Heart Stopper: Rebels of Rushmore Book One

by Hercules, Michelle

  “You’re out of your mind. You’ve already agreed to be my bitch. No backsies.”

  “Ugh. You’re the worst.”

  “I’m going to ask again. Why aren’t you two dating?” Angelica, the newest member of the Rushmore Gazette, asks.

  “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt,” I reply with a shake of my head.

  “But you have great chemistry.”

  Blake and I trade glances, then burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” The poor girl alternates looking between us.

  “Maybe one day we’ll tell you,” I say.

  Unlikely.

  Blake and I are the perfect match on paper. We like the same movies, the same books, are into similar hobbies, and mesh really well intellectually. But chemistry, the stuff that makes my knees go weak and my stomach turn into knots, is what we never had or will.

  “Are you going to the Pike party tonight?” She changes the subject, thankfully.

  Blake snorts. “Not in this lifetime.”

  Angelica gets the dumbfounded look again, so I’m quick to explain, “Blake doesn’t do Greek Row.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re all fucking assholes,” he replies angrily.

  She glances at me for further explanation, but I just shrug. That’s Blake’s issue. It’s up to him to elaborate.

  “We also have a LARP meeting tonight,” I add.

  “Oh, that’s the Live Action Role Playing thingy, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ve always thought people who were into those things were a bunch of weirdos, but you guys aren’t.”

  My spine goes taut, and I see Blake has a similar reaction to mine. Angelica’s comment wasn’t malicious, but it’s hard not to get defensive.

  “How do you know we aren’t weirdos?” Blake raises an eyebrow.

  Angelica’s cheeks turn bright pink, and she drops her gaze to her laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I have to finish this article before my English Lit class.”

  Blake and I share a what-can-you-do glance. A second later, he sends me a message through Facebook.

  “I’m kind of tired of people’s bullshit. Aren’t you?”

  “Since when do you care about what people think?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Hmm. It sounds like you do, or is it Angelica’s opinion that you care about?”

  “Ha-ha. She’s too vapid for my taste.”

  “Oh, look who’s judging now.”

  “Shut up. What time are you picking me up?”

  “Excuse me? Why do I have to drive?”

  “Because my car is being serviced.”

  “What about Fred?”

  “He’s going straight from the store. He said he has a surprise for us.”

  “Oh, I love Fred’s surprises.”

  “Samesies.”

  I chuckle out loud. “Samesies? What are you now, a thirteen-year-old girl?”

  “I’m practicing being your bitch for this weekend. LOL.”

  “Right. I’ll pick you up at five.”

  “Sounds good.”

  * * *

  Fred is one of my best friends, but he’s also a lunatic with mad convincing skills. If the guy wasn’t an artist, he’d be a fantastic salesman. It’s the only explanation for what’s happening just outside of Zuko’s Diner in the pouring rain.

  The California sky decided to drop on us with all its fury as we were taking pictures, wearing Fred’s surprise. His father owns one of the biggest movie prop companies in LA, and he scored us some sick postapocalyptic costumes. It won’t work for our current LARP theme since we’re not doing the Mad Max thing, but it was too badass to resist trying them on.

  “I think we’re ruining the pictures with our umbrellas,” I joke.

  “I’m not getting this baby wet,” Blake replies.

  “Just take the damn picture already,” Fred shouts at Sylvana, the coordinator of our LARP group, who also happens to be his cousin.

  “Stop talking and strike a pose, dumbasses,” she fires back.

  We have fun for about ten seconds until Sylvana demands to be in the pictures too. I remove my headgear and then trade places with her. Despite the rain, the sun hasn’t set yet, and the clouds are scattered, so it’s not as dark as it could be. I wait for them to get in position, aiming the phone in their direction. I only manage to take one photo before a splash of cold water drenches the back of my pants.

  I yell and then turn around to curse at the driver who sped over the puddle near the curb. The four-wheel-drive truck stops not too far from us at a red light. I can’t see his face, but the license plate says it all—ALXNDR7. It’s Troy’s fucking truck.

  Son of a bitch.

  He lowers his window and waves at me before speeding off as the light turns green.

  “Who was that?” Sylvana asks.

  “Troy Alexander, Rushmore Rebels’ quarterback,” I reply.

  “Did he run over that puddle on purpose?” Fred asks.

  “Sure looks like it.” I pat my butt, confirming that it’s soaking wet, underwear included.

  Shit. I have to go home.

  “What an ass,” Fred replies.

  “You know what?” Blake chimes in. “Fuck him and the football team. I’m running the article you wrote.”

  “What about not using the paper for revenge?”

  He looks straight into my eyes. “That fucker just made it personal. No one messes with my staff.”

  3

  TROY

  “Dude! I can’t believe you did that. Ruthless!” Andreas laughs from shotgun.

  “Shit, man. Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Danny pipes up from the back.

  I tighten my hold on the steering wheel while I wrestle with the immediate guilt that followed my impulsive act. I’m not an asshole, and I usually don’t hold on to grudges. I thought I was past my anger with the little reporter until I found her tweet about me. She called the experience of meeting me akin to attempting a conversation with a Neanderthal and said she’d have more luck with the caveman from the Geico commercial.

