by Jenni Sloane
“They hate me.”
“They might think they do.” Kayle performed a weak serve.
I let the ball wind around the pole without even trying to hit it. “What do you mean?”
She grabbed the ball on its next circle. “I mean…they want you.”
“What?” I tried to laugh.
She shot me a come on glare. “Don’t tell me you don’t think so.”
What if it was true?
What if I wanted it to be true?
She tried the serve again, and this time we played for a while.
“I do kinda think so,” I admitted the next time the ball got wrapped. “I mean, even Bennett…sometimes I get this feeling…”
It was hard for me to admit that. I’d predicated so much of my life on understanding what a loser I was, and never reaching too high. To believe three of the hottest guys at Strathmore were bullying me because they liked me…seemed impossibly stupid. And arrogant.
“Yup.” Kayle gave an exaggerated nod. “And I think you should exploit that.”
“What?”
“Get them to admit how bad they want you.”
I glanced around, as though afraid they’d all be standing right behind me. “But that would never happen in a million years.”
Kayle bit her lip again. “It could. Possibly. Maybe.”
“How?”
She let the ball slip from her grasp and bump gently against the pole. “I’m sort of working on this…serum. Almost like sodium pentothal.”
“You mean like truth serum?”
“Well, first of all, there’s no such thing as truth serum. You realize that, right? Sodium pentothal loosens lips, lowers inhibitions…but it can’t make you tell the truth.”
“So not like in spy movies?”
“Nothing like spy movies. All that truth serums can do is make you a little loopy. Make you babble. And when you babble, sometimes you spill valuable stuff. My potion’s kind of the same idea. But it also enhances the part of the brain that feels desire. Not just sexual desire, but want. It can’t make you feel anything that wasn’t there before. But…it can force you to face things you’ve felt all along.”
I was sure I was misunderstanding her. “You want me to give Cole Heller a love potion?”
“Were you listening? It’s not a love potion. But if we’re right, and if he’s one of those jackass boys who shows a girl he likes her by pulling her pigtails—or in your case, trying to murder you—you might be able to get him to confess some of that interest. In front of witnesses.”
I picked up the ball and served. It got tangled quickly. All my focus was on Kayle’s idea. “And what happens when it loosens his lips about other things? About how much he likes to watch me suffer? Or how I’m a wuss who can’t swim and who falls for every single trap he sets? Or how he actually wants to murder me?”
“Well, that’s a fair point. But like I said, the serum targets desire. So what you’d really have to worry about is, like…giving someone with as many control issues as Cole the freedom to express his desires. You might hear more about his longing for you than you’d bargained for. And, I mean, if you think he would…try anything…”
“I don’t think he would.” I didn’t know what made me so sure. Cole was brutal, yes. Physically and emotionally. But I could honestly say I’d never feared sexual assault from him. Which was a low bar indeed.
And, of course, there was the part that I couldn’t tell Kayle: that if Cole expressed desire for me, then…well, part of me wanted desperately to reciprocate. Part of me prayed that under the influence of this serum, Cole would tell me he wanted me. Tell me that the bully I’d known these past few weeks wasn’t really him. That the real Cole longed to hold me, be tender with me, admire me for my talents, my strengths.
How pathetic could I get?
No, the only thing I was allowed to want was for Cole to take the serum and ramble about wanting me, so I would have the opportunity to publicly reject him in front of the school. Which would just make him angrier. But did I really care at this point? Nothing was going to make my life at Strathmore easier. Not tutoring with Bennett, or college admissions tests, or becoming the poster child for reformation. All I could hope for was the satisfaction of seizing control from Cole—if only temporarily. Showing him that I didn’t cave every time. That I was through believing there was any good in him at all.
But he caught me.
He retrieved the ring for me.
My brain wouldn’t shut up about that.
To humiliate me, I reminded myself.
To show me how helpless I really am.
“I want to try it,” I told Kayle. “And I want you to give me enough for all of them.”
“All of them?” Kayle’s brows went up.
“Cole,” I said. “Bennett. And Ian.”
It was a gamble. But that look I saw sometimes in Cole’s eyes…I saw it in Bennett’s too. And Ian’s. I wanted the option of making each and every one of them confess what that look meant.
Kayle whistled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
We abandoned the tetherball pole and walked toward the school. Rec was nearly over anyway. “I just want to know. I’m tired of feeling crazy.”
“Girl, I don’t blame you. These guys deserve a hell of a lot worse. And I’m pumped to test my potions skills.”
“There aren’t any lasting effects, right?” I asked as the whistle blew and a crowd of students surged toward the building.
“Nobody’s gonna grow any extra heads or legs or anything. Promise. I’ll get the stuff to you by Thursday.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
She grinned at me as she headed for the dorms and I headed for night two of detention—praying that Cole wouldn’t be there, while some small, rebellious part of me crossed its fingers that he would be.
“You have a letter.” Ainslie cast her arm limply toward me as though the effort of handing over the envelope was simply too much for her.
She peered up at me slyly as I took it. “It’s from Mason.”
