Feuds

by Avery Hastings

  “You’re right,” Vera said. “We’ll get to know him as it comes. I’m excited for tonight.”

  “Me, too.” They said their good-byes and Davis commanded her DirectTalk to enter “Do Not Disturb” mode. She needed time to think. No matter how much she reassured herself, repeating the same phrase she’d said to Vera, Vera’s questions ran in circles through her head. She didn’t know much about Cole. He’d opened up a fraction of an inch and it had felt like he was giving her the world. Why was he so secretive? It just wasn’t normal. Davis swallowed back her discomfort, but her hand shook.

  A few coats of mostly-within-the-lines glitter nail polish later, and she’d made her decision. She was going to spend three hours instead of two at practice before the party. She was going to beat those nerves to a pulp. And then she was going to show up fashionably late to the party and have fun like a normal teenager, Cole or no Cole. She deserved a break from the craziness and stress of the past week.

  By seven o’clock—after one of the more intense workouts of her life in her building’s substandard studio, since the real studio was still closed, maybe indefinitely—she was decked out in her cutest running pants (the spandex dark gray ones with the neon-pink piping) and a sheer, loose-fitting tank top layered over a hot pink sports bra. She felt cute, and a new excitement was buzzing through her.

  She was good at roofing. The leaps, the flexibility—it was what a ballerina was made for. She flushed at the thought of how Cole might see her, what he’d think. Davis felt more alive at roofing parties than almost anywhere else except the dance floor.

  She kissed her mom’s Olympiad medal on her way out the door. It hung right next to a picture of her parents from the night they met—her dad was gazing at her mom with the cutest smile on his face while her mom laughed with a friend. It was the only picture of the two of them that remained. “First place, just like you,” Davis whispered at the medal, yanking the door open as she said it.

  “Watch it!” she cried out, jumping a little. Frank was standing right outside her door in a tight-fitting, tailor-made beige linen suit, his signature red silk cravat tied around his neck and an old-fashioned pocket square completing the look. His blond hair was parted on the side and slicked back with who knows what goop he’d slathered on. Davis shuddered before she could stop herself. It was almost as if he’d been listening. Or as if he’d wanted to startle her, one of the two. She’d never trusted Frank—in fact she never trusted any man who used hair gel—and he’d been up her butt about her father’s election campaign. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to shoulder her way past him. She was never going to get used to all the campaign managers—intruders—crowding their house.

  “I was just coming to get you,” Frank told her, smiling wide enough to produce dimples in both cheeks. “Terri wants you downstairs—she needs your help getting ready for the fund-raiser. But I see you have other plans.” His gaze moved over Davis’s body, lingering a little too long on her chest and legs. She squared her shoulders and stared back at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Are you sure that outfit is … appropriate?” he said. She didn’t miss the lewd tone in his voice. “You look more like an Imp than the daughter of the city’s next prime minister.”

  Davis felt her cheeks burn. Why did Frank assume he had the run of the house? Who did he think he was, coming up to the second floor, where all the bedroom suites were? And why the heck did he think her wardrobe was his business, anyway? Davis gritted her teeth, trying hard to conceal her frustration. She didn’t want him to have the satisfaction.

  “I’m already late,” she fired back. “I’m not going to change now. And I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be looking.” She pushed past him roughly. Terri emerged from the stairwell just as Davis was about to descend. Terri took one look at Davis’s face and put a hand on her shoulder, glancing from Davis to Frank and back again.

  “Frank, don’t tell me you’re giving her trouble again,” Terri said. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “I was just telling her to reevaluate her wardrobe,” Frank said, his voice stiff. “She doesn’t quite fit the image of the daughter of a prime minister candidate, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Terri informed him. “And we’ve never been a family that bought into someone else’s idea of perfection.” She smiled warmly at Davis, and Davis gave her a grateful look. “Go on,” she told her. “Have fun with your friends.”

