Blue lacquered nails click across a desk surface. "Tinsley, your time is ticking." The silence feels like an eternity as the woman grabs the work phone beside her computer, fingers at the ready on the keypad as she prepares to redial her intern's number again.
Suddenly the glass doors burst open and a frazzled golden head follows in with about three shopping bags dangling from one elbow, a steaming tray of Starbucks coffee in their free hand. The woman leaves her desk with a sigh, helping the weary blonde with the bags. She doesn't even pretend to be sympathetic.
"Can you be any later? This is a very important thing to me and it'd please me if you weren't so late all the time, I'd rather not risk my job because of your screw-ups." She snatches the tray of coffees away. "Is that comprehendible? Do you understand, Miss Hastings?"
Tinsley nods timidly. As much as she hated to be scolded, she'd much rather not lose her job by talking back to her superior especially since she was so close to the fashion world here. She could already envision her picture in Vanity Fair's party pages and receiving awards from Heidi Klum and Sarah Jessica Parker.
This treatment was only temporary. And that was a promise of truth.
"I'm sorry, Poppy," Tinsley apologizes as she tries to catch her breath. "The traffic outside was endless and there was a never-ending line in Starbucks. Honestly, I thought I'd never –"
Poppy narrows her eyes. That look can make anyone quiet. "You should know better." Her blunt glare directs to Tinsley's coat. It was lightweight and since the weather has become less cold, she's begun to dress lighter. "Take your coat off and stay awhile, won't you? The office doesn't carry the same cold feel as it does outside. February is a beautiful month but I'd say the weather isn't." Her venomous voice suggests otherwise.
Tinsley sheds her coat and hangs it in the closet behind her desk. The editor-in-chief of Rogue hasn't been in for a while because of problems overseas with their current centerfold model. Something inane like rumored drug use during her teen years. Her lawyers heavily denied it but the answer was in her starry gaze.
They sat in the silence for a few minutes. Poppy typing furiously, glaring at her computer screen; Tinsley taking calls and asking to take the occasional message or two. They were almost a team together.
When the phone chimes again, Poppy reads the number and races to answer it. She nods along to every word and curses under her breath when the call has ended. "Damn publicists," And she grabs her coffee and swigs it selflessly.
She can't help but be concerned. "Is something wrong?"
Poppy snaps over to her, eyes broad and fierce. "Whatever gave you that idea, Tinsley? I've been spewing rainbows and sunshine all day." She slumps into her desk chair and leans across her keyboard, sighing into her hands. Her voice is muffled but still severe in her misfortune. "It's that publicist's fault, I swear. Mrs. Whitaker is going to kill me."
Something must've gone wrong with the upcoming fashion show. It was scheduled for Valentine's Day and the front row was already filled with celebrities alike. Mrs. Whitaker – the editor-in-chief – would be in attendance, of course. They could easily get seats filled but their lead performer for the runway wasn't someone who cared about a measly fashion show.
It wasn't too hard to connect the dots. "Did … the performer cancel?"
Poppy can only nod her answer.
Tinsley holds her chin and uses the silence to think. She knew plenty of musicians in need of gigs. It wasn't much of an effort to think of them. Flesh-and-blood teens that fought for the spotlight and a cheap paycheck to make ends meet. Rodney's was a sanctuary and she had met many in it.
Who comes to mind is one of her old friends. He was a selfless musician that dressed like a refined punk and hid his heart under coatings of darkness and stony emotions. Dedication was the key and he did more to abuse its power.
"I have someone." Tinsley concludes as Poppy raises her head from her hands, unsure. "His name is Matthew Stradlin and he's more than just some trashy Pete Wentz wannabe. His music is far better than the world and his voice is enough to show you."
Then she's staring into Poppy's depthless gaze and waiting. The clock must've stopped or bust as Poppy sighs as if it's her final choice, wringing her fingers.
"If he's just some cookie-cutter pop star –"
"He is definitely not." Tinsley interrupts icily just as she remembers Poppy is her boss. "I can show you his music now –" She reads the time on the clock and literally flinches. "Later, I mean! Crap! I'm going to be so late for school!"
She grabs her coat and schoolbag hastily before hurrying for the door.
"I'll hold your career to it." is the last thing she hears Poppy say before she has reached the hallways. "Remember that, Miss Hastings."
And Tinsley knows well that she's not lying.
X
Knock knock knock.
"I'm gonna kill him."
Bryn presses an ear to the door of Javier's suite and tries to listen in. She only heard the murmur of a television and imagined it to be white noise. As much as she wanted to scream and bang on the door, she'd rather not be considered a jealous ex-girlfriend or be arrested for disturbing the peace.
Peace was very important to her and she would definitely not watch casually if some psycho exe screamed outside her door.
