by Zac Brewer
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Listen. Josh. Maybe this party was a bad idea. I think I’ll just head back to the dorms.”
The large door on the left slid open and Grace entered the barn. The moment she spotted Josh, she walked over. With a glance at me, she said to Josh, “And here I thought your taste in friends had improved.”
Not exactly under my breath, I said, “And that’s when the evening went completely to hell.”
She tried to ignore me, but I could tell that my words had seeped through her stony exterior. Then her expression moved from annoyed with me to enamored with Josh in about two heartbeats. It was nauseating. “I can only stay for a few minutes. I got your note.”
He said to her, “Can we talk? Somewhere private? It’s important.”
“Of course.” She grabbed his hand and they began to walk away. Leaving me alone. At a party that I hadn’t even wanted to attend.
“Josh?” He looked back at me, and I grabbed him by the arm, pulling him close and lowering my voice. “What are you doing?”
He shook his head, as if he wasn’t really sure. “Just talking. Why?”
“I thought you broke up with her. What’s there to talk about?”
“We did break up. Just . . . give me a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.” The look in his eyes had liar written all over it. He wasn’t coming back and we both knew it.
As Grace tugged him across the room, I called after him, “And what exactly am I supposed to do until you get back?”
“Mingle?” It wasn’t a suggestion so much as an off-chance possibility. Whatever Josh had to talk to Grace about, it had better be important. I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known I was going to get ditched five seconds into my arrival.
“Mingle.” The word dried up on my tongue, turning to ash. I rolled my eyes so far back in my head that I thought they might get stuck that way. Mingling wasn’t exactly my strong suit. “Great.”
I hopped up on a counter that doubled as a workspace and surveyed the crowd, sipping my soda and wishing I’d just stayed in my room. The crowd was still small, and I didn’t really recognize any of the partygoers. But as I scanned the room, one set of eyes met mine. Casually, I continued my survey, but finally brought my attention back to her.
She was a pretty girl. No. That wasn’t the right word at all. She was stunning. Flawless. Almost unreal. Like a walking fiction. Model hot. Tan and tall. Eyes like melted chocolate and hair to match. Her black dress clung to her thighs, her hips, her waist, her curves. I definitely didn’t recognize her as someone I knew from before. A curious smile touched her lips as she approached the counter where I sat, as if we had business to attend to that I was not yet aware of. “Hi there.”
“Well, hello.” Smooth, Dane. Real smooth. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
What was I? A butler or something? I was starting to sound like Viktor. Not that he was a butler or anything, but he did have this old-man formality about him sometimes. Not that he was old. Or that I was old.
I was having a hard time focusing on words. Her legs were just that flawless.
“Charity Bernhart.”
“Ahh. Of the Connecticut Bernharts.” I nodded, lifting the left side of my mouth in what I hoped was a charming smirk.
She cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “You know my family?”
Blinking, I stumbled over my words. This whole charming thing was just not working out for me this week. It had always gone over fine in California. “No. I . . . made it up . . . actually. I don’t know anyone here. Not really. Except Josh. But he’s . . .”
I looked around, but Josh and Grace were noticeably absent. My imagination forced an image of them making out against a tree or something. Gross. “. . . somewhere.”
“So you’re Grace’s brother, right?” Charity ran a well-manicured finger along my collar, tugging it slightly. “Adrien?”
Was it warm in here? It felt warm in here. “That I am. Not by blood, but still.”
“Word has it you’re quite the arrogant bastard.”
I raised a sharp eyebrow. Silently, I wondered both who’d been saying that about me . . . and how right they might be. Maybe I was arrogant. Maybe that was exactly my problem. But I thought it was more likely something Grace had said before even getting to know the person I’d become.
She licked her lips then and met my eyes. “Fortunately for you, I’m into arrogant bastards.”