  Davis gave Terri an awkward peck on the cheek and hurried down the stairs and out the front door. She’d never been more grateful for Terri; sometimes it was like her stepmom had a sixth sense. Fia had some of it, too, an innate empathy that never failed to touch Davis’s heart. Times like these, when Terri stood up for her against Frank—she felt like they were a real family, that she didn’t need anything else. That there wasn’t something missing.

  It was a ten-minute walk from Davis’s house to the Lights Zone, the grouping of public high-rises where the roofing was scheduled to start. No monorail required, thankfully. Who knew when they’d be back in operation. Besides, she was starting to like walking around on her own. At night it was especially exciting; she felt a thrill of adrenaline work its way up her spine as she turned another dark corner to pass through a narrow alley.

  She was high-energy from her afternoon workout and in a good mood, so she broke into a moderate jog to warm up her muscles. The dark helped push her forward. She emerged from the passages behind her neighborhood and ran ahead onto the limestone surfaces of the downtown area, loving the way her shoes gripped the panels beneath her. She couldn’t make out her reflection in the stone anymore, though, given its newfound grimy quality, courtesy of the strikes.

  Cole hadn’t yet arrived at BKC Tower 2. She swiped her P-card and rode the elevator to the top. There were about thirty or so kids from her school up there already. Davis saw Vera and Oscar gathered on one corner of the roof, along with Max and Desiree, a couple of other third-years from Excelsior.

  Vera gave her a hug, but Oscar ignored her, looking irritated. He took a quick gulp from the flask he was holding in his left hand—his parents never noticed when he swiped from their liquor cabinet, despite that he drank more than they did.

  “Have you seen him?” she asked Vera quietly, pulling her aside, feeling a sudden flurry of nerves. What if he flaked? What if he stood her up?

  “Cole?” Vera asked, a concerned look immediately spreading across her face.

  “He said he’d be here,” Davis said, growing more and more concerned that he was bailing.

  Vera reached out and hugged her, reassuring Davis, “He wouldn’t do that to you,” but she could tell Vera was worried for her.

  Davis nodded, trying to smile. But she felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach. What if he didn’t show? “Where’s Nadya?” she asked Vera, trying to change the subject. Nadya, another ballerina, hadn’t been at studio for a couple of days—but that was nothing new. Nadya ditched practice sometimes. Ballet was only one of at least five extracurriculars she did, and her real talent lay in tennis. She was notorious for skipping out on dance. Roofing, however, she did not typically miss.

  “I don’t know,” Vera said, her forehead wrinkling as she thought. “Maybe she’ll show up later. Stop worrying so much.”

  Davis nodded, turning her attention to the more pressing issue: Where was Cole? She’d never been stood up before. Vera gave her another sympathetic pat on the back. “Only an idiot would miss a chance to hang out with you,” Vera told her. Davis smiled gratefully at her friend. Vera was biased, yes, but Davis still appreciated her words. She turned a full circle, looking for Cole in the crowd. Why was he so unpredictable? It was starting to make her mad—starting to seem more rude than attractive.

  “Maybe we should start without him,” Vera whispered, keeping her voice low.

  Davis nodded again, her eyes burning. She was wrong to fall for him; Vera had been right. She felt impossibly naïve. She hoped it wasn’t obvious to everyone else
that she’d been ditched.

  And then, with a huge wave of relief and excitement blotting out all her former worries, she spotted him. Moving through the crowd toward her, tall, taller than she’d even remembered. He was smiling. He was beautiful, even though beautiful wasn’t a word you were supposed to use with guys.

  “You’re here,” she blurted out, and then regretted it; that made it sound like she’d been worried.

  “I am,” he said back, but his own expression was unreadable. Why was he so hard to read? He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and he was wearing dark jeans, slim cut, a bad choice for roofing. Maybe he was just that confident that he wouldn’t wipe out on the rough cement. His wardrobe choice was like a dare—or a taunt—to everyone else. Davis admired his confidence. A happy glow filled her up, making her realize for the first time just how worried she’d been that he wasn’t going to show. “How’s your friend?” he asked, taking a step closer, narrowing the gap between them.