Javier had called her yesterday and asked her to meet him before school at his place. The tone of his voice was enough to make her say yes. And maybe it was the influence of the hard vodka she drank straight from the bottle. Rock gods are best known for drinking and not controlling their intake. Her icons were more important to her than religion.
The relaxation was much needed since Kenny had his phone off as she rang him about a dozen times. Worry was only a distraction to her life.
Maybe he was hungover or tired from something. He hadn't been texting or calling her since she'd last seen him. If it kept on like this she'd definitely have to step in and confront him. What made her sad was how she got more calls from Javier than she did him.
Her sex drive was beginning to suffer more than her heart. It was terrible. She'd already had another sexual dream about him and he'd been serenading her with Coldplay's 'Paradise.' She had woken up the next morning to realize it was only her iPod rerunning her Rock 2012 playlist. Romance was a failure in her mind's eye.
Knock knock knock. "Tick, tock, Javier,"
No answer.
"Joni Mitchell lived an easier life than this."
She whips out her BlackBerry and texts answer ur goddamn door! and watches it send. Watching paint dry was more entertaining.
"Would you like some help?"
Bryn startles back and against Javier's door. A man, presumably twenty-five, stands before her with his hands tucked in his pants pockets. He wore a clean-cut dress shirt with the first few buttons undone, a blazer held in the crook of his elbow beside a small white box, black leather Ferragamos. Blonde hair that was nearly brown, smooth jawline, hazel eyes that veered close to green. The Spanish baritone wasn't missed on her either.
For once, she's wordless. Not even a nod would leave her. The sex withdrawal must be doing something to her.
The man goes for another question. A smirk crosses his mouth as he gives her a quick onceover. "Is he your novio, sweetheart?"
"Um, no," Bryn chokes to answer despite not knowing what novio means. "We're just friends, dude."
He nods upward and watches the door for a while. "Isn't that how it all starts?"
Bryn arches an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"
Then the support of the door abandons her and she is stumbling back. Someone catches her shoulders and holds her safe. The heat of their fingers is peculiarly rigid and defensive. Their cologne of cigarettes and rich champagne and aftershave is distinguishable anywhere.
"Alec." The greeting is cold. "What do you want?"
Alec exhales slowly but his smirk doesn't diminish. "Just came to deliver a package to you, brother o' mine." Javier leans over her and accepts the white box. "Souvenir from our parents. Mom says Barcelona isn't the same without you and I'd agree but I see you already have your hands full, don't you?"
Javier grits his teeth, eyes narrow in the foyer light. "Goodbye, Alec."
"Enjoy Manhattan, hermanito,"
Alec leaves without further struggle. He bids farewell with a suggestive smile to Bryn and disappears into the maze of hallways with a jump to his step.
Once he's gone, Javier shuts the door and sets the deadbolt. The darkness in his eyes has weakened. "Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
Bryn shakes her head and tucks a free strand of dark hair behind one ear. She had caught onto their family tiff quickly. "I'm pretty sure your brother won't risk that."
"You'd be surprised. Irritating people closest to me has become a sport of his." he says and takes hold of her elbow, strong but not unbearable. "But he doesn't matter. I have something to show you that's much more important than my brother."
She twists away once in distance of the couches but doesn't sit. "Unless it's Dave Navarro or one of the sold-out Lollapalooza tickets, I think I'll be fine."
"Don't be so sure."
Javier saunters off and surveys the mess of schoolbooks and coffee mugs on the kitchen table. He manages with a file that didn't exactly look school-related. Something in red was inked across the front.
She squinted to read it before realizing what it was. "Javier, seriously –"
He hands it to her before she can enquire any further. The Brynna Blackwell file was heavy in her hands. "Don't even finish that. I found this in Elle's room when I was there last –" Bryn rolls her eyes. "I barely even touched it. I'd rather get it to you before Kenneth had a chance with it." He just couldn't bring himself to mention that Kenneth had gotten to it before him. It was too much of a touchy subject at the moment.
"I doubt he'd even care. Don't you think I would've been with him right now?" Her hand skims across the multitude of documents. "I haven't seen him in, like, a decade. It doesn't really matter on either of our sides."
Javier's glare slashes through her like a laser. "He's an idiot for not being around for you."
"You're not the first person to tell me that." There's not even a hesitation. "No wonder you're such good friends with Matt and Steven."
"So it seems my charm doesn't only work on you."
Bryn laughs. The cloudiness of her gaze has melted. "Who says it works on me?"
He smirks again. "You're here, aren't you?"
"I don't see you getting anywhere," She leans back on the couch's armrest and keeps a steady hold around the folder. "Should I call Elle? Maybe she'll satisfy you more than I can."
"Seeing you here will probably just piss her off so I doubt it." The expanse between them no longer feels like anything. It was like that something that should be significant.
