Complicit in His Chaos Book 1: Tempted

by Keilan Shea

  Gilded Academy has a difficult curriculum and impressive workloads. I don’t have time to play and spend too much time worrying about … everything.

  Perhaps I should disband the club. No one’s truly committed to it yet as this is our first meeting. Half of the club members barely got their books and we haven’t assigned any chapters. Besides, maybe they’ve changed their minds about me.

  Chloe and Theo withdrew with Ritsuki the moment I was going to ask them to eat lunch with me and Lucas after PE today. I overheard Ritsuki say something about an emergency and stepped out of their way, forbidding myself from inquiring about the situation, but now I wonder if that was the correct course of action. Should I ask Theo if everything is okay? All it would take is a simple text.

  A simple text.

  I shake my head and rest my right hand on the tabletop near my library copy of The Sister Star as I seat myself in a dark-wood chair upholstered in red velvet. I accidentally kick my backpack as I scoot the chair forward and stare at my phone, which is also lying on the table’s polished surface.

  One thing is certain: I can’t sustain much more of this verbal whiplash. Everything everyone has said since I entered Gilded Academy ricochets off the walls of my mind and most of these words wrap Lucas in a shroud of darkness. Though Theo, Chloe, and Ritsuki might tolerate him, they have nothing good to say about him. He’s had problems in the past, I concede it, but I’m holding on to that shred of light, the kindness he’s shown me. He didn’t start those fires and he hasn’t done anything to hurt me.

  I like Lucas.

  “Nice location, scenic, but the solarium is better.” I jump as Lucas strolls into view, his copy of The Sister Star in hand. “I read the first chapter.”

  I hold my hand to my chest to soothe my racing heart. “Did you like it?” I’m hopeful, but if he didn’t, I don’t want him to feel obligated to stay.

  “I did. Is a phoenix the Sun Elves’ god? Gilded Academy will have to adopt this series as their enchiridion if so.”

  Across from me, Lucas sets the hardback on the tabletop, left hand lightly resting on the cover. His sleeve rides up, revealing the smooth bronze skin of his wrist. I’ve never stared at anyone’s wrist before, but the shape, the bluish veins, the tendons, suddenly fascinate me. I press my hand harder into my chest and my heart beats against my palm.

  Then I recall what Caesar said about how I look at Lucas. What did he mean? Am I doing it now? I pull my gaze to reach past Lucas and rest it on a far-off bookcase, though my focus remains with him in my peripheral vision.

  Lucas waves his hand as if to catch my attention, but I’m steadfast. I can’t look him in the eye until I figure this out.

  “Hey,” Lucas says, “you’re zoning out again.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why are you gazing into the abyss?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m reading the spines on that bookcase.”

  “From way over there? You must have hardcore glasses, then. Or maybe they aren’t standard eyewear at all. You’re not actually a cyborg, or some tech whiz, from the future, are you?”

  “N-no.” I shouldn’t be rude. Observing the compelling curve of Lucas’s right shoulder should be safe. Wait. Compelling? No, Melody. It’s a shoulder. How interesting can it be? And how does he maintain his uniform’s fresh crispness when he’s been moving around in it all day?

  “Now what are you doing?” Lucas points at his face. “My pretty greens are here, Melly Mel.” He scrunches his nose and sticks out his tongue. “Doesn’t work, does it? I have to specify my eyes or I could be talking about my harvested vegetables for all you know.”

  I frown. “I can see you just fine.”

  “Sure, you can.”

  Lucas places one knee then the other on the tabletop and slowly crawls toward me. No, he doesn’t crawl. He stalks. He moves with purpose and without leaving a single smudge on the polished dark wood. I swallow and avert my gaze, turning my head to the right, when he stops. He lowers onto his stomach, pushing my book and phone aside as he places his elbows in front of him to hold his chin with his hands.

  His voice loses its playful quality when he says “Melody” instead of “Melly Mel,” and I shudder. If he were a cat, his tail would be flicking, an action matching his narrowing eyes. “Look at me,” he commands, and I’m too startled to disobey because suddenly his hand cups my right cheek.

