by Leia Thorne
As average as it may first appear, as we move deeper into the room, I start to notice the key differences that set this scene apart from a regular high school dance. Crystal chandeliers adorn the ceiling above, refracting colorful lights onto the illuminated dance floor. Giant wall-mounted screens transition between a live stream of the crowd and footage of the game, freeze-frame images of Brighton’s students, and photos of Lesley de Pont.
A black bar lines the right side of the auditorium, where bar tenders serve the students punch and other beverages in crystal glasses.
I hear a squeal over the thumping music, and turn to see Palmer heading our way. The sweetheart dress she selected is beyond perfect for her slender body. She looks like a freaking model.
I reciprocate her hug, being careful not to tangle our sequins. “You look beautiful,” I tell her.
“So do you!” Her gaze drags down my dress. “That dress is way more gorgeous in person, and it’s a fucking vintage—” she turns me around to peek at the label “—Chanel. Oh, my god. I’m seriously sick with envy.”
I laugh, but suddenly wonder just how much Gage spent on a homecoming dress that I’ll only wear once. I shake the thought from my head. I’m not worrying about trivial things tonight.
“Where’s Sawyer?” I ask.
She peeks at Emry as he and Gage talk amongst themselves. Then she looks at me with a tight smile. “She might not come.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
Palmer shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know the details, but there’s been some discord at home. She just said she wasn’t feeling it this year.” She leans in closer toward me to whisper. “I think it’s the whole memorial vibe, you know?” She glances at the photo of Lesley strung over the bar. “I can’t believe they… Never mind. It’s kind of tasteless, but I suppose if you’re going to commemorate a death on homecoming, might as well dedicate the whole event to her, as well.”
“Right,” I say, nodding along. Still, Sawyer not attending the dance is disturbing. She belongs here. More so than me. This is her school. She’ll probably be named homecoming queen.
I think back to earlier at the diner, when she confessed Lesley’s secret and the part she believed she played in her death. I haven’t known Sawyer that long, but the girl I first met in the hallway—with a body born to sin and an attitude to match—wouldn’t let the memorial affect her like this.
“You should text her again,” I say to Palmer.
Her smile is dejected. “Okay. I’ll try.”
While Palmer attempts to reach Sawyer, I take in the room. Just letting the atmosphere seep into my being. I feel Gage’s arms around me from behind as I spot Rush weaving his way toward us through the dancing bodies.
“Who’s Rush’s date?” I ask Gage.
“That’s Clarissa Abbot. A bit out of his league, but can’t blame a girl for slumming it for a night.”
I smack his arm. “That’s terrible.”
“That’s truth,” he says. “Although, now that Rush is taking his high school career more seriously by joining crew, there’s hope for him.”
Rush nods to us, then glances around the dimly lit room, before taking a swig from a flask. He slips it back into the inseam of his tux. “What?” he asks. “There was no way I was coming to this thing stone-cold sober.” Rush looks up at the banner of Lesley and frowns.
Gage extends his hand. “I’ll take some.”
Rush started crew last week. Since then, he’s donned the preppy Polos and khakis, and has abandoned his old teammates to be a part of the truly elite rowing crew. All at Gage’s insistence.
I’m wearing the dress Gage designed for me. The ring on my finger that makes me an elite in this academy is only there because he chose me.
Do we all become who he wants us to be in the end?
That thought pales into the recesses of my mind as I see Sawyer enter the room.
She’s absolutely stunning. The extremely low V of her silver mermaid dress dips down toward her belly—but it’s sleek and sensual and sophisticated; perfect for her modelesque shape.
Sawyer looks toward us, then scans the crowd. I lift my hand to wave, but immediately lower it as I watch her saunter away in the opposite direction.
Palmer has noticed, as well. “Where is she go—?” Her words break off as we watch Sawyer close the distance toward Roland.
“Oh, my god,” Palmer says. “She’s lost her mind.”
That might be an accurate statement. Wasn’t it Sawyer who told me that Roland was social leprosy? Is she talking to him because of what happened today at the diner?
