by Rebel Hart
Clouds of dust shoot out from the sides of the box as I shove it with my foot to the light in the middle of the room, causing me to cough into the sleeve of my hoodie from the tickle it creates in my throat. I crouch down to open the box, the masking tape squealing as I peel it from the dusty and bent cardboard.
I pull out the glossy hardcover book and begin carefully flipping through the pages that catch on the stomach of my hoodie as I go. Briefly, I freeze at the muffled footsteps of my mom and Brendan echoing through the air vents, and I hope they can’t hear me in return.
I need to be alone right now. I have no energy for putting on a face for anyone. Not even them. Especially not while I have this rush of persistence to fight back. I need to ride this wave of energy for as long as it lasts and find out everything I can.
I almost flip right past a photo of my mom and have to go back several pages to look at it more closely. There she is in a puffy eighties-style prom dress, complete with permed hair. Standing next to her is a man captioned as Theodore Nickelson.
I race to my feet, shaking the grime from my jeans as I run over to another box of photos. One I haven’t looked at in years. Old baby photos, some that feature my father still lingering behind, though my mom had thrown most of them out.
I find one of him by my mother’s bedside in the hospital, her cradling me in a receiving blanket with him looking down from above, flipping it over to see the handwritten names…Lala and Theo with baby Ophelia.
Theo. Theodore. It couldn’t be.
My body stiffens at the sight of it. It never occurred to me that my mom could have met my biological father at WJ Prep. All she had ever told me about him was that he was complete scum who wasn’t worth her breath to speak about. Anything about him always brings on an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, which only worsens now that I know he also went to WJPrep.
More than that, there is the haunting missing piece of the puzzle. Theo’s full name. I feel like I know it, but I have to see it. My eyes dart between the yearbook and the baby photo of me featuring my dad. I can’t deny the resemblance, but I won’t accept what I fear to be true until I see evidence.
I remember Lily’s run down of everything. Weis, Blackwater, Whitworth, and…Nickelson. The founders of the Jameson Automobile Corporation and the cornerstones of the Elites.
Now my trembling hands hold two photos… One of the man I know to be my father. The other of a man with the same first name…Theodore Nickelson standing next to my mother at prom. Nickelson being the only name Lily mentioned no longer being around town.
I turn back to the yearbooks, needing to find every photo of Theodore Nickelson that I can. A few pages later, I really feel sick. First there is just one, but then a flood of photos quickly follows after. This man who looks like my father cozied up with Thomas Jameson and Walter Whitworth. The three of them with an arrogant lean against lockers or the side of the school. Football games, swim meets and even in the background of other people’s pictures.
They were obviously a clique, doing everything together. Meaning, if Theo was in fact Theodore Nickelson… My father…was an Elite.
Visions of my mom play on repeat through my brain. I analyze anything and everything I can remember for some kind of sign that tells me what this means. Was she with them too? How could she be so closely entangled with this sick society of games and hierarchy?
Her kind, smiling, caring face now seems like a mask, but even that conclusion is clouded in doubt. If I could get sucked up into this mess, surely she could have been tricked or forced just as easily.
I try to move through my baffled state well enough to clutch a couple of the most relevant books and photo boxes close to my chest and make my way back to the safety of my room.
I quietly race back into my retreat, locking the door behind me and collapsing across my rug with everything I collected. I open up the yearbooks again, spreading everything across my bedroom floor and staring for a long time. Scouring the pages for each and every mention of my mom or Theodore.
Soon the black and white images are running swirling circles around my head, pulling my hands to my temples. I can’t believe it. I throw the book across the room, wanting to be far away from it. It flies across the top of my dresser, sending makeup and hair products raining down in a clatter.
The sound is like the crumbling of whatever I thought I knew about my mom and her past. How I came into this world. It’s my own fault for not asking more. But she never seemed to want to talk about it, so I took her silence as all I needed to know.
My face melts in shock, my eyebrows drawing together in an inward stare. A forceful breath escapes my mouth, and suddenly my thoughts are a jumbled swirl. I can’t make out a single coherently clear one amidst the scattered and muddled pieces. I need more information.
I place my fingers in a pinch across the bridge of my nose, pushing out slow, deep breaths to try and calm down enough to think of my next move. I need the library, but it’s too late and I’ll never make it out of the house without being caught. Brendan and my mom would assume I was trying to sneak in a forbidden run and send me right back to bed.
All I have at my disposal is the internet. I scramble to clear the stacks of school papers, pens, pencils and phone accessories from my desk so I can get into my laptop, nearly knocking my lamp over as I move in a frenzy.
My music stopped playing long ago, leaving only the taps of the keyboard to fill my silent room. My fingers restlessly tap against the mouse in between clicks, as I dig for any confirmation I can find of my mother and father’s attendance at WJ Prep.
The sound of a flushing toilet from down the hall causes me to jump, as if I know I am uncovering dangerous top-secret information. Things that someone would want to protect and could jump out at any moment to punish me for even trying to uncover it all. A thought that seems absurd in the comfort and safety of my own home, but nothing feels safe right now. It hasn’t since my first day at that damned school.
