To the Steadfast

by Briana Gaitan

  “Hey,” she mumbles. Her eyes dart to the cop car and back to me.

  “Hey, I wanted to know how you are. How’s your family?”

  “Fine.”

  “Who’s home?” I look behind her at the always messy and smoky living room

  “Dad just got out on bail. Mom’s sleeping, and Mischa is out with some girl.”

  My heart stops, but I try to keep a straight face. I shouldn’t be worried about him at a time like this.

  “A girl?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know who she is. She came to pick him up right when he got home from school.”

  I shrug and pretend not to care. “When are you coming back to school?”

  “Soon. The school called today to inquire about my absence.”

  I can hear her mom yelling about something in the background. “I came over to see if you wanna stay at my place this weekend. My parents are away.”

  Her face lights up. “I’d like that.”

  “Well, pack your stuff up and get in the car.”

  She runs inside, and I stroll back to my car.

  I have to grip my steering wheel to ease the shaking in my hands. Mischa is out with another girl. I have no right to be upset. He gave me plenty of outs and told me he couldn’t promise anything. It still hurts though. I guess some part of me thought we’d connected on an emotional level. I’d hoped this would be the stepping stone to a relationship.

  A sharp knock on my window makes me jump in my seat. I’m even more on edge when I look up and see a cop standing there. I roll down my window and nervously look up. Remember, you’ve done nothing wrong. I repeat this to myself as I fake a smile.

  “How can I help you, officer?”

  “Can I see some ID?” He’s older with salt and pepper hair and a stern, constipated-looking face. I recognize him as the father of one of the girls at my school.

  “May I ask why?”

  “May I ask you why you are at this residence? Do you live here?”

  “You know I don’t live here,” I snap as I pull open my purse and show him my driver’s license.

  He glances at the ID and bends down closer to the window. “Take my advice, Miss. This isn’t the type of place you want to be hanging around.”

  “I’m not hanging around here. I’m picking up a friend.”

  “I doubt your parents would enjoy a call from me. I run into Doctor Lombardi a lot at the hospital, and I know he’d hate for you to get in trouble round these parts.”

  Is he threatening me? Whatever, I don’t want this getting back to my father anyway. I start my ignition and take my ID back from his hand. “Fine, I’m leaving.”

  He leans over and looks in my back seat. “You have anything illegal in the car?”

  I give him a crooked smile. “No, nothing that shouldn’t be.”

  With a tip of his head, he backs away. “Have a good day.”

  By the time Violet comes barreling from the house, the cop is back in his car.

  “Can we do something fun tonight?” she asks as soon as she’s buckled.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Any good parties going on?”

  I shake my head. Nothing I feel like attending.

  “Really?”

  “Can’t we hang at my place? My parents won’t be back until Monday. They’re attending a wedding in the Hamptons.” I make air bunnies with my fingers and say “the Hamptons” in an obnoxious voice.

  “Party at your place!” Violet screams.

  I give up. She wants to party, she’s had a bad few weeks, I’ll do this for her.

  I toss her my cell phone. “Make some calls then.”

  Two hours later, a bunch of us are in my backyard. They’re mostly friends of Violet’s, the rougher kids at school, the ones who used to be too cool to talk to me at school until I started hanging out with Violet.

  Some may say that the popular crowd is hard to get into in high school, but there’s a club that’s more elite than the preps. The crowd that tries too hard not to fit in. They consist of the guys all the girls want, and all the girls who everyone secretly wants to be. The kids who stand around at the lockers looking suave before slipping into the back of the class just as the bell rings. The kids who know where to get all the good drugs, throw the hippest parties, and barely talk to anyone else, making them seem even more mysterious. That’s the crowd everyone wants to get into and is every parent’s worst nightmare. Lucky for me, being friends with Violet Cromwell gets me an expedited pass into that crowd, even if they are sometimes immature and boring. I sit down and dip my feet into the warm water while Violet dances on the diving board to some rock song. Sipping on my munch punch, I salute Violet when she motions for me to come dance with her.

