BONDED

by S. D. Harrison

  “I’m fine. It was a bad flu. I repressed most of it.”

  “Yeah, a woman named Marla told me? She was super nice. Since when do you have a housekeeper?”

  I close my eyes. “She was more of a nanny. You know, so my mom didn’t actually have to cook, or clean, or care for me while I was sick.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lindsay is no stranger to my mother’s world-class parenting. “You know she loves you.”

  “Sure, theoretically,” I mumble, my eyes drifting to the hallway. Outside the library doors I see T.K. deep in conversation with Katie. “New toy?” I nod in their direction. Katie is one of the original members of our cheer team, a perky girl with legs that go on for days, curly brown hair, and Bambi eyes. Like most of T.K.’s toys, she is an obvious sort of beautiful.

  “I think so. She said something yesterday in class. He’s getting quite the reputation around here.” Lindsay shakes her head, giving me my first real look at her. In the past few days, her skin has managed to return to its usual glowing state, and her eyes are no longer purple-lined.

  “You look better. Are you off babysitting duty?”

  Lindsay’s whole face lights up as though she has swallowed a light bulb. “Oh, Raye, he’s doing so well! After we made it home Saturday, he came to my room to apologize. Shawn. I almost had a heart attack. He said he was sorry about how he acted, and he promised to pull himself together. He’s been doing really, really well. He even made me dinner last night! Can you believe it?”

  I eye her skeptically, waiting for the ‘but,’ yet it never comes. “Really? Shawn? Like, Shawn, Shawn?” Lindsay nods her head animatedly. I haven’t seen her so happy in weeks.

  “I feel like a million pounds has been lifted off my shoulders. He’s been going to all his classes, and even helping with the chores so I have time to catch up on all my work. He says he feels bad about making us worry.”

  I want to tell Lindsay her story sounds suspicious and completely un-Shawn-like, but I don’t. I’m glad that for the time being, she is happy. A happy Lindsay means there is one less thing to crowd my plate.

  “I need to run to class,” I say, standing and piling my books into my arms.

  Lindsay waves me off, mentioning something about having to locate a book for an essay she’s working on.

  As I walk out of the library, T.K.’s eyes snap up, meeting mine. Not wanting him to win, I don’t break the contact until I’ve successfully passed by.

  “Welcome back,” he says, sliding into his seat a few minutes later. In my absence, it seems he’s found his way back to his previous seat next to mine. I’m going to need to have a serious conversation with Allie about her easily persuadable nature. I take a moment to locate her behind me, and focus my glare upon her until she has the decency to look ashamed.

  “Back to ignoring me?” T.K. asks an hour later as I gather my things after class.

  “I’d have to register your presence in order to ignore you,” I reply, slipping around him.

  “Just because you’re hurt I rejected you, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” The uplift of his mouth lessens the impact of his otherwise rude words. He’s trying to piss me off. Again.

  I’m not going to let him win.

  “We both know I could have you, were I so inclined.”

  “I don’t see you trying.”

  “Exactly.” I give him the fakest smile I can muster before marching out the door. He is so hot and cold; it’s starting to make my head spin. First, he wants me. Then, he ignores me for nearly three months. Now, he is back to tormenting me. It is maddening. If his goal is to drive me insane, he’s doing a pretty damn good job.

  I want nothing to do with him.

  I’m thankful when lunch finally rolls around. I’m already tired of classes and students, and lunch means I’m one step closer to going home. My thankfulness ends the moment I step through the cafeteria doors and spot T.K. sitting next to our group, Katie on his lap. It never ends. He is everywhere, a constant shadow over my life. I don’t bother sitting down. Instead, I head straight for the food line, taking my time selecting the most perfect of veggie platters.

  After I find the package with the most carrot sticks and the fewest tomatoes, I drag myself toward the table. “Seriously?” I ask Lindsay, not bothering to keep my voice down. “Since when is PDA a lunchtime event?”

  “Here, here!” Marcella cheers across from us. I can only imagine how gross it must be to watch your brother feel up some random in front of you.

