by Alyson Noel
I’m lonely and confused and really just looking for a warm place to land. And as conflicted as I may be about him, I refuse to treat him like a crutch.
We both deserve better than that.
So I continue to cruise, traveling up and down Coast Highway a few times before venturing into the smaller, narrower, twisting and turning village streets. Just meandering around and around, with no real destination in mind, until I find myself at Roman’s—or, make that Haven’s, since according to Miles, she’s taken up residence.
Abandoning my car by the curb, far enough away so she won’t see it, I creep quietly across the street, hearing the music well before I’ve even reached the path that leads to the door. The speakers blaring some song by one of those garage bands she’s so fond of—the kind Roman hated and I’ve never even heard of.
I make my way toward the front window, a large bay one lined with hedges on the outside and an unoccupied window seat on the inside. Crouching down beside the bushes, having no intention of going in or being seen, I’m far more interested in observing, learning just what it is that she’s up to, and how she spends her free time. The more I know about her habits, the better I’ll be able to plan around them, or if not actually plan, then at least I’ll know how to react when the time comes.
She stands before a blazing fire, her hair long and wavy, her makeup as dramatically applied as the last time I saw her. Though the long, flowy gown she wore on the first day of school has been swapped for a skintight, indigo-blue minidress, while the stilettos she usually favors have been shunned for bare feet. But the tangle of necklaces are still there, minus the amulet of course, and the longer I watch her, the way she speaks, the way she flits around the room, the more I begin to worry.
There’s something so manic, so agitated, so tightly wound about her, it’s like she can barely contain her own energy, can barely handle herself.
Bouncing from foot to foot in a state of perpetual motion, taking numerous gulps from her goblet, not allowing it to sit empty for even a second before she’s dipping into Roman’s supply of elixir and refilling again.
The same elixir she claims to be far more powerful than the one Damen brews, and from the looks of her, and from what I experienced in the school bathroom, I’ve no doubt it’s true.
Even though her words are completely drowned out by the music and the blaring percussion that vibrates the walls, it’s not like I need to listen to know what’s really going on here.
She’s worse than I thought.
She’s losing control of herself.
While she may be able to influence her rapt group of listeners, keeping them mesmerized, entranced, and happy to focus only on her—she’s far too fidgety, far too frenzied and turbulent to keep it going much longer.
She reaches for the goblet again, tossing her head back and taking a long, deep swill. Running her tongue over her lips, desperate to catch every last drop, her eyes practically glowing as she repeats the sequence again—and again—drinking and pouring, pouring and drinking—leaving no doubt in my mind she’s addicted.
Having been to that dark place myself, I know all the signs. Know just what it looks like.
Though it’s not like I’m all that surprised. This is pretty much what I expected from the moment she turned against me and went off on her own. Though I am surprised that her new group of friends pretty much consists of every Bay View High School student who’s ever been dumped on by Stacia, Craig, or any other member of the A list crew—while the A list itself, the group she was last seen cozying up to on the first day of school, is decidedly absent.
And I’m just starting to get it, just starting to understand what it is that she’s up to, when I hear:
“Ever?”
I turn, my gaze meeting Honor’s as she pauses on her way to the door.
“What’re you doing here?” She squints, carefully eyeballing me.
I glance between her and the house, knowing my hiding place near the bushes and my surprise at being caught pretty much reveals everything that I won’t.
The silence lingering between us so long, I’m just about to break it when she says, “Haven’t seen you around school lately—I was starting to think you dropped out.”
“It’s been a week.” I shrug, knowing that as far as a defense goes, it’s a lame one. Still, I could’ve been sick, could’ve come down with mono or a bad case of the flu, so why does everyone just assume I dropped out?
Am I really that big of a weirdo/loser to them?
She juts her hip to the side and drums her fingers against it, taking a moment to really look me over before saying, “Really? A week—is that all?” She bobs her head back and forth as though mentally weighing my words. “Huh. Seems so much longer. Must be the fastest social revolution in all of history.”
I narrow my gaze, not liking the sound of that, but determined to not say a word—or at least not yet anyway. I’m hoping my silence will get her so pumped up and carried away, so eager to impress me with whatever it is that she’s done, she’ll reveal far more than she ever intended.
“Surely you’ve heard?” She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she starts to move toward me. “I guess I just assumed that’s why you’re here, spying on Haven and all. But, whatever, all you need to know is that it worked. Stacia is history and Haven has taken her place.” Her eyes flash as she allows her lip to curl just the tiniest bit, no doubt feeling more than a little pleased with herself. “Things are very, very different around Bay View these days. But, heck, don’t take my word for it, why don’t you drop by and see for yourself?”
I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to react, to pay any real notice to her mocking tone, her sense of superiority. It’s exactly what she wants, and I’m not about to comply.
Still, I am hoping to knock her down a notch when I say, “Excuse me, but did you just say Haven’s taken Stacia’s place?”
Honor nods, still smirking, still feeling all puffed up and triumphant.
