Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  It wasn't. “So?”

  “So girls are good at getting what they want because they cry if they don't.”

  “I've seen you cry,” said Nick. “Does that make you a girl, Jake?”

  “Fuck you,” said Jake, and Aaron's head immediately swiveled around as he said, “Shh!”

  “Don't worry about it.” Nick leaned back, pretending he wasn't shocked. “My dad doesn't care.”

  “I wish I lived here,” Aaron said.

  “I don't,” said Nick. “You'd probably bring your mom with you.”

  They played three rounds of Goldeneye and then Aaron had to go home. He and Jake went for a walk outside. Jake wanted to swim but Nick didn't feel like it—he'd done his mandatory hour in the pool—so after a walk down the hill to the main road, Jake decided that he was going to head back into town on foot and stop by his dad's office.

  Nick walked back up the hill alone. The sky was getting darker as the sun dipped below the horizon and he noticed his dad's Mercedes was gone. I hope he took the step-witch with him, he thought. Her fake-nice persona hadn't fooled him in the slightest.

  Bored, he stuck his head into his stepsister's room, opening the door slowly so the cat wouldn't escape. Jay wasn't in it, but she'd been decorating. There were books in the shelves now, as well as a collection of rocks, and lots of clipped-out animal posters with torn edges. Next to her desk was a ratty-looking backpack that looked gross and old.

  Nick looked around, poking through all her things, before closing the door behind him. I guess they took the blue jay, too, he thought meanly, secretly hurt at being left behind.

  He started for his own room and froze. His stepsister was lying in an S-shape on the couch he and his friends had vacated, with her legs draped over the arm. There was a bowl of granola perched on her stomach and she was dipping into it with one hand while switching channels with the TV remote with the other.

  “Hi.” Her voice was cool. “How many channels does this thing have? I'm already at two hundred.”

  “I don't know. I never counted.” Nick moved closer and her leg began to kick in agitation. She was wearing her sweatshirt now but it was unzipped and her shirt was riding up her midriff so you could count her skinny ribs. “You shouldn't eat upside-down,” he said suddenly. “The food falls back down your throat and then you'll choke on it and die.”

  “The muscles in your throat are stronger than gravity when you swallow,” said Jay. “It's called peristalsis.” Click, went the remote. She lingered when it showed a group of animals on the TV, staring at a group of stupid-looking zebras as if entranced.

  “You're really weird,” said Nick.

  “You're kind of a shit,” she told him, making him bristle indignantly. “So I guess we're even.”

  “This is my house.” He puffed himself up. “If you don't like it, you can leave, blue jay.”

  “It's your dad's house, you dope, and since our parents are married now, I can't leave.” She sat up, straightening her shirt self-consciously. “So I guess this is just how things are going to be now. Call me names all you want.”

  Nick watched her for a few seconds longer, feeling strangely frustrated, and then plopped onto the couch beside her. Jay didn't move, except to keep clicking, so he helped himself to some of the granola in the bowl, pulling his legs up on the couch.

  “Yelena said we're not supposed to have our feet on the furniture. It makes the couch dirty.”

  “Who's Yelena? It's my dad's house and he doesn't give a shit.”

  “Yelena's the woman who cleans your house.” Jay looked at him. “You don't know her name?”

  Nick lifted a shoulder. “She doesn't speak English. She only yells at me when I get in her way.”

  Her face darkened. For a moment, Jay looked like she was going to yell at him again and he braced herself, flooding with something that was oddly anticipatory, but she only sighed.

  “How old are you?”

  “Ten. Almost eleven.”

  “Okay, so you might grow out of it.”

  “Grow out of what?”

  “Being such a shit.” There was a curl to her full mouth now, not entirely malicious, but it annoyed him. With a growl, Nick grabbed her hand, trying to take the remote.

  “Give it to me.”

  “Oh my God,” said Jay. “Stop it.”

  “It's my remote,” said Nick. “My TV. You're just staying here until my dad gets tired of your mom.”

