Treacherous by Alex Grayson & Melissa Toppen

by Alex Grayson

  “The one and only,” he boasts.

  I immediately make a mental note that I need to call Sarah and apologize for giving her crap about this guy all those years ago.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, we all thought she made you up,” I admit. “You know, she still has that stupid stuffed turtle you won her on the balloon dart game,” I tell him, laughter dancing around my words. I purposely leave out the fact that up until today, I believed she had won it herself or conned one of the workers into giving it to her for free. Sarah has a way of getting what she wants.

  “I know, she makes me say hi to the damn thing every time we FaceTime.” He chuckles.

  “What a small world.”

  “That it is,” he agrees. “Wait, so if you went to Bristol….” he trails off. It’s now his turn to put the pieces together. “Are you Oliver’s new stepsister?”

  “The one and only,” I repeat his words back to him. “Though if you’ve heard of me, that can’t be a good thing.”

  “I heard whisperings that his dad remarried and that he had a new stepsister. I just didn’t realize you were the same age as him. I was envisioning some cute little girl with pink cheeks and pigtails.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” I tease.

  “Oh honey, I’m not even a little disappointed.” He makes a spectacle of checking me out. While normally I would feel a little put off by his forwardness, there’s something so comical and endearing about the way he looks at me that makes me want to laugh rather than wrap my arms around myself to shield my body from his wandering eyes.

  “Do you think you could hook me up with your brother? I mean, I’ve been on a girl kick recently, but I’m feeling like it’s time to switch things up.” He winks playfully at me.

  “One, he’s not my brother. And two, I’m pretty sure you’d have more luck than I would, considering the guy hates my guts.” My brow furrows. “Besides, I don’t think he swings for your team.”

  “Damn shame, too.” He grins, and I realize that he’s trying to lighten the mood.

  I’m really liking this guy already. My heart warms at the thought. I think I might have just found my first friend.

  “Nah, you’re too good for him. He’s a narcissistic asshole. Trust me, stay as far away from that one as you can.”

  “I don’t have a death sentence,” he jokes. “But he sure is pretty to look at.”

  “I guess if you like the pretty boy type.” I shrug, realizing Pierce is also what I would consider a pretty boy.

  “What’s wrong with a pretty boy?” He arches a brow and gestures to himself.

  “I just meant….” I stutter out.

  “Relax, Rylee.” He laughs. “I’m only messing with you. And don’t worry. I know exactly who Oliver Conley is, and other than appreciating his good looks, I know to stay far, far away. His group is not too accepting of my lifestyle.”

  “Well screw them,” I almost shout, angry that anyone could judge someone based on who they’re attracted to.

  “Amen to that.” He holds up his juice and gestures to my water. It takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing before I quickly grab the bottle. “To new friends.” He smiles, his dimple popping out on his right cheek.

  “To new friends.” I tap my bottle against his, feeling more at ease than I have in weeks.

  We spend the rest of the lunch period chit chatting about nothing of any real importance. We laugh and joke and by the end of the half hour you would think we had been friends forever.

  He walked me to my sixth period class and we exchanged numbers before he had to take off to get to his own. Feeling more comfortable, there’s a small skip in my step as I make my way into English. Unfortunately, my good mood instantly disappears when I spot Zayden sitting in the back of the classroom.

  Great.

  The lighthearted feeling that had flowed through me only moments ago is instantly replaced with a heavy dread in the pit of my stomach. And here I was beginning to think that this day might actually end on a high note.

  I swiftly force my eyes in another direction, holding my head high as I make my way to an empty seat at the front of the class. I dig into my bag for a notebook and pencil, sliding them onto my desk right as the teacher enters the classroom.

  Because this is my first day, and I’m starting each class over four months behind, I’ve spent most of the day taking notes of the things I need to catch up on. Luckily, a lot of things they are teaching are the same at Bristol, so it hasn’t been too overwhelming up to this point.

