That is a really frickin' big house was Octavia's first thought upon the car pulling into the long, barely-lit driveway. If you could even call a palace like this a house. It was eight times the size of the rundown two-bedroom ranch her family had briefly lived in when she was seven, and ten times larger than the barely-affordable apartment her brother and she had been calling home. Well, it had been home up until last week when she had gotten arrested for using a fake ID at a club (goddamn Jasper and his supposed 'top of the line' forger). So, the fact that she'd spent the last six nights in a juvenile detention cell no bigger than the fancy black car she was sitting in, and now she was going to be staying in this place, well, that was unbelievable.
"Home sweet home," her public defender said from the driver's seat, turning off the engine and shifting to look at her. Octavia snapped her gaze from the villa-style mansion to Jake Griffin's kind face. It was the same expression he had worn when he had sat across from the table in the juvenile detention center visitors' room that morning. Wearing a presumably expensive, sleek black suit and an even sleeker smile, he had told her he could get her charges down to a misdemeanor, meaning a fine and probation instead of jail time. He didn't stop there, though, no. He went through her grades (just above average) and her behavior record (not stellar), but he had smiled upon seeing her SAT scores, telling her that she had potential and how important it was to think about her future. I'm on your side, he had said.
Octavia had scoffed at that, and at his talk of college and big dreams. Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart, she had said. Knowing it won't come true, now, that does. Despite her conviction, she almost winced after saying it, because it would break her brother's heart to hear those words on her lips, not when he had tried so hard the last few years to make Octavia believe they could make it out of Chino. Bellamy still believed, for her, but she had given up that dream years ago, right around the time her mother had started trading sex for favors from her brother's probation officer. It hadn't gotten any better when her mother had died last year, leaving Bell and her to fend for themselves. The dream of rising past their background was best left in her childhood, along with her fairy spells and jungle games.
Jake must have sensed some of that hesitation, though, because he had handed her his card when he dropped her off at the foster home. Her brother's previous record for violent altercations had led the courts to believe he was an unfit guardian for her, even though most of that violence had been done to protect her (her mother's boyfriends were pieces of shit). They wouldn't even let her have Bellamy's new number to call him, something she had very vocally protested as soon as she walked in the door of the home, and up to her bedroom, and through that door when her foster mother had locked it behind her. Granted, Octavia had lobbed two pairs of shoes at the woman's head before the lock-in was enacted, but still, barring her in that tiny dark room, without dinner, was abuse, and nobody did that to Octavia, nobody.
So, she had jimmied open the window, slipped out, and ran for it, her ratty backpack flopping behind her. Finally, she had stopped walking after about an hour and dug out her cell phone, but all of her numbers had been wiped. Frickin' cops. After a moment of panic, Octavia had stuck her hand into her pocket, retrieving the lawyer's business card. Squinting suspiciously at the lines of simple text, Octavia tried to determine if Jake was decent enough to not bring her back to that house of horrors. I'm on your side, he had said. An hour after she had dialed the number, Jake had picked her up at the station, rolling down the window of his swanky car and saying in a wry, friendly tone, You could do worse.
Now, she was here, in Newport Beach, sitting in front of possibly the ritziest house she had ever seen, about to walk right inside. As she reached for the handle of the car door, though, Jake stopped her.
"Give me a minute? I need to talk to my wife, Abby," he said, before exiting the vehicle himself and disappearing through the glass door covered with intricately designed wrought iron.
Almost immediately after, Octavia left the car too, feeling trapped in the small interior, never having liked tight spaces. She sauntered down the perfectly smooth driveway (of course, no cracks or potholes in this neck of the woods), staring at the clear, dark night sky and the rows of just-as-grand houses dotting the hill descending below. At the end of the drive, she pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open (so 2003, but it was all Bellamy could afford), and punched out her brother's old number. Her eyes began to water when she heard the triple dial tone, followed by the mechanical voice saying this number is no longer in service, blah blah blah.
"Damn it," she muttered, rubbing the tears away before they could fall.
"Yeah, service around here sucks," a low voice called out.
Octavia jerked her head up and stared at the very tall, very hot guy standing at the end of the driveway next to hers. He had on dark jeans and a loose white henley, the sleeves pushed halfway up. Under the shirt, Octavia could just barely make out the shadow of a tattoo on his left arm, sharp thick black lines weaving their way upwards, matching the edges peaking out from under his collar. He smiled at her inspection, but he was looking long and hard at her too, so she just smiled back.
"Good to know," she finally replied, stepping a bit closer. "I'm Octavia."
"Lincoln." He stuck out his hand, and Octavia stared at it for a second (because really, who at their age shook hands, but then again, he did look on the older side) before grasping it loosely. It was warm and firm and covered in callouses that brushed against her own rough palm. Her smile grew, and the guy ducked his head after letting go, clearly also amused. "You know the Griffins?" He continued.
"Yeah," Octavia replied vaguely.
"Family?"
Octavia hesitated for barely second. "Yeah." It's not like she'd ever see this guy again, so why not go for the easy, normal answer? "From out east."