  “Emilie?” Davis’s heart dropped as she felt worry overcome her at the thought of her friend, but it was sweet of Cole to remember, to ask. “She’s okay, I think,” she told him. “I talked to her cousin about it. Well, twice, actually. She’s not exactly the most forthcoming…”

  “Is she still in the hospital, though?” Cole pressed.

  “Chloe said she’s out, but doesn’t really feel like seeing anybody. She did mention that she’s probably coming back to the studio next week, so I think it’s all fine. I mean, I’m sure it is,” she corrected herself. Cole nodded, but he frowned a little at the same time. He opened his mouth as if about to ask something more, but Vera appeared at Davis’s side.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Vera. We met the other night.” She held out her hand, and Davis braced herself for the questions she was sure would follow. She was half nervous, half glad Vera was the prying type. Before she could say anything, though, Oscar wrapped his arm around Vera’s tiny frame, lifting her high in the air. She kicked her legs and threw back her head as she yelped, clearly enjoying being teased.

  “I want to get started! Let’s do it,” Oscar shouted out, getting the attention of everyone on the BKC2 deck. “We’ve been waiting around long enough.” He directed a pointed look at Davis.

  “I’m only two minutes late!” she protested. She noticed Oscar barely glanced at Cole.

  “Right. Not as late as usual,” Oscar said. “But still late.” Davis rolled her eyes. Oscar was absurdly punctual. And since most people were afraid of Oscar, most people showed up on time for things.

  “Cheer up, baby,” said Vera, jumping on his back. He wrapped his arms around her legs and shifted her up a little higher in a perfect piggyback position. “We’re going ROOFING!” she shouted, raising her fist, and some of the others joined in, cheering along with her. “How about I start?” Vera said, her voice faltering so subtly that Davis was sure she was the only one who noticed. Vera skipped over to her and bent, retying her running shoes. “I’ll start the inquisition later,” she said under her breath, so only Davis could hear. Davis laughed, and Vera winked. Then she straightened, readying herself for the first leap.

  Davis felt adrenaline course through her; all her senses were alert. She was charged, ready to go. She watched as Vera accepted a little white pill from Sierra, tossing it back with Oscar’s flask. All around, her other friends were doing the same. She glanced up at Cole, wondering if he’d want one of the black-market enhancers, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he was too polite to ask—or maybe, like her, he already had a powerful natural high.

  The night was cool, crisp; the sun was almost all the way down now, and it left a purple haze with fading hints of red in its wake. From way up here, it was impossible to see the streets beyond the soaring peaks of the buildings. For a moment, it was like none of the tumultuous stuff she’d been dealing with—Caitlyn, the riots, the Olympiads, her father’s campaign—existed. It was like it was something awful she’d dreamed up.

  “Ready, set…” Oscar nodded to Vera. Then Vera blew a gold whistle that hung around her neck—a birthday gift from Davis the year before—and the first pair of runners started, leaping over the ten-foot gap between the BKC2 and BKC3 towers with ease.

  “Hey,” Cole whispered, making Davis jump. Their hands brushed against each other and she felt another bolt of adrenaline—more powerful than the last—travel up her shoulder to her spine. “I didn’t realize … I mean.” He stopped and took a breath. “Remember, I’ve never done this before,” he blurted out. “I didn’t realize this was roofing.”

  “Seriously?” Davis looked at him, eyes wide. “Nobody roofed at your school?” Cole shook his head and Davis laughed. “You’re in for an awesome rush. The first time is always the best.” She blushed, realizing she’d just set him up for a lewd joke.

  But he didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at the gap, which almost all of her friends had already cleared.

  “It’s easy,” Davis told him, afraid she was insulting him by saying it. Of course it was easy. Most guys loved roofing for the chance it gave them to show off: be big, testosterone-laden men, that kind of thing.

  Cole sucked in a deep breath.

  “Okay,” he said. “So what are we waiting for? Let’s do it.”

  Davis found herself laughing as she ran. She vaulted off the edge of the building, and for one second was suspended in the air, wind rushing in her ears, and the streets like dark canyons far below her. Then she landed neatly on the next building. Cole landed a second after her, breathless.

