by Cassie James
He sounds so certain of it that it’s hard not to believe him. It doesn’t make sense though. If Brock is so openly telling me all of this, then surely he’s told others the same thing. And if that’s the case, other people must still think he’s wrong since they’re obviously still looking. Just last weekend Pearl scared off a couple grown men that had the balls to try searching our property in the middle of the day. So why is it that other people don’t believe him? Do they know something I don’t? Maybe I need to talk to Smith about this. He might have some answers that I’m not managing to get on my own.
“Are you staying or going?” I blink at Brock, having zoned out on him for a moment there. “I’m driving to the city to stay in my penthouse for the weekend. There’s plenty of room for two. Dana’s at the spa for the weekend with her sister.” I’m pretty sure Dana is Brent’s mom. I’ve never met her, but I’m still not interested in sleeping with her husband and being Eskimo sisters.
My hand clutches at the door handle. “Going. Thanks. Bye!” I say too loudly for such a small, confined space. Brock winces from the sheer sound of it as I jump out of his car. I’m pretty sure the message is clear that I’m not interested—considering I’m doing everything I can to practically run away from him. I appreciate all his help, but not that much. I probably won’t be asking him any more questions.
Smith is waiting for me in the middle of the walkway leading up to the front door. For one heart stopping moment, I wonder if he saw me climb into Brock Forrester’s car. He looks at me strangely before shaking his head, but he doesn’t confront me about anything. I’m in the clear, I realize with a huge inner sigh of relief.
“You could have gone in,” I tell him as I take his arm again. “I would have found you.” I rethink that statement when we squeeze through the front door and I see how crowded this party actually is. “Who are all these people?” I have to raise my voice to ask.
“Brent invited anyone who ever went to school with Kathryn. A lot of these people graduated a year or two ago.” I raise my eyebrows, surprised that they all showed up. What kind of twenty-year-olds want to party with sixteen and seventeen years olds? I don’t pretend to understand rich people.
I hate that it’s so crowded in here. I didn’t even really want to come. “Let’s find Sadie,” I suggest. The one reason I let myself be talked into this was to try to keep an eye on her, but now that I’m seeing how drunk everyone looks, I’m starting to question whether I even want to see what shape she’s in right now.
“Jax usually hangs out downstairs, she might be down there. Or she could be in the kitchen.” I’m assuming that’s where the drinks are. Of course Smith thinks that’s where she might be.
“Do you want to split up and look for her? We can text when one of us finds her.” If we don’t split up, I’m worried we might spend all night looking for her. That doesn’t seem like anyone’s idea of fun. We can cover a lot more ground this way.
“Yeah.” Smith nods, then thumbs towards the direction of the back of the house. “I’ll check downstairs with the guys. You check the kitchen.” He points in the opposite direction, where a big entryway leads to what must be the kitchen, considering the amount of traffic coming and going from it, all with plastic cups in their hands. Apparently, that whole red cup thing exists no matter what kind of high school party you’re at.
As much as I’d rather steer clear of the heavy drinkers entirely, it’s pretty damn thoughtful of Smith to offer me the kitchen to check, since the last time I ended up around Jax and alcohol it didn’t end well for me. I lean forward and kiss him quickly before I consider where we are. I’m not so sure I’m ready for displays of affection in front of our classmates, but I guess it’s too late to take that one back now. And we did walk in together, so I’m not sure anyone even cares about our quick kiss. I need to stop being so weird about this whole thing with Smith.
“Okay, let me know if you find out anything.” I squeeze his arm one last time before detaching myself, taking a step towards the kitchen. After a few more steps, I turn back to find Smith has already vanished into the crowd.
I push my way into the kitchen with no luck. There’s no sign of Sadie anywhere. I step back into the main part of the house, my head turning in either direction as I try to decide where else she might have gone.
A door opens beside me, startling me when it nearly hits me. Apparently luck is on my side tonight, because it’s Sadie that materializes in the doorway, her eyes glossy as she mumbles an apology for almost hitting me. It seems like it takes her a second to actually recognize me.
“When did you get here?” she asks, her voice slightly more clear this time as she widens her eyes and blinks slowly.
The sight of it hurts my heart. It’s a trick I’m all too familiar with. My fake-mom used to do the same thing when we were out and forced to pass a cop or some other responsible adult that made her nervous. It’s Sadie’s way of trying to look more sober than she is. Just like Mom used to do.
She has a red cup grasped tightly in her hand, her fingers digging in so hard the whole thing is starting to morph dangerously. Any minute now, that plastic is going to split, and she’s going to be wearing her drink. Or I will, considering I’m also standing in the potential splash zone. It’s more than obvious that Sadie has already had way too much to drink, and this party has barely gotten started. There’s no way she can keep drinking for hours and hours if she’s already this far gone.
I touch her wrist, so tempted to grab the cup out of her hand but also knowing that’s basically the worst thing I can do right now. “Do you wanna take a break with me for a few? We can get some water and go look at the yard. I heard some people are braving the pool even though it’s January and apparently the heater isn’t turned on.”
