by Orts, Teresa
The Year of the Great Seventh
by Teresa Orts
KINDLE EDITION
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Published by Drayton Press, London
Copyright ©2013 by Teresa Orts
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal use and enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, please visit amazon.com and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting this author’s work.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9889684-0-0
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Edited by:
Carolyn M. Pinard
Cover by:
Keryn Christiansen
DEDICATION
To Hamish
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THE YEAR OF THE GREAT SEVENTH
CHAPTER I
TODAY WAS THE FIRST day of my junior year, and I already knew what was about to happen. It was as if my life had been previously written for me. Before turning the corner, I knew who would be hanging out behind the gym. The exact same people as the previous year.
Thankfully, I also knew that the only people able to light up my day would be there, too. A smile spread across my face when I saw Megan and Emma chatting on the same bench where we left off before the summer.
The school had a beautiful campus, but for some reason everyone loved hanging out in the little alleyway between the gym and the street. The chain-link fence was our peephole to the real world.
“Hi, girls!” I waved to Emma and Megan as I walked along, trying not to stare at the other students. For the last two years, my survival technique had been to go unnoticed, and so far, it worked.
“Sophie!” They both shouted at once, getting up and melting into a group hug.
“You guys are awful! You ignored most of my emails this summer.”
Even though Megan and Emma were my best friends, I hadn’t seen them for two months. They were actresses and had been working on a low-budget movie in the New Mexico desert.
Megan and Emma rolled their eyes at each other and Emma, bursting into a laugh, replied, “Believe me. We were working twenty-four-seven! But we did think of you all the time.”
I knew they weren’t joking. They normally worked hard. Megan had the movie’s lead role, and since she loved to work with Emma, she pulled some strings to get her a part. Megan had never been in a blockbuster, but she’d been working nonstop since she got her first role in an independent movie at age eight.
“Did you like New Mexico?”
“We didn’t get to see much of it. Low-budget movies mean you don’t get paid much, but you still work hard.” Megan gave me her trademark smile.
I knew one day she would take Hollywood by storm. Every time she went to a casting, she always scored the role. She was gifted, and her flagrant look certainly didn’t hurt.
“For me, it wasn’t too bad.” Emma folded her legs under her on the bench. “I didn’t have many lines. At least I was always in the frame.”
Emma wasn’t as talented as Megan, but she still managed to get work.
“Well, no more movie talk. We’re finally back at school.” Megan said. “Believe it or not, I’m glad to be back.”
Megan and Emma managed a healthy balance between their acting careers and their school life. People in L.A. desperately craved their fifteen minutes of fame, but Emma and Megan were different from the L.A. cliché. With their social status, they could’ve hung out with the popular girls, but instead, they chose me.
“What about you, Sophie? How was your summer?” Megan asked.
“I finished the internship at the Getty Museum. They’re going to write me a great recommendation letter for next year’s college application.” I grinned from ear to ear.
“You’re so paranoid! We’re still in our junior year, and you’re already collecting recommendation letters for your college application.” Emma joked.
My real passion was history, and in two years, when I graduated from high school, I wanted to move away from the mecca of film to the mecca of history—New York City. All my time and energy was focused on two targets: getting a scholarship for New York University and scoring an internship at the Metropolitan Museum.
The school was coming back to life after the summer. Packed school buses drove down the street toward the main entrance. West Hollywood High School operated for the last fifty years as a middle-class school and was considered one of the best public high schools in Los Angeles. However, the original buildings and facilities were still in use, and the wear and tear was visible to the eye. We often griped that the facilities at our rival school, Beverly Hills High, were all cutting-edge.
“Hey, girls, I can’t believe you’re back at the same spot,” someone said behind us.
I looked back to find Tyson and Chase.
“Hey! I can’t believe our junior year is starting already,” I said, standing up to hug them.
Chase and Tyson had befriended us in our freshman year, and the five of us were inseparable ever since. We always went to parties, movies, or shopping together.
The most lethal weapon at school was starting an unfounded rumor about someone. It could literally destroy their social life. That’s why we were so protective of each other, and if we ever heard anything about each other, we would always deny it.
“Let me guess; you three are in the exact same classes again,” Tyson said, looking at me.
“Good guess!” I replied. Every year Megan, Emma, and I orchestrated our schedules to match perfectly.
“Please, Sophie, pinch me. Is that Curtis Wayne driving down the street with Ethan Dulwich?” Chase mumbled.
Automatically we all turned around, and our jaws dropped when we saw Ethan Dulwich in rapper Curtis Wayne’s convertible red Lamborghini. Curtis Wayne was only in his teens and had sold something like three million copies of his first hip-hop album. Tattoos snaked over each other around his arms, and a sublime diamond crucifix, which looked so heavy it would probably give him back problems in the future, hung around his neck.
