Low Over High (The Over Duet #1)

by J. A. Derouen

  “If I can specify where I’d like you to take a flying leap,” I counter, never breaking eye contact.

  “Touché.” He rests one arm on the back of his chair and rests his chin on the other. “What’s your name, new girl?

  I eye him, attempting to suss out his intentions, and he’s all easy smiles and expectant eyes. I keep a blank expression, refusing to show weakness. High school is a helluva lot like prison. If the big dogs smell fear, you’ll end up shanked by the end of the week.

  “Name, por favor,” he prompts again.

  “Low Rivers.”

  “Low what?”

  “Just Low.”

  “No.”

  He crosses his arms and stares. I cock my head to the side, never breaking his gaze.

  “No?”

  “Logan? Willow? Lola? Which is it?” he asks, watching me for any sign of recognition. I smirk, but offer no suggestions. “Or maybe Loooooooooow Down Dirty Shame?”

  “That’s it!” I laugh. “Ya got me.”

  “Ha! I knew it. Name’s Jeb, Low Down Dirty Shame.” He smirks and offers his hand. “And I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

  I smile and shake his hand, unable to stop myself from latching onto his friendly nature. His attention pulls away from me as he burns holes into Charlotte, who continues to search for the meaning of life in her watermelon.

  “Hey Charlotte.” Jeb drums his thumbs on top of his chair, switching from smooth talker to a ball of nerves in an instant. He bumps her shoulder gently and smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

  Charlotte chews slowly and barely raises her head. “Yeah, you, too.”

  Silence. Nothing but silence. Oy, these two are painful.

  “When did you get back in town, Jeb?” Delilah jumps in, saving us all from the black hole of sweaty palms and stilted conversation.

  “This morning. The parentals made sure to wake up at the crack of dawn to cart me off. I bet they’re swinging from trapeze and shooting whiskey as we speak. Nothing like getting rid of the dead weight, right?” He turns to me and shrugs. “In case you missed it, LDDS, I’m the dead weight.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they don’t think that,” I say, not at all confident in what I’m telling is the truth. How the hell would I know? He could be a real horse’s ass—or maybe his parents are dickheads.

  “They most certainly do. But it’s all good. No tears for the Lost Boy.”

  “The Lost Boy?” I ask.

  “Here he goes,” Charlotte mumbles, popping a grape into her mouth and shaking her head.

  “You know it’s true, Charlotte, so embrace it,” Jeb says while crossing his arms and smiling. He turns his gaze to me. “You see LDDS, Orleans Academy students fit into one of three distinct classifications. The first group is the Future Politicians and CEOs of America. Their parents expect great things from their child prodigies. Am I right, Charlotte?”

  Cue Charlotte’s eye roll and labored sigh.

  “I rest my case. The second group of students are the Children of Current Politicians and CEOs of America. These kids are all but forgotten, with the exception of photo ops and the occasional attention getting shenanigans. Speaking of, nice shirt, Delilah,” Jeb adds.

  “Why, thank you, Jeb. It’s Daddy’s favorite—especially when I pair it with leather pants and hooker heels,” Delilah says, batting her eyes and giving her most angelic smile.

  “As do I, Delilah. As. Do. I.” Jeb stares at her chest for a half second too long. He shakes his head, pulling himself from Delilah’s booby trance, and looks back at me. “And last, but not least, are The Lost Boys. Or The Lost Girls, but that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. We are the wayward souls. We’ve all lived in too many boarding schools to count, jumping from one to the next. No matter how many kick us out, there are a string of replacements at our parents’ fingertips, willing to accept their generous donations, because the last place they’d ever want us to be is home with them.”

  “Wow, that’s … incredibly sad,” I say as I shake my head.

  “Nah, ‘s all right, because being under the same roof with those stiffs is the last place I’d wanna be anyway. I’d rather raise a little hell,” Jeb says as pulls his shirt collar down to reveal the tail of what looks like a dragon tattoo and sticks out his pierced tongue. When my eyes widen, he just laughs. “What’s your poison, new girl? Country girl genius? Or daughter of an oil tycoon?”

