Over the Fence Box Set

by Carrie Aarons

  “CHLOE!” I knock louder, not caring that about fifty girls are probably sleeping soundly at this hour. “CHLOE!”

  A window screeches open from above, and a girly voice yells out, “Get out of here, you creep! Before I call the cops!”

  “Where’s Chloe?” I scream up into the dark night. I’ve probably just about woken the whole house up.

  The front door wrenches open violently, and there stands Chloe, in her fuzzy pink robe and slippers. Her face is so flushed it almost matches her robe.

  “What do you want, Miles?” I look closer at her when the porch light flicks on, and I can see the red, raw circles around her eyes. She’s been crying.

  “I wanted to, uh … I’m sorry, baby.” The nickname just pops out of my mouth, surprising me and making her flush another shade of red.

  “Baby? Give me a break, Farris. You made it clear I am absolutely nothing to you. Go home.”

  She calls me by my nickname, instead of my real name. Like it isn’t even worth addressing me. I can feel myself starting to break. “Please, just let me explain …”

  I feel the hot tears popping out of my corneas, and I am too high to stop them. Chloe looks alarmed at how emotional I’m getting.

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk?”

  “This is what you wanted right? For me to get emotional. Well, here I am. I’m a fucking mess, Chloe. My life is a fucking mess. But you, you make me feel like something could actually be okay.”

  Her features fill with pity. “Miles, I’m sorry that your life isn’t what you want it to be right now. But only you have the power to change that. And I can’t wait around, being your punching bag, until you figure it out. I’ll see you at practices, and we can even be friendly when we see each other out. But this”—she points back and forth between us—“whatever this was, it’s over now. Minka’s right, I deserve to be treated better. All of these years, I thought you were this amazing, unattainable guy. I didn’t realize that maybe it was because you are such a mean person. I’m one to talk, being the doormat for everyone else to lay on, but I’m standing up this time.”

  She blows out a breath, and I swear it hits me straight in the chest and almost bowls me over. “Go home, Farris. And try and do so safely.”

  She backs up quietly, turning to find the door handle and closes herself into the dark, silent mansion.

  I stumbled backward down the steps, the high I was working with quickly fading. My skin feels prickly and uncomfortable, like Chloe has just stuck me with a thousand needles that were still lodged deep into my skin.

  Somehow, about twenty minutes later, I let myself into our ramshackle house, tripping down the hallway and landing face first on my bed.

  As I lie there, fully clothed and drifting off into a restless sleep, one thought passes through my mind.

  I have to fix this. All of it.

  17

  Chloe

  Rushing through the blustery wind whipping through the campus quad, I shield my face from the unexpectedly chilly November air. Apparently, Mother Nature detected Thanksgiving Break is only a week away, and she decided to put an even bigger damper on the last week of classes. As if they aren’t going slow enough, now it’s unbearable to walk outside to your next class.

  Not that I am complaining about class. I’m excited for all the new courses I’ll be taking next semester. Even my Pas de Deux class, where we’ll be dancing with partners. I’ve nearly overcome my fear, and I’m not bitter that Miles is the reason.

  I really don’t have any bitterness toward Miles. I have sadness, sympathy, and heartbreak … but not bitterness. Not anger. I can’t give in to those emotions, because as I’ve learned all too well from Minka’s experiences, they make you hollow. It makes you linger in that negative space, and I am all about the positive. So, I had my good four days of crying, and then I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and got on with life.

  I spent eleven years trying to win Miles over, and only after I sort of had, did I realize just how much I don’t want what he has to offer me. The past few weeks have been strained, but not horrible, when we were forced to see each other. I went to our Saturday rehearsals with choreography already mapped out, racing through to have him learn the steps and perform it together so that we’d spend as little time as possible together. Dancing With the Greeks performances were easy, I have the natural ballet theatrics down pat, and can pull my acting hat out at the drop of a dime. We’ve even made it all the way through to the finals tomorrow night.

