by Bailey B
“I’m fine.” I’m not fine. My skin’s on fire, the space between my legs aches, and I’m a confused mess. Rex is the first person to touch me this year who doesn’t send my body into shock. His skin on mine should ignite a catalyst of crippling reactions. Instead, heat spreads from my cheeks down to my core. Awakening parts of me I thought died long ago.
Rex drops his hand. Deep blue’s study me, combing over every feature, making my insecurities bubble up. The bags under my eyes. The scars on my arms, some hidden beneath a colorful tattoo, others still visible to all who look beneath a dozen rubber bracelets.
“Wanna get out of here?” He asks with zero traces of hidden innuendo.
Another first. The only time guys—who aren’t the Harris twins— talk to me is to ask for a favor. An unfortunate hazard of my reputation.
Please don’t let Rex ask a favor.
“Piper?”
Shit. I must have zoned out. No, I don’t want to leave with you because I don’t know what’s going on with me! I shake my head, hoping I didn’t actually say those words aloud.
Rex smiles revealing two deep, beautiful dimples.
The overwhelming need to have his hands on my body consumes me. Tears prick the back of my eyes again because for the first time in a year I want to be held. What’s worse, I want to be comforted by him— the hot almost stranger who saved me.
I hate it.
I like it.
I don’t know how to take it. I’ve gone so long learning how to cope with the anxiety of unwanted touch that I forgot how to react when it’s desired. I look up at Rex, feeling like a complete idiot, unsure of what to do next. Should I say thank you? Is that enough? I mean, what he just did, saving me, is huge!
“Can I walk you inside? I’m sure Cooper wouldn’t want you by yourself after that bullshit. And I…” he rubs at the back of his neck. “I don’t want to leave you alone. You know, in case Tad comes back.”
“Okay.” My voice cracks, sounding nothing like its usual calm, collected self. Rex steps closer and tucks me under his arm. There’s a bubble in my chest but I can still breathe. Still function.
I think I’m nervous.
Go figure. The hottest guy in school that I’ll never have a chance with is ushering me inside and now my brain starts to act like a teenage girl. If I can’t get this under control, I’m screwed.
Rex angles his body to shield me from eyes that might be watching as we cross the parking lot. The smell of musk and clean linen swirl in my head. It’s delicious. I sniff again, committing the scent to memory because the likelihood that I’ll be this close to him again is slim to none. Even if Rex can touch me without causing a debilitating panic attack, handsome, popular guys don’t actually like girls like me. They just like the way we make them feel.
2
Piper
Can you believe it? Poor Tad.
Did you see his face? I heard Piper’s pimp jumped him for more money.
I heard Piper went psycho and started beating on Tad because he said she was nasty.
Well I heard she’s knocked up and Tad was gonna out who the baby daddy is.
I keep my head up, gaze focused, ignoring the daily gossip. Nine times out of ten, it’s about me. I used to stick up for myself but fighting would only fuel the fire. Now, I just don’t care… much. I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean the talk doesn’t bother me.
I keep walking, ignoring more whispers from people who think I can’t hear them because they’re two steps behind me. These parents pay a fortune for their kids to be here. No one said anything about making them smart.
I heard…
The sound of a body being pushed into a locker slows my stride. I steal a glance over my shoulder, searching for where it came from. A small circle forms behind me. Two guys are at the center of it, the tops of their heads barely visible through the crowd of people.
“Fix this,” one voice growls. The deep rumble is an undeniable mix of northern twang and country sass. Rex.
I duck around the corner and hide in a doorway. Close enough to hear what’s happening but far enough that no one notices me. The last thing I need is a rumor about liking Rex because I stopped to watch the fight. Yes, people are that petty. I can’t even stop and enjoy someone else’s drama without it somehow biting me in the ass.
A body slams against the smooth metal again. The blonde pinned against the lockers chuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I shudder thinking about what could have happened yesterday if Rex had been a minute later. Tad’s voice will forever be etched in my mind. The events of yesterday added to the loop of trauma my photographic memory won’t let me forget.
