glint snaps me out of the daze.
“Brownies,” he says casually.
I blink a few times before speaking. “Can’t ha—”
“I reminded her about the nut allergy,” he interjects, playfully rolling his eyes. “I don’t forget shit like that.” He expectantly holds a plastic container out for me to take it. I swear he has the memory of an elephant.
“Thank you.”
I don’t hesitate to pop the lid and bite into one, which draws a laugh from him. Next thing I know, my arm drops as the ball once tucked beneath it is stolen and there’s nothing I can do about it, because … brownies.
Links of the chain connecting the wallet in his pocket to his belt loop make a clanking sound when he shoots. Of course, the ball swooshes into the basket on his first try. Freakin’ show off.
“Not ‘working’ today?” The question leaves my mouth snidely, and he doesn’t miss it.
Another shot sinks into the basket, then he passes a look over his shoulder with a knowing smile. His idea of ‘working’ and mine are oceans apart. In fact, it’s the same ocean that caused our breakup, and it will be the same ocean that ensures we’ll never revisit what we had.
“Nah, I’m off today. Pays to know the boss,” he teases, referencing his uncle, Paul.
Ricky’s been ‘running errands’ for the guy since he was about thirteen. This is right around the time Uncle Paul took Hunter under his wing, once our father proved to be useless. Unfortunately, though, Paul isn’t exactly a stand-up citizen. Some actually argue that he’s at the heart of everything wrong with South Cypress. Well, him and his connections across the city.
Another ball goes in and I snatch it back while swallowing the last of the brownie I wolfed down.
“Good for you,” I say with a disinterested sigh. “You should probably take off then. You know, enjoy having the day to yourself. Guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
Before Ricky can even get a sentence out, I climb a few of the porch steps, heading toward the back door. Only, the light hold on my wrist halts me. The touch is gentle, but acts as a reminder of being grabbed by West earlier. I snatch away and my eyes dart toward Ricky and I’m fully aware that I’m projecting anger meant for West toward the wrong guy. However, I’m too proud to apologize.
His head cocks and I know what he’s about to say. “You good? I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just need you to hold up for a sec.”
An exhausted sigh escapes and I force my frustration to subside. At least momentarily. “It’s just been a long day,” is the only explanation I give, which is an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.
Staring out at the rusted garage door where my rim hangs, I prop myself against the rail. Ricky’s staring, but I refuse to meet his gaze. Instead, I focus on the black web of telephone and electrical wires that zigzag back and forth from the roof of the house, to the wooden posts that tower in the alley.
“I think—”
“Not in the mood to hear what you think,” I cut in, still refusing to meet his gaze.
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say,” he counters with a laugh.
It’s so hard to rattle him, which I used to love and hate. But when he’s pushed, there’s a ruthless side no one, including me, wants to see.
When I don’t take the bait, he takes a different approach. One I didn’t see coming by a mile.
“Wouldn’t expect a girl who’s about to lockdown the king of the north to be in such a shitty mood.” There’s an undertone of amusement in his voice that annoys the hell out of me. He’s grinning when I finally level a look down on him from the steps.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The words fly from my mouth like fiery darts, filled with suspicion.
Before answering, he pulls the phone from his pocket and scrolls. When the screen is turned toward me, my stomach sinks at the sight of that pink and black, tiger-striped icon.
“Folks seem to think there’s a hookup in your future,” Ricky adds.
So many thoughts flash in my head, most of which would end in an angry rant about what I just went through after orientation, but these aren’t the kinds of things I share with Ricky. We aren’t friends. We aren’t anything but exes, so I hold it all in.
Jules, on the other hand, will certainly be getting an earful the second I make it inside the house and dial her number.
“Following gossip apps now, Ruiz? Seems a little beneath you.”
He laughs, but it’s a bit more subdued than before. Like, maybe his ego is slightly wounded with whatever he thinks he knows about this whole West situation. I’ve been super cold toward Ricky these past few months, so there’s some guilt lurking beneath the surface, prompting me to ease up a little.
“It’s not like … whatever they’re trying to portray. Trust me,” is all I say, but I leave out the part about those bastards separating me from the herd to threaten me.
I don’t need Ricky’s pity or whatever reaction he might have. My problems are not his problems, despite what he thinks.
“If you say so,” he replies with a slick grin, like he thinks there’s more to this story. I suppose there is, but it’s nothing like what he’s imagining.
“I’m not talking to you about this,” I say, shutting down that portion of the conversation.
There’s a brief standoff where I feel him wanting to press, but he refrains, which is lucky for me. Instead, he changes the subject, but of course he brings up the one other thing I refuse to discuss with him.
“Your brother’s still asking for you. Every time we talk, actually,” he adds. “He says it’s important, but he refuses to talk about it over the phone or in letters. Says it has to be face-to-face.”