  “Oh my God—” She wrenched her arm. “You are so—”

  The two of them fell in a sprawl on the floor as a loud moan filled the room that made both of them freeze.

  Jay looked at the TV and turned an interesting shade of red. Nick turned to look and she began punching buttons, so he only got a glimpse of orange and pink colors.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “What?” Nick glared down at her. “What was it? Turn it back. I want to see.”

  “Never you mind!” she said sharply, jerking in a way that had him rolling to the floor. “Get off me! Here's your remote back, you freak.” Before he could say anything else, she was storming out of the room, muttering something under her breath.

  She left her mess behind her. Nick looked down at the kicked-over granola and began nudging it under the couch with the tip of his shoe. He waited until he heard the door slam upstairs before clicking the remote back to figure out what Jay hadn't wanted him to see on TV.

  He found it almost immediately. It was “the fucking channel,” as Jake called it. The adults on the TV said “fuck” a lot, but apart from that it was pretty boring. He watched it because his dad had told him not to, but he couldn't see the appeal. There was a lady wearing weird clothes and a man doing something that he couldn't see that seemed to be hurting her.

  “Yes, baby,” the man kept chanting. “Take it all. Come for Daddy.”

  So weird. Nick clicked back to the animal and left it on the dumb nature show before turning the TV off. Everyone in this house is completely insane, he thought. I am the only normal one.

  Chapter Ten

  2000

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  I am the only normal person in this family, thought Jay, fuming around her room as she unpacked the rest of her things the movers had dropped off that evening. She wished she could just ditch this place and live as a bohemian somewhere. She wasn't entirely sure what “bohemian” meant, but she had seen the term in a magazine fashion spread and it seemed to involve things like frilly skirts, crocheted bags, and croissants. Jay liked all those things.

  It didn't take long to put the rest of her stuff away. Her closet was so big that her paltry amount of clothes looked kind of pathetic hanging all squashed together in one corner. She spread the hangers out but that was worse, like a balding guy hiding his pate with a comb-over.

  She looked down at her sweatshirt and shorts and felt a wave of shame. I don't belong here.

  A rap on her door made Jay look up. She opened it warily. It was Yelena. “Te traje estos.”

  The housekeeper was holding a school uniform in a plastic dry cleaning bag and a bunch of cat stuff. “Gracias. Um. ¿Necesito llevar uniforme?” Nobody had told her that she needed to wear a uniform.

  Yelena smiled a little and nodded.

  “¿Católica?” There had been a Catholic school not far from where she lived in San Francisco.

  “No. Privada.” Yelena glanced over her shoulder and carefully set the bag down as Damon went by, shooting the two of them a penetrating look. “Dinner time.”

  Not sure what else to do with it, Jay laid the uniform flat on her bed and went downstairs, sliding her palm down the polished rail. It made her feel a little like a princess at a ball.

  She went down the hallway Nick had pointed out earlier and eventually located the dining room. Everyone else was already there and seated. There was some kind of green stuff in a casserole dish spiced with herbs that smelled vaguely familiar. Jay wasn't sure what they were, exac
tly, because her mother didn't cook.

  “Did the housekeeper give you your uniform, Justine?” asked Damon.

  “Yeah,” said Jay, fighting the urge to say, You were there watching her do it. “Yelena gave it to me.”

  Her mother shot her a look but her new stepfather didn't seem to notice the slight emphasis. Nick did, though, and raised his eyebrows in a way that made her wonder what he knew.

  “Good.” Damon set down his wineglass. “Come here.”

  “Why?” Jay demanded, instantly wary.

  “Justine,” said her mother. “Just go.”

  Jay went with a sigh, trying to hide her unease. Damon was a big man and didn't seem particularly friendly. She didn't like being near him. Especially not with Nick staring at her like he thought she was going to get popped one. She wished she'd thought of asking whether Damon yelled at or hit his kids.

  Mom wouldn't marry someone who hit kids, thought Jay, but she couldn't bring herself to believe this—her mother might be exactly that oblivious, for all she knew—and shifted from foot to foot as Damon pulled a blue box out of his coat. That got her mother's attention.

