The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels Series Book 1)

by Callie Hart

  I throw the van into reverse and clear the drive. “Why?”

  “I was s’posed to hang out with Colton and Jamie in the game. I need to let them know I’ve been kidnapped.”

  For all their faults, my parents have stuck to their guns on this one thing: Max doesn’t get a cell phone until high school. I had to live by this same rule, so I sympathize with him. The little monster has memorized all of his friend’s number’s, though, and he constantly has his hand out for my phone. Beyond annoying. If I don’t give it to him, the next hour is going to be brutal. I opt for the quickest, easiest route to a peaceful life and I hand it over.

  He begins typing furiously. “Mom was crying this morning,” he says.

  “What? What do you mean, she was crying?”

  “I heard her in the shower.”

  The sky’s darkening. I haven’t bothered to turn any music on, so there’s nothing to obscure the deep, low rumble of thunder that rolls in the distance. “I’m sure she wasn’t crying, Max. She might have been humming or something. It’s tough to tell what’s going on when the water’s running.”

  “Silver. I’m eleven, not a moron. I know what it sounds like when someone’s crying. She was crying just like when Grandpa died.”

  When our grandfather died three years ago, Mom didn’t just cry. She sobbed inconsolably, and the sound of her pain stole the very last fragments of my innocence. I’d never seen such agony on anyone’s face, or heard it in that way before, and I knew for a fact that I was witnessing the lowest, most harrowing moment of my mother’s life as she lay in the fetal position, collapsed on the hallway floor, clutching the phone to her chest.

  If she was crying like that in the shower, then…No. There’s just no way. I would have heard her. And besides, something monumentally bad would have had to have happened to make her that distraught. Dad would have pulled me aside and given me a heads up, even if Mom had tried to hide it from me. “Could have been a video, Bud. Or maybe a song.”

  Max huffs, stabbing at the phone’s screen ever faster. “Whatever you say.” He hates not being believed. It’s his thing, his trigger, the one thing that makes him snap and act like he’s fucking possessed. Mom always says we should never discount or dismiss him out of hand, and that sometimes it’s best to just humor him. I’m about to do just that when I hear the shooping sound of his message being sent. “Who’s Alex?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Alex. You got a message from him.”

  I nearly swerve the car off the road. “Give me the phone. Give it to me, Max!”

  “Don’t freak out. He just said he was going to hang at the house with Dad until we get back. Did you forget he was coming over?”

  “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Nope. Noooooo. No, no. no.” My vision’s blurring. Holy shit, my vision is blurring. I can’t fucking see.

  “Windshield wipers, Sil,” Max says.

  Oh. The rain’s worsened. I’m not going blind from sheer panic after all. I turn the windshield wipers on, and they beat frantically across the glass, sweeping a river of water aside as I pull into the parking lot of Max’s soccer club. I throw the van into park and snatch my phone from my brother, my hands shaking as I read the message lit up on the screen.

  Alex: Just missed you. Ready and waiting for our lesson. Your dad seems cool. Very interested in my ride. We’re gonna hang in the garage until you get back.

  Fuck me fucking sideways. Fuck. What the hell is happening right now? How in the name of Celine Dion has this come about? Alex is there? At the house? He’s with my dad, and they’re…they’re hanging out in the fucking garage? Dad hasn’t stepped foot in the garage for years. I can only imagine what he’s thinking right now. I can barely feel my fingers as I type out a message to him and fire it off, utterly dismayed.

  Me: Sorry, Dad. You can tell Alex to leave. I canceled our lesson. He must have forgotten.

  Ha. Forgotten. More like he got pissed that I refused to bow down to his demands, and now he’s trying to fuck with me. I can picture the scene all too freaking well—Alex, leaning up against Dad’s rusting workbench, hands in his pockets, sexy as hell with his ridiculous smile and his ridiculous eyes, and…a cold knot of fear begins to form in my stomach. What the hell are they even talking about right now? Alex and I have barely spoken ourselves, and our stilted conversations have revolved heavily around the fact that I was sexually assaulted.

