by Einat Segal
“Um,” says Shawn.
“Hey,” Landon replies, looking perfectly tight-lipped.
I move back, allowing Shawn to walk in. Oh God, so much testosterone. Can everyone please either take off their clothes or just let me out of here?
“Where’s your mom?” Shawn asks.
“With Aunt Jenny,” I say. Mom has a very close relationship with her sister. Now Aunt Jenny is going through a divorce, so they’re doing that thing that people do when they’re “there” for each other. It looks like it’s good for them.
“Oh.”
We hover there, the three of us. Oh, boys.
I incline my head to the living room. “Can we just sit or something?”
“Right, let’s do something that isn’t what we’re doing right now,” Landon says.
Shawn eyes him and just walks toward the sofa, plopping down like he owns the place. Typical.
Landon moves gracefully and places himself on the other sofa. They continue to stare at each other, but it isn’t as hostile as it was at first.
“Want something to drink?” I ask.
They both shake their heads.
“O-kay.” I sit in the armchair that’s between both sofas. I look at Shawn. “What’s up?”
“Gretchen just dumped me,” he says.
“Wow,” I say drily. “I can’t imagine why.”
“She claimed I planned to ‘seduce’ her on prom night,” he says, making it perfectly clear that he thinks this is outrageous.
“Well?” I say. He seems kind of sad about it, but I don’t think it’s for the reason that people usually get sad over a breakup. “Were you planning to sleep with her?”
“That’s not the point. We’ve been dating for nearly two months, and prom night is a major sex-inducer,” he says. “I thought it was likely to happen, but again, not a must. How should I have known that Gretchen values Jesus over sex? I didn’t even know the two things were still competing.”
I start laughing. I can’t help it. Yes, I recall that Gretchen wears a small golden cross on a thin golden chain around her neck. She tends to rub it with her fingers during tests. “Some people and their priorities,” I say.
“And the way she talked to me, as if by just wanting it to happen, I was some huge sex offender.” Shawn continues his rant. “I was being a gentleman and never did anything she didn’t want me to. I told her that she should have been offended if I didn’t want to sleep with her after dating for two months. She looked at me like I was a pedophile molester or something . . .”—he shoots a glance toward Landon—“No offense, man.”
Landon blinks at him, and then at me. “None taken,” he says in a flat voice.
I pretend I didn’t just see the look that passes over Landon’s face, but he’s completely reassessing Shawn. Is he surprised that Shawn knows about monsters?
“Then, are you sad?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
A crease forms between his eyebrows when he looks at me, but then he looks at Landon and inhales deeply. “I need to ask you a favor, Fee,” he says slowly, as if unsure how this favor will be received. “Will you go to prom with me? It’s just a friend thing. I can’t go alone, and the girls in our school make me sick.”
“Or maybe they’re sick of you,” I suggest.
He gives me a half-smile. “That’s impossible. What I meant was that if I ask any other girl, she’ll take it as a date thing, and you’re the only girl who won’t. It’s just the grand finale of high school. I’m really tired of everything, but then I can’t just let it have such a lame end.”
“I don’t do prom, Shawn. You know that. And if I did do prom, wouldn’t it make more sense that I’d go with Landon?”
Shawn’s face falls. “Yeah . . .”
“We can all go together, the three of us,” Landon says. He’s totally checking Shawn out.
Shawn and I stare at him as if he just suggested we burn down the school.
He’s completely unfazed. “All I’m saying is that if you’re going for a grand finale, why not make it an eye-opener? Why not break from the norm?”
“You mean,” I say slowly, “we should make the whole school believe I’m dating both of you and you’re both fine with that?”
“Well, that does fit your image,” Shawn says with a frown. He likes this and doesn’t like it, I can tell. “But if I have to choose between third-wheeling and going alone—”
“Come on, Shawn,” I say, “third-wheel with us. Prom is dumb anyway. It’ll be funny.”
“You hate parties,” Shawn argues. “Why’re you so enthusiastic all of a sudden?”
“I love a rebellion,” I say.
14
I Can’t Say I Hate This
My mom and I go prom-dress shopping. We’re a very weird breed of women since neither one of us enjoys it—or shopping in general. It’s time-consuming, so much decision-making under pressure, and at the end of the day, no matter if you make it as quick and sweet as possible, your legs and back hurt. The evening before prom, as I help Esmeralda with the last touches of her dress that she made herself, my phone beeps.
I stare at it as if it grew legs and is tap dancing on my desk. Then I look from it to Esmeralda.
“What is it?” she asks, her mouth filled with pins.
I hand her the pin cushion so she won’t accidentally spit them at me. “I just got a text message from an unknown number.”
“What’s it say?”
I lift my phone as if it’s contaminated and reluctantly open the message.
BITCH U GONNA DIE LIKA SLUT. IMMA CUT U IN HALF FUCKING HO.
“Why do threats always have to have such bad grammar?” I hand Esmeralda the phone.
“It’s more badass that way.”
“I bet I can pull off badass with proper grammar and spelling,” I say, and go back to sewing.
“Soph, you can pull off badass wearing bunny slippers and The Smurfs pajamas.”
