The Unexpcted Complications of Revenge

by Jessica Sorensen

  I balance my coffee on a trunk near the foot of my bed then rest back on my hands. “Maybe, but I don’t know… It seems like there’s more to it than that.” I stretch out my legs and cross my ankles. “But maybe I’m just overthinking things.”

  She picks up a red, plaid shirt. “Hmm… Maybe…” She assessed the shirt.

  I perk up. “Please tell me that’s part of what I’m wearing and not this.” I flick a short, black dress and pull a face.

  “Actually, I’m thinking both.” She tosses the plaid shirt at me. “There’s your red.” She drops the dress onto my lap. “Here’s your black.” Then she plucks up a velvet choker and a pair of stockings. “And here are your accessories.”

  I crinkle my nose at the dress. “Everything’s cool except for this thingy.”

  She sighs, securing her hair into a messy bun with an elastic that’s around her wrist. “That’s not a thingy, Ens. It’s a dress. D.R.E.S.S. Dress. It’s not a bad word.” She grabs my hand and tugs me to my feet. “Now, go try this on so I can admire my artwork in all her sexy, grungy glory.”

  Shaking my head, I collect the clothes and jewelry then step into the closet to change.

  “And I’m thinking you should wear those clunky, lace-up boots with the velvet laces,” she calls out, turning on some music. “It’ll go good with the choker.”

  “Okay.” Honestly, I don’t think anything is going to go good with anything since it’ll be on me, but Elodie will only argue with me if I say that. So, I strip out of my pajamas and wiggle myself into the fitted dress.

  The hem hits me mid-thigh, which isn’t too bad. Although, I’ve never been a fan of showing off my freakishly long legs.

  “So, can I ask you something?” Elodie says casually from outside of the closet.

  “You mean, other than the question you just asked me?” I tease, flipping my hair out of the collar of the plaid overshirt.

  “Ha, ha, you’re so funny.” She pauses for a beat. “Seriously, I really need to ask you something … Or, well, tell you something … about my mom.”

  “Okay …?” I sit down on the floor to slip on the knee-high stockings, which are surprisingly not as uncomfortable as I thought they would be.

  “Well, yesterday, Carter told me a little story,” she starts.

  “Really? Since when do you and Carter tell each other stories?”

  “Probably about the same time you started accepting dates from him.”

  I reach for my boots. “Hey, you’re the only reason I’m accepting the dates.” I think …“I know, and I love you for it. Oh, and FYI, whatever happened between you two yesterday has him frazzled.”

  I wiggle my foot into a boot. “He isn’t frazzled.” I tie the lace. “I may be, but he definitely isn’t. At least, when I saw him he wasn’t.”

  “Why are you frazzled? You never told me the whole story of what happened between you two.”

  “That’s because nothing really happened.” I slip on the other boot and stand up. “He wanted to talk to me about the dress code a little bit. Then we talked a little more, and then he started touching me, which I thought was really weird. Honestly, I’m pretty sure he’s found out about the plan and is playing me. I guess I have no one to blame but myself.” Sighing, I step out of the closet and spread my hands to the sides, like ta-da. Then I laugh. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how stupid do I look?”

  A smile tugs at her lips. “About a negative eleventeen hundred.”

  I roll my eyes. She’s such a liar.

  “You do realize eleventeen hundred isn’t a number, right?”

  “Yeah. And you looking stupid isn’t a possibility, but I needed to prove a point.”

  “Which is …?”

  “Carter’s going to shit himself when he sees you.”

  “Well, that’s kind of a mood killer.”

  She swats my arm, laughing. “I didn’t mean literally.”

  I laugh, but my laughter quickly fades as I tug on the hem of the dress. “I can’t even remember the last time I wore a dress.”

  “Well, you should do it more often. You have killer legs.”

  “Aw, thanks. I grew them myself.”

  “Really?” She lets out a phony gasp. “Man, you’re so talented.”