  He wouldn’t bring that up to my dad.

  He wouldn’t…

  Would he?

  Sweet fucking Jesus.

  “We can just go back if you want,” Max says. “It’s freezing. At this point, it’s safe to say neither of us wants to be here.”

  I sit very still, considering that option for a second. Should we go back? Every part of me is screaming at me to burn rubber back home and roll out the damage control, but there’s also a part of me that’s railing against that option. If I go running back there, panicked and freaking out, I’m giving Alex precisely what he wants. I’ll be reacting the way he’s undoubtedly expecting me to react, and I don’t want to give him that satisfaction. It’d mean he won, and Alex Moretti is never going to fucking win with me. I will sit here in the car, and I will make Max play in the rain if it means I get to be the stronger person.

  “Sorry, Maxie. If your coach still thinks you guys can play, then I do, too. Out you go.”

  Disappointed, he shoots me a betrayed grimace as he opens the car door and steps out into the wild weather. Before he slams the door closed behind him, in his most serious tone, he says, “If I die of pneumonia, it’ll be your fault. I will haunt you, Silver. And I’ll be really good at it, too. You’ll be so scared, you’ll probably choke on your own tongue and die.”

  The threat’s kind of endearing, really. I’m not really worried about it, since it seems I’m being haunted by a real life, living monster now anyway, and he’s dead set on ruining my entire fucking life. Once Max is gone, I open up the message Alex sent, and I tap out a reply.

  Me: If you think this is cute, you're sorely mistaken. Do NOT say anything weird to my dad. About ANYTHING.

  Max’s coach must be a hard ass because he makes the kids play even when the rain is hammering on the roof of the van like a drum. I sit in the driver’s seat, unable to do anything but nervously sweat and dig my fingernail into the cord to my headphones until I’ve stripped the plastic from the copper wires inside and I’ve ruined them beyond repair.

  Max groans and shivers all the way home, smearing mud and mangled blades of grass all over the place. My pulse rises at an alarmingly rapid rate when I pull into our driveway, bracing myself for the scene I’m about to stumble across in the garage, but…the door is up, the lights are on, and there’s no one there.

  I was kind of hoping Alex would get bored, realize he’d made his point and leave, but his motorcycle’s still sitting in the drive, so looks like I’m shit out of luck there. That can mean only one thing: Alex Moretti has made it inside my house.

  13

  SILVER

  “Cut the shit. You’re lying.” My heart bottoms out at the hard edge to my father’s voice. “There is absolutely no way—”

  I nearly trip over my own feet as I hurry into the kitchen, my pulse thumping urgently in all of my extremities. I feel like I’m going to pass the fuck out. When I throw myself through the doorway, miracle upon miracles, Dad’s hand isn’t wrapped around Alex’s throat. I barely know what to do with myself as Alex, leaning up against the fridge, perfectly at home, like he’s been here a thousand times before, looks over at me and winks. The majority of his ink is hidden by his long-sleeved shirt, but the intricately woven design—looks like vines and thorns—sprawling up the right-hand side of his neck is still very visible, as are the backs of his hands. There’s just no hiding that ink. Not that Alex looks even remotely fazed by the fact that his artwork is on show.

  “Silver!” Dad grins over his shoulder when he notices me standing behind him. “Sorry, honey, I onl
y just got your message. Your friend Alex here has been telling me that he met Paul Ryder from Denver Blues at a concert last year. Remember, your mom and I went to see Denver Blues play last year, too? I would have lost my cool if I’d gotten to shake Paul’s hand. Silver isn’t such a huge fan. I don’t know what I did to deserve a daughter that doesn’t appreciate good music.”

  At any other time, I’d never let a sly dig like that from Dad fly, but I barely even hear it today. I’m far too busy boring holes into the side of Alex’s head. “What are you doing here, Alex?” I try and keep my voice steady, but my anxiety is tussling with my anger, and the battle between the two warring emotions is making it difficult to feign calm.

  “We had an agreement. I paid for two lessons. We agreed we’d have the first today after school.”

