by Gemma Weir
Today as I follow Dot into her office, I feel angry. As if she senses the change in me, she doesn’t start with the usual platitudes and soft questions.
“What’s different today, Nova?”
“I should be at school.”
She nods, infuriatingly waiting for me to speak, rather than asking me whatever she’s hoping I’ll tell her.
“I’m not sure I can ever go back there. I thought about it this morning when my alarm went off, but I ended up having a meltdown.”
“A meltdown?” she asks.
Fidgeting in my seat, I think about how my mom told me she thinks I’m brave, how I’m strong, and so I just blurt it out; everything that’s in my head. “I thought about all those kids, about how they’d be talking about me, staring at me, and then all these thoughts just burst to life all at once. My head just started to buzz with them all, like there wasn’t enough room for all the thoughts, all the doubts, and I just wanted to scream or cry or claw a hole in the side of my brain so they could disappear, because I needed them to disappear.”
I don’t realize that I’m crying, that my chest is heaving up and down, and that I’ve stood up, that I’m shouting, until I stop talking and look around me. “Sorry,” I mutter, sinking back down onto the couch.
“There’s absolutely no need to be sorry, Nova. I’m fairly confident that what you experienced this morning was an anxiety attack. In fact, I think these episodes, these meltdowns you’ve mentioned have all been anxiety attacks that have increased in severity over time and culminated in the episode of anxiety and panic you experienced after the incident at school last week.”
“Can you make them stop?” I ask, hearing the desperation in my own voice.
“I can’t make them stop just like that; but over time, yes, I’m confident we can get your anxiety under control so that you don’t experience these attacks so often and then eventually not at all.”
Relief filled tears spill from my eyes and hope fills me. Up until this moment I hadn’t realized how broken I was feeling; but maybe, just maybe, I’m fixable.
The rest of the session goes quickly. We talk about what Dot calls my triggers, what I’m thinking about when I have an episode, what pulls me out of them. Then she talks about what I can do to manage them, how I can recognize an episode starting, and how I can try to train my mind to rationalize my panic before it escalates.
By the time I walk out of her office I feel lighter. Mom’s waiting for me and she rises when she spots me, smiling at me and pulling me in for a hug as soon as I get close enough.
“Dot wants to talk to you for a minute,” I tell her. Mom nods and follows my shrink into her office. I have a shrink. For so long I’ve been terrified that if I saw a therapist everyone would know. How ironic is it that everyone finding out how crazy I am is how I ended up here.
Sinking down into one of the hard chairs in the waiting room, I pull out my cell and see that I have a text from Valentine.
Valentine: A girl I used to know.
It’s the vaguest answer he could possibly have given me.
Me: Tell me about her.
Valentine: Let me come over and I will.
His reply makes me pause. I want to see him, but I can’t let him demand it. I haven’t forgiven him. He hurt me and he didn’t have any reason, or at least not a reason that feels even remotely justified for it.
Me: No, you don’t get to do that. This isn’t all your way anymore.
I type the reply, then slide my cell back into my purse, suddenly frustrated and annoyed. The office door opens, and Mom and Dot emerge. “See you tomorrow, Nova,” Dot calls with a wave.
I smile and nod, then follow Mom out of the doctor’s office and onto the street. “What did she tell you?” I ask.
“She told me that she thinks you’re having anxiety attacks and that she wants to try some techniques before she prescribes any medication, because she thinks you can learn to manage them.”
I nod, glad that I don’t have to explain.
“Let’s get home. I have work to do; and you, your brother, Emmy, and Griffin all have assignments to get on with. Don’t for a minute think that just because you’re all at home that you’ll be allowed to fall behind with your studies.”
Groaning, I ignore her amused laugh and follow her to the car. My cell vibrates, but I ignore it, not wanting to deal with Valentine right now. When we pull into our driveway, I follow Mom to the front door and then smile when I spot my brother and friends sat at the dining table with papers strewn in front of them.
