by Chloe Smith
Tristan was still chuckling to himself when he reached his car. He couldn't believe the balls that Scarlett had. It was actually really sexy now that he thought about it. He loved the fact that Scarlett could take of herself. He like that she didn't just run off crying like so many other girls he knew would have.
"Hey, there."
Tristan turned around to see Alice. Great. Just who he needed to talk to right now.
"Hey, Alice, look, I really have to run—"
"Oh, this won't take long. I just have a question for you." Alice paused and then said, "Why are you spending so much time with Scarlett White?"
"That's private. And I don't have to answer it."
"But why? I mean do you not remember what her brother did, like, four years ago? He's a psycho and he's Scarlett's little retarded brother who killed their parents. It could run in the family; they are siblings, you know"
"What did you say?" Tristan asked after he had stopped with realization.
"He's a psycho," Alice repeated.
"No, no, after that."
"It could run in the family."
"Before that," Tristan said, getting frustrated.
"He's Scarlett's little retarded brother."
"You did it," Tristan whispered, remembering what Scarlett had said the sign had read: Meet Charles Jiles: he's Scarlett's little retarded brother. Who Killed Their Parents.
And then something else clicked in Tristan's head. Something Scarlett had said only a day earlier: If it wasn't you, then this boy had to be your twin because he looked a hell of a lot like you. "You and Bryan," Tristan said, realizing it was his brother who had done it.
Bryan looked exactly like Tristan. He was almost the same height now. Even though Tristan and Bryan had been born in two completely different years, they could definitely pass for twins. No wonder Scarlett couldn't tell the difference between them in eighth grade. They were both new to the school, and Bryan had run after she had mistakenly called him by Tristan's name. Tristan now knew what he had to do to make things right. He had to get his brother to explain to Scarlett what had happened. Maybe then Scarlett would actually believe him when he told her that it wasn't him who had posted that note in eighth grade.
"What are you talking about?" Alice asked.
Tristan blinked at her. He had forgotten that she was still there.
"That poster that was put up back in eighth grade that ruined Scarlett's reputation. You did it. You made it. You ruined her life. Am I wrong?" Tristan accused.
"Of course not. Your little brother was the one who gave me the information about what had happened. I never would have become popular had it not been for Bryan. He saved my social rank."
"You bitch," Tristan spat.
Alice took a physical step backwards as she looked up at him with a confused expression, "Language, mister."
"You ruined her," Tristan continued.
"Why do you care? You didn't even want to talk to her until you realized she hated you. You only care about getting her to like you because you can't stand it when people hate you. You have to be loved by everybody! You have to be the best fucking golden boy there ever was," Alice accused.
"Fuck you," Tristan growled and walked passed her without a second glance back. He couldn't stand her.
He needed his space from her. He didn't mean to, but he ended up running right in to Francis Rogers. He was still rubbing his jaw from Scarlett's hard blows.
"Whoa, man, watch where you're going," Francis called out.
"Whatever," Tristan mumbled as he kept walking, but then he had a better idea. "Wait, Francis, I have a question."
"What?" Francis asked curiously.
"Why did you go out with Scarlett?"
"She's hot."
"I want the real reason. If that was the only reason, then you would have asked her out years ago," Tristan countered.
"You want the truth?" Francis asked.
"What else would I want?" Tristan asked flippantly.
"I noticed that you were getting interested in her and I thought it would be a good way to make you jealous."
He knew it. Tristan knew there had to be some ulterior reason as to why Francis had randomly asked Scarlett out now.
"Why did you want to make me jealous? What have I ever done to you anyways?"
"You're better at football than me, and I wanted to have something that would piss you off."
"That's a shitty reason."
"Yeah, and look what it landed me with." Francis removed his hand from his jaw, and Tristan saw a large purple bruise forming there.
"Serves you right, you insufferable bastard."
"Fuck you, manwhore."
"Whatever," Tristan said as he stormed off to his car. He needed to get out of this stupid place some people liked to call school. It was more like a drama infested crack house.
He sped down the road with his knuckles white against the steering wheel as he squeezed it hard from anger and frustration. Fuck Alice. Fuck Francis. Fuck Bryan. He needed to get his mind off this whole day. He debated driving over to Scarlett's house, but he was positive that she would think he was a total freak and stalker, so he decided against it. He needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but home. He didn't want to face Bryan, his brother, at the moment. He really didn't want to have to think about where he would bury the body after he ripped off Bryan's head.
He sped down the main road while fumes whistled out of his ears. And then his eyes spotted a random Starbucks. He remembered during freshman year Starbucks was the It spot to hang out. He used have his mom drop him off around the corner so he could look 'supa fly' as he trudged into Starbucks by himself with his hands in the pants that were falling down his hips because that was the In thing those days. He swerved the car into the first open parking spot in the parking lot of Starbucks and stormed into the shop. He ordered a plain, black coffee and sat down at one of the empty tables to cool off for a bit. He needed to calm down and take a few minutes to gather his thoughts.