But no… Even from across the room, I can see the look in Roland’s eyes. He’s wearing a tux. His hair is kempt. He looks dark and broody and sexy. He did this for her—he’s fighting for her, after all.
And I’m not the only one who recognizes this fact. Gage’s arm banded around my waist tightens. Tension thrums through his body.
“That’s some bullshit,” Rush says. “She was supposed to go with me, and she actually shows up here with that douchebag?”
To his right, Clarissa baulks. “Are you serious?”
But Rush doesn’t pay her any attention. All eyes are fixated on the couple in the middle of the auditorium as they begin to sway to the soft melody.
“I need to text her right now,” Palmer says, as Gage pulls out his phone and rapidly fires off a text.
Is he texting her?
He pockets his phone and moves away from me, starting in their direction.
I grab hold of his arm. “Don’t,” I say, and the glare he sends me chills my blood. I step closer and lay my hand on his chest. “Let her have tonight.”
Gage’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
I turn to sweep my gaze across each member of our society. “Being here is difficult,” I say. “Her memory is all around you—” I point to the banner of Lesley—“so you’re doing what you need to get through it, right? Rush.” I nod toward him. “That flask in your pocket helps you take the edge off to be here.”
He shrugs. “Of course.”
I nod to Palmer. “What’s helping you and Emry tonight?”
She smiles brightly. “We had sex in the bathroom three times.”
I laugh a little, and Clarissa clears her throat. “Okay,” I say. “And Gage…?” I turn around to face him.
He cocks his head, his eyes studying me. “You,” he says, cupping my face. “I have you.”
My heart stutters. Then, with renewed resolve, I look at everyone in turn. “Sawyer is our friend. We need to trust her. She’s doing what she needs to do to get through tonight.”
Palmer bites her lip, tossing a glance Roland’s way. “He is kind of hot tonight.”
“She deserves our support,” I say, not even sure what I’m saying or why I’m defending Sawyer. No, that’s not true. The unselfish part of me needs to do this; she took me under her wing; she helped me achieve this freedom from myself. But then there’s the selfish part that understands that, Sawyer’s interest in Roland will come between her and Gage.
As I’m warring within myself over my actions, Gage steps in front of me and tilts my head back, crooking his finger beneath my chin. “Spoken like a true queen,” he says. His praise thrills me, and as his mouth descends on mine, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on to this moment.
The music volume lowers, drawing our attention to the auditorium stage. Principal Barton is decked out in a tux, looking very unlike a high school principal. He holds a thin microphone.
“Students of Brighton Saints,” he addresses the crowd, “welcome to your two thousand and nineteen homecoming.”
Applause rises up, followed by a few hollers and whistles.
He smiles in return. “As we embark on this school term, we’re looking to the future. Tonight is a reach toward that bright future, but it’s important we remember our past, as well. We’ve dedicated tonight to the memory of the late Lesley de Pont.”
“Let’s give the hardworking student council a round of applause. Their efforts have given us this beautiful homecoming.”
As we clap along, I sneak a peek over my shoulder at Sawyer. She and Roland stand beside each other on the dance floor, their hands linked together. It’s such an odd sight. I wonder if Gage has noticed.
“Now,” Barton says, “let’s move forward with the crowning ceremony, as I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to your festivities.” He beckons Mrs. Chesney, my language arts teacher, to the stage.
After she’s addressed the crowd, she tears into an envelope to announce the elected homecoming queen. I wait to hear Sawyer’s name called, knowing that I will lose Gage for a moment while they accept their honors before the academy.
I’ve prepared myself for this, and maybe that’s why I was so nervous beforehand. But now, as I take another look at Sawyer with Roland, I decide it’s best. Again, this is her school. Her world. Gage is a part of that world.
Mrs. Chesney holds the microphone close. “You’re homecoming queen is Remi St. James! Congratulations, Remi. Please, come to the stage.”