  “No thanks!” I yell.

  She gives me a pouty lip and walks over. “I’m thirsty. Is Mischa here with the beer yet?”

  “Nope, look in the fridge. I’m sure there’s juice or something.”

  She walks to the little cooler by the deck and begins rummaging around. Pulling out a pitcher of something red, she sniffs it. “Cody, all you guys have is this red Kool-Aid.”

  “So? Drink it. I’m sure my parents won’t even notice it’s missing.”

  She takes a sip and makes a face. “Something is wrong with it. It’s not very…flavorful.”

  “Well, you know my mom, she’s always drinking that sugar-free crap. I bet it’s some miracle weight loss drink or something.”

  She fills a glass and winks. “Mine now. I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

  I snort in disgust. If only I were as skinny as she is.

  A few minutes later, someone yells, “Beer’s here!”

  Violet throws her hand in the air and screams along with everyone else. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as if someone is watching me.

  I tilt my head up to see Mischa’s face scowling down at me.

  “Hey,” I say with a flirty grin, trying to remain as casual as possible.

  His eyes run over my tiny bikini, but I can’t read his expression. It’s a little irritating. “Can you get me some ice for the beer?” There’s a curt tone in his voice.

  I stand and motion for him to follow me to the garage where my parents keep the deep freezer and an entire chest full of bagged ice. He follows me, a twenty-four pack in each hand.

  “This way,” I say, motioning with my hand to the far corner of the room.

  Still not saying a word, he sets the beer down.

  What am I supposed to do? Do I mention the other week? Is he here with that girl?

  The garage is gloomy, but I can just make him out as he moves closer. I pretend to be looking for something on the table as he approaches me from behind and runs his hands down my arms.

  “Cody…”

  His voice cracks and the sound of him moaning my name brings a heat between my legs.

  Goosebumps appear everywhere his hands have been. His lips travel across the back of my neck in a soft and gentle manner.

  “About the other week…” he says.

  Does he regret it? I quickly save myself from embarrassment. “I know, we were both fucked up.”

  “But it felt good, right?”

  I didn’t expect him to say that so all I can do is nod.

  “And you want me, right?”

  I nod again.

  “Then why does this feel so wrong?”

  We both know the answer, but I’m the only one with the guts to say it. “Because I’m best friends with Violet.”

  He sighs as if I’ve gotten it all wrong.

  I spin around, and in an instant he’s lifting me on top of the table. My hands are everywhere. On his shoulder, in his hair, around his back. I’m exploring every inch of him because who knows how long this will last. He’s no good, but I don’t care. All that matters is right in front of me.

  He tastes like mint, and I wrap my legs around his hips, urging him closer.

  “I missed you. Where have y
ou been?” I ask in his ear.

  He responds by pulling my bathing suit bottoms down over my hips and throwing them on the ground. He’s in a pair of board shorts, but he inches them down with one hand while the other is cupping my breasts, lightly grazing my nipples under the fabric. There’s a crinkling of a wrapper as he slips a condom on. The table is at the perfect height and when he pulls my hips to the edge, he’s able to slip into my warm depth. I wince at the pain, but it subsides as pulses of pleasure take over.

  We both groan at the impact and take a moment to gather our senses before moving against each other. He’s fast, impatient, and rough. Different that our last encounter, but I like it. The friction builds as he plows into me, shaking the table from the impact. He pulls my legs from their locked position behind his back.

  “Grab your legs,” he demands.

  I lie back on the table and grab my thighs to keep them in the air while he moves against me. He brings his hard length out all the way before slamming it back into me, making me scream out with each thrust. Pain, pleasure, I can’t decipher between the two. His fingers begin stroking me and as he alternates between rubbing and tapping me. It isn’t long before I’m screaming. He collapses against my chest, pulsing against me. He rests for a second before pulling out and putting his clothes back on.

