Red: Burning Desire (Spectrum Series Book 7)

by Allison White

  “What’d you draw this time?” Red actually smiles as she walks over to her friend.

  “You don’t wanna know.” Majesty chuckles, and Red throws an arm around her friend. They begin to walk away when she stops and tells me, “Hey. There’s a naked girl in the tub of your bathroom. I would get her dressed before my pervy brother sniffs her out and tries to sleazy talk her.”

  “I hope whatever you drew is despicable.” Red twists her face up in disgust.

  “Trust me—it is.” Majesty howls in laughter before dragging her friend out of the house. I walk over to the window in the kitchen dining area, pushing the thin curtain back. I watch as they slide into an impressive Chevy Impala, maybe ’67, ’69, Red behind the wheel. My heart does this weird thing in my chest, and I shortly wonder if I’m going crazy.

  “Draw?” I ask Mike, walking back over to the sink.

  He smiles and opens his mouth, but before he can answer, Ty comes clambering down the stairs and rushes in the kitchen, looking around frantically. And then it hits me and I burst out into laughter. He has a bunch of dicks wearing tiaras all over his face. And the Hitler mustache above his lips isn’t helping anything.

  “Where is she?” he sneers, eyes twitching with pure rage.

  “Just left,” Mike informs him, pointing toward the front door. Ty runs outside, and I can hear him screaming bloody murder after his adopted sister. I laugh even harder, hunching over, imagining what else they do to prank each other. And I wonder what he has in store to get back at her.

  “Hey. I think your girl’s coming down.” Mike nudges me, nodding to the entryway, and sure enough, the girl from last night stumbles inside the kitchen, holding her shoes and wearing her dress backwards.

  “Heyyyy, I know you,” she slurs and points at me.

  Mike smirks, and I nudge him in his side, which only causes him to break into laughter.

  “Noah. I’m sorry I never got your name last night…” I put a hand on her lower back, guiding her out the door. Ty whizzes past us on his rampage.

  She smiles at me. “Beth. My name’s Beth.” As we’re slowly going down the porch steps as the Uber pulls up, she murmurs, “So hoooooot.”

  Chapter Five

  The rest of the weekend flies by faster than I want it to. On Monday, classes begin, and I almost don’t get up. What can my parents do if I don’t? Give me electroshock therapy? I think it over and decide to spring out of bed. My parents aren’t that diabolical, but they have less medieval ways of getting what they want. May as well save the torture and get this over with.

  Thankfully, Mike and Ty have a class together that isn’t too far from the route to my first class. I would have toured the place if I were given more of a notice rather than being shipped here without even a heads up a few hours before my father came knocking on my hotel room door. Everyone around us is walking sluggishly, like zombies who are too lazy to chase after their next meal. In no time I will become them, I realize as we pass zombie after zombie.

  “So, you into football?” Mike asks me.

  “I played in high school, made co-captain,” I tell him. And I was pretty damn good at it. Loads of scouts came just because they’d heard my name being floated around, but it was never that serious to me.

  “Thinking of trying for our team? Ty and I and a few of the guys back at the house have been on it for two years now. We could use extra hands on the field,” he suggests. I turn his words over. I promised myself I was just going to get through this semester, then I’m out. I’ll take up ten jobs if I have to, but I can’t stay here while my passion burns in my chest.

  But then again, I could always use something to distract me from this bullshit.

  “Sure,” I say with a smile.

  “You better not have a stronger arm than me, or I’m gonna whoop your ass,” Ty jokes and points a finger at me.

  “Then prepare to have a major ass whooping.” I bump into him playfully and wink at him. He chuckles, and he and I and Mike shit around as we stroll to our classes. He informs we’re about a minute or two away when he stops, spots a guy in all black walking toward us, and raises a hand in acknowledgment.

  “Yo. Ian, what’s up!” Ty calls out, stopping us and our group.

  I eye the short girl beside him, who seems to be making a point to avoid us.

