by Sara Wolf
"Then why - why is Wolf trying to kick me out, now?"
Fitz's green eyes twinkled with something like amusement. "Probably for the same reasons he fought Mark, I'd imagine."
"What? That doesn't make any sense -"
"Listen," Fitz leaned in. "You're sucking at history all of a sudden. That's what I wanted to ask about. You're supposed to be smart - the smartest one in this hellhole beside me. What gives?"
"I -" Amid all the revelations Fitz was dropping on me about Wolf and his red-cards, I struggled to remember what I was really doing this all for. Fitz had to be one of the easier brothers to get to know. I had to get on his good side. "Things aren't great at home," I said, not fully lying, really. "And it sucks, and I can't concentrate lately and I'm starting to fall behind in class, and I don't have notes -"
I trailed off. "Nevermind. It's stupid to complain about this stuff."
Fitz's face lightened. "It's not stupid. It just means you suck. More than usual.”
I frowned at him, and he laughed.
"For now," He clarified. "You're going through a bit of a suckage period. Never fear. Us smarter beings can help with that."
"Like I'd want your help," I snapped, now definitely irritated with him.
"Seriously," He insisted. "If you need help catching up, I can do that.”
"Why help me? I've done nothing but get mad at you, and yell at Wolf -" The memory of defending Eric came crashing in on me and I groaned. "God. Why didn't anyone stop me?"
"Wolf tried to," Fitz pressed. "With that red-card. But you ignored that, of course. You're good at that whole ignorance is bliss thing, huh?"
"Screw you, too."
Fitz breezed past the insult, flipping aside a lock of his blonde hair like he was on the Hollywood red carpet. "I can tutor you. Contrary to popular belief, I'm actually pretty good at the whole school thing. When I want to be. When it doesn’t put me to sleep forever."
"And what do you get out of it?" I ask. "I can't give you money, or -"
"Apologize," He said quickly.
"What?"
"Go apologize to Wolf. Right now. He's at swim practice, in the pool building."
"I've got nothing to apologize for!" I protested. "He's the one who dumps coffee on people, he's the one who threatened to take my scholarship away -"
He sighs. "Fine. You're right. His methods are extreme. But he's always got a reason for them. Dumping coffee on someone isn't nearly as damaging as the shit that freshman is doing to the inside of his body with the steroids, or what Eric tried to do to that girl."
"And getting me kicked from the school?" I asked. "How do you justify that?"
Fitz is silent for once, no quip on his lips. "You'll have to ask him yourself. Like, right now. He's just a few minutes away."
"You're sure," I pressed. "You’re absolutely sure he has a good reason for doing it? That's stupid. That's blind faith. He's doing it because he hates me."
"Then prove me wrong. Go ask him."
"Fine!" I threw my hands up. "I will."
Fed up with him, I storm across campus to the pool building. Fitz doesn't follow. The smell of chlorine and the sound of splashing water and shouting guys greets my ears. The moment I step into view of the pool I realize how bad of a mistake this is. Fitz goaded me into this - if I don't play this right, Wolf will be even harder to get on my side, if that's even possible.
The swim team does laps back and forth, a burly woman with thick arms and a loud voice bellowing at them to move faster as she prowled the edge of the pool with a stopwatch.
"You think that will get you into states, Bergman?" She shouted. "Let me see that arm movement, big circles. Is that your idea of big? Get moving!"
I shrunk into the tiled wall, hoping she wouldn't see me. I was just about to bolt for the door when her voice called out.
"Oi! You there! Who are you?"
I flinched and turned. The people in the pool had stopped swimming, every boy staring at me. Wolf was in the middle lane treading water, hair drenched but doing nothing to hide his gaze on me. Shit. Now he hates me and thinks I'm probably stalking him. Which I am. Just. On his dad's payroll. Slowly. From afar.
"I must've....taken the wrong door?" I offered quietly. "Sorry."
She squinted at me, then blew her whistle. "Alright, five minutes, boys, and then it's back to the butterfly you all know and love. Drink something, get those electrolytes back in you."
