by Vera Hollins
He sighed. “I know, and I understand. You like B-Blake, and after last night, I think he may like you too.”
I chuckled coarsely. “Yeah, right.”
You’re a liar, Jess. What about that kiss? And the almost kiss at the track?
“No, seriously. The dude has some serious issues, but I don’t think he hates you.”
No, he only hates the way he feels, which is equally messed up.
“Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean anything. I’m all for forgiveness, but he’s still my enemy. And he’s hurt me a lot.”
“True dat,” he said.
“But enough about him. I feel like there’s something else that’s bothering you.”
“Umm…I told my dad I’m bi.”
“You did?! What did he say?”
He let out another sigh. “He s-said he doesn’t understand me. He didn’t get mad, but he looked disappointed.”
I could imagine the look on his dad’s face. It was the same look I dreaded seeing on my parents’ faces when I told them I was going to a music college.
“I’m sorry, Kev.” I glanced over my shoulder to confirm my parents were still upstairs. “Our parents can suck sometimes.”
“Tell me about it. You know my mom also isn’t s-supportive of it.”
“I hope they aren’t pressuring you to change or act like you’re straight.”
“No, they aren’t. They said they won’t p-p-prevent me from dating anyone I want, but they hope it will be a girl.”
I shook my head. “Who cares what they think? If you want to be with a guy, it’s your right. You’re in control of your life, not them.” This last sentence came from Susan, and it was one I’d repeated like a mantra the last few weeks, drilling it into my mind.
“I’ll try to remember. But…”
“Yes?”
“You really think Marcus and I would look amazing t-t-together?”
I grinned. “Absolutely.”
“He’s d-d-definitely cute.”
My grin grew bigger. “Mhmm.”
“I saw him at a restaurant earlier.”
I quirked my eyebrows up. “Oh? And?”
He cleared his throat. “And nothing. He was with his, his, his parents, and I was with mine.”
“I sense a ‘but’ in that sentence.”
“But our eyes kept meeting, and I…”
“Yesss?”
“I liked it.”
I could feel excitement bubbling up in me, imagining the moments their eyes met in the restaurant. So, so cute!
“He even s-smiled at me.”
“Aww. And how did you feel?”
“Nice…but strange. I haven’t noticed him until now, and it feels a little too s-s-sudden.”
“I get what you mean. But it’s a start, right?”
“Yeah…but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know if I want to be with a guy…”
“But Kev, there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of—”
“No, you d-don’t get it. I’m not fighting against it. I know it’s p-pointless.”
“Then why?”
“I’m going to be bullied for it.”
I closed my eyes as another wave of pain hit my belly, ready to disagree, but I stopped myself because I knew better. If I was bullied for my weight, what could non-straight students expect? There were people at our school who were homophobic, and they had a whole slew of expletives ready to go for people they disliked for this or that reason. While I hoped the anti-bullying festival would bring bullies to their senses, unless we worked on understanding and accepting all our differences, I wasn’t sure if the festival would have a long-term effect on them or not.
“Mel would tell you to screw them all and do whatever you want, and my therapist would say not to fritter away your opportunities—especially not because of those who absolutely don’t deserve your attention.”
“I guess you’re right. I’m just s-scared.”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I know, Kev,” I whispered. “I know.”
“Jess?” my mom called from the hallway. “We’re ready to go.”
I stood up. “Kev, I have to go.”
“Sure. See you at school.”
Ending the call, I followed my parents outside to my dad’s Tesla, taking a deep breath when my cramps got worse.
I got inside and buckled up just as Dad pulled out of our driveway. I needed something to get my mind off the pain, so I went to Instagram and opened my story, which was a selfie I’d taken before the party, a different one from the one I’d posted on my feed. My eyes skimmed over the usernames of the people who had seen my story before I spotted one that sent my heart spiraling.
blake.j1
That was Blake’s username.
I tapped on my story again just to check if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I wasn’t mistaken. It was him.
My body heated. After the words I’d blurted out to him, I expected only the worst from him. He looked at my Insta story.
It didn’t matter. His attention didn’t matter. I shouldn’t even think about it.
My fingers didn’t care about my thought process. They took me to his Instagram, and my eyes went over the line in his bio again.
You live only to encounter pain.
His last photo was of him and Hayden at the party; both of them looked at the camera with no smile on their faces. They looked intimidating but super hot nevertheless, and of course, the photo garnered a lot of “You’re gorgeous” and “Sooo hot” comments filled with many heart emojis. I moved my fingers over Blake’s face on the screen, imagining I was touching his face for real. Before I knew it, my fingers slipped over the like button beneath the picture.
I flinched. Had I accidentally liked his photo?
I breathed through my open mouth, gaping at the empty heart icon as my heart pounded fast. I hadn’t liked it. Good. Phew.
I stuffed my phone in my bag before I did something more stupid.
Mom turned around in the passenger seat to look at me. “Why are you so quiet, honey? Is it because of your sore throat?”