Sighing, I lift my gaze to the sky. “And like I keep telling you, Hunter made his own bed, and he will lie in it alone. It’s bad enough he left me to deal with everything on my own. I’ve got Scar to look after, plus work, and school in a few days,” I ramble. “He should be here. He knows how our parents are, so he should’ve thought enough of me and Scar to be better.”
“Don’t say that,” Ricky cuts in. “You know he was always thinking about you.”
My stare turns cold. He’s always sticking up for Hunter, good or bad, right or wrong. There’s such a thing as being loyal, and such a thing as being an enabler. Sometimes, I struggle to decide which role Ricky fills in Hunter’s life most often.
“If he cared, if he really wanted what’s best for us, he’d be here,” I conclude. “Period.”
I can’t admit this out loud, but I’m also one-hundred percent sure I couldn’t stand seeing my brother like that—locked in that place, knowing he’ll be there for decades without any chance of release. I prefer the memories I’ve managed to hold on to.
&nb
sp; My heart lurches inside my chest, but I hide how bad it hurts.
“I won’t see him like that, Ricky. I don’t care what he has to say, I need to move on from this.”
A warm hand covers mine where it rests on the rail, and I don’t move despite knowing I should.
“I know you’re angry, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s your family. Whether out here or in there, he’s blood.”
One tear streaks down my cheek, but I don’t rush to wipe it.
“My mind is made up, Ricky. There’s nothing else to talk about.”
I feel his stare looming over me, but I stand my ground.
“If that’s what you want, I can’t force you.” His hands slips off mine and he shoves both his in the pockets of his jeans.
A rumble of bass from a passerby’s speakers fills the silence between us. But just as I decide to meet his gaze again, I lose it because he’s pointing behind me.
“What’s that?”
My heart sinks when I turn, rushing to snatch the pink shut-off notice from where it’s been placed on the screen door. It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s already seen it.
“How much do you need?”
I ignore his question and focus on the two kids pedaling through the alley on bikes instead.
“So, I’m such a terrible person that I’m not even good enough to help you?” he asks, only now showing signs of frustration.
“Don’t do that,” I shoot back.
“Do what? Point out the truth? Why don’t you just admit what we both know? You think you’re better than me.”
It’s been a terrible day already and I don’t need this. Not on top of everything else.
Stretching my arms toward my house, and then toward my piece-of-crap car, a humorless laugh slips out. “Yes, living in this palace has certainly gone to my head, Ruiz. Thank you for putting me in my place.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t want your money because I know how you get it,” I shout, correcting his bullshit logic, while also earning Ms. Levinson’s attention. “What makes you think I’d accept dirty cash from you if I wouldn’t take it from my own brother? The problem has never been that I’m too good for you. The problem is that you’re too good to blindly let yourself turn into your Uncle Paul, and we both know it.”
“Whatever,” he sighs, waving me off as his nostrils flare—a sure sign I’ve pissed him off. “I have your address. The electric company won’t need more than that. It’ll be taken care of by morning,” he declares.
“Mind your business, Ricky.” My words are pointless, because he’s already disappeared into the alley, hidden from view by Ms. Levinson’s garage.
I swear, every guy I’ve encountered today needs a swift kick in the dick.
Every. Single. One.
Chapter 7
BLUE
Chin up, eyes trained on the building.
Tucking my keys into my pocket, I pop both earbuds in and tune out everything else.
Today doesn’t have to suck, Blue. There’s no guarantee you’ll even see those knuckle-draggers. Think positive. Think … positive.
The lot is packed. Nearly every space holds some expensive car or oversized SUV—more room than any teenager would ever actually need. Dressed to kill while leaning against these beasts on wheels, are my new classmates. The music in my ears drowns out their conversations and laughter, but not my own envy. They have a lot that I don’t, but what I covet most is their peace of mind.
They fit in here, they’ve formed alliances that help them navigate the day-to-day. Even those who aren’t with the in-crowd have likely found their place, formed small cliques that serve as buffers against the sometimes-harsh landscape of high school. Most have probably attended school together all their lives. Then, there’s me—NewGirl, as Pandora has apparently marked me.
I’m ashamed to admit that I finally took the plunge and got swept away by Pandora and all her musings. The conversation with Ricky left me no choice. After what he mentioned about her getting things between West and me way wrong, I couldn’t help myself.
So, after talking to Jules, and realizing I didn’t have it in me to tell her the hell West, Dane, and Sterling put me through, I ended the call and scrolled.
For hours.
These peoples’ lives are messier than any soap opera I’ve ever seen, and now I know a handful of their secrets. Too bad I don’t know the real names behind all the monikers, the missing pieces that would have made what I read just a little bit juicier.