"Ah," Lincoln said with a slightly impressed tone. "The wonderkid from D.C. then. Fast-tracked for Georgetown and a career in business law, I hear?"
I wish, Octavia thought bitterly, then let out a snort. "Nah, I'm the one from Baltimore who got herself arrested for repeated counts of underage drinking and can't live with her volatile, violent brother, so they shipped me out here to my rich relatives for rehabilitation."
She solemnly stared down Lincoln for a good minute, who was looking back at her with wide, startled eyes. Given his less-than-encouraging reaction, Octavia knew he wouldn't want to meet the real her. So, she cracked a grin and laughed. "Just kidding. I'm the one from D.C."
Lincoln let out a deep, alluring chuckle, causing Octavia's stomach to flip-flop at the sound. "Well, you certainly have a lawyer's poker face," he added.
"How did you know about me?" Octavia asked, just a bit curious as to how this guy knew Jake and his family.
"My dad and your mom? Best friends. Well, first friends, then they used to date, in high school, then friends again after college."
Octavia merely hummed in response, and Lincoln chuckled under his breath. "Newport Beach: where your past always comes back to haunt you. Or, live next door, in this case."
Throwing a nervous smile at him, Octavia certainly hoped her past would stay away, at least for the next two days. As she opened her mouth to ask him—well, she didn't know what, but she did know she wanted to keep talking to him—a large SUV pulled up, music blasting through the doors with a low, thumping bass.
"That's my ride," Lincoln said, walking to the car with a smile. He let his hand rest on the handle without opening the door, staring at her.
Say something, you idiot, Octavia admonished herself. It's not like you'll see him again, so make a memorable exit. But her usually quick tongue felt think in her mouth, and before she could manage to get it working properly (god what was wrong with her?), Jake called to her from up the driveway. So, she just grinned at him, waved, and threw a 'nice meeting you' over her shoulder as she jogged back up the driveway, happily feeling Lincoln's stare follow her until she rounded the bend in the Griffins' drive. See ya never, mysterious hot guy, Octavia thought with a small laugh as the house came back into view.
Jake was standing on the front steps, holding the door open. "C'mon in, Abby is getting the pool house set up for you, so you'll have your own space for the weekend. Figured that's what you'd prefer."
Octavia studiously ignored the sympathy in Jake's eyes as she walked past him to enter, instead choosing to focus on the lavish interior of the house. It was really insane, the size of the rooms, the amount of furniture, and the expensive look of the décor. Everything coordinated, everything complimented. No vomit-stained couches or faded wallpaper, no grimy hand-me-down rugs, or chipped light fixtures. Amongst the wealth, she soon forgot any resentment towards Jake for his obvious pity of her situation, barely able to take in the information spilling out of his lips about the layout of the house and his family members. The mention of a daughter her age caught her attention briefly, but then Jake pushed open the doors to reveal an obscenely large pool and patio area overlooking the entire valley and the ocean. At that incredible sight, Octavia's mouth literally dropped wide open.
No frickin' way.
"And there's your home for the next few days," Jake added, gesturing towards the cabana to their right, across the pool. Making their way over, Octavia felt her head start to get light, wondering if this was really happening. This can't be real. Maybe you got into a fight with that scary chick (Anya, was that her name?) who glared at you at dinner last night, and she knocked you out and now you're in a coma, because no way this your life. A Blake never got this lucky, even for a weekend.
When they entered the pool house, though, Octavia knew this was all real, simply because of the expression on Abby Griffin's face. Sure, the woman with the thick dirty-blond hair was smiling at her, but it wasn't like Jake's kind, honest one. No, this smile Octavia knew quite well: utterly polite but also damningly fake and more than a tad wary. Probably thinks I'm going to make off with her jewels, Octavia thought as she grimaced an aggressive smile back, her eyes narrowing. Surprisingly, Abby didn't falter, instead took in a deep breath and let her smile slide into something a little more sincere.
"Hello, Octavia! I'm Abby. Welcome to our home. We hope you'll be comfortable here for the weekend."
Abby's voice was sweet but stiff, sounding a little like a hotel concierge. Strangely, it reminded her of Bell whenever child services came to sniff around and make sure that he wasn't screwing up his guardianship. So, she took pity on Abby and said, "Thank you, for letting me stay here. It means a lot."
"There are clean towels in the bathroom, and we'll be in the house if you need anything else." Abby looked around nervously but steadily for another second before nodding at her husband and exiting through one of the doors opposite the very large, very comfortable-looking bed.
"Clarke's already asleep, so you can meet her in the morning. Breakfast is around ten, but we're usually all up and about before then, so come on in and join us whenever you wake up," Jake finished off with another sincere smile as he also headed for the exit. "Sleep tight, kid."
The door clicked closed and Octavia stood motionless in the silent room for a long minute, breathing in the cool air. When she finally flopped down on the bed with a satisfying poof, she moaned at the softness of the comforter and pillows under her. She rolled to her side, yawning at the coziness of the bedding. Not even caring she was still wearing her jeans and grey zip-up, she let her eyes slide shut, grinning at the thought of Bell's disbelieving face when she tells him where she spent the weekend.