  I pull my scarf tighter across my mouth and nose, trying to shield them from being frozen off in this wind. I run for my life, grabbing the doors of Grover Grub and catapult myself in like a hitman is chasing me. Spotting Owen and Minka at a table across the café, I scurry toward them.

  “Come on, Minks, just at least say you’ll think about it!” Owen’s stroking his girlfriend’s curly tresses as he whines at her.

  “Owen! I am a freshman. Just adjusting to this college life. Not to mention my dad would blow your balls off with his Glock.”

  “Did you seriously just say Glock?” He smiles, that devastating, I-know-Minka-will-give-in smile.

  “What’re you guys talking about?” I interrupt as I throw my bag into a chair across from them, unbuttoning my olive-green fall jacket. They would be sitting on the same side of the table. Hopelessly in-love

  “I want Minka to move in with me, and she’s being stubborn.” Owen says this as if it’s totally normal for his freshman girlfriend to leave her dorm and get an apartment with him.

  “Um … I don’t know, Axel. I think she may have a point.”

  “Oh, come on, bucs. Anyway, she hates everyone, except for us, of course. Get her to move in with me!”

  He has a point. Minka can’t stand most people, her roommate included. The girl has sexiled her too many times for Minka’s liking. So the last time, she waltzed right in and poured a cup of water all over her bunkmate and the not-so-lucky guy. I smile just thinking about it.

  “It’s up to her, but it might work. Only if you don’t annoy her too much though, Owen. Our girl can be prickly.”

  “Um, hello? Assholes. I am right here.” Minka folds her arms and scowls. Owen wraps her in his big arms and plants kisses all over her face. My life is sad. “I’ll think about it, though.”

  “Yes!” Owen gives a victory pump in the air and then speaks to someone behind me. “Hey, Bryant, what’s up?”

  I turn in my chair to see Steven hovering over our table, his big, wiry body jammed into the space due to the lunchtime crowd.

  “Hey, guys. Hi, Chlo. How was your day?”

  I smile up at his handsome face, his thick chestnut hair cropped high and tight in a fade. His brown eyes twinkle down at me, the dimple in his jaw widening when he smiles.

  “It was okay, too cold for me though! How was yours?” I ask politely.

  Steven is nice, easy. We’ve been on three dates in the past two and a half weeks. He’s taken me to the movies, bowling, and then just out to dinner. And they’ve gone well. As well as dates can go. As well as dates can go when you feel absolutely nothing for the guy. Steven is great, polite, sexy, and only hinted once or twice at how bad he wants to get physical with me. But, for some reason, I just can’t do it. Every time I went in for a kiss, I was picturing his eyes. One green, one blue.

  “It was great. So listen, I thought maybe I could take you out this weekend, before we leave?”

  I should say no. Because I already know I’m not interested in him. But this is part of moving on. Meeting different guys, experiencing different things. I need to keep driving forward. I needed to forget Miles Farriston ever caught my eye.

  “Sure. That sounds great. Why don’t I text you about what we could do?”

  “Sounds great, Chlo! All right, I’ll talk to you.” With that, he turns and strides away from the table with a beaming smile on his face.

  “He sure looks happy.” Owen rolls his eyes and grunts when Minka elbows
him in the ribs. “What? I just know she’s not interested.”

  “Let her do what she wants.” Minka’s tone could cut diamonds. They’ve clearly argued about this before.

  “Whatever. Bucs, would you be willing to do me a favor?” Minks elbows him again, causing him to tickle her mercilessly until she hits him hard in the stomach.

  “I told you not to ask her!”

  “Well, he needs help! So shush!” Turning back to me, Owen smiles. “Anyway, I don’t know if you know, but Miles is undergoing some … life changes. And he needs to find some work, especially over winter break. He needs to work his ass off. And since he’s never had a job, well, not many people are going to hire a Farriston to wait tables at their restaurant in Mitchum. Which is why I thought maybe you’d put in a word at your family’s place?”

