by L. J. Woods
Cindy leaves a couple of hours before closing, says she has dinner with friends and tells me to lock up. While I hope Zane isn’t outside this time, right now he’s the least of my worries.
What do the Huangs know about us? What is there to even know about my family? Before my parents' death, Willow and I came from a pretty boring life. Beanloaf on Mondays, a trip to local theatre shows when my parents could afford it. Hell, we hardly even went on vacation. We wouldn't have vacations if it wasn't for our annual camping trip.
Cindy’s smart enough to lock her office door but locks don’t usually stop me. Getting my damp backpack from under the cash, I rummage around for a bobby pin. There's one buried at the bottom and once I have it, I head to Cindy’s office door. Sticking it in the lock, I jimmy it around for a release.
"Come on," I mutter.
“What are you doing Medusa?” Damien’s voice is a low whisper in my ear and it makes me jump, goosebumps rising to the surface of my skin. I pull the bobby pin out and turn around to meet his stare, my head against the door. He smirks, “Isaac told me you were a spy.”
He's here after what he did to me earlier? Unbelievable.
“I’m not so sure I’m the spy.” I walk back to the main room and notice the time. “We’re closed.”
He follows me out of the hallway, leaning against the wall. “Why were you snooping in Cindy Huang’s office?”
There's no hesitation when I fire back, “What do you people know about my parents?”
His eyes drop to Christian’s joggers and I see his nose flair. “Nice addition.” Damien has already swapped the ERA uniform for one of his own. Black t-shirt under his leather jacket, matching jeans and boots. He looks good as usual but I'm too annoyed to care.
“Not only was I late to work, but I was completely drenched thanks to your stupid fucking antics.” I lean against the far end of the counter, arms across my chest. "What if I got lost? Or worse?"
He smirks and it makes my cheeks burn. “Wish I stuck around to see what that looks like.” He approaches me, eyes gazing up and down my body.
Ignoring the shivers shooting through me, I drop my arms. “What’s your deal? Why are you even here?” The closer he gets, the tighter the knot in my stomach feels. But I fight it. I need answers. “Better yet, tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Bullshit," the word fires from my mouth. "You’re such a fucking liar. This isn’t a joke, Damien.”
“I’m not lying,” he growls through gritted teeth, moving towards me.
“You don’t scare me.” Fire burns in my chest. I’m frustrated and it shows in my shaky voice. I don’t realize I’m gripping onto the ledge of the counter until my nails scratch the marble. “And I don’t believe you. You said all those things about them. Horrible things." I'm exhausted, voice cracking as I remember his words. "How could you say all that and not know anything?”
His pace slows. “Geez Rowland, I was fucking with you.”
My nostrils burn, lump forming in my throat. There's a gentleness in his voice and it startles me but I’m fighting for the frustration not to show on my face. “No. Your dad is way too chummy with the Huangs. I saw what was on those papers.”
"You looked?"
"My name was on it."
“Yeah, you’re right.” Damien runs his tongue over his bottom teeth. “My dad and the Huangs are way too…chummy. But I don’t know anything about your parents.” He's in front of me before I register how far he's come and he only moves closer. His breath lands on my face, peppermint, the crassness coming back to his voice. “I do know one thing, Medusa.”
I try to push him away but he grips my wrist. His cold palm on my skin somehow sends fire through my veins and when I look up, his gaze makes my knees wobble. The memory of last night comes back to my head and I push the feeling away. The one that tells me to press my lips against his.
How can I still feel like this after his stupid games? His small acts of torture? But when his hand slides from my wrist to my shoulder, all the way to my throat, it's like I’m becoming putty in the devil’s grip. It’s a light hold, his face moving even closer, lips an inch from mine. It looks like he’s about to give me a piece of that sweet forbidden fruit. A craving I’ve been trying to bury.
My heart booms when he moves, but he doesn’t put his lips where I want. They land by my ear again, his voice a deadly whisper, “You need to get the fuck out of Eden for your own good, Joelle. I mean it.”