Applause cracks the auditorium, and my heart thunders inside my chest. I stand beside Gage, unable to move, the noises around me muffled, until Palmer’s voice breaks through. “Go, Remi!”
I grip Gage’s arm. “I wasn’t even on the ballot,” I whisper harshly.
He winks at me. “There was a secret ballot.” He kisses my cheek. “Go up there, Remi.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly thick. Somehow, I manage to make my way through the crowd, and Mr. Barton helps me onto the stage. Mrs. Chesney smiles at me adoringly as she places a sparkling tiara atop my head, then lays a bouquet of long-stem white roses in my arms.
I cradle the flowers, clinging to them as I wait to hear her announce the king. I blink against the bright lights and flashing cameras. Phones are held up in the crowd capturing the moment, and I feel like a fraud.
My eyes close in relief as Gage’s name is announced.
Thank fuck.
I cannot be up here one more second alone. My head feels faint, and I’m starting to get dizzy as the lights swirl around the crowd and stage. As Gage steps up onto the stage and he’s crowned homecoming king, the world tilts.
“You really need to breathe,” Gage whispers near my ear. “This is perfect, Remi. Enjoy the moment.”
I inhale a deep breath, reminding myself to smile. Just fake it. He makes the “thank you” speech for us both, and then leads me off the stage. Music rises around us, the dance floor cleared for us to dance, like it’s our first dance as a married couple.
A nervous laugh springs free. Our first dance as queen and king of Brighton Saints. This isn’t happening… I meet Sawyer’s gaze across the room. She touches her chin and lifts her head, making a motion for me to hold my head high.
I hand off the roses to Palmer before Gage directs me to the center of the dance floor by the small of my back. He guides me into a slow dance effortlessly. My mind is still spinning, and I think about the text he sent right before my name was announced.
I know for damn sure my name was not on the ballot. Could he have changed the vote for homecoming queen? I feel crazy for thinking it—but nothing about me being selected feels right.
“You look lost in thought.” Gage’s deep voice interrupts my inner tirade.
“No, just…processing,” I say.
He chuckles. “Get used to it, Remi. This year is going to be full of surprises.”
I try to relax in his arms. This isn’t a bad thing. I know what bad things feel like. When you wake up in the hospital with an ill, sinking feeling in your gut, then discover your mother is dead. That is bad.
I’ve lived through months of vile self-loathing and terrible thoughts. Now, when my life is placid and calm like the lake that surrounds this town, why can’t I enjoy this moment?
So, I try. I let the weight of Lesley’s memory and my jealousy over Gage and Sawyer’s closeness drift away. I link my arms more securely around Gage’s neck and allow the lyrics of the love song to enfold around us, the music an aphrodisiac that rivals Gage’s tempting cologne.
And just as I’m letting go, the music abruptly stops. A loud crackle of feedback bounces around the auditorium, and we pull apart.
“What is that?” I ask, my question answered when the giant monitor along the wall flashes with an image of a girl.
As the scene comes into focus, a recorded video plays with a time stamp. It’s the penthouse, and the footage isn’t of just any girl.
Lesley.
Chapter 15
Gage
I stare up at the screen, my heart drumming furiously in my chest. I’m staring at a ghost.
My whole body is drawn tight with tension as the scene starts to play out. I know this moment by heart. I’ve replayed it in my mind over and over… Seeing it now, in color and so vividly, it’s like watching a memory. Or a nightmare.
Sawyer enters the frame, and there I am, off to her left.
“I don’t want this anymore,” Lesley says, her voice trembling. “Take your fucking ring back, Gage. I’m done.” She removes the ring forcefully from her finger and tosses it at me.
I watch the band land at my feet. In the video, I stare down at it, my hands balled into fists, before I scoop it from the floor.
The time stamp shows the date: the evening Lesley died. It’s security footage, I realize.
“Jesus,” I hear myself say out loud.
Remi’s hand is missing from mine. One quick glance at her shows her large dark eyes trained on the screen, her mouth parted. Her features are a mask of shock, reflected on every single face around the auditorium.
