by Clara Stone
“I’m Lorelai Voss,” she states, extending her hand. I open my mouth to greet her, but she cuts me off, clasping my palm firmly. “That’s Ms. Voss to you.”
“Mom!” Blake’s eyes turn big and wide. But Ms. Voss keeps her gaze on me without a waver.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”
“Ma’am?” I’m so out of my element.
Her voice is stern as she repeats it, one word at a time, like I’m the village idiot: “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
“Nothing, Ma’am.”
“It better stay that way. You hear me, boy? Because I don’t care if your dad owns the entire State of the Union, I’ll hunt you down and pluck every single hair off your body with my tweezers if you so much as look at her wrong.”
My mouth goes dry, like it’s full of sand. What the hell? I glance at Blake, who slaps a hand over her face, her mouth hanging slightly open. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a hidden smile gracing Vicki’s lips. It looks nice on her.
“Well, do you understand me?” Ms. Voss’s voice startles me. Her face is hard, without a single trace of . . . holy shit, she looks so much like her daughter right now! I’ve seen that same expression on Blake’s face when she’s either about to pull the world’s biggest prank, or really make good on a promise.
I can’t tell which this is, so I quickly respond, “Yes, ma’am.”
She stares at me a little more, waiting for me to crack. And boy, do I crack. I look away sheepishly, beyond intimidated by this woman that’s a good foot and a half shorter than me.
Then, abruptly, Ms. Voss throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, God. You should see your face,” she says, pulling a reluctant Blake toward her, wrapping her arm around her daughter’s waist.
Blake rolls her eyes, shaking her head. I’m too baffled to react. What the fuck just happened? Did I get punked by Blake’s mom?
I did. And I totally fell for her “I’ll cut you and throw you to the wolves” act. Blake’s suppressed giggles hit my ears, and I smile, shaking my head. I see where Blake gets her love for pranks from now.
“Good one! You got me, Ms. Voss,” I say with a nervous chuckle. But soon, I realize I’m the only one laughing. I feel my eyes grow large in horror. I gulp, looking at the three of them. Did I . . . ?
And then all three girls laugh once again. God. I thin my eyes at Blake, and she sticks her tongue out. “All right. All right.” Blake hugs her mom, then Vicki. “You guys going to stay put for a few?”
“I should probably get home,” Vicki says, solemnly.
A knowing glance passes between Blake and her mom.
“Okay. I’ll see you at home, Blake?” Ms. Voss says, as she and Vicki retreat a few steps.
“I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” I offer.
Ms. Voss waves before taking a quick bite of the pancakes in her hand. “Have fun, you two,” she says as she turns and heads into the crowd, Vicki following along.
“So,” Blake says, turning to face me. “Shall we go find your brothers?”
I nod and quickly clean up the picnic table, piling the used plates and utensils into an orderly and easy to carry stack. I shove them into a nearby trash can before heading off in search of my brothers. I shove my hand into my pocket and twirl Jags’s key as we walk between people, my gaze moving from one person to the next.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Blake says, as we pass two couples that walk between us, hand in hand. Blake gives a smile, but they don’t even notice.
Once they’re past us, we converge again, walking side by side. “Yeah? What about?”
“Your brothers.”
I pause and turn to her, my eyebrow raised. A bunch of kids run around us. Blake looks at them and laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling. I wait for her to continue.
“They’re so different, Heath and Harrington. Like night and day.”
I shrug and notice the line for pancakes looks really long. I search the people waiting impatiently, hoping to find them in the sea of bodies. Damn. They’re not there.
“This way,” I direct Blake, my hand hovering over the small of her back. “You’re right. They are two different people,” I say, responding to her observation.
“They are,” she agrees. “Heath seems so . . . innocent and loving. But Harrington, he’s . . .” She smacks her lips together and waves her hand in a circle, like she can’t find the right word.
“Rebellious?” I offer with a laugh.
