Still Light Follows the Same Rules I Do
By: AliLamba
Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRETTYBUTT. Pervs uniiiite.
CHAPTER THREE: cuts the human heart with tears
Claire's food was in front of her. It was sitting there on a porcelain plate, painstakingly prepared by…whateverhernamewas. There was a garnish of something red, orange and green at the corner of her meal. There was a small cup of espresso next to her crystal glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.
And she wouldn't touch any of it.
Claire's pale blue eyes were reflecting too much light, and her father – had he looked up from his own breakfast – would have been able to identify the reflection as tears.
She couldn't think of something good enough to say to him. Swear words came to mind over and over again, but all she could think about was how she felt. She felt like he'd claimed every aspect of her life, and if she even inhaled any part of him she'd be succumbing.
"I hate you."
It came as such a whisper, that Claire was almost surprised it had come out.
Her father cleared his throat with a short cough and flipped to a different page of The Wall Street Journal. He said nothing. There were a few seconds of strained silence. Claire was glaring at his face so hard she almost missed the quick glance he gave to something besides his reading material, before he stood and left the room. Claire had wanted to be the first to go.
She hated feeling so stuck-up, but it was like someone prostrating themselves, the way he gifted her. Giving her fresh-squeezed orange juice as some sort of fucking substitute for saying one word to her.
Her hip vibrated, and with shaking, angry fingers she pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. A text, from him.
Hey, I found your number, so now you'll have to talk to me!
The tone was so fucking optimistic, so fucking innocent, and she hated him all the more. With an angry scream she hurled her phone as hard as she could at the wall. Pieces of broken plastic were still raining to the floor when she walked out the door.
The new girl, Kate…she wasn't sure how she felt about her yet. It would be easy to hate her; the girl was gorgeous, all limbs, length and full, pouty lips. But the girl seemed so lost, so distended from reality. There seemed to be no substance to her at all.
It was better to observe.
And then she'd seen that damn truck. And then she'd sat in that damn truck. Thomas always seemed to be hovering around her consciousness. A therapist would say she was clinging to the fantasy, in all her unwillingness to adapt to her new life. But his name always seemed at the tip of her tongue, and his face was always on the fringes of her thoughts. She felt like she could smell him when she settled into that car seat. It was too much and not enough at the same time.
It seemed like she'd be getting to know the new girl, after all.
Kate slowly slid the small leaf of paper from underneath her third-period textbook.
Each period is composed of eight minutes. There are four periods in each game. Ladies water polo contains four six minute periods, while colored and mixed water polo allows for four ten-minute periods—
Kate groaned and slid the sheet back below her book. Of course the library only had a sixty-year-old guidebook to water polo. Internet, she decided, leaning back in her chair. She wanted to close her eyes, but was too aware of her surroundings, and the fact that Dr. Arzt glared hawkishly around the room each time he finished a page of his speech. He'd already yelled at Kristen for doodling little hearts all over her page, then showed her printing of Mrs. Sayid Jarrah to the whole class. Kate had assumed that must be some kind of pop star.
The defrosted waffle was dangling from her lips as Kate zipped around the house. Her backpack was half-full, and she couldn't shake the feeling she was forgetting something. With one hand she grabbed her thermos from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. Ethics quiz! Shit. She'd spent literally all night reading chapters three to five of her Biology book for a test that was still a week away.
Well, she could probably bullshit half of it, Kate thought as she headed out the door and to her truck. And look over her notes during French or math…
"Kate!"
She craned her neck as her feet ground to a halt. She didn't even know that Sam was home.
But the way he was standing in the doorway made her stop. He was holding his hat like somebody died.
"I uh," he started, then paused to shift his weight. "I…uh… Uh, are you going to be home tonight?"
Kate nodded, her eyebrows knit together. Then her dad's words sunk in. As she prepared to speak, she let the waffle slip from her lips into her waiting hand.
"I have try-outs tonight, so I'll be home a little late."
Sun hadn't offered much of a response when Kate had told her she had to spend the lunch period in the library. Kate was starting to simply accept that she might never be able to read her new friend.
A quick scan of Wikipedia told her three things.
One, she'd never survive a game of water polo.
Two, water polo players had really bulky shoulders.