  “Is there something you want to say?” Katie spits, looking at Marcella.

  “You’re making it hard to focus on eating. Maybe you two should go elsewhere if you want to grope each other like animals,” I answer when it becomes obvious Marcella isn’t going to say anything.

  “What is your problem, Raye? You’re always so hostile.” Katie’s trying to sound casual, but it’s hard to miss the acid in her tone. “Maybe you should find some action yourself.”

  T.K.’s choked-back laugh annoys me more than Katie’s vapid comment. “I don’t need to whore myself out to validate my self-esteem.” I give her a mocking smile, my best imitation of the nasty lip scowl she’s sporting.

  “When did you become such a bitch?” She tries to stand, but T.K. grabs her waist and pulls her back down. I wonder if he’s remembering the Mitch incident like I am. I bet Katie would look stunning with a freshly crooked nose.

  But I won’t sink to that level today. Not over her.

  “It’s not bitchy if it’s true.” I smile. “It’s hardly my problem if hooking up with the school’s biggest player makes you feel good about yourself.”

  “Hey, what did I do?” T.K. asks, lifting his hands up in the air.

  “She’s what, T.K.? Girlfriend number seven of the school year? It’s December.” I say the word slowly to emphasize my point. The blush creeping onto Katie’s face gives me a sick satisfaction. “If you’ll excuse me,” I smile sweetly, “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Somehow, I’m surprised when T.K. follows me out the cafeteria doors and down the empty hallway. “You really think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you?” he calls, forcing me to spin around. He walks toward me until we’re mere inches apart.

  He smells like cinnamon again.

  I’m starting to hate cinnamon.

  “I don’t think I’m better than everyone. Only a select few.” I place my hands on my hips and look up at him. “You go through more women in a month than most people do in a year. In a lifetime, even. You’re begging to be judged.”

  “What I do with the girls I date isn’t any of your business. I’m not promising them anything. We’re just having a little fun. Not that I owe you an explanation.” T.K. puts his hands on his hips, mirroring my stance. I’m horribly aware of the way it shifts the muscles under his shirt.

  He inches a little closer to my face before a shadow crosses his features and he pulls away. For one exceptionally brief second, I thought he was going to kiss me. For an even briefer second, I thought I might let him.

  “You’re right, you don’t owe me anything. You better go play with your toy before it expires,” I snap, angry I let my thoughts betray me.

  “You know what? I think I will. Thanks for the suggestion,” he says, his face hardening.

  T.K. turns and walks back toward the cafeteria, pushing the door open with enough force to knock down a tree.

  At least I’ve gotten under his skin, too.

  CHAPTER 11

  “You know, you’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous.” I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Why do you keep bringing me here, anyway?”

  T.K. looks toward the ocean before he responds, his eyes following the waves. “I can’t seem to help myself. God knows I try. It seems I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  “You drive me crazy,” I tell him, my bare arms cold. T.K. brushes a finger down my arm, fascinated by the bumps trailing beneath it.

 
“Maybe I should pick a warmer spot,” he muses as I shiver.

  “No, I like it here. I’ve always wanted to see the ocean.”

  T.K.’s finger starts working its way back up, travelling up my neck before finally resting on my cheek. I close my eyes and let him draw patterns down my body.

  Suddenly, I’m no longer cold. T.K.’s lips are hot against my skin, creating a fire in every spot they touch. I let him run his hands down my stomach, laying me flat on the sandy ground. A small gasp escapes my mouth.

  When I open my eyes, I’m facing my red velvet curtains, my body warm beneath the tangled sheets. “Ugh!” I shout, burying my head under my pillow. The dreams are getting ridiculous. Almost every other night T.K. is there when I close my eyes, his words far sweeter than they are in real life. Unfortunately, the alternative-reality-T.K. I create in my dreams doesn’t change real-live-T.K., who is still a jackass and a player.

  I want nothing more than to turn the dreams off.