“That’s . . . good, I suppose?” It came out as a question. Mostly because I thought it was kind of a stupid thing to say to someone, but didn’t want to insult her by saying so. First off, my apparent arrogance all depended on who you asked, and we hadn’t really been talking long enough for her to make that determination one way or another. Second, I detested the word bastard. I’d had two fathers—one by birth, one by adoption—and now I had none. So what gave anyone the right to call me by such a vile name?
I was beginning to hate how attracted I was to her.
She ran her finger up my collar again, over my chin to my bottom lip. A chill went through me, but I couldn’t be certain if it was disgust or desire. “Wanna go for a walk?”
I swallowed hard and tried to keep my cool. “Where?”
Shrugging, she smiled. Not a happy smile or an act of pleasantry. But something deeper, darker—a smile of pure, animalistic intent. “Does it matter?”
I didn’t have time to ponder whether it did or didn’t, and frankly, I was beginning to care less about what my brain had to say about the matter. Before I could trip over any more words, she tugged me gently out the door. My collar in her hands, tugging me along in the dark. Me following her lead, letting myself be drawn into the unknown possibility of it all.
We walked away from the barn without talking. At one point, she let go of my shirt and laced her fingers with mine. At her insistence, we moved down the slope of a nearby hill, immersing ourselves in the night. The grass was covered in dew, as was the tree trunk I leaned against when we stopped walking. She moved closer to me—so close that I could feel her hot breath on my neck. And when she spoke, tiny goose bumps raised on my skin. “Has anyone ever told you how hot you are, Adrien?”
I wasn’t sure she wanted an answer, or even what I’d say. But I didn’t have time to form a response. Before I could, she pressed her curves to me, tangling her fingers in my hair, slipping her tongue inside my mouth. It was fast. Too fast. Suddenly the same pull that had led me out the door and down the hill tugged me out of the wave of desire with a warning. Did I want this—whatever it was? What kind of girl just grabs someone she’s never met and takes them outside to screw around? Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, just a bold move that I wasn’t quite used to experiencing. As turned on as I was, a strange sort of terror filled me. I didn’t know if I wanted this. But more than that, I didn’t know if it was okay to not want this.
Almost out of instinct, I pushed her gently away and said, “Whoa. Slow down. I think I’d rather talk for a while, if you don’t mind.”
She blinked at me and took a slow step back, as if drowning in disbelief. The sight of her grappling with rejection made me feel sorry for her. She was pretty, and probably a very bright person to be at Wills in the first place, but all her worth seemed tangled up in the physical affection she could offer. It made me wonder what her relationships with the men in her life were like. Did she have a bad relationship with her father? Her uncles? Her brothers? Were there no men in her life she could relate to? Was she seeking that connection by kissing strange guys in the dark? She raised an eyebrow at me in disbelief, as if I might be joking, as if no one had ever said no to her before. “Really?”
Even in the shadows, I could see that she was interpreting my offer to talk as a solid rejection. And this was not a girl used to being rejected. It occurred to me then that I didn’t even know her name. She’d said it, but in that moment, suddenly, I couldn’t recall it. Like a whisper on the wind—present, but easily forgotten. My
chest tightened in panic. How could I not recall her name? I’d had it. It was just there. Catherine? Sharon?
I felt bad for my momentary lapse in memory. She deserved more than that. All girls did. All people did. “Yeah, really.”
“I heard that about you,” she said with an eye roll. There was a decided shift in her posture, her mood. Now I was an annoyance, no longer a prize. If I ever had been that.
“Heard what?” The noise from the party sounded so far away, despite the fact that the barn was merely yards up the hill from where we stood.
She started fixing her hair, even though it didn’t need fixing at all. Nervous fidgeting, maybe. Then she snorted, her beauty immediately marred by her shift in attitude. “That you’re asexual. Or gay. Or something. Gorgeous, but untouchable. Or maybe just afraid of losing your virginity?”
If there was one word that got my hackles up more than bastard, it was when people used virgin as an insult. As if we all hadn’t been virgins at one point in time. As if virginity were some sort of sideshow attraction—something to be stared at in abject horror and wonder. Something that had existed eons before, but was completely extinct in this day and age.
