by R. A. Smyth
Sliding my chair over beside hers, I’m enveloped by the vanilla and honey scent of her shower gel, losing myself for a moment in her eyes. I can’t quite place the color—blue, but with a hint of something else. They’re captivating, like looking at the sky just before it’s about to rain.
She watches me with a mixture of wariness and curiosity as I adjust my glasses, grabbing ahold of her mouse. I show her how to access her drive, and it becomes clear pretty quickly that the girl hasn’t spent much time around computers. She can barely use basic typing and spreadsheet programs. I want to ask her about it, but one look at the deep furrows in her forehead as she concentrates on what I’m telling her, combined with the nervous tapping of her nails against the table, and I can tell she wouldn’t take it well.
She nods along with everything I explain to her, appearing to take it in and asking questions here and there when she needs something clarified. It takes the full hour, but surprisingly, I don’t mind. I’m not a dick, I’d help someone out if they asked for it; but it’s usually begrudgingly, and I’m always ready to be done with them so I can get back to my own work. Not today, though. Maybe it was just her citrusy shampoo messing with my head, but I actually enjoyed showing her the ropes, watching her eyes light up when she learned something new, and how she bit the inside of her lip when she was processing what I was saying.
“Thanks,” she says, her soft tone sounding genuinely grateful when the bell rings, signaling the end of class. Her teeth once again dig into her bottom lip in what I’ve learned is a nervous gesture. “For today. I really appreciate it.”
“Any time.” The words blurt before I’ve had a chance to process what I’m saying.
Uh, what now? Any time?
I’m not someone who invites people to hit them up when they need help. I like my own company, and spending time with the guys, but that’s it. The last thing I want to do with my spare time is spend it with the students in Pac. I already have to show up at social events for appearance’s sake. I definitely don’t spend one-on-one time with any of them. Yet I’ve just told this girl, a virtual stranger, that she can ask me for help any time.
God damn, I knew her shampoo had scrambled my brain!
***
The seniors always host the first party of the year down by the lake. It’s on the far side of campus to the teacher accommodation and hidden from view of the school by the forest, meaning no one is likely to bust us. Although I’m pretty sure the teachers are all aware of what we get up to out here, and they just turn a blind eye. It’s not like they could suspend or expel the entire senior class.
The lake is usually a tranquil spot, away from the usual furor of the rest of campus, but tonight it’s alive with teenage energy, everyone buzzing for a good time. We’ve lit a fire on the pebbly shore—the flames sparking and fanning into the air, flaring like a beacon against the night sky—and dragged a few logs of driftwood around it for makeshift seats. Music blasts over the speaker system and students sway to the beat, while others sit up on the grassy embankment, chatting and drinking. There’s a short dock stretching into the water, where a few kids are currently sitting—dangling their feet over the edge—and a boat shed at the other side of the lake.
The party is well underway when Hadley shows up. I notice her as soon as she arrives with the other scholarship students. They all stand out like sore thumbs, with their discounted clothing and cheap makeup, compared to the designer outfits and thousand-dollar shoes the rest of us are wearing.
Even with that distinction, she still sticks out from the others; with her wide eyes, scanning warily over the party, drinking everything in. Not to mention she’s the only girl here in a long sleeve top, baggy shorts, and combat boots, her mess of blonde curls blowing freely in the breeze. She looks like a vagrant, yet she appears so much more at ease in what she’s wearing than she did earlier in her uniform.
The crowd of them make a beeline for the drink table, and one of them—I think her name is Emily—shoves a drink into Hadley’s hand. She sniffs at it before wrinkling her nose, quickly setting it aside when her friend's back is turned. Everything about her is odd. Different. From her unusual behavior to her strange attire, I can’t figure her out. I spent all afternoon trying to get a read on her. She came across as nervous sometimes, almost skittish, yet she's abrasive and acerbic. I’m a sucker for a good challenge, and Hadley may have just become my new puzzle to solve.
“Yo. West, man,” Cam calls out, pulling my attention away from the girl who has been taking up way too much space in my brain this afternoon.
