“Come on,” he says finally, ignoring my question and standing up. He holds out a hand to help me to my feet, and then moves back to the stereo, starting the song over from the beginning.
Cal stands in the center of the room and carefully moves his arms in time to the music, rising up on his toes when the song starts to pick up, Lzzy's voice singing about pirouetting in the dark. Callum follows her softly sung command before moving across the stage and spinning several times, extending one foot, and then looking up at himself in the mirror. He doesn't seem satisfied with what he sees, so when the song picks up even further, he follows along with the pace.
There's a bit of dubstep woven into the pop/classical mix of the song, and when the drop hits, Callum just lets completely loose, taking over the entire room with his energy. What becomes apparent to me as I watch him is that he's dancing from a place of anger.
He whips around the room, his body moving in ways I never could.
When the second drop in the music comes, he takes off for this fantastical leap and doesn't quite land right, stumbling and falling into the wall with a curse. For a moment, he closes his eyes and breathes through it. From what I can see on the opposite side of the room, he's in pain.
But he doesn't stop. Instead, he pushes off the wall and keeps going, captivating me completely. I've never seen a man move like that, especially not when he’s covered in ink the way he is. Damn, he’s good, I think, studying him as he pushes through the pain, muscles trembling, forcing his body to bend to his will.
The song comes to an end, and Callum's left bent in half in the center of the room, his breath coming in sharp pants. When he lifts his head up, he looks devastated, staring at himself in the mirror for a long, private moment while I try to figure out what it is that he wants from me.
“You're a beautiful dancer,” I say, and he laughs at me. It's not a nice laugh either. Not at all. I Don't Care by Apocalyptica and Adam Gontier comes on the stereo next, and it feels properly morose.
“I was a beautiful dancer,” he says, limping over to the stool and sitting down heavily on it. His jaw clenches, and he leans over like he's hurting. I don't know what to do, so I just stand there and watch him try to get through whatever it is.
“Are you alright?” I ask finally, and Cal nods, lifting his head up, his blue eyes dark.
“I'm fine.”
“How did you know I was watching?” I ask, and he quirks an almost-smile, forcing himself to his feet and exhaling.
“One of my girls asked who the rock star in the hallway was on Monday,” he says, flicking his gaze to my face. “That, and your smell lingers in the hallway.”
“My smell?” I ask as Callum holds out a hand for me to take. I do, and he pulls me into the center of the room, guiding my body with his. Adam's husky voice slips through the speakers in the four corners of the room as Cal walks me in a slow circle, putting my back to his front, and extending my right arm by sliding his fingers along the length of it until our hands curl together.
“You smell like peaches and leather,” he whispers against my ear, his rough voice breaking a bit. Cal pulls away from me and encourages me to spin, slipping an arm around my waist and yanking me close again. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest as he moves us back a few steps, our slippers brushing against the shiny wood floor.
I can't stop staring at his face, at this mixture of elation and desperate agony.
“Why are you so angry?” I ask him as he turns me in another circle and then dips me. I have no idea what I'm doing, but it's not hard to follow the smooth, easy cadence of his movements. It's like the music speaks to him in secret words I'll never be able to understand, and he translates that mystical language with his body.
The song ends, the last notes echoing around the room, and then the power shuts off.
“Fuck,” Callum murmurs as I freeze in his arms. “The building manager hasn't been paying the electricity bill on time, so sometimes we get blackouts.”
He steps back from me and walks a tight circle around my sweating form. I yank the scrunchie off my wrist and throw my white-blond and pink hair up into a high pony.
“Do you know what first position is?” he asks, and I shrug.
“Vaguely.” I put my body into what I think the right position is, and Callum steps forward to make some corrections, his hands gentle as he guides my arms into place and slides a finger down my spine to encourage me to straighten up.
“Good. Second position?” I shake my head because that's as far as my knowledge goes, and even then, it's only from watching movies and TV shows with vague references to dance. Callum shows me what to do by taking the position and waiting for me to imitate it before he moves over to correct me, gently putting one of his shiny black ballet slippers between my legs and encouraging me to spread them apart a bit more.