Tad’s back slams against the locker again.
“One day,” Rex warns. “You’ve got one day to put a stop to the rumors or I promise everyone will know exactly how much of a piece of shit you really are.”
“You can’t prove dick.”
“One word, Asshole. Cameras.”
Out of nowhere, Cooper Harris, illegitimate foster brother number one, crosses my path. He raises his eyebrows, then tilts his head towards the North stairwell. Once hidden behind closed doors, he pulls me into a hug.
I should have expected it. Even though Cooper and I share a room, I’ve barely seen him the past two days. He’s been out with some mystery girl until the wee hours of the night and I pretend to be sleeping when he crawls into bed. Yes, we share a bed because both him and Mamma T agreed I shouldn’t be left alone after what happened this summer.
Both arms wrap around me, squeezing me against his rock hard body. Cooper is the only person allowed to hug me and it takes every bit of will power I have not to shove him away when he does. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, anxious for him to let go.
One Mississippi.
Pressure in my chest builds, increasing at a devastatingly quick speed. The best way I can describe my anxiety is that I’m on an uphill climb of a rollercoaster. Only the fall from the top isn’t exhilarating, it’s damn near crippling.
I force my fingertips to touch Cooper’s back. He needs the reassurance that I’m alright. That it’s okay to hold me. It’s not. I don’t think it ever will be, but I’ll never tell him that.
Two Mississippi.
My featherlight touch seems to have done the trick. Cooper’s hold on me loosens but it’s too slow. My throat constricts, the air barely able to find my lungs. I open my mouth to speak, but the words are lost somewhere deep inside me again.
Three Mississippi.
Cooper’s arms finally fall to his sides. I open my eyes and take a step back, my anxiety disappearing the instant there’s space between us. I wish I could enjoy our embraces. Years ago, when we were kids, I did.
“Heard you got reamed for having a new tattoo.”
I flash an exaggerated grin and hold my wrist out to him. I’ve got a fresh three inch long black phoenix drawn from a pattern of twisting lines with a red and yellow watercolor-like backsplash. Rebirth among the ashes. It’s beyond beautiful. My favorite tattoo so far.
My other wrist has a cherry blossom branch that stretches halfway up my forearm. I love cherry blossoms. But their beauty while spectacular is short lived—much like everything good in my life.
“When did you get this done?” Cooper drawls, running his thumb across my flesh. Across the scars that went the wrong way.
A lump builds in my throat. I pull my hand back and let it fall at my side with slow, controlled movements. I want to clutch it to my chest and curl up inside myself, but that would only make Cooper worry. He worries enough for the both of us as it is and that’s my fault too. “Last night.”
I don’t have to say where I went. He knows Bane’s the person I go to for ink. This is my sixth tattoo, and Bane’s done them all. I got my first when I was sixteen. A cartoon sketch of a T-rex on my hip and I’ve been semi-addicted ever since.
“You know I hate you
going over there.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t need or want a lecture about my only friend on that side of the tracks. I’m careful, only visiting when I know it’s safe. “What’s up, Coop?”
“Heard you slurped Tad’s gherkin.”
I shake my head. How is it that a man who’s so smart, 3.9 GPA smart, can sound so stupid? Who in the hell says gherkin? It sounds like a medieval weapon or an STD. Both of which I don’t and never have had.
“Where in the world did you hear that?”
Cooper gives me a knowing look. “Everyone’s talking about how you’re open for business again, Pipes. I thought you were done with all that.”
I figured it wouldn’t take long for Tad’s story to find its way back to Cooper. This is high school, rumors spread like herpes, but he knows the truth behind the lies. I think that’s why his disappointed expression hurts so much. He’s looking at me like he believes them this time. I shake my head. “No, Doofus. Gherkin.”
Cooper chuckles and runs a hand through his sandy blond hair, pushing the long strands out of his eyes only for them to fall back in place a second later. He gives me a lopsided smile. “Online slang dictionary. They have some hoopla words on there.”