  “I know.” Then I do my best impression of a member from the Carter fan club, totally fangirling over him. “I’m, like, the total package. Carter is so going to get in my pants.”

  Elodie makes a gagging noise. “Ew! Never say that again. Not even if he does get in your pants. In fact, if that happens, just tell me he patted you on the shoulder or something. That’s it. That’s all I want to hear.”

  “Like I’m going to let him get in my pants. This is all pretend,” I protest, even though I have thought about Carter getting into my pants once or twice, or eleventeen hundred times. “And like he even wants to get in my pants.”

  She snorts a laugh as she sorts through her clothes. “Five hundred bucks says he tries.”

  “I don’t have five hundred bucks, but I’ll take that bet.” I smirk. “Because, you just told me I can’t tell you if he does, which means you’ll never know, which means you can’t win the bet.”

  She sticks out her tongue. “Yeah, well, you can’t, either.” She drops the blouse she’s holding, seriousness masking her expression. “All jokes aside, you do look beautiful. I wish you could see it. I really do.”

  I press my hand to my chest to mask my discomfort her words are bringing. “Aw, El, are we having a Hallmark moment? Should I grab the tissues?”

  She flips me the bird and laughs. “Fine, make fun of me for being sappy. No more compliments for you.”

  Thank God. I don’t know why, but every time someone tries to compliment me, I get all squirrely. Probably because I know most of the compliments are complete bull turkey. Like I told my mom yesterday, I know what I am and I accepted it a long time ago. I don’t need to be told I’m pretty. I don’t need to be pretty. I just need to be smart enough to get through college and get a good job, and maybe one day try to track down my dad if I ever get the courage to do it.

  Well, maybe first I’ll figure out what happened between him and my mom.

  El’s gaze drifts to the rose perched in a vase on my dresser. “Who gave you the rose?”

  I shrug. “Carter.”

  She shoots me a dirty look. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  I shrug again. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

  “My brother giving you a rose is definitely a big deal.” She pauses. “All right, I need to hear everything that happened yesterday between you two. Because you never elaborated on it.”

  I smooth my hands over my hair then plop down on my bed. “Well, you never elaborated on what Carter told you about your mom.”

  She sticks out her pinkie. “A secret for a secret?”

  I hitch my pinkie with hers. “A secret for a secret. Just so you know, mine’s not really a secret.”

  “Mine is.” She sinks down onto the edge of the bed and crosses her legs. “You go first.”

  “Fine.” I give her a recap of what happened between Carter and I, or what didn’t happen since nothing really happened. At least, I think so. But when I get to the part about him touching my lips, she freaks the mini-minions out.

  “Wait. Wait. Wait. Back the eff up.” She holds up her hand like she’s trying to stop traffic. “He touched your lips? Like, on your mouth?”

  “That’s generally where lips are. But stop flipping out. Like I said, I’m pretty sure he’s playing me. Why else would he touch my lips?”

  “Um, because he wants to kiss you,” she states like hello, you’re an idiot for not knowing that already.

  “Oh, my God, you’re losing your damn mind. Seriously, did you get stoned with Gaige this morning?”

  “Actually, I did last night. And boy, oh boy, did he tell me some pretty interesting facts about himself.”

  “Gaige can be quite the talker w
hen he’s blazed,” I agree, flicking a piece of lint off my stockings. “Just … don’t tell me what he said.”

  She pouts out her bottom lip. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to gossip about him. And also, my head’s already suffering from information overload right now.”

  “Whatever. Just so you know, my brother wants to kiss you.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Truth.”

  “Nope.”

  “Yes.”

  I pound my fist against my leg, laughing. “Gah. You’re driving me crazy!”

  She grins. “You and the damn world, Ens, you and the damn world.”

  I blow out an exhausted breath. “Fine. You win.”

  She grins. “Don’t I always?”

  I roll my eyes then sigh. “A little off the subject, but do you know what Carter meant when he said we had some sort of conversation? I don’t ever remember talking to him. At least, not long enough to consider it a conversation.”