  “Oh, no, baby,” she said. “Jay's much too young.”

  “All the girls at Hollybrook are little magpies,” he said, with a laugh that was probably supposed to be charming but just made him sound like a creep. “They're always looking at each other's jewelry and comparing. The uniforms are supposed to conceal who has money and who doesn't, but of course, that won't work for the people who know who to look for and measure status and worth.”

  “That's shallow,” Jay blurted.

  “I got Nick a Rolex,” said Damon, ignoring her, although there was a repressive chill in his voice that hadn't been there before. “I'm giving you this, Justine. We can't have people thinking that the Beaucrofts don't take care of their own.” Before she could move, his hand closed over her hand, tightening when she instinctively tried to pull away—and it hurt.

  “Ow,” said Jay, jerking, shooting a look at her mother. Are you watching this?

  “Such a delicate girl.” Damon relaxed his grip instantly and she watched distrustfully, poised to flee, as he fastened a silver charm bracelet around her wrist. “There you are, my dear. It's very expensive. Take good care of it—that's real silver and real enamel.”

  “My watch you gave me doesn't work anymore,” Nick piped up. “It broke two years ago.”

  “I'll get you a new one,” said Damon, taking a sip of wine. “A man should have a watch. We'll get you a waterproof one this time so you don't ruin it in the water like you did before.”

  Nick looked at her. “I'm getting a Bulgari when I'm sixteen.”

  “I shudder to think what inventive means of destruction is in store for it.” Damon pushed the empty box aside—for the housekeeper to clear, she realized with disgust—and pulled out his phone.

  Jay stepped back, skirting the table to get around to the other side, and her mother gave her another look. “Say thank you, Justine. Your stepfather is going to think I raised you in a barn.”

  “A barn would have been nicer,” Jay heard herself say. Oops.

  Across the table, she heard a sound like a muffled laugh, although when she glanced at Nick, his face was carefully expressionless.

  Her mother scowled at her. “Justine.”

  “I'm sorry.” Jay rattled the charms of her bracelet without enthusiasm and added, “Thank you for the bracelet,” before plopping into the seat across from Nick, where her food was now lukewarm. She prodded at it with a fork.

  “So,” Jay's mother spoke brightly to Damon, “How was your day at work, baby?”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Being the new kid was never easy. Jay had had to switch schools before when her mother got dropped from her previous job as a waitress at a good restaurant near Russian Hill. She'd been younger then, and had showed up to work high. It was a classy joint, so she was fired, and that was when she started stripping in North Beach. Jay had finished the year in Marina Middle School before switching over to Francisco.

  She had gone to Francisco for seventh and eighth grade and then her mother had gotten hired at the Beat and Tease and Jay had started at Mission High, just south of Dolores Park. She loved her school. It was so beautiful and everyone there had been interesting and delightfully weird, just like her. She'd liked her friends and even though she could never invite anyone over (because of course they would ask about the pole), she'd felt like she actually belonged there.

  The baroque tiled dome crowning the highest tower of the school was the first thing she saw every day when walking up to it from across the street, and the way it caught the light sometimes made her feel like she was going to a school of magic. The theater was cool, too, with the gold leaf ceiling and its big chandelier. Very Harry Potter. Roaming the halls with her friends, with the whole city as her extended campus, she felt free in a way that she never felt at home.

  Hollybrook High was—Jay swallowed—totally different. Totally worse.

  It was set back on a rolling green hill with the front all boxed off in leafy hedges that seemed to say do not enter and do not touch at the same time. There were palm trees everywhere and each big building was whitewashed so that it gleamed blindingly in the Southern Californian sun.

  Jay had printed out a map that morning from the school's website using the computer in Damon's office. After some wandering, she managed to locate the administration office. The woman behind the desk was an older white woman with a grandmotherly haircut and a surly expression. “Hello,” she said, looking at Jay over her glasses. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi,” said Jay. “I'm new and I don't have a schedule and I'm lost and I don't know where I'm supposed to go.” She drew in a breath, glancing up hopefully. “Can you help me?”