“More like . . . cautious.”
I chuckle. That’s definitely not a word anyone’s ever used to describe him.
“No, seriously. The first night I met them, Heath was sooo sweet and adorable. But Harrington—”
“Was trying to be a jerk.”
She shakes her head. “No. That’s not what he was doing at all. I got the feeling he was analyzing me. Like he’s not ready to accept anyone in his life; like he needs to know that I’m not just some girl. I don’t think he bought the whole meet-my-girlfriend act either. He doesn’t trust easy, does he?”
I tilt my head to the side and look at her. Really look at her. Unlike most people—who would label him as a jerk, or troublemaker, or just plain rebellious—Blake seemed to see right through him. In fact, in just the short amount of time she’s known my brother, she probably understands him more than most people have in his lifetime.
“I guess losing someone will do that to a person,” I mumble, not really wanting to tell her about Mom, or the fact that Harrington took it the hardest.
He’s always been the one to act first, question later. He’s gotten into loads of trouble, resulting in broken bones on multiple occasions. But Mom always took care of him without ever questioning his motives. So when she died, he completely flipped out, and every little incident—whether it was his fault or not—Dad would get on his case. And, well, that just made him even more rebellious. I remember my last conversation with his principal. If Harrington continues his antics, he might get kicked out of school before he even starts seventh grade.
He probably would have been already, if Dad hadn’t intervened. I know a lot of people won’t understand what Dad does and why. Hell, even I laugh it off when people make fun of my situation. But Dad’s a good person. The way he’s dealt with Mom’s loss isn’t ideal. But I get it. He might be a distant father, but he still cares about us. He wouldn’t cancel his multi-million dollar deal and multiple business trips because Heath asked him to hold him while he slept if he didn’t.
We cross a six-foot, arching bridge, heading to the center of the park, and notice a small group huddled around something a few feet from us. Blake and I exchange looks before running toward it, pushing through to the front of the crowd. Harrington’s straddling a kid—who’s got a good half foot of height and at least thirty pounds on him—ramming his hand into the kid’s face.
“HEATH!” BLAKE RUNS to the right, toward where my youngest brother sits on the grass with a bleeding lip. “What happened?” She looks him over, trying to assess the damage.
Rage fills me, but I rein it in. I can’t lose my cool. So I run to Harrington instead, and pry him off the kid he’s pummeling.
“Let go of me.” He flails his arms and legs¸ obviously wanting nothing more than to be let loose on the sobbing, bleeding boy on the ground. “Let go—”
“Harrington!” I yell, loud enough to snap him out of his anger. He finally realizes it’s me, and his rage turns down a notch.
“What the fuck?” Some punchy-looking kid about my height comes shoving through the crowd. “Who the fuck hit my baby brother?”
Harrington opens his mouth, and I slap my hand over it. I don’t want him to stir up more trouble than we’re already in. But it’s too late. The guy’s gaze lands on us.
“Go see how Heath is,” I order.
“But—”
I glare at him and point emphatically toward Heath and Blake. “I said, go. Now.”
&nb
sp; He mutters something unintelligible as he stomps away. Blake has her hand protectively around Heath. Before I turn, I hear Harrington asking if he’s okay.
“You!” the dude roars at me, throwing a punch that I sidestep quickly, my hands going up in a placating gesture.
I barely register the chanting that starts around us as blood rushes into my ears.
Fight. Fight. Fight.
I’ve never been one for fighting. I’ve only ever been in one, and I remember my ass splattering on the ground like a pancake. Nevertheless, I can’t let Heath or Harrington get hurt.
“I don’t want any trouble,” I say, sidestepping again when he throws another punch. I might not know how to fight, but I’m quick on my feet. I just need hold out until Park Security gets here.
“Punch him, Hudson!” I hear Harrington’s impatient cry from the sidelines.
The dude grins, his gaze flickering to Harrington, then back to me. “Maybe I should introduce my fist to his face,” he says, cracking his knuckles together.