  She shakes her head. “Maybe he’s lying and just trying to get you to think about it too much.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because then you’d be thinking about him, and we all know how much he loves being the center of everything.”

  “Maybe.” But I’m not sure I agree with her, and it’s going to drive me nuts until I figure it out.

  “Okay, so I have one more thing to say about Carter, and then let’s move on, because I’m all Cartered out for the day.”

  “Sounds good.” I think. “What’s up?”

  “You need to figure out what you’re going to do if he does try to kiss you. If you spaz out, it’s gonna ruin the plan.”

  “The only way not to look like a spaz is to just let him kiss me.”

  “And that doesn’t sound appealing to you?”

  I scowl at her, feeling like a phony. “No. Why would it?”

  She gives a dramatic eye roll. “Hello? Because you’ve been in lust with him for over a decade.”

  “Hey, the lust thing didn’t start until high school,” I protest, reaching for my coffee. “Before that, I had a normal, girly crush on him.”

  “Ha!” She points a finger at me accusingly. “So, you’re admitting you’ve thought about doing it with him.”

  “No!” I hurriedly take a sip of my coffee, taking a moment to chill the eff out before I give myself away. “Besides, didn’t you just say, like, two seconds ago that you didn’t want to hear about this?”

  She drums her fingers against her knee. “This needs to be discussed.”

  “Okay, well …” Truthfully, I don’t believe for a second that Carter is going to try to kiss me, but I guess having a game plan wouldn’t be the most terrible idea. “What do you think I should do if he tries to kiss me?”

  “What do you want to do?” She measures my reaction closely.

  “I don’t know …” The idea of kissing Carter, of putting my lips to his, makes me feel things I don’t want to feel. And those moronic butterflies are acting like they’re part of his freakin’ fan club. “Is there a way not to kiss him without being weird?”

  “You could always tell him you want to wait until you’re sure you want to kiss him.” She smiles wistfully. “Man, I bet he’s never heard that before. It’ll probably blow his mind. And his ego.”

  A drop of guilt pinches my chest. “Are you sure you still want me to go through with the plan? I mean, you guys talked yesterday, right? Maybe he’s not as bad as we thought.”

  “Just because he’s not a douche for, like, an hour, doesn’t erase the past decade. Besides, think about what he said about your mom the other day.”

  “Yeah, true.” How could I have forgotten that? Did I get so caught up in Carter that I somehow forgot? Dammit, if he is playing me, he just might be winning. “I just hate being mean to people.”

  “I know you do.” She pats my hand. “You can back out of the plan if you want.”

  I mull the idea over and shove aside the guilt for now, focusing on the bigger picture. “No … I’ll keep going for now.”

  “Good. Because I think, in the long run, you’re going to be glad you did.” She smiles. “You want to know a secret? The only reason Carter told me the lovely, little story about my mom is because I gave him some deets on you.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry; it was all good stuff. What you like, dislike—stuff to help him win you over.”

  “Yeah, but you’re kind of helping him win me over.”

  “Not if you keep your head in the game.” She taps her knuckles softly against the top of my head. “So, keep your head in the game.”

  “Thanks for the awesome advice and the headache,” I say dryly. “Now I don’t feel nervous at all.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replies with exaggerated cheerfulness.

  I shake my head but smile. “Whatever. Are you going to dish the dirt on your mom or what?”

  “Well, since you ask.” She rubs her hands together, looking sickly pleased. “So, apparently, my mom was super poor before she married my dad.”

  “I actually kind of knew that already.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I found out, like, the day before yesterday, and my mom was super vague about it.”

  “Well, did she tell you how she ended up marrying my dad?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Her grin is pure, wicked glee. “She got pregnant with us … on purpose.”

  “How the heck did she do that?”

  “Probably pretended like she was on birth control.”

  I take a drink of my coffee. “Why do you seem so happy about this?”