“Sorta. I think I might die from my period.”
“Maybe you’re catching cold.” She extended her hand. “Come here.” I leaned closer to her, and she felt my forehead with the back of her hand before turning back. “You don’t have a high temperature. Did you take Advil for your cramps?”
“Yep, but it doesn’t help. My stomach hurts like hell.”
“Don’t think about it, and it will pass,” my dad said, his eyes set on the road.
My dad always looked so serious when he was driving. He didn’t like to talk, listen to the radio, or answer phone calls so he could fully focus on the road, which was bad because I needed music in the car. I should’ve brought my headphones.
“If only it were that easy.”
“You can always learn to meditate,” my mom said, and I rolled my eyes. Recently, she had this obsession with yoga and meditation; she’d bought lots of scented candles and lit them all around our house. She said they would help us cleanse our spirits or something equally uninteresting.
“Or you can make me chocolate cake. You know that always works for me.”
She grinned and turned to look at me over her shoulder. “Since you got into Owen’s college, you deserve a little treat, right?” She winked at me, and my stomach churned with unease.
“She deserves more than a treat for that.” Dad glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll finally buy you a new guitar.”
I willed my lips into a smile, but it was so fake my chest ached. These days, he kept asking me if I’d responded to his college, assuming I would accept its offer of admission, and the pressure I felt got stronger. I couldn’t be happy about that guitar when I knew they wouldn’t take well my decision to accept the offer of a music college.
“You don’t look happy about it,” my mom remarked.
G
rin, Jess. Make it convincing. “I’m thrilled! But I’ll drop dead any moment now from this pain.”
My dad tsked. “Women and periods. I’ll never understand.”
“What’s there to understand?” I asked. “It’s obligatory hell.”
“I can imagine. Anyway, have you accepted the admission?” There he was again. I needed a distraction right this moment.
“I’ve been busy with school assignments, but I’ll find some time soon. Sooo, what’s up with this client? Who is he? Or she?” I crossed my fingers that the diversion tactic would work.
“He’s the mayor.”
I choked on my spit. “The mayor?” My voice reached the limit of its shrillness. No. Just no.
He gave me an odd look in the rear-view mirror. “Yes. Mayor Jones.”
My mom glanced at me over her shoulder. “Is something wrong, sweetie?”
Something wrong? Wrong?
Just a level-seven catastrophe!
“Nope. I just didn’t know you were working for the mayor.”
“You know Owen’s firm works with some politicians too,” Mom said. “Enfield’s mayor is one of them.”
“His son is your age,” my dad added. “You must have heard of him. His name is Blake.”
Hearing his name created flutters in my belly, which was mixed with queasiness because I didn’t want to see him. Not after my shocking revelation.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him. It’s impossible not to when he’s one of the most popular students in our school.” And he’s also my bully.
But I couldn’t say that. My mom knew about the boy who bullied me, but I’d never told her his name. I hadn’t even told her much about him, keeping most of his relentless bullying under wraps. I couldn’t admit to her or Dad how horrible my school life was and destroy their image of me. They would most certainly think it would affect my grades and put more pressure on me to be a good student.
“Is he going to be there too?” I asked them, hoping my voice didn’t give anything away.
“Probably,” Mom said.
Just great. I should’ve insisted on staying home.
I had to force myself to breathe evenly as I looked through the window at the houses we passed. The difference between them and mine was clear-cut. These mansions looked like they came out of celebrity home magazines.
However, the Jones’ estate was in a class of its own. I did a double take of our surroundings when Dad passed through the ornate main gate and proceeded down a long, tree-lined driveway.
Holy moly.
It was an enormous property that told tales of money. The white brick and stone mansion in the distance was ten times bigger than my home. There was even a gigantic fountain with angels carrying water pots at the end of the driveway.
“They’re loaded,” I muttered, twisting my hands in my lap. I was getting more nervous with each second that took me closer to Blake’s home.
“Their house is beautiful,” my mom said, awe coating her words. “And huge.”
“You chose the wrong profession, Dad. You should’ve been a politician.”
He let out a chuckle as he parked the car in front of the entrance. “Not all politicians can afford this luxury. The Jones are one of the wealthiest families around here. Old money and such.”
“I can see that. This estate clearly cost a pretty penny,” I replied and got out of the car. My hands were becoming sweaty.
Only now did it dawn on me that I was going to meet Blake’s parents, and I felt curious but also intimidated. I’d been wondering what his parents were like for a long time. I couldn’t imagine them as sweet and warm people, seeing as they had a miscreant son.
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see a maid open the front door, but I was anyway. She was middle-aged and extremely polite, wearing a uniform that probably cost more than all the clothes I owned combined. She ushered us inside, and a gasp of surprise almost slipped through my lips.
Their foyer was an ostentatious display of their wealth with its marble floor, two grand staircases, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Everything was made in white and gold, and I wondered how they kept it so clean. I couldn’t keep my white sneakers spotless even for a day, so I could only imagine the amount of effort their maid had to put into cleaning.
