by Jessica Roe
Sadie, who sits directly opposite me, looks like a punk rock princess. Cool and distant and unapproachable. White blonde hair with purposeful streaks of silvery grey falls to her shoulders, back combed to make it stick out in all directions. Her skin is pale to match her hair; so pale, in fact, that if not for her heavily blue lined eyes and blood red lips, she could almost pass for a black and white image.
“Sadie is happy to meet you, I assure you,” Ibbie tells me. “The wind changed direction on her when she was five and that unaffected, bitchy look got stuck on her outrageously pretty face.” Sadie sticks out her tongue before pasting on a wide, over the top grin, making her look like a ghostly Cheshire Cat. She turns to me. “It's ever such a pleasure to meet you, Blair Ackerman, daughter of Oliver Peeters. To luncheon with you on this fine day is just my absolute and total honour.”
I pretend to fan myself and despite her best efforts, one corner of her lips lift up into a half smile.
“Lastly, but definitely not leastly—wait, is that even a word?—my darling little Rafe.” Rafe, sat next to Sadie, may be darling, but he certainly isn't little. He's even bigger and broader than Kip, though his skin is chocolate milkshake to Kip's vanilla and his head is shaven. His expression is fierce; he's the kind of guy that no one, not even the punk ass kids in the city, would mess with. He looks kind of gangsta.
But then he leans forward suddenly and fingers my hair. “Girl parts, you have the prettiest damn hair I ever did see. Hey, you drive?”
“Don't answer that,” Ibbie advises. “Trust me, you do not want him riding in your car. His dad took his away for breaking curfew again and he is the worst back seat driver, I swear. Today I almost threw him out while I was still driving and I'm super nice.”
“Oh, please.” He flicks his fingers, adorned with gold rings, in the air dismissively. “I'm not that bad. Besides, I don't do back seats. I'm passenger only, baby.”
“Fine, then you're a harrassenger.”
This starts a bicker war between the two of them. Kip nudges me and grins despairingly. Sadie pokes a plastic fork at her salad, looking bored. Ibbie and Rafe begin throwing fries at each other across the table and when a stray flies her way, Sadie reaches up and catches it in her fist without even looking up. Now that's talent I can admire.
I like them, I like them all. I like how incredibly odd their little group is and how they immediately accepted me, no questions asked. I like that there are people in this perfect school full of perfect people who are a little bit different, just like me.
Another large jock suddenly throws himself down next to Kip so heavily the whole table rocks. He hooks an arm around Kip's neck playfully and they scuffle for a moment. When they still, he leans around Kip to grin at me. “Hey buddy, gonna introduce me to the new girl?”
Kip shoves his face away. “Nope, she's too good for you, Gage.”
Gage is a cutie; dark haired and bright eyed and tall. He leans around Kip again and winks at me. “Then I guess it's a good thing I don't need an introduction. I already know all about you, pretty little Blair.”
I stare at him. “Well that was creepy.”
“Oh. It was supposed to be charming. No?”
“No.”
“Points for effort?”
“I'm more likely to take them away.”
He leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his fist, smiling dreamily. “Man, I love a girl who has banter. Word around school is that you're always up for a good time. And being the kind and good fellow that I am, I thought I'd offer myself up. If you're looking for some fun, new girl, I'm your guy.” He's being playful and flirty, but I'm pretty sure what he means is that he's heard I'm easy.
“Dude!” Kip punches him on the arm. “Don't be an ass. Knock it off. Blair's cool, bro.”
“So...not true?” Gage looks at me.
“Not true,” I confirm. I should probably be mad at him, but he's too darned cute. And I'm pretty sure he's harmless. Also I have to respect the fact that he asked me to my face instead of gossiping like the rest of the school.
“In that case, how about a good old fashioned date? I'll treat you like a princess, I promise.” He winks again, and I know he's still intent on getting into my panties.
“Like a princess?” I muse. “That does sound intriguing. Tell me more.”
