SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
SHE WALKS into the school courtyard with a pitiful look on her face. Well, it may only be pitiful to me because I can see through the brave mask she’s wearing. To everyone else, I’m sure they really do see a strong girl with a steadfast I don’t give a fuck attitude. No matter how hard she tries, Posie Davenport will never be that person. Her biggest character flaw is that she cares too much—that she feels too much.
She probably gets it from her father. You can’t tell me being a cop doesn’t come with an impressive savior complex. They both want to help everyone and everything that crosses their path. She’s selfless in a way that will one day bite her in the ass.
Posie’s completely out of her depth here at Hemlock Hill. She may have been raised around Pax and me, but she doesn’t know these people. She doesn’t know how they think or behave. Right now, as she sits alone on a stone bench with a sad tray of school lunch in her lap, I’m sure she thinks someone will take pity on her and join her.
Of course, she’s completely wrong.
They’ll stare and whisper about her, but they won’t go over there. Not after what happened this morning with Fitzgibbons. Gossip spreads faster than wildfire here. Every student and staff member under this roof knows I all but peed an imaginary circle around her. I told one person to stay the fuck away from her, and by doing so, I made it clear everyone should keep their distance. It wasn’t my original intention, but the second I saw that douchebag Bryce grinning at her like a perv eyeing his new victim, I couldn’t stop myself.
It was a mistake. I should have just let the wolves have her, but the damage is done. I just haven’t figured out what the consequences will be.
Hannah, who’s been sitting across from me with a pinched scowl ever since she realized everyone’s focus isn’t on her, rolls her eyes in Posie’s general direction. “I don’t understand what’s so special. We get scholarship kids like her every year. Why is everyone making such a fuss over this one?”
As if it wasn’t obvious who she was directing that question at, her pointed stare does a fabulous job of clueing me in. Hannah has the male student population by the balls. They fawn over every step she makes in her Italian leather stilettos. She’s hot with her curly red hair and curvy body, but she’s got a way about her that’s comparable to nails on a chalkboard. There’s a constant whine in her voice that is grating. I can’t begin to imagine the sounds she makes in bed. My hope for whatever poor soul she lures into her bedroom is that they’ve invested in a good ballgag.
“Are you worried you have some competition now or something?” I question, sitting back in my chair with my arms crossed.
I’m not completely sure why I’m bothering to have this conversation. Perhaps it’s because I’m curious what everyone is thinking about the girl I’ve known my whole life. I know what I see when I look at her, but do they see something different?
Her jaw drops in horror. Her insulted expression is so exaggerated, you’d think I just offended every single member of her family. “Competition? You can’t seriously think a scholarship girl is in the same league as me, Rafferty.”
Everyone who sits at our table is watching this interaction like they’re at a tennis match. They’re just as quiet too, like any noise would completely disrupt the show at hand.
“You’re absolutely right, I don’t.”
“Thank you. Jesus, I thought you were being serious there for a second.” Hannah’s look of relief is instant and palpable, but it’s gone in a matter of seconds because I just can’t seem to keep my mouth shut today.
“I think you’re miles away from being in her league. In looks and personality, she’s got you fucking beat. Not to mention general intelligence. Tell me, are you still blowing the math teacher after class to earn that passing grade of yours? Have you figured out what you need to do for an A yet?” I find joy in the way her face progressively turns a deeper shade of red the longer I talk.
Normal, well-adjusted people probably don’t find entertainment in embarrassing the ever-loving shit out of people. Me, on the other hand? I’m finding more and more that it’s one of my favorite pastimes. Then again, I’ve never claimed to be well-adjusted. No, I’m a therapist’s wet dream and utter nightmare wrapped into one pretty package.
Her loyal friends that sit around her stare at me wide-eyed but remain silent. Meanwhile, the rest of the students sitting among us are absolutely losing their shit.
Flustered and furious, Hannah shoots up from her seat. The palms of her well-manicured hands slam against the stone table as she screeches, “You can’t talk to me like that!”
“Yeah? And why is that? Are you going to stop me? I’d love to see you try. Come on, Hannah, let’s see what you’ve got.” I hold my arms out at my side, taunting her to give it her best shot. Her brown eyes simmer with rage and maybe a hint of tears but she remains frozen. “That’s what I thought. Now do us all a favor and shut the fuck up. There are dogs howling two blocks away from here because of that voice of yours.”