Digging through every free record available to me on the internet, I am finally able to locate several that both relieve and terrify me. I find the original certificates of my mother’s marriage and my birth. Both featuring my mother’s name as…Lala Nickelson.
My eyes narrow at the name on the screen, the glow of it burning into my pupils until they start to water. The laptop slams shut and then open again. I can’t decide if I need to look straight at it for two more hours before I believe it, or if I’ll throw up from staring a second longer.
I fly into a manic pace around the room, muttering names and dates as I rub against the back of my neck. I feel stupid. Why had I never asked what my father’s last name was? A name that surely would have been both mine and hers at some point in time.
But then I wonder…even if I did have the name Nickelson floating around in my brain, would I have even thought of it when Lily told me about the Jameson Automobile founders?
I go to take a hurried seat at the edge of my bed but stub my toe on the frame, only making me angrier and more frustrated.
Shit!
My hand clutches around my throbbing toe as I bounce around in circles, screaming silently beneath my breath, still trying not to wake my mom and Brendan. I am no more ready to face them now than I was before my detective work.
Then the moment I sit down I can’t help but jump up again. For how drained and despondent I felt only an hour ago, now I’m unable to sit still. My muscles feel like they’re jumping underneath my skin.
I rub my hands against my arms, my hairs standing on end from the coursing adrenaline. My vision blurs in a sudden heatwave across my skin as I try to push away my biggest fears. My father was an elite, meaning I was more than just some rat caught up in their game. I was tied to it by blood. But just how deep that tie is…that’s what I can’t figure out.
All I have is the tree of hierarchy spelled out to me by Lily and these photos and records that indicate my parents attended WJ Prep, with at least one of them being an El
ite. But a few of those things are more than what I had at the start of the day, and that’s something. Right?
Up until now it felt as if I had no options. No choices for recourse or any way to fight back. And anything that could be pursued, who was I to even try it? I’m nothing around here. Worse than nothing, I’m hated by the people who run this town.
It baffles me even more to think my father was once one of them. Shouldn’t that mean I’m on their side? That I inherited a sort of white flag or magic key?
But he isn’t on their side anymore… He isn’t even in the same town. Bringing a burning flood of more questions barreling up into my throat.
What went wrong? Why isn’t my father still here living it up with his high school Elite buddies? Raking in the profits of the Jameson Automobile Company?
Worse than that…is he the reason I’m here? Why I was offered the scholarship in the first place?
Another thought sticks to my brain…the most irrational one, but the one my hormonal lusty side is distracted by the most. Did all of this somehow make my attraction to Emmett more justified? Was there something buried beneath these new revelations that excused his behavior?
If my mom could get past whatever my father’s horrible faults were as a member of the Elites enough to marry him and have me, then surely, I could ignore Emmett’s confusing hatred for me enough to give into our urges.
But that doesn’t take away the fear. All he has promised is punishment…punishment I would supposedly enjoy and want more of but abuse all the same. So why do I still want it? Why am I grasping at straws in the middle of this new evidence that would give me an excuse to act on my inescapable attraction to him?
After all, Vivian is more of an Elite than I am. Her parents are still all tied up in it and had never left. If bloodlines were to determine who went to bed with Emmett, she’s obviously the front runner. Which is why he was kissing her in the garage…but then he was looking at me the entire time.
I try to shake my sexual fantasies away as my body shivers again. Really, I have no idea what any of this means, but it feels like the start of something. A foot in the right direction, and I am desperately willing to cling to anything that hints at an end in sight. I try to keep my grip on the momentum rather than tumble back down under the weight of what felt like a mountain in front of me. One where I can’t even see the path up or down.
My eyes glint across shelves of trophies and medals, all of my running accolades that used to make me feel so big and proud. Now they just taunt me. They tell the story of all my potential that is now completely overshadowed by this Elites nightmare.
I look to the posters of Shalane Flanagan and my other favorite runners tacked against my wall and wonder if they ever had to deal with this kind of stuff. I have prepared myself for every kind of typical challenge or obstacle a runner could face. Shin splints, runner’s knee, stress fractures, meniscus tears. A bad run at the worst time, like the one I had the day I met Emmett just before coming here.
But I had put so much energy into my sport, I had forgotten to prepare myself for the possibility of whoever my real father was coming back to haunt me. The missing chapter to my story I thought I might make time for some day…when I’m older and in the middle of an illustrious running career. Not now. But it seems I have no choice.
Suddenly, the ding of a new text causes me to jump. I look to the message from an unknown number.
Figure it out yet, bitch?
Chapter Ten
BOOK 1
The next day, I am instantly hit with an uneasy sense of foreboding as I apprehensively walk into school, pushing strands of my ragged hair from my face. With a deep breath, I clutch my backpack and sweater and push myself forward.
My stomach turns in anticipation of what will be waiting for me today. I am expecting something awful in the wake of the crash with Emmett.