“Who said I was a virgin? And what would it matter if I were?” I swallowed hard, gasping for air in a moment where I felt the need to defend myself—despite my belief that defense shouldn’t be needed. “Not that I am.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
And that’s when I realized what this was. A total setup, likely by Grace. But what was the point? Did she really think being teased by some girl I’d just met would hurt me so terribly? Clearly my sister had a lot to learn about vengeance.
A cool breeze rustled the leaves above us. I’d forgotten how cold it could get here at night, and I still hadn’t received the rest of my clothes and stuff from California. One week in, but already it felt like my real life was becoming more and more of a memory. I knew then that it was time to uncover what Grace had been up to with my father’s work, say my good-byes to Viktor, and get back to California. Wills wasn’t home. It was the shadow of a memory that belonged to someone else, and it would look a lot better in my rearview mirror.
She shook her head and sighed. “I knew it. I knew you were gay. Or some kind of asexual freak.”
I looked at her, tilting my head to the side in a question. “So. Wait. Because I won’t kiss you before getting to know you, I must only be attracted to the same gender or not interested in sex at all? Wow. Now who’s being arrogant?”
She stared at me, mouth agape. I could only shrug.
The line of her mouth thinned with an air of cruelty. “So which is it? Are you queer or a prude?”
My jaw tightened. “My personal life, my orientation, the choices I make, and the genetics I’m predisposed to are none of your damn business. And I think this conversation has reached its conclusion.”
“Fine by me.” She moved back up the hill and I followed her with my eyes. As she reached the top, she called out, “He’s all yours, boys.”
At first, I had no idea what she was talking about or who she was talking to. But then three shapes stepped out from behind the surrounding trees, and I knew that I was in trouble. I recognized two of them—Carter Danvers and Taylor Watson, both athletes and constant occupants of the same lunch table where Grace had sat every day this week. I couldn’t make out the third guy in the dark. But I knew trouble when I saw it. And he was definitely trouble.
I made a break for it, but Carter grabbed me by the arm and swung me back down the hill. Taylor grabbed my other arm, and their grips tightened. To my credit, I didn’t cry out or plead for help—at first. But I couldn’t hold my tongue as the third guy came down the hill—a guy I now thought I recognized as Ben Winchester from chemistry class. Try as I did to keep calm, my voice shook when I spoke. “Come on, guys. I already told her I don’t feel like making out tonight. That includes with you.”
The first punch hit my nose and I thought my head was going to explode. Tears rolled from my eyes. My entire face grew hot, and my nose throbbed in pain. If that hit had been the last of it, I would have happily agreed not to mess with Charity again.
Charity. That was her name. The punch in the face had apparently jogged my memory.
But as the hits kept coming, setting my jaw, my eye socket, my cheek alight with pain, I felt surer than ever that this little encounter wasn’t about the girl at all. It was a setup. By Grace. Hell, maybe by Josh. Maybe both. Somebody had wanted to get me here all along and beat the crap out of me. Charity had just been the bait.
Could Josh really have been part of this? He had seemed anxious to see Grace tonight, and hurried off with her the moment she appeared. Had he been helping her? Was he merely another pawn in whatever game she had been orchestrating against me in my absence? He had insisted that I come tonight, after all. The hypothesis had a lot of evidence to support it.
I hung there between Carter and Taylor, barely able to keep myself upright. And finally, when Taylor let go and retreated back up the hill, I allowed myself a moment to think that it was over. Driving home the point that it wasn’t, Carter punched me in the side, I fell with a groan, and Ben gave me a swift kick in the ribs. I lay there on the cool ground, in the darkness, feeling my entire body throb with pain, wondering what I had done that had deserved such a sharp retaliation. Slowly, with their laughter echoing behind them, my attackers left me alone in the woods.
