by L. J. Woods
He shrugs, “Willow’s been snapping some shots of her new uppity surroundings.”
I’ll have to talk to her about that. I wouldn’t mind if the rest of Zane’s crew paid me a visit but after what happened last month, Zane’s the last person I want to see.
“Well, I’m working."
“Speaking of work...” He takes another step forward, I take another step back. “Where’s the money, Jo?”
“Zane, you know I can’t—” The cold metal against my back startles me, so does Zane’s chest pressed against mine. This feeling I used to love from a guy I used to adore doesn’t feel the same. It feels as invasive as the end of our relationship.
“It’s cash or ass Little Mama.”
That nickname used to make me feel wanted, but I was stupid. As stupid as trusting Zane to see me for more than a quick buck. He’s like everyone else in my life, outside of Willow of course. He doesn’t care. I’m not sure if he ever did and I regret ever giving him my heart. Or my body.
I stand my ground. “Resorting to blackmail to get in my pants? That’s pathetic. Even for you.”
As soon as the last word escapes my lips there's a smack against my cheek before my skin erupts in a stinging burn. I bring my hand to my face, jaw open. “Did you just fucking hit me?”
It’s not a real question. He did just fucking hit me and I’m seeing red.
My hands fly to his chest and I’m pushing hard, anger fuelling my force.
I’m able to falter his footing a bit but in the next second, I’m on the ground, arm scraping across the concrete.
So this is what Kyle and Alex hinted at last Christmas.
Kyle’s voice plays in my mind, “When it comes to money, Zane’s fucking passionate.” But that was when we’d bought a whole roast and a case full of liquor after a big run. We were jovial. Happy. I was in love. Or so I thought.
I try to get up but he’s on top of me before I can. “I’m sorry.” He brings a thumb to my cheek before his face comes closer, moving the hood off his head. Zane’s toffee cheeks are narrower than I remember, big eyes looking desperate. “I miss you Little Mama. Fuck these rich assholes and come back to me. I’ll let everything go just…be mine again."
“Get the fuck off me!” I push against his chest. I want nothing more to do with Zane Khan.
His whole demeanour shifts, shoulders dropping, eyes becoming slits. But he gets off, only to thread his fingers through my curls and pull me up from my strands. He throws me, back hitting the dumpster, pain shooting up my spine. Zane’s in my face before I can move. He wraps my shirt around his fist and I’m too in shock to say anything.
All I can do is look at him, “Zane…” I don’t recognize this man or the madness in his eyes, but it looks like he’s out for blood.
Four
“What have we here?”
Another voice comes from behind him. It’s familiar. One from earlier. “Is there a problem?”
Zane turns his chin over his shoulder. “We’re okay, aren’t we, Little Mama?”
Footsteps come closer. “Doesn’t look okay to me.”
It’s Damien.
Zane lets me go, huffing before he turns around. He takes a step back, Damien coming into view. “How about you mind your business Van der Fuck?”
“It’s King,” he’s quick to fire back but doesn’t sound bothered. That coin spins between his fingers, leather jacket over his black shirt. “My last name is on this property so turns out, this is my business.” He’s close enough now that he doesn’t have to strain his voice, both of them staring at each other like they’re in a Western. “Oh, and you have ten seconds to get the fuck out of here.”
Zane chuckles, “Or what? You’re going to beat me to death with that designer belt buckle?”
“While I’m sure you’re into that, I rather Eden police deal with my trash.” Damien pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket, looking Zane up and down with a smirk. “Oh, the things they’ll do to you.”
Zane takes a step closer, looking back at me with a laugh. “Leave it to the rich white boy to have the cops on speed dial.”
Damien presses the phone to his ear. No further response needed.
I use the moment as leverage. “Get the fuck out of here Zane. Don’t be an idiot.” We both know if he gets caught, he’ll be in jail for a long time.
“Fine, but not because he asked me to.” Zane turns to me, face tight, cheekbones pointy. He starts walking away, flipping the bird at Damien. “See you soon, Little Mama.”