  Mr. McHenry takes a seat behind a large brown desk that bares the marks of use. Straightening his posture, his eyes go directly to me as the class starts to fall silent.

  “It appears we have a new student with us today,” Mr. McHenry starts, and my stomach doubles over on itself into a fury of nerves. I hate being the center of everyone’s focus. So far, I’d been lucky and no other teacher had even commented on the fact that there was a new student in attendance. “Miss Harper, I believe.” He waits for my confirmation before continuing, “Why don’t you stand up and tell us a couple things about yourself.”

  The knots in my stomach tighten, and my knees tremble slightly as I stand. I’m not sure what’s worse, having to stand up in front of a room full of complete strangers or the fact that I have to stand up in front of him.

  “I’m Rylee,” I say, throwing in an awkward wave as my eyes stay glued to the teacher.

  “Why don’t you turn around and address the room, Rylee?” he offers, gesturing to the classmates behind me.

  If looks could kill, poor Mr. McHenry would be laying in a heap on the floor right now. But, being the good student that I am, I do as I’m told, looking anywhere but at the ocean blue eyes I know are watching me. I can feel the heat of his stare like a match being held too close to my face.

  “Hi, I’m Rylee,” I start again, my gaze bouncing around the classroom full of strangers. “I’m eighteen years old. And I just transferred from Bristol High.” Thinking that is enough, I start to turn back around, but Mr. McHenry stops me in my tracks.

  “What’s something you can tell us that will help us get to know you a little better?”

  I take a sharp breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth, trying to appear confident and collected when I feel anything but.

  “Um…,” I stutter out, trying to come up with something to say. “I love old TV shows like I Love Lucy and Bewitched, and I have a serious girl crush on Taylor Swift.”

  A few giggles sound around the room, and I fear that maybe they don’t understand my humor. But then a red-headed girl at the back of the class pumps her fist in the air and says, “Preach girl,” making me relax a little.

  “I plan to attend Seattle University in the fall, pre-med, and my favorite kind of ice cream is rocky road.” I make the mistake of looking at the one person I’m trying to avoid looking at. Our eyes lock, and I swear I lose all sense of my surroundings. Everything fades to the background. Everything but the way my heart pounds heavily in my chest and my breathing comes in short quick spurts like my lungs can’t figure out how to pull in a proper breath.

  I can’t read his expression. A mixture of amusement and anger dance behind those brilliant eyes of his, but I can’t figure out which one is more prominent. All I know for sure is that Zayden Michaels is one intimidating guy. And for whatever reason, I’m intrigued.

  The sound of chair legs scratching against the tile floor snaps me back to the present, and I turn to see Mr. McHenry stand.

  “Thank you for that, Miss Harper.” He nods, and I quickly move to reclaim my seat. “Now, as I told you all before winter break, our next assignment will be breaking down the difference between novel and film. Each of you had the opportunity to nominate a title for consideration. After much discussion with the school board, we settled on a title we feel is both current to today’s youth and appropriate for classroom discussion. Anyone want to guess what it m
ight be?” He looks around the room.

  “Fifty Shades,” a student calls, and the room breaks into soft murmurs and laughter.

  “You wish, Miss Tenley.” He shakes his head, sliding the square rimmed glasses from his face. “Someone else care to make a guess.” He holds up his hand before the girl can speak again. “Someone other than Miss Tenley.” He smiles.

  “Harry Potter?” one student guesses.

  “The Notebook?” says another.

  “You’re getting warmer. Anyone else?”

  “Twilight?” another girl asks hopefully.

  “Ding. Ding. Ding.” Mr. McHenry claps his hands together. The room becomes a flurry of groans and eye rolls.

  “Of course it’s freaking Twilight.” The guy next to me slouches in his seat. “You realize that only girls like that stuff, right, Mr. M? I mean, come on. The dude sparkles in the sun light. Whatever happened to vampires bursting into flames?”