"Tristan? Is that you?" Tristan heard a vaguely familiar female voice above his head. He looked up to meet Brantley Hark, his freshman girlfriend. They had always been really great friends through middle school, and their relationship had ended on a good note. They had decided to remain friends, but in sophomore year, Brantley had transferred to a different high school.
"Hey, Brantley," Tristan mumbled.
"Damn, you look…awful. What happened?" she asked casually as she took a seat across from Tristan.
"Drama." Tristan dragged his fingers through his hair.
"I can tell. You only ever actually drank coffee when you were seriously stressed out," Brantley commented as her blue eyes traveled down to the labeling on the side of the coffee cup. "It's a girl, isn't it? Who is it? Oh God, tell me it's not Alice."
"It's not Alice," Tristan said with a melancholic smile.
"Thank God. She always just managed to get under my skin. It was something about the way she knew she would get you someday, just like you were some prize she deserved." Brantley smiled as Tristan laughed, and then she was serious again. "So who is the girl?"
"Scarlett White."
"Scarlett…Scarlett…oh my God, you mean the chick with the gorgeous red hair? I was always jealous of that. Wasn't she super popular in middle school, but then something happened in the middle of eighth grade? I always loved that girl. She was so smart. So what's wrong? Don't tell me she turned you down."
"Not in so many words."
"Care to fill me in on what's been happening at Watson High?"
And he did. He told Brantley everything about what had been going down at school. He even told her about the rock incident when he decided to play Romeo. He even told Brantley how infatuated with Scarlett he was. It felt great to let it all out. He felt as if he had been pounded down by a large weight, and it was finally lifted off his shoulders as he told Brantley the entire story.
Chapter Eleven
Tristan came home in a rage. A
fter he had calmed down at Starbucks with Brantley, he had decided it was time to go home. But as soon as he got in his car and started thinking about what his dick brother had done, his rage had returned. He stormed through the door and yelled up the stairs, "BRYAN, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"
A few minutes later Bryan came sliding down the stair banister with an enormous childish grin on his face. "What's got your mood in a gutter?" he asked sarcastically.
This just lit the fire boiling inside Tristan's chest. His brother should not be happy. This was definitely not a time to be happy. This was a time to be angry and frustrated.
"Four years ago, when you were in fifth grade, do you remember anything about a girl named Scarlett White?" Tristan asked trying to calm down enough to get a straight answer out of his brother.
"Scarlett White...Scarlett...oh, yeah, she was a hottie!" Bryan said, finally remembering.
"Bryan, shut up. What do you remember about her?"
"Um...She had red, curly hair, cute clothes. I know her dad was, like, some millionaire or something. She had a family problem though. It's kinda fuzzy."
"A family problem, meaning a half-brother?" Tristan asked, taking deep breaths to keep himself from screaming at his younger brother.
"Uh...Yeah, that was it. Oh, wait...I do remember. She was outside behind the school—which is against the rules if you're a student, tsk, tsk—and she was talking to a boy; he looked older. But she was crying. Something the boy had said. What was it...what was it?" Bryan looked up at the ceiling, tapping his index finger against his chin.
"Maybe something like their father was dead?" Tristan suggested.
"Yeah, that was it. And he had murdered him."
"Why were you behind the school building?" Tristan asked.
"I...um...no reason."
"Bryan, you better not keep any secrets from me or I'm telling mom you broke her gold hoops," Tristan threatened.
"You wouldn't," Bryan whispered.
"I would, and you know it."
Bryan took a deep breath and said, "Fine. I liked her. She was hot and popular and rich. I followed her behind the building. And when I heard what her half-brother said, I ran for it."
"You...liked...Scarlett? Bryan, you are three years younger than she is."
"So? She was the stuff back then. What happened to her? Did she get ugly in high school? Or fat? God, I hope she didn't get fat because she had so much going for her."
"Never mind that," Tristan said, thinking. This still didn't explain how Alice found out. "What did you do after you ran?"
"I...uh...I don't remember."
"Gold hoops," Tristan sing-songed, reminding Bryan of their mother's earrings that he had broken.
"Ugh...hold on, let me think. It was a long time ago, jeez. Oh...I ran into some girl with brown hair. I don't remember her name though. She wasn't that pretty."
Well, that definitely changed, Tristan thought. "Does Alice Barrington ring a bell?" he asked.
"Yeah, that was the brunette, right?" Bryan asked.
Tristan nodded and indicated that Bryan should continue.
