by Mj Fields
“Angela, give Autumn the access card to my suite so they can see the history.”
Mom looks stunned, but only for a moment. “Yes, of course, Monsieur de la Porte.”
“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur de la Porte,” I smile gratefully.
He nods. “De rein. Please, none of those,” he pauses and thinks for a moment, “selfies on floor one.”
“Of course.”
“Can we get one in here with you on the screen in the background?”
Jean-Paul looks amused by Stella’s request.
We all stand in a group in front of the screen and I feel Aaron’s hand placed gently on my back. He whispers, “Smile, Fancy Face, you look beautiful.”
When it’s done, I quickly move away from him.
Before we collectively leave the room, Jean-Paul’s voice comes across the conference room speakers, “Make sure you tag me in it.”
As we walk out, Stella grabs my hand and attempts to whisper, “That accent makes him even sexier, he is so fucking hot.”
I look back at Mom, hoping she didn’t hear her, her eyes are closed as she shakes her head slightly in exasperation.
“Make sure they leave with something, please, Angela, so they remember who they can become.”
“Fucking swoon,” Stella grins and Elijah pulls her all the way out the door.
“Lala, Jesus, indoor voice.” Aaron shakes his head walking behind them.
Standing in front of the door, Autumn turns and looks at all of us. “Shoes off on the marble.”
“He said start at the top.” Stella is bursting with excitement.
“We’re leaving our shoes here,” Autumn tries to be autoreactive, but quickly catches Stella’s excitement. “Then we go to the top!”
You know what happens on the worst day of your life; yeah you do, it sucks, entirely and completely sucks. You’d rather face death or drop off the face of the earth, than be around even the happiest of people.
But once inside la Placard, it’s as if the world is millions of miles away.
So many photos, so many smiles and looks of wonder and even grace cross their faces. It’s like today didn’t even happen.
I allow myself to get swept up in it.
Once we’re done with the past and the present, Mom becomes the most famous woman in the universe by handing Jenny, Stella, and me what I know will be this season’s IT bag.
“No way.” Stella jumps back as if it may bite her. “No fu-” Her jaw clamps as she leaps forward and hugs my mom, the bag squished between them. “Thank you for giving us Natasha.”
Huh?
Mom laughs and pats her back. “Thanks for seeing her here today.”
Once the Stella and Mom hugfest is over, Mom looks at me with love before handing the guys platinum cufflinks with the de la Porte logo.
“I’ve spoken to the Dean and she will excuse the… tardiness, if you make it back right after lunch.”
Panic strikes. Mom sees it.
“You can join your friends for lunch and come back here if you’d like. Smiths is expecting you all at eleven.”
At lunch I push around the food on my plate as I watch everyone eating. Jenny and Jamal are in their own little world, Stella is taking bites and then making goo-goo eyes at her bag, and Tyler and I seem to be engrossed in the silent film starring Aaron and Elijah. Aaron is seemingly unaffected by Elijah's glare but he refuses to look away.
After far too much awkward silence, Tyler asks, “What gives?”
“Mind your business,” Elijah warns.
“Um, hello,” he snaps his fingers. “My friendships are my business, bitches.”
Well, that was a little much, but it works.
“My father’s death is because of his father.” Elijah points his fork at Aaron.
Typically cool, calm and collected, Aaron sits forward and hisses, “I’m so sick of your shit. Your father’s dead because he and my mother got into an accident.”
“Your father made it happen.”
“My father and a judge and jury saw differently.” Aaron glares at him. “I lost my mother too, asshole.”
“But you stand beside him regardless. Even after he left the country, you still defend him.”
Aaron stands, pulls out his wallet and drops a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “You know damn well that’s not why you’re pissed, just makes you appear nobler. You’re pissed that I fucked your sister. Get over it. I was fifteen.” He looks at Stella. “You wanna be friends with this dick and continue hating on me, cool. But this has not a damn thing to do with my dad. It’s because I fucked his sister.”
“Sisters, plural,” Elijah hisses.
“Twins, I was fucked up and didn’t know any better,” Aaron laughs while running a hand through his silky, male whore hair.
“Both?” Stella gasps.
“Yeah, well, shit happens.” Aaron shrugs and walks out the door without a glance back.
Wow, just… wow.
Aaron Esposito is much more complicated than I thought.
Oh, how I wish I could click my heels like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, and wake up with a plaid skirt on, and sister Mary teaching all the things I will someday do that will send me straight to hell. Might as well be there now.
“Question?” Tyler asks Elijah. Elijah doesn’t say a damn thing. “So, you hate him because his old man, what; killed your dad and his mom? Or that he banged the twins?”
Elijah leans forward and growls.
“Rumor has it, they–.”