My face completely softens, and I put my hand on my heart. “Aw, honey.” I’m genuinely touched. Only Esmeralda and my parents have the knack of saying something that would get this reaction out of me.
Oops, not my parents anymore, just my mom.
“Who’s psycho enough to go after you?” Esmeralda asks. I wonder if she sees my face and can somehow sense my thoughts.
I blink. “I should, like, care, right?” I make the conscious effort, trying to get some ounce of concern and fear. I even close my eyes to do it. “Nope, not working.”
“How many jealous exes does Shawn have?” Esmeralda asks. Yes, that would be the likely explanation—that this text is from someone who wanted to be Shawn’s date to prom. Everyone knows that I have two simultaneous prom dates. Shawn actually has a social life at school, even if it’s all posturing and basketball for him. He informed me that he had to make it public knowledge before the big day, because otherwise, it would just look like I’m two-timing.
But no, apparently the term is “sharing,” although rumor has it that sometimes Shawn and Landon share other things that aren’t me. Guess I’m not the only one who finds the image of two gorgeous boys at it alluring.
“I think I may be Shawn’s deadliest ex,” I say thoughtfully.
“So maybe it’s Landon’s ex?”
That sends a chill down my spine, and I bite the thread when I finish sewing. Okay, now that message has me a tiny bit worried. What if it has something to do with the monsters?
What if it isn’t even a threat? I’ve tied myself to some pretty dangerous people.
Maybe being ripped in half is my future.
“All the way from Australia?” I ask. Esmeralda’s response is to just shrug.
We drop the topic.
* * *
I give Shawn and Landon the same boutonnière. Esmeralda helped me choose them because I couldn’t care less about these ridiculous decorations. I get two corsages for prom. One is the typical flowery kind made up of a cluster of small light-red roses decorated with whi
te and gold lace. The other one is the same corsage that had two of the flowers ripped away and a gold feather glued on instead. It makes for an awkward wear but is kind of cool because of the glow that it emits and the little sparks that dance within every strand. Shawn eyes the feather, eagerly curious, and then looks at Landon with a thoughtful expression.
“How many of these feathers are you going to give me?” I ask Landon, not feeling Shawn’s eagerness about the feather. Feathers kind of make me feel uncomfortable, just like fur.
“All of them are yours,” Landon replies with a wink. “But that’s the same one I gave you last time. I found it under your bed.”
Is that an insulted note I hear in his voice?
“That’s your actual feather,” Shawn begins with unmasked awe. “From when you’re . . . you’re . . .”
Landon wrinkles his brow and turns to look at me. “How much did you tell him?”
I roll my shoulders. I don’t like revisiting the scared person I was after the incident on the hill. “As much as I needed to tell.”
I make sure I have my car keys in the cute jeweled clutch my mom gave me. My hair’s all curled, and my smokey eyes are flawless. I’m wearing dangling golden earrings that match my golden high-heeled sandals and look great with my beautiful A-line strapless black dress. I’m showing off a lot of legs, and even more back. With blood-red lipstick and matching nails as the final touch, I look more like a femme fatale than a prom queen.
My mom rushes out of the kitchen, clutching her camera. I can tell she was crying there but didn’t want anyone to see. She doesn’t want to make this about her problems, but I wish she did, because as it turns out, I can almost hear my heart snap when I think about my dad.
He’d be so confused about my abundance of dates for the prom. But nevertheless, despite the strange ways I do things, he always seemed to love being my dad. Maybe the prom is just a stupid party that I can’t even fathom why anyone bothers with, but Dad would feel proud of me for not stopping time and growing up.
And he’d be sad that time hadn’t stopped and that I grew up.
“Let’s take a picture,” Mom says.
Twisted as this situation is, she’s the only person I know besides Esmeralda who’d laugh about it and appreciate the subtle array of ironies here. We crowd together, the three of us, with me in the middle. Landon wraps his arm around my waist, and Shawn drapes his over my shoulders. I cross both my arms at the wrist.
And smile for the picture.
I can’t say I hate this.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say when everything appears to be ready. Coming in a limo isn’t my school’s style, and there was a bit of an argument over who’d drive whose car. The final compromise was that I’d drive my car and both boys sit in the back. I suggested it jokingly since I figured that Landon, being the actual guy who’ll get to score with me at the end of the evening, gets shotgun rights.
But for some odd reason, they both thought I was being serious, and I chose to go with it because it’s funny.
There’s an awkward silence in the car for more than half the way. I occasionally spy on both boys from the rearview mirror.
“When you transform,” Shawn suddenly says, “do you lose all your clothes?”
I snort.
Landon moves in his seat. I don’t think he’ll answer that question, but then he tilts his head to the side and says, “I don’t transform. It’s not my body that changes. I’m both human and gryphon at every given moment and just change what is in the foreground.”
“Awesome,” Shawn says. Is he a fan now? He leans back in his seat. “I’ve always been reading fantasy and hoping some of it was real.”
“Oh, right.” I laugh. “You believed in Santa Clause until you met me.”
“Yeah,” Shawn says, nodding at Landon. “She ruined Santa for me.”
“There you have it,” Landon says drily. “Some of it’s as real as real gets.”