I am immediately caught off-guard at how unnoticed my entrance is. Everyone carries on like normal, not even glancing in my direction. I pull my jacket tighter, looking down as I navigate around other passing students in the halls.
But I don’t have to do much to work my way through the crowd. Quite the opposite of being the center of attention as I expected. I keep my eyes glued to the floor, the tips of sneakers coming into view promptly step away as I move forward.
I glance up, expecting a sea of snarls and angry glares in my direction. But cheeks are turned with noses high, looking everywhere they can except for at me. It’s like I have the plague.
I faintly hear one girl whispering to another, “Here she comes. Look away.”
The elaborate game continues. What new way can we fuck with Ophelia today? Having run out of all their other tricks in their books, they seem to be waiting patiently for an idea of what to do next. Maybe that means I finally found some sort of advantage. I have, at least temporarily, outran their schemes.
Shoes squeak across the floors through the echo of everyone laughing and talking, clicking through their combinations and slamming lockers open and shut with thuds of their belongings being thrown inside. The moment the bell rings, the crowd disperses. But I’m in no hurry to rush off to class today.
The hair on my arm raises as my fingers graze my cold metal locker, taking the weight of the combination lock in my hand. The metal shows traces of my sweaty hands. Once I’ve thrown a few things in and taken a few things out, I look around again. Expecting the Elite mob to be stalking from a nearby corner, waiting to find me alone.
But I see no one. Everything is completely silent except for the muffled sounds of teachers starting their lectures.
My palm presses against the soreness of my neck as my eyes cut around the silent, empty halls. I roll my shoulders back against my neck, my fingers trailing up to fiddle with my necklace as I slowly step toward my first classroom.
I feel no better once I settle into class, the teacher and students around me carrying on as usual. I raise my hands a few times, even though I don’t know the answers, just hoping to be called on so someone will have said my name or looked in my direction enough for me to know I’m still alive.
Did I die in the car crash? Was everything after that just my brain’s weird way of fantasizing my life into continuance? And now reality’s set in, my existence is fading into nothingness?
My mouth fills with the taste of wood from the pencil I have been gnawing at relentlessly, sparking an idea. I let the pencil fall to the floor, thinking someone will look up or pick it up to hand it back. But nothing. It quietly clicks against the floor as it rolls right out into the middle of the room, completely untouched and seemingly unnoticed.
My foot bounces wildly underneath my desk, my eyes darting to the clock on the wall every few seconds. I can’t stop reaching down to dig through my purse, forgetting what I was looking for each time.
I blow out several short breaths, trying to steady my heart rate, but my fidgeting and noisy exhales don’t bring a single darting glance my way. Even the teacher seems to be actively ignoring me.
I jump at the ring of another bell, following closely behind as everyone floods back out into the halls. Stopping at the edge of the door, my finger presses the button to light up my phone screen, wondering if another mysterious message will come through with a clue. Or even a menacing text from Emmett. But nothing.
My stomach churns and time moves too slow as the halls of the school seem to wind down to nothing in front of me, closing in on me. Normally I would welcome getting lost in the tide of students between classes. This is the kind of isolation I had expected when I first came here. But in this context, it feels wrong.
My hair is matted in the same ponytail as yesterday, tangled from restless tossing and turning in my bed all night. I keep my facial features blank, hoping that if I don’t show any emotion they’ll give up on the whole charade.
For a few periods, I tried looking as happy as can be. Smiling wide and whistling as I walked. But with no one to even notice, it started to feel ridiculous
. So, I resorted back to calm nothingness. Apathy. Indifference.
For as calm as I look outside, inside I am falling apart. Frequently retreating to the bathroom to lock myself away in a stall. It feels better to be truly alone than to be surrounded by people who don’t see me.
After an endless daze of morning classes, it’s finally time for lunch. I’m certain something will happen in the cafeteria. The Elites had pounced on me for merely existing up until now. There’s no way they’ll leave what happened with Emmett unpunished.
At the very least, Emmett’s car is mangled and in his warped mind, it’s my fault. I expect to be punished. The silent build-up has to be part of their plan. Making me wither away in dreaded anticipation before they strike.
In the cafeteria, the bright florescent lights overhead flicker with a horror movie style buzz. I scan the rows of long tables and plastic chairs, ducking between lines of teens carrying their plastic trays. The double doors sway open and shut as more people flood in, each one’s eyes looking everywhere but at me.
I know I can’t eat, but I get lunch anyway, only to sit despondently and shove the food around on my tray with a fork. I guzzle down several bottles of water. Taking in liquids is the one thing I can do right now. I am parched no matter how much I drink.
I feel like an animal on high alert. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion under the gaze of the entire cafeteria. I hear every tiny little noise amplified…someone dropping silverware, the slop of food on someone’s tray, students shuffling in their seats and clearing their throats. People chewing their food and the hiss of opening cans.
It gets to be too much, sending me bolting for the privacy of a bathroom stall yet again to eat alone. I duck into the first stall I can and flick the lock shut.