My chest falls, breath regulating the further Zane gets. Pushing myself off the dumpster, I run my fingers along the scratches on my arm, cuts stinging to the touch. When I move, a pain shoots through my back, making me wince and groan.
Damien eyes me with the same intensity he had earlier, pointing his chin at my face. “You don’t need to be taking scum like that across the tracks.” He puts the phone back in his pocket, wrinkling his nose. “One’s enough.”
I’m too in shock and embarrassed for his comment to bother me. I'm still putting the pieces together of what the fuck just happened. I straighten my stance and ask, "What are you doing here?"
He pulls a manila envelope out of the top of his jacket. “Picking up my dad’s slack. But since you’re on the job, leave this on Cindy's desk."
Rolling my eyes I reach to grab it, wincing again when a sting runs through my arm. He pulls it back, eyes narrowing, an eyebrow raised. “You need a nurse or something?”
“I’m fine.” I grab the envelope out of his hands. I’m sore and a little scratched up but it’s not that serious. This is the second time Damien’s come to my rescue. Third, if you count ordering that donut. Despite his the-world-is-indebted-to-me attitude, I’ll admit I'm grateful.
“Thanks.” It's weak but I mean it. I'm not sure if he believes it because he shakes his head, turning around, walking towards the shop.
There’s a chrome Lamborghini parked on the curb out front. It glistens under the moonlight, mirroring the shop in its reflection. It looks like something out of a Marvel movie. One a superhero would drive.
My sister’s head is a round shadow in the door window and my heart sinks, wondering if she saw the whole thing. When I put my hand on the door, Damien’s voice comes from behind me, “It's a little late for thank-yous."
I turn around and he’s leaning on the hood of what I can now confirm is his car. Of course, it’s his car. “What does that even mean?"
He stands up, moving towards the driver’s door. “We know what you did.” His eyes move to my tattoo before the door slides up into the air. “It’s always the pretty ones isn’t it?” With his eyes back on me, he slips into the driver’s seat. “Watch your back."
I’m still trying to figure out if that’s a threat or a warning before he closes the door, steps on the gas and roars away.
When I swing the door open, Willow’s waiting for me. “Was that Damien?”
“Yeah.” I lock the door behind me, taking a full breath before I remember the envelope in my hand. “Can you call Henry? Phone’s on the counter and the number’s in my backpack under the cash.”
I’m relieved she doesn’t ask about Zane. I don’t want to talk about any of it. I want to get us home so I can go to sleep and get one day closer to my eighteenth birthday.
In a daze, I walk right into Cindy Huang’s office door, the envelope falling to the floor, papers escaping. I take another breath before I reach for the doorknob but it’s locked. “Get it together, Jo.”
Crouching to pick up the envelope, my mind is like a rocket, Zane’s face flickering in my brain. There’s no way Willow can let him know where we’re staying. I’ll tell her on the ride home.
I still can’t believe he put his hands on me. All for the cash? If it wasn’t for Damien who knows what Zane could’ve done. I'm tall but he’s taller. Much bigger. There’s a reason why people in The Grove fear him. In front of Damien though? It looks as if he met his match.
Fuck.
Damien. He must think that’s how all relationships work in The Grove. I sigh. Who the fuck cares what that rich prick thinks anyway? Watch your back. He’s almost as bad as Zane.
Seems like I have a type because there's a flutter in my stomach thinking about that gaze. Those eyes. Those lips. It wouldn’t be unlike me to get a thrill out of trouble. How bad can a hot rich boy be?
Envelope in hand, my eyes narrow in on my name in a small font. “The fuck…” Picking up one of the papers off the floor, my brows furrow. There’s a list of my previous schools, previous homes and criminal record. I thought Eric said he wiped it all. And why would Cindy Huang need all this information if she was already so confident in me taking this job?
I reach inside the envelope and almost drop it all again. There’s a picture of my old house. That house. The one gone in flames. My parents with it.
My chest tightens, stomach rolling.
“Jo?” Willow calls my name from the main room. I tuck the papers back inside the envelope. “Henry says five minutes!”