  Once again, I let her get under my skin, and the result was me acting exactly like she’d said I did. It’s my fault for cyberstalking her. I learned her full name from the email Ludwig had sent me. Charlie Fontaine. I was quick to find all her social media profiles, and that included her tweet about me. She didn’t mention me again, but that one judgmental paragraph was enough to set me on edge.

  “Accidents happen. It’s her fault for standing near a puddle.”

  “Sure, like you didn’t accelerate on purpose.” Andreas chuckles.

  “Can we drop this? Charlie is taking too much airtime.”

  “Charlie? So, you learned her name finally?” Danny makes that annoying remark.

  “You’d better shut your piehole before I make you walk back to campus.”

  “Gee, relax.”

  “Are you coming to the Pike party?” Andreas finally changes the subject.

  “A frat party? Not in the mood to hang out with that crowd. Besides, I have plans.”

  “Oh yeah? A hot date, or are you back to eating old porridge?”

  “Man, you have to stop with the bad food analogies,” Danny retorts.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I grumble. “And no, I don’t have a date.”

  “It’s old porridge. I knew it. You have to stop sleeping with your ex, man. It’s not healthy.”

  “For the thousandth time, I’m not sleeping with Brooke,” I grit out. “We just chatted after that one game when she came to visit—that’s all. Besides, she lives in New York, remember?”

  “Okay then. If you say so,” Andreas replies sarcastically.

  “Whatever. Believe what you want. I promised Grandma I’d have dinner with her. That’s my hot date.”

  “Ah, cool. Is Jane going too?” Andreas looks out the window casually, but his left leg begins to bounce nervously.

  What’s up wit
h him?

  “Yeah. I have to pick her up in thirty.”

  “Where are you heading for dinner? I could eat.”

  I peel my gaze from the road for a second to glower at him. “Did you just ask to tag along to a family dinner? Are you for real?”

  He shrugs. “What? We’re friends, and your grandma loves me.”

  “Sorry, buddy, but I have to get back home,” Danny interjects. “I have a major test tomorrow that I have to study for.”

  “No worries. I’m dropping both of you off first.”

  “Wow, really? You’re terrified that your grandma loves me more than you, huh?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  I wouldn’t mind Andreas tagging along if it was only me. But Jane is in the mix, and I really don’t want him near her. My sister is shy and completely different than the girls Andreas goes for, but she’s a knockout, and bro code or not, I won’t risk getting her on his radar.

  * * *

  CHARLIE

  Things couldn’t get any worse. On my way back to the house I share with three other girls, I receive a text from Vivian, one of my roommates, telling me there’s been a fire at our place. When I get there, the firemen have already put it out—it was concentrated in the kitchen, thankfully—but we can’t stay there. They discovered what we’d already known all along—the house is a freaking hazard and in violation of several housing codes. Long story short, I’m homeless.

  “Shit. Where are we going to live?” I ask Vivian while we wait outside for the firemen to allow us in to collect our things.

  “My boyfriend said I can move in with him, so this has turned out great for me.” She smiles from ear to ear.

  “Wasn’t he totally against commitment?”

  “Yeah. This fire was divine intervention.”

  “More like cheapskate-landlord neglect.” I pull up my phone to text my parents. They’ll tell me to stay with them until I find a new place, but they live an hour from campus. The commute will kill me.

  “What are you wearing anyway? I thought your LARP deal was this weekend,” Vivian asks.

  “Oh, this was a gift from Fred.”

  She gives me an elevator glance, arching her eyebrows. “Interesting gift. It’d be great for Halloween, although it’s not very sexy.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. I guess if I forgo the pants, I can be a slutty Imperator Furiosa.”

  “Who?”

  “Mad Max: Fury Road?” I reply. Vivian gives me a blank stare, earning a shake of the head from me. “Never mind.”

  I also text Blake and Fred.

  Almost immediately, Blake calls me back. “Please tell me you were joking about your place.”

  “I wish I were. At least it’s stopped raining.”

  “What happened?”

  “Who knows? No one was home, so we’re assuming a fuse blew. That house was a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “When can you go back?”

  “It’s going to be months.”

  “Do you need a place to stay?”

  I knew he was going to offer, but Blake lives with two other guys, and their place isn’t that big. I’d have to sleep on the couch for sure.

  “Thanks, but I’ll just head to my parents’ tonight and then start looking for another room to rent ASAP.”

  “It’s going to be brutal finding something now that school has already started.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I know, but I can’t worry about that now. I just need to get out of these damn wet clothes.”

  My fury with Troy returns, and I don’t think it will go away that easily. Even knowing my article will be published isn’t helping me feel better. Why am I allowing that smug bastard to control my emotions? I’m better than this.

  “Are you still up for LARPing this weekend?” Blake asks.

  “Yeah, Ben will be disappointed if I don’t go. Besides, I’m in dire need of some fun.”

  One of the firemen approaches us, so I end the call quickly.

  “You can go in to pack up your personal belongings now,” he says.

  “Thank you, sir,” I reply.

  “Nice outfit, by the way. Very authentic.”