And three, girls were awful.
Every game started with an examination of player's fingernails? Apparently it was common practice to rip at each other's swimsuits below the water, and try to scratch or dunk your opponents when the ref wasn't looking. They had to implement a fingernail check because people were starting to cut their nails into points. And you wanted to wear a zip-up suit because girls would grab the straps of a normal bathing suit to try and pin you down below the water.
Shit.
Kate's breath was desperate to stay out of her lungs.
Each attempt to reign air back in emphasized how much everything on the inside burned. Her skin was trying to tell her that she wasn't on fire, but freezing, the flesh pebbled with goose bumps and beads of icy water.
Her eyes dismissed all feeling, darting around the pool in front of her to follow the hard, yellow ball. Kate knew first-hand how just hard that ball was, and her thigh throbbed painfully in recalled memory. Her feet were lightly bouncing against the wet, cement floor, desperate to be kicking at the water again even though every muscle felt limp.
A whistle called, its sharp bleat making her jump.
"Austen, in!"
Without thinking she threw herself into the water. She had fifteen seconds to grab the ball and make a shot at Kristen. Shannon was grinning at her tauntingly, the ball right in front of her nose.
You weren't allowed to grab the ball with more than one hand, unless you were the goalie. If you wanted to move the ball you could either try to swim with it in one hand, or push it along in front of you, trying to use your cycling arms and streamline to keep the other girls away. It had looked easy enough, until number 12 put her knee on Claire's back, and then swiped the ball from out of her reach while Claire was choking on water.
Shannon was still grinning at Kate when she picked up the ball in one hand, swiveling it back and forth behind her head while she got the best grip. Kate found space right in front of her, presenting a challenge as she treaded water, arms just below the surface in case she had to lunge upwards.
"Eight seconds," Shannon grunted, and she pulled her hand back the infinitesimal amount that let Kate know exactly what she was about to do.
She wasn't sure where she got the power, but Kate pushed herself out of the water. She could feel fresh air all along her spine. Her arm thrust upwards, in the general direction of the ball's trajectory.
Her fingertips brushed the hard rubber, right before she felt gravity pulling her back down.
She'd tipped it up into the air, and it was now floating somewhere above their heads. Kate tried to swivel and see where it was going, but all she could see was white water.
The whistle bleated again, and when things settled, Kate could see Kristen holding the ball. She looked around to see if anyone was looking at her, but they were all looking towards the edge of the pool.
She was still getting used to seeing him. At the end of the first week she was accustomed to the influx of attractive professionals at the school, especially after passing Assistant Dean Keamy in the halls a few days ago. Seeing Mr. Shephard and Mr. Silverman had been unnerving, but she was lucky enough to find the latter a little skeezy, while the former had her so busy trying to keep up with his lesson plan that she didn't have time to really…examine.
And now it was the second week. So when Jack Shephard walked towards the pool still wearing his dress shirt and slacks, with a whistle dangling from his lips, she didn't have to give him much thought.
She could see now that try-outs were over, that there were flecks of wetness on his clothes, from little sprays of water. It made the white fabric of his shirt stick to his chest in tiny spots.
"If you're in the pool," he started, addressing the group without looking at them, "then you made the team. Congratulations."
If she expected him to stick around after, giving instructions or advice, she was mistaken.
Kate let the water in her mouth spill out into the pool. For some reason she wasn't that excited to have made it. She glanced, a little self-consciously, at the row of girls sitting on the bleachers who would now be the secondary team. There was one, looking pissed, with a sleek black swimsuit, and some sort of mesh brace on her elbows. Kate had been pretty sure that girl was going to make it. The girl looked pissed.
In the water were all the girls she'd known from lunchtime, plus a small looking freshman and a few others. A look at the headgear the freshman wore over her swim cap let Kate know the little one was number 12.
Kate grinned and laughed softly, a little impressed. She'd seen Number 12 nearly dunk Sun completely underwater.
"Okay bitches."
Kate looked towards the voice, her neck jerking under the impression she was done for the day. Shannon was standing at the end of the pool, water cascading down her form.
"Laps. Now."