With one last squeeze, he lets me go, heading for the door. It's not windy inside but there's a cool breeze over me and it gives me a different kind of shiver. Remembering to breathe, I exhale as I speak, “You came all the way here to tell me that? And you wouldn't even give me a fucking ride?" I’m breathing like I ran a marathon and I hope he doesn’t notice.
“Oh, I’ll give you a ride if you want, Medusa,” he pauses, looking over his shoulder. “Right on my stiff—”
“You know what I mean!”
He pushes the glass door, his back to me. “Christian did what I thought he’d do. He’s a softie with a hardon for you."
“He’s ten times the man than you’ll ever be,” I call. “That’s why I made sure to thank him real good.”
I don’t know why I said that. Don’t know what I was hoping to get out of it. But when Damien slams the door, I’m both satisfied and nauseated.
The first couple of days set the tone for the week.
Lea doesn’t let up. Students avoid me like the plague. Outside of Nate, Allie and Carlos, students only acknowledge me to whisper or glare. That includes gawking or laughing at whatever prank Damien and his demon spawn throw my way.
Christian tells me to hang in there but I’m starting to get sick of his shit. He’s as guilty as his friends are. He stands by while they stick condoms to my locker, pour paint in my hair, or put dog poop in my locker. Yep. Actual shit sat in my locker for what smelt like a whole night before I begged one of the janitors to help me out.
Willow’s bummed I lost my phone but we won’t tell Holly. We’re not about to give the Archibalds’ another reason to hate us.
It’s Thursday afternoon and I’m almost through my week from hell. The first weeks are usually the worst but the kids at this school are on some other level.
Damien ignored me all homeroom for the second time in a row. He's the definition of “hot and cold” and I won't admit it's fucking with me. At least his silence in class means a bit of peace in the morning.
After hiding out during Independent Study, I stop at my locker before lunch. When I undo the combination, my eyes narrow at what’s inside. A white box greets me. One I’ve seen before. I glance over my shoulder before I get a better look. It's a brand new iPhone. It’s almost exactly like the one Nancy got for us except newer.
When I open the box, the phone's already on. No lock or passcode. The standard background is there with the standard apps. It looks untouched but my sister’s phone number is already in the contacts. That's along with the info for an “STD Clinic,” Planned Parenthood and “Emerald Stripculb.”
Looking over my shoulder, I scan the near-empty hallway. I shouldn’t take this phone. Knowing these assholes there's a chance it's already bugged or worse. Placing it on the shelf, I'm about to close my locker door when it lights up, vibrating against the wood.
If curiosity killed the cat then I’m pretty much dead because I give in to it, looking at the screen.
The name pops up as ‘Unknown’ but there’s a text attached.
Unknown: Had enough? - Your King.
So this is Damien’s doing. Why am I relieved about that?
He’s no better than Lea. He’s worse. But he does owe me a new phone and this might be him owning up to that.
“Jo?” Allie’s voice pulls me away from the screen. I turn to see her and Nate looking at me, concern on their faces.
They’ve been fighting this battle with me. When I’m too exhausted to defend myself, Allie has quick word
s or Nate’s there to swoop in and save me. If it wasn’t for them, I’m not sure if I could hold onto my sanity.
“Yeah.” I smile at them, ensuring them that I’m alright— for now anyway.
“You look like a zombie.” Nate scrunches his nose.
“Had an early shift at Mocha.” I sling my backpack over my shoulders. I didn’t work this morning but I don’t want to explain why I'm so awestruck.
“That reminds me!” Allie’s face lights up. “How was your first payday?”
Right. This is why I’m glad to have them. Allie reminds me that I got my first paycheck from MOCHA and it’s looking to be worth it. I joined the payroll right on time. Seeing the fruits of my labour makes me realize that this job isn't so bad, despite working for Lea's mom.
This brings me so much closer to being able to take Willow and be on our own once I’m eighteen. And that alone is worth going through all this. MOCHA pays much more than any cafe, restaurant or bowling alley would back in The Grove. And with the tips? I’m off to a really good start.