With that, I grab the paper bag that contains the remaining half of my sandwich and push away from the table. Whispers erupt because of my exit, but I don’t give a shit. They can talk all they want. I have no problem being their topic of conversation.
Posie’s honey eyes lift in my direction as I approach. The way she does a double-take when she realizes it’s me has me smirking. Stopping directly in front of her, the toes of our shoes almost touching, she scowls up at me.
“What are you doing?” she questions, her tone more curious than annoyed.
Not knowing the answer to her question myself, I ignore it and ask one of my own. “Are you seriously eating that?”
She looks down at the food in her lap that she’s been politely picking at. “I guess so.” Her narrow shoulders shrug under her navy blazer.
I think it’s adorable she’s wearing each piece of the mandatory uniform. You could offer me a hundred grand right now to tell you where my blazer is, and I still wouldn’t be able to tell you. I haven’t worn that thing since my first week here freshman year. Meanwhile, Posie even has the plaid headband on that matches the skirt she wears and the black socks that go up to her knees. So sweet and law-abiding, but little does she know she’s a pair of heels and skirt that’s an inch shorter away from looking like she walked out of every man’s schoolgirl fantasy.
Grimacing at the soggy salad and dry piece of chicken, I wordlessly steal the tray away from her and walk to the closest trash can. Plastic tray and all, I dump the entire thing in there. Her mouth is pulled in a frown when I return and sit down on the bench next to her.
“The food here is fucking foul. Either pack a lunch or eat a big breakfast beforehand.”
You’d think they’d allocate some of the millions they make in tuition each year toward the cafeteria kitchen, but the school board thinks the money is better spent on our already well-over-funded football team and a new yoga studio. What kind of school has yoga as an elective?
Lifting the bag containing the other half of my sandwich in front of her, I tell her, “Eat this. It at least won’t give you food poisoning.” When she continues to glower at me and not take the offered food, my eyes roll in my head. “Do you want it or not, Posie?”
With a defeated sigh, she reluctantly takes the bag from my hand. “Thank you.” Taking the food out, she hesitates before taking a bite. “How did you get this? You don’t have a car.”
“Yet.” My mom ordered my car six months ago. It’s being brought over from Germany on a boat as we speak. “And I borrowed a car.” The kid owed me one, so when I asked for his keys, he handed them over freely.
Where Posie’s generous acts come from a selfless place, mine come from a more … self-serving place. I see it purely as a transactional act. If I scratch your back, you’re going to scratch mine harder, and if I find dirt on you, you’re going to give me whatever I want to keep me from using it against you. I could have gotten something out of Hannah’s little math teacher secret, but the look on her face as I rubbed it in her face was payment enough this time.
“When? You don’t have an off period.”
“Jesus Christ, you ask a lot of questions,” I groan, suddenly regretting coming over here. “I went during math.” I can do the lesson we’re working on in my sleep, and I don’t need some dorky mathlete with a bowtie lecturing at me for an hour. There are more conducive ways to spend my time than being bored to death by algebraic equations.
Pensive eyes inspect me as she chews a bite of food. Swallowing, she finally says what’s on her mind. “I doubt there’re more than five people in this building who know how smart you are. You hide it from them. Always have. You’d rather them think you’re nothing more than a broody asshole with a pretty face.”
That’s the problem with Posie. She’s been a permanent spectator to my life since she was in diapers. Every time I came home from school with a note from my teacher and was lectured by my father for misbehaving in class, she was there to witness it. She was also there to watch as I was praised for my perfect grades by my mother. It’s not hard to put the two together. Like a working dog with not enough stimulation, I get destructive when I’m bored.
It would be easy to get angry at her for her unfiltered comment, but instead, I decide to focus solely on the last part of her comments. “You think I have a pretty face?”
Her mouth parts and I watch the panic reflect in her eyes as she tries to come up with a way to take back what she said. In the end, she simply sighs and shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told,” I concede, standing from the hard bench. “The car will be waiting right at three. Don’t be late or I’ll have the driver leave you here.” Not bothering to wait for her reply, I leave her there to eat the rest of her lunch alone.
HER FACE LIGHTS UP when we walk into the kitchen. Putting the gold-trimmed teacup down on the marble counter, my mom rounds the large island in the middle so she can properly greet all three of us. She’s always made an effort to be here when we got home from school. Her parents left her home alone so often growing up that she’s always said she doesn’t want that for us.