Her BlackBerry beeps before she can speak and she jumps for it, flinging it open, reading the screen. "Shit. I gotta go now. See you in school –" She tucks the folder underneath her arm but stares at him for a moment too long. Then she parts the distance between them, goes on her tiptoes, and pecks his cheek – ironically close to his mouth like in Rodney's. Her kiss is a sweet sting. "– and don't let your brother bother you, okay? Learn from me."
Javier's absolutely quiet and her smirk says something about that but she doesn't utter a word. All he hears left of her is the knocking of her boot buckles in the stairwell. It's probably the only thing he's allowed to do in this day.
Being friends is hard.
X
"Look it's my daddy's sanctuary," Matt says with dull smugness, hand held out to the tall structure of St. Jude's. "Isn't it magnificent, Mom?"
"Expanding your vocabulary, I see," Lorena shifts the car into park and watches uniformed schoolboys head into the building. "Would you like to join your fellow peers? I'm sure they'd love for you to trail their footsteps." This was a sarcasm-bathed joke. At her poised eyebrow, Matt laughed, twisting back against the passenger seat.
Throat choked with laughter, green eyes bright. "Half of those assholes hate me. My other friends are already inside or late. It's like death to be outside in this cold."
Lorena raises an eyebrow, head lounged against the armrest. "Is it now?" Her gaze falls to his shirt sleeves pushed to his elbows. Blazer tucked beside his backpack, a band patch stitched to the sleeve. "I'd say you're dressed otherwise."
The days where Nick does see his son in the halls dressed like a gutter punk, she never hears the end of it but there's nothing she could do to control him. It's not like he ever got in serious trouble with the law because that would be the only time she'd need to intervene. Adding Matt's mug shot to the pictures on her desk wasn't exactly a good thought.
"The school is crazy hot," Matt answers, turning toward the school to look for his friends. They could catch a smoke in the bathroom before the bell rang. "and the house is freezing like a meat fridge because of your menopausal self. Nowhere is safe in my world. You'll be watching CNN and I'll be found dead in a ditch because 'I go against the cycle.'"
"Menopausal," Lorena rolls her eyes. "How old you think I am?"
Matt grins. It looks nothing like Nick and she realizes it's not an often thing. "Old enough. I guess you only look the way you do because of work."
"Well compared to many of the other parents, I am pretty young. I've never had cosmetic surgery or that Botox shit or anything. My face is perfectly real compared to that old-ass Guns N' Roses frontman." she admits with both eyebrows raised craftily. "Top that, Little M,"
Her son cringes dramatically. "The dreads and liposuction did Axl bad."
"Hard to imagine he was once a sexy serpentine, huh?" Somehow that made her think of Nick and how handsome he was when they were younger. Endless paychecks and the best compliments from his partners made him too arrogant, self-centered. She missed the man that would avoid fistfights and had only risked arrest once when one of his friends made her cry while she was five-months pregnant.
And she isn't exactly an emotional person. Tears had only accumulated in her during pregnancy and when she filed for divorce from Nick after an estimated six years. No one was really surprised. Her mother had been relieved, Matt hadn't known until she was changing the locks on the house.
Divorce isn't an easy thing. It scared her and lingered around her heart like a demon curse for months. Graduating from police academy had been her only redemption. Nick had conjured some excuse about board meetings and she couldn't care. Becoming part of the NYPD was always her dream.
It came true but not all of her wishes had ever become realistic.
Lorena sighs, checks the time on the radio. "Honey, you need to get to class before the doors lock."
Matt raises an eyebrow as a smirk swings onto his face. "Since when do you call me honey?" Then his eyes widen as does his skepticism. "Is everything cool?"
"Like always," Her stomach churns sorely. She shoves his arm and unlocks his door. "Come on, get out now. I don't like gettin' the bull from your father."
He scoffs but doesn't oblige. "Whatever you say, Mom," Matt pries open his door and steps out with his book bag already in hand. "See you later?"
"I'll call you when I leave the precinct. Love you." She watches her child until he goes inside and starts the car, listening to the engine rumble on before she steers onto the road.
Her eyes burn with tears once she reaches the red light but she blinks them off like she should.
Not all dreams are how they should be.
X
"Your hair … you cut it."
Floria awkwardly touches her shortened curls as Hunter acknowledges them. She had just been passing through the lacrosse field – ironically – and found him already there alone. His hair pomaded underneath his baseball cap, wearing a corduroy blazer with dark jeans, a whistle dangling from his collarbone. She couldn't pinpoint his age but he looked in his early twenties.
"Yeah, well, more like your wife cut it." she says with little malice. It wasn't his fault he had a psycho wife. Well, kinda. "She's a devil with hair shears."