  “You’re great,” he says, bending back over to kiss me on the cheek.

  “You, too.”

  “We better get this beer out to the party before people get pissed.”

  He throws my bottoms in my lap and begins setting up the cooler with ice and beer. When the beer is in the cooler, he puts a hand on my cheek and gazes into my eyes.

  “I want to take you out,” he says. “I don’t mean to fuck. I don’t know, I like myself when I’m with you. You see more than my family name.”

  Mischa doesn’t date. We all know this. He spends time with girls, but he never takes them out. I want to scream and jump up and down. I want to cry. I want to tell the world, but “Really?” is all I can say.

  “Yes, I definitely do.”

  He sets a beer beside me before picking up the cooler and walking away. I’m left in a state of awe, shock, and admiration.

  Mischa Cromwell wants to take me out.

  Mischa left minutes ago, but I can’t seem to gather my bearings to leave this garage. I creep to the front of the garage and press the control to open the automatic door. It takes forever for the door to lift, but when it does, I tiptoe out into the bright sun and look around the driveway. Not sure where to go or what to do, but I’m not ready to go back to the party.

  “Looking for someone?” a voice calls out.

  I spin around, my heart racing, to see Killian standing in his driveway only yards away.

  “Killian, you scared me.” I put my hand to my chest and bend over slightly to catch my breath.

  His hair is slicked back against his head like he’s just gotten out of the shower and a pair of jeans sit snugly against his hips. I’ve never seen him without a shirt on, but he’s got a ripped six-pack that I’d love to run my fingers across. I raise my eyes to his face, but it’s too late, the damage has already been done.

  “Were you checking me out?” he asks with a smug look.

  “No! Gross.” My face pinches up in horror. I’m not interested in Killian, but what’s the harm in checking out a good physique.

  “Why are you sneaking out of your garage?” he asks.

  “Why are you hanging around my garage?”

  He points to his dog that’s jumping around his front yard. “Adama needed to go to the bathroom. I heard the door open and decided to see who emerged from the great beyond.”

  I hold my hands out for the golden cocker spaniel to come to me, but he’s too busy chasing bugs and ignores me.

  “Fine, Adama! I don’t like you anyway.”

  Sarcasm rolls off Killian’s tongue. “He feels your pain.”

  “You wanna join us?” I say, pointing to my backyard, where the noise level has almost reached intolerable levels.

  His gaze falters, but he shakes his head. “A high school party? No, thanks. I have some friends coming over in a few.”

  “Hey, we’re not all that bad.”

  “Well, you’re different than the others. You’re….you.”

  “I try.” I bow slightly. “How’s your mom and dad?”

  He opens his mouth to answer, but we’re interrupted by Mischa opening the gate from the backyard and walking over.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He wraps an arm around my waist and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Killian’s gaze hardens as he watches us.

  “Hey, I’m Mischa Cromwell.” Mischa holds out a hand, which Killian shakes. They have to know each other, they’re about the same age, but it’s unlikely they hung around in any of the same crowds. Killian only associated with the basketball team.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m Killian. You were a grade or two below me.”

  An awkward silence breaks out, but Mischa keeps a firm grip on my hand. I playfully slap Mischa on the chest. “Guess we better get back to the party. See you later, Killian.”

  “Bye.” He picks up Adama and turns away.

  Mischa doesn’t say much, but when we’re a good distance away, he lets go of my hand.

  “How do you know pretty boy Killian?”

  “He lives next door.” I shrug nonchalantly.

  “Well, he was staring at you like you two are sleeping together.”

  This makes me laugh. “Uh, no.”

  “So you’re not sleeping with him?”

  “No!”

  “I hope not because if you’re going to be sleeping with me, you can’t be with anyone else. Do you understand?”