“Sooo…” I narrow my eyes, dragging out the word as I take a moment to slowly look her over. Taking in her designer flats, black leggings, and the long-sleeved, clingy T-shirt that hangs well past her hips. My gaze finding its way back to hers when I say, “How does that make you feel?”
She glances toward the window, watching as Haven continues to entertain her minions, before returning to me. Her confidence beginning to waver, to fade, just like her aura, wondering just what it is that I’m getting at.
“I mean, that’s not quite the coup you had planned, now is it?”
She exhales loudly, deeply, gazing at the street, the yard, anywhere but me.
“Because, if I remember right, your whole deal was that you were tired of being number two—and now, well, from what you just told me anyway, you actually kind of missed the revolution since you’re still number two. I mean, think about it, Honor, according to what you just said, the only change is that you’re now Haven’s shadow instead of Stacia’s—or at least that’s how it sounded to me.”
She crosses her arms before her, so quickly, so violently, the bag on her shoulder slips down to her elbow and bangs hard against her thigh. But she pays it no notice, just narrows her gaze on mine when she says, “I was sick of dealing with Stacia’s crap. And now, thanks to a little help from Haven, I don’t have to. No one has to. Stacia is nothing more than a big washed-up has-been who no one pays any attention to. She doesn’t matter anymore, and you shouldn’t feel sorry for her.” She lifts her brow and scowls.
But she can make all the faces and lob all the rebuttals she wants, the fact is, my work is done. I’ve gotten to her. Reminded her of her one big goal—to take Stacia’s place—and pointed out how from everything she’s just said, it was a total fail.
Figuring I may as well drive it all the way home when I add, “Because the thing is—” I raise and lower my shoulders casually, as though I have all the time in the world to explain it to her. “The thing about Haven—or at least this new and
improved version of Haven—is that she’s really not so different from your old friend Stacia. No real difference at all. Except for one major thing—”
Honor inspects her nails, doing her best to appear bored, uninterested, but it’s no use. Her aura is blazing big and bright—her energy streaming toward me as though begging the words to come quicker. Like a mood meter she’s not even aware of and couldn’t possibly hide if she was.
“Haven is far more dangerous than Stacia could ever be.” My gaze locks on hers, watching as she sighs and rolls her eyes.
Addressing me with a major dose of pity when she says, “Please. That may be true for you, but it’s hardly true for me.”
“Yeah? And what makes you so sure?” I cock my head to the side as though I truly need to hear it from her, as though I couldn’t just look straight into her mind.
“Because we’re friends.” She shrugs. “We share a common interest—a common…enemy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you remember that it wasn’t all that long ago when Haven and I were friends too.” I glance back toward the window, watching as Haven continues to drink and talk, talk and drink, with no signs of slowing, no signs of ceasing. “And now she’s determined to kill me.” I turn to face Honor, my voice so quiet it was almost as though I just spoke to myself But she heard it. The way she sniffs and fidgets and tries so hard to act like I didn’t just say what I said, assures me of that.
Her posture stiffening, her resolve hardening, as she heads for the door and says, “Listen, Ever, despite what you may think, the only enemy I share with Haven is Stacia. I really don’t want to have a problem with you. Whatever goes on between you and her—stays between you and her. Which means I won’t tell her I found you out here spying—okay? That can be our secret.”
I pluck a stray leaf from the front of my dress, not believing a word she just said. Knowing all too well she’ll be unable to resist it, that she’ll divulge the whole thing the second she walks through that door.
But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s time for Haven to get the long overdue message that her fun is now over—that, as of tomorrow, I’ll be back in full swing. She cannot continue to terrorize people—even when those people are Stacia. Or at least not while I’m still around.
“You know what they say about secrets, right?” My eyes fix on hers.
She shrugs, tries to act casual, uninterested, but it’s no use. Her face is marred by fear and confusion.
“That two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.”
She shakes her head, tries to shake off my words, but she’s troubled, that much is clear.
Reaching for the door and looking over her shoulder when I say, “So, if you do decide to tell her I was here, you can also tell her I look forward to catching up with her tomorrow at school.”
nineteen
If I were to make an assumption based solely on the look and feel of the parking lot, well, I’d probably assume that all is as fine and well and normal as it ever will be.
I’d also assume that this morning’s early training session/workout—the one that left all of my muscles quivering—was a total waste of time and that I should’ve just slept in instead.
But from everything Miles has told me, I need to venture a little farther than the overcrowded lot that looks more like a luxury car dealership than an area reserved for student parking.
I need to go past the wrought-iron gates and into the heart of the school, where, according to him anyway, the real story lives.
And even then, he says it’s probably only truly shocking to those in the know, since all of the teachers and administrators remain pretty much oblivious to the new social order.
“And, Ever,” he says, turning to me as I head for my intended space, the best in the bunch, the one Damen used to save for me that now, for some strange reason, has been taken over by Haven. “That’s not all. There’s a little more to it, something else you should know.”
“Sing it.” I smile, pulse racing as I focus on Roman’s shiny red Aston Martin that Haven now drives.