Hunter seemed to get more of a joke out of that than she. "You have no idea." He twirls his fingers through the whistle chain around his neck. "Don't tell me, she all but dragged you into a salon chair and begun to shave your head?"
Her eyes narrow as she stares him down. It wasn't easy to do that with a teacher. "I'm glad I amuse you."
"You have no idea." He stares into the distance of concrete pavements and newly bare winter trees. Maybe he was expecting Ruby again. Or she'd been making one of her surprise appearances. Either way she'd rather not be around to see her extreme positivity. "I highly doubt she'll show up today. Very busy with her desired hair salon and worker boys."
She rolls her eyes and scuffs the toes of her moccasins in the dirt. "Lucky you,"
"Is that meant to be a jab?" His smile is infectious and his eyes shine like hazel-blue garden flowers in the weak sunlight. "Against me and my crazy wife? I'd say ooh but it doesn't really hurt."
That remark comes to shock her. She'd always expected something of the sort but would never really accuse Hunter of not liking his wife. People get married for love most of the time.
"Well, you're married for a reason." Floria mutters, twisting a curl around her index finger. Old habits die hard.
Hunter retreats to the benches and she finds herself tracing his footsteps, watching him as he retrieves a bottle of Vitamin Water out of his messenger bag. He juggles the bottle between both hands. "Well, darling –"
"Don't call me that. I have a name and I'm not a kid."
She can see him regain his smile even though his expression suggest otherwise. It's a nice picture. Him in a baseball cap and jacket, her in a school skirt and a feather pin in her curls. Fairytales are for losers but this was still wrong.
"Marriages aren't always built with true love and affection. Mine was at first but it definitely developed into something else. Something unhappy and meaningless. I've seen marital affairs with more love than my relationship with Ruby." He unscrews the cap off his bottle and swigs as if it's a well-earned substance. "It isn't exactly something you discuss with children."
Her eyes narrow piercingly in a glare that is augmented in the morning light. "I wouldn't be talking since you're only really five years older."
Hunter rolls his eyes and he looks barely older than her with that. "Yeah, sure," Silence fills the mildly warm air. "We unfortunately have at least a nine-year difference."
She laughs. "Unfortunately?"
"Yes." The silence has returned and she can nearly feel the truth in his voice. "It basically means I can't kiss you."
It feels as if her heart has stopped and she only knows it has restarted because of its quickness. She wonders if the blood has come to her cheeks as her face tingles like it's been engulfed in a bonfire. Her thoughts repeated: Hunter's married, he has a wife, she'll hurt you.
Her heart was her current ruler. "I wish you could."
His smile grows sad. "Me too. If it were only easy, Floria, you have no idea." Diana Ross croons in the background and he leaves her gaze, digs through his bag and finds his cell phone. His gaze dawdles specifically on the screen before he timidly reaches her eyes.
"If it's your wife, just answer." Her throat feels raw as if scrubbed clean with a wire brush. "I don't want you to get in any more trouble than you already are."
Hunter accepts the call with her resignation and steps into the grass playfield. His words are too high, forced happiness evident in his speech. When he talks, he doesn't smile like he does with her or the lacrosse boys.
She barely even knew him but she could already tell his marriage was dead.
So she leaves the field with the sole promise of a possible kiss.
Only her thoughts begged for it to happen.
On the outside, she was a rock-solid bassist with the coolness of Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet.
That's how it should be.
X
"What is wrong with you, Elle?"
Elle jumps at the iciness in Kenny's tone. He stands in the doorway of her bedroom, clad in his school uniform with pointy pins jammed into his sleeves, gel-spiked hair nearly glossy in the light. The look he gives her is one that she is beginning to be accustomed to.
"Nothing at all," she says breezily, combing her curls neatly into a ponytail. "I've only been trying to ready myself with the L'Ecole girls for our charity field hockey game against Constance Billard. Is that so much?"
Kenny's eyes darken and narrow. "I was talking about having Bryn investigated. Our family PI is only needed in the case of emergencies and last time I checked my girlfriend isn't exactly a criminal."
"I doubt you even know what she is. Kenneth, she's a Blackwell." There was no use in denying the accusation now. After Javier left, she realized Bryn's folder was missing and only thought she misplaced it. Kenny probably took it with him and burned it before she had a chance to prod through the documents. Damn, she was so close. "We cannot trust the Blackwells. Their father died from drugs, their mother married a young man, and do not get me started on the twins."
"That's none of your business," he snaps and clutches the doorframe in a hand of blue-veined knuckles. She could see him quivering from across the room. "Respect my girlfriend and she shall do the same."
Elle observes her makeup in the vanity mirror. She'd gone home for lunch and Kenny hadn't even gone to school at all. School absences were casual in his view. Their father luckily didn't know about any of their dilemmas.