“Huh?” I snap my head around to look at him before he can catch me staring at her. I can only imagine the ribbing if he caught me looking at the girl he’s been talking non-stop about all week—although I don’t think he’s managed to make much headway with her.
“The girls are here.” He sounds as enthusiastic as I feel, however it’s strange to hear him so uninterested in a party; but once again, this is a situation where the girl of the month crap isn’t as much fun as he expected. Where’s the excitement when you have a sure-thing girl? For a chaser like Cam, there’s none of the adrenaline rushing energy that comes from flirting with a girl, slowly building up to that moment when you find out if she’s going to go home with you. Sure, I don’t think anyone has ever turned him down, but there’s still none of that anticipation he loves.
For me, I just don’t want to be saddled with Brittany all night, or any other girl. I like doing the weird loner thing, watching everyone around me doing their thing. I don’t need some chick hanging off me, trying to get my attention. Ugh, why the fuck are we doing this stupid tradition again? Oh, yeah, because it’s expected of us.
Parties used to be the one time when we could let loose, only inviting people to hang out with us if we wanted to, but otherwise sticking to ourselves. We could afford to drop the masks we wear in public. Not anymore. The rest of the day, I can get away with telling Brittany to leave me alone, but not here. Part of the deal is that they get to sit with us at parties. That exposure is half the reason they so easily agree to be ours—the other reason being the bragging rights. And of course the faint hope that we might actually want something more with any of them.
“Great.” I sigh, putting on a fake smile and heading over to where the guys are gathered round the fire pit. Bianca, Vivian, Melissa, and Brittany, each of our girls for the month, have joined them. Melissa is already in Hawk’s lap, looking way too cozy as she runs her hand possessively over his large bicep, and Vivian is sucking face with Mason. I don’t get how those two are so okay with all of this. They don’t give a shit about those girls. They don’t care that those girls don’t give a shit about them. But then, it’s nothing different from what they’ve been doing the last four years. I just don’t get it; it’s not me. I’m not a meaningless hook-up person.
Brittany is sitting on the other side of the fire, glowering in Mason's direction. Or, more specifically, at the girl attached to his face. It should maybe annoy me that she’s blatantly eyeing him up, but honestly, I just don’t give a fuck. I didn’t at the beginning of the week, and with Hadley screwing with my brain today, I definitely don’t give a shit now.
Cam seems to be back to totally ignoring Bianca. An impressive feat, considering she’s clawing at him like a cat in heat. He’s been hot and cold with her all week, but I figured with a few beers in him tonight, he’d be all over that.
“West,” Brittany purrs, jumping to her feet when she sees me in her line of vision. “I was wondering where you were.”
Grabbing a beer out of the cooler, not bothering to offer her or any of the other girls a drink, I sit down beside Cam, all but ignoring her. It might come across as rude, but in all seriousness, if you give these girls an inch, they’ll take everything you own and destroy you in the divorce.
“Why don’t you two girls go dance?” Cam suggests, waving aimlessly toward the crowd of students in a bid to get rid of them.
“You want
to watch me shake my ass for you, baby?” Bianca purrs, leaning in to lick Cam’s ear. Fucking gross. I quickly glance away, taking a large gulp from my beer can, trying to ignore whatever she’s trying to do—what is she trying to do? Ear fuck him? Jesus.
“Sure.” Cam’s tone lacks all of its usual flirty undertones as he pulls away from her, but Bianca doesn’t seem to notice any of it as she grabs Brittany’s hand and sashays off.
“God, was she always that whiny and clingy?”
“Yes,” I deadpan. “Why did you pick her anyway?”
He gives a casual shrug of his shoulder. “I heard she got a boob job over the summer. I was curious to see if her tits would be firm enough that I could stick my dick between them and get myself off.”
I roll my eyes at that. Of course that was the reason.
“And are they?”
“I dunno, haven’t fucked her yet.”
That takes me by surprise. Sure, he’s got his sights set on another girl, but this is Cam. Even if he’s lost interest, he’d still fuck her.
