Sticks & Stones

by Rachael Brownell

  “Mr. Small,” a voice called from behind me. “I’d like to see you in my office, please. Now.”

  I’m not sure how long our principal had been standing there, but it was long enough to hear me call Tiffanie a bitch, and that sealed my fate. It didn’t matter what Tiffanie had done–no one had reported it. She got off free and clear while I spent five days at home, worrying about the girl in the hall, wishing I knew if she was safe or not.

  A few minutes later, the door opens. Paul’s mystery woman, who I can only assume is Ireland, walks in my direction.

  “He’s all yours,” she says before sauntering down the hall. I watch her walk away until I hear Paul clear his throat.

  “Like what you see?” he asks, amused.

  “Yeah, she’s hot. So is Reese. Reese, who also happens to be a girl I went to high school with.” Brushing past him, I take a seat and rest my head in my hands. “I know her, Paul. I’ve known her for years. If she figures out who I am, it will destroy her. I can’t do this. I can’t take this job. You have to find someone else.”

  “Wait. You know her?” he asks, sitting directly in front of me on the edge of his desk.

  “Weren’t you listening to me? We went to the same high school.”

  “So what’s the big deal? Tell her now, so it’s not a problem later on.” He makes it sound so simple.

  “You don’t understand. My ex-girlfriend is the one who broke her.” I want to tell him everything, but it’s not my story to tell.

  “She doesn’t seem broken to me. In fact, from what I know about her, she has her shit together more than most people.”

  “Not anymore, but she was. I saw it with my own eyes. That’s why she wants an escort for the reunion. She doesn’t want to face this alone. I can’t be that person for her. If anyone recognizes me, it’ll make things worse in the end.” I can’t let that happen. I tried my best to protect her from Tiffanie back then, and I won’t be the reason she has an opportunity to destroy her now.

  “I still don’t see the problem. It’s a masquerade ball. No one will see your face.”

  He has a point, but that doesn’t change the fact that I know the truth. Sure, our entire relationship is a lie, but that doesn’t mean we need to pile more lies on top of it. At some point in time, the truth will come out. It always finds a way and always at the worst time.

  “Look, Hunter, I can see the wheels turning in your mind. This is going to be fine. No one is going to find out who you really are. That’s why you use a different name for this type of thing. Keep it a secret from her or tell her–it’s your decision. If it were me, I wouldn’t tell her. On the other hand, if you decide to, that would be putting the decision in her lap and taking the pressure off of you.”

  “Can’t you find someone else?”

  “If you had asked me two hours ago, I could have. I just booked the rest of the weekend. No one else is available. Are you going to be able to handle it?” he asks, his tone all business.

  “I’m not worried about me. I know what she went through. I witnessed the powerful blow to her self-esteem. It’s the aftermath that concerns me.” Because I’m not sure how much Tiffanie has grown up over the last ten years.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry.”

  “Tell me that I’m not going to ruin her life. Tell me she won’t figure out who I am. Tell me something good, Paul,” I beg. I need my friend right now, not my boss. I need to know someone is on my side.

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear, but I can’t promise you I’m not full of shit, and you know that.”

  “Damn it!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “All she wanted was to hire a fake fiancé to rub her success in the face of the bullies that tortured her in high school. She didn’t sign up for this.”

  “So make that happen. Rub it in their faces and get the hell out of there. When you get back, you can tell her the truth or you can part ways and never speak again.”

  I’m out of options. Either I go, play the part, and pray my cover isn’t blown. Or I stay, let her down, and she faces this alone. Neither is ideal, and neither will get Reese the closure she’s after.

  Leaving Paul’s office, I head home to do a little soul searching. This decision is bigger than me and what I want. It’s about Reese. It’s about Tiffanie. It’s about rectifying a situation that I didn’t have the balls to stop when I was seventeen until it was too late.

  It’s about being a bigger person than I was back then.