We were stunned at this year’s glamorous arrival by Ethan. As Curtis Wayne drove past us, he surveyed the staring students behind the gym. Then he dedicated a sparkling, gold-toothed smile to all of us.
“Ethan is so annoying. He always has to stand out.” I groaned, crossing my arms across my chest.
Ethan was the son of mogul film producer William Dulwich. His father dominated the film industry and was the founder of one of the most powerful production companies in the United States. He was known as “the godfather of the film indus
try” and for his lavish lifestyle.
Minutes later Ethan appeared behind the gym, slowly dragging his feet and enjoying the attention as though a spotlight followed him along the little alleyway. I aborted my mission of complaining about his attitude because he was walking toward us.
Ethan suddenly came to a halt in front of our bench and hesitated for a moment. “Mmm, fine, there you go. The kickoff party for the school year is at my place on Saturday,” Ethan said, handing Tyson a yellow flyer.
One word materialized in my mind when I thought of Ethan’s party: trouble. Ethan Dulwich, wanting to continue his father’s legacy, hosted a party each year at his estate in Malibu that probably cost more than Dad’s entire annual salary.
Last year I skipped it because I heard Ethan’s parties were always soaked with substance abuse, alcohol, and police appearances. However, I had to confess I regretted missing it because that was pretty much the only thing anyone spoke about at school for weeks afterward.
Ethan moved on to talk to the next group of people, and Chase brought his hands together, looking up into the sky as though he were talking directly to God. “I thank you for the day Ethan Dulwich got expelled from that private school.”
When Ethan Dulwich appeared at West Hollywood High the previous year, the entire student body—and some faculty—went into a state of delirium. No one could understand why Ethan’s parents doomed their son to coexist with middle-class people like us when they could afford to buy him an entire school.
It didn’t take long for the rumor about Ethan to spread. Supposedly, Ethan attended an elitist private school, but he was expelled for drug problems. The rumor was his parents had enough by then and decided to place him in a public school to teach him a lesson. To make matters worse, their zone school, Beverly Hills High, didn’t have any spaces in his grade, so Ethan was rezoned to West Hollywood High.
“Sophie, you have to come this year! I promise we won’t get in any trouble,” Megan said under her breath, her eyes twinkling.
I was literally itching to go to this party. This wasn’t a common high school party, with cheap wine and paper cups; this party was probably at the level of the Oscar after-parties, with bouncers, valets, performers, a DJ, bar, and celebrities. On the other hand, I knew there was a possibility of getting caught up in Ethan’s troubles if I attended. Last year, the neighbors called the police, and four people got arrested for underage drinking.
“The flyer says it’s an ‘80s themed party, but we don’t need to wear costumes. You can’t say no, Sophie,” Emma tempted.
My hypothesis was that Ethan hosted his parties to prove to us the chasm between his social class and ours. However, no one cared about Ethan’s motive. Everyone was dazzled by the idea of living in Ethan Dulwich’s fantasy world, even if it was for one night.
“I really want to go, but if the police show up and I get in trouble, that will kill any chances of getting my scholarship,” I stated. Everyone was staring, waiting for my final verdict.
“I heard that Travis Roy might be there,” Megan teased.
I had a major crush on Travis Roy, the singer. I definitely could not skip this year’s party if there was any possibility that Travis Roy might appear. Maybe for once it was okay to stop worrying about what could happen and appreciate the opportunity. I didn’t like living in L.A., but I shouldn’t barricade myself from the enjoyments life in this city had to offer.
“Okay… I’ll go this time, but only this time,” I said, pressing my lips together to stop myself from smiling.
A spark of victory shone in Megan’s eyes. Then all of us were smiling at the idea of everyone being there this year, and I could tell we were already daydreaming about that night.
“I guess no one’s going because the flyer is mine,” I said. I sprang to my feet, yanked the yellow flyer from Tyson’s hand, and ran behind the bench. Tyson was scrambling behind me to get his invite back.
After taking a tight corner around the bench, Tyson caught the back of my jacket. We were wrestling over the paper and laughing aloud. Tyson was holding both of my hands with his right hand, and I was swirling around, keeping the flyer from him with my body.
“You guys, stop it! You’re making a scene.” Megan complained, covering her face with her hands to hide her embarrassment.
“Fine, there you go, Tyson,” I said, gasping through each word and handing the flyer back.
I sat back on the bench to catch my breath and saw Emma blushing with her eyes wide open.
“What’s up, Emma? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“You’re not going to believe who was staring at you when you were fooling around with Tyson,” Emma murmured, leaning her head toward a group of people down the end of the alleyway.