I still wish it weren’t. I never shared in Shawn’s sentiment. I want the things in books to stay there.
“Can ordinary humans become . . . you know, gryphons?” Shawn asks. “Or do you just have to be born like that?”
Landon blinks, and his face turns hard. “No,” he says, looking out the window. “It has to be from birth.”
Holy shit, is he lying right now? A shiver runs over my skin as I drive. I try to hide it, but I think Landon notices. Why do my insides feel so cold? I rip myself from these thoughts. “I got a threatening text the other day, haha,” I blurt, and force laughter. Damn it, why am I so nervous all of a sudden?
“What?” Shawn says. He and Landon both straighten up and wear identical expressions of alarm.
I wave one hand in dismissal. “Bad English, and they were threatening to cut me in half or something. It was so cute.”
“You don’t think it’s Ashley planning to get revenge, right?” Shawn says.
There’s a red light, and I hit the break hard. I turn to look at Shawn.
Oh, fuck.
I forgot about Ashley Glick.
If there’s anything worse than a psychopath who’s the class queen, it’s a psychopath who’s the ex-class queen and has nothing to lose.
I swallow. “I should’ve brought my scissors.”
* * *
"If Ashley shows up, burn her to the deepest pits of hell, okay?" I say to Landon.
He grins like the monster he truly is. “It'll be my pleasure."
I find parking outside the Crowne Plaza hotel and step out of the car. I slam the door shut and wait for the boys to join me. We stand there looking at each other for a moment before I nod toward the hotel's entrance. They begin walking, and I follow them.
They're walking side by side like two friends. Shawn leans in, says something, and Landon laughs in response. I look at them from behind. Shawn's taller than Landon, but Landon's shoulders are broader. They're two such different people, and yet, somehow, this year they both wormed their way into the supposedly unbreachable sanctuary of my heart. I don't know what to do or where to fit either of them.
Love? Am I even capable of that?
Probably not. These are just two unfortunate people—my victims—who were lured by something that I project, only to fall into the dark wasteland of who I am. You can say hurting people is my destiny.
Because I may bend a fraction, but I'll never change.
I pick up my pace and wedge myself between both of them, wrapping each of my arms around theirs. Whatever else, tonight they're both mine, and their warmth seeps toward me from either side. I meet Landon's gaze first, and then Shawn's, before, arms linked, we march toward the hotel.
A bunch of students are on the outside patio, standing in rows as they take last-minute pictures of each other. The girls talk and giggle excitedly, squealing over how fancy they look. Disgust lances through my stomach. This is still high school, still the people I despise for no reason aside from how pathetic they are. They always remind me of sheep. And I'm here, being pathetic right with them.
My feet stomp to a halt, forcing both boys to stop too.
"I changed my mi—" I begin.
"No backsies, Fee." Shawn cuts me off so quickly, I know he was expecting me to say that. Does he know me this well? It's embarrassing.
And a little bit sweet.
"This is a rebellion, remember?" Landon says.
"What are you talking about, Landon?" I say. "Don't you think the little humans are being ridiculous with their silly party?"
"If I've learned anything from living forever, love," he replies, "it's that there's no such thing as too much partying."
This coaxes a smile out of me. I'm not completely opposed to all of this. Just because I can't see the point doesn't mean I'm not going to go with it. I'm here already, and I'm going to leave my mark.
They all watch us with wide eyes. Everyone knows who I am. They dubbed me “the class savage.”
As a group, they look at me with awe, like kids gawking at the
tiger in the zoo. They whisper between themselves, and smile. But no one would dare leave the safety of the crowd to talk to me directly.
Flanked by my dates, I proceed to waltz past the students outside and toward the banquet hall where the party's happening. My head is held high, my chest is out, and my hips sway with the help of the high heels. I'm the queen of the whole world. I can feel it. Envy and desire are what I invoke in others.
We enter the dark, noisy banquet hall like movie stars. Even the students who are dancing and those sitting around the tables eating pause what they're doing to look at us.
"Okay, what happens now?" I eye the dance floor, the music blaring too strongly in my ears. I'm not in the mood for dancing. I eye the buffet tables. Maybe eating’s possible, but I don't like eating in the dark.
"You two sit down, and I'll get us something to drink," Shawn says, pointing toward one of the round tables.
"Good plan," Landon says as he steers me toward the table.
"I’m uninspired," I complain, "and bored."
“You owe me this one," Landon says. "Last time I went to a party with you, you were already too drunk to dance—"
"I had one shot glass—"
"On an empty stomach after you were sick. We're going to get some food inside you, and then we're going to dance our socks off."
"I don't know," I say, looking at the revelers. Some of them have already forgotten how expensive their clothes are. "Everything's too fake. This doesn't feel like a party to me."
Shawn arrives with the drinks. "Not to worry, Fee," he says, placing three plastic cups he has all bunched up on the table in front of us, "I've got that taken care of."
He looks left and right to see if any of the supervising teachers are watching, and then sits down next to me, pulling out a small flask from his pocket and hiding it beneath the table. He makes a show of pretending to sip from one of the cups. "Just continue talking. Look natural," he says, "and hold up your cup."