My heart jolted. Mason rarely wrote to me.
I’d expected Ainslie to make my life as miserable as possible after I’d denied her Mason’s address and then punched one of her beloved Kemps. But in the days since, she’d been an odd combination of indifferent and solicitous. I realized that now she had the address of the prison, thanks to the return address on the envelope. So perhaps that was the reason for her lazy grin.
“You gonna read it?” she asked.
Not in front of you. “Later,” I said, stuffing it in my duffle bag. I pulled out my costume. “Are you okay with leaving the light on for another hour?”
She stretched languidly. “Aren’t you done with that thing yet? You’ve been working on it for soooo long.”
“This is nothing compared to the time I’ve had to spend on costumes in the past,” I told her, thinking longingly of the Daenerys dress. “See these panels here.” I showed her. I didn’t know why I was showing her. But I’d just spent nearly two hours entering old track and field records into Rominsky’s computer—no Cole, no company but the clack of the keyboard—and she was here. “They have to be double stitched to allow for…”
Ainslie’s eyes glazed over as I talked, so I cut the lecture short. But when I was done, she surprised me by saying, “It’s pretty. I wish you’d make me something. I’d pay you.”
She sounded sincere, so I shrugged. “Sure. If you want.”
She stared at the ceiling. Then shifted restlessly onto her elbow, staring at me. “Is it true that Ian said he liked your voice and you, like, just blew him off?”
“I didn’t blow him off,” I said. “My rehearsal time was over. I had to get back to the dorm.”
“That’s insane. Ian barely ever compliments other singers. It’s because Certifiable makes actual music and so many other bands just recycle the same old garbage.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m glad he liked my voice,” I said. “But he has
n’t been particularly nice to me. So his opinion isn’t the be-all and end-all for me.”
“Whatever.” Ainslie did one of her dramatic flops back onto the pillow. “That’s just the way Ian is. He takes his art very seriously. He doesn’t have time to be nice to people.”
It was one of the most patently ridiculous statements I’d ever heard from her—and that was saying something.
“I see,” I said noncommittally.
She rolled over to face the wall. I noticed she had a small rip in her unicorn-laser pajamas. “I’m excited for your performance,” she said. “I hear it’s going to be amazing.”
What a weirdo. Where had she heard that? Ian? She was snoring within five minutes. I worked on the costume well into the night. Once I’d finally turned off the light and curled up in bed, I opened Mason’s letter quietly and read it by flashlight.
Dear Amma,
I know I haven’t written in a while and I’m sorry. I just didn’t have anything interesting to say. Life in here sucks and I just want to be home. But I got some exciting news today. I been telling everyone since I got put in here that I’m innocent. But my lawyer thinks she’s found a way to prove it. She said don’t get my hopes up, but I might get released early. My behavior’s been good and with my lawyer casting doubt on the original conviction, I’ve got a real good chance when my parole goes up for review.
I hope you’re doing good. I told Mom and Dad it was so stupid to send you to that school. You’re not a bad kid.
Love,
Mason
A lump grew in my throat as I read. My brother believed the best in me, but I still struggled to believe the best in him.
What was this new evidence his lawyer had found? And what would life be like when he came back home? It wasn’t like we could go back to being the brother and sister we used to be. Riding our bikes to the drugstore for ice cream and to rent video games. Playing make believe on the old tennis courts in Mildon Park, the red clay cracked, tall grass and weeds sprouting through the cracks.
We hadn’t been those kids in a long time. The older we’d gotten, the more our parents had tightened the reins, keeping us virtual prisoners. And instead of letting that bring us together, we’d grown apart.
I rolled over, thinking about my first tutoring appointment with Bennett the next day. About how my life consisted of being passed from one prison to the next. But I also saw Mason’s chicken-scratch handwriting in my mind. I’ve got a real good chance when my parole goes up for review. The words carried me into a memory of Callahan: “I see that we’ll be better off wrapping things up quickly. It’s better for the narrative.”
I fell asleep wondering if Mason and I might both be free sooner than we’d thought.
Chapter Thirteen
I made my return to Peppino’s Pizza shortly thereafter. I’d rented another bike from the school, plus a stronger lock. And I checked three times to make sure I’d done the lock properly before going into the restaurant.
Archer had been ignoring me at school, and I’d done the same—except to sneak. occasional glances at his jaw. It had barely bruised. I wished I had some sort of revenge planned for him, too—for doing Ian’s bidding and taking my bike. But I was almost a hundred percent sure Archer felt no desire for me at all.
Now, though, Archer nodded at me. I turned away and headed for the mop cart. The day passed blessedly quickly. Music played constantly—the radio sometimes; other times, employees hooked their phones up to the speakers and put on playlists. Even though the dishwasher drowned out some of the music, I was still in heaven, finally able to listen to contemporary songs. I really liked a ballad called “Never the One,” that came on the radio three times that morning alone. Archer grumbled, saying it was painfully cheesy. I thought it was beautiful, though, and found myself singing along the next time it came on.