“Aw, come on, you know. Dinner, a movie, maybe a quick fondle in the car on the way home—over the clothes only, I swear.” He grins cheekily. “The regular.”
It's hard not to like him; he's honest and fun and kind of naughty, but I don't think I like him. Whether it's because I'm just not feeling it or because of Silver, I'm not even going to contemplate. It's all too confusing. “Maybe some other time,” I tell him, but I do it with a smile so he knows there's no hard feelings.
He shrugs, cheeky grin still in place. “Give it time, you'll come around. I'll be back,” he promises, and I don't doubt him.
As he walks away, Rafe watches his ass with rapt attention. “Oh, hell, what I wouldn't give to take a bite outta that!”
MY LAST CLASS of the day is art, a class I share with Kip. Our teacher, Mr Napoleoni, is a handsome guy in his thirties. His black hair is as dark as his thick, angry eyebrows, but his brown eyes are warm and friendly; it makes for an odd combination.
“This school year will be split up into three projects,” he tells us. He skipped the usual beginning of the year/this is your senior year/time to get serious/blabity blah blah blah talk and got straight down to business. Obviously he's already my favourite teacher...
Second favourite.
“One project before Winter Break, and two after.” He explains a little more and I try not to let my mind wander but it's the end of the day and I just can't help myself. I'm thinking about Pop-Tarts and how hot Tyler Hoechlin looks in Teen Wolf and washing my hair and Silver. I wonder what grade he's teaching right now? If he's thinking about me? If his class are as captivated by him as I was? They'd have to be crazy not to be.
“For your first project you have a choice,” Mr Napoleoni says, and I come back to earth. “A study of Science versus Nature, or Chaos versus Harmony. I want you to be as wild and creative and imaginative as you can be. Stretch your minds and limits, guys. You're free to choose whichever tools you think will work best, maybe even mix and match. I'm here to help with anything you need so don't be afraid to ask or run ideas by me.”
Tables shift and chairs screech as everyone stands, ready to get started. Kip squeezes my knee. “Know which you're doing?”
“I was thinking Chaos versus Harmony. Could be interesting.”
He grins. “And perfect for you.”
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Look at you,” he continues. “You're all about chaotic harmony. You're wild and pretty and sweet and bad ass, all at the same time.”
I choose to take his words as a compliment, especially as he called me pretty. I smile and link my arm through his as he drags me over to the cameras, his tool of choice, where he persuades me to use the same. We sign them out and Mr Napoleoni spends a few minutes showing me how to use it.
“Man, that guy is smokin',” Kip announces as we drift through the school grounds. We're supposed to be looking for inspiration, things to photograph, but mostly we're eating gummy bears and trying to guess which classroom Ibbie is in.
“Mr Napoleoni?”
“You know it.”
Apparently I'm not the only one teacher lustin'. “I thought you were straight?” I question. “You spent ninety percent of lunch staring right down Ibbie's cleavage.”
“Please,” he scoffs. “I like 'em all. Boobs, balls, dicks, vaginas. Why limit yourself because of gender? And Ibbie's tits are particularly nice.”
“I don't think I've ever met an openly bi jock before,” I muse. “Do the other guys on the team ever give you a hard time?”
“I wish,” he jokes, grinning mischievously. “And by the way, love you for actually asking and not being all aw
kward about it like most people. Anyway, no, the guys don't give me a hard time. It's 2014, people don't have to hide who they are any more. Or they shouldn't, anyway.” Happily, he hooks a friendly arm around my shoulders as we walk. “Mostly they just accuse me of wanting a piece of their junk, but they're only kidding, even if the idea does secretly turn them on a little. The one redeeming quality the students of this school have is that they're not homophobes. Then again, with a gay guy as scary as Rafe around, who would dare?”
We find a warm patch of grass to sit on. Kip discards his camera and lays back, letting the sun shine on his face. I have to sigh because he really is gorgeous—kind of old school handsome, like a 50's movie star.
I hold my camera up, watching delightedly through the lens as a little bird hops along the grass. “This is so relaxing.”