He’s beyond ridiculous. I bite back a grin and punch him in the shoulder. “Quit or UF’s spies are going to think you’re an idiot and take back their scholarship.”
Cooper’s face pales. I can practically see the gears in his head turning. While the Harris’ have more money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime, Mamma T isn’t rolling in dough anymore. When she and Mr. H divorced, he took all his money bags and ran away with the maid he was having an affair with.
Sure, Mamma T has her restaurant, and she gets a sizable check for alimony and child support, but it’s not enough to put two boys through an Ivy League college. Logan, my other illegitimate foster brother, still talks to the man from time to time and will likely have Daddy Dearest pay his tuition, but Cooper can’t stand their dad and refuses to take a penny of his money.
“They have those?”
I roll my eyes. He's so cute. So gullible. “No, Dipshit. They don’t.”
Cooper lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. I about shit myself. Seriously though, what’s up with you blowing that dickbag yesterday?”
And we’re back to this. “I didn’t.”
Cooper crosses his arms and arches his brows. “That’s not what’s going around. Did you do something with Rex too? Y'all looked pretty cozy after school.”
Really, Cooper? You’re such a dick. If I didn’t love you like a brother, I’d totally nutcheck you right now. “Bite me.”
Cooper flips me the bird, showcasing the only tattoo he has, and no Bane didn’t do it for him. It’s a single letter on his ring finger—P. I swat his hand away, my fingers touching the soft skin of his wrist. There’s no balloon in my chest with this touch. No feeling of being strangled by demons I can’t see because I initiated the contact. Not the other way around.
My anxiety is weird. I don’t try to understand it, just survive it.
Cooper smiles, pleased that I’ve made physical contact. He is one of the few people who know about my anxiety issues. He thinks our hugs help, that he’s healing me. They don’t.
“Why’d mom say your off tonight?”
“I’m supposed to do dinner with Monica because it’s her birthday or some shit.”
He cocks a brow, fully aware of my disdain for the woman to birthed me. “And you’re going?”
“Hell no!”
The bell sounds, echoing in the confined stairwell. We have two minutes to get to our next class. Cooper puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a sideways hug.
One Mississippi.
Ever since Rex transferred to St. A’s back in January, he’s made it clear he’s a lone wolf. He doesn’t do commitment or second dates, only one night fun fucks. Lunch and free period are spent in the gym working out. And while he throws the best parties since the Harris New Year’s Bash, don’t expect to be acknowledged beyond the white vinyl fence that surrounds his yard.
All of this I know because of the three girls who insist on sitting with me at lunch this semester. They ramble, nonstop, about mindless crap no one gives two shits about. If it wasn’t for the five star cuisine that puts half the restaurants in town to shame, I wouldn’t even come to the cafeteria. Besides, it’s not like these girls are my friends. They, and a revolving door of others over the years, sit at my pity-party-for-one table because at some point during lunch one if not both of the Harris twins will join me.
“You’ll never guess who I went home with last night.” Melody, head cheerleader and world class bitch, boasts setting her tray down across from me. Her clones, Sarah and Rachel—bleached hair, too much makeup, and scraps of fabric that violate the dress code—sit down with her.
I stab a plastic fork at the truffle macaroni on my Styrofoam tray. My Dollar Store earbuds are hidden beneath my hair, a dark purple cord attached to my phone the only indicator that they’re in. But today there’s no music because my wannabe smart phone’s battery is almost dead and I forgot my charger.
“Please don’t tell me you let Logan do you in his car again,” Sarah whines. “You deserve so much better.”
Melody wrinkles her nose. “Ew. No. That was a one time lapse in judgement.” She pauses, “Okay, twice.” Sarah arches her brows in that knowing way moms do. Melody sighs. “Okay fine it was three times, but that’s it. I swear.”