"I doubt she'd ever respect me. What, dear brother? Do you plan on marrying her? Vegas drive-ins are so chic nowadays." She may've sounded like a resentful sister but would rather be that before her brother's girlfriend intrudes in her life any longer.
Kenny removes himself from the door and ambles into the kitchen. She follows him and leans against one of their blue marble counters. He explores the objects in the fridge before fetching a bottle of San Pellegrino for himself, forcing off the cap and relishing a good mouthful.
"You'll be missing your head if you keep meddling in people's business," he snaps and she realizes that people is referring to him. The threat didn't mean much to her because she'd heard her fair share of them from him. "So bug off. Or I will take action meself."
Her smile was toxic. "I'd love to see you try."
She knew she was asking for it but it's become a bit of entertainment to watch him struggle with his emotions. He didn't know how to care for a relationship and she could already predict how his with Bryn's would end.
It was like a school test she already knew the answers on.
"Watch me." He grabbed his backpack and tucked the bottle in – she doubted he planned on going to school – and strolled past her, purposely bumping his shoulder with hers and not watching as she staggered into the hard edge of the counter.
The vodka on his breath was unmistakable.
"Wait until I'm meself again, I shall show you the true wrath of a blood-born Cullen," His back is turned and his shoulders are arched stiff, exhales tough and short. "Just you wait, just you fuckin' wait,"
The door slams and the hinges squeak in protest.
She sighs, toys with her ponytail.
"Try not to get too drunk, won't you?" Her voice polite and society-like as she returns to her room.
X
Divorce drama is an ugly thing, isn't it? Daddy might be moving out this week BTW. Love u!
Claire rolls her eyes. Her mother never had the brain cells to care about her opinion.
She was working through the middle of her third class – Economics – and the teacher was discussing their current lesson, jotting quick notes on the board. Her minions paid good attention like obedient dogs as they wrote their own notices and exchanged the chance word or two.
They'd definitely share their notes with her later. And she had a photogenic memory so she really had nothing to worry about. Add that to her transcript, why don't you?
All she was really stressed over was her parents' separation. Their penthouse was slowly filling with businesspeople and someone she recognized as her father's attorney came to talk with her mother about their prenup. Apparently her mother was fighting for spousal support.
It made her sick to her gut. Her mother would definitely abuse those outflows while she escaped to the comfort of fancy Tuscan villas and Sicilian wine that she'd brew herself. It sounded like heaven but it was the opposite in Claire's reality.
Manhattan had grown to become her home and the thought of leaving it felt like the end of an era. She had absolutely everything she needed. No one could take it away from her but it was apparent that her mother was trying to.
She still had her father. He promised to take care of her and never leave her without a home. That was what responsible fathers do. Not like Jackson Blackwell, who deserted Bryn and Harper and left them with only a trust fund and the expenses fully paid on their mansion.
They hadn't turned out any good. She didn't want to be like them. Her family mattered to her.
Out of boredom, Claire types a reply to her mother: divorce precautions are a must, aren't they?
She watches the teacher ask questions to the girls who weren't paying any mind. Her minions giggle as another girl fumbles to answer. They blamed it on those sexual fantasy books she often read. Fifty Shades of Grey was for people who'll die virgins.
It made her shudder that her mother had already purchased it on her Kindle.
After a few minutes, her phone buzzes a reply from MOMMY DEAREST: of course. I'm already anticipating Aunt Gwyneth's brownstone. Fingers crossed!
Ugh, everything was happening too soon. Her life couldn't be zooming by any faster.
Can't wait!is what she responds with.
Her father would know what to do.
Another text interjects through her thoughts and she immediately sours as she assumes it to be from her mother but instead finds a glowing message from Baby, reading: there's gonna b a crazy party soon, u in?
Beer pong and keg stands were the first things to swim through her thoughts.
Strip poker isn't my thing.
She can nearly imagine the exclamation points in Baby's words as this is received – it's not at all like that but it's a private party n u can b my plus 1! I'll get u the address l8r n the date soon!
Claire smiles to herself for the first time in a while. Despite everything, all of her problems and faults.
Maybe saving her family drama for later was better.
It seemed to work for Demi Moore.
X
Floria stares deeply into the sign-up sheet for a charity field hockey game. To be coached by Hunter Harmon. A number of Yale transcript-hopefuls had already written their names. She recognized only about two of her friends' names before separating the pen from the clipboard, drumming it on the white paper.
An arm curves around her waist. "Hey, aren't you Coach Harmon's mistress?"
Her breath hitches until she realizes who it is. "I hate you," she proclaims as she shoves Bryn off her, who stumbles against the lockers in a fit of laughter. "What're you even doing in school? You skipped, like, every class today."