Our eyes meet, and my throat gets tight.
“You think I'm angry?” he asks finally, and I nod.
“It's in every movement you make,” I tell him, and he nods, stepping behind me so that he makes a shadow in the mirror. The only light in the room comes from a dusty skylight up above our heads, and even then, dusk is approaching quickly. Speaking of, I really should get going … “It's like you both hate and love dance at the same time, like it's the air you breathe but also the poison that’s slowly killing you.”
“Mm. Third position.” Callum takes up the pose, and I copy him. Again, he steps forward to correct me, getting too close, touching me too softly. I can't believe this is the same guy who chucked hot coffee in a football player's face and then punched him in front of two dozen Fuller High students. “Do you know why that prick called me Prima the other day?” he asks, like he can read my mind, his velvety voice making me shiver.
I shake my head, and Cal sighs heavily.
“I used to think dance would get me out of here,” he says, and even though it's too dark to see his facial expression, I can feel his emotions in his words. I don't need to ask where here is, exactly. I know he doesn't mean just Springfield, but … poverty. Darkness. Violence. Hate. Abuse. Everything.
He puts his hands on my shoulders, and I shiver, closing my eyes and holding third position with shaking arms. I'm no good at this. But I don't think that was the point. He's showing me his world, and it's a world you can't explain with words.
He readjusts my arms and feet for me, and each place his hands touch leaves a mark that I can just feel when I close my eyes, like bright spots of light in the blackness behind my lids. He stretches out my arm, smirking a bit when my breasts brush against his chest. I don’t exactly have a dancer’s body myself. Too busty, too curvy.
“I don't see why it can't be?” I ask, and Cal laughs again, a dry sound that makes me shiver again. I open my eyes, and find that some cloud cover's moved over, blotting out all the light. We're standing in total darkness now.
“When I was fifteen,” he says, moving my body again. I let him manipulate me and find some sort of comfort in it. For a moment there, I don't have to think or wonder what I should do, what my next move will be. I just exist. It's beautiful. “I made the mistake of sleeping with my dance partner.” He pushes down on my arms until they're relaxed by my sides. “Her boyfriend and his buddies kicked the shit out of me. They broke my left ankle, shattered my kneecap, fucked up my spine. I can't dance for long without hurting. And there are just some things I can't do anymore …” He trails off, lost in dark memories. “Not only that, but the recovery time put me so far behind. What a way to lose my virginity, huh?”
“What did you do?” I ask, because I know that Callum was already part of Havoc in ninth grade. They'd just formed their little gang, but they were small-time back then. Not so much anymore. I can't imagine they didn't seek revenge.
“I almost killed the ringleader,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “Vic stopped me. If he hadn't, I'd probably be in prison for murder. But he taught me how to get revenge the right way—without getting caught.” Callum s
teps away from me and moves over to his bag, lifting his phone out and turning it on again. He sets it on top of the stereo and the light plays strange shadows across his face. “You did good, coming to Havoc.”
When he turns around, he’s limned in light. My breath catches, making my chest feel tight as he approaches me in his hoodie, his sweatpants bunched up above his knees. The scars on his muscular calves catch the glow from his phone screen, highlighting the jagged, angry lines.
My heart stops beating for a moment as Cal reaches out a hand for me to take, and I carefully place my fingers in his. City by Hollywood Undead starts to play as he pulls me to him, hard and fast. The sudden movement knocks the air out of me as he draws me in against his chest, my back to his front.
“I’m going to personally make sure every person on your list suffers,” he whispers, his velvety voice against my ear. Callum walks us in a circle and then pushes me forward, making me spin with my hand in his before he pulls me close again. His legs move against mine, forcing my body to perform a dance I’ve never seen before but somehow instinctually seem to know.
It’s him, that’s what it is. It’s impossible to resist Cal’s movements. In this moment, his body owns mine.