"Okay, well, I ran into this Alice, and she asked me what the hurry was. I told her I had a major problem on my hands. Though it wasn't really my problem, but if people found out that I knew about Scarlett's half-brother murdering their parents, something bad would happen," Bryan said. "She asked me what, but I didn't tell her at first. Finally she promised she would keep the secret, so I told her. The end. That was it," Bryan finished.
"And then Alice must have posted the paper on the bulletin board," Tristan said under his breath.
"What paper?"
"The paper that ruined Scarlett's life. Bryan, you were an accessory to the crime." Tristan was trying to work his brother up. He knew that Bryan hated getting into trouble. "You have to tell Scarlett you're sorry."
"But I didn't mean to. Alice promised to keep it a secret."
"And that is why you don't trust girls three years over your age," Tristan said a devilish smile on his lips. "Call Scarlett up and tell her you're sorry," he repeated.
"But why?"
"Because she thinks I did it. And I need you to tell her I didn't."
"Why do I care if she thinks you did it or not?" Bryan asked.
"Gold hoops," Tristan simply answered.
Bryan groaned, "Well, why do you care if she thinks you did it or not?"
"Gold hoops," Tristan repeated, not wanting to answer Bryan's question just yet.
Bryan rolled his eyes and said, "Fine" with a look of defeat on his face.
"But I don't know her number," Bryan said. "So I guess I can't call her. Darn!"
Tristan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, "But I do."
"How?"
"We're science partners," Tristan simply said. But the truth was when he had gone to her house the other night, after she had hurt herself and after her mother—that bitch—was as rude as hell and told him to leave, as he had walked through the kitchen to leave, he saw a piece of paper with phone numbers listed on it, and it accidentally fell into his pocket. "Now call her."
Bryan grudgingly plucked the cell phone out of Tristan's grasp and looked through his contacts until he came across the name "Scarlett" and he hit the green 'send' button.
"Hi...um...Scarlett?" Bryan asked into the phone nervously. His expression went from loathing of his brother to the look of confusion. "She's crying," he mouthed to Tristan.
Tristan remembered this afternoon when she had caught Francis cheating on her, and his heart felt funny...
Bryan bit his lip and explained what had happened four years ago. "…So, I was tricked by Alice. I really didn't mean to—" Bryan stopped talking and then, "Thank you. I knew you would understand. Okay, well, I'll let you finish your homework." And he hung up the phone.
"Why was she crying?" he asked Tristan.
"Francis," Tristan answered through clenched teeth. "I'm heading over there. We...have a project to finish," he lied. "Tell mom I'll be home for dinner."
And Tristan was back out the door and in his silver convertible before Bryan could even make a response. Tristan drove twenty miles past the speed limit, but he didn't care. Actually he didn't even care why his heart was beating so hard as he drove to Scarlett's house. He didn't even think about it because he was only thinking about Scarlett, which didn't scare him that much anymore.
As he sped down Scarlett's road, his eyes accidentally slipped over to glance at Alice's house. It was completely quiet and still, and he didn't know why he had looked, but as soon as his brown eyes landed on it, his mind was invaded with thoughts of the night they had had sex in his car. He was still disgusted by the idea of it. He just couldn't believe that she had drugged him to have sex with him. How pathetic? But another thought entered his mind. What if she got pregnant? He didn't have any condoms in his car and he didn't know if she was on the pill, so he had no idea if he was going to become her baby's daddy or not. The thought scared him. The thought frustrated him. It angered him. Why did she do such a barbaric thing? What kind of bitch was she?
But then he pulled into Scarlett's driveway, and his thoughts of Alice immediately ceased.
Scarlett was on her bed, sobbing into her arms. Though she had had her doubts about Francis, she had really thought that Francis had cared for her. He had been so kind to her and had treated her like a real person, instead of sending jabbing jokes her way and calling her a nerd or loser. But what really made Scarlett want to kill herself was that the best part of dating Francis Rogers was the popularity that came with it. She must be a real bitch to only care about those kinds of things. But it felt good to be liked by everyone again. It felt like middle school when she had had no worries and had been completely carefree.
Scarlett was home alone again. Her mother was out at some bar with her other stupid, alcoholic friends. Scarlett hadn't heard the sound of a car drive up and park in her driveway and she hadn't heard the sound of a door slamming. She barely heard the soun
d of pounding at her door. She snapped her head up and began to furiously wipe her tears away. She couldn't be seen like this. What if it was Ginny or Kate? She didn't want to be seen looking so vulnerable. She hadn't been caught crying since eighth grade. She quickly scrambled out of her bed and almost tripped down her stairs as she ferociously wiped away the last of her tears. But she wasn't ignorant of the fact that her eyes were still probably very red and puffy.