by Ashley Gee
She runs for the double doors as soon as I pull into the parking lot, the tardy bell clanging over the loudspeakers. The girl cares a hell of a lot more than I do about being late.
My phone rings, and I lean back in the seat as I answer it, so I can watch her ass as she races up the stairs.
It is a very nice ass.
My father’s voice comes over my phone’s tinny speaker. “How is it going with the Milbourne girl?”
Oh, just a little bit of dry humping before school while my godmother waited in the other room.
“Fine.”
“I didn’t bring up the pregnancy codicil at dinner, because I wasn’t sure what you had already discussed. Is she agreeable?”
I’m surprised he’s asking, because I sincerely doubt he wants the unvarnished truth. “We just need to work out some of the details.”
My father lets out a relieved sigh. “Giselle tells me that the Shore Club had a cancellation, so we can hold the reception there, but that means the ceremony will need to be moved up to three weeks from now. Hopefully, enough of our friends can make it that the turnout will be appropriate. A few of my business partners and their wives already have the date penciled in.”
Penciled in? He makes my wedding sound like a round of golf. If it wasn’t fake, I might be offended.
“We really don’t have to go through with this,” I hedge. “Everything is already legal as it is.”
“Someday you’ll understand the sacrifices required to be who we are. You are a Cortland.”
I’m already marrying a girl that I’m pretty sure tried to kill me when we were kids. And after compelling her into a fake marriage, I’m going to trick her into carrying my child. There isn’t anything more Cortland™ than that.
“Like I give a shit.”
“Watch your language.”
The phone dangles from my fingers as I see Principal Friedman coming out the main doors, on the lookout for people smoking or playing hooky. I wonder if Zaya got to class on time, if she felt good walking down the halls in an outfit that highlights her beauty instead of hiding it.
I wonder if anybody has said anything about the giant rock on her finger.
“Dad, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this later.”
I hang up before he can respond.
My relationship with my father has always been…interesting. I hate to call it complex, because that implies there are multiple layers when it has always been aggressively superficial. But it’s not precisely distant. He cares in an absent way, spending most of his time working or living the life on public display that is expected of the Cortland patriarch.
To hear him tell it, my father married Giselle because he wanted me to have a mother. But my earliest memories are of nannies and frigidly cold rooms in a deserted mansion. Giselle is smart enough not to act like a stereotypical evil stepmother, but I never got the impression that she married my father out of a desperation to play the nurturing mother. The glitz of constant parties and events seems to have been a much greater allure.
Along with all the money, of course.
I used to take it personally until I saw her dealing with Emma in pretty much the same way. If she treats her own biological kid like little more than a fashionable accessory, what chance did I have?
My father’s words echo in my head. You are a Cortland.
I don’t give a fuck about 99% of the people in this town. But I also don’t want to set my little sister up for ridicule. Especially when she’s in those tender middle school years where everything is oh my God, so embarrassing!
The thought of some big to-do in front of the entire town, only to get a quickie divorce a year later, just seems tortuous. An actual wedding ceremony means inviting a whole bunch of people who won’t be the least little bit happy to see me walking down the aisle.
Like sharks scenting blood in the water.
My asshole friends are waiting for me with grins on their faces when I get to the cafeteria at lunch. Cal is holding a snack cake from the vending machines with an unlit candle stuck into the center of it. Elliot is holding up a sad sheet of notebook paper with CONGRATULATIONS? written on it in block letters.
I glare at Iain. “You fuck.”
He just shrugs, not looking the least bit repentant. “You know I don’t keep secrets.”
Elliot claps me on the back hard enough that I have to catch myself on the edge of the table as I sit down. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“You haven’t seen shit,” I reply, slouching in the chair. “The ceremony is in a few weeks. I’m sure Giselle will have someone get in touch about your matching cummerbunds.”
“This is actually happening.” Cal is incredulous. He runs through girls like there’s a Guinness record for screwing he hopes to beat before he dies. If it was a choice between tying himself down to only one for a year and the poorhouse, Cal would be drowning in pussy while living under a freeway overpass. “I’ll admit I got a laugh when Iain first told us, but I didn’t actually think you were serious.”
“I’m serious about keeping my inheritance.”
But the words ring hollow even to my ears. In the beginning, this was entirely about keeping the Cortland fortune where it belongs. I hated that it was Zaya whom I had to convince to help me, hated her more than I normally did, even though I knew it wasn’t her fault that she was the only girl from a Founding family of legal age.
I want to believe that only the money matters, but still find my gaze scanning the cafeteria for her face. I’m already thinking about when she’ll want to visit her grandfather at the care home. Whether I should pick out a car for her so she isn’t tempted to take the bus anywhere again, or if it would make her happier to go the dealership herself and pick something out.
I find myself wanting to do things just to make her happy, not because I’m getting anything out of her in return.
“Have you seen the rock on Zaya’s finger yet?” Iain asked the other two, voice mild. “It’s a Cortland family heirloom.”
If looks could do damage, Iain would be bleeding on the floor. He might still be later when I get my hands on him.