Emma was typically too observant and overanalyzed people’s reactions, finding facts where there were only unconscious gestures. I rolled my eyes at Emma and said skeptically, “No, I’d never guess.”
“Nate Werner was looking at you.” Emma grinned and waited for my reaction.
The hysteria at school about Nate Werner was common among all the female student body, but I didn’t blame them because he was truly the most handsome guy I’d ever seen. His chestnut hair and almond-shaped brown eyes resembled those of models on advertising billboards. The olive color of his skin was in perfect harmony with the beautiful angles of his face. His sublime smile could make the Greek gods envious. Nate was taller and fitter than most sixteen-year-olds, and he was slightly too skinny for his size, giving him a graceful look.
I spoke after freeing a sarcastic laugh. “Emma, I wish he stared at me, but I’m afraid you’re wrong.”
Nate spent all his time with the popular students, and everyone else seemed transparent to him. His friends described him as confident and fully aware of his popular status. It seemed he felt no one deserved his time. Last year, Nate dated Amy Barton for a few weeks, but she broke up with him because she said he wasn’t truly interested in her. He was using her to fulfill the “popular boy dates popular girl” stereotype. Nate’s ability to always be perfect and never show any signs of weakness just fueled the general obsession. Emma was so obsessed last year that she ambushed him in the hallway, but he politely dodged her questions and walked away at the first chance.
“I swear he was staring at you. I think he likes you.” Emma insisted, making Megan laugh.
This type of comment could easily turn my life into a nightmare. Emma had made the following assumptions in the course of a few seconds: because Nate happened to be facing us, he was actually looking at us, and Nate was specifically looking at me and not Tyson. And because Emma happened to be able to read minds, she’d learned Nate was madly in love with me. Emma had gathered and verified all this evidence instantly. Unbelievable.
“Emma, I’m sorry to break the news, but I absolutely doubt that Nate was looking at me. He hasn’t paid much attention to any girl at school in two years, and I doubt he had an epiphany and decided he was in love with me,” I said defiantly, making Emma aware I wasn’t going to tolerate these types of comments.
“Girls, I know you’re obsessed with Nate Werner, but I’m sure he’s out of your league. I heard his family is absolutely loaded,” Chase commented.
“Do you guys believe everything you hear?” I complained, reaffirming my annoyance about all types of rumors.
Chase was unfazed. “It’s not a rumor. Some people from school saw him at LAX, boarding a private jet with Mark Gomes, the owner of the L.A. Dodgers, and his two kids.”
“Come on, guys. It’s obvious that people at school are bored and make up all this stuff. Anyway, I don’t care what he does in his spare time, because he wasn’t looking at me!”
“Okay, forget it, Sophie,” Emma said. “He was probably looking elsewhere.” She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward her.
“I think we should go to class. We’re already five minutes late.” Emma suggested.
Tyson and Chase looked at each ot
her and said in one voice, “Fine!”
I couldn’t help myself, so when I was getting up from the bench, I peeked at Nate to prove Emma had been hallucinating. To my surprise, Nate was staring our away, and when our eyes met, something really strange happened. An image of a row of stone coffins with some strange engravings invaded my mind. As we stared at each other, a sense of panic flowed through my veins. It wasn’t exactly fear; it was more a silencing peace that pressed against my lungs. Nate’s mouth tightened as if he could feel what I felt too. Then he turned his back warily and walked around the gym corner.
It was odd that I’d felt that way when he looked at me, but the weirdest thing of all was that Nate Werner seemed to have acknowledged my existence.
*
Later that evening when I arrived home, I dropped my backpack in the living room and walked into the kitchen.
We lived in a two-bedroom house in West Hollywood that we inherited from my grandmother. The house was built to resemble a contemporary Mediterranean villa with balconies and French doors leading out to the terraces. The kitchen and the open-plan living room had high ceilings and were practically the same room. Dad’s office was nestled in the back of the ground floor, facing the back garden. From the living room you could see an open corridor on the first floor with two doors, one leading to my parents’ bedroom and the other to mine.
Mom and Dad were at the kitchen table, eating dinner and watching the news. Mom had prepared breaded chicken with a side of peas and sweet potato. I grabbed the plate left for me on the kitchen counter and sat with them.
“How was the first day of school?” Dad asked without moving his gaze from the TV.
“Same old thing. What about yours?” I said, bringing a piece of chicken to my mouth.
My dad, Charles, was a historian and worked as a professor at UCLA. Before he met Mom, Dad spent eight years in Africa, working as an archaeologist. Mom and Dad met on a plane traveling from London to Los Angeles and dated long-distance for six months. When they decided to get married, Dad accepted a job as a lecturer because Mom didn’t want to raise a family in Africa.