  When my gaze drifts to his emerald greens, Lucas’s smirk grows. “Hello, beautiful.” Lips have never been more fascinating. The way his move with those two simple words is bewitching. My eyelids flutter and my breath comes in faster until I’m lightheaded from the excessive inhalations and insufficient exhalations.

  Lucas laughs and withdraws, leaving my cheek as cold as ice. He rolls onto his back and spreads his arms and legs; he’d spill off the tabletop if it wasn’t so large. I can’t believe he’s lying on the table!

  “What was that?” I say breathlessly and scramble out of my seat. I consider running. My heart is pounding so loudly I can’t hear anything but the distinct THUMP THUMP, but then Lucas grabs his hand, the one he used to cup my cheek, and cradles it as though the contact with my skin … burned him.

  Why did he touch me?

  Lucas bolts upright, legs crossed, as he raises his hands to his mouth to subdue his laughter—though he doesn’t dismount the table. When he’s (mostly) through laughing he wipes the almost-tears from his eyes and says, “You should see the look on your face.”

  “You should sit on a chair and not the table. If you care about my buttons so much, shouldn’t you care about this too?”

  Lucas’s grin morphs into a smirk. The difference is in his eyes; they’re sharper now. “You have no idea, lovely.”

  Lovely, Melly Mel, and most recently, beautiful.

  I jump when my phone vibrates and skids an inch toward Lucas, alerting me to a new text message.

  “You gonna get that?” Lucas asks.

  I scoot around the table rather than reach over Lucas to claim my phone. Theo’s name is on the screen. Chloe and I aren’t going to make it.

  Before I can overthink it, I reply. Is everything okay?

  Theo’s opaque answer arrives five seconds after I tap send. Search Blake Earnshaw.

  My brow furrows so severely that it promises to trigger a headache if I don’t relax.

  “What’s up?” Lucas asks.

  “Theo and Chloe aren’t coming.”

  “Because of that ‘emergency’ earlier?”

  “I don’t know.” I show him Theo’s message.

  “Oh?” Lucas slides off the table and into the chair at my right as he slips his phone from his pocket all in one seamless motion. “Then let’s search Blake Earnshaw.” He taps the touchscreen with rapid-fire precision. “He’s a trending topic, literally blowing up on every social media platform.”

  “More than usual?”

  “Yep. He kissed some girl. Also, he’s in Colorado, in case you were wondering.”

  “But he has Chloe …”

  “That’s the point. Well, that and he’s Blake Earnshaw. What a scandal. I’ve seen claims made in the past that were always disproved, and Photoshopped shit created by his rabid fangirls, but there’s video this time. Oh ho ho holy hell. And it’s the real deal.”

  I scoot my chair closer to peek at Lucas’s phone as he taps an earlier point on the YouTube video’s timeline and turns up the volume.

  Blake Earnshaw’s iconic figure fills the screen. He’s unfairly handsome and the amateur quality of the phone-captured video doesn’t diminish that fact in the slightest. I can see Theo in him, or him in Theo as the case may be, but it’s subtle. Blake is much sturdier. Where Theo is slender, Blake is strong. Perhaps it has more to do with their age difference than anything, but Blake’s features are unarguably darker.

  A dangerous smirk twists Blake’s countenance, suddenly rendering him unrecognizable. The unnatural shadows cutting into the planes of his face must be exaggerated he
re, but this visage … When I caught glimpses of him in pictures or watched him play the piano on TV, he never made this expression. “I’m staying at Teagan’s place.” Even his tone is different, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the phone’s speaker.

  “What?!” The phone holder distorts the audio with her high-pitched remark.

  “Should you be recording this?” an off-camera girl asks.

  “It’s Blake Earnshaw. Everything he does is recorded. Haven’t you been following his romance with teen actress Chloe Sullivan? He proposed to her when he was ten years old and she was nine! Yeah, they were kids, but their love is the cutest, purest thing in the world. Everyone keeps talking about when he’ll propose for real.”

  “Not everyone.”

  Another voice joins the conversation, though the visual remains squarely on Blake. “He’s been the perfect boyfriend for eight years, but now he’s staying with Teagan?”

  “He’s not staying with Teagan,” a boy interjects. “Teagan doesn’t live there anymore.”

