by Brooke Moss
“Poor thing,” she cooed, her words dripping with acid. “She thinks it’s a relationship. Guess we’ll see what happens when he gets bored.”
Alexis dropped her voice to a mock-whisper, loud enough to be heard by the whole class. “Do you really think they haven’t slept together?”
“Of course they have,” Maddie hissed. “Have you seen her mother on Facebook?”
My heart seized and I froze behind the book. Celeste? How did they know Celeste?
“Yes! Charity. Or Celeste. Or whatever. She’s going around friending everyone at TTHS,” Alexis said. “Said she’s looking for her daughter. Judging by that old woman’s pictures, she’s a whore too.”
No. No, no, no… this can’t be happening.
Maddie laughed, and a chill ran up my spine. “But according to some of her posts, she’s not just a tramp like her daughter. She’s a whore of the paid variety.”
Alexis giggled, then stopped. “What’s that mean?”
Good Lord, she was dumb as a rock. I would have slapped my forehead, had I not been holding up my book to hide my agony.
“God, Lex, you’re so stupid,” Maddie snapped. “Have you seen her pictures, or read any of the comments? She’s disgusting. I’ll just bet you she’s a prostitute.”
A collective gasp rang out in the classroom as the realization hit everyone else. I closed my eyes and counted to five. I was out of here. Sure, I’d get into trouble with Mrs. Filbert for skipping, but it was worth detention. This was too much. If everyone knew what my mom’s line of work was, I would never be able to show my face again. It was one thing to know it myself, but quite another thing to have it be common knowledge amongst the student body of the worlds most conservative small town school ever.
“Good morning, everyone. Sorry I’m late.” I peeked out from behind my book in time to see the teacher breeze into the room with a steaming mug in hand. “Had a second cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge, and lost track of time. Where did we leave off yesterday?”
Grimacing, I put my book down and sat up straighter.
“Oh, that’s right,” she laughed. “Chapter four. Page one-thirteen. Open up, everybody. We’ve got a rough hour ahead of us.”
Lady, you have no idea.
Chapter Seventeen
Him.
Posey and I slid into a routine almost instantly, and by the time two weeks had passed, it was like we’d always been together. I walked Posey to her classes, she rewarded my hard work in our tutoring sessions with kisses. She came to one of my swim meets and watched from the top of the bleachers with Jessa and Natalie, I joined her in the courtyard at lunchtime. I did my best to keep the wolves—otherwise known as my ex-girlfriend and her idiot friends—at bay, and she invited me to eat dinner with her family almost every night.
And our chemistry?
Yeah. The chemistry was out of this world. Though all we’d done is kiss, she made me crazy. Like, nuts, flopping around the bed, punching my pillow, cold showers and blue balls crazy.
Posey was beautiful. She looked like a doll, or a fairy tale character or something, with her dark hair and white skin. And her figure, when she actually let it show, was enough to make me cry like a punk. With joy. And frustration. She was shaped like a lingerie model without being in my face about it. The fact that I only caught glimpses of her impressive cleavage when she bent across the table in the library enticed me. Sometimes when she reached up for the glasses to set the table at the Coulters, I saw a sliver of her flat tummy above the curve of her feminine hips and it made me crazy. After being with Maddie, who left nothing to the imagination when she dressed for school everyday and pretty much jammed it in your face if she thought you weren’t noticing it enough, Posey’s modesty was refreshing.
I never, in my entire existence, thought I would feel that way. What red-blooded eighteen-year-old guy wanted modesty in a girl? I guess the clincher for me was that I knew I’d get there with Posey. We’d both been with other people. We knew what we were working towards. We weren’t stupid. And believe me, we wanted each other.
“Baxter, you ready?”
Coach’s voice jolted me out of my thoughts, and back into the present. I was in the staging area with my other teammates, where we stretched and rehydrated between heats. I should have been doing the same. Coach constantly hollered at us to stay limber between races so we didn’t cramp up. But I’d been too busy sneaking glances up at Posey to keep my head in the meet.