  The clock next to my face reads 9:04 a.m. I have a few hours before I need to make my way to school to prepare for tonight’s talent show. I hoped my recent flu nightmare would make Principal Lawrence select a new coordinator, but my luck isn’t that good. She pulled me into her office on Friday afternoon to harass me about my progress, to which I informed her I had gathered a grade-A team of slaves to help for the night. My comment had the desired effect of pissing her off, but she refused to hand the job off to someone else.

  I groan into my pillow again, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep–preferably sans T.K. Twenty minutes later, I give up and head to the bathroom to get ready. I make a point of doing my hair in loose curls and putting on a skin-tight black dress I know will win me disapproving looks from Principal Slave Driver. It isn’t exactly practical for all the setup work I’m going to have to do, but I know it will be worth it to see her eyes narrow in annoyance.

  At noon, I arrive at Lindsay’s. I’m grateful she’s still willing to help me. “Wow.” She tries to whistle and fails as she takes note of my exposed legs under the steering wheel. My upper half is well-covered in a black parka. “Since when do you wear dresses?”

  “Since I’m trying to make a statement,” I say, putting the car in reverse. Lindsay is dressed far more practically in fake leather leggings and a black t-shirt–although she still makes it look glamorous. She isn’t even wearing a jacket. “Aren’t you freezing?”

  “A little, but my jacket has disappeared.” She shrugs lazily, putting her hands on the heater.

  “You mean you lost it.” I roll my eyes. Only Lindsay could manage to lose a three-foot long, bright red parka.

  “I maintain that it ran away,” she says, sticking her tongue out at me. “Anyway, what statement are you trying to make? I’m scary and super hot?”

  “More like: Up yours Principal Always in My Business.”

  “Raye, do you need to antagonize her? I know she annoys you, but she’s the principal.”

  “That doesn’t give her a licence to torture me.” I rub my hand up and down my leg as I drive, slightly regretting my choice of statement. It is freezing. I turn up the heat to the highest setting.

  “I think they call that atonement,” Lindsay laughs. I’ve always found her laugh comforting; if the whole world was burning and Lindsay was laughing merrily, I’d be fine.

  When we walk into the school’s gym, people are already hard at work transforming the space. Near the door, a food and beverage booth has been set up next to a ticket counter, both hoping to raise money for the school’s arts program; someone has started covering the walls in black construction paper–probably going for a dark ambiance thing; and the stage itself has been opened up again.

  “Wow, when you summon the minions, the minions come,” Lindsay says, in awe of all the helpers. I may have told a few select students if they knew what was good for them, they would show up bright and early with helping hands.

  Sometimes being intimidating has benefits.

  “What can I say? I have a gift.” I make my way over to the snack table, where a variety of treats are displayed, beckoning. Someone’s mom gives me a disapproving look as I snag a couple of brownies, but she doesn’t mention my outfit or my lack of payment. I hand Lindsay one of the squares and toss my jacket on an empty chair.

  “Should we help?” she asks mournfully, taking a bite of the brownie.

  “We’re overseeing the work. It’s the hardest part.” I kick my heel-clad feet up on the chair in front of me. Lindsay giggles and mirrors my posture.

  We spend the rest of the afternoon helping–by which I mean stealing snacks and toying around with the instruments on stage–the crew set up, before Principal Lawrence arrives and forces me to go backstage and organize the performers. She eyes my outfit with serious distaste, earning herself one of my prized fake smiles. As if in punishment, she sends Lindsay to help with ticket sales.

  Backstage is chaos.

  Musicians, dancers, singers, one terrified bunny rabbit, and a few hyped-up parents move in absolute anarchy, trying to finalize routines and perfect songs. “Hey!” I shout, forcing the crowd into silence. All eyes turn to me, including the rabbit’s. I cross my arms and tilt my head, unimpressed. “You all know when you’re going on. Wait for my introduction before you head out on stage. I’ll come kick you off afterward and introduce the next act. At the end, Principal Slav–” I feign a cough, “–Lawrence will announce the winner, and you’ll all gather on stage for a final bow. Questions?”