  “We missed you at the party,” Mike says, beaming at the guy with the brooding face. A single strand of gelled black hair curls above his right eyebrow, and his thick biceps flex as he crosses his arms. He grunts a mumbled reply and shrugs.

  “Who’s this?” I whisper to Mike.

  “Ian Jones: captain of the football team.” Then he waves at the shy girl, who blushes and looks to the ground. “And Rachel. His step-sister.”

  “Nice to meet you both. I’m Noah Wells.” I hold out my hand to Ian, but he just glares at me like I’m an alien. So, chuckling, I hold it out for Rachel. “Nice to meet you, Rachel.”

  Peeking at me with quarter-sized brown eyes through her long brown hair, she smiles softly and takes my hand with her small one. “Pleasure is all mine, Noah.” She seems cute. I wink at her, and her chubby cheeks blossom like a ripening rose.

  “We were just telling Noah here how he should try out for the team,” Mike says.

  Ian lifts a brow, looking me up and down. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.” I manage a smile even though something flares deeply in me because of the condescending smile sliding across his face. His dim blue eyes light up in amusement, and my smile drops just a little. “Why? Thinking I may outshine you?” I keep a light tone in my voice, lifting my lips a little.

  His lips tighten and his jaw ticks, gauging me again. “Don’t think I’ll have a problem there, newbie.”

  I don’t know what it is, but I’m getting a bad feeling about this guy. I don’t like the way he’s smirking at me or the way he’s cocking his head like he’s some tough shit.

  “Ladies, ladies—hold your catfight for the field,” Ty jokes, holding up his palms.

  “We’ve gotta go,” Ian says, hooking an arm around his step-sister. She looks away when I wave at her.

  “Bye, Rachel. Ian.” I watch them walk away, thinking, Well, my time here should be fun.

  ***

  Classes aren’t as brutal as I expected them to be. To be fair, they were only the first classes for the semester. There is plenty of time for it to progress…for it to crush my soul with loads of class assignments and homework and research and studying and—ugh. I think my brain just died a little. I just need to constantly remind myself that I won’t be caged here long. No matter how much it kills me, it won’t trap me forever. I have an entire life and a whole world to discover outside of these brick walls.

  Plus, if I can manage being snowed-in in Antarctica for a week, I’m sure I can manage a few months at college. I just pray it doesn’t kill me first.

  Looking over my schedule, I am glad my parents didn’t force five classes on me instead of the four I have: freshman history, psych 101, marketing, and English—all in that order. According to the one, seemingly ultra-important text from my mother, I’m thinking of declaring business as my major, which I guess is Father’s doing. He’s always wanted me to take over his monopoly of businesses. And forcing me into marketing is one push toward his chair behind one of his many big desks. Even though it is not what I want to be stuck doing—wielding and planning and bossing people around—or the rest of my life like him.

  I can enlighten my parents and express to them my love and desire for making art and traveling until I’m blue in the face, and they still wouldn’t understand nor care. I actually have. I wonder if they ever had any dreams when they were younger. Did they dream about becoming poets, or rock stars, or even the greatest surfer on the planet? Did they feel the hurt and frustration I often do when their parents argued with them and preached practicality?

  If so, how can they do the same to me instead of just supporting me and my decisions? It pains me to know my
parents will never back me up like I wish they would.

  One day. I just want them to get inside my brain for one day and experience the euphoric feeling I get from just looking at a painting. I want them to understand the feeling of awe that swirls in my chest when staring up at the Eiffel Tower, the pyramids in Egypt—just somewhere breathtaking and rich with history and culture, you can feel it run through you, and appreciation and respect follows closely behind, burrowing deep inside of you.

  But I guess studying until you break out into stress hives is more important, right?