“Huh, I thought you'd be all about the monthly girls.” We haven’t actually talked about what’s going on with him. Honestly, I thought he was just chasing after Hadley all while getting his dick wet in Bianca, but if he’s not fucking her, then his head is more messed up than I realized.
“Yeah, me too,” he agrees glumly. “And I was.” He sighs, frustrated, downing a large gulp of his beer as his eyes scan the crowd until they catch on to what he’s searching for. Turning to see, I spot Hadley dancing in a small circle with her friends. “Until I saw her.”
“Just fuck her and get her out of your system.” I have to push past the uneasy feeling in my gut at those words. I don’t know what the hell that feeling is, but it can fuck right off. For Cam, it should be as simple as that. Yeah, okay, it sounds callous, but that doesn’t make it any less true. It’s what he does—lures a girl in with his charming ways, fucks her, and moves on.
He snorts. “I fucking wish, man, but she seems to be immune to my charms.”
That gets my attention as I turn to look at him with wide eyes, my mouth slightly agape. “She’s not interested?” Since when does a girl at Pac not want to fuck a Prince? The scholarship girls are much more reserved about it, but I bet if one of us asked them to suck our dick, they’d fall to their knees without a second thought. That’s not me talking out of arrogance. I’m just stating a fact.
“I dunno, man.” His brow is furrowed, his lips pinched in confusion as his eyes trail Hadley around the party. “I can’t work her out.”
That makes two of us.
Hawk and Mason finally detach themselves from the girls and move over to join us as Vivian and Melissa go to dance with the other two.
“What are you two moping about?” Hawk asks, grabbing himself a beer, his eyes following Cam’s gaze. “Are you fucking serious? You’re still caught up on her?”
“What is your problem with her, man?” Cam snaps, finally stopping his stalkerish ways and turning to look at Hawk in confusion. “What happened the other day?”
“Nothing,” he snarls. “She was just a bitch.”
“Because she didn’t fall to the ground, begging for mercy and offering you an apology blowjob, like any other girl would do?” Cam chuckles, shaking his head, diffusing the tension from a moment ago.
Hawk just shrugs, refusing to answer. That’s exactly what his problem is. He doesn’t like to be challenged, and he’s not used to backtalking from girls. I bet he was shocked she dared say anything to him, and now he doesn’t know what to do with it. It doesn’t help that his head is already a mess with all this family shit we’re drowning in. Mason’s the only one who seems to be impervious to her particularly unusual brand of charm.
Chapter 6
The party is in full swing when we arrive. In fairness, we’re over an hour late. Who knew it took girls so long to get ready? I sure as hell didn’t. We spent ages in Emilia’s room getting all dressed up. Well, she got dressed up—after finally giving up on forcing me into one of her dresses and heels, that shit ain’t happening—while I flicked through the collection of girly magazines she had.
Looking out over the partygoers, I notice a crowd of people hovering around the drinks table, chatting, while others grind on one another on the beach, close to a set of large speakers that have been set up with some sort of dance music pumping out of them.
That same magnetism I feel around them has me looking toward the fire pit, finding all four of them perched around it. How are they able to lure me in and steal my focus in a crowd this size, with all the distractions that come with being at a party? I should be able to distance myself from them and forget they’re even here.
“Cheers, girl.” Emilia has a huge grin on her face as she pushes a plastic cup into my hand, bringing my attention back to her as she clinks her own cup against mine, taking a large swallow from it.
Sniffing the straw-colored liquid, my nose scrunches as the sweet-vinegary-malt smell invades my senses. Nope, no thanks. Not that I’d drink anything with alcohol in it, but I definitely wouldn’t touch anything here. I don’t know these people. While their first impression hasn’t been horrible, it certainly hasn’t been warm and welcoming—only the scholarship students really talk to me. Even if it was, life has taught me to keep my guard up and to always be on alert. Never be vulnerable. Never show weakness. Someone is always watching, ready to pounce at the first opportunity. I’m sure as fuck not about to give these rich assholes an opening.