  Do not make a scene in front of Dad. Do not make a scene in front of Dad. I’m prickling all over. Pretty sure there’s a vein pulsing in my temple, too. “I told you I couldn’t fit you into my schedule. I have too much going on at the moment. I tried to give you back your money this morning, remember?”

  Dad takes a long pull from the bottle of beer he’s holding. “Thought you were trying to save up for a new paint job for the Nova, Sil. Now you’re turning down cash? And, come on. You’re hardly busy. You spend most of your time moping around the place with your nose buried in a book.”

  I smile at him grimly, lips pressed into an unimpressed line. “And I thought I had to take Max to practice because you had work you needed to do. Now you’re talking music, drinking beer, and kicking back with an absolute stranger?”

  Dad laughs. “Just trying to get to know your friends, honey. And if you’re gonna be riding around on the back of a motorcycle, I figured there was no harm in meeting the guy who’d be operating it.”

  “Dad! I’m not going to be riding around on the back of a motorcycle! Alex and I don’t even really know each other.”

  Dad doesn’t bother to hide his amused disbelief. “All right, kiddo. Whatever you say. Well, Alex, it was nice to meet you. I hope you guys have a nice lesson. I cleared out some space for you in the garage. Don’t make too much noise, though. Your mom’ll kill me if the neighbors start complaining.”

  The garage is cold with the door open, but ain’t no way I’m closing it. I do not want to be trapped inside a secluded space with any boy, let alone one who thinks it’s okay to fuck with me like this. Sitting on the edge of Dad’s ancient pool table, I’m livid as I set up the spare guitar I use for teaching, resting the waist of the instrument against the top of my leg, twisting each tuning peg in turn and then strumming, listening for a moment when I bend the sound to find the perfect note.

  Alex watches me, arms across his chest, his head a little dipped, his dark eyes unreadable. In my mind, a thousand burning insults present themselves to me like weapons, each one begging to be thrown, hurled or thrust, but instead, I keep a leash on my temper, quickly working to prep for this damned lesson. The sooner we can get started, the sooner I can put an end to this nonsense and get this over with.

  “Silver.” The rain thunders down onto the flat roof of the garage, rushing down the drainpipes, tinging against the copper windchimes hanging from the eaves by the front door, but Alex’s voice is so clear, as if his mouth is pressed against the shell of my ear and the exhale of his breath is all I’m capable of hearing. The expression I set on my face as I raise my gaze to meet his is less than friendly.

  “What?”

  “I’m nobody’s bitch, okay? If you think I’d ever bow down to Weaving, then you’ve got me all wrong.”

  I slide off the edge of the pool table and shove the guitar into Alex’s chest. “I don’t care what you do.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “Nope.” I unfasten the catches on my hard guitar case, taking out my own instrument. I just played it this morning, but it’s habitual—I still check to make sure every string is perfectly in tune. Alex pulls up Dad’s rolling stool, taking a seat on it and resting the guitar I’ve given to him on his knee. A bright flash of lightning flickers in the sky over Hunter Mountain, briefly illuminating the heavy, swollen clouds. The world beyond the mouth of the garage is the color of iron, seething purples and flashes of silver as the snap of electricity turns all of the puddles to molten lead.

  As if by some unspoken agreement, Alex and I wait for the thunder. Neither of us breaks the silence until the booming crash of sound shakes both the sky and the ground beneath our feet.

  “We’re starting from the very beginning,” I say in a professional tone—my teaching voice. “The anatomy of a guitar.” I spin my guitar around in my hands so that its base is resting on top of my legs. “This is the headstock.” I point to the top of the guitar, where the tuning pegs attach to the strings. “These are the fingerboards. These steel bands are the frets. You change the tone and key of whatever you’re playing by—”

  “You care more than you’re willing to admit,” Alex says.

  I look up from the guitar. “If you’re not gonna pay attention to even the most basic part of this lesson, then you’re not going to learn anything.”

  “You watch me, Silver. I feel your eyes on me all the time. You think I didn’t know you were there on the football field, sitting underneath the bleachers?”