  “Why not a Lost Girl?” I ask with a touch of defiance. He doesn’t know, I could be sporting a nipple piercing and a complete disregard for authority under these blue jeans and ponytail.

  “Please, LDDS, the ‘fresh off the turnip truck’ vibe is rolling off you in innocent, puritanical waves.” Jeb waves his hands in a fluid motion for effect, and I pelt him in the head with my napkin.

  “My sweet and wholesome look has fooled many,” I say, placing my palms together under my cheek and fluttering my lashes. “I don’t think I’m any of those things. I’m not an angel or a devil. I sneak out on Saturday night to shoot whiskey and wake up early on Sunday to make cupcakes for church. Things aren’t as simple as that. I don’t like boxes.”

  “Yeah, Jeb,” Delilah says as she stabs her fork in his direction. “We don’t like boxes.”

  “Hmm.” He rubs his chin. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll teach you how to sneak out of your new digs, if you make me some of those church cupcakes.”

  I reach for his outstretched hand and shake. I’ll swap treats for tricks any day. “You got it. I’ll even throw an ‘amen’ and ‘alleluia’ in the batter.”

  “There’s a small kitchen on every floor of the dorm, so there will be a direct correlation between the amount of sweets you deliver and the intel I provide.” Jeb smirks and his eyes dance. “Yep, this is the beginning of a great friendship, LDDS.”

  “You may be right.” I laugh.

  “So when is ‘His Highness’ going to grace us with his presence?” Charlotte asks with what’s becoming her signature eye roll.

  Jeb chuckles. “Ever? That asshole will probably stroll up five minutes before our first class starts.”

  “Ever?”

  “Yeah, my roommate,” Jeb says. “It’s safe to say Ever Montgomery is the king of The Lost Boys. Dude doesn’t want to be at home or here. I’m not sure he wants to be anywhere.”

  Dinner wraps up, and we head back to Boozman Hall for orientation with our RA, Danielle. Her blue highlights and Slipknot T-shirt don’t exactly scream authority, but she outlines the stringent rules like a boss. Since Orleans Academy is in the heart of the French Quarter, rules regarding leaving campus have to be strict for safety reasons. Without an after school job or a decree from the Pope himself, no student leaves the grounds unsupervised. Jeb’s tips on sneaking out will be very handy indeed.

  I crawl into bed with first day thoughts swirling in my head, the sounds of the city as background noise. It’s so different from the chirping crickets and croaking frogs that were my lullaby just last night. I’m really here. This is real, and if I’m completely honest, a little overwhelming.

  That’s when I realize Evelyn never called like she promised.

  Ever

  I KNOCK ON the wooden office door, and wait for a response. I need to get this shit over with. It’s not like this day could suck any more than it already does. Maybe he’s already gone for the night. Yeah … no way I’d be that lucky.

  “Come on in.”

  I nudge open the door and lean against the doorframe as Uncle Jeffrey looks up from his computer. Even with his loosened tie and wrinkled shirt, evidence of a long first day at Orleans Academy, he oozes respectability. I’ll never understand how he and my mother share the same upbringing. But then again, he shares the same blood as me, too. It’s like he’s the shining star in a sky riddled with black holes.

  He tosses his glasses on the desk and grinds his jaw in frustration. It’s all directed at me, of course. I can’t really blame him. That being said, I don’t
blame myself either. I do what I have to do to get by. His chair creaks as he leans back and crosses his arms. He lets out a frustrated sigh and motions me to sit. I take him up on the offer, but only because I’m exhausted.

  It’s been a helluva day. Aunt Marty threatened to throw my clothes on the front lawn if I didn’t pack my shit and get on the road. She knows how hard it is for me to leave, but she’s got no problem practicing tough love when it comes to me. If it wasn’t for my mom’s brother, Uncle Jeffrey, and my dad’s sister, Aunt Marty, I don’t know how I’d deal with it all. Hell, what I can’t figure out for the life of me is how they manage to deal with me. I’m damn grateful they do.

  “Ever, how good of you to show. I’d hate to think I covered for you with your parents and your teachers for nothing. I mean, how important is the first day of class, anyway?”