  Owen looks like a hopeful puppy, and I know now why Minka can’t usually say no to him. Miles is making life changes? What does that mean? And why does he need money? Of course, I won’t let myself ask these questions, I don’t care.

  “Why can’t he just work for his family or something?” Whoops.

  “That’s … not a possibility right now. If he wants to tell you what’s going on, then that’s up to him. But right now, he needs a job. I thought maybe you’d be able to help him.”

  “And why would I help him?” Tamp down on the bitterness, Chloe. Don’t let it swallow you.

  “Because you’re the nicest person I know, and it’s the right thing to do.” Owen smiles, and just like that, I feel horrible for even arguing with him in the first place.

  “Okay … I’ll mention it to my papa next week. But I can’t guarantee anything, they usually have a rigorous process for choosing their waitstaff.”

  “Thank you.” Owen nods, and Minka looks at me with such appreciation in her eyes. “And Chloe … don’t give up on him just yet.”

  18

  Miles

  Sitting in the car, I feel dejected. Again.

  I just left the swanky pet grooming store near Grover’s campus, and I know by the look in the owner’s eyes that I am definitely not getting the job. I don’t have anything besides a bunch of baseball awards on my résumé. Who the hell would hire me?

  I rest my head against the back of the seat in my truck, thankful that it has been paid off and my father couldn’t care less about this car. Over the past month, it’s like a hurricane has waged wreckage through my life and then ran back over it again just to make sure there were no survivors.

  But it’s weird, I feel better than I have in years.

  I started at the obvious place … by telling my father to fuck off. I would rather rake hot fucking coals all over my body than work for him. I started rationally in the conversation, trying to explain to him my dream of becoming the best hitter major league baseball has ever seen. He hadn’t taken it well.

  In his usual brusque manner, he railroaded me, dismissing my dreams as a “child’s silly fantasy.” I lost it then. I told him I was done, I wasn’t working for the family business, and he could do with that information what he wanted. The last words I had ever heard from my father, because I really don’t plan on ever talking to him again, were, “Your brother was a greater man than you’ll ever be.”

  I agree wholeheartedly. But I am going to live the rest of my life trying as hard as I fucking can to be as close to my brother’s greatness as I could. In my own way.

  The second thing I did was go talk to Coach. We haven’t been especially close up to this point, with my aversion to authority and all that. But I went in, tucked my tail between my legs, and told him the entire sordid story. If there were anyone who has the heart to help me out and steer me on a straight path, it’s him. A former Army vet who came home and got into teaching, and then coaching, Coach Larry Kent is a hard-ass with a mushy center. He’ll hand you your ass out on the field and then drive you home and make sure you lock the door before he left. He’s a genuinely good guy. And I need that kind of figure in my life right now.

  After I spit out the entire story to him, getting teary on the parts about Jay, he got up, slapped me on the back, and said, “Son, thank you for coming in. I am going to do everything in my power to keep you here, at this school and on this team.”

  So that took care of tuition and my spot on the team. Hopefully. Coach still needed to come through with it, but I’m not too worried. I know we have scholarship kids on the team, and there is no way Grover is letting its best hitter walk off the field.

  After him, my next stop was the Kappa house. I walked in, told anyone within earshot that I was quitting the frat, and walked the fuck out. Brett Mullins, the Kappa president, came bounding down the steps like a little bitch, screaming about how making me do the dance competition was only a joke, that they love having me as a brother. I kept walking, got in my car, and drove away without another glance. Good riddance. Those fuckers were making my life toxic. I’d actually gone home after that and apologized to my real friends, the guys in my house. They all fist-bumped me and told me they were glad I was done being Satan’s bro.

  But it’s the last task that is proving hard. I need to get a job, start up a savings account for myself. The scholarship would cover tuition, but I need money to live. To buy new uniforms and equipment, put gas in my car. And I need a nest egg just in case my pipe dream of making it to the big leagues doesn’t work out.