Sadie doesn’t say anything for a minute, but her eyes say quite a lot. They flash with a sharp anger that tells me she knows exactly what I’m trying to do. She tilts her head back and pours the rest of her drink basically right down her throat. When she puts herself back upright, a little bit of mixed drink dribbles out the side of her mouth. She uses the back of her fist to swipe at it, but she only manages to clear part of the trail now making its way down her chin.
“Stop fucking worrying, Jules. I’m fine,” she snaps. She tosses her now empty cup to the ground at my feet.
For a second, all I can do is blink at the spot while Sadie pushes through the crowd, getting away from me as fast as she can. Great, now I’ve made things worse. I start to take off after her, but someone yanks me back by the arm. I spin to find a girl I’ve seen around a few times but I can’t remember her name. She’s shaking her head at me, though not in a demeaning way.
“It’s not a good idea to go after her right now. Let her cool off a little. You can’t coddle an addict.” She says it so nonchalant as if this isn’t someone’s life we’re talking about. I shoot Smith a quick text letting him know I found her, that she’s drunk, and that I’ve already lost track of her again. Let him try to deal with the state she’s in, maybe he’ll have better luck.
“I’m not a stranger to addiction.” I try not to let myself dwell on all the people I’ve lost. I especially try not to dwell on the people I thought were my parents. “I grew up around a whole hell of a lot of it.”
“It’s different when you’re the one with the demons.” The girl’s voice is low and raspy as she says it. I don’t think she’s talking about just Sadie. I bite my lip as I watch the girl reach down and pull a round object out of her cute, edgy boots. I recognize it even before she holds it up in front of me. It’s a Narcotics Anonymous sobriety chip. One year, it says. What a weird thing to keep in her shoes, though.
She says, “My parents are both drug company founders. As I’m sure you can imagine, they’re not nearly as amused by the irony as I am.”
“That’s—” Well, it’s terrible, but as I stand here with my mouth partially open, I’m aware that I can’t exactly say it’s terrible. I don’t know this girl. Th
at would be rude. I think. I don’t know, I’m still coming to terms with how rich people’s manners are different from normal people manners.
She smiles, seemingly unbothered by me freezing up. “I’m Salma. Nazar, if you care about that whole family name thing. I don’t for the record.” Oh my fucking hell, finally someone that seems as baffled by that whole last name thing as I am. I feel my whole body sag with relief at Salma’s words. “Now, in case you’re wondering. I do have a family history of old school pirates way back on my mom’s side. So I might decide any day that I just have to find your family treasure. It is in my blood, after all.” I’m not sure how serious she’s being, because she offers me a wide smile with the words.
“At least you’re upfront about it, I guess.” And really, I can’t help but crack a smile of my own. In a place where it seems like people are always playing twisted games, it’s refreshing to talk to someone that’s doing the opposite. Salma doesn’t seem the least bit interested in impressing me or being an asshole to me, which is a major win in my book.
“So, Harrington might not have wanted to see some of these assholes freeze their balls off, but I really, really do.” Her eyes seem to light up at the very idea of it. “Care to join me?”
I take a long look around the room, but Smith is still nowhere to be seen. He’s taller than me, but not quite tall enough to be seen over the crowd. Not like Ace, who I accidentally make eye contact with as I’m looking around. He’s watching me from the corner of the room, making my cheeks heat when I notice. “Yeah, sure, let’s go,” I answer quickly, desperate now just to get away from Ace’s intense stare. We still haven’t worked things out from last semester, and I’m not sure we ever will, though I have to admit I’m feeling a lot less angry about it than I was then. Probably because I now know Jax must have had something to do with it, the asshole.
Salma leads the way outside, reaching back to link arms with me when the crowd gets even more dense and we almost lose each other. As the two of us spend the next couple hours together, mostly making fun of our peers and their penchant for doing stupid shit, I learn that that’s who Salma is. The kind of person that reaches back for you.
I have so much fun sitting with her, both of us sticking close to the heater outside on the deck, that when Smith eventually finds me I actually tell him he can go hangout with his friends and I’ll find him later. Because I think I’ve made a new friend of my own, and even though I don’t want to hope for too much, I find myself wondering if this budding new friendship might transcend an awkward moment at a party to become an actual friendship.
Chapter Six
Time does tell. Exactly twelve hours later Salma picks me up from Lexington Estate and carts me one town over to the high end shopping mall that Patience girls like to frequent. I’m nervous taking this leap of faith by going out alone with her even though we just met, but there’s something about Salma that makes me feel comfortable.
To be fair, I’m pretty sure I thought that same thing about Ace before he screwed me over. Maybe I should stop trusting my instincts about people. The odds haven’t really been in my favor so far. Still, there’s something about Salma’s wide eyes and smooth, bronzed skin that make her look warm and approachable. And right now, while Sadie is avoiding me and I’m paranoid about spending too much time with Smith, she’s my best option for decent companionship.