That’s all it takes. The next time he throws a punch, I block his arm and grab him. I spin into his body, putting my back to his front, and kneel. The momentum sends him flying over my shoulder. He winces, curling to the side and grabbing his sides as I jump to my feet.
“And stay down,” I say triumphantly before walking over to my brothers.
I crouch in front of Heath and do a quick check. His lip looks a little swollen, but the bleeding has stopped.
“You okay, kiddo?” He nods, his grip on Blake’s arm getting tighter.
I turn to Harrington, who wipes his mouth and spits to the side. A small amount of blood splatters on the grass.
“Do I need to take you to the ER?”
He smirks. “No. Do you need a new pair of underwear? You looked like you were crapping in your pants.”
“Ha. Very funny.” I grab him around the neck and rub my knuckles on his noggin. Then I let him go and smile, pride filling my chest. Harrington might be troubled, but he’s good at heart. And just like me, he’ll do anything to protect Heath. Or even me, if it came to it. Heath follows his heart; I think with my head. But Harrington, he’s a bit of both of us.
“What the hell happened?” I give Harrington a pointed look.
“Don’t look at me. This time, I was just defending the baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” Heath whines.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Well? I’m still waiting.”
Harrington answers, “We were coming back to see you, and that guy knocked Heath down. So I told him to watch where he was going, and the next thing I know, he barrels into me and we were on the ground playing Twister, until you pulled me off him. I was having soooo much fun playing too.”
I sigh heavily. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for today,” I say, looking from my brothers to Blake, whose gaze is fixed on something behind us. I turn my head and see the two brothers getting to their feet.
I turn my attention back. “How about we go home?”
“Give me two secs, okay?” Blake says, holding up two fingers.
“Sure.” I step out her of way as she walks past me, toward the two bullies. I catch a word here and there as she offers them a bottle of water and a Kleenex packet.
Did she just offer them help?
She then turns and walks back to us. Seeing me staring, she raises her hand.
“I know. I know. I shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy.” Then she crouches to Heath’s level and hugs him. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Heath.” She pulls back and runs her thumb over his lip, like I’d seen Mom do so many times for Harrington. I steal a quick glance at him, and notice he’s staring at Blake, swallowing back something . . . anger, acceptance, rage.
“Does it still hurt?” she asks Heath.
He brings his hand up and creates a tiny bit of distance between his thumb and forefinger. A small smile plays on his lips. “Just a little.”
“I’ll tell you what . . .” She reaches into her handbag, fishing for something. Her eyes turn wide with glee. “My mom always says, if you’re in pain, gulp down a fistful of sugar. But, since I don’t have any sugar on me . . .” She pulls out a Twix. “I hope this will do?”
Heath happily takes the candy bar from her hands and tears it open in less than a second. She gets to her feet and runs her hand over his hair. Then she gives a small smile to Harrington, who continues to stare at her with a grimace on his face.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
“Yes!” Heath answers, taking a joyful bite out of his Twix.
Heath walks alongside Blake, telling her about his friends at school and how Ms. Rice wants them to create a video on plants. Harrington and I walk next to each other, silently, until we reach the car. Heath slides into the back seat and Blake helps him buckle up. Before Harrington can slide in, I put my hand on his shoulder. He throws a glance up at me, his eyes filled with emotions I haven’t seen in a long time.
Hurt. Pain. Betrayal.
“You okay?” I ask. Stupid question. But I need to hear him say it.
His voice cracks when he responds. “I don’t like her.”
My hand drops, and he slides into the seat, settling in next to Heath. I take a deep breath. This is probably the first time in the last three years that I’ve seen Harrington show his true emotions. Watching Blake with Heath brought back memories of Mom. The way she crouched down, hugging him tightly, talking to him, giving him candy . . . . It must have called up those memories for Harrington, as well.
But this gives me hope. Hope that, one day, he’ll come around. Especially if Blake continues to stay in our lives.