She took us to a grandiose living room I could’ve easily gotten lost in, which was also made and furnished in white and gold. It was a lot to take in as my eyes darted from a white-tiled fireplace and decorations to a large wall-mounted TV and the white leather sectional couches that put our single three-seat couch to shame.
“Owen, it’s good to see you.” A man I recognized as Nathaniel Jones from the newspapers and TV programs approached us with a smile that was the epitome of charm. It was a nice and convenient mask he used for the public, but despite the refined appearance, there was something fishy about him.
Blake didn’t look anything like him, since Nathaniel was a lanky blond—seriously, does this man dye his hair?—with a huge nose and close-set green eyes beneath bushy eyebrows.
“I’m glad I’m able to finally meet your family. Thank you for joining us for dinner tonight.”
They shook hands, and Dad introduced my mom and me. I swiped my hand down my thigh, hoping it wasn’t as clammy as it felt, and shook his hand. His grip was firm; his smile never faltered as he assessed me, and I could barely look him in the eyes. Meeting new people and shaking hands with them had never been my strong suit.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jessica.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, sir,” I replied, trying to clear my throat. It was even more sore, and my nose had started running, which meant I would be down with a cold tomorrow.
His wife appeared behind him. She was a tall and classy brunette with a beautiful face that hadn’t aged at all. Now I knew whose looks Blake had inherited. He was his mother’s replica. She even had the same posture as Blake, with an air of cool indifference oozing out of her. It was like an invisible wall that shielded her. Her icy gray eyes that were so Blakeish locked on mine, and my breath caught.
“This is my lovely wife, Daniela,” Nathaniel said with a smile. I wrapped my fingers around her cold, slender hand and shook it shyly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in a mellifluous voice, donning a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
I smiled back at her and retracted my hand quickly. I looked around the room to see if Blake would pop up from somewhere, but I came up short.
“Please excuse our son, Blake,” she said. “He is unable to attend our dinner since he has already made some other plans for tonight. He sincerely apologizes for his absence.”
Wow, she was so formal. The translated version: he was out partying and couldn’t have cared less about this stupid dinner.
And I doubted he ever apologized for it.
I was relieved that I didn’t have to see him, but I also felt a flicker of disappointment when I heard he wasn’t going to be here.
Something about being in the house of my enemy, the person who’d given me the best kiss of my life the night before made my heart beat faster. I could almost feel him—the memory of his fragrance, the feel of his warmth, his skin against mine…
I wondered if he’d known my family was supposed to come here.
“It’s understandable,” my father replied, although I doubted he meant it. Punctuality and precision were virtues he put great stock in, but it wouldn’t have been wise of him to put their business relationship on the line, now would it?
The meal was served in a dining room with a round table that could seat ten and floor-to-ceiling windows leading to a stunning stone balcony. Daniela mentioned they had three dining rooms when we sat down, and my eyes almost bulged out. How many bedrooms did they have then? Thirty-three?
My mom complimented her on the interior design, which was a cue for Daniela to start talking about the renovations they had started the previous month.
I hardly paid attentio
n to her, not the slightest bit interested in demolition, refurnishing, and other specifics she spoke about so proudly. The food they served was sumptuous and delicious, especially the salads and the chowder, and I had to remind myself time and again not to gulp it down but eat slowly.
I thought about Susan’s words from our last session to ground myself. Food was not my enemy. Balance was my friend. So, with the right portions, I could eat anything I wanted without blaming myself for it. This was as good a time as any for me to practice this.
“…Blake’s room in the left wing,” Mrs. Jones said, and I perked up, my attention fully on her now. “I have already prepared a new room for him on the third floor close to us, but he wants to stay on the second floor. He says he likes his privacy there.” She let out a quiet chuckle, but it was blatantly fake.
“Teenagers. You can’t win against them,” Nathaniel said, and my parents laughed in response. I coughed and suppressed the urge to sneeze.
“We don’t have such problems with Jessica,” my mom said, always taking any opportunity to gush about me. “She’s such an obedient and responsible child.”
“Is that so?” Daniela asked, her sharp Blake-like gaze fixed on me. I glanced away, blushing.
“And what college will Jessica go to?” Nathaniel asked.
“She’ll go to my alma mater. She’s going to be a lawyer,” my dad replied. I turned rigid as I stared at the salad on my plate.
“Really?” Nathaniel asked. “That’s good to hear. My son will also go to law school.”
I whipped my gaze to him. Blake and the law? It was like he’d said you could eat Nutella with salads.
“He’s going to become a lawyer?” I asked, unable to stop the words from coming out.
“Most likely.”
“That’s good. That’s the most promising career choice,” my dad said, which led to a talk about colleges, and I couldn’t handle being here a second longer. If I heard my dad say how proud he was of me for following his path one more time, I would scream in frustration.
“Excuse me, but may I go to the bathroom?” I asked Daniela, silently cursing my stomach cramps. They wouldn’t let up.