  I hitch my foot up on my knee and lean back in the chair, mimicking his posture. I wonder if I should make up some elaborate excuse about my absence. Should I tell him my car died on the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge and I hitchhiked the rest of the way? Nah, he’ll flip even more than if I just told him the truth.

  “I wasn’t ready to leave. Honestly, I had to talk myself out of turning around two or three times on the way back here. You have to understand where I’m coming from, Uncle Jeff,” I say, with a hint of pleading in my voice. I may be a rebellious asshole, but I don’t want to isolate one of my only allies. He’s been good to me.

  He lets out a long sigh. “I get it, Ever, I really do, but you have to meet me in the middle here. Help me help you?” He smirks and shrugs his shoulders.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, with a hint of sarcasm that I can’t seem to leech out of my voice, no matter how hard I try.

  “Your mother called me yesterday. She’s worried about you.” He has the decency to avert his eyes. He knows this is bullshit, even if he won’t say the words.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Unbelievable.”

  “I know it’s … complicated. But it wouldn’t hurt to try and heal things between you and your parents. A couple of visits home would go a long way. Maybe take the long way back to school and make a pit stop in Baton Rouge to visit them. Or how about showing your face when they make the effort to visit Easton in Thibodaux? You’re avoiding them.” He lifts his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side.

  “Are you talking about the two times they decided to be parents in the last three months?” I hold my anger in check, but just barely. Any talk of my parents brings out the worst in me. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t be about me, anyway. We both know where her focus should be, but the woman doesn’t have it in her to worry about anything but herself. I can assure you, your little phone call yesterday had everything to do with her feeling sorry for herself. If I had to guess, the call took place somewhere between bottle two and three of wine. No worries, I’m sure she passed out within minutes of hanging up with you. All is right in her world again.”

  Uncle Jeff doesn’t say a word. He knows better than to argue this point with me. He’s had a front row seat to this shit show for seventeen years. He knows better than anyone what my mother is capable of, or more to the point, what she’s incapable of.

  Avoiding her … really? She figured that out all on her own? I’d think the fact that I’d spent the entire summer living with Aunt Marty would be evidence enough that I didn’t want to see either of my parents. I see the blame in her eyes. I hear the words she never says, but screams at the top of her lungs. It’s crippling to be weighed, measured, judged … and found lacking. Nothing can erase the sins of the past, the boy I am right down to my marrow, and I’ve grown tired of trying. I can only take so much.

  “Sherry is … hell, Ever, I don’t know what she is. Your mother certainly won’t win any parenting awards. But your dismissal? Your complete disregard for her and your father’s authority? You’ve put me in a tough spot.”

  “What do you mean, Uncle Jeff?”

  One look at his tired eyes and resigned expression, and I know this isn’t good. My family has that effect on most people. We’re an exhausting bunch of head cases.

  “Since you won’t talk to them, they’re asking for weekly progress reports. Grades, attendance reports, extracurricular activities—they want it all. And if they don’t like what the reports say, there will be … sanctions.” He spits out the last word like bitter coffee. He watches me with caution, waiting for me to react. Knowing that I will. “Unless you comply, they’ll limit your visits to Brookdale.”

  “Fuck that,” I say, launching out of the chair. “Aunt Marty will never let that happen. She’d never turn me away.”

  Uncle Jeff raises a calming hand. “Calm down, Ever. It’s not up to Marty. She’ll always let you stay with her in Thibodaux, yes. But she doesn’t have a say in visitors’ lists—”

  “They wouldn’t do it.” I pace the office, trying to calm the roaring in my head. “This isn’t about me. They can’t stand the sight of me. They’re using Easton to punish me, and that shows just how despicable they are.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I wish I could shake some sense into her, into your father.” He stands and walks around his desk to meet me, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch feels like a collar. “I’m trying to protect you from whatever game they’re playing, but you need to do your part, Ever. Skipping school today? Not a great start, son.”

  “I’m not your son,” I say as I shove his hand away. I fight to keep my temper from boiling over and erupting.