“I am,” I called. Twisting a few times at the waist, I then headed to the chairs. We had to wait for our races in the chairs and unfortunately they were set up in two rows right below the front row of the bleachers, where my parents sat. Their seats were practically reserved. Sometimes people clapped for my dad when he walked in, which usually made me want to yack into the pool water.
Today, Dad watched me through narrowed eyes. Though I’d won both of my races I’d already swum in, I’d missed my own best time twice, and my dad knew something was up. He’d already pulled me aside to ask what was distracting me, and I’d lied through my teeth, telling him I’d pulled my shoulder again.
I needed to blow this next race up. The 100 fly was my best event. If I wanted my dad to stop looking over his shoulder to find out who I was making cow eyes at, I needed to beat my best time of ninety-nine and a half seconds, otherwise my dad would flip out. I fully intended to take Posey to the bonfire that night, and if I wanted to make it at all, I didn’t need to go ten rounds with pops.
“Focus, Andrew,” Dad barked at the back of my head.
I rested my elbows on my knees, looking down at my wavering reflection on the wet tile floor. My mother’s laugher—high pitched and fully saturated—rang through the auditorium, and I bristled. While she sat next to him, she had to be sweating her ass off in her pretentious fur coat.
A crackly voice sounded over the loudspeaker. “Fifty meter butterfly.”
The racers in the row ahead of me walked to their blocks, so I peeled off my shirt and sat in the front row. Closing my eyes, I laced my hands behind my neck and started psyching myself up by reciting the lyrics of my favorite song in my mind.
“Swimmers take your mark.”
My dad leaned forward. “Do you know what lane you’re in?”
I ignored him. My pulse picked up as adrenaline started coursing through my veins. In swimming, really only half of it had anything to do with athletic ability. The other half was about letting go of the fear of being without air too long, and forgetting about the burn in your muscles and the hammering of your heart in your chest. It was all about disconnecting your brain, letting go, and allowing your body to turn into a machine for a minute or two.
For me, this process took a while to accomplish. I couldn’t just turn it on and off the way my dad had in school. I was a thinker. Annoyingly so. Sometimes I couldn’t turn off my brain, even when I tried.
The beep sounded, and the swimmers dove into the pool.
“Andrew. I’m speaking to you,” my dad yelled over the cheers of the crowd. “Are you in the right lane?”
My eyes popped open and I ground my molars together. Of course I knew what lane I was supposed to be in. I’d written my races and lanes on my arm in Sharpie, for hell’s sake.
“Yes,” I called over my shoulder. Please just leave me alone.
“Good.” His voice was barely audible over the sound of someone whistling. “You better not blow this heat. No scout is going to come to see you with these numbers.”
Go to hell. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to my lyrics. Focus. Don’t listen to the jerk off. Zone him out.
The crowd went wild, and my eyes popped open again. The other team’s fans started yelling and screaming and jumping everywhere. I glanced up at the scoreboard. Damn. Their new freshman swimmer beat our best time by a full second. Coach paced next to the staging area. We were the best team on the island, despite being one of the smallest schools. If we lost that standing, we could lose funding for the
sport next year.
Dad came down close and leaned in close to my ear, so everyone in the audience would think he was just whispering words of encouragement, but we both knew it wouldn’t be like that.
“Don’t screw this up,” he hissed, his breath making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I hated him. I really did. “Baxters don’t lose to the shittiest school in the district. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I noticed Coach watching us with a frown, and forced a smile. Nothing to see here. Just a friendly father-son pep talk.
“Good.” Dad stood up and returned to his seat, pausing long enough to wave at everyone on the bleachers. Ever the politician.
The buzzing voice on the loudspeaker announced the top three of the last race, and I popped all my knuckles while I waited. I had to win the 100 fly. I had no choice. First, I didn’t feel like taking a punch from my dad tonight. Second, I didn’t want the TTHS team’s rep going down the crapper because I couldn’t turn it out.
Right. No pressure.
I tried rolling my shoulders and adjusting my cap as the judges cleared the scoreboard, but my muscles felt like they were made out of Tupperware plastic. Oh man, I’m gonna blow this. I need luck. Lots of it.
