Raven: The Young Adult World of Genetically Modified Teens and the Elite (Swann Book 6)

by Ryan Schow

  “I’m not a lesbian,” she said, but she sounded meek.

  “So what…like, how do you…I mean…”

  “How do we do it?”

  “Yeah.” Now he was all ears. He wasn’t even looking at his food.

  “We don’t. I guess I just kiss her and…let her go down on me.” In the smallest voice, she said, “She’s really good at it.”

  “Most girls are.”

  She looked up and thought, how can he know that? Is this really true?

  “I’m good, too, though,” he said. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

  She held his eye, looked for the lie. Looked for the judgment. She found neither. He wasn’t spewing hatred at her the way her friends three tables away were. What she saw in him was interest. Intrigue. Just beyond Brayden, Julie met Cameron’s eyes. She flipped Julie off. Julie pretended not to see.

  Am I really leaving them…for him? she wondered. She wasn’t even his type, he’d said. This was so stupid. But maybe it wasn’t. She was tired of being called Julie Satan, a terrible name Savannah Van Duyn started when they were sophomores before the big fat fatty went and disappeared. Before the tubby tubalard got lost behind another girl’s face and body.

  She hadn’t thought about Savannah for what seemed like ages. The girl was only there for a semester.

  “Who said you’re good at the oral?” Julie asked, her mood souring a bit by Cameron’s “eff-you” gesture. “The married woman?”

  Maybe she should forget Brayden and Sabrina and just go back to Cameron, Theresa and Blake. They weren’t great friends, but they were familiar. And reliable. As in, she was part of something. Not nothing. With Brayden, she’d be the hot girl who fell from grace to hang with the high school tool. It was the same retarded formula of every Hollywood movie watched not by hot girls dreaming of doing the dork, but of dorks aching to do the hot girl.

  “No, it wasn’t the married woman who told me. I had this bartender teach me things I’m too embarrassed to even tell you the names of. She was a sort of Las Vegas goddess. A redhead. Surface of the sun hot. But so did another friend of mine. This Polish vixen, Aniela. Half of the shit we did should be illegal.”

  “God damn, Brayden, how many women did you sleep with?” she blurted out. And how was he getting such legit action while she was way hotter than him but stuck at home porking her step-family?

  “Numbers aren’t important,” he said, being coy. “It’s what you learn along the way that matters.”

  “Serious Brayden. I’m curious. How many?”

  “You’re curious? About me? Ha! That’s a laugh.”

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “So am I. Why are you curious about me?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I guess I just thought…you were a virgin, or something.”

  “I look like one, I know. That’s all part of my charm,” he said with a smile. “That’s one of the things I learned along the way. Women like mystery. Not an open book. It goes the same with men liking women, which is why I don’t want to know anything else about your illicit love life.”

  This shook her. He didn’t want to play the game? The way Emery used to get so turned on listening to her talk about doing their step-sister, it was the total opposite with Brayden. It’s like he could care less. In fact, he didn’t want to know at all.

  “So you think you’re pretty good at that then?” she asked. “Going down on a woman?”

  “To the women I did, absolutely. Who knows, though? Maybe they were easily pleased. Maybe I really suck and just don’t know it.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said.

  He grinned a wicked grin, then said, “I’m just messing with you, Julie. I’m ridiculously good at it. It’s my second favorite thing to do.”

  “And your first favorite?”

  “I’m not an open book, love,” he said with that same mischievous grin.

  He wasn’t the hottest guy around, but he had a confidence about him she resonated with. She wondered what it would be like to have him for a night, then she tried to shove the thought away. The truth was—if he wanted to—she might give him the chance one day. She would take that secret to the grave, but she’d still let him. She wanted to know just how good he was.

  “If you ever need that,” he said, “I’m sure I can hook you up with someone.”

  Wait, what???

  “I can get that done on my own, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t get upset, Jules,” he said. “I was just trying to be a friend.”

  So I’m in the friend zone, she thought. Great. Then again, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Having him doing her the way Emery was doing her, it would be too routine. And not the least bit complicated. Ha! Maybe she would talk with him about Emery. About the baby. Lord knows she couldn’t talk to her stupid friends. Or ex-friends as it were. With dirt like that, they’d find a way to end her on principle alone. Especially Cameron. If Cameron knew about Emery and the babies, it would be suicide by Facebook. Right then she imagined herself killing herself and it sent a shiver down her spine. She was too good for those uppity slags.

  And she was too good for Brayden.

  “What?” Brayden asked in response. Say what you want about him, if anything, he was observant.

  “How bad are your worst secrets?” she asked. She only enjoyed playing this game with Emery because they’d played it for so long. Maybe she could still get Brayden to play with her. Or maybe she was going to regret ever looking in his direction.

  “By the sound of it,” he said, clearly hiding something, “my secrets aren’t as salacious as yours.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s hard to trust someone who hasn’t screwed the pooch as badly as you have.”

  “You know what, Julie Sanderson?” he asked with an amused look.

  “What?”

  “I really think you and I are going to be good friends. Friends who trust each other.”

  “What if I don’t need any more friends?” she challenged.