As mind-numbing as the job was, I liked it. It was nice to interact with people not from Strathmore. To listen to the conversations of customers on the rare occasions I got to go up front. I’d never been encouraged to think about my future prior to coming to Strathmore. I knew I was fairly good in school, but all my parents had ever wanted for me was marriage and having kids. But now, my brain was coming alive with possibilities. Obviously, I didn’t want to scrub bathrooms forever. But I did want a job where I got to be around people. Preferably something to do with music. I was interested in college, but wasn’t sure what I would study. I obviously didn’t have the training to get into a really good music school, but maybe I could find a school with a good computer science program and have music be my minor…
Around noon, Archer came back into the kitchen just as I was attempting to wolf down a piece of pizza undetected. I flinched, waiting for him to take the food from me. But he didn’t.
“You can eat,” he said. “It’s okay.”
“What?” I regarded him suspiciously. “Why?”
“I am actually my own person.” His lips twitched. “And I don’t care about my brother’s stupid feud with Cole.”
“How generous of you,” I said sarcastically. I put the slice back up to my mouth and kept eating.
“Look. I know I owe you an apology…”
“Just let me eat in peace,” I suggested. That sounded better than any apology I could imagine. Especially given that I didn’t trust Archer Kemp to apologize and mean it. I took a few bites, eyeing him warily as he grabbed a slice of pizza for himself.
“You feeling ready for the talent show?” he asked.
What was unclear about “in peace”? And why was he so chatty? I’d never heard Archer say this many words unless he was explaining how the time cards worked, or how much shit I’d have to scrub from the bathroom walls. “I think so. I don’t know. I hate that they make you participate.”
He nodded. “Me too. I don’t have any talents. I can play guitar just passably enough to accompany Ian. I always get points deducted for, I don’t know, not doing my own act and just riding Ian’s coattails, I guess.”
“They give you points?” Kayle had not mentioned that.
He nodded. “It’s a big deal. I mean, it doesn’t matter for someone like me, but it can give you an edge if you’re competitive in the class rankings.”
“Why doesn’t it matter to someone like you?” I asked cautiously.
He shrugged. “I’m no good at school. It’s not like I’m ever going to beat out the second place kid by point-four percentage points to become Valedictorian. I guess that’s what Heller figures too.”
I started. “Cole?”
“Yeah. He’s got a week’s worth of detentions for saying he won’t participate. And he’s probably looking at another week if he actually doesn’t participate.”
So that was why Cole was in detention. Interesting hill to die on. “Why do they care so much?”
Archer started tearing into his crust. “Power play, mostly. I figure Callahan likes making us offer ourselves up for ridicule.”
“Kayle told me it wasn’t like that. I mean, that it actually sort of brought the school together.”
“I guess sometimes. I don’t know. Our first year it nearly ruined Ian and me. People hated our act. We thought we’d never live it down.”
That was…surprising. To say the least.
“But you guys are gods now.”
I thought I saw his lips twitch. “As soon as we became popular outside of Strathmore, people within Strathmore jumped on board. It was pretty sickening to watch, really.”
“Well. I guess people will like your act now, at least.” I wanted to smack myself for being so awkward. Not that I should have cared what Archer Kemp thought of my conversational skills.
“I guess so.” He picked up another slice and offered it to me. I took it. “Ian says it seems like you’ve been working hard.”
“Yeah. Trying not to make a fool of myself, I guess. Working on my costume with Ainslie around is tough sometimes.” I froze, not sure if I should have brought up Ainslie in a Kemp’s presence.<
br />
“You’re making your costume?”
“Yeah,” I said, pleased that somewhere in that monotone I thought I could pick out notes of admiration. Or maybe it was all in my head. “I have to keep it stored under my bed, which is horrible for it. But I don’t know. There’s something kind of satisfying about creating something beautiful in that tiny room that always reeks of Ainslie’s perfume.”
“I don’t envy you.”
“She still seems hung up on Ian.”
“To put it mildly.” He rolled his eyes.
I laughed. Then I grew more serious. “Couldn’t you and Ian leave the school if you wanted to? Isn’t his career basically made?”
Archer chewed his last bite slowly. He didn’t look at me as he spoke. “It may not seem like it, but Strathmore’s reach is powerful. If they don’t want you to succeed in the real world, you won’t.”
“But Certifiable is already famous. They can’t make you un-famous.”
“Trust me. If we did something they didn’t like—left before our time, refused to give them sufficient credit for making us what we are—they’d make a few calls and turn us into the biggest joke since Creed.”
I…actually sort of liked Creed. Not that I would ever tell him that.
“But they didn’t make you what you are.”
“No,” he agreed. “But whatever you do while you’re a Strathmore student belongs to Strathmore. Now and forever.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s true. I wish to God we’d left before Ian and the band made it big.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. What good did wishing do? One night where I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now I belonged to this place. Was my talent show costume Strathmore’s? The dance moves Kayle had taught me? The voice I’d never fully explored before?
Did Bennett’s mind belong to Strathmore? Was that why he was still there? Was Cole risking his future by telling Callahan she couldn’t have him—not all of him?
Would Mason one day be freer than I?