His words stop when Elijah reaches over and grabs his throat.
“Bad Elijah, bad,” Stella yanks him back.
“I’m not a fucking dog, Lala,” he snaps at her.
“And he’s not the enemy.” She points to Tyler. “And I’m not too sure Aaron is either, anymore.”
When Elijah sits up and his chair nearly falls over when he pushes it back, I reach to grab it. And he turns, knocking my arm away, spinning me around, and yes, I inevitably end up on my ass.
“Fuck, Nat, I’m sorry.” He grabs my arm and hoists me up.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, sitting and hiding behind my hair.
He throws a hundred on the table too, before he storms off.
Stella’s elbows hit the table and she fists her hair. I know when I’m like that, I want to be left alone.
Tyler looks down at his phone, and Jamal and Jenny are nose to nose, entirely and blissfully unaware of what just happened. Or maybe, they just don’t care.
I make a mental note to add to my list that I want to find someone I can get lost with in the midst of chaos.
Chapter Seven
Natasha
I had spent the weekend on the phone with Stella, listening to her fight with her brother as she gave me advice on how to deal with the assholes at school on Monday.
During one of our many conversations, she admitted, after 9/11, her mother begged her dad to leave the police force, and he promised he would. He promised it over and over again, for years. Yet he never did.
When her brother was in kindergarten, and she was in fifth grade, her mother left her father for another man. A therapist who had worked with her after the attacks.
Stella and her brother were all set to go with their mother when she overheard a fight between her parents. Her mom admitted the affair had been going on for many years and she was just waiting until both kids were in school full time so she could work outside the home.
Stella refused to leave with her. She was angry at her mother, and her anger rubbed off on Bruno, her little brother, who wasn’t so little. He was entering high school the next school year.
We talked for over two and a half hours, Friday night, Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning.
I was shocked on Sunday when my father showed up at Mom’s, more shocked when pervy Johnny walked in looking at his feet.
The shock quickly wore off when my father asked him, “Is there something you want to say to your sister?”
&n
bsp; Yuck.
“Sorry for DMing that picture to that girl. But she messaged me and asked if I knew you. Then told me she didn’t believe me. Had to prove her wrong, ya know,” he shrugs. “I didn’t know she was gonna expose you.”
I hold my hand over my stomach as it twists in a knot. When he looks up, I know he’s lying.
Having had enough lies, enough bullcrap to last a lifetime I hold out my hand. “Let me see your phone.”
“What? No! It’s mine.”
Dad asks, “Natasha, why would you–.”
Sick and tired of having to deal with this kind of shit with Dad and his other kids, I cut him off. “I call bullshit! He’s a little dickhead and I’m done dealing with it!”
“Nice mouth,” the dirty little perv has the balls to say.
Dad looks at Mom. “You gonna–.”
Mom rolls her eyes and puts out her hand. “Phone, Johnny.”
“Dad?” Johnny looks up with pleading eyes.
Dad runs his hand through his hair. “First of all, your mouth, Natasha.”
“Yeah, my mouth, Dad. My. Mouth!”
Mom steps forward. “Phone, Johnny.”
Johnny steps back and hides behind Dad.
“I left it,” he pauses, no doubt trying to come up with a lie. “Home.”
Something snaps and I see red as I reach around him, grab his arm, and yank him toward me. “Empty your pockets.”
“Christ, Angela, what has–.”
“Don’t, Davis, just don’t,” Mom snaps at Dad.
“I want my mommy,” Johnny, a thirteen-year-old, whines like a baby.
Dad sighs, “Just give me the damn phone, Johnny.”
“It’s home.” He yanks his arm away from me.
Dad finally mans up, “The damn phone, Johnathon!”
Within seconds, I had opened the message, found the one from Socialite212, and seen the saline bags of one Socialite212 given at Johnny’s request before he sent an image of me.
“I cannot believe you’ve done this.” My Dad looks defeated.
I snatch the phone from my dad’s hand and scroll through his photos. “He has a folder with my name on it.” I turn the phone and show Dad.
Dad flips, “Fucking boundaries, Johnny!”
“You’re scaring me.” He plumps out his lying lower lip.
Finally, I think Dad sees past him. “You should be scared. Any other male on the planet had that many pictures of my daughter on his phone, and he’d be missing his balls!”
Mom’s eyes widen, but she looks amused.
“Delete them.” I push his phone towards him. “Now.”
He does.
“Give me the phone,” I hold out my hand and walk to Dad’s other side.
Not wanting Johnny to know there is a recently deleted file that saves photos for thirty days, I hit delete all.
Dad seems to understand.
“If he synchs his phone to a computer, they’re probably on there as well,” Mom tells Dad