“Thinking about my sexual preferences?”
I pick up a tuft of grass and throw it at him. “Photography, douche bag.”
He shrugs. “It's okay.”
“You're not into it?”
“I'm into it when it gets me out of class.”
That may be the case for him but as I look through the lens, for the first time since I moved to Fortune, I feel at peace.
“YOU'VE REALLY NEVER done this before?” Mr Napoleoni asks me curiously in the darkroom, studying the photos that Kip and I stayed behind after school let out to develop. He leans closer to look at one I took of Kip, mid laughter. The sun is shining on his face, his eyes sparkling. “Because for a novice these are pretty good.” It's strange to have a teacher compliment me instead of distrusting me, but kind of nice.
“Thanks.” I fidget with my fingers awkwardly.
“You have a good eye.”
Behind Mr Napoleoni, Kip unabashedly check out his ass. He catches my eye and winks.
WEEKS PASS BY in a repetitive routine yet oddly, it's not as bad as it sounds. It's nice knowing I'm not going to get home from school one day to find my mom packing up our stuff so we can skip town because she's pissed off yet another dealer.
I behave. I'm good, or as good as a girl like me can ever be. I don't cause (much) trouble at school, I do all my homework, work weekends at Merry Fairburn's, spend my downtime hanging with the Dramaholics (and I don't even cringe too much whenever I say it), and every art lesson I fall deeper and deeper in love with photography.
I try to do all of this without annoying Felicia, though she usually finds something to grumble about. I've gotten pretty good at ignoring her, which usually involves me spending most of my time at home up in my room. The fam have these things, these movie nights and family activities and sit down dinners, bit I still don't feel like I fit in enough here to join them.
Whatever spare time I get is spent with Granny Yo. Usually we just hang out on her porch, or watch ridiculous yet awesome soap operas, or she teaches me how to make her funky tea. I try to go over when Silver isn't around because who needs that drama outside school, and usually it works out fine, but sometimes it's unavoidable.
Like the time last week when Granny Yo and I were knitting out on the porch in her weirdly comfortable rocking chairs. It was a couple of hours after school had let out and Silver must have stayed late grading papers or watching detention or something equally as dull because he'd looked grumpy as hell. But when he saw us there he'd paused and his face had brightened, if only a little.
“What are you doing?” he'd asked me, trying and failing to hold back a grin as he took in the matching throws draped over our knees.
“Knitting,” I'd answered, like it should have been obvious. Which, well...it was. “It's a hat.”
“Are you sure?”
“Shut up! It's a...work in progress.” It was a mess.
He'd looked over at Granny Yo with a raised brow. “You teach her how to do this?”
“No.” I'd stuck my tongue out. “My therapist did.”
He'd laughed loud and hard, and the sound had stayed with me for the rest of the night.
“OKAY, SOOO...WHAT about that one?” Ibbie asks, not so discretely pointing out a hot guy waiting at the bar. Eli, in the process of serving him, gives us a stern get back to work look but obviously we ignore him and continue to pretend to polish the silverware.
“Too tall,” I say distractedly.
“He's perfect height!”
My mind has a tendency to wander whenever Ibbie starts talking guys. For the past few weeks she's been relentless in her search to find someone for me to hook up with. Normally I wouldn't mind, though I don't need help in that department, but there's just one problem...none of these guys are Silver. And isn't that a problem within itself.
“I'm just not all that interested in dating right now,” I tell her, which is just stupid because dating is exactly what I should be doing to get my mind off my nerdy yet sinfully sexy history teacher. It's not like I can tell her that, though.
“I still think you should reconsider Gage,” she adds. “Even if he does have a belly nipple.”
“A what?”
“You know, when your belly button goes out instead of in?” She shudders, like it's the grossest thing she's ever heard of.
“You mean an outy?”
She waves her hands. “Whatevs, it's creepy.”
“I think they're cute.”
“Ha! That's why you're perfect for each other!”