Cal let out a low whistle. “You gave Zaya Milbourne Gram Gram’s ring. Who are you, and what the fuck have you done with Vin?”
“Piss off.”
“You haven’t even heard the best part,” Iain drawls. “He only has a year to—”
I kick Iain hard enough in the shin that I think the bone might have broken my toe. He doesn’t react to the pain, but stops talking long enough for me to divert us to something else.
“I only have to last a year. Zaya walks away with money for college, and I get to keep my inheritance.” My annoyed gaze tracks around the table. “Is there anything else you assholes need to know, or can I tell my stepmother to add you to the headcount?”
“Count me in for a plus one,” Cal says.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Who?”
“Who cares?”
That isn’t even worthy of a response. I look at Elliot. “You in?”
“Of course,” he replies immediately. “I’ll even stop making fun of you, if just so Zaya doesn’t overhear and think she’s the one I’m laughing at.”
“You won’t be laughing when I break your jaw.”
He guffaws, if just to prove a point. “Hell yes, I will.”
One of these jerks will be my best man. If that isn’t a sign this marriage is doomed, nothing is.
Thirty-Three
News of my elopement is all over school by second period, if I’m judging by the way people openly stare at me in the halls. Their gazes linger on the designer dress and practically bulge when my ring catches in the light.
I’ve never felt as much like a zoo animal on display as I did when I stepped foot inside Deception High this morning.
Then I notice that something is different.
Most of the looks aren’t hostile. If anything, people scurry out of my way like there will be consequen
ces if they don’t. The silence is there like it always has been, but now it’s respectful instead of deafening.
Vin has still marked me. But instead of being a pariah, now I belong to him.
Every so often, though, I catch a smile or a nod from someone who has never given me either for years. I nearly run into a bay of lockers when a girl from my P.E. class murmurs a quick Hi, Zaya as she passes me.
Then one of the football players dives to catch a football in mid-air before it can hit me in the back of the head.
When I look up at him wide-eyed, he thanks me for the invitation.
Too stupid to put it together, I ask what invitation he’s talking about.
“To your wedding, of course.”
Giselle Cortland works fast, I have to give her that. Apparently, sometime this morning a save the date went out on social media with a promise that formal invitations would arrive by the end of the week. My fake wedding is gearing up to be as big as Founder’s Day, with most of the town planning to attend.
It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that the invites were coming at the last possible moment.
For the first time ever, I have a partner for the lab experiment in Physics as opposed to working alone like I normally do. People who had spent years pretending I don’t exist, suddenly find time to compliment my outfit or greet me as if we were long-lost friends.
This should all make me angry, this reminder of all the things Vin has taken away from me over the years. Instead of angry, it all just makes me feel weird. Like I’m getting a glimpse into someone else’s life while wearing their skin, making the world around me seem both completely familiar and entirely alien.
And when I think about him, it isn’t anger that stirs in my belly and robs me of breath.
As if I need another reminder that I’m in the midst of doing the dumbest thing I’ve ever done: falling in love with him.
When I get distracted in class and drop a beaker so it shatters to the floor, three different people rush over to help clean it up. It takes a beat too long for me to thank them. I’m still not used to being allowed to speak to anyone.
Part of me expects Vin to jump out from behind a lab table with murder in his eyes.
Then I remember again that I let him marry me yesterday.
I’d already decided not to eat lunch today, and I never willingly skip a meal. But that’s where Vin will be, holding court with his friends at his usual table in the cafeteria. The minute that I set foot inside, every single eye in the room will be on us, raptly watching, waiting to see what we say or do. Even with our newfound peace, hanging out with Vin and his friends while the whole school watches is not how I want to spend any amount of time.
I’m not used to this much attention, even when it’s good. I think I might be going more than a little crazy from it. Being invisible had its perks from time to time — at least I didn’t feel like everyone was watching me like they’re desperate to see what I might do next.
Briefly, I consider going to the library, but I don’t want to run into Jake. I’ve never seen him eat lunch in the cafeteria, so that has to be where he goes. We haven’t spoken since he stalked out of my house the night of the Founder’s Ball, and something tells me we never will again.
Can’t exactly blame him.
It’s almost a reprieve to hide in the upstairs girl’s bathroom after third period. Nobody ever comes up here, because the air-conditioner blew out after the winter and never got fixed. The slatted windows near the ceiling are the only source of ventilation.
Only burnouts come to this bathroom because they’ll claim any empty place to use for getting high, but they also won’t skip lunch. With the pipes dried out from disuse, it smells like sewer gas and ditch weed pretty much all the time.
I should have the place to myself for at least twenty minutes.
A burst of hot fetid air greets me as the wooden door creaks open. The smell isn’t so bad if you only breathe through your mouth.
Clearly, I’m willing to trade a lot for peace and quiet right now.
It takes a second for me to realize I’m not alone. Someone is crying in the last stall. I try to catch the door before it bangs shut, but I’m not quick enough. The sound echoes off the tile, and the sobbing immediately cuts off.
“Who’s out there,” a familiar voice demands.