  Sighing, I decide to distract my mind from my parents. I pull out my phone from my khaki pants and scroll through it aimlessly. I see a text from Grey. He’s the boyfriend of a girl I befriended from childhood and then started to sort of date…it’s a long story. To put it shortly, she and I tried to spark something, but it went out, and a firework explosion blew up between her and Grey.

  Speaking of which, he sends sporadic texts to close friends of Liv to inform them about her status. Last month, she was tragically caught in the crossfire of a shoot-out, which is a whole other story by itself. Seriously. They deserve an entire novel just to span out their insane love story.

  His text says one simple word:

  alive.

  I smile and pull up Liv’s number. I want to call her for more than just the word fine, but she could be resting. She has been ever since she underwent surgery due to an accident in August. I was reluctant to just continue traveling when she was so hurt, but Grey made it near impossible to even look at her, he was so jealous and protective. I think he blames himself for her getting hurt. And he’s doing everything to make up for being an asshole prior to the incident. But what he doesn’t seem to really understand is, she loves him more than the moon loved the sun, for it agrees to sleep and let their sun rise and shine each day.

  Anyway, enough about them. I send her a text.

  Noah: Hey. How are you doing?

  I put my phone away, not expecting a response. But a minute later, my pocket buzzes, and I fetch my phone.

  Liv: Hanging in there.

  I frown and, wanting to brighten her up a bit, type back.

  Noah: My parents are worse than yours.

  A minute passes.

  Liv: Doubt it.

  Smiling, I text her.

  Noah: My father popped up while I was in Italy and shipped me off to a college in Maryland.

  Liv: My mother put me in a psych ward.

  Noah: My father put me in a fraternity.

  I can imagine her laughing as I read her reply.

  Liv: You win.

  A smile works its way onto my face, and we text back and forth for the duration of my walk to my next and final class of the day—English Literature. I wish I could have taken an elective—art. But my parents have connections with the school board and the damn chancellor, and they barred that option from me. As if dragging me here wasn’t bad enough, they want to separate me from what actually makes me happy. Doesn’t mean I didn’t bring my own supplies, though. And I don’t need a class to do what I love. All I need is a piece of paper and a pencil.

  When Liv’s replies are more typos than actual words, I ask her,

  You okay there?

  Her reply is:

  Sleepy from the medicine, though.

  Go to sleep. Talk to you later.

  I promise her in a text, and she replies with a hand-waving emoji.

  I slip my phone in my pocket as I near the building where English Literature is located. I let a group of girls leave the brick building before slipping past them. There are lots of hallways and signs, so it takes me a while to find myself in front of the room. More like auditorium, I think as I enter the classroom. The lecture hall is similar to my other classes and intimidating like the others. I will never get used to how many students can be packed in here.

  “Yes, yes—I fucking heard you! If I knew you would be this annoying, I would have told your ass to stay behind!” I hear a voice snap behind me. And it’s incredibly close, like right behind me.

  I begin to turn around and step out of the way, but it’s too late. Red bumps into me, too busy screaming at a guy behind her to see me.

  “Sorry. I didn’t see you there,” I apologize, and she steps back. She’s looking at me in a way I can’t decipher as analytically or disgustedly.

  “It’s whatever, prep,” she says and sighs before looking at the guy. I look at him too and find him staring at me. My brows jump in surprise as his dark, hooded eyes look me up and down. I do the same. He’s wearing a leather vest over a ripped white t-shirt, jeans, and huge combat boots. “Hello? Tanner? Are you even listening to me?” She snaps her fingers in front of his face, which has a long scar on his right cheek. I’m guessing from a knife fight gone wrong.

  “Who’s this?” he asks her, pointing at me.

  Red looks over her shoulder. “Some preppy guy from a fraternity.”

  “Rude,” I joke, and she rolls her eyes. “Noah. Noah Wells,” I introduce myself, and he clucks his tongue in his mouth.

  “Yeah. No thank you.” He looks at Red like I’m boring the life out of him and smirks. “And I’ll see you later. Remember to—”

  “I know! I’m not stupid! Jesus fucking—” she starts to scream.