  I elect to ignore the three hands waving in the air. “Good. You can go back to your frenzied state of panic now.” I wave my hand in the air, dismissing them.

  “You sure know how to tame a crowd,” Marcella says, coming up behind me, T.K. in tow. Of course he is here. What is the point of their sibling rivalry if they’re always together?

  “I try,” I seethe, glancing at T.K. in a way I hope conveys my annoyance. He’s staring at my legs, his eyes working their way up, too preoccupied to notice my disdain. They leave a trail of fire over my body. I quickly tame it. “See something you like?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Multiple things, thanks.” He meets my eyes in time to see them narrow. I cross my arms back over my chest in irritation, but that only draws his attention back down my body.

  “If I wanted you to undress me with your eyes, I would ask,” I snap at him. A small part of me is pleased I’ve earned such a reaction out of him. Another part scolds that part for being such a traitor.

  “That dress is talking enough for the both of you.” He smirks, meeting my eyes again.

  “No Katie tonight?” I probe.

  “She’s out there.” He nods toward where the crowd is starting to file in. My statement seems to remind him to whom he is speaking, and the smirk finally falls of his face.

  “Did you seriously have to bring him?” I direct my annoyance at Marcella, who is trying not to laugh at our exchange.

  She holds up her hands in defence. “Not my idea. He’s filling in for FLANKED’s bass player. He smashed his hand in a car door.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and that will become a pattern.”

  Marcella smiles. “It won’t matter. I have this in the bag, anyway. Wish me luck!” she calls, skipping off to practice her dance number in the corner. It looks like she’s added fire to the set, judging by the huge lighter she’s spinning between her fingers.

  “She’s extremely competitive,” T.K. notes, watching her go with a serious expression on his face.

  “Don’t talk to me like we’re friends.” I walk away; I can feel his eyes watch me as I go.

  At six o’clock sharp, I hush the masses as I make my way on stage, the spotlight dancing off my skin. There are a few catcalls from the crowd as I make my entrance, earning a few senior boys smacks on the head from their respective girlfriends. Principal Lawrence’s look of distaste from the sideline is more than worth it. Maybe this will teach her to force me into doing her dirty work. I notice T.K. watching me from
stage left, his eyes still appreciating my legs. He winks at me before disappearing.

  My face suddenly hot, I start my spiel, introducing the event and Andrew, our first act. “He will be performing a series of titillating magic for you all,” I say, completely deadpan. I hear a few laughs from the audience as well as a few whistles. I welcome Andrew and Melissa, his assistant, to the stage before retreating behind the curtain to try to forget what I have subjected myself to.

  The acts are a blur. I only pay attention to a select few: Marcella, who spins around the stage twirling fire-clad batons; a sophomore girl, Angela, who sings like an actual angel as she performs a cover of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep;” and poor Andrew, who ends up getting nervous and forgetting how to put Melissa back together after he’s sawed her in two.

  Finally, after two hours of endless singing, dancing, and reciting, it is time for FLANKED to end the night. “Our last act of the evening will be a performance by Stonewall’s own rockers-in-the-making, FLANKED,” I say, gagging a little as I read the pre-written words. “Let’s not get our hopes up, though,” I add more cheerfully of my own accord. I hear a few boos from my old cat-callers–friends of the band, I guess.

  I put the microphone back in its place and walk off stage, brushing by T.K. The crowd erupts into cheers as they rally, and I hear, “You go, baby!” directed at T.K. from Katie. At this point, I won’t be surprised if she spreads her legs for him right there in the audience–assuming, of course, she hasn’t already.

  I’m definitely going to vomit on something before tonight is over.

  They start playing a song I don’t recognize from rehearsal–an original, if I had to guess–and I can’t will my legs to walk any further off stage than I already have. They aren’t bad. What’s worse, T.K. is actually good. Hold-your-breath good. Normally, when a band performs, your eyes automatically go to the guitarist or the drummer. Bass players go horribly unrecognized. But T.K.? You can’t not watch him.