  The woman's expression softened by about one degree. “Are you Justine Varens?”

  Jay, thought Jay, but she didn't want to push her luck. “Yeah—it, uh, doesn't say Beaucroft?”

  “That's not what it says here.” Jay thought the woman's eyes might have widened slightly in recognition of the name. “Does your last name need to be changed?”

  “I don't know.” Jay made a note to ask her mom. “Whatever it says there is probably fine.”

  Someone moved behind her and Jay half-turned to see a boy standing there. A tall boy with skin just a few shades deeper than her own, wearing the male version of her uniform.

  At least he gets to wear pants, she thought, tugging ineffectively at her skirt.

  The woman looked up and smiled. “Michael Valdez. Just in time. I have your shadow.”

  “Shadow?” Jay asked, confused.

  “We appoint all new students with mentors who share most of their scheduled classes to walk them around, introduce them to the other students, show them the ropes.”

  Michael looked her over without bothering to be subtle about it. “Do you have your schedule?”

  “No.” Jay looked at the woman expectantly, who handed her a sheet of paper over the cubicle barrier. Her name was at the top in blocky typewriter font. Varens, Justine M. “Thank you,” she said. “Have a good day.”

  This time the woman actually smiled at her. It made Jay feel glad.

  She left administration with Michael and he led her up the paved walkway that cut through the grass. “So,” he said, hitching up his backpack. “Where are you from?”

  “San Francisco. The Mission,” she lied. It was a trendier neighborhood than the Tenderloin.

  “No, I meant—never mind. San Francisco, huh? Cool. Like, Golden Gate Bridge?”

  Jay blinked. “Are you asking me if I live on the bridge? Or if the bridge is in the Mission?”

  “Both, I guess,” he said, with an easy smile.

  “Well, then, neither. You can't live on the bridge. There's cops who patrol it. And the bridge is in the tip of the Presidio district, which is nowhere near the Mission.”

  “Wow, okay, Einstein,” said Michael, l
aughing. “I didn't ask for your life story.”

  “Actually,” Jay said, feeling a little hurt, “you kind of did.”

  Michael looked at her again, but this time there was a sardonic tilt to his mouth. “My bad.” He continued smiling, but his forehead crinkled in thought. “Did I hear you say you're a Beaucroft?”

  “He's my stepdad,” said Jay. “My mom just married him.”

  “Who's your mom?” Michael asked, in a tone Jay would soon learn meant, who are your folks and what have they done to make it worth my while to remember who you are?

  “She's an actress.” It was the lie her mother had instructed her on. “An aspiring actress.”

  “Well, if she looks anything like you, I doubt it'll take long to get her career off the ground.”

  Jay tensed, unsure if she was being teased. Probably. “She's short and blonde and has pale skin,” said Jay. “She doesn't really look anything like me.”

  “God,” said Michael. “You sure don't hold back, do you?”

  “Sorry,” she said instinctively. “What do your parents do?”

  “My dad's in real estate—he's a developer,” he added quickly. “He's worked with Beaucroft Assets a couple of times. Your old man funded some of his projects. And my mom does charity work.”

  “Like soup kitchens? That's nice.”

  “Oh God, no,” said Michael, with a laugh. “Like fancy parties where people pay ten thousand dollars a plate for a dinner catered by a Michelin chef and then the money gets pooled to save the whales or the orphans or the whale orphans or whatever.” He looked at her, amusement glinting in his brown eyes. “Did you fall off a melon truck on your way to Kansas or something, Justine?”

  “Or something,” she said. “And it's Jay. Only my parents call me Justine.” And I hate it.

  “Okay, Jay,” Michael said amiably enough, although she couldn't shake the suspicion that he was still laughing at her. He walked her to Spanish II and the conversation died after that. He was also in her freshman English class, as well as Social Studies class in the afternoon.

  Her interactions with him were so awkward that she was surprised when he invited her to sit with him and his friends at lunch. “It'll be good for you to meet the right kind of people while you're here,” he said. “I'm sure that's what your dad would want.”