  That moment is one I’ve always regretted. It’s haunted me time and time again.

  Why didn’t I recognize her? How is it that she looks completely different yet the same as she always has?

  Chapter Seven

  Reese

  Waking up Sunday morning, I realize today brings with it more face time with Hunter. He’s nice to look at, don’t get me wrong, but the reason we’re meeting still has me on edge. It’s all I’ve been able to think about over the last few days. He’s all I’ve been able to think about. His delicious, chocolate-brown eyes and his abrupt departure. That really concerns me. Things need to go perfectly or else this is going to blow up in my face. I can’t let that happen.

  If he’s not all in, ready to play his part, I can’t take him with me. I can’t risk it. The plan is to tell him that today.

  Me: What time did you want to meet?

  Hunter: There was a last minute addition to my schedule this afternoon. Can I call you later and we can talk instead?

  Last minute addition. He’s working, playing his part for someone else. I wonder what it is. Maybe some rich old lady, flaunting him to her friends at a luncheon. The country club for tennis? Who knows. I haven’t found much from the research I’ve done on him. A few pictures, nothing that stands out. I’m guessing that whoever hired him today is much older than me, wants in his pants, or wants to piss off her husband for having been ignored.

  With nothing on my schedule today, I call Ireland to see if she wants to get lunch. Her voicemail immediately picks up, which is odd for her. I don’t think I’ve ever left her a message before. If fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her phone in her hand.

  Sitting down at my desk, I begin making a list of all the things I want to talk to Hunter about when he calls. I don’t want to miss anything. It’s a long list by the time I’m done. There are even a few things I want to make sure I don’t talk to him about. Some of the topics are stupid, others are of vital importance to our story.

  Where is he from? I need to know about his parents, siblings, family dynamic. He knows I’ll be visiting my parents during our trip, but he doesn’t know anything else about my family.

  I crave information, I always have. It’s a curse most of the time. In high school, I read a lot of books, wanting to know more about what I was being taught. Once I broke out of my shell, Ireland claims that I talked nonstop for a week, always asking questions.

  My phone chimes with an incoming text, breaking my train of thought.

  Ireland: Busy. Call later?

  Me: Tell Paul I said hi.

  Ireland: Who says - never mind. I will.

  She’s so predictable. I’m happy for her as long as she’s happy. Hopefully, this will last longer than her previous relationships have. I think the average right now is ten days. Well, I need this to last at least seven more days so there’s no conflict while Hunter and I are in Indianapolis.

  Holy Crap! We leave in four and a half days. He needs to call. We need to talk. Things are much closer than I realized they were.

  To keep myself from freaking out, I hop online and take care of all the details for our trip. I make Hunter an appointment to get fitted for a tux tomorrow. Our masks are ordered and they should arrive at my office on Wednesday. Then I come across a small hiccup.

  There are no available flights out on Thursday night. The only option is for us to leave early Friday morning, arriving in Indianapolis around noon. As far as the reunion goes, no big deal. Seeing my p
arents is going to be a challenge now. By the time I take Hunter to the hotel, check us in–which I won’t be able to do until after three o’clock–get settled, and drive back to my parents, it’s going to be late. It would be better to go straight to their house before checking in.

  That means he would go with me.

  How do I explain him to my parents? They know I’m single. My father will want to interrogate him.

  Tell them the truth? I don’t think so. My parents would never approve.

  My gut tells me to find somewhere to leave him while I visit. That makes me feel like a bad person. We’re going to have to talk about this first thing. Adding it to my list, I power down my laptop after the flight and hotel reservations are confirmed and head to my room.

  Now I need to raid my closet for the perfect array of outfits for this weekend. My plan is to wear my long, fitted, black dress to the reunion. It’ll match the mask I ordered perfectly, as well as the tux I picked out for Hunter. The rest of the weekend will be low key, but I can’t walk around in sweatpants and a t-shirt the entire time. He’ll think I’m a bum.