I slide into the driver’s seat and look over at her. Somehow, she looks different to me now. More familiar. A shiver passes through me. This time, for a whole different reason—Blake’s giving me hope for my brother.
“You okay?” she asks.
I put the car in drive. “Yeah. Just . . .”
She takes my hand and squeezes it.
I squeeze back.
“I KNOW WHAT you two are doing,” Hope says, popping the last of the popcorn into her mouth.
I’m sitting on the incredibly comfortable chair by Hudson’s study desk in his bedroom, my homework and history textbook spread across the white wooden table. Hudson’s lying on the bed, throwing a Lacrosse ball into the air and catching it. Hope, well, she’s on the floor, an empty bowl next to her as she flips through a magazine.
After school, Hope and Hudson dropped by, surprising me. We went to the coffee shop, then made a detour to the donut place two miles from Hudson’s house before ending up here. In his room.
I look at the digital clock on the wall. 7:07 p.m. flashes in icy blue.
“Pray, do tell,” I say, wrapping my arms around my waist and turning to face her. Hudson keeps his room mighty chilly, if I do say so myself.
She eyes me first, then glares at her best friend, who’s either ignoring her or pretending to ignore her. “First of all, I know you two are not going out.”
Hudson catches the ball mid-air, clutching it in his hands, and then rolls onto his hip, propping up on his elbow. He looks at me for only a second, but it’s long enough to get my heart beating faster. Lately, that seems to happen whenever his gaze reaches mine. Ever since our accidental meet up at the park, he looks at me differently. His hazel eyes pierce into me, like he’s reading my thoughts and connecting with me on a whole other level. A shiver passes through me as I look away.
Too bad it’s all pretend—pretending to be a couple, pretending to be into each other. And with Hope insisting on spending time with us, we have to keep up the pretense. We can’t not hold hands, not kiss and snuggle. Not fake our feelings.
Only now, I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t. It’s all just a mush of squiggly lines that I can’t see a start or end to. Maybe that’s why I’ve never attempted to tell Hope the truth. As for Hudson, I have no idea why he hasn’t told her. And it’s not like I ca
n read him, either. He’s so damn guarded around me. It’s infuriating.
“And you think you have everything figured out, because . . . ?” Hudson says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Hope shrugs. “Because you guys aren’t together. I mean, look at you two. You’re obsessed with that stupid ball, and she’s sitting over there, all like . . .” She waves her hand at me like that should explain it. “Oh, and then there’s the fact that you kiss like you’re smooching with your grandparents.”
My face flushes with heat. Oh shit. Shitty shit, shit.
Hudson rolls off the bed, tossing the ball onto a plush, red-and-white striped bean bag and putting his hands on his hips. “And did you ever think that maybe I don’t like kissing my girlfriend in front of you?”
This is Ahk-ward.
“Well, maybe I did. But I figured, you’ve never shown that concern before, so why should you now?”
“Maybe you should have considered that she isn’t like all the other girls I’ve been with.”
My head snaps up, and I look at Hudson. When he doesn’t look at me, disappointment seeps in. It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend.
Hope’s eyes widen. “You’re telling me that Blake’s put a stop to the incredibly gross Duck-Duck-Tonsil games you’ve played with half the female populace at our school? Are you telling me I no longer have to . . . no, need to gouge my eyes out after watching you make out with every girl that comes your way, and then listen while you tell me all the gag-inducing details afterward?”
How many girls has he been with? An insane amount of jealousy strikes through me at the thought of him kissing anyone but me.
I mean, he’s gorgeous, he’s smart, and he’s such a great big brother. Is it too much to hope he’s still a saint in the game of conquests? Anger follows on the heels of jealousy, kicking up the back of my throat in an annoying itch. Why the hell do I even care?
Hope and Hudson continue to argue about the situation, and my irritation grows until finally, it spills over. “She is right here. Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room.”