Glancing over my shoulder, I pretended to just stretch my neck, but caught a glimpse of Posey instead. Our eyes locked and she offered me a tiny smile. My insides warmed, and the muscles in my shoulders and arms started to relax.
A bunch of the guys on the team had good luck charms. Umbardt never washed his suit, which was nasty. Lawson kissed his picture of Nickie Minaj right before he left the locker room every meet. Maybe Posey would be my good luck charm. Hell, I didn’t know. When other girls came to my meets, it annoyed me, but when Posey came, it made sitting two feet from my dad while he threatened me ten thousand times better.
“100 meter butterfly,” the crackling voice announced.
I pulled my goggles down over my eyes, pressed them against my skin to seal the air in, then strode to the block. I could feel everyone’s eyes on my back. The spectators. Coach. The guys on the team. My parents. Posey. Just a few weeks ago, I would’ve used everyone’s expectations to drive me—to keep the adrenaline pumping through my veins until I kicked the ass of every swimmer in the pool. But now those same expectations just bogged me down like rocks around my ankles.
I was so sick of being under pressure.
“Swimmers take your mark.”
I stepped up on the block and bent forward.
The auditorium went quiet, and just then my dad’s voice rang out. “Focus, Andrew.”
Shuddering, I closed my eyes. Shut the f—
“You’ve got this, Drew,” Posey called. Her voice sounded like a bell in the darkness, and the tension in my muscles dissipated again. Thank Goodness she was here.
I leaned down, ready to jump. Maybe she was right. Maybe I had this.
BEEP.
Arching over the water, I sucked in a pull of oxygen before cutting through the surface like a knife. More comfortable in water than on land, my mind went almost blank, and I slipped into machine mode effortlessly. Shooting away from the wall like a bullet, my legs pumped up and down without breaking apart, arms locked ahead of my body like the hull of a ship. My lungs started to burn, so I helicoptered my arms downward, shooting the top half of my body out of the water as my arms rounded into the steamy air, before bringing everything crashing back down.
Stroke. Arch. Stroke. Arch. Stroke. Arch. Breathe. Stroke. Arch. Stroke.
Posey’s words scrolled through my mind as I kicked and crested my burning arms up over my head again and again. I got this.
The lyrics I’d been singing returned to my mind, letting my body do the work. My muscles might have burned, but I didn’t feel it. There were no rocks around my ankles. There was nobody on either side of me. I may as well have been alone in the pool.
Almost done. Stroke. Arch. Stroke. Arch.
Slap.
My hands hit the wall and I emerged to the sound of the crowd going berserk. Swiping pool water from my nose, I glanced up at the scoreboard and released a whoop. I’d not only won the race, but I’d beat my own time by three tenths of a second! My parents were on their feet. Posey, Jessa, and Mac were on their feet. The whole stinking crowd was on their feet.
Coach bent down at the side of the pool and held his beefy hand out to me. “Well done, son. You just saved our butts.”
I let him help hoist me out of the water, and grinned when he slapped me on the back. “Think we can get some scouts out here?”
“Once they get wind of this number, yeah.” He turned to shake the hand of a parent, and I scanned the auditorium for Posey.
There she was, coming down the bleachers behind Mac. I peeled my cap off, and shook the droplets off my face, catching her eye. She grinned at me, her full lips pulling into a curve so joyful, my heart swelled.
Tunnel vision set in. The guys on the team gathered around me to celebrate, but I dropped my goggles and cap in the bullpen and made a beeline for her. I could only see the strands of her black hair—loose from the ponytail she’d pulled her hair into—falling across her pale face and the way her sweater pulled across her curves as she tugged her coat on.
I grabbed a towel from the rack and attempted to have some discretion. Staring at Posey while wearing a damned Speedo was a really bad idea.
“Andrew, over here.” My dad gestured for me to join him and my mother. He looked pleased. Though of course he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t smile unless he was campaigning.
I hesitated. Posey was close now, hanging with Mac at the opposite end of the bottom bleacher. She knew the drill. Play it cool until the old man leaves.