  “See? Isn’t it great?” she said. But she didn’t wait for him to answer. She took off running again.

  Both of them cleared the first three buildings without any trouble, but that was the point; the gaps grew wider and the buildings were staggered in varying heights, so toward the end they’d find themselves jumping higher and farther. Davis relished the challenge. She picked up the pace, eager to catch up to the rest of the group. Cole fell back, several paces behind her.

  Davis’s body was on fire, and it took a lot of control to slow down to wait for him. She wondered why he was hanging back—even if this was his first time, he couldn’t possibly have been intimidated or nervous. He was so strong and fit, she could tell just by looking at him that roofing should come easily to him.

  But then another thought crossed her mind. Could he be slowing down because he wanted to get her alone? Maybe he wanted another kiss as much as she did.

  Still, she kept running, looking back occasionally to make eye contact with him. If he was trying to get her alone, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction just yet. Besides, her nerves were fully aware, her entire body responding to the sensation of her muscle power, the lift and momentum she required to clear one gap after another. She leaped the buildings like she’d leap around the dance floor: gracefully, as though flying. Once you got going, it was like your body didn’t even have to work anymore. You just moved with the momentum, like skiing or skydiving, giving yourself over to the velocity. Aside from dance, it was the only time Davis ever felt this way.

  On their sixth rooftop, Cole stumbled. The rest of the group was already well ahead of them by then. Davis noticed Cole’s mistake even as they leaped; he didn’t jump high enough. Davis landed and spun only to see him desperately trying to pull himself up over the ledge of the next building. Then he lost his grip altogether and plummeted.

  Davis shrieked.

  She ran to the edge of the building, her heart threatening to split her rib cage wide open. She stared down.

  But she did not see Cole’s body hurtling toward the pavement seventy stories below.

  “I’m fine,” Cole said from the fire escape two stories down, where he’d landed. “Totally fine.” Davis breathed a sigh of relief, but her body was still weak from the shock. She swayed a little, taking a step back to catch her balance.

  “Are you trying to freak me out?” she shouted down at him, trembling from anger and relief.

  Cole shook his hea
d. “I’m sorry, I—” he started.

  “I’ll come down,” she interrupted.

  By then, Vera had crossed back to their rooftop. “What’s up?” she asked, giving Davis a questioning look.

  “You guys go on,” Davis said. Now she felt like an idiot for screaming. “We’ll catch up in a minute.”

  “Sure you don’t mind?” Vera asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “I’m fine,” Davis said. Her fear had evaporated. It was obvious—Cole did want to get her alone. He had clearly orchestrated the whole thing. “Really.” She shot Vera a look.

  “Call me when you get home,” she told her. “I want to hear everything.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of not calling you the second I get back,” Davis said. Vera giggled and blew her a kiss before she dashed off to where Oscar was waiting a couple of buildings ahead.

  Davis swung down onto the fire escape and climbed down to where Cole was sitting.

  “You weren’t even close,” she told him in a teasing voice. She reached for his hand and tugged it, trying to bring him to his feet, but he jerked it away, wincing.

  Davis drew back, confused. Was he actually hurt? She’d never once seen anyone get hurt roofing. She knew in theory it was dangerous—that’s what made it so fun—but even the least athletic Priors she knew could handle the physical demands of roofing. Really little kids did it sometimes. Davis had started when she was twelve.

  And yet, here Cole was, refusing to get up. Looking, in fact, like he might be injured.

  “Wait,” Cole said, and for the first time, Davis realized he was out of breath, too. “Let’s just sit here for a second.”

  If this was an act, it was an elaborate one. She had no idea what to think. But Davis sat next to him on the fire escape anyway, staring out at the city below them. It was luminous, its lights creating a starry landscape that stretched for miles.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “Just like a million stars.”

  “The real thing’s better,” he told her. “Stars, I mean. You wouldn’t believe what the sky looks like from outside the city.” He stopped abruptly, as though he didn’t want to say anything more.