  Heat creeps up my cheeks. “Uh, thanks.”

  I quicken my steps, trying to hide my embarrassment.

  Vivian catches up with me, and once we’re inside, she asks, “Why did you run away? He was cute.”

  “I didn’t run away.” I make a beeline to my room. What’s up with all the girls I know trying to set me up with random guys? Do I look desperate to them?

  I pack a duffel bag with clothes that will last me a week, and also my costume and props for the weekend. Then comes the difficult decision to select only a few beloved books to bring with me. I’m not against e-books, but there’s something to be said about holding a real book in your hands. Plus, you don’t own e-books; you just buy the license to view the content. It can be erased from your digital library without warning. No, thank you.

  In the end, I choose my Tolkien collection. I have to come back here Sunday to pack the rest of my stuff. I’ll do that after my volunteering job. As busy as I am, I can’t miss it. It’s Gladys’s ninetieth birthday party, and I have to be there.

  I’m heading out the door when text messages and notifications start to blow up my phone.

  What the hell? This can’t be about the fire.

  I click on a random message, which turns out to be hate mail.

  Shit on toast. The article about Troy is out.

  4

  CHARLIE

  I skipped class on Friday—though not because I was afraid to deal with my article’s repercussion. I don’t give a flying fuck about Troy’s fan club outrage. No, thanks to that idiot, I caught a cold—one more item for my list of grievances against him. I was still all sniffles and coughs during LARP, which made for a rough event. Thankfully, I’m feeling better today, so it didn’t completely ruin my weekend, only half of it.

  It’s 9:00 a.m., and the parking lot at Golden Oaks is still relatively empty. Sunday is prime visitation day for the assisted living part of the complex, and I’m glad I got here before the crowd. Gladys’s party is not until noon, but I promised the administrator I’d help set it up.

  It was sheer luck that I kept the décor for the party in my trunk. I’d have stored it near the kitchen if I had unloaded it last week. I hoist the two extra-large bags over my shoulders and then head inside the building. Cheyenne Benson, the administrator, is behind the reception desk today. Her face splits into a wide grin when she sees me coming through the door.

  “Charlie! You’re here early. Nice dress.” Her smile broadens.

  “Thanks. I wanted to beat the traffic. I’m staying at my folks’ in Littleton.”

  “Oh no. You had to brave the freeway? That beast never slows down.”

  “Perks of living near LA.” I wink at her.

  “For sure.” She walks around the desk. “Let me help you with that.”

  I give her one of the bags. “How many people are we expecting today?”

  “The usual number for a Sunday. I’m not sure if Gladys’s grandkids will be here. I couldn’t get a confirmation from her son.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. Between you and me, I don’t think the grandkids want to be here. She doesn’t remember them, and it’s just hard.”

  Gladys has Alzheimer’s, and the disease is progressing fast now. The birthday party is more for the residents in the independent living wing of Golden Oaks than her.

  We head to the entertainment area where tables have already been set up. I’m not surprised when I spot Ophelia Holland, the coolest lady I’ve ever met, giving orders to Jack Morris and Louis Romano, her boyfriends.

  She’s already dressed to the nines, wearing a pink Chanel suit and her pearls. Her chin-length hair is curly and currently baby blue. Every week it’s a different color. She turns around and smirks when she sees my outfit. I lost a bet last weekend,
and this is my penance—I have to wear a Sailor Moon costume today. I’m all for cosplaying, but there’s a time and place for it, and it’s definitely not at a ninety-year-old’s birthday party.

  “Looking good, Charlie,” Louis says, not hiding his amusement. “Jon-Jon would have loved it.”

  “Yeah, right. He’d probably think I’d lost my senses completely.”

  Jon-Jon was my grandpa. He lived here for five years before he passed away last year. It’s how I got to know the place and their residents. I became so attached to them that I kept coming back every weekend. Cheyenne was the one who suggested I list my time here as volunteer work to make my résumé look good. But that’s not the reason I come. I love everyone.

  I set the bag near the table before I hug Ophelia. She won’t reveal her age, but even so, I can tell her body is becoming frailer. She looks healthy though, and she’s full of energy as usual.

  “Why are you here so early, Charlie? Didn’t you have your LARP event yesterday?”

  “Yeah, but I’m staying at my folks’ temporarily, and it’s a drive.”

  She furrows her white eyebrows. “Why are you staying there? Is everything all right?”

  “There was a small fire at my place, and now I have to find another room to rent.”

  “Oh no. That’s dreadful. Was there a lot of damage?”

  “Mainly in the kitchen. Still, it’s going to be a pain in the butt finding a room that’s not out of my price range or a complete dump.”

  A light bulb seems to flash above her blue head as she widens her eyes. “I have the perfect place for you. You can rent a room from me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I own a house fairly near your school’s campus. My grandson goes to John Rushmore too, and he’s currently living there.”

  “And he won’t mind getting a roommate?”

  “No, of course not. He’s such an angel. You’ll love him. Besides, the house is big enough that you won’t be in each other’s hair.”

  I begin to feel hopeful. I’d rather rent a room from Ophelia than deal with another sleazeball like my previous landlord.