A kid from my health class passed me, slapping me on the shoulder. “Way to kill it in there, Baxter.”
“Thanks.” I nodded, then found Posey’s face in the crowd. She smiled, and waved her hand way down low so my parents wouldn’t see.
“Andrew.” My dad’s voice was gruffer this time. Irritated. “I’m speaking to you.”
Whoops. I’d been too busy staring at my girlfriend to see him coming over. I was so sick of him treating me like an employee. Go to school. Get good grades. Swim like hell. Don’t embarrass the Baxter name. I just wanted to go to the bonfire with Posey and act like a teenager for a while. I wanted a break from boot camp.
My dad’s hand came down on my arm, twisting the skin discreetly so that all of the people filtering off the stands wouldn’t notice. He leaned in close to my ear. “Dammit, are you deaf? Your mother and I would like to speak to you.”
I blinked up at him, choosing my words wisely. “I’ll be right there. There’s someone I need to see first.”
“Excuse me?” he hissed.
Jerking my arm free, I walked over to Posey.
Her eyes went round. “Drew, what are you doing?” she said lowly. “Your dad—”
“I don’t care.” I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my lips to hers. She froze, but just for a second, before she sank against me. After a few seconds, I pulled away and rested my forehead against hers. “Thanks for coming.”
She chuckled. “Anytime.”
I stepped back a bit. “Sorry. I got you soaked.”
“It’s okay. I’ll dry.”
Mac put his arms around both of us. “Um… dude. This is a beautiful moment we’re all having here, but…”
“But what?” I asked, giving him a sideways glance.
“But your dad is staring at us.” Mac scratched the back of his neck. “And he kinda looks like he wants to bite the bleachers in half.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “Mac, will you take Posey to the bonfire?”
He frowned. “You’re not coming?”
“I’m not going without you.” Posey glanced at my friend. “No offense. But, I don’t really feel like this is my crowd, and—”
“They’re as much your crowd as they’re my crowd, Po.” I put my hands on her shoulders and pressed ano
ther kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be there in a bit. I just have to take care of some business.”
“Some business?” Mac gave my dad a steely glance. “Everything okay?”
I glanced over my shoulder at my parents. My mother checked her reflection in the screen on her iPhone while my dad glowered at me with his arms folded across his chest. A deep line had formed between his eyebrows, and his jaw was locked in place. He was pissed.
“Drew?” Posey bit her lip, her eyes wide.
My stomach went cold like I’d swallowed a block of ice. “It’ll be fine. Go to the bonfire. I’ll be there in a while.”
Turning, I faced my parents.
Chapter Eighteen
Her.
I hadn’t been to a party since coming to Twisted Tree, and as soon as Mac and I arrived, it was like I’d stepped into an alternate universe. Gone were the house parties and the underground clubs selling ecstasy and nitrous balloons at the door. This party consisted of a handful of pickups backed up around a bonfire,andLynyrd Skynyrd blasting from speakers while fuzzy dice danced on a broken rear view mirror.
Culture shock. Big time.
“You look like we just arrived on Mars.” Mac patted me on the back as he guided me through the dunes.
“This is my first party.” When he looked at me strangely, I added, “Here, that is.”
“Understood.” He offered me a kind smile and pulled a packet of smokes out of his pocket. He held the package out to me, but when I shook my head, he fished one out for himself. “Don’t worry. We’re not all bad around here. Some of us are pretty damn cool. Take me, for instance.”
Laughing, I stepped carefully over a log. “You are pretty cool, Mac. Humble, too.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He smirked down at me. “Hey, Posey?”
“Hmm?”
“Listen, I’m, like, sorry I didn’t get to know you before now.” He cleared his throat. “Drew’s right about you. You’re not half bad.”
The last two weeks had been a lesson in that whole don’t judge a book by its cover. From afar, I’d assumed that Mac Rogers was a typical popular kid. Judgmental, snide, cocky. While the cockiness was accurate, he was neither judgmental nor snide. He was funny, and witty, and fiercely loyal—even when it meant going against the grain. I liked that about Mac.