  He crashes his lips on hers, pulling her into his chest and effectively shutting her up. The kiss is long and wet and ever-lasting as students and even the teacher begin to pour through the door. My stomach rumbles and I feel queasy, so I look away and eventually walk over to the seats. I pick one in the back and pull out my MacBook and begin typing nonsense to distract myself. I tell myself it’s to provide distraction from my hatred of even being in this class, but a part of me knows it’s to distract me from the disgusting scene down front.

  I don’t even know why it’s bothering me, which bothers me even more. My fingers trace the keys repeatedly, and I type my name over and over in Microsoft Word. I don’t like the way I’m fidgeting because of a disgusting make-out session. I don’t know the girl, and I don’t know Tanner, who seems like a dick, by the way. But it’s not like I’m paying attention or anything. Because I do not care.

  When they finally pull away and Tanner sends me a smirk, I focus my eyes on the professor, who introduces himself as Mr. Harris. He tells us some stuff about himself and then rattles off into the syllabus of the course. I jot it all down and pull up a game on a random site. It’s where I am a mouse-thing on skates and jumping in space. Sounds crazy because it is. But it helps pass the time while the professor talks. There’s nothing that important to listen to, so why waste my time, you know?

  “Move your bag,” someone says and kicks my leg.

  I look up at Red, who has her eyebrows raised in expectation. “Why?”

  “Because I was sitting down there and that bitch wouldn’t take off her fucking big ass hat,” she spits, and a girl wearing a large beanie throws a nasty glare over her shoulder. Red curls her fists and opens her mouth, about to curse her out, but I quickly move my bag to sit in between my legs and gesture to the seat. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

  I close my laptop and look at her. “You know there are a million other seats in here, right?”

  “I prefer the middle,” she mutters behind her hand. “For fuck’s sake. It’s hotter than balls in here,” she curses, and I chuckle. Smirking at me, she shrugs off her leather jacket, and my eyes are blessed with her right arm. She has a whole sleeve of colorful and dark tattoos. I spot several things: a mermaid, a patch of flowers, and a ruby on her wrist. I’m staring at the ruby when she pulls her arm away.

  “Stare much?” she scoffs. She looks offended and annoyed.

  “Sorry,” I whisper with beet-red cheeks, then add, “your tattoos are just gorgeous.” Like you, I add in my head. But I may as well have said it out loud, because she smiles at me. But it’s an undercover smile. Barely there but enough to make me feel warm.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she says and pushes my shou
lder. I laugh loudly but quiet down when I finally listen to what the professor is saying. He’s assigning us a short assignment that, according to him, will barely affect us. He just wants to see our writing style, in the form of a short story. We can pair up, but before I can turn and ask Red to be my partner—

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m a very creative person,” I plead with a genuine smile as she guffaws. And loudly, but everyone’s too busy chatting and pairing up to care or hear.

  “No way, prep. I fly solo on stupid shit like this,” she claims.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” She gives me a look that warns me to shut up, but I don’t listen to that look.

  “Even when I can do this?” I flip open my spiral notebook and pick up my pencil. I put the pencil to paper and quickly sketch a cartoon version of myself holding up a billboard with the words “Be my partner” in light bulbs. I even draw a cartoon version of herself, scowl, leather jacket, and all.

  I show her, and she bursts into laughter. I think she’s going to fall for my ability to pull a drawing like this basically out of my ass like a magician, but she just shakes her head and draws a bubble above her head that says, “NO.”

  She’s going to be a bit of a challenge, isn’t she?

  I kind of like it.

  Chapter Six

  The minute Professor Harris announces the class is over, the lecture hall buzzes with conversation and people are packing up to leave. Half of them are groaning because they have another class, while the other half, like me, are relieved to be free for the rest of the day. I can’t imagine having a class right after this one. I’d be pretty upset if I had classes all the way up to five o’clock.