“Be right there!” I try to steady my voice as I fold the envelope in half, deciding to keep it for myself.
Questions fight for space in my mind. Why is Damien giving Cindy Huang information about me and my old house? And what is she even planning on doing with it?
I don’t know what any of this means but I’m sure as hell going to find out.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I wrinkle my nose at the clothes laid out on the large grey ottoman.
We’re standing in our new closet the size of our old bedroom, two hideous green and white outfits in front of us.
“It’s not that bad.” Willow stands beside me in old checkered shorts and a tattered white t-shirt. She’s got a headstart on her hair, half of it straight, the other a wavy mess.
Tilting my head to the side doesn’t help me see these outfits any better. Starch white buttoned blouses sit beside two pairs of green tartan kilts. At the foot of the ottoman are two pairs of black flats, white knee-high socks beside them.
Two green blazers hang on otherwise empty racks. Sweaters of the same deep forest green hang next to them. If they’re trying to give me options, I pick neither.
“There’s no time to dawdle, little ladies!” Vincent burst through the doors. He has a couple of white headbands in one hand, stiff leather backpacks in the other. “School starts at eight-thirty.”
I lean against a shelf, the sharp pain in my back already more of a dull annoyance. Arms crossed, I watch him plop the items on the ottoman. “Thought you didn’t work for us.”
Without a look at me, he’s out of the room, calling behind him. “These are Mrs. Archibald’s orders!"
My sister picks up a blouse, holding it against her body as she looks in the tall mirror. It sits against greyish walls, a pot light pointed at Willow. “At least we’ll blend in.” When Vincent comes back, he has two white boxes in his hand. My sister squeals, “New phones?!”
Vincent nods, “Yes. As much as I disagree, Mrs. Archibald prefers to have instant access to both of you. If Holly or the Archibalds call, you answer.”
Willow takes both boxes out of his white-gloved hands, giving one to me as she walks back to the centre of the room. Just when I thought there’d be minimal perks to living in Eden, I’ve got a brand new iPhone to call my own. If the Archibalds’ think I’ll actually be using it to communicate with them, they're more naive than I thought.
“Now.” Vincent gestures to the ottoman. “Get dressed.”
By the time he’s closed the doors my sister already has her phone up and running. “So cool!” She turns around to face me, “Are you going to give Zane and the guys your new number? Oh, and Shauna?”
This is the first piece of tech that Willow has called her own since the tablet. While it makes me smile to see her so stoked, it’s time I lay down the rules.
“Nope!” I toss the silver phone on the Ottoman, watching as it bounces onto the kilt. “These phones are only reserved for people who care about us. And no one cares about us except us. And remember…”
“Don’t post our whereabouts on social media,” Willow mouths along with me and I nudge her with my toe. Dropping her shorts, she asks, “Was Zane that mean last night?”
Mean is an understatement but I nod, not wanting to relive my first shift.
“Twenty minutes!” Vincent’s voice bellows from outside the door, my eyes back on the outfits.
My sister starts pulling off her shirt, her voice cloaked by the fabric, “You’re getting dressed right? Not going to school in that, are you?”
I stare down at the same band tee I wore yesterday, boyshorts underneath. While this would be more comfortable than what’s in front of me, Willow’s right. Uniforms would be a much better way to blend in. After last night’s shift, blending in is likely the best option.
It doesn’t take us too long to get dressed and my sister looks pretty polished once she’s got her blazer on. As for me…
“This is a joke.” I can't recognize the girl in front of me when I look in the mirror. While the kilt makes my legs look longer, I feel so awkward I’m tempted to swap back into my old shirt.
Willow giggles, “If only mom and dad could see you now.”
A smile is on my face even though that lump starts to form in my throat. One mention and I still choke up, memories flashing in my mind. Puzzles and jazz. Hockey and chilli. A crisp breeze sweeps through from the tall open window. The freshness in the air reminds me of our annual camping trip up north. Marshmallows and campfires.
My heart quickens.
Fluttering flames. The smoke.
Red and orange. The leaves like the fire that killed them.
My hands get clammy, chest tightening.