It’s too late to sneak out of the bathroom, although if I run fast enough I might make it out in time. But my indecision costs me. The stall door slams open, and the only other person pathetic enough to hide out in the bathroom stumbles out.
Sophia Taylor.
Her blue eyes are bloodshot with smudged eyeliner. Her lipstick is spread across her face like she just swiped at it with the back of her hand. She looks like the horror movie version of a cheerleader, moments from spinning her head around in a full circle.
Alarm crosses her face when she realizes it’s me, then anger.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The old me would have turned tail and run. But a lot has changed since the last time Sophia and I faced off. “Hiding from everyone, obviously. You?”
Sophia opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, and then the expression on her face changes. Whatever words she planned to say are about to be accompanied by vomit.
I get close enough to the stall that I can see her bent over the yellow-tinged water, heaving her guts out. A very small part of me feels pity, but mostly I watch with clinical interest as she hurls chunks into a toilet that might not even flush when she’s done.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but the tear-stained face she turns toward me is bleak.
“Oh shit, you actually are?”
“Fuck off, Milbourne.”
I bite my tongue on a snappy response, something along the lines of how that’s what got her into this mess in the first place. As much as Sophia deserves to be knocked down a bit, I can’t think of anything worse than getting pregnant in high school. I know from experience what happens to women who end up with kids they never should have had in the first place.
The self-proclaimed queen of Deception High has never looked quite this pathetic. I should revel in it after everything she’s done to make my life miserable, but looking at her just makes me tired. There has been more than enough misery spread around this place over the years, I’m not going to add to it.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask. “Water or something.”
Sophia swipes the back of her hand across her mouth. Judging from the state of her lipstick, this isn’t the first time that she’s mopped herself up today. Makes me wonder how much time she spent in here, crying and puking.
Her voice comes out in an incredulous croak. “You’re really not going to say anything else? Even my own friends wouldn’t be able to resist a few catty remarks if they saw me like this. If anyone should be just loving this right now, it’s you.”
She isn’t wrong. I can’t deny that the part of me designed for schadenfreude is kicking up its heels at seeing her kneeling on this dirty floor while crouched over a toilet bowl.
“Graduation is in, like, three weeks,” I point out. “We’re all going to go off to college, get jobs, or whatever. We never have to think about the shit that happened in high school ever again. Bygones are bygones, and all that crap.”
“That doesn’t really work when you’re pregnant.” She groans and retches again, but nothing comes out. Her stomach must be empty. “I’m going to be thinking about high school every day for the next eighteen years. At least.”
“You have other options…”
She glares at me. “Not if I want to live with myself.”
I understood that, if I didn’t get anything else about her. Getting pregnant before I’m ready might be my worst nightmare, because I know what I would feel compelled to do if that happens. My mother turned her back on me when I needed her, I couldn’t bring myself to do the same thing.
&nbs
p; I look away from her, unable to keep anything but pity on my face when I know she doesn’t want to see that.
“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way.”
Nobody knows that Vin and I eloped. Giselle spun the ceremony she has planned as an actual wedding, not a vow renewal, probably for the sake of appearances. The end result is the same, so it seems silly to quibble about the details.
The way that Sophia watches me is like an injured animal that’s been trapped in a corner. Gone is the sexy and confident bitch who has ruled our school since freshman year. I always assumed that she and Vin would end up together, like that was the natural order of things. Looking down at her, it’s hard not feel a bit like a usurper. As if I’ve done something to create such a dramatic reversal in our fortunes.
Except I haven’t done anything to Sophia, not even when she rightfully deserved it.
“If you don’t need anything, I’m going to go.” I back towards the door. “Good luck with everything.”
Her voice stops me, the tone almost threatening.
“You’re not going to ask me who the father is?” Her gaze drops to the ring on my finger, eyes narrowing with anger and a strange sort of sadness. “Considering recent history and who you’re about to marry, I’d think that would be your first question.”
Tension shimmers in the air between us.
My heart freezes.
“Is it Vin’s?”
I wait for her to say yes, because why else would she have brought him into this conversation in the first place. I still remembered what it had felt like when he kissed her at the Founder’s Ball, then swept away with her into the night to do exactly the sorts of things that result in unwanted pregnancy.
All I need her to do is confirm for me that Vin is exactly what I always thought he was.
And then I would tell him exactly where he could put his deal, along with any of the bourgeoning feelings I’ve been trying to deny.
I can’t love someone who would do this to me.
“I stopped taking my birth control a few months ago after Danny and I broke up. I’d been spending so much time with Vin at the pool house, and he never seemed interested in any of the other girls there.” Her glare is full of angry heat, but for the first time I realize it might not all be aimed at me “We fooled around so many times that I had myself convinced it would eventually lead to more. I’ve gone down on him before, but never anything that could lead to this.” Sophia points an accusing finger at her belly. Her eyes have narrowed on my face. But now the anger is gone, replaced by hurt and self-recrimination. She looks absolutely defeated. “When he asked me to go with him to the Founder’s Ball, I just knew that he was planning to make us official.” “When he kissed me in front of everyone, it was like something out of a fairy tale. Then he shut the door of the pool house in my face and told me to find my own way home.”