At first, she wasn't sure what to do, especially when there was a massive groan from most of the heads floating around the pool. But reluctantly, they all started into a slow crawl stroke, heading towards the opposite end of the pool from their presumed captain.
Kate was sort of glad for the practice. She felt exhausted, sure, and as her limbs started into the familiar movements, she felt all her muscles burn uncomfortably.
If she was honest with herself, she was surprised.
Surprised wasn't the right word. She felt bewildered.
The first time she had gotten into the water, immediately frozen with shock at how cold it was—she'd been steamrolled. Literally, a girl had swam directly over her, pushing Kate's head underwater. Most of it had gone up her nose. Over the next ten minutes spent in the pool, Kate had felt firsthand how little of an exaggeration Shannon had offered when she'd explained the sport.
She thought she touched the ball once. And then she was called out, and then back in, and then back out again. They were playing a mock-version of a game Kate didn't know how to play. She just tried to stay afloat.
One by one her new teammates left the pool, but Kate kept swimming. And instead of getting slower, her arms started to pump faster. Her feet, once feeling like they were moving through sand, were now pushing through oil, and she remembers the way the side of her palm should cut through the water, and then scoop it back. Her body is a well-built machine. The strokes are routine, satisfaction gleaned from perfect execution.
What are you doing.
Kate stops mid-stroke. Her head breaks the surface of the water, and panting heavily, she scans the surrounding area.
No one's there.
There's a window in the back, and through it she can see how dark the sky has become, in contrast to how light it was after seventh period.
Slowly, Kate swims to the edge of the pool and hoists herself out. Water is sliding down her body, and it flicks all over the floor when she reaches up to rip off her cap. Her hair is now damp in certain areas, but surprisingly dry. She had forgotten about how strange that felt. Her towel is on the bleachers, and she uses it to smother her face for a moment. Her body is exhausted. Already her muscles are starting to twitch with too much exerted effort. She's about to dab the rest of her skin dry, but instead she decides to take a shower before she goes home.
Her feet are touching that cold, clammy concrete…when it happens.
There's suddenly a body up against her.
It's not a crash, and the contact isn't rough, but instead it's infused with the shared knowledge that both parties realized what was going to happen a split moment before it did, and their limbs and pieces slid into place.
His (his?) big hands grab her upper arms to steady them both, and her left foot falters when it gives out and she lurches awkwardly. Her skin is wet and his is warm, and when they touch it feels uncomfortable and wonderful.
Kate was afraid to look up. A part of her mind had already concluded who it would be. So instead she bit her lip and screwed her eyes shut, in part against the impact, and in part because there was barely so much as saran wrap between her chest…and the chest of Jack Shephard.
She'd had male coaches before. Usually kids who had graduated only a year or two before the girls they were coaching, who had been surprised that taking one or two classes at the local community college could take up so little time. Being so close in age guaranteed that they'd likely dated or at least fucked a few of the girls, or at the very least seen them drunk and naked in some absentee-parent's basement or kidney-shaped swimming pool. The boundaries between high school student and high school graduate – between student and coach – ran very thin. Kate had never stuck around long enough to be counted among the incest.
But now she was closer than she'd ever wanted to be. Everything was taking too long. The breaths of air tickling the top of her head, the twitches of his fingers as they gripped her arms. The shallow rises of his chest that brushed against her nipples. His thighs sliding against hers.
Kate's eyes widened slowly. For a half second she felt terrified.
Instinct made her leap a half-step backwards at the same time that Mr. Shephard pushed her away.
And what was that look on his face? After a faltering moment of indecision, Jack Shephard raised his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed slowly, his brow furrowed. She saw now that he was in tight, black, swimming shorts – the kind of speedo that ran down to mid-thigh. She was trying desperately to remind herself not to look, that she'd seen guy's junk exposed like that a million times before, but her eyes still caught a glimpse. And it was like someone poured ice water down her spine, the weird mix of feeling that erupted from that brief glance.
She saw Jack realize where she'd looked and suffer embarrassment, and adjust the towel he was holding to the middle of his body, so it hung down his center.
Kate's cheeks felt like they burned. She suddenly knew how tight her suit was. She knew how big her breasts were, and that she'd maintained her bikini line.
Her blood was dancing in her veins.