“You’re making a mistake.” It’s my voice projected around the room. I look at the screen again. “You’ll regret this. I promise.”
Lesley lifts her chin in defiance. “Tell them, Gage. Tell the whole world. I don’t care anymore. I refuse to let the de Pont name cow me into living a life I no longer want.”
The scene goes on. The shouting. The threats. Sawyer tries to console Lesley, promising that her feelings will pass. I drag my hand down my face. “Can someone turn this the fuck off?” I shout.
I know where this ends. I watch myself and Sawyer exit the penthouse. I breathe heavily through my nose, my ire brimming. Who did this? Who had access to the security footage? Mrs. de Pont never once mentioned it. But it explains a lot. Like how she knew Lesley had found out the truth about her adoption.
Whoever is releasing this video now edited the first moments out, where the fight began, my threat to reveal Lesley’s being adopted into the de Pont family. Someone is saving the best for last…or they have their own reason for keeping that bit disclosed.
Dammit to hell. Tabatha de Pont knew I was the one who told Lesley. She’s had to have seen the security video from her own penthouse. She’s been playing me all along. The chairwoman had no intention of restoring my legacy. She used me. And when she gets what she wants…
I need a plan.
One small salvation is this video doesn’t loop back to reveal Lesley’s secret. Still, it’s appalling. A fight with a dead girl before she threw herself to her death.
I wait, my muscles corded tightly, for Lesley to make that choice. I remember the scream we heard on the garage level. I know it’s coming soon…
Only, Lesley never leaves the room. She turns to head toward the hallway when she falters to a stop. She looks across at…something, her eyes focused. “What do you want?”
The video cuts off sharply.
There’s a prolonged pause, where the room doesn’t breathe. Then all at once, voices clamber to be heard.
A loud whir fills my head, the noise an annoying buzz in my ears, as I try to find a mental thread to latch on to.
“She wasn’t al
one,” Remi says, as if she’s struggling just as hard to find that thread. “After you left, she wasn’t alone.”
I fish my phone from my inseam and punch out a text to Sawyer: We need to talk. Now.
Her reply comes quickly: Meet in the tower.
Remi’s eyes flick over my face as she looks up at me, a question there, intrusive to my thoughts. Her presence next to me feels invasive. No one has the right to witness that moment in time and yet, it was broadcast to the entire school.
Stifling my anger as much as possible, I touch her face, running my thumb over her jaw. I clasp the back of her neck and pull her toward me, placing a soft kiss to her lips. “I need to go,” I say. “Just meet me at the limo later.”
“Gage…?” She tries to hold on to me, but I remove her hands.
The crown atop her head catches the strobe light and she looks beautiful. It’s a fucking shame that we won’t get to finish our dance, or this night. She’s come so far.
“Trust me,” I tell her, then kiss her once more before I head toward the auditorium doors.
I turn the corner and damn near run into Emry. “Christ. What are you doing out here? Where’s Palmer?” I rarely see him without his other half; they’ve become inseparable this past year.
Emry’s features draw together in hard edges. “Nice crown.”
I reach on top of my head and remove it; I’d forgotten it was even there. I toss it to the floor, the clink of the fake diamonds and metal making a satisfying sound.
“So that’s the truth of what happened that night?” Emry demands.
I drive a hand through my hair, then adjust my glasses. “I don’t have time for this right now. We’ll discuss it later.”
I try to walk around him, but Emry grabs my arm, halting me. I look at his hand, then meet his brown eyes. His usual rich, russet-brown skin is ashen, revealing his distress.
“Now is not a good time, Emry,” I say, the warning clear in my clipped tone.
He releases my arm, but he doesn’t back off. “I knew Remi had to have something to do with Lesley,” he says, shaking his head. “I wasn’t exactly sure just what at first, but the way you and Sawyer were toying with her… Your appeal to her was more than just the coincidence that she resembled Lesley.” His eyes narrow. “But you know that’s not a coincidence.”