  “Trust me,” he said, “you do. And maybe a fuckbuddy, too, by the way things are soooo not looking up for you right now.”

  She didn’t know what horrified her more, thinking of them having meaningless sex, or all three of her friends flipping her off in unison. Because right then, Cameron, Blake and that bitch Theresa were all middle fingers in the air, and all of them aimed right at her. Half the school saw what was going on, which made her face blister with shame.

  The last thing she heard herself say was, “Well Brayden, I’ve officially flushed my shitty, shitty life down the proverbial toilet.”

  And the last thing she heard him say before sinking ever deeper into her misery was, “Don’t be so freaking dramatic.”

  Too late.

  3

  Netty was definitely pregnant. Her condition was more obvious than ever. Morning sickness, repeated spotting in her underwear, sore and swollen nipples. She could no longer deny what was happening; she had to know for sure. She had to see it for herself. It had been weeks since she and Brayden did it. And she just now got the courage to pee on the stick she’d been hiding in her backpack for more than a week. In the bathroom, the stick came back with a plus.

  “Shit,” she mumbled. “Shitshitshit.”

  Spiraling down inside herself, her face lost color and feeling, her body useless against the bad news. She sat back on her butt in the bathroom and started to shake. And then she started to cry.

  Fortunately her mother wasn’t home. What she needed most was the strength to not fall apart in front of others. She didn’t have that strength right now. And she certainly did not have the resilience to bounce back from this horrible news so quickly.

  “There’s a baby inside you,” she said aloud between the sobs.

  Sitting in the bathroom, her pee not yet flushed, she was holding her pissed-on bad-news stick when the doorbell rang.
This made her cry even harder. And again it rang.

  “Dammit!” she said, tucking the stick under the garbage already in the garbage can. The doorbell rang again and she yelled, “Hold on!”

  It wasn’t a pleasant sound coming from her. It was like her fear, her hurt, her shame…it was like it all just turned to indignation inside her. Whomever was at that door was going to get their ass kicked.

  When she pulled it open, it was her mother’s boyfriend. The illustrious Dante Barowski.

  “She’s not home,” Netty snapped.

  He held up his hands and backed up. “Whoa, holy shit. What’s going on with you?”

  “None of your business,” she said, starting to shut the door. He stuck his toe in the door and stopped it from closing. This pissed her off. She reeled it back and slammed it with all her might on his toe, but he didn’t budge.

  “Are you hurt? Or angry?” he asked. For all his bluster, he mannerisms were empty of a threat. He really was concerned.

  “I told you already—”

  “I know. You said it was none of my business. Seriously, though, aren’t we done with all the drama?”

  Her eyes were leaking again and she couldn’t stop them. They were betraying her and she couldn’t stop them! He had a point, though. They were friendly. She just couldn’t get her mouth to admit it.

  “Are you going to let me in and tell me why you’re crying or what?”

  A good minute passed. Neither backed off, neither blinked. Between them a battle of wills raged, silent, unrelenting. Then finally, she stood back and opened the door to him.

  “Goddamn, girl,” he said, “I thought you were going to make me stand out there forever.”

  “That was the plan,” she said, wiping her eyes, “if not for your stupid foot.”

  He sat down on the couch. She poured herself a glass of Watermelon Cucumber cooler. She dropped ice into the drink as he looked on. She wasn’t offering him any on purpose. Why should she? She didn’t invite him over. He wasn’t her guest.

  “That looks good,” he said.

  She took a sip, smiled and, sullen, she said, “It’s delicious.” Looking at him, he was absurdly good looking. There was a calmness, a certainty about him she envied. She was not a calm person. She was not certain. Part of her also hated him for this.

  “Why are you so damn good looking?” she asked. “It makes me sick. Like when you see something so perfect you realize the very act of appreciating it is exhausting.”

  “It’s because we all strive to see and experience that perfect something. But when we see it, we realize we just saw the very best and nothing will ever be so beautiful. It’s the climax and the let down, all happening at once.”

  “First of all, you’re retarded. Second, it was a rhetorical question.”

  “I’m not perfect,” he laughed. “In fact, I’m barely good looking by many a woman’s standards.”

  “Whatever,” she said, drinking the pinkish drink slowly, delightfully.

  “My father is bald, my mother is overweight, and my older sister says she’s dying of breast cancer when all she really has to do is cut off her tits to live.”

  “That’s cold,” she said.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not minimizing the struggle, I’m just saying you’re seeing me at my very best. One day, I won’t even be good. People will change. They’ll stop defining me by how much I make or what I drive or how fit I am and they will judge me by who I am inside, and what kind of a legacy I’ve left behind. They’ll do all this to cope with the fact that I’ve lost everything that once defined me.”

  She left the kitchen, joined him in the living room. Instead of sitting down on the couch adjacent to him, she sat down next to him, handed him her drink. He took a sip and said, “Yeah, this is good. Like, really good.”

  He handed her the drink back, but she said, “Have another drink,” and he did.