  “Seriously, Twilight is like so ten years ago,” the girl behind him whines. “Why can’t we do something more current?”

  “Yeah, like Fifty Shades,” the same girl as before interjects and a few people laugh.

  “Everyone had a chance to nominate a title, and this is the one we decided on. If you have a problem with that, too bad.”

  There are a few more grumbles that eventually die off as the teacher continues, “So, your assignment for this quarter will be to both read the book as well as watch the movie. After which time you will write a five-page essay on the difference between the book and the movie, and how those differences may have changed how certain characters were perceived, as well as the overall feel of the story.” He holds up his finger, telling the class he isn’t done yet. “But, this isn’t a solo assignment. While one person may see things one way, someone else may see them another, and that class, is the beauty of art. It can mean one thing to you and something entirely different to another person. Essays are due on my desk four weeks from today, at which time we will split you off into teams of four where you will discuss the different points of each of your essays. Then, you will write a ten-page essay, which will include the five pages already written in your initial essay and five more pages covering the points made from other team members, and how their opinions may have altered your overall view of the story. Now, so that there are no surprises, I’ve already randomly assigned your teams. Rylee,” he turns his attention to me, “since you were just added to this class over break, you will be included in the last group on the page, which only has three members,” he says, handing me a stack of papers before proceeding to the first student in every row and handing them a similar stack. “Take one and pass them back.”

  I do as he says, snagging the top copy before turning around and passing the remaining papers to the person behind me. I scroll the list of names, finally landing on the last group where only three names are listed—knowing this will be my group.

  My heart nearly jumps clean out of my chest when my eyes land on the last name on the list. Zayden Michaels…. You have got to be kidding me. Of all the people, of course I would be partnered with one of only two people in this school who I know doesn’t like me. If his actions this morning didn’t make that perfectly clear, the way he glares at me at the end of class certainly puts any hope I had to rest.

  Yep, he definitely hates me.

  Awesome.

  ZAYDEN

  USING MY FISTS, I slam through the doors leading outside, my anger and raised blood pressure making me twitch. Fuck Mrs. Miller and the high horse she thinks she rides on. I’ve got one chance to get into the University of Washington, and it sure as hell isn’t with money. An academic scholarship is my only way in, which means I have to keep my GPA at 4.0. Mrs. Miller knows this. But the bitch gave me a C halfway through the school year because “my essay wasn’t strong enough”. Which is utter bullshit. She just didn’t understand what the fuck I wrote because it went over her head. Now I’ve got to work twice as hard to get my grade back up before the end of the school year.

  I stalk the sidewalk that leads to the parking lot. Students clear a path when they see the dark look on my face. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m not sure I could curve the need to plow my fist through someone’s face if they were to get in my way. I bare my teeth at some pansy-dressed sophomore that has the balls to look me in the eye. His face pales and he spins around, scurrying away like a coward.

  Once I reach my truck, I open the side door and throw my books inside. I look over and spot Rylee standing at her bright ass red car. My molars grind when I notice Charles Pierce standing behind her, looking over her shoulder at something she’s showing him on her phone. They both laugh, and it irritates me further.

  I’d noticed the two of them in the lunchroom earlier, huddled up all buddy-buddy. I also felt Rylee’s eyes on me several times. We won’t talk about how my body betrayed itself each time it happened. Fucking cock has a mind of its own all of a sudden.

  I slam the door closed so hard it echoes across the lot, gaining Rylee’s and Charles’ attention. I let both see the ire in my eyes. Rylee pinches her lips shut, and going by the daggers she shoots at me with her eyes, the feeling is mutual.

  Good. I certainly don’t need her assuming we’re going to be friends or some shit. Even if Oliver didn’t hate her, I know her type, and I don’t want a damn thing to do with her. Doesn’t matter if my dick thinks she’s pretty to look at and weeps at the thought of her surrounding him.