  “I wish to God you were, Ever.” He turns away from me and sits back down. “I’ll do what I can to keep them satisfied, but you can’t miss any more classes. As Dean of Orleans Academy, people expect my nephew to follow the rules and excel. Please meet me halfway. And if not for me, do it for Easton.”

  I grudgingly nod and head for the door, my emotions a jumbled wreck. It was hard enough to leave East today, but leave it to my parents to throw a pile of bricks on the quicksand that is my life. Behind the anger that fuels me, I feel desperation settling in. If they make good on their threats, I don’t know what I’ll do. It wouldn’t end well for me, and that would affect Easton. That can’t happen—I can’t let it.

  So it looks like I’m my parents’ newest puppet.

  I turn back and meet Uncle Jeffrey’s gaze. It’s resigned. Apologetic. Rationally, I know he’s on my side. It’s a short lineup, beginning with him and ending with Aunt Marty, but I like to think we have righteousness on our side. I need to remember his hands are tied by his sister’s antics.

  “I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again,” I say honestly. It doesn’t cost me a thing. I owe Uncle Jeffrey more than I can ever repay.

  He gives me a grim smile and nods. “Welcome back, Ever.”

  “Hey, douchebag, you can’t leave already. You just got here,” Jeb hollers as I take off down the hall.

  “Later, man. We’ll talk later.”

  I hate to leave Jeb hanging, but I’m too keyed up to play summer catch-up right now. I need to be alone, which is hard to come by living in a dorm with five hundred other high school students. A quick drop of my suitcase and backpack to the room is all the together time I can muster right now.

  I climb the stairs two at a time, trying to make my way up to the roof before anyone spots me on the girls’ floors. I round the corner at light speed and run chest first into something soft and … sweet?

  “What the fuck?”

  Metal clangs and brown curls fly as I’m jolted backward.

  “Damnit!”

  I look down at my shirt and find it’s smeared with some type of icing. Crumbs and chocolate icing cover my shoes. Her gaze levels me, but I don’t give a shit. She and her feeble attempt at baking assaulted me.

  “Why don’t you watch where the hell you’re going?” I say as I kick crumbs off my shoes and onto her legs. I run a finger over the mound of icing caked on my shirt and fling it down … onto her arm.

  Oops.

/>   Emerald eyes cut me with pure malice, but I’m not interested in what she has to say. I round her and continue my trek up the stairs.

  “Sleep with one eye open, ass munch!” she hollers as I give her my back side and a one finger salute. I hear her angry growl behind me, and, surprisingly enough, it lifts my spirits.

  Happy to have you share in my miserable day, ya green-eyed witch.

  When I finally reach the roof, I shove open the door, and the sounds of the city below overtake me. I breathe deep, the first time I’ve filled my lungs since leaving Easton. It never gets easier. Every time is like I’m losing a piece of myself, a piece I’ll never recover. There’ll come a time when there’s nothing left, and I can’t find it in me to give a shit.

  Marlo

  I STOMP INTO the room and chuck my disgusting clothes into the dirty laundry hamper. Twenty minutes of soaking and scrubbing didn’t get the chocolate out of my shirt, so I’m pretty sure it’s ruined.

  Obnoxious, unapologetic jerk!

  It turns out the shower and scrub down did nothing to calm my temper. I took those twenty minutes as an opportunity to think of creative ways to destroy/maim/castrate the crotchety cake annihilator. I hold my head high and try to ignore the stifled giggles from the bottom bunk. Charlotte shushes Delilah and shoots her the evil eye.

  “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, Delilah. Jeb probably would have shared a slice of cake with you. I hope you go to bed hungry tonight,” I say with a huff.

  My double chocolate chip cake with milk chocolate icing and crumbled Heath bars may not have been made from scratch, but it still would have been killer. The tiny student market in the cafeteria leaves a lot to be desired, but I made do. There are ways to make even instant cake mix taste delicious. Now we’ll never know.

  I could throat punch that douchenozzle…

  “Aw, come on, Low. You have to admit it’s a little funny, right?” Her voices gets softer as she takes in my angry expression. Her mouth turns into a frown, and she shrugs. “Maybe not, then. I wonder who ran into you. Describe him again.”