  “No, but she visits.” The video zooms into Blake’s flawless face as he speaks. “In fact, she’s the reason I didn’t make it to school yesterday. To thank you for your exemplary hospitality, Teagan …” Blake moves and the crowd parts. Except for a pretty blonde, for whom Blake stops. He takes her chin in hand, tilts her face upward, and kisses her. After a silent, seemingly frozen, moment, the blonde shoves him with a defiant “In your dreams.”

  Blake’s laugh is cruel. “Hey, if you’re too shy to tell them what happened yesterday, then my lips are sealed, babe.” He mimes zipping his lips and flicks his hand.

  “Oh,” the blonde says, “I’m not the shy one.”

  The video blurs. When it’s in focus again, the blonde has a water bottle in hand. She twists the cap and squeezes. Water bursts, but Blake ducks before it hits him. It soaks a girl wearing a face full of makeup instead. When she opens her mouth to scream, the shaky video cuts out.

  Lucas mimics the voice of a radio-show host. “People of the world, behold the new and improved Blake Earnshaw, a gentleman no more.”

  “W-what just happened?” I ask.

  “Blake got tired of pretending to be perfect? I don’t know.” Lucas scrolls through the comments. “It’s a fucking war zone, but Blake’s fangirls agree on one thing: Teagan’s at fault. Wow. A user called GlitterKitten has ‘evidence to support’ this conclusion. Some fanatic—apparently a smokin’ hot siren—tried to seduce Blake a couple of years ago, but he graciously turned her away because his ‘love for Chloe is pure.’ Barf. Are these people blind? Blake clearly kissed Teagan.”

  I stare at my copy of The Sister Star. The vague cutout-style artwork of a feminine figure begs me to fill in the details of her face so that I might recognize her. Why? Appearances are surface-level information that can easily conceal the contents of the heart.

  “Theo, Chloe, and Ritsuki really believe in Blake,” I say. “I can’t imagine how much this betrayal hurts them.” I can’t pretend to know everything that’s going on between them and Blake’s bizarre situation, but that much must be true. They said Caesar’s doing underhanded things, but it’s Blake.

  “They’ll be fine,” Lucas says nonchalantly.

  In time.

  Quietly, I stand to gather my things and sling my backpack over my shoulders. Lucas watches me and remains planted in his chair, though his foot taps impatiently. His unwavering attention sears my skin.

  I shiver. “Our meeting is canceled. You don’t have to stay.”

  “I know, but neither do you. It’s Friday.”

  “It’s Friday,” I agree.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  Lucas sighs. “We’re free to leave the academy. Unless you weren’t granted permission by your guardian.”

  “I have permission, but I don’t have a car.”

  “No problem. I do. You need a purse and I want to get my dad an ironic postcard so that he doesn’t forget I exist. We can get both of those things and dinner at Marine Plaza.”

  “But—”

  “It’ll be fun, loads better than the fucking football game tonight.”

  “Lucas, I don’t have much money.”

  “No excuse. I’ve got money. I’m not taking no for an answer, lovely. You need a purse, and if I’m trapped inside these walls for another fucking hour, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” He hops off the chair. “I’ll meet you outside of Selenite Hall in twenty minutes.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I consider the two sections of my walk-in closet: my gold-accented blinding-white school uniforms that may as well be decorations and my frumpy casual clothes that strongly resemble a stain. I don’t have an eye for fashion, but I’ve heard enough comments to regret not allowing Naomi to pick out some “cute” outfits for me now that I have friends I’d like to … impress. At the very least, I don’t want them to be ashamed of me.

  I even feel self-conscious about my assigned maid (yes, Selenite Hall has maids) being subjected to my clothes. Unless I request her, she’ll only visit my room every Saturday, so she hasn’t been exposed yet, but she will be.

  Lucas will be.

  Sulking, I pinch a pair of oversized jeans. I know they’re oversized, but they’re comfier like this. That’s why I stubbornly refused to part with them and didn’t give Naomi’s tighter suggestions a chance. My family is used to how I dress. They may tease me about it, Russel in particular, but I never considered they—he—might be reluctant to be seen with me. Until now. Russel always avoided me when we were in school together. He wasn’t exactly popular himself, being a horror geek, but he’s always had friends.