  We won’t be sharing a room, so I grab my favorite pajamas–an old sweatshirt and running shorts. I purchased the sweatshirt my first year in college. There is a hole in the armpit and a stain on my right boob. It’s the most comfortable thing I own. In the winter, I practically live in it when I’m home. Assuming that the weather will be nice this weekend, if I get too hot at night, I’ll crank the air conditioning up a little to compensate.

  Folding both neatly, I place them in a pile on my bed. After that, I find a flowy red blouse that will be perfect for the plane ride and pair it with khaki Capri pants and strappy, brown wedge sandals. Setting those on top of my dresser so I don’t accidentally pack them, I continue my hunt for two more outfits.

  Thinking about what I’ll be doing while I’m there, I grab my running shoes and workout clothes. I also snag a pair of jeans and a knee-length skirt. Moving through my closet at a rapid pace, I pull out three tops that will look good with either, but can’t seem to locate my dress.

  Two more times through my closet, moving each and every hanger to make sure I don’t miss it, and I claim defeat. My dress is missing. This means I need to go shopping. Normally, I love to shop, but with my stress level as high as it is right now, I’m not in the mood.

  Pulling out all the dresses I own, I find fault in each of them one by one. Nothing is going to work. Leaving myself no other option, I change and mentally prepare myself for the mall on a Sunday afternoon.

  Three hours and twenty-seven dresses later, I’m finally pulling in my driveway. I won’t be going back to the mall anytime soon. I’ll never go again on a Sunday, no matter how dire the situation is. The place was packed. Kids were screaming in every store I went in while their parents ignored them.

  Never! There’s no way I’ll ever have kids. I can’t stand the sound of a baby crying, a toddler talking gibberish, or a teenager’s attitude. I’ll skip it, all of it.

  Hanging my dress on the back of my bedroom door, I finish packing, shoving all the piles of clothing I set aside earlier into one rolling suitcase. I should be able to avoid checking a bag if all goes well. The last time I went home, the plane was overcrowded and they made me check my carry-on at the gate, claiming there wasn’t enough room in the overhead compartments.

  Not wanting to deal with that again, I made sure to book us first-class seats. We’ll have an overhead compartment to ourselves, and I should be able to avoid checking my bag this time. Plus, the seats are slightly bigger. No matter how big or small the person next to me is, it always feels like I’m practically sitting on top of them.

  Not that I would mind sitting in Hunter’s lap.

  Shit! I need to keep my head clear. I can’t think like that, especially when I’m around him. I need to keep my guard up.

  Moving through the house, I pick up the few things that I left lying around this morning and preheat the oven so I can cook the pan of lasagna I made last night. The day has flown by. I’ve accomplished more than I normally do when I have a rare Sunday off. Just as the timer on the oven beeps, so does my phone.

  Hunter: Can we still meet up?

  Me: I was just about to put dinner in the oven. How about I call you?

  Hunter: Want company?

  Um…

  Thinking it over, I don’t respond right away. Sure, we’re about to play the adorable couple this weekend. Yes, I need to get comfortable being around him. After the dirty thoughts I was having earlier, do I want to be alone with him in my house? I’m not sure I’m ready for that, but what choice do I really have?

  It’s either now or never. It’s the little things other people will notice. I can’t flinch when he touches me. I can’t pull away when he leans in close. My nerves can’t be on edge while we’re there because of him. I’m sure we’ll dance, or hold hands, or touch in some way, shape, or form. Cringing mentally, I realize my facial features mimic my thoughts. That will either help or hurt things. Right now, I’m not sure which.

  Me: Sure. Dinner should be done in about an hour. If you want food, you have to bring wine. Red. Dry.

  Hunter: Deal.