I bite back a laugh. Everyone knows Melody’s not so secretly in love with Logan. Has been ever since freshman year, back when she had braces and the coordination of a toddler learning to walk. This year she came back to school a new woman. New boobs. New nose. No braces. And a whole new attitude.
“Something funny, Slut?” Melody asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
I pull my ear buds out and wrap them around my phone. It’s not like I could listen to anything even if I wanted to. Might as well give up the rouse. “Besides your face? I mean really, Melody. All that money and the doctors couldn’t do better than that?”
Over plucked, penciled in eyebrows arch, nearly jumping off her forehead. “Excuse me?”
I tuck my phone into my bag and lean on the table, giving Melody a “sorry dear” smile. The doctors actually did a good job on her face. She’s beautiful in that California clone kind of way. But no matter how pretty she is on the outside, her cold black heart and rotten soul will always shine though. If Logan took Melody to bed, which I highly doubt, I’m sure he’s kicking himself for it. “If anyone had a lapse in judgement that night it was Logan. Try all you want; you’ll never replace her.”
Melody grips her plastic fork. Shit brown eyes betray her, spilling her pathetic plan to stab me somewhere boring. Like my hand or arm maybe. I’m not worried, Melody doesn’t have it in her to hurt a fly. Raised by a couple of doctors without borders parents and a pot smoking hippie for a nanny, she’s about as tough as a marshmallow. Sarah on the other hand looks generally concerned—for Melody, not me— and she rests her hand on Melody’s arm easing her off the ledge. “Let it go, Mel.”
Melody glares, her beady brown eyes trying to intimidate me. It’s comical. And then, like magic, her attitude shifts. Red lips pumped with filler curl at the corners. She sits up straighter, puffing her chest and batting her glued-on lashes. “Hey, Logan.”
Logan Harris, foster brother number two, ignores Melody and sits on my side of the table, facing me. His tattered black skinny jeans and unbuttoned shirt violate dress code. But at this point in the year, our teachers are picking their battles. He steals Rachel’s untouched fork off her tray and swipes my last bite of Mac and Cheese. “You good?”
I force a smile and nod. Logan and I have a strange relationship. I moved in with the Harris family the summer of my eighth birthday. Cooper and I clicked instantly, but Logan was standoffish. It took a full six weeks for him to talk to me. I think it was a mix of nerves and embarrassment. He
used to stutter. Still does when he’s nervous sometimes.
Flash forward to the middle of our freshman year when the Department of Children and Families pulled me out of the Harris home and forced me to live with bio-mom again, which by the way sucked. Logan pulled away. The fragile relationship we’d formed over the years seemed to dissolve the minute we were no longer family. If things hadn’t gone down the way they did this summer, and I hadn’t moved back in with them, he’d probably still treat me like a stranger.
“Have you thought about prom?” Melody asks, sticking a straw in her coke. She eyed Logan seductively as her lips curled around the plastic. “I vote we get a limo.”
Rachel gasps, “Really? I’ve never been in a limo.”
Rachel’s here on a cheerleading scholarship. While our sports teams are shit, our cheerleaders are nationally ranked. Everyone who was on our team in the last five years went on to cheer at Ivy league schools and many furthered their careers into the NFL.
How do I know?
Because Principal White has their headshots plastered on the sports trophy walls with details of their life accomplishments. It’s supposed to motivate our team to do their best. I think Principal White just likes to fluff his own feathers. I’m rambling. The point is that even though Rachel is here on a scholarship like me, she’s accepted because she has purpose.
I’m considered a waste of space.
Melody flashes a bless-your-heart smile and turns her attention back to Logan. “Should we add your address to the pickup list?”
Logan pulls a pack of Reds from his shirt pocket and sticks a cigarette between his lips, knowing we’re a tobacco free campus. With the flick of a contraband Zippo, it’s lit, adding more tar to his already struggling lungs. He takes a drag then exhales, blowing a tuft of white smoke in Melody’s face. “Hard pass.”
Melody waves her hand, pushing the cloud away and glares at me again. “You got something to say.”