“Pizza’s on me today.” I force a smile.
“Okay, sugar mama!” Allie puts her arm around me, leading me to the school parking lot.
The three of us have been eating off campus after the cafeteria attack. Since Allie drives to school, we either grab a few slices of pizza at this gourmet spot downtown or Nate’s cook whips up some lunch in his garden.
I should start looking on the brighter side of things. Eden Gardens has its highlights. Like these two.
As we walk I take the phone out of my backpack, typing a reply to the number I now know is Damien’s. I read his text again before hitting send.
Unknown: Had enough? - Your King.
Jo: Not a chance. Your worst nightmare.
Friday afternoon’s art class is my zen.
The teacher, Miss Marley who prefers we call her Clara, is the least stuffy of them all. Her blue pixie compliments the tattoos scattered about her long arms. Beatles shirt tucked into her jeans. When she sees me staring she explains the tattoos are her kids’ artwork with a huge, toothy smile.
The class is something from my dreams. Each desk has an easel next to it and there’s a huge sink below a shelf of top-of-the-line brushes in the back. When Clara shows me the supply closet I’m even more amazed. It’s endless quantities of paint in all varieties and colours, shelves with clay, markers, and crayons.
Once I’m over my shock, Clara explains we’re diving into learning about Renaissance art. She believes there's no better way to learn than to try an oil painting of our own. Clara plays some music from the time and for half of the class, allows us to get to work on our own.
When we start, I’m in my element, zoning out with the strokes of my brush. It feels like I'm at the spa, one for my brain.
“Wow, Joelle.” Clara's plum lips turn into a smile when I swivel on my stool.
“Jo,” I correct her.
“Jo,” she repeats, her eyes on the scene I’ve created.
Strokes of orange, reds and yellows make a pattern on the canvas. The collection of imperfect lines create a flame-y background, a burst of white in the middle. The colours bleed out into greys, the border of the painting blurring in black. “That’s beautiful.” She leans against the table next to me, arms crossed, eyes still on the canvas. "Have you considered an art scholarship?”
“Pft,” I snort. “As if.”
She smiles, “You should consider it.” Giving me a nod, Clara walks away. She floats around the room encouraging students but none like the one she gave me.
An art scholarship.
Could that be a real possibility for me?
With a boost of confidence, I spend the rest of the class zoned out in my work. The strokes of the brush calm me the more I stay focused on my canvas. I’m calm. Relaxed. It’s exactly what I need to prepare for my next class. Gym.
When I find the girl’s locker room it’s already empty save for a couple of girls in what I assume is the ERA gym uniform.
“Joelle Rowland?” A tall woman in a sleek black ponytail and green tracksuit approaches me, clothes in hand.
“Jo.” I nod.
“Coach Richards.” She tosses me a white polo and green shorts. Pointing a narrow chin towards small green lockers, she nods. "You’ve got ten minutes then meet us on the court.”
I’m not sure which court she’s referring to since there’s like a dozen, but I’m happy to have the locker room to myself.
Changing into the outfit is quick and like my first workday this outfit looks too small, the shorts too short. If I make a wrong move the whole class is seeing my ass.
I wear it anyway, throwing on a pair of white Nikes I got from our closet. After folding my uniform, I pause, realizing I've forgotten to bring a lock. Looking around, I stick my uniform in an empty locker off to the side, closing the door. It’ll be safe there, it’s just my uniform and boots. Spotting a door marked “Yard” I exit into the afternoon sun.
Coach Richards and some students are already on the volleyball court. With a jog towards them, I'm trying to show this teacher I give a fuck. Most people hate Gym but I prefer it. It's a great way to blow off some steam instead of sitting behind a desk.
Clara’s words replay in my head as I get close. Have you considered a scholarship? Not until that moment. While I love to write and paint it’s never been something I’ve considered. They’re “stupid hobbies” as my foster parents would say. Clara’s the first person to say that it's worth anything. If I show a little more effort, a scholarship might be in reach.
My jog slows as I get closer to the field, motivation slowing with it.
Fuck.