  When he gave it back, she drank from the same place as he did and it was sort of like kissing him. In a round about way, she had his mouth in hers and she didn’t feel bad. He was her mother’s boyfriend, but her mother was her father’s wife and so it was like neither of them belonged to anyone. So she tasted him, and he tasted just like watermelon cucumber cooler.

  She drank deeply, wanting more, but she could taste only the drink and it left her feeling sad. Once she was pregnant, boys wouldn’t want her. Once she had a baby, she wouldn’t want any boys.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  To his credit, he didn’t even blink. “Are you looking for a congratulations or a shoulder to cry on? Because these matters aren’t always one or the other.”

  “I’ve been crying,” she said.

  “Your mother’s going to kill you.”

  “I know.”

  “I won’t tell her if you don’t want me to,” he said. “I’m good with secrets.”

  And just like that her tears about the situation refused to come because all she could think about was how hot her mother’s boyfriend was.

  “I’d like you to go,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re too perfect, and I’m not exhausted by the sight of you anymore.”

  “I’m not exhausted by the sight of you either, Netty,” he said, standing up. On his way to the door, he said, “If you need anything—”

  “Thanks,” she said. Inside, she hated herself for getting pregnant, but she hated herself even more for being pregnant and hitting on her mother’s boyfriend, a man ten years her senior.

  A man.

  She almost called Brayden, but she knew if she did, she’d only say horrible things to him for not pulling out early.

  4

  Georgia had been freaking out for the last two classes. The way Sabrina Baldridge just walked over and started talking to everyone all nice and sugary sweet after Georgia threw heat into her hand several days ago, it made her suspicious. Something about Sabrina felt…off. No one was that nice. Plus, she kept staring…

  At first Georgia told herself she was imagining things, but then she realized she wasn’t. Sabrina had come over and started talking to Brayden like she knew him, then Brayden excused himself to eat with Julie—which should have sent Abby sideways because of how much the girls hated each other—but it didn’t. That in itself wasn’t right. Even though Brayden left to eat with Julie, Sabrina stayed. She just set her tray of food down and started eating with them.

  This was a true WTF?! moment.

  Now, walking through the hallways between fifth and sixth period, that surreal encounter with the actress was all she could think about. It was all she could fixate on.

  “Georgia!” someone called out.

  She turned to see who was calling her, then groaned inside when she saw who it was.

  “Wait up,” Sabrina said, hurrying to catch up. For all of her strangeness, the actress had an impeccable sense of fashion. Georgia admired that. She didn’t like her or trust her much, but fashion alone was an entirely different language and the girl spoke it fluently.

  “Hi,” Georgia said. She hadn’t wanted to say anything. She just wanted to go, but not at the risk of being rude.

  “Hey, I wanted to talk to you,” she said, “but separately, you know, away from everyone else.”

  “You mean my friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” Georgia said, bringing her books to her chest.

  She turned and scooted out of the semi-busy hallway, pressing her back against the wall. It wasn’t the best place to be in the event of a confrontation, but she didn’t want Sabrina seeing in her eyes what she was trying to hide: guilt and an instinctual flare of mistrust.

  “I want to know why you burned me the other day,” she said. She just came right out and asked it, which unnerved Georgia. Didn’t people beat around the bush anymore?

  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “C’mon,” Sabrina said, “I was watching you when your eyes shot throu
gh with black and orange, and then it felt like a match went off under my skin. A minute later you go sprinting into the hallway and the fire alarm goes off because shit’s in flames out there. Are you telling me that was pure coincidence?”

  Georgia laughed an awkward laugh, then steadied herself against the upsurge in her guts and said, “Do you know how insane you sound? Asking me something like that?” Her response to Sabrina was justified, but her delivery blew. Her voice was a tangle of nerves.

  “Oh, please, Georgia. This is Astor Academy, the school not even Google maps can find, the high school known to exactly none of the unwashed masses. And for good reason. You and I, we aren’t that different. We’re all…changed, to some degree, around here.”

  “What do you mean, we aren’t that different?”

  “I’m from the Chicago office.”

  “The Chicago office of what, exactly?”

  “Jesus, you really don’t know?” Sabrina said. Georgia just stared at her, not sure how to react, not sure what to say. Then: “I’m like you, dummy. Changed. You think I started out like this? Beautiful and all? Um, hell no. I was a beastly little child. Super unfortunate in the looks department. I had buck teeth. Like Bugs freaking Bunny. And with no tits.” She grabbed her b-cup boobs, squeezed them and said, “These weren’t mine, but now they are. And they aren’t the kind you get from plastic surgery either. They’re homegrown, but with the help of someone else’s DNA. Just like you. You and I are perfect. People just aren’t born this beautiful without the help of science.”

  The longer Sabrina went on, the more Georgia’s jaw kept sliding further and further into the OMFG!!! position. Her ears, they couldn’t possibly be hearing this, could they? Was her brain playing tricks on her?

  “You’re saying—” Georgia’s mouth said. It spoke two words…her mouth just opened right up and…then it said nothing. She couldn’t finish the thought she was that floored. “It’s just, I thought it was just—”

  “Well, it isn’t just you. And yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “So…everyone here? They’re…changed?”