It turns out to be the right decision, too. Salma does something no one else has really done since I got here. She asks me about myself. Real questions where she doesn’t act squeamish or weird about my answers, even when sometimes the answers aren’t so pretty. Like when she asks me about the people who pretended to be my parents or about my friends, when I tell her about the fight I had with Jake. She’s sympathetic and considerate through all of it, so much so that I catch myself getting suspicious a time or two. I have to remind myself that not everyone is out to get me.
Salma tells me more about herself, too, though she keeps a lot of it to vague details. She’s got a ballsy kind of confidence that I envy. She’s not rude about it, but it’s also clear that she’s unapologetically herself.
Together, we go into nearly every store in the mall, and in all of them, someone greets Salma by name. By the time we’re getting to the final shops on the third floor, I’m starting to think she has a bad shopping habit. She’s given her credit card quite the workout, and I try not to feel weird about the fact that the only thing I’ve bought myself is an overpriced coffee from the food court.
We go into a high-end jewelry store, two sales woman practically fighting each other to get to Salma first. See? Definitely a certified shopaholic—she has to be.
Salma tugs me closer to the counter with her, a row of expensive watches shining from within their glass cases. There’s gold, silver, and diamonds galore. It makes me anxious just standing this close to this kind of stuff. When Pearl upgraded my wardrobe, she went minimal on the accessories. I have some nice pairs of earrings and some pretty necklaces, but I barely wear either of those things, anyway. I did wear a watch when I first got here, but it was neon pink and mostly made of plastic, so I had to take it off that first night and it hasn’t matched any of my clothes since. I can’t even remember where I stashed it now.
“This one?” She points to a gold watch in the case. It’s not overly flashy, but the detail in the band also keeps it from looking bland. The sales woman that beat out her coworker pulls the piece out of the case and hands it right over to Salma. It’s weird for me, coming from a place where nice jewelry meant shopping at the pawn shop, and even there the guy that owned the place wouldn’t let you touch anything unless you bought it first.
“Shit, I’m totally late.” Salma scrunches her nose as she looks closer at the face of the watch, reading the time there. “This would look cute on you.” She holds it out next to my wrist, taking her time to admire it even though she literally just said she was late. She hands it back across the counter to the sales woman, but much to my surprise, instead of putting it back the woman starts wrapping it up in a cute gift bag.
“Uh…” I look to Salma, confused. She didn’t say she wanted it. She didn’t say anything to the woman, actually.
The woman hands Salma the bag, and then Salma turns and holds it out to me. I stare at her, then the bag, making no move to take it from her. I’m really confused. “What? You don’t like it? There’s a silver one, too, I just think gold would go nice with that bit of red in your hair.” She looks at the sales woman who’s still hovering across the counter from us. “Can we see the silver, please?”
“What? No.” I lower my voice. “Salma, I can’t afford anything like this.” I’m still stuck in a stage of asking Pearl every time there’s something I need. The only cash I keep on hand is leftover from the stash I made from working at Mango’s Hot Chicken last summer, and that’s dwindled down to almost nothing now. Luxury watches are not a luxury I can afford.
Salma pauses for a second, then politely asks the sales lady to give us a second. My face starts to flare up red, thinking this is the moment our fledgling friendship meets its end, and she makes some demoralizing comment about my lack of money. I’m surprised when she puts her arms around me and squeezes me close, instead.
“Consider this a gift from me to you.” She shoves the bag into my hands despite my protests. “Made all the more special because you didn’t just expect it like anyone else would’ve.”
“I can’t take this. This has to be crazy expensive.” I try to hand it back to her but she takes a step backward out of reach. I can feel the weight of the watch from within the bag, and it is very pretty, but it feels wrong to take a gift like this. Especially when, “It just feels like the kind of gift that has strings attached.” Practical stranger don’t just buy each other expensive gifts like these. Not even rich practical strangers.
Salma’s cheeks darken with a deep red that shows even across her darker skin. She glances away for a minute. “I don’t really have friends here,” she
says, seeming to pick her words carefully. “I only moved back in the middle of last school year. I was in boarding schools before that, so I didn’t really grow up with everyone else. When people here spend time with me, it’s usually because they want something. I know you didn’t ask for anything, but I just assumed…” She trails off, and I feel speechless.
Now I feel like an asshole. I just assumed if she was being too nice then there must be some catch, but here she was assuming the same thing.
“Please let me give this to you. That sales lady already put it on my tab, anyway. Consider it a late birthday gift, since I was skiing when your aunt threw you your party. And a gift for being the first person to not annoy the living hell out of me since I moved home last year.” She looks so earnest, and I get the feeling she’s used to being hard to say no to.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, still hesitant, but I nod. This watch might seem pricey to me, but I know it’s probably nothing to her. Still, I appreciate the gesture so much more than I could ever put into words. “Seriously, thank you.” Then I remember, “Didn’t you say a minute ago that you were late for something?”
Her eyes go wider than normal. “Oh, shit. I’m late for group therapy.” She checks the time again on her watch—the rose gold one she’s wearing. “Would you be horribly mad if I called a car to take you home? If I drive all the way back to your place, I’ll miss the whole session and then the therapist has to call my parents.”