  My usual reaction would be instantaneous embarrassment, but not this time. He crossed a line coming here. I don’t have to be anything other than angry. “What do you want me to say? When a car’s hurtling toward the edge of a cliff and you know it’s about to crash through the safety barrier and explode in a fiery ball of flames on the rocks below, it’s impossible to look away, Alex.”

  “It wasn’t just yesterday, though, was it? You’ve been keeping an eye on me for the past two weeks.”

  “You’d only know that if you’d been watching me,” I snap back.

  He smirks. Hair tousled, skin pale, eyes as dark as sin. His mouth twitches as he breathes steadily down his nose. “I have a brother. A little brother. He’s in care right now. I want to be his legal guardian when I turn eighteen, but I need to impress the crap out of Darhower first. I’m asking for your help.”

  So, there is a reason behind this. I knew there had to be, but I didn’t expect it to be this. He has a little brother, and he wants to take care of him. I just…I can’t picture it. Not for a second. Alex doesn’t exactly give off the responsible, stand-in-father kind of vibe.

  “I have seven months to get my shit together. If you sign off on my lesson sheet twice a week, that’d be a huge step in the right direction.”

  I laugh, massaging the pads of my fingers into my forehead. Seems I’ve developed a bastard of a headache all of a sudden. “Sign off on the lessons? Say you’ve done them when you actually haven’t? Right. So, you want me to lie for you. What are you gonna do when you have to sit the end of year music exam, genius?”

  A secret, amused smile makes it all the way to the corners of his eyes. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve got it handled.”

  “This is some fucking bullshit, Alex.” If he doesn’t register the frustration and annoyance in my voice, then he’s mentally fucking compromised. He’s been wasting my time, playing some sort of weird game with me ever since he decided to climb into my car, and I don’t know why. Whatever his reasoning, I’m sick of it.

  Another round of thunder growls in the distance. “Fine. Just go. I’ll sign off on your lessons. Whatever you want me to do. Let’s just minimize contact as much as possible. I’m not willing to make my life any harder than it already is.”

  He stares at me, unblinking. His eyes run me through like dark blades. “I think you’ll change your mind about that one, Silver.”

  Exasperated, I get up, hurriedly putting away my guitar. My fingers find the catches on my hard case, but it takes three attempts to close them. “I don’t understand what your game plan is here, but you’re not making any sense. You stood there in the bathrooms the other day and told me in no uncertain terms tha
t you weren’t interested in me. But by the way you’re talking now, it sure as hell doesn’t sound that way.” I continue to fluster, snatching the other guitar from him and sliding into the gig bag, zipping it up in quick, angry movements.

  “How does it sound to you, Silver?” The timbre of his voice mimics the thunder, gravel, rough, deep enough to make me quake.

  Rounding on him, my chest rising and falling way too quickly, I ball my hands into fists, fighting the urge to scream. “Like you realized it might be fun to try and mess with me. Like you saw a broken, vulnerable person, just trying to get through her last shitty, miserable days of high school, and you thought to yourself, “Hmm, graduation’s a long way off, Alex. Maybe you should toy with that girl as a source of entertainment to stem your own selfish fucking boredom.”

  He stands perfectly still, frozen in place. The only small movement he makes is that of his shoulders rising slowly. As always, he appears annoyingly unaffected by what I’ve just said to him. His gaze is as hard as ever, impenetrable and distant. For one insane, awful moment, I think I’m actually going to pick up one of Dad’s barely used tools and smash him over the head with it. That would be satisfying, at least, and I’d feel a little relieved for a moment before the remorse kicked in.

  “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” I snap. “Nothing touches you. Nothing reaches you. You’re… you’re…”

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re a void, Alex. A vast, beautiful fucking black hole that sucks everything into it and gives nothing back. Ever. Even the goddamn daylight can’t escape you. A dark cloud follows you wherever you go. It’s impossible to miss. You see everything. You judge everyone. You think you know everything. And, underneath all of that, you feel nothing.”