  My eyes move to Charles and the smirk curving up one corner of his mouth as he stares back at me. Up until recently, I thought he was an okay guy. Fourth richest family in the county, but he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt it like most people do. Right now, though, I want to rearrange his face for him

  Dismissing the two, I spin away and climb into my truck. Oliver sent a message earlier saying he had a ride home with a girl. By ride, he meant stopping by her house, getting his dick wet, then informing her she owed him a lift home.

  My truck turns over on the third try. Fucking starter. It’s needed to be replaced for a couple of weeks, but I was hoping it would last until my next fight.

  A few minutes later, I pull up to a medium sized, nondescript building that houses a massive illegal fighting ring in the basement. The ground level, if you can believe it, is a comic bookstore. I didn’t even know those existed anymore until a couple of years ago. Oliver and I were walking home, having just left a friend’s house, when we saw a man barreling out of the building. A big, bald, black dude was chasing him, but the guy was younger and faster. He ran into me, and when I tried to steady him, he threw a punch, clocking me in the jaw. After that, I saw red, swung, and knocked his ass to the ground.

  Come to find out, the guy had taken cash out of the register when the owner, Gentry Hart, turned his back. Hart was the guy chasing him. He brought Oliver and me back into the shop when he saw my knuckles were busted from where I hit the guy in the teeth. After washing my hand and pouring alcohol on it, we sat and talked with Hart for over an hour. We came back a few times because Hart was laid back and cool to be around. When evenings came, he always made us leave, saying he had business to attend to. One night, when I was there by myself, Hart showed me what his “business” was. I’ll never forget the first fight I saw in that basement. Or the cash that exchanged hands.

  Earlier that day, we had found out that the medicine Danielle takes increased in cost exponentially, but dad’s hours had decreased. The insurance premiums at dad’s job are high, so he was forced to take the lowest form of benefits, which doesn’t include prescription coverage.

  As I’d watched flesh meet flesh, blood spew from mouths, and bones break, I knew what I needed to do. Hart was firmly against my joining the ring, but I was adamant. I swallowed my pride and told him my situation and about Danielle’s illness. After what felt like hours, in which time my nerves were banging around in my chest, he reluctantly agreed; but only after stating he was starting me
out slow and putting me against the lightest opponents. Now I’m his best fighter and go up against some of the best in the area.

  I pocket my keys and approach the building, the Hart’s Comics sign looking down at me. Some bluesy shit is playing on the overhead speakers when I walk through the door. Behind the counter I spot Hart and head toward him. Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to finish with his customer. Surprisingly, the comic business, or rather, this particular one, is quite lucrative. Who knew comics were still so popular?

  “Hey, Z. How’s it going?” he asks after his customer walks away.

  I touch my knuckles to his.

  “Same shit as always.” I stand to my full height and get down to business. “You got any fights for me?”

  He runs his hand over his bald head a couple of times. “Might have somethin’ next week. Still waiting on a call from Boz.”

  I nod. “I need you to find me more. I need as much cash as I can get.”

  His hairy brows dip down, showing his concern. “You in some kind of trouble, boy?” he asks, his voice gruff.

  “The doctors want to put Danielle on the transplant list, but the insurance company is refusing to pay for it. Claims her case isn’t dire enough.”

  “Stupid fuckin’ insurance companies. They’ve all got God complexes. Bastards. Every single one of ‘em.”

  “You’ll get no disagreement from me.” I take a deep breath, hold it in for a moment, and let it out slow. “It’s getting worse, Hart. Sometimes she can’t breathe on her own.”

  It scares the shit out of me when she has a bad episode. And they’re happening more and more.

  “Shit, kid, I’m sorry to hear that,” he mumbles sympathetically. “That precious girl doesn’t deserve this lot in life.”

  I couldn’t agree with him more. There isn’t another person I know who’s more caring and loving as Danielle. She’s like the perfect blend of all things good. Nothing like her big brother, that’s for sure.

  “Think you can hook me up?” I ask.