As the somber notes of the song drum past, Callum dips me back and then pulls me up, putting his hands on my hips and lifting me into the air. I’m not exactly a little ballet bird, but he lifts me up like I weigh nothing. We spin around together, my hands on his shoulders, our eyes locked. There’s barely any light in here, just the glow from his phone, but it’s enough to see the emotions playing out in his gaze.
There are so many, it’s like a kaleidoscope of colors—robin’s egg blue, azure, cerulean, sapphire.
My feet hit the floor and we’re moving again; his hands are all over me, fondling, caressing, guiding. He even slides his fingers along my bare inner thigh, burning me with the strength of his touch, and then stretches my leg up and out. I end up wrapping it around his waist, and we fall into the mirror.
My back hits the glass and our faces get close, too close, lips hovering. We exchange breath, but there’s not a lot of oxygen left in this room; it’s all been sucked out, replaced with passion and heat and desire.
We’re pressed so tightly together that I can feel Cal getting hard against me, but he doesn’t act on it. Instead, as the song picks up, he steps back and pulls me with him, spinning me in a wide circle and then stepping close again. He turns me around and then lifts me up by the waist, swinging me into his arms as the last notes trail off.
The next song starts up—it’s The Diary by Hollywood Undead. It’s much more upbeat in sound, but the words are about people like us, running the streets, feeling desolate and empty. I have to swallow twice to clear the lump from my throat.
Cal is still staring at me, his gaze dark, his body quivering with exertion. Sweat beads on his forehead, sticking his blond hair to his skin. For the briefest of seconds, I feel myself living a different life. Here I am in a ballet studio, in the arms of the most talented dancer I’ve ever seen, my heart beating out of my chest. It’s like I’m looking at an alternate reality, one where the pain of the past no longer exists.
My fingers trace along the side of Cal’s jaw, and I feel us being pulled together, our lips desperate to meet, to complete this fantasy we’re both living.
And then the lights snap back on, blinding us. The song switches to Losing My Mind by Falling in Reverse, and Cal sets me back down carefully, like I might break. He puts some distance between us, blinking and shaking his head like he’s waking up from a daze.
I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t bother to open my mouth, waiting there as Callum yanks some sweatpants from his bag and chucks them at me. I slip into them and put my jacket and boots back on, tucking my leather pants and the shiny pink slippers into my backpack.
“Come dance with me again sometime,” he says, and then he leads me to the door. I'm almost expecting him to kiss me when we part ways at the doorjamb, but he doesn't, and I don't know why I thought he would in the first place.
Or if I even wanted him to.
For two weeks, we've been waiting for news of Principal Vaughn to hit the school, but starting Monday morning, Ms. Keating made an announcement that the principal was out sick and would be returning as soon as he was well.
By Friday, we get a whole new story.
“He's missing?” I repeat as we sit together in the cafeteria, surveying Billie, Kali, and their collection of assholes on the far end. The tension in this school is coming to a head, but I don't know when or where. It's just a feeling, this itchiness that travels across my skin and makes me nauseous.
“Apparently,” Hael says, his mood dark and somber as fuck. He's still obsessing over Brittany. Fair enough. I'm also obsessing over Brittany. For whatever reason, I really, really don't want the baby to be his. Because, you're a Havoc Girl, like you've always wanted, but you refuse to admit it yourself. “Which is not good news for us considering we blew up his cabin.”
“Why don't you yell that a little louder, just to make sure the whole school hears you?” Aaron snaps, ruffling up his brown hair.
“We're fine,” Vic says, ever the pool of calm. Last Monday, I also found the rest of the morning-after pills we bought in my locker. Clearly, he broke in and left them there. But he hasn't once asked if I took them. I did, but he doesn’t know that. “Whatever happened to Vaughn isn't our problem. He made his bed, he can fucking sleep in it. Hopefully a cougar mauled his ass. Oscar, any news on Brittany?”