  Why is this year starting so differently for me? Because I’m Gilded Academy’s first scholarship student? Because of the uniforms?

  Maybe all schools should have uniforms. If worn properly, there’s no discernible difference in my status to anyone else’s, right? Makeup and accessories are also indicators of affluence and are allowed to some extent, but we’re all required to wear one of two uniforms. My clothes haven’t had the chance to scare anyone away.

  I’d wear my uniform off campus if it wasn’t strictly prohibited under the circumstances. I’m not going on an academy-sanctioned trip and therefore am not allowed to represent Gilded Academy.

  Sighing, I settle for my best-fitting jeans and a pea-green T-shirt. The denim is heavy and extra clunky when I drop my phone into a back pocket. I haven’t worn denim for a few days. I’ve always preferred my comfy shorts, but jeans are standard attire, so I wore them to school daily—I’m not entirely oblivious when it comes to clothes, and they have pockets—but somehow my school uniform is far more comfortable. The extra fabric of my T-shirt is even irritating, because it catches on my hands as I twist around to inspect myself in the mirror. “Saggy boobs” rings in my ears and I stop looking.

  I retrieve my phone, find my conversation with Lucas, and begin typing a message. I can’t go out with him if I’m sick. Or if Naomi forbids it. She already has, but I haven’t heeded her warning—and have even started lying—because she, along with everyone else, is wrong about Lucas. She has to be.

  Something behind me clinks. It’s an almost bell-like sound, but it’s muffled. I exit the walk-in closet just as a pebble flies over the golden-flowered hibiscus and taps my windowpane. Plink.

  Warily, I approach the window at an angle to go unseen. I hug the pristine white wall and grimace when I inevitably disturb the half-open curtains to peek through the crystal-clear glass; the pebble(s) didn’t stamp a spot of dirt.

  A figure clad in neon pink and green looms several feet away. I blink, eyes stinging from the bright colors. I adjust my glasses and settle on his face. Lucas’s face. He looks so different without his uniform. His handsome visage is the same, but the emerald green of his eyes can’t contend with the unnatural hues of his tank top, the rainbow array of his many bracelets, and the checkered pattern of his pants. His combat boots, which he’s also wearing,
are normal in comparison.

  His tank top hardly covers him with those dropped armholes. When he turns to the side, I see more of his sculpted arms and his flawless torso than I ever have. He wipes down a pebble with a cat-patterned lemon-yellow handkerchief that’s half-tucked into his pants pocket. The way his muscles move, every piece of his fine-tuned body working in tandem, sends static to my brain.

  I squeeze my eyes shut to block him from sight and ask myself an important question: how does he know this is my room?

  Bypassing the curtains, I fumble with the window locks and then push. A rush of slightly warmer air kisses my face, carrying the subtle scent of the hibiscus.

  Lucas lightly tosses and catches the pebble at a consistent rhythm. “Melly Mel, you sure know how to make a guy wait.”

  “W-what are you doing outside my window?”

  “You’re late and I get stir-crazy.”

  “But how did you know it was my window and not someone else’s?”

  “I walked a legal perimeter around Selenite Hall the first night you asked me to dinner and your curtains were wide open. Ta-da! Melody’s room.”

  “You shouldn’t do that,” I blurt.

  “I wasn’t being a pervert. Promise.” He launches the pebble into the air one more time before dropping it into the flowerbed behind him. His back faces me then. Intricate lines of black, like rows of feathers imprinted on his skin, creep out from underneath his loose tank top—but only on his right side. He whips around before I have the chance to study much more. “You coming?”

  “Y-yes.” My brain short-circuits and I start climbing through the window as though crossing this skinny threshold to meet Lucas is of the utmost importance; it’s clandestine and averse to doors.

  Lucas spits out a laugh. “This is cute, lovely, but I’ll meet you at the entrance like a proper gentleman.”

  My face burns so hotly that my vision flashes white. “Right.” And I manage to hit my head on the way back in because I start turning when I should keep straight. Mercifully, Lucas doesn’t witness that because he’s already left.