“Not everything is quite what it may seem at first glance.” He studies me, carefully, cautiously, making sure that I’m listening before he goes on to say, “So…just try to keep that in mind, okay? Don’t rush to judgment. Don’t make any snap assumptions should you…or, I guess I should say, when you…come across something like that. Okay?”
I squint, pushing my hair off my face, saying, “Spill it, Miles. Seriously, whatever it is you’re dancing around, just say it, simple and clean. Because, honestly, I have no idea what you’re getting at.” Narrowing my gaze and reading into his energy, his tremulous, wavering aura, a sure sign that something’s up, but still maintaining my vow to respect his privacy by stopping right there, not even considering trespassing on his innermost thoughts.
But it’s not like he knows that. All he can see is my deep, piercing stare, and it sends him straight into a panic.
“Hey, stop that!” he shouts. “You promised you wouldn’t do that without my permission. Remember?”
“Relax.” I dismiss the thought with a wave of my hand. “I wasn’t reading your mind. Not even close. I mean, sheesh! What does it take to get a little trust around here?”
Mostly mumbling that last part to myself, but for some reason, it prompts him to say, “Trust goes both ways, Ever, just remember that, okay? That’s pretty much what I was getting at earlier.”
I shrug, moving past Miles’s intentionally coy and cryptic warning and on to my real mission. Closing my eyes just long enough to do what it takes to prove to a certain someone just who’s the real boss around here. Seeing the red Aston Martin banished to a faraway corner, as I punch the gas and quickly claim the newly vacated space.
Prompting Miles to gasp, turning to me when he says, “Wow. I think I forgot how much I like carpooling with you.” He shakes his head and laughs. “In fact, I actually really missed it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m eager for the car to get out of the shop so I can get my freedom back and all that, but still, there’s nothing like the way you manipulate the traffic light patterns to go green when you need them to and red when you don’t, the way you convince all the other drivers to get out of your way and merge into another lane so you can take their place, and how you just take whatever parking space you set your sights on, whether it’s occupied or not. Like now, for instance.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I gotta tell ya, Ever, that sort of thing never really happens when I’m out on my own.”
But even though he meant it as a joke, something about it really shakes me. Everything he just mentioned, all of those tricky maneuvers, were taught to me by the stealth-driving master himself—Damen. And I can’t help but wonder where he stands in all this.
“Miles—” I pause, my voice sounding much smaller than I intended. Dropping my hands from the wheel and clasping them in my lap as I say, “Exactly where is Damen these days?” I turn, noting the concern that quickly clouds his gaze. “I mean, why is he allowing Haven to do this—to park here and whatever else she’s up to? Why isn’t he fighting back in some way?”
Miles looks away, taking a moment to compose himself, his words, before he faces me again. His hand on my arm, squeezing gently when he says, “Trust me, he is fighting back. In his own concerned-citizen, good karma kind of way. That’s sort of what I meant when I said you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not everything is as black and white as it first seems…”
I stare at him, waiting for more, but he just clamps his lips shut and runs an imaginary zipper across them. And I can’t believe he’s going to leave it like that, leave me hanging like that.
“That’s it?” I look at him and shake my head. “That’s how you’re gonna leave it? All vague and noncommittal, and up to me to figure out on my own, without a heads-up?”
“That was your heads-up,” he says, clearly committed to leaving it there.
I sigh and close my eyes, but I don’t get upset, don’t read his min
d, don’t press any further. He’s got my best interests at heart, convinced he’s trying to spare me from something. So I decide to let it go. Aware of something he’s not—that whatever it is, I can face it.
Nothing can break me anymore.
He flips down the mirrored visor and squints at his reflection, combing his fingers through his longish, glossy, brown hair—the cool new look I’m still getting used to—and checking his teeth, his nostrils, his profile (both sides), before deeming himself ready for the public and slapping the visor back up again.
“Are we ready?” I reach for my bag as I open my door, his nod prompting me to add, “But just so we’re clear, whose side are you on?”
He tosses his backpack onto his shoulder and shoots me a look. The glint in his gaze a perfect match for his smile when he says, “Mine. I’m on my side.”
Well, he certainly wasn’t kidding. Nor was he exaggerating. On the one hand, everything is totally and completely different—a radical shift has clearly taken place. While on the other, to the less observant among us (aka the teachers and administrators), everything appears exactly the same.
The “senior tables” are still populated by seniors—only now it’s the ones who were never allowed to even walk past, much less sit there before.
And instead of a bitchy, blond fashionista holding court—a bitchy, brunette fascist has taken her place.
A bitchy, brunette fascist whose gaze targets me the second Miles and I step past the gate.
Glancing away from her adoring group of fans just long enough to narrow her eyes and clench her jaw as she quickly takes us in. The look lasting for only a second before she’s turned back to them, but it’s still enough to give Miles pause.
“Great,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “It looks like I’ve just unofficially chosen sides.” He winces. “Or at least that’s what she clearly thinks.”