I slide off the tabletop and onto the bench seat next to Callum. He eats constantly, but at lunch, I notice he usually goes for Pepsi and cigarettes. It's like he's too wound up to eat in this jungle we call a high school. Sitting this close to him, it’s impossible not to think about our bodies moving in synchronous sensuality.
“Nothing unusual to report. She's been going to cheerleading practice, the gym, and her parents' house. She's barely attended any parties, and when she does, she doesn't drink. I'm almost positive she really is pregnant.”
Hael makes a frustrated sound under his breath and stares out the window like he wishes he could climb in his Camaro, drive away, and never look back. He could, if he wanted to. But maybe he cares too much about the other Havoc boys to leave?
“And Kali and Co.?” Vic asks as Oscar pauses to adjust his glasses.
“They've been selling product, and not just weed either. Meth. Coke. Pills. You name it, they're hawking it. Clearly, they must be getting the drugs from somewhere.”
“They're working with a bigger gang,” Vic says, studying them like a predator on the savannah. The lion with his big, thick mane standing in the sun and staring at the gazelle, not at all concerned with letting them know they are, in fact, the prey. “Working for, I should say,” he corrects, exhaling and leaning back. Vic’s sitting on the other side of Callum. I've noticed he's been very careful not to sit next to me lately. It's driving me nuts. I figured at some point, he'd confront me, slam his palm into my locker, get in my face. But he hasn't.
Maybe Vic’s waiting for me to come to him?
If he is, he'll wait forever. Fucking bastard.
I grit my teeth and suck on the straw I've jabbed into my chocolate milk.
“The only party anyone's talking about for Halloween night is the one at Stacey Langford's,” Aaron adds, and I realize that all week, I've been left entirely alone. Nobody's given me a single order or direction to follow. Why is that? “I've already spoken with her about it. She knows to just let them in, and we'll deal with it after that.”
“How are we planning on doing that?” I ask, and finally—finally—Vic deigns to look my direction.
“I haven't decided yet. You don't worry about it. Kali was your request, so we'll take care of her for you.”
“But Billie and Kyler and Mitch,” I add, remembering how Oscar said they wouldn't bother with Nurse Yes-Scott because she wasn't part of the deal. “They're a Havoc problem, and
I'm a part of Havoc, so—”
“Are you now?” Vic asks, cocking his head at me. “Because one minute, you seem determined to be our whore and that's it. The next, you're a part of the group. So, which is it?”
“Lay off, Vic,” Aaron says as I bristle and dig the nails of my right hand into my thigh.
The two men share a long, studying look, and Vic finally stands up, but not like he's giving in, just like he's had enough.
He takes off for the doors of the cafeteria, and I follow after.
I'm not even really sure what my goal is, but as soon as I slip between the graffiti-covered doors, Vic is pushing me into the wall and penning me in with an arm on either side. Once, I wrote a scene like this for Mr. Darkwood’s class to see if I could shock him with some racy teen sex, but all he did was cross out the word penning and replace it with pinning. I scribbled all over it and wrote penning means to shut in, as if in a pen, not the same thing as pinning. He responded with the comment: writing for shock value, no substance. I got an F. Pretty sure he was just being petty.
“Why are you in my face?” I ask, and Vic narrows his eyes on me, jaw clenching. I infuriate him like nobody else. I wonder if I melt some of his numbness away, like he does to me.
“Because you piss me off,” he says, but he's leaning in way too close for somebody that's simply pissed off. He puts his face up alongside mine, and I have to close my eyes. Emotions arc through me like shooting stars, and I have to resist the urge to squirm. When Vic breathes across the side of my neck, I shiver and goose bumps spring up across the surface of my skin.
“The feeling's mutual,” I manage to grind out as Vic puts his lips against the curve of my shoulder, and I find that I can't keep my hands to myself. My nails end up digging into his biceps as I cling to him. It's been a long two weeks, with him ignoring me the way he's been.
Havoc at Prescott High Page 28