Ashamed, embarrassed, and no longer feeling anything like exhaustion, Kate didn't know where to settle. Her weight kept shifting, her gaze darting everywhere. Out of the corner of her eye she kept seeing Jack, trying to stare in one direct heated gaze at a spot on the floor. It was kind of hard to tell, but his hand was shaking where it was rubbing the back of his neck.
It had barely been five seconds, and Kate's body was just barely starting to align.
"I uh," Jack started. "I thought everyone had left."
Kate froze, her eyes catching something she only half-understood. Was he…blushing?
"Were you uh," he started again. "Were you going somewhere?"
Kate started herself. "Oh. Yeah." Her voice was warbling. She half-shrugged, apologetically, and explained. "Showers."
Jack closed his lips over his teeth, and gave her a look that said "Right, got it. …Well? Go on then." Her treacherous mind added:
"Freak."
Her feet took an awkward lurch, before the rest of her body caught up with her. She couldn't think where to look, what to do. Her limbs were shaking unapologetically now, and she questioned whether she could stand up long enough to shower. She threw herself into one anyway, turning the heat up as high as she could stand. It at least muddied the heat beneath her skin.
It was a dizzy sort of daze that got her out of the suit and into some clothes. She would have to find a way to afford a new one, now, as her five-year-old suit still had those hazardous straps she'd read about.
…She hadn't meant to. But she did.
Backpack dangling in one hand, hair still damp around her shoulders… Kate's feet took her to the locker room's back door.
It was amazing, how fast he could swim. Kate couldn't help but be in awe for a moment. Jack was sprinting from one end of the pool to the other in a surge of white water, thrashing the tranquility rather than working within it. The effect was intimidating and marvelous.
She wasn't sure how many laps she saw him swim, but she knew it had been fewer than four. But as fast as he was swimming he stopped, at the far end of the pool. His hands just stretched out of the water and found placement on the pool's edge, hoisting his shoulders out of the churning waves. Kate could see the muscles in his back all working together to heave his breath in and out of his lungs.
She couldn't much help that her eyes wandered over the entire expanse. Or that her lips sagged open in her distraction.
It was like Jack heard them part. His head turned in profile, to angle his glance backwards. Kate nearly jumped, and in less than thirty seconds she was half-way to her car.
She forced her mind to think about anything else on the way home. Really. Anything else.
By the time she was pulling her truck into the driveway, she could say that it had almost worked. It took until she was pulling her backpack off the passenger's seat to think to check her cell phone, and find the text from Claire saying she'd ridden home with Shannon and c u 2mrw.
But she had totally forgotten that Sam would be waiting for her.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, a few boxes of take-out littered around some official-looking papers with the American seal on them. When Kate walked in, looking confused, Sam took off his glasses and gestured to the extra seat at the table.
"I got Chinese. I uh, I hope that's okay—"
"Yeah dad," Kate sighed, sliding off her backpack and taking the seat, using her momentum to grab the closest carton. She'd gratefully inhaled a few mouthfuls of noodles before she remembered Sam wanted to talk to her about something.
"Didn't you—" Kate coughed on a noodle, so she took a moment to carefully chew and swallow. "Didn't you want to talk to me about something?"
She really looked at him now, and when her eyes looked up she saw her dad quietly smiling at her. It was that warm, reserved look she could count only seeing a handful of times before. His eyes were lost in memory, making her think he wasn't even aware of the curve in his lips.
Kate felt suddenly self-conscious, and it didn't take too much effort to put aside her dinner. Sam blinked, and his eyes opened wider. When he didn't say something, his mind obviously still working on something else, Kate gave an annoyed half-shrug and looked around the room. "Dad?" she asked.
"What? Oh—" He shook the memory out of his consciousness. "Oh. Forget about it." Whatever had just passed between them was obviously confusing them both. Sam stood up, and offered little explanation with his stilted movements. "I'll uh…I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Kate was eating the cold leftovers the next day at lunch.
Shannon was telling her exactly how gross she thought it was, by the wrinkling of her nose. Kate tried not to enjoy the food.
"Okay," the blonde finally said, tearing her gaze away from the offending box. "Okay," she said again, this time with mounting excitement. "Tomorrow night, after practice. My parent's place."