I didn’t move for a long time. I stayed there on the ground, listening to my heart race, my head pound. I tried not to cry, but tears pooled in my eyes and rained down the sides of my face, wetting my hair. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was childish, and I’d never admit it to anyone if they asked—but in that moment, all I wanted was my mother.
Not that she’d been the most warm or loving parent. My mom had always been enveloped in her work and a huge supporter of independence in her children. But what I’d always wanted her to be was what I closed my eyes and wished for as I lay there on the ground. Her hand brushing the dirt and leaves from my hair. Her kiss on my brow. Her kind words telling me that everything would be all right.
What I wanted was a mother whom I had never known. A mother I would never have.
I rolled to the side and pushed myself up on my elbow, struggling to stand. Finally, I got to my feet, then moved up the hill, drying my tears with my sleeve. I headed straight back to my dorm without stopping, cradling my ribs and wincing with every step.
When I opened the door to my room, Quinn’s eyes widened in shock. “Jesus, what happened to you?”
He helped me to my bed, where I sat with a groan. Deadpan, I said, “I went on a lovely Sunday picnic with twenty of my closest friends. We played croquet and badminton. It was nice.”
“Did you get in a fight?” It was such an obvious statement that I wanted to laugh, but didn’t, for fear of the pain.
“Not exactly. I mean, my face was in a fight, as were my ribs, but I most assuredly was not.” I unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off, marveling at the enormous shoe-shaped bruise on my side. If my guess was right, Ben wore a size nine. “And before you ask, my face lost.”
Quinn’s brow was furrowed. He kept shaking his head, as if his denial of my predicament would somehow help the situation. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Hand me the medical kit from the cabinet in the hall? And maybe grab me some ice?” He left the room immediately, and I caught my reflection in our television screen. I looked much worse than I felt, which was saying something. Maybe the adrenaline was kicking in. About ten minutes too late, but I’d take what I could get.
The last fight I had been in was in the third grade. I’d been examining a colony of ants with a magnifying glass and a boy who lived nearby had insisted on killing them instead. I’d shoved him, starting the fight. He’d creamed me, finishing it. I hadn’t been in a fight ever since. It just wasn’t my strength, or my style.
When Quinn returned to the room, he handed me the medical
kit and started gathering ice from the tray in our small freezer, wrapping it inside a towel for my face. “Who was it?”
“Three total assholes with very large fists—one by the name of Ben Winchester.” Inside the kit were several small antibacterial wipes. They stung as I dabbed at the open wounds on my face. Quinn sat down on the bed beside me, looking more than a little concerned. “Ben used to come over and play in my sandbox with me when I was in kindergarten. Suffice it to say, I won’t be inviting him over again anytime soon.”
“Maybe you should go to the nurse. I think she’s on call twenty-four-seven.”
“And say what? That I was at an unauthorized party and got the crap beat out of me?” Tossing the wipes into the trash, I stood up and made my way to the bathroom. Every time I inhaled, my side lit up with pain. “That’s just not how I roll, Quinn. Besides, there’s nothing she can do that I can’t. Clean it up, take a few Tylenol, slap a butterfly bandage on the cut over my eye, and voilà. It’s like I’ve been to nursing school.”
Quinn’s shoulders sank in apparent insult. “My mom’s a nurse.”
He handed me the towel filled with ice, and I felt like such a tool. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . trying to figure out how to get my life back.”
“You could start by not being so much of a jerk.” The hurt was evident in his eyes. You could do a lot to a guy, say a lot about him. But don’t mess with his mom. That was an uncrossable line.
“You’re all right, Quinn.” I pressed the cool towel to my eye and the bridge of my nose. “And what’s more, you’re right.”
He nodded, accepting my unspoken apology, even though he didn’t have to. “Your nose is bleeding.”
Sure enough, drops of crimson dripped from my nose to the white porcelain of the sink below. Quinn stepped out of the room, leaving me to fix myself up. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a while, wondering what Viktor would say about this when I saw him the next night. Turning on the water, I washed my face carefully, making sure my skin was dry before I applied a bandage to the cut above my eye.