  “Because it proves she’s not perfect. Not even close. And the next time she points out my imperfections, I’m going to throw it in her face.” Bitterness leaks into her tone, and her eyes water with tears.

  I’d tell her that was pretty harsh, but I’ve seen how Elodie’s mom treats her. Either she ignores her and pretends she doesn’t exist, or she puts her down. Neither is better than the other. And what makes it worse is she treats Carter like he’s the prodigy son.

  Not knowing what else to do, I lean forward and give her a hug. “You’re perfect to me. A little bit weird, but so am I.”

  “Aw, thanks, Ens. I love you, too.” She laughs, hugging me back. “You’re the BFFFB ever.”

  “You are, too.” I mean what I say, too. Maybe that’s the real reason I’m doing this whole playing Carter thing. Or maybe, deep down, I just want to play the game.

  I don’t really know, but I guess I’m about to find out.

  14

  Ensley

  Before Elodie leaves, she instructs me to wear my hair down tonight and to sport minimal makeup to show off my features. Some eyeliner, lip gloss, and shimmer—that’s it. I’m not a huge makeup fan, but I’ve seen the girls Carter goes for, and they wear makeup like it’s a second face. When I tell Elodie this, all she says is, “Trust me on this one.”

  So I do.

  I always do.

  By the time she takes off, I have about an hour left before my mom will be home to pick me up for work. It takes me a whole, whopping ten minutes to get ready. Throw on a pair of old jeans, tug my hair into a messy bun, and slip on some sneakers. About two minutes later, boredom sets in and my mind drifts to my dad.

  My dad has been a mystery to me. I don’t know what he looks like. Why he left. What he does. But I’ve never tried to get answers on my own. I don’t know why I haven’t. Maybe I’ve been scared of what I would or wouldn’t find. That he really did just take off and never looked back.

  What if I’ve been wrong? What if he’s been in Fareland all this time and is still here, and my mom just doesn’t like him and that’s why I’ve never met him?

  Maybe I could try to find him…

  But finding a person without even having a name to go on seems nearly impossible. I need a name. Or maybe a photo. Something! Anything!r />
  Pushing up from the sofa, I make my way back to my mom’s room. After ransacking her dresser, the closet, under the mattress, and every other place I can think of, I start to lose hope.

  Then, as I’m stuffing her clothes back into the dresser drawer, my knuckles brush against the bottom of the drawer above. Instead of my skin grazing wood, though, I feel paper.

  Ducking my head, I reach inside and grab the piece of paper taped to the bottom. Nope, not a piece of paper. A photo. An old-school photo like Carter has in his fuck-chest. Only, this photo is of a man and a woman holding hands and smiling at the camera. The woman is pregnant and her green eyes are lit up with happiness. Her green eyes that look almost exactly like mine.

  The woman in the photo is my mom.

  Does that mean the man is my father?

  I examine him closely, trying to find any sort of resemblance. His hair is brown like mine, and he has a few freckles on his nose. Other than that, he looks like some random guy. He does have a distinct scar near his hairline. I try to recall if I’ve ever met or seen a man who has a scar in the same place, but either I haven’t or I can’t remember.

  Disappointment starts to sink in, until I flip over the photo. On the back, scribbled in neat handwriting, is a note.

  To the love of my life,

  Remember this day always. Remember the happiness.

  Love,

  Gregor.

  Gregor.

  Gregor.

  Gregor.

  Is that my dad’s name?

  I might be able to research him if I had a last name. My last name is the same as my mom’s maiden name, so using that won’t work. I could ask my mom what his last name is, but she won’t give it to me. And she’ll get upset that I found the photo. I hate upsetting my mom. She’s all I have. Well, that and my aunt Bethany, but sometimes she can be a little crazy.

  Where does that leave me? Nowhere really. Unless I want to search the entire town—maybe even the entire world—for a man with a scar. So, yeah, that basically leaves me nowhere.

  15

  Ensley