The only time she’s not here waiting is when she’s forced to travel with my dad for business or when she doesn’t feel well enough to get out of bed. The latter seems to be happening more frequently, but the way her blue eyes are bright and clear, tells me today is a good day. Or a better day I should say. I’m not sure my mother has ever experienced a “good day”. It’s a horrible thing when your brain is your enemy. If you’re constantly at war with yourself, can you ever really win?
She hides her silent battle behind a well-practiced Crest Whitestrip smile and a perfect appearance. Never is there a dark hair out of place or a wrinkle in her designer clothes. From the outside looking in, Mollie Wilde-Blackwell is the embodiment of perfection.
I know better.
She used to be better at hiding her flaws from me, but the older I get, the more obvious the cracks in her porcelain veneer are. Like with everything else, I try my best to shield Paxton from it.
“Did you all have a good day?” Mom asks, kissing my cheek before doing the same to Pax. Reaching Posie, she takes her face in her hands, and smiles at her. “What about you, P? How was the first day? Did you meet anyone?”
The way Posie’s eyes flick in my direction before she answers the question has me fighting off an arrogant smirk. “No, not really. I’m not sure I made a great first impression.”
“Well, that can’t possibly be true. Just give it time. You’ll find your place there before you know it.” Mom gently pats Posie’s cheeks once more and backs away. “The winter dance is coming up at the end of the month. Maybe you can volunteer to help and meet some people that way.”
Reaching into the bag of grapes Pax had pulled out, I pop a few in my mouth as I scoff. “The winter dance? Are people actually going to that?”
Pax nods his head. “There’s a big group of freshmen going together. Sadie’s mom is reserving the back room of her restaurant for us to eat at beforehand.”
Stepping around me, Posie bumps Pax with her shoulder and gives him a knowing grin. “Sadie, huh? Are you going to ask her to the dance?”
“What? No.” Pax’s head shakes and he stares down at the fruit in his hand like he’s suddenly finding it incredibly interesting.
However, he doesn’t look away fast enough. I still catch the way his face turns a shade of pink, and that tells me more than his words ever could.
Apparently, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Posie either because she pokes him in his flushed cheek. “You sure about that?”
Had I done that he would have become defensive and annoyed, but with Posie, he laughs it off, playfully pushing away her hand. “Yes, I’m sure. Plus, I didn’t know if you’d want to go, and with you not knowing anyone, I don’t want you to be alone while I’m stuck with my date.”
And right there is a prime example of their friendship. One doesn’t make a move without first considering the other. They’re so close, my dad has always said that one day they’ll end up together. He doesn’t seem exactly thrilled by that prospect when he talks about it though.
“That was very sweet of you, honey,” my mom remarks, digging for something in her leather purse.
Posie nods in agreement but her brows are pinched. “Too sweet. Pax, you should take Sadie. I’m not sure that I’m even going to go, and I want you to have a good time. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll just wait to ask her until you figure it out. We have time.”
“Nope! Nuh-uh. You’re going to ask her this week because if you don’t, somebody is going to ask her before you and then you’ll be sad which will make me sad. So, for purely selfish reasons, I’m going to need you to get on this. I’ll help you. What do we need? A poster board with some cheesy question on it? Flowers?”
With a new mission at hand, Posie marches out of the room with my brother following behind her.
My mom smiles at their backs like they just made her entire day before nodding her head at me. “What about you, Raff? Will you ask someone?”
She can’t be serious. “I can’t think of a single person I’d want to dance with under sparkly lights. It doesn’t matter how much glitter they add, or how much snow covers the ground, you’re still slow dancing in a high school gymnasium.”
“Really? You can’t think of a single person?”
“Nope.”
“You sound like your father.” She chuckles, but it’s not a happy sound. It drips with the melancholy that’s taken over her heart and head. “He was never much of a romantic.”
The amount of willpower it takes to not roll my eyes at this should win me an award. “Really? Could have fooled me,” I mumble sarcastically. “He’s just so remarkably affectionate.”
The light that had been in her eyes when we first got home is gone as she frowns at me. “Rafferty. Please don’t.”
Pulling her hand from the designer purse, she pops something into her mouth. The column of her throat moves as she swallows it dry.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her do it, but this time I can’t stop myself from opening my mouth. “What was that?”
She can’t bring herself to look at me as she answers with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “Just a breath mint.”
Yeah… sure.