The others quickly down their drinks; and Abigail, Mary, Todd, and Samuel all make their way toward the sea of dancing bodies, laughing, and getting into the partying mood. Emilia hesitates, and I can see she wants to go with them.
“Go,” I encourage, ushering her away.
“Nah, I’m good here for now,” she promises, pouring herself another drink and standing with me as we watch the party rage around us.
“So this is a Pac party?”
“Yup,” Emilia nods her head, her hips swaying slightly to the beat as we observe the partygoers around us.
“I thought it would be...bigger.” Not that I have much to go on, but looking around at students slamming back shots, making out or grinding on one another, I just don’t get it. What’s the appeal? Nearly every girl is parading around in sky high heels and a barely there dress, just asking for a broken ankle on the uneven pebbles, while the guys not-so-subtly eye up whatever girl they’re hoping to get with for the night. From what I can gather, the whole night is about drinking, dancing, and sex. If two people want to fuck, why don’t they just do it? Why do they need the liquid courage and the dancing warm-up? If I want a guy, I just go for him.
My gaze inadvertently flits back to the fire pit, watching Cam and West deep in conversation, ignoring everyone else around them. They’re both casually dressed in jeans that hug their thighs, and Cam’s t-shirt looks like it’s been painted on him, every taut line of his muscles evident through the fabric. West has donned a pale gray shirt with rolled-up sleeves, showing off his lean yet sturdy forearms. Forearms shouldn’t be attractive, right? I mean, they’re just forearms for fuck’s sake. Yet, the flash of an image skitters across my brain of him pinning me against the wall with those forearms. Yes, please.
No. No. Off limits.
Okay, so maybe I don’t just go for it with every guy, but the Princes are the exception. They’re a complication I can’t afford right now. My body might want them, but my brain knows they’re exactly what I don’t need.
“Having fun?” Michael asks, interrupting my inappropriate thoughts. He’d been hovering nearby, talking to Andrew, but turning to look at him, I see Andrew being pulled into the swelling crowd by some girl with a coy smile on her face, clearly knowing she’s going to get lucky tonight.
“Eh, yeah.” It’s a less than enthusiastic response, but I think I’ve discovered parties aren’t really my thing. Not that I know what my thing is. It’s not like I’ve ever had the time
or money to invest in extracurriculars, nor the friends to hang out with. When you spend your entire life simply surviving, you don’t have time to discover who you are.
“You wanna dance?” Michael asks awkwardly, fidgeting with the tail of his shirt.
“Uh…”
Before I can work out how to tell him no, Emilia is already clapping her hands. “Yes,” she shrieks. “That’s an excellent idea.” Grabbing my hand, I begrudgingly let her pull me into the crowd—it’s not like I can refuse. The poor girl has been dying to dance all night, but has been holding off so she can hang back with me. I can sense Michael at my back as we squeeze past bodies until we reach the others in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Without letting go of my hand, Emilia gyrates her hips, tugging on my arm every now and again to encourage me to move.
Around me, everyone dances to the beat, closing their eyes and getting lost in the rhythm. I can feel Michael’s body pressing into my side and Emilia keeps bumping up against me, the crowd pushing us all together.
I try. I honestly do, but I just can’t get into it. Not only do I apparently have no rhythm, but I can’t seem to lose myself in the music the way they do. Every time I close my eyes I can feel the sweaty bodies shoving against me, the hairs prickling at the back of my neck as unknown hands sweep my body. My heart rate starts to climb, my breaths coming in harsh pants. Tearing my eyes open, I mutter an excuse to whoever hears me before pushing my way through the crowd, ignoring the others calling after me as I run off into the surrounding trees, until the noise of the party is nothing more than a soft drone in the distance, and there is nothing but fresh air and the hidden cover of the surrounding forest.
Pressing my back against the rough bark of a tree, I tilt my head back, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I just be like everyone else? Be a typical fucking teenager for once, having fun and enjoying a party?