Bryn raises an eyebrow and angles her head to read the charity game list. "I like learning,"
"You like learning things that don't have to do with school," Floria rereads the column and is surprised to not find Claire's name. Maybe she hadn't had the chance to notice it yet. "But, really, were you with Javier all day? I haven't seen you until now."
"For like ten minutes before school, mia amore." Bryn admits drily, rolling her eyes. "I don't get my work done that fast. Why are you even standing around a school paper? Did you get detention community service or what?"
She moves aside to show Bryn. "I was considering signing up for the charity function thing. Kick some ass, get to trip people with a hockey stick and not get in trouble, have guys go crazy over me in a super-short skirt. I want people to remember me and I'd die to change school history. Plus, it'll be great for our transcripts."
"I honestly don't know how we're friends. You're so normal." Bryn smiles as she takes the pen from Floria's hand, twirling it between her fingers like she does with guitar picks. "I'd much rather watch on the bleachers but if you're doing it, count me in." She leans in close to the sheet and scrawls both their names down. "Sure hope I spelt your last name right."
A smile bloomed across Floria's lips. She didn't. "Good enough."
Bryn grabs Floria's elbow and forcefully links it with her own. The caffeine she drank an hour ago was clear in her gaze. "C'mon, dude! Let's go meet the guys! They'll be stoked to hear our news!"
Floria only lets the smaller girl drag her along. It's not like she could fight her either way. "If Coach Harmon will take our inexperienced selves."
"No comment."
They laugh. "At least I finally got you to shut up."
Bryn rolls her eyes as they burst through the Constance doors and into the daylight. "Please, Flor. Not even Kenny can do that."
X
"Tim Dávila?"
"Here, Coach Harmon!"
"William Howard Marshall?"
"Also here, sir!"
"Chadwick Prescott?"
Some of the lacrosse boys' chuckle as Chad raises his hand, ugly smirk reaching his eyes. "Right here, Coach Harmon."
Hunter reviews the attendance sheet for the lacrosse team and realizes he has come to the name he's hoped not to. He squints among the men and raises the brim of his hat faintly. "Harper Blackwell? Has anyone seen Harper today?"
Tim nudges Chad's shoulder with his own. "He's probably rolling around in some rich dude's lawn."
The entire team explodes into hysterical laughter, cracking jokes about what happened on the field when a not-sober Harper laughed and writhed across the grass. Luckily the bleachers weren't quite full that day or Harper would never be recruited for a good college team like he wanted.
"Maybe he's skippin' practice to do some more dope!" another boy shouts through the mob. "That ecstasy was the highlight of his life! His sis got good dealers!"
Chad arches back against the cool metal of the dugout chairs. "I'm waiting for him to show his face. Bastard won't know what hit him."
Hunter narrows his eyes and looks his chin down at Chad. High school boys never changed. "You won't know what hit you either especially when you're benched for the next game, Prescott."
The team dramatically ooh and flood the area with another assault of jeers. Chad glares at him but doesn't retort against his supervisor. That could allow him the maximum of five quiet minutes from Chad.
Then he directs them all onto the field for a practice game. They wouldn't be having a match against another school until March came into focus. The weather would be nicer and they'd have more time to train and not stress about when they'd be up against another team.
Chad divides them all into teams. Their one missing link was Harper. Usually Harper headed the other team as they played. He was probably recovering from his hangover somewhere.
"Coach Harmon!"
Hunter turns to see Harper hobbling toward him, dragging his lacrosse stick and already in-uniform. Underneath his protective kneepad was an abnormal purple bruise. His hair was mussed, Band-Aids marked a few of his fingers, and a shaving cut was distinct on his chin.
He was thankfully sober.
"Harper," the coach greets slowly. "How are you, son?"
"I've been better but I'm good, thanks." Harper looks into the field to watch his teammates. "Did I miss something important?"
"Everyone's practicing." Hunter uses his sneaker to point to Harper's bruised purple leg. It didn't look like something he could be on the team with. "What happened there?"
Harper laughs uncomfortably, nuzzles his fingers in his hair. "I tripped down the stairs in my house. No big deal. I took something for it."
Hunter looks quizzical. All he kept remembering was that drug-addled trance he had on the field. "And what is that?"
"Um, Demerol," The answer is smooth, truthful. Not like Ruby. "Can I go out now?"
"In the next game, I'm sure they're almost finished." Hunter's phone buzzed with a call. He already knew it would be Ruby and he struggled to not answer it. "Careful on that leg, alright?"
Harper nods.
Hours ago in the Blackwell Mansion, his bruised knee had been troubling him. He considered calling the family doctor but didn't really want to cause any trouble. They'd only prescript him extreme pain medications. That was how people died.
Tinsley hadn't called him since she came to yell at him about Tyler. It's not like he could blame her. If someone took Bryn and got her drunk, he'd be raging … for about an hour.