  Now to make sure I don’t drink all the wine. I’ll need it to settle me, but if I drink too much… I don’t even want to think about it. It’s been too long since I’ve felt the touch of a man, especially one as attractive as Hunter. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been with someone as attractive as him. Tonight is not the night, and he’s not the one I want to touch me. It would make things more awkward than they’re going to be as it is. We only need to be comfortable around each other. We don’t have to have chemistry.

  Scurrying around the kitchen, I quickly put together a salad. After that’s finished, I slice open a loaf of French bread and slather it with butter and garlic. I’ll toss that in to toast while the lasagna rests.

  Time slips away from me and just as the oven timer dings, the doorbell rings, causing me to jump.

  He’s here.

  Taking a deep breath, I quickly pull the lasagna out, slide the garlic bread in and turn the oven to broil. He rings the bell again as I reach for the handle, pulling the door open.

  OMG! He looks delicious. He’s wearing jeans and a blue button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, giving me a glimpse of the tattoos he has on his arms. I’m staring at him, my mouth agape. When I finally force myself to look up, he’s smiling at me, a sly grin telling me I’ve been caught. No sense in beating around the bush.

  “You look nice,” I say, stepping aside so he can come in.

  “Thanks. Wine,” he says, handing over a bottle of merlot. “I hope it’s dry enough for you. I don’t drink a lot of red wine.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “Is something burning?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

  Shit! The garlic bread.

  Turning, I sprint toward the kitchen, leaving Hunter to fend for himself. The smell gets stronger the closer I get. When I open the oven, a waft of smoke hits me in the face and I reach in blindly. Setting the pan on the counter, I shake my head at the burnt bread. Damn it!

  “The smoke detectors are going to go off if you don’t open a window,” Hunter says. Turning, I find him leaning against the door frame.

  “Can you open the slider? I’ll set the pan outside and let it cool,” I say, picking the pan back up, holding it as far away from my face as possible.

  Nodding toward the patio door, Hunter opens the door for me, closing it quickly to keep the smell out.

  “Well, there goes dinner,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Sorry. I’m not a horrible cook, I swear. I normally don’t burn things.”

  “I’m sure the rest will be great,” he replies reassuringly.

  Making small talk as we plate the rest of the food, I take a seat at the counter next to Hunter. This is going better than I planned. The wine is flowing. I’m not nervous. He’s asking personal questions, but I’m
comfortable talking with him right now. Then he has to go and ruin everything.

  “I want to kiss you,” he says, leaning in close. When I don’t reply, he pulls back, his words rushed as he tries to explain himself. “I was just thinking, you know, to get it out of the way. So it looks natural in case we have to kiss in front of other people. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It was a bad idea. I’m sorry I suggested it.”

  Tossing his napkin on his plate, he excuses himself to the bathroom before I can reply. Things were going great, and now the room is clouded in tension. He wanted to kiss me. His body language, the way his voice hummed when he told me he wanted to kiss me told me more than his words ever could. Although his excuse was poor, he has a point. We should kiss so it’s not obvious it’s our first time.

  Chapter Eight

  Hunter

  Staring at her text message for a few minutes, I quickly think of an excuse why we can’t meet up. I know there are things we need to discuss, business. My last few days have been spent soul searching, trying to decide what decision is the lesser of two evils.

  Option number one is to keep everything from her. If somewhere along the way she figures out who I am, I deny everything and claim not to remember her. That would hurt her just as much as my lies, so I hope she never figures me out. I have a feeling she won’t be forgiving is she does.

  Option number two is to tell her everything I know, everything I remember, and offer to still help her. My heart tells me this is the best option. The smart choice to make. My fear is that she’ll look at me like I’m worthless. I was one of them for a minute after all. Will she remember the one brief moment I stood up for her and everyone else Tiffanie bullied? Probably not.

  Option number three is to tell her and then walk away without looking back. This is the hardest one for me to consider. I want to help her. She needs to prove to those assholes that she survived them and made something great of herself. They need to see they didn’t win. I want this for her almost as much as she does.