I watched the guys get out of the pool and knew this was my chance to break for it. I messed up. Holy god I messed up so hard by letting Fitz get to me -
"You don't strike me as the type who likes water. Or anything, really."
My hand froze on the door's handle and I turned, coming face-to-face with Wolf. He toweled himself off as he stared at me, rubbing it through his dark hair as disdain soured his face.
"How do you do that?" I hissed. "Sneak up on people like that? Burn does it too. Is it hereditary, or are you classically trained ninjas, or -"
He shoves a slightly-damp twenty dollar bill at me suddenly.
"For your unwanted assistance. With fixing my bike."
It was such a bizarre thing I was struck dumb for a second. "Oh, wait. I get it. This is laced with anthrax and you've taken the antidote your whole life and this is how I die, struck down by my mortal enemy's charity."
His green eyes narrowed, fox-like. "It's not charity. You fixed the bike, however stupidly lucky you were with it."
"Why are you giving this to me?" I scoffed. I made the mistake of looking down, to the exposed skin of his velvety stomach, every svelte line of muscle shifting beneath his exerted breaths. Gross, Bee. Don't let it hypnotize you like it's done to every other girl in this damn school. "Mr. Francis is the one who's actually going to fix it."
"Mr. Francis doesn't have only one parent who works," He countered brusquely. "Just take the money."
Anger welled up beneath my cheeks. "You think you know everything about my life? I don't need your stupid twenty, okay? My mom does fine, I'm doing fine, my dad's fine, we're all just fine, okay? We might not be swimming in it, but we know how to save and be smart with our money. We don't waste it on things like - like expensive cars or restaurants or random girls who we feel sorry for!"
My shouting made the other boys on the team look at us, muttering to each other. Even the lady coach frowned at me. I felt hot and itchy all over, just like in the crowd that one morning. I'd do anything to not be there at that very second. If I could teleport to the top of a mountain, or a serene meadow, or hell, even the parking lot of the 7-11 near my house - something, anything. Anywhere away from his moment and Wolf's fire-laced eyes. He looked almost...shocked, the usual irritation in his hawk-like brows going slack. My eyes caught on his broad shoulders, his sharp collarbone, his prominent jaw. This was the shape of him - of a guy who could never understand my situation. Not in a million years. But he pretended to, like it would earn him brownie points for being a 'good guy'. I was sick of him. I was sick of everyone telling me he was secretly a good guy. He wasn't. He never would be. Not to me, anyway.
Some distracted, stupid part of me looked at his skin again, the deep olive of it. It was a shame, that part thought, that he couldn't stand being touched by someone else. He had a beautiful body. Did he really have a phobia? Someone as outwardly put-together as him? How could he have a phobia, when the first day we interacted he came so close to me I could smell him? Was it a lie? Was Mr. Blackthorn simply adding an extra layer of caution around his son -
My fingers were suddenly inches away from the side of Wolf's cheek, the tips of them sensing the heat coming off his skin. I wanted to finish the movement, to touch him, but logic screamed at me. What the hell was I doing? How the hell did my fingers get there? I pulled my hand back, Wolf flinching away from me at the same time. What the flying fuck was I doing?
"I-I'm sorry. I - I have to go." I spit the words out in a jumble, and dashed for the door. The smell of fres
h air threw my every word and action in the pool building into stark reality. Shit, shit, shit! What had I done? I acted like a complete weirdo - there's no way I could ever look him in the eyes again, right? This was it - I had to move to China, Japan, Malaysia; as far away from the Blackthorn boys and this stupid school as I could. Everyone in that building saw me reach for him - he saw me - I saw me and I can't get the image out of my head. I replay it over and over, like some hideously embarrassing movie reel.
My drive home is a white-knuckled blur of terror and disgust at myself. I half-move through the motions of checking on Dad, making sure he's eaten, taken his pills, making sure dinner is getting started, making sure my homework is caught up, making sure I don't ever, ever look Wolf Blackthorn's way ever again for as long as I live.