All he wanted to do was have a break. People had been yelling at him and always expecting him to be someone else. That bout of ecstasy may not have been on purpose but it had been good to calm him nerves.
He needed something else to ease him.
So he searched through Bryn's room. Desperate, as he threw aside notebooks and guitar picks and CD packages, ransacked her desk and vanity until he found a little bottle of pills. They were named Demerol.
He only took two to be safe.
To be the opposite of his father.
No one will ever compare him to the dead Jackson Blackwell again. He was different, stronger.
He'd be fine.
X
"I don't like golf. It's just putting balls into holes." Javier and Matt each give Steven a look of question as he blinks before realizing what he said. "Oh, I just caught that! Ha ha, gross!"
Matt grabs his backpack and slides a copy of the monthly Revolver out. He turns to Javier blankly, eyes narrow behind his wide black aviators. "See? That is why I don't have many friends."
Steven thumps Matt's back, who glares back at his friend as he practically throws him off-balance. "Please, Matthew! You practically scare everyone that crosses you! The lacrosse guys are literally shaking when they lock eyes with you."
"Okay, well, that's different." Matt objects, flipping through the magazine but not looking through it. "They're just not … pleasant."
Javier raises an eyebrow and the February breeze upsets the bare trees. "Isn't Harper on the lacrosse team?"
"Yeah," Steven nods. "We're not exactly his favorite people."
Despite not knowing them well enough, Javier looked offended as if they had personally insulted him. "And why is that? You're better family to Bryn than he is."
"True." Matt nods in his direction. "But he thinks we've 'corrupted' her because of how she acts now. Fuck 'em. He's a little bitch anyway."
Steven laughs. "Nice language you got there."
"I never really thought Harper to be –"
"A dick? People can surprise you."
Steven flashes his gaze in Matt's direction, eyebrows cocked. "You know a lot about people surprising you, don't 'cha?"
Javier raises an eyebrow. He's learnt his way around them.
It sounded colder than it should have but Matt didn't really take offense to it. Or if it did, his face didn't show any real emotion. "Having my head forced underwater really thought me a thing or two about that," He climbs to his feet and dusts off the knees of his pants. "I have to meet someone."
"See ya later, Matt," Steven says nonchalantly. Javier bids a friendlier goodbye. "He'll be fine. The past is hard for him to talk about. There's a reason he's the rock of our group."
"Seems hard to compare to him."
And it's as if the conversation had never existed. Steven is already beaming. "It sure is."
X
i got the news!
Wat could u ever b talkin bout?
The party! DUH Queen C!
Claire still wasn't fully satisfied with being someone's 'plus one' but she'd have to deal for the time-being. When is it? Tell me that u at least hav the address
Ummm not yet but i have the date!
Her revulsion grows. what kind of 'party' is this?
A GUD ONE!
The terrible spelling almost disgusted her as much as Baby's supposed idea of a high-society event. It better b or prepare urself to lose ur status and social life.
Its planned 4 next Friday … I'll keep u posted
Next Friday was the day of the charity field hockey game. She considered both options before sticking to the idea of fun. Fun was what she needed after all of this time.
Skipping one school thing wouldn't be so bad.
X
"Down, high, low, the world, my eyes are closed / I'm Superman and it's my show," Matt sings, eyes roving across the empty space of the Music Room. She had videotaped him with her phone while he wasn't looking. He would've had her neck if he caught her filming him. It always made him feel awkward. "One shoe, two, gonna kick with my new shoes / I'm gonna kick until I need new shoes,"
He hadn't been moving but he was still smiling, overflowing with charisma and pride. He continued on crooning, voice deep and intense like a pluck of guitar strings. Anyone could easily be drawn to his presence.
It was unreal how his voice was. It was ugly and beautiful at the same time. Imperfect, surreal, unlike any other yet so flawless in more than one way.
She loved it.
His eyes are sharp and his smile is genuine. There's nothing better than that.
"He's okay," Poppy says as she pauses the video halfway through the song. Matt is frozen on the screen. "You'll have to show him to Mrs. Whitaker. I'm not exactly the judge on these things."
Was than an invitation to show Matt's makeshift demo to their supervisor? It made her heart swell with pride as Tinsley took her laptop back but doesn't take the fuzzy video off her screen. Maybe she could get a nicer recording of him.
"He's more than okay, he's great." Tinsley gripes, fingers on her laptop keyboard. "His talent is unexplainable. You have no idea."
Poppy grabs for her notepad and a pen but she doesn't write. "Well, he's definitely cute but he looks like he could dress better." She doesn't seem pleased at his rumpled shirt and scuffed boots. "Boots like those don't go for anyone."