Sun groaned and rolled her eyes. "Don't you remember last time?"
Shannon shot her a dirty glance. "Yes," she spat. "But this time it will be different." Her shoulders rose a little, as she took on the air of extreme importance. "My brother's in town." Her lips were tight over her teeth.
Marie and Jess shared a silent, giddy glance. "You think he'll buy for us?" one of them said.
Shannon didn't have to respond; she just let her grin settle.
"Fuck…" Sun hissed.
"And." All eyes turned to Shannon. "They're coming."
Excited murmurs traveled amongst the group. Jaws were dropping as the girls affirmed I know! to each other with animated glances.
Kate didn't want to break the enthusiasm with her questions, which Sun was astute enough to notice.
"The St. Ignatius boys," she explained. "The also have a water polo team, and the guys happen to be ridiculously hot."
Oh. Kate's eyebrows contorted as she looked into her box of Chinese broccoli and snow peas. She should have expected this at some point. She should probably feign excitement for her new friends' sake. But she couldn't feel more blasé about it. She realized she should be curious about who her friends were dating, or fucking, or were done dating or fucking. She let herself sigh internally. Here we go again…
Kate's nose wrinkled. She hated clichés.
The music was too loud. There were too many new faces. She had too many things on her mind.
Kate's head was swimming. It could've been from the cheap beer she'd been pounding. Or the shots of vodka that had come from a plastic gallon jug. Or the ridiculously expensive scotch they'd been mixing with cola.
She wanted to vomit. That felt like the only release. Stumbling through the hallways, Kate tried every knob until she found something that opened. Everything was too dark. She couldn't see where she was. There was a bed. Someone was in it. Kate backed into the hall, and tripped over her own feet.
The carpet felt nice. She rubbed her cheek into it, as her eyes drifted shut.
That was a mistake. Instead of the world spinning, her insides did.
Feeling the nausea claw up her throat, Kate threw herself into motion. Her shoulders lifted her like Frankenstein's monster, and she barged through the next door she saw.
It was a bathroom, but there was already a girl over the toilet.
So she emptied her stomach into the sink.
Kate's eyes woke up before her eyelids did. Everything beneath her skin felt like wet cement. Her throat released a muted groan. Ugh. She felt terrible. Her fingers twitched, and she felt carpet beneath her. She let her hand explore it, tracing through the fibers until she touched a cool, hard surface. Her eyes blinked open, and she realized she was in a bathroom. The lights overhead were still on – was time was it? Kate tilted her head to look above her, away from the door. There was a pair of bare feet in front of her. Kate craned her neck and leaned up.
It was Claire, curled around the base of the toilet. There was a towel serving as her blanket, and something (ugh) leftover on her cheek. Kate blinked, and shook her head to clear it. There was bile in the back of her throat, and her stomach was still churning. Oh God.
Resisting the urge to vomit and knowing there was nothing else to vomit up, Kate found a guest towel and doused it with water. She slid around Claire and lifted her head up, cleaning off her face so the girl wouldn't wake up as miserable as she could have. The cold water woke her, and suddenly Kate was looking into that pair of large, blue eyes.
"Don't hurl," Kate joked.
Claire blinked dazedly. "Where am I?" she whispered. Kate sighed and looked around.
"Well. Bathroom, for starts. I'm willing to bet we're still at Shannon's, although I guess I wouldn't be surprised if we weren't." She accompanied her resignation with an appropriate eye-roll.
Claire started to sit up. "What time is it," she muttered, reaching up her hand to flush the pain away.
Kate shrugged and sighed again. "Dunno."
They both seemed to have the same idea, as they got up in unison and walked out into the hall, turning off the lights behind them. Kate found a crushed cigarette in her pocket, while Claire found gum in her black, tangled hair. For some reason it made Claire laugh.
They discovered together the passed-out bodies of Sun, Jess, and Marie, as well as a good-bye note from Kristen dated 8:15am and that the sun was well above the skyline. Claire started coffee while Kate started to wake their friends. Clutched between Jess and Marie's clenched hands was a pair of men's boxer briefs.
When Jess woke up first she began her day by snatching them back, and then dazedly wondering what they were. She kept them anyway.