However, what I do know, is that KingMidas—leader of the pack—is undoubtedly West; Sterling—the voice of reason—is MrSilver; and Dane—the vain one with a penchant for selfies—is PrettyBoyD. Collectively, these three are TheGoldenBoys.
Also, these three are major assholes.
Just saying.
Cranking up the music, I glance down at my tattered jeans. Lucky for me, the hole in the knee looks stylish. What no one will ever know is I got that hole running for my life when the Huong family’s dog decided to hop their fence and chase me. An adventure that ended with me skidding down the sidewalk.
Then there’s my gray tee. Or rather, the gray tee I stole from Scar. It barely comes down over my belly ring. Hopefully, the self-appointed dress code police won’t notice.
A group of girls pass, and we lock eyes. One tosses her head back, cackling while the other two whisper to one another. I’m probably just being paranoid, but I’d swear they’re laughing at me.
The feeling snowballs when I glance back over my shoulder, and all three are staring right back at me, smiling like they know something I don’t.
Whatever, skanks.
Holding the straps of my backpack, I jog quickly up the cement steps, slipping inside the open door after another kid passed through. The volume has picked up considerably, so the ambient noise can be heard over the song blaring in my ears.
And then, reality sinks in.
Everything looks so different from South Cypress. Dark, rich wood has replaced the large, tan tiles that lined the hallways of my old school. The unflattering fluorescent lights are nowhere to be found either. Instead, modest chandeliers are spaced out in a row down the long stretch of ceiling. Paired with the yellow stained-glass windows in the atrium, it feels more like passing through a church sanctuary than a school, but the hallways with classrooms aren’t nearly as formal, although the mahogany carries throughout.
I pass a pair of giggling freshmen this time—or at least they’re small enough to be freshman—but I know I’m not going crazy. There’s a sheet of paper in their hands, and when they peer up and see me, their eyes widen like they’ve seen a ghost.
Don’t freak out. It’s probably nothing. Just go to your locker, then go to class. You’ve got this.
I intend to stick to this plan, keeping my head down to avoid trouble, but I suddenly realize trouble has found me.
A group of boys at the end of the hallway stand out like giants, their shoulders rising above the heads of nearly everyone they pass. But it isn’t only the Golden boys. There are others, an entire squad moving through the halls as a unit, with West front and center.
It isn’t a surprise that he’s already spotted me. Those piercingly green eyes can be seen even from this distance, and so can the fury within them. Passing one another is unavoidable, but I refuse to let him think I’m intimidated, because I’m not.
He hikes the single strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder and his bicep flexes with the movement. We’re nearly at one another’s feet now, but I step aside at the last second, narrowly avoiding a full-on collision since it’s clear he’s perfectly content bulldozing over me. My shoulder brushes his arm and he stares down on me with that devilish half-smile.
“Welcome back, Southside,” he grumbles low and menacing, getting the words out as we pass.
I say nothing in return.
The whole thing is over quickly and I’m grateful for it. But the second I turn down
the hallway to access my locker, my heart sinks.
Almost every single pair of eyes is locked on me. Those that aren’t, are focused on the sheets of paper in their hands. The same sheets of paper plastered all over the lockers like wallpaper. Only, instead of a printed floral array or some stupid duck pattern, it’s an article. Copy upon copy of the same article, actually.
Whatever didn’t get posted on the wall looks like it’s just been tossed into the air and has landed on the floor. I stoop to take one, and instantly feel the wind get knocked right out of me.
The copies are the newspaper’s full account of Hunter’s crime, every gory detail that paints him as the monster he was discovered to be. Then, below the text, the responsible party took it upon themselves to add my school pic from last year, just to make sure no one misses the connection.
To make sure no one misses that I’m the sister of a murderer.
“Oh my gosh! Is it really her?”
“I bet she knew and helped him cover it up.”
“Psycho probably runs in the family.”
The ugly whispers hit me from all directions, but I don’t bother trying to pinpoint who said what. It doesn’t really matter. Everyone’s thinking the same thing. I can feel it.
My eyes sting with tears, but they’re not steeped in sadness. These are angry tears.
Practically panting, I pull down the pages I can reach, but there are so, so many. Hundreds, maybe a thousand or more. There’s no doubt in my mind who’s behind this, and I can’t help but to think of all the trouble he’d gone through just to humiliate me.
The research to discover who my brother is and what he’d done, the work of spreading the info he found to the masses.
When the onlooker’s gazes suddenly shift toward the end of the corridor, my head whips that way, too, finding the Golden boys standing there, so satisfied with what they’ve done. They’ve doubled back just to witness this moment. I mean, of course they’d want to see the fruits of their labor, right?
Before I can think about what I’ll do when I get to them, I’m already storming in their direction. West doesn’t flinch, just smiles at me like he’s proud of this. Proud he’s just let the entire school in on my deepest, darkest secret.