“Did you see all of the work school sent home for us to do?!” Zeke exclaims. “And this is just today’s stuff.”
Mom’s laugh is loud, and she claps her palm against his back. “Get back to it. I love that you want to support your sister, but if your grades drop, you go straight back to class, you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Zeke says on a sigh, sinking back down into his chair and pulling a stack of the papers toward him.
The rest of the day passes in a blurb of study, and by the time I crawl into bed after dinner I almost wish I’d gone to school today, almost. The scratching of the window sliding open pulls my attention and I spin my head around just in time to see Valentine’s head appear in the opening.
I stifle a scream with my hand, rushing to pull my window open further. “What the hell are you doing?” I demand.
“You didn’t reply to my text, or answer when I called. It’s not like I can just knock on the front door and ask your dad if I can see you,” he says, his face red from the strain of hanging onto my window ledge.
“What do you want?”
“Can I come in?” he gasps, and I step back, watching as his shoulders, then the rest of his body crawl through the open window.
“How did you even get up here?”
“Climbed,” he says with a shrug.
“You climbed up to a second-floor window?” I say incredulous.
He shrugs again.
“Why?” I ask, shaking my head and backing away from him.
He doesn’t speak, and the silence becomes deafening.
“Because I wanted to see you,” he finally admits in a whisper.
I gawp at him, both suspicious and excited at the same time. Is this all part of his game? Is this him starting all over again? Am I just playing exactly into his hands?
“Why?”
“Why what?” he asks, his brow furrowed with confusion.
“Why did you want to see me?”
“Because,” he trails off.
“Why, Valentine? Why shouldn’t I scream my head off? My entire family would be here in seconds and I’m pretty sure my dad would kill you. So be honest, for the first time since we met, be honest with me, with yourself. Why are you here? Why do you want to see me?”
“Because I think I’m falling in love with you,” he cries. Then before I have a chance to speak, he darts for the window and climbs out, leaving me alone in my room, so shocked I can barely think.
“What the actual fuck?” I say, the moment the bewilderment fades. Crossing the room, I peer out of my open window, but like I knew it would be, the garden below is empty and dark.
I reach for my cell. There’s an unread text from him and two missed calls from his number. Before I can second guess myself, I dial him.
He answers on the second ring. “What?”
I sputter with indignation. “Are you kidding me right now? You drop that bombshell on me, then run away, and when I call you for an explanation you answer the phone with what.”
“Whatever, Nova, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Is this all some elaborate fucked-up game for you? Haven’t you done enough?” I gasp, my voice breaking on the last word.
“It would be easier if this was a game, I almost wish it was, but it isn’t. I’m falling in love with you, Nova, and I have no fucking clue what to do about it.”
When the line goes dead, I pull my cell away from my ear and jus
t stare at it, as if looking at it will make it come to life and help me explain what the hell just happened. Valentine’s falling in love with me.
He’s mentioned that all of the games, the bullying, was because he likes me; but love, that’s so much more. Nothing he’s done has been an expression of love. He told me I remind him of someone, someone from his past. Maybe he loved her. The thought makes my stomach lurch uncomfortably. I don’t want him to be falling for me because I remind him of another girl.
Confusion and a strange sense of happiness mix until I have no idea what I’m feeling. Throwing my cell onto the bed, I lift my pillow and scream into it, frustration, confusion, and anger swirling through me. I drop the pillow from my face and grab for my cell, frantically typing out a text.
Me: I hate you!!!
He replies instantly.
Valentine: I know.
Me: That’s it?!?! You are such an asshole.
Valentine: Her name was Bella.
The text pops up on the screen and as I read it, all of my anger fades and I sink down onto the comforter and stare at the four words he just wrote, Her name was Bella. That’s it; no further explanation, nothing.
Bella.
How can I be jealous of a name, a faceless girl? But I am. I shouldn’t care, but I do.