Slowly the group amassed in the living room, mostly hunched over the stirring acids in their stomachs. They tried to calm these with massive chugs of water and sips of hot imported coffee, as their conversation turned amiable about the night previous. Kate mostly stayed out of the conversation, focusing instead on the wincing pain of her weakened body.
"Morning, bitches."
Shannon sauntered into the room wearing an open robe over her black bra and boy's boxer shorts. She got herself a cup of coffee over her friend's collective cat calls, then settled onto an ottoman.
"Okay," Sun finally said, quieting Jess and Marie. "That's enough. Who was it."
"No fucking idea," Shannon said proudly, dragging her front teeth over her lower lip with each enunciated syllable. "I went to bed, remember? And the lights were fucking off, and then this hot piece of ass comes waltzing into my room at three in the fucking morning." Her friend's eyes were collectively shaped like saucers.
"It was fucking hot."
Shannon said the world fucking like she wasn't entirely comfortable with the word. It came out with two distinct syllables: fuh and keeng. Kate was a little too absorbed by this observation, and couldn't hear her name being mentioned at first.
Sun was glancing at her over the hot cup of tea she had under her nose. Her eyes were veiled, but distinctly amused.
"Well, Kate?" Marie's voice dragged Kate's eyes away.
"Well what?"
Sun smirked, and took a long sip from her cup.
"Well—" Marie started again. "What did you and Sawyer do on the balcony last night?" Jess's eyes were gleaming like a starved animal's.
Kate felt like someone had shoved a brick wall into the side of her face. What? She instantly started wracking her brain, first for any one who might be called Sawyer and second for any knowledge of a balcony. She remembered carpet, she remembered Claire, and she remembered the cigarette in her pocket.
"Uh…" Kate fumbled, quailing under five sets of expectant glares. "We uh…smoked?"
Jess laughed, releasing her pent-up enthusiasm. "That's it?" she accused.
Kate put on the face of having no idea.
Now Shannon laughed. "Ohmygod!" she said, like it was all one word. "Ohmygod – you honestly don't remember?"
Kate shook her head and shrugged one shoulder.
"Sawyer," she blurted, like the word itself would jog Kate's memory. When Kate still looked confused, Shannon stared incredulously at the rest of the girls in the room. No one could believe it. Kate's increasingly-shy gaze traveled between the faces, seeing no one look back. Until she touched eyes with Claire, who was looking bored and disinterested.
"He's hot," she explained. "And he rarely shows enthusiasm for girls. He was all over you last night."
"Well," Jess tempered, "I mean, he has enthusiasm…he just doesn't, you know, apply himself. You were playing seriously hard to get last night, Kate."
Kate wished they would change the subject. When the other girls realized she wasn't going to participate in their gossip, the conversation drifted awkwardly into silence.
"You know what…" Shannon's drawl came out more like a purr, and Kate's attention was drawn at the same time her suspicion was raised. She briefly looked to Claire for guidance, but the girl was staring out the window.
"I think we could tell her."
There was a gleam in Shannon's eyes that frightened her. She felt apprehension rule her fingers as she clumsily put her coffee on the side table. "Tell me what," she tried, having to clear her throat first.
Sun's expression was the least fanatical. She was staring at Shannon as coolly as possible, some internal discussion going on inside her head. Eventually she shrugged. "If you're sure."
A grin exposed each one of Shannon's teeth. "Okay, Kate."
There was a little ball of nerves at the base of Kate's throat, hovering right beside her heart.
"So…it's not so much a coincidence that we're all friends. We were all sort of…recruited."
Kate used the pause in Shannon's speech to pivot her head, seeing the faces of the rest of the girls (including Claire) now looking at the one speaking. Shannon pulled the belt of her robe into her hands, stretching the piece of fabric as she glided one hand to the tip.
"Recruited for…water polo, you mean?" Kate's voice was a little strained.
Shannon shook her head. "You could say that's sort of a side effect. But no. We were all recruited, because we're all Teacher's Pets."
Kate felt the laugh erupting from her throat before she could register it would be inappropriate to release it. What resulted was a sort of half-choke, half-cough, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She paused to take a sip of her cooling coffee.