Seven years later and I can still smell the smoke, feel the heat.
I can feel my skin tingle and I’m not sure if it’s the pain from Zane’s damage or the memories of that night.
“Try dad’s leather jacket.” My sister snaps me out of my thoughts and I jump. She stuffs her phone into her new backpack, giving me a wary look, “Or not.”
“Sorry, I…”
Willow slings the backpack over her shoulders. It’s sleek but it still sticks out, the leather almost perfect. I decide then and there that I’m taking my old Jansport. There's a chance it'll make me feel more like myself and less like—I turn around to the mirror and tilt my head again. The Upper East Side’s Wednesday Adams.
“Yeah, you’re right about the jacket.” I move to the door of my bedroom before I wince. These flats feel too tight. Too close to the floor. And if it wasn’t for the gold buckle in the middle, I’d feel like I was about to sign up for the ballet.
The door on the other side of the room bursts open, making me whip around. Nancy Archibald appears in the flesh. She looks like she's sporting a fresh tan, long blonde hair already styled in loose curls.
“How darling!” Nancy squeals, taking out her own iPhone before pointing it in our direction. I hear the shutter sound and I’m too slow to hide my face. “You two look perfect! Come along.” Nancy waves towards the door, stepping aside. “I can’t go to the gym until Henry drops you off.”
I eye her outfit. She’s in a black dress and heels and it’s only Tuesday morning. I notice her blonde hair is a bit lighter than Holly’s with even blonder highlights. She has two sheets of paper in her free hand and she holds them out to us. “Holly forgot to print your schedules. They say if you need something done, do it yourself.”
“I’m just gonna…” I point behind me, towards my bedroom door with my thumb over my shoulder.
“No dear. Now.” She opens her blue eyes wider as if to double-down on her statement, wiggling the papers in her hand.
I’m too tired for a battle but my Jansport is right behind the door. I’m able to crack it enough to grab it while Willow makes her way out, taking her schedule. I tuck the phone inside, keeping the bag on the other side of me so Nancy doesn’t protest while I gra
b the other schedule.
“You look great,” she smiles as I scoot by, but she’s already tapping away on her phone.
I roll my eyes and follow Willow down the stairs. Vincent’s waiting for us when we get to the bottom, ushering us out the door. “Breakfast is in the car.”
“Woah,” Willow’s voice comes out like a whisper, jaw open. Her nose is damn near pressed against the window but she’s right.
Woah.
Elite Royal Academy is the size of a college campus and as gorgeous as an ivy league university. It looks like it's ready for a feature in Architectural Digest. Like a modern style Hogwarts. Up until now, I didn’t even know high schools like this existed.
A brass eagle stands with its arms spread in front of a long set of stairs. They lead up to big brown doors, a large landing at the top. There’s a small bit of grass on either side of the staircase. Students in variations of the same uniform gather in small groups, some hang out along the stairs. They're all gawking at each other's accessories. Gucci purses. Louis Vuitton scarves and expensive jackets.
We’re in a slow-moving line of similar black cars on the circular driveway beyond the school's gates. I now understand why they rushed us out the door, but I'm not complaining about parfaits in the back of a Bentley.
Despite my shitty start, I’m starting to feel a little lucky. There’s a silver lining here in Eden. If it weren’t for the Archibalds setting their sights on us we wouldn’t have the chance to attend this school. Willow's research tells me it’s pretty fucking prestigious. I could even have a chance at college after this. Or hell, this girl from The Grove might do the impossible. Attend an ivy league.
I scan the long red-bricked building, the exterior accented by white windows. The smart thing would be to make the best out of this world while I’m in it. Set up a future for Willow and I. Work the job. Get the grades and get out of this with some winnings of my own.
While my eyes move about the property, what I can see anyway, they land on Damien. The boys from the cafe are with him again, all standing on the top steps with hockey sticks in their hands. He has his leather jacket in the other, one foot against the brick. His tie is loose off his neck, and he looks pretty damn good in that uniform. Way better than I do anyway. I can even see a few of his tattoos poking out with the way he has his sleeves rolled up.