Me: Who is she?
Valentine: No one good.
Relief fills me, but now I need to know who she was, who she was to him.
Me: I need more than that.
Valentine: I know you do.
It takes me a minute to decide what to write. I’m desperate for more information, but will it help? Does it matter who she was? My cell beeps again.
Valentine: You should stay away from me.
He’s right, I should stay away, but for some reason I just don’t seem to be able to. I’m the moth and he’s the flame. Even knowing I’ll get burned if I get too close, I just don’t seem to be able to resist.
Me: Was it all a lie?
Valentine: ?
Me: In your room, us, was that just part of the game?
Valentine: No, that was real. Completely, 100% real.
For now, that’s enough. I don’t forgive him, but on this: the way he touched me, the way he was, I believe that part wasn’t fake and for now that’s enough.
School without her, without them, is boring. I’m lonely, and it’s not a feeling that I’m used to. I’ve been alone for years and it’s never bothered me, but one day at Archer’s Creek High without Zeke and Griffin’s silly banter, without Emmy’s quiet presence, without Nova, is stiflingly barren.
Class is going on around me, but I’m not listening. Instead, my eyes are scanning the faces of the kids, looking for guilt, triumph, something to show me who did this to her. Her name is on the lips of every person in the school and yesterday morning as I walked into the hallway, whispers of the Scions, of Nova, was all I heard, but no one stood out from the crowd.
The schools in shock, all four of them are gone and no one is sure what to do, who to look to. Dill, Leo, and Phoenix are the only Sinners kids left at the school, but as freshman they don’t have enough social standing to take the reins until the others come back.
If they come back, a small voice whispers at the back of my mind.
But they have to come back; she has to come back. I’m not welcome at her house and she’s not at school. Yesterday, I’d been so desperate to see her, I’d climbed through her window and into her bedroom like the lovestruck stalker that I am. I don’t know what possessed me; if her dad had found me, he’d have kicked my ass, but I just couldn’t stay away.
Nova May Stubbs has completely bewitched me and I have no fucking clue what to do. I’m so beyond fucked up. My past has messed me up so royally that I’m incapable of just liking a girl. All of this could have been so different, she told me as much. If I’d just manned up and told her I liked her, asked her out like a normal person, she’d have said yes. But our fate had been sealed that first day at school.
* * *
First day at Archer’s Creek High
Fuck, I should have taken Zeke up on the offer of a lift. Maybe then I wouldn’t be clenching my fists and trying hard not to tell the principal that I don’t need his tour. I don’t need his pretentious platitudes or his warning that he’s read my file and thinks he knows all about me now.
My teeth are grinding together so hard, I swear they might crack if he doesn’t hurry up with this stupid fucking intro. When a second teacher joins us, I barely restrain my groan of annoyance. This one is a woman. She looks a mess, there’s a stain on the front of her shirt and she’s juggling so many papers I’m surprised she hasn’t dropped them all. In a previous life I might have offered to help her, but not now. Fuck her, fuck the principal, fuck this stupid school.
She opens the door to a classroom and leads the way inside. Almost every desk is full and every set of eyes in the place turns to us. Time to stare at the new kid, yeah, like I’ve never had this happen before. I eyeball every guy and let my gaze glide over each girl until I spot her.
Princess is sat at a desk in the middle of the room a few rows from the back. Her brother is sat to one side, a girl sat to the other. All three of them are holding large coffee cups and looking right at me. The principal must have finished his welcome speech, because when I glance behind me his attention is no longer on me and the female teacher is gesturing for me to take a seat.
The look on Princess’ face is derisive and when she looks to her friend and speaks, I know she’s talking about me. Nova is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, but a pretty face can hide the ugliest of souls and I won’t be fooled again.