  I’ve gone to the bank and set up accounts in my name, something I’ve never actually done. I realized then that I haven’t done a lot of stuff for myself growing up, and that I have no idea how to do it now. Like making meals, paying bills, being responsible in general. Now that I look at it, who was really the spoiled one?

  And that just makes me think of Chloe. I hit the steering wheel with my fist, causing the horn to jump. I haven’t really talked to Chloe since the night she threw me off the Zeta porch. Sure, we’ve danced, but I know that I can’t truly apologize to her until I have something to back it up with.

  I promised myself that I’d change, and then I’ll go after her. I’ve spent too long being an immature piece-of-shit, ignoring the perfect creature that has been right in front of me all along. I’m not going to be that stupid anymore.

  But first, I have to get a job. I’ve been into four places in the past two weeks and haven’t gotten a single call back from any of them. I still have the money I siphoned out of the account my father set up for me, but that is only going to last me until next semester.

  Pulling out of the plaza where the groomers are located, I head over to Campus Center. It’s the final night of Dancing with the Greeks, the night we’ve been working toward since that first horrible rehearsal. I chuckle looking back at how nasty I was. Jesus, I was a fucking dick.

  I pull into the parking lot, which is already filling with eager spectators, and run into the building. We have about an hour warmup, an hour for getting into costume, and then we go on. We’re up last tonight since we’ve pulled the highest overall score throughout the season. As I hurry to our dressing room, my stomach tightens into knots. It’s been doing that every time I’m about to see Chloe for the last month.

  I haven’t told her all of the changes that have been going on. Part of me is nervous she’ll try to involve herself, and I don’t want her in my life until it’s fully set. Another part of me dreads what she’ll say, that she’ll smile politely and tell me it’s great, even though I’ll see the doubt in her eyes. Mostly, she just makes me downright nervous and anxious like I have some middle school crush on her. Fuck, I’m a pansy.

  I whip through the door, and there she is, sitting at her little makeup station, covering her face in some white goo. I actually hate when she puts that heavy stuff on her face. She’s so naturally beautiful, like the stars have kissed her face and left their magic there. I want to tell her to wipe it all off.

  “Um … hi.” And that’s when I realize I’ve been staring at her for a few seconds, maybe minutes too long.

  “Hi. How are you feeling?
” I smile at her, a genuine, true smile. I’m not nervous about tonight, but I know she might be. We are doing a waltz, which is simple enough. But I notice that whenever we do a dance that calls for me holding Chloe in my arms almost the entire time, she freaks a little. I notice the way her breathing shifts when I press into her, manipulating her body with my hands and arms. I feel her nipples stiffen on my chest, the way her face flushes a beautiful pink. It takes everything in me not to pin her up against the studio wall.

  “I’ll be fine.” She turns back to her makeup chest, rooting around in there.

  We’re dancing the Ländler, the Austrian Waltz made famous in The Sound of Music. It was Chloe’s one request, a last hoorah dedicated to her favorite movie. I would never tell her no.

  After we stretch out together and practice a few moves, we split up to don our last outfits of the competition. I brush my palms over the navy blue captain’s uniform, admiring how Von Trapp I am. I would definitely beat the crap out of some Nazi assholes.

  When I get back to our joint dressing room, I stop short, almost tripping over my feet in the doorway.

  The light blue dress runs over her entire body, the delicate lace sleeves running down to her wrists. The material poufs out at her hips, creating an effect that makes her already slim torso look incredibly tiny. Black curls of silk are piled on top of her head, a headband made of pearls holding the entire thing up.

  She doesn’t look like Fraulein Maria. She looks like a real-life Disney princess.

  My heart must be lying on the floor somewhere because I can’t feel it beating. I want to speak, but somehow my voice has failed me. Finally, I choke out a word. “Wow.”