Chapter 7
WOLF
Everything feels so far away.
The sound of the pool water lapping against the sides fades. The echo of Coach’s yelling fades.
I watch Beatrix leave, and trace the red-hot marks her fingertips left on my cheek. My skin crawls with goosebumps, my nerves standing on end with some invisible electricity.
What the hell is wrong with me? Am I having a stroke? The doors open and close behind her and all I can think about is how I want more of her touch. More of her eyes lingering over my ridges and lines. Just…more of her. Period.
Frustrated, I growl and shove the twenty dollar bill into my backpack.
“Where do you think you’re going, Blackthorn?” Coach shouts. “Get back in the pool!”
I’m so distracted I hear her, but don’t process any of her words. She blows her whistle in my ear and I start.
“Jesus, coach –”
“I thought I told you to tell your girlfriends to stay away from the pool while we’re practicing,” She snaps. “And you said you had it taken care of. Don’t tell me I’m gonna have that hassle again – you could barely get in here with all of them crowding the door.”
“No, it’s not like that.”
Coach eyes me up and down. “Alright. Then get back in the pool and let’s burn a few laps.”
I head to the edge of the pool. My teammates stare at me from the benches they perch on, half-soggy and sipping Gatorade. They murmur to each other, elbowing one another like they’re all sharing some secret. Jason, the steroid-abusing freshman, whispers the most earnestly out of them all. Of course he does. He’d love to start a nasty rumor about me as payback for dumping coffee on him. He’d love to do anything to get back in the good graces of the team and the school. And even though the team’s shunned him up until now because of his red-card, they start to listen to him. I direct my glare right at them, daring any of them to say something. And of course, there’s always one guy stupid enough to dare. A senior who loves to give me shit whenever he can.
“So,” He treads water beside me. “You and the scholarship girl, huh?”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Don’t what?” He smiles. “C’mon, man, you can tell me. We’re a team. Shit, I wouldn’t blame you for tapping that – she’s a little frumpy, but if you look real hard you can tell she’s got some amazing tits under all that. I’d do her too. Just once, though, and then dump her on the curb.”
I see red. Before I can control myself I throw a punch at his jaw, and it connects with a sickening crunch. The senior comes up gasping for air, and lunges for me. We tangle underwater, my eyes and ears full of chlorine as he punches me in the stomach, the air shooting out of my mouth and molten pain replacing it. The sound from above is muted, but I can still hear it - the team starts shouting, Coach blows her whistle, her hands fishing madly underwater for us. She sends in half the team after us, pulling the two of us apart in the shallow end.
“What the fuck is your problem?” The senior snarls at me. I spit water mixed with blood from my split lip. He isn’t any better off – his left eye socket is starting to bruise.
“If you talk about her like that again,” I growl. “I’ll ruin more than just your face.”
“Why do you care?” He shouts. “She’s just the scholarship girl!”
“Enough!” Coach bellows. “The two of you – in my office, now. The rest of you, in the showers. Practice is over.”
The senior and I begrudgingly enter her office, the only thing keeping my fist from his face the fact that Coach is staring right at us from across her desk.
“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” She asks.
“I said something about that girl who came in and he fucking flipped!” The senior protests. “He flipped on me just like he flipped on that Mark guy!”
“Don’t say his name,” I flinch.
“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want!”
“Language,” Coach warns, then looks to me. “Here’s how this is gonna go; Harris, you keep your nose out of Blackthorn’s business. Blackthorn, don’t go punching people, no matter how bad they piss you off. If I hear or see this one more time, you’re both off the team, and I’m warning your parents.”
Harris glowers at me. “Like it’ll matter for him. His dad runs this place.”
“No one’s getting any favoritism, Harris,” Coach warns. “Now get out of here. Go change. And try to talk about your problems like grown-ups instead of flinging poop at each other like monkeys, alright?”