There’s a free desk at the front of the room, one to the right-hand side, and then one directly behind Princess. I know I shouldn’t, but I walk straight past her and sink into the seat behind her. The shirt she’s wearing is falling off one shoulder, but her waterfall of hair is hanging down her back, glossy and smooth, obscuring my view.
I reach out and run my fingers through the strands before I even realize what I’ve done. Her shoulders stiffen and I know she felt my touch. “You want to shift all your fucking hair, Princess? It’s covering my desk and you’re molting like a fucking dog.” I snap, hoping my anger will hide my impulsive need to touch her.
I’m a fucking asshole, and I wait with a sick sense of excitement for her to turn around and bitch me out. Girls like her don’t have a sweet side, so I’ll take her anger, her fire instead. When she finally turns, I’m graced with her gorgeous face; her pouty lips twisted into a snarl. She waves her middle finger at me, then turns back around dismissing me. Without saying a word, she lifts her hands, pulling all of her hair up and twisting it into a loop on top of her head.
When she lowers her arms, I’m no longer staring at her hair, but the tantalizing expanse of her smooth skin. A few strands of hair she missed hang around her neck and her shirt falls further off her shoulder offering me a glimpse of the tan skin that dips below the loose fabric.
Fuck. My dick twitches to life. I’m hard and all I can see is the line of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, and a glimpse of her back.
The principal finally leaves, and the teacher starts to waffle on, welcoming everyone back and blathering on about how important this year is. I don’t care what she has to say; I’ll pass this year with ease. I’ll graduate top of the class, leave this shithole, get my money and go home.
But right now, none of that is important. Right now, the only thing I want is her attention back on me. I want all her thoughts, all her looks. I could talk to her, get to know her, but I won’t be taken in again with pretty words and solemn eyes. “Wow, you really must be as dumb as you look, Princess.” I taunt. When she doesn’t turn around, I add, “You seem to be listening pretty fucking hard to the teacher’s ‘the future is yours’ bullshit.”
She still ignores me, lifting her cup to her lips. I want to be the one touching her lips. I don’t even want that cup close to what�
��s mine. Shit, this girl isn’t mine. I don’t own anything, or anyone. I don’t make friends, or take girlfriends; I only rely on myself. But something about Princess is pushing me to taunt her, to tease her, to torture her. Girls like her don’t give themselves to throwaways like me, but I learned a long time ago that sometimes you have to take what you want.
I know she can hear me, so she’s ignoring me, and I don’t like it. “It’s rude to ignore people, or didn’t they teach you that at stuck-up bitch class?” I snap, my anger rising like a tide.
I hear her slow inhale of breath. Good, I’m getting to her. A dull sense of triumph pulses to life, something I haven’t felt since Bella, something I never thought I’d feel again. Bella. I push all thoughts of her away. I can’t think about her, I won’t.
Instead, I focus all of my attention on Princess: the straight line of her rigid back; the way I want to bite where her shoulder meets her neck, to mark her, claim her. “Wow. Do. I. Need. To. Talk. Slower. So. You. Can. Understand. Me?” I say mockingly, watching as her shoulders become more and more rigid.
Excitement heats my skin. I’m getting to her. It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t be playing with her like this, but I need a reaction. I need her to look at me, to see me.
When she spins around, there’s fire in her eyes and a sneer on her lips. “What the fuck is your problem? I was nice to you the other day and you’ve been nothing but a dick to me.”
She’s right of course. I have been a dick to her. She’s too beautiful, too perfect, too much, and yet there’s a fragility in her eyes that shouldn’t be there in someone like her. She’s just like Bella; a snake wrapped in this perfect façade.
The moment I saw her, all I could see was the sneering way Bella had mocked me, how she’d used me, manipulated me into doing what she needed, getting what she wanted. How she’d played the victim so perfectly, when the whole time she was the abuser not the abused. Now here’s Nova, the Princess, the perfect little girl that’s not who she appears to be, and even though my dick wants her, my brain wants to punish her, the way I never got a chance to punish Bella.