Lea and her Trust Fund Trolls are on the field. They've dolled up their gym wear with colourful belts and bows in their hair, giggling away. The girl next to Lea tosses a volleyball up and down, Georgina ignoring the outdoors for her phone.
My feet swivel in the grass, turning around. Fuck this, I’ve had enough for one week.
“Rowland! Over here!” Richards blows a whistle.
Great.
My eyes flick to the clouds before I turn around, Lea and Georgina glaring at me.
Do they take all their classes together?
The rest of the girls on the court begin to huddle together and whisper, all eyes on me.
“Last class of the week Jo,” I mutter to myself. "It'll be over before you know it."
“Alright, ladies! Let's kick the year off with some volleyball! Before we get into it, let’s warm-up.” Coach Richards blows the whistle and starts leading the class into some drills.
I’m definitely out of shape because I’m breathless after a few jumping jacks and mountain climbers. I’m happy when warmup comes to an end. That’s before Coach Richards starts splitting us up into teams.
The class shuffles around, Coach Richards counting our heads with two fingers. “One, two. One, two.” I’m a “one” and when I find out what that means I’m wishing I was anything else. Richards barks, “Twos get together on this side, Ones on the other side of the net.” She points to where Lea and Georgina stand and I hope that if I stay on this side, no one will notice.
A whistle goes off, her eyes on me. “Rowland. I said ones on the other side.”
Groaning, I start making my way over. At least sports is another thing I excel at. My dad and I used to play touch football all the time with Willow, mom lounging on a camper’s chair in the fall daylight.
Lea scoffs and I hear it from where she stands. When I look, she crouches, getting into position with a snarky smirk on her face, “Great, let’s play.”
Even before the game begins Lea bops the ball at my head with an unbelievable, “Sorry! I'm excited.”
Rolling my eyes, it's hard not to retaliate. Repeating my current mantra I exhale, “Just one more class.”
When the game gets going, I’m about to dive for the ball but Lea pushes me to the ground, losing us a point. I glare at her, the smell of grass in my nose. “W
hat the fuck, Lea?”
“Lost my footing.” She smiles, giving Georgina a high-five.
This is only the start of the physical attacks Lea gives during the game. She’s playing dirty. Literally. After about thirty minutes my new uniform has a collection of grass and dirt stains, the white now more of a swamp green.
Another serve from the other team and the ball comes my way again. After getting battered around by Lea for half the period all it takes for her is to whisper, “Slut” before I’m batting the ball at her face.
Her head swings back, the entire court gasps, ball dropping to the floor. She’s stunned, her body frozen and when she moves her hand from her face, I see blood.
Fuck.
Lea looks at her hand in horror before she lets out a scream into the air. Her head moves back, arms to the side like a fucking dinosaur.
“Miss Huang!” Coach Roberts jogs over.
“She fucking hit me!” she squeals, pointing to her nose with a straight finger. “I’m bleeding!”
I smirk and Coach Roberts hangs her head. “Get to first aid.” She turns to me before glancing at her watch. “Jo, showers. We're almost done here anyway.”
“I’ll go with Lea, Coach! She’s traumatized and in shock,” Georgina pipes up, hand in the air. Coach Roberts has two fingers on the bridge of her nose as she waves her off. While walking Lea off the field, Georgina glares back at me. “Watch your back, whore.”
“Miss Dupont.” Coach Roberts drops her hand to the side. “Quietly, please.”
Once they’re off the field I head back to the locker room, grabbing one of the towels off the stack near the shower doors. I didn’t mean to hit Lea so hard with the ball but I’m not exactly sorry. The bitch had it coming to her and had this been The Grove, she would have gotten much worse.
Letting the water stream down my back, I scrub off the dirt and grass on my arms. The shower is refreshing and I can't wait to get home and binge on movies and fancy snacks with Willow all weekend. She’s been spending way too much time with the freshman in-crowd. I’m happy for her, but I don’t want her to be anything like these fuckheads. A sister-sister weekend watching Sister, Sister is exactly what we need to recharge.