We both echo ‘yes coach’, and head to the lockers. I let him go first, just to make sure he doesn’t turn on me and try to start something. The urge to red-card him is strong, but there’s no point – he hasn’t done anything ‘wrong’ in the ultimate sense. He pissed me off, that’s all. That isn’t worthy of a red-card. If I did red-card him I’d basically be a dictator, and that’s the last thing I want people to see me as.
Every guy in the locker room falls silent when I walk in. I change as quickly as I can and get out, riding my bike a little faster than normal, like it’ll leave the stares behind. I know what they were thinking behind their silence – Wolf Blackthorn, never once seems to give a shit about a girl, and then all of a sudden starts a fight over one. I know the rumors that’ll spread like wildfire tonight, and the stares that will follow tomorrow. When I get home and open my computer, it’s confirmed – Twitter and Facebook are ablaze with what went down today. Speculations fly - scholarship girl and Wolf have slept together, she’s pregnant and Harris is the real father – stupid shit that only makes me angrier. Pent-up energy blazes through me, half fury and half something else I can’t name, something that leaves me sore in the chest and utterly confused in the head.
I don’t start fights. I haven’t touched someone purposefully since Mark. But at the single mention of Beatrix, the thought of someone like Harris touching her, I flew off the handle. All my reservations, all my avoidance of physical touch, flew out the window. For a split second, I forgot myself. She eclipsed my fear – something no one else in my life had ever done.
Mark came close. As much as I hate to admit it, he came close. But with him it was slow, gradual. With her, it was instant. I lashed out in an instant, without thinking, without hesitation.
I get up, unable to take a moment more of this storm of energy. I knock on Burn’s door, but he isn’t home. Of course he isn’t. Part of me wants him to be – he would listen to my problems. Or, he used to. Since Mom died he’s never really been there for me, or Fitz, not like he used to be. I want to open the door and see him there, smiling patiently, waiting for me to tell him whatever awful secrets I’d been keeping inside. His advice was good. Would be good, if he was here for me anymore. But he’s not.
So I settle for the next best thing.
Burn’s punching bag hangs from the ceiling, a heavy column of sand covered by plastic. I punch it, as hard and fast as I can, willing all the confusion in me to drain out with my fatigue, willing my physical efforts to clear my head. I punch until sweat drips down into my eyes, until my knuckles sting like someone’s poured lemon juice in open wounds. And the words – everyone�
�s words clamber over each other, like a chaotic tornado in my mind.
She’s just the scholarship girl, why do you care –
- You think you know everything about my life?
- you can tell she’s got some amazing tits under all that. I’d do her too.
I feel stupid. I feel weak. I feel powerless. Just thinking about the look on her face when I offered the twenty makes me feel even stupider. Thinking about how gentle her fingers were on my cheek makes me feel even weaker.
People aren’t supposed to affect me like this. I thought I was over this. After Mark I swore to myself I’d allow no one to make me feel things ever again. And then Beatrix came and ruined everything. I’m powerless all over again, and it scares the ever-living shit out of me.
So I keep punching, until my knuckles bleed and my body screams at me to stop.
“Wolf?”
I look up through my haze to see Burn standing there. The exhaustion hits me like a truck, and I feel myself staggering. Burn is there, his strong arms holding me up, and for a split-second when I look up at him I see him as his nine-year-old self, smiling warmly and telling me everything will be okay. And then I snap back to reality, and his face is older and barely has any emotion to it at all. But if I look hard, I can see a tiny spark of concern in his eyes.
“Wolf, are you alright? What are you doing in here?”
“I had to punch something,” I manage. “And you have a whole bag devoted to it. I thought to myself ‘why not?’”
“Your lip –” He cuts off. “Did you get in a fight?”
I can’t have him asking questions. It’s too shameful to admit that I lost control. I push out of his support and stand on my own.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” He insists, following me as I collapse on my bed in my room. “Jesus, Wolf, your knuckles –”
“Stop pretending to give a shit,” I snarl. Burn says nothing, retreating after a while. Just when I think he’s left me alone for good, he comes back with hydrogen peroxide and gauze.
“I don’t need any of that. Get out.”