“Because his outy doesn't make me wanna vom?”
“Exactly! Well...no. Other stuff too. I mean, yeah, he's kind of sleazy and flirty and perverted, but he's also a sweetheart, and he's Kip's best non Dramaholic friend. Ooh! And he's got awesome craydar. Last year Imedla was all over him and he wouldn't date her even though she's totally hot 'cause he was convinced she was cray cray. And that's obviously truer than true. Girl's a biatch.”
“Why are you so desperate to hook me up, anyway? It's weird, ya perv.”
She shrugs nonchalantly and tugs at a stray piece of hair. She has it curled Marilyn Monroe style tonight. “No reason. I mean, I guess maybe I thought if you were dating somebody we could double date...with Kip. No big deal. Sadie only ever dates musicians and they're always so emo. Such a downer when you're bowling.”
And then it all suddenly makes sense. “You like Kip!” I should have seen it sooner. I'm not used to having girlfriends.
She blushes adorably and pokes her dimple—something I've learnt she does when she's embarrassed. “Well, duh! He's a total hottie babelicious piece of man hunk. Not that I only like him for his looks. He's just...awesome. And sweet. And kind. And he and Rafe stopped hooking up like six months ago so it's not as if there'd be any weirdness there. I just thought...You think it's dumb, right?”
“No, you should totally go for it. I have it on good authority that he thinks your boobs are great.” That's the kind of thing you say when you're having girl talk, right?
Ibbie seems to think so, because she lights up. “Really?”
“Totally.”
She blushes again. I didn't even know anyone could go that red, but it looks kind of adorable on her. I doubt Kip will be able to resist her charms for long.
SILVER AND I spend more and more time together. Not on purpose—never on purpose—but it's almost like fate keeps picking us up and throwing us at one another. And by fate, I mean that wicked old witch, Granny Yo, who keeps pushing us at each other at every available opportunity...literally.
“Dance!” she commands us from her favourite armchair. Her throne.
It's a Friday night—seriously, a Friday night when I should be out partying with my friends—and Granny Yo has Silver and I practising the frikkin' waltz on her living room floor. She's making good on her promise—or her threat, if you ask me—to teach me how to dance like a lady.
Of course she's using Silver as my partner, partly because he's the only guy around here and partly because I think she just likes seeing us squirm. Being this close to him...it's torture and bliss all wrapped around me like toxic smoke. I like it, because obviously I'm sic
k in the head and I enjoy this kind of pain. It's been a month since I started school, a month since Silver and I hooked up in his car and yeah, I'm still feeling it.
It's highly inconvenient.
“This is so inappropriate,” Silver mutters for the fifth time, though it's not like he's tried to leave or anything. I want to con myself into believing he feels something for me but I'm pretty sure he's just as scared about pissing Granny Yo off as I am. Probably even more so. He touches as little of me as he possibly can, just a hand on mine and a hand barely grazing my waist. Though he stands as far away from me as he can get, I can still feel the heat of his skin. It's delicious.
“Blair, stop trying to lead him,” Granny Yo barks. “Let Silvester lead, he's the man.”
“So far this dance seems very sexist.”
“Oh, do hush...Yes, that's right. Much better...Closer, Silvester! She isn't diseased, you know!”
“Grams,” he protests. “This is already weird enough.”
“Closer!”
Huffing a sigh, Silver does as he's told, because you just do when it come to Granny Yo. Crazy old codger. He steps closer and our bodies almost brush. He looks down into my eyes and then I just get...lost. I'm barely aware of our feet moving along the floor, or of Granny Yo clapping her hands behind us in rhythm with her music.
Reluctantly I drag my eyes from his, staring down past his sky blue t-shirt and his uncharacteristically ripped jeans down to his bare feet before I do something stupid, like lick his face. Yeah, that's how pathetic I am.
I squeak as he spins me around unexpectedly and we both laugh. I catch Granny Yo watching us with a content smile on her face. Sometimes, I almost think she's plotting...