  “You don’t own me, Mischa. Until you commit to me, you don’t own me.” It comes out harsher than expected, but I’m certain it’s a lie. He owns my heart. He’s owned my heart since the first moment I laid eyes on him.

  The rest of the party goes by in a blur. The same repeats on Saturday night and Sunday night, and my friends have taken over the living room and guest bedrooms. I’m supposed to be studying for finals, but partying all night and sleeping all day leaves little room for much else.

  The next thing I know, I’m waking up on one of the patio chairs with the sun in my eyes. I grab my phone to see it’s after eight. If my calculations are correct, it’s Monday and I’m already late for school. I sit up and look around. I’m all alone, and I barely remember the weekend with Violet. Mischa showed up around midnight each night and we hooked up, but that was the extent of our relationship. I don’t even know where he went during the day.

  I decide to cut my losses and begin the cleanup. There weren’t many of us, so the place isn’t too trashed. Plus we stayed outside most of the time. I pick up all the bottles scattered around the tables, empty the trash, and go inside to take a shower. The housecleaner will make the beds and change the sheets.

  As I step out of the bathroom, I hear the clanking of the front gates closing. Either my Mom or the housekeeper. I get dressed and walk downstairs just in time to see my Mom waltz in. She’s in a crisp pantsuit looking extremely perfect. Her dark hair falls around her shoulders. She’s aged well with her olive complexion and large gray eyes. Most people will say I look like my father, but even having a fraction of my mother’s beauty is fine by me.

  “What are you doing here?” she comments before setting her purse and luggage down.

  “I wasn’t feeling well so I stayed at home.”

  She flips through a stack of mail on the table. “Just don’t make a habit of it. Anyway, good thing you’re here. Nona’s home is having a family get together tonight. You need to make an appearance.”

  “Nona?” I exclaim, jumping closer. I don’t dare touch my mother, she doesn’t like it.

  “Yes, don’t be so dramatic. Your father is going down there this evening. I’ll expect to see you there later on.”

  “Yes, of course.”

&
nbsp; Nona, my only living grandparent, and I haven’t seen much of each other lately.

  “Oh and Dakota?”

  I wince.

  “Next time you have a party, please tell your guests to close the gate behind them. We have privacy for a reason.”

  She doesn’t say anything else before walking away.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I mumble in a sarcastic tone.

  I follow her into the kitchen and begin fixing myself some coffee.

  “Oh, and one of your teachers called me this morning.”

  My shoulders drop. “Oh, really?”

  “Don’t play dumb. Apparently, you are falling behind in math. He wants to have a parent-teacher conference.”

  “Hmm.” I take a sip of my coffee and hop up on one of the barstools.

  “I don’t have time to waste meeting with all your teachers. I expect your grades to improve or I’ll be taking your car keys.”

  I’ve heard it all before. They won’t really take my car, I think. “Fine.”

  “I mean it, Dakota.”

  “I said fine!” I don’t have the patience to deal with all her nitpicking so early in the morning.

  There’s a tap on the sliding glass doors and one of our gardeners, Julio, walks into the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Lombardi, you drink this?” He holds up a tan pitcher.

  “I’ve been gone all weekend.” My mother sighs loudly and looks to me. “Dakota, did you drink it?”

  I study the pitcher. It looks familiar. It hits me. Violet drank the red stuff from it on Friday night.

  “Violet might have drank it. Sorry, Julio. Was it your Kool-Aid?”

  He laughs, which makes my mom huff and turn away from us while typing furiously on her phone.

  “Miss Cody, this was hummingbird food.”

  Coffee sprays from my mouth and splatters across the counter.

  “Dakota!” my mom shrieks. “What is your problem?” She grabs a sponge and begins wiping it up.

  “Wait, Violet drank hummingbird food?” I hold back a laugh by putting my hands over my face. “Is it poisonous?”

  “No, it’s just sugar, water, and red food coloring. I have to make more now.”

  I stand and rush to the stove. “No, I’m sorry. Let me make it.”