Tinsley nods, an almost grimace. He had them forever. "Trust me, I know."
"It never hurts to agree." The phone rings and Poppy grabs for it, talking, nodding, listening. "Okay, I will tell her you called –" She smiles in secret to herself. "Yet again,"
Tinsley stares at her for a few extra seconds and Poppy meets her eyes, terrible and dreadful just like Vena's. "What are you staring at? Get back to work now."
Your wish is my command, Tinsley thinks as she returns to her laptop and plugs in her earbuds, only keeping one in her ear for the sake of the work phones as she listens to the sweet murmur of Matt's voice.
Not even Poppy could bother her when it came to the purity of good music.
And nothing could ever come between it.
X
"He smiled with his teeth here." Matt points to a photo on the kitchen counter of his apartment. The picture was taken beside a Central Park fountain. A teen boy is centered beside the marble structure. Nothing looked pretentious about him. His emotions and smiles were entirely real. Eyes masked by gray aviators, the slope of his nose slightly crooked, dark hair flipped across his forehead. The teeth of his grin were his only flaw – tinted yellow from drug abuse. "He got one of them knocked out, you know."
Bryn grabs the picture off the surface, staring at it hard. Her voice is not surprised. "Don't tell me you went to see him."
Matt glares at her and holds his fists closed. "I could never forget the person that tried to drown me," he growls, his gaze fixed on her turned back. "Reese's ex-girlfriend told me. Someone jumped him. Knocked one of his front teeth out, broke his hip. He supposedly limps now."
It was tough to imagine David not looking the same. She had gotten little detail since he's been gone and hoped it'd stay that way. "He was never a sweet guy."
"Of course, I know that." Matt says with a typical roll of his eyes. "But knowing him –"
Bryn scowls at him and returns the photo to her file. "Bullshit. No one knew him."
"He was my best friend before all of this and you know that," he reminds her venomously since the best friends thing no longer mattered. "And don't even give me that look. I said before this … or rather before his so-called 'illness' was brought to light."
Her glare doesn't deteriorate. "Stupidity isn't an illness."
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. He was only sixteen, Bryn. Remember half the shit that we never told our families? I doubt he would've ever told us even if we asked. He was so timid before and never even liked to ask us for bus money or insult people even when they were complete assholes to him. That was the David we knew ..." Matt turns his eyes to the empty white sky. "I wouldn't have thought he'd be in a crazy house today."
Bryn's glare is softer but her mouth is poised tight. "He didn't even know he was sick. All that pot did it to him. You know why he never asked for bus money? Because he'd get high with his drug buddies and that bitch he cheated on me with. We have to say that he's smart. Remember when he said he was going to the bookstore to work? He was puking his teeth into trashcans. Remember when he asked you to hang out by the Central Park fountain aft –"
Matt's whole body stiffens and he meets her glare head-on. "Continue that and I'm leaving."
"Now, you know how it feels," she breathes and regards the file like an unread book. As much as she liked to do more investigating, she'd rather not see what else was said about David. "He brought everything on to himself."
"You're right," he finally agrees. "But it's not over."
"Sadly, it never is." Bryn takes a pause. "Sometimes I wish I never met him."
"He used to be good when we were kids and always promised to never let drugs get in the way. How times have changed, right? Dirty bastard tricked me." Matt shakes his head in disgust. "He was one of my first best friends. Look what he's done to her, look what's happened to us."
"Her? Who, Meg? She got what was coming to her." Bryn shrugs and goes over to Matt's fridge. She finds two sample bottles of Smirnoff and throws him one. "And we are just fine. David is someone that needs to be worried about and he has people to do that for him."
Matt uncaps the small white bottle and drinks. The rush made him a little dizzy. "Lucky him."
"It's always been his life's dream. Those chicks are gettin' paid to be around him though. If only we were, right?" She is almost finished with her bottle as she clinks her fingernails against the glass. Lorena would kill him if she saw them like this.
He tries to forget. Forgetting is good. "What should we drink to? Sorrow? Caution? Broken hearts?"
"How about love caution? Be cautious around it. You can never really trust anyone." She drops her glance to the speckled green kitchen tiles. "So true, so true,"
Matt nods. It really was. He isn't one for agreeing but that statement did something to him.
He clinks his bottle to hers vacantly. "To being careful with love. That counts with Kenny."
"I'll be fine. You stick to using condoms. I doubt we can drink with kids around."
He makes a face. "Cheers."
Ignoring their sorrows was easy. Forgetting them was hard.
They both knew that and they both had to work on that.
X
I'm so incredibly sorry for the wait! This chapter was pretty tough for me and I had rewritten it a while ago because I didn't really like the way my first draft was. I hope this one's better and makes up for the long wait.
I promise I'll try to update sooner. The next few chapters will be better.
Cheers!