"Excuse me?"
She could tell Shannon was a little perturbed. This was obviously not the sort of reaction she was used to. "Teacher's Pets," she reiterated, and again Kate tried not to laugh. "Meaning each of us has slept with a member of faculty."
All enthusiasm died in Kate's throat. Oh God no. Kate looked around the room again, now with a completely different set of eyes. They couldn't be serious.
…No way.
This was worse than what she had been expecting. So much worse. Before all the girls she'd met were engaged in debauchery, sure, but they'd all had limits. For some reason elicit drugs and alcohol suddenly felt like less of a crime, felt almost tame. This was…this was sick.
Sun? Who had Sun slept with! And Jess, Marie—Kristen…Claire?
Kate swung her gaze towards the Australian, whose face she'd cleaned half an hour ago.
Claire's face was passive and cold. The other girls were exhibiting some sense of merriment and recalled pleasure. They all seemed eager to tell their story, and Kate wanted desperately to stop them. She didn't need to hear it.
"I uh—" Clumsily she rose to her feet. "I have to go."
The drive home had never taken so much time. Whether it was pulling to the side of the road to dry heave behind a dumpster, or being so consumed with thought that she missed her turns completely, it was nearly four in the afternoon by the time Kate pulled up to the house she shared with her dad.
If she was honest she could admit that two days ago she wouldn't feel such disgust. That two days ago the idea of such crossed boundaries would be distant, foreign and remote to her, easily encapsulated by over-active fantasy. But after what she'd experienced with Jack by the pool she felt herself infected with the same sickness, because she could at least have the maturity to identify one of the strains of thought that crossed through her mind when their limbs were tangled and they were so mostly nude. She would be in a convent to be blind to what sort of feelings that situation would stir up. Her body had instigated an impulse then purely motivated by teenage hormones, and Kate had been trying to swallow the bitter pill of it for more than two days.
God she felt rancid. Her skin was clammy, her mind disoriented and fuzzy, and the tangled steps she took to the front door felt sure to be noticed.
Sam was sitting in the living room. Or he had been, right before Kate opened the front door. The strength of his standing posture told her he'd just jumped upright, and the rocking chair behind him told her from where he'd come from. There was an unopened newspaper by his heel. So he'd been there all day.
"Where were you," he blurted, his voice trying to hide the timid note that escaped. It was identifying that note which motivated Kate to lie.
"Sleepover, with the girls from my team. We uh," she offered a tight grin. "We watched romcoms from the eighties until three in the morning."
Something in Sam's gaze weakened, as if he were only too relieved to believe her. There was something of a strained pause, as Kate internally wondered if there was something else to be said before she could escape to her room and collapse.
Sam must've seen her looking towards the stairs, because he cleared his throat authoritatively. "Uh," he started, trying too hard. "Uh, sit down Katie."
Kate frowned. This was a routine she knew too well to be surprised. But it was coming a little soon.
When Kate had taken the far seat on the couch, Sam sat back into the chair behind him. He fumbled for another few second, nudging the newspaper on the floor with the toe of his boot while he looked for the right words.
"I uh—" he tried, "I…well…you should know, Katie, that I've been transferred again."
Nothing changed in Kate's emotions. It was as much as she expected. "Oh yeah?" she said, her voice a little hoarse. "When do we leave?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about."
Confusion clouded Kate's mind.
"I—I promised you something, when we came to San Francisco." He tried to look at her earnestly, trying to make her understand. "I promised that I wouldn't move you again." His expression melted a little. "God, Katie, I've lost track of how many transcripts you've got locked away in your desk—"
"Sixteen." She blurted the word unintentionally, and she dragged her gaze from the floor to her dad's face to apologize and ask him to continue.
"Sixteen," he affirmed. "And…and Katie, I just—I've just got to keep my promise. I have to."
"But we're leaving," Kate countered, not sure if her nausea was now motivated by apprehension or last night.
"No," Sam sighed, and his gaze was tenderly patronizing. "We're not."
Kate's head was reeling. She didn't understand, and all she wanted was to just lie down and sleep for the rest of her life. She wanted to just tell everything in her life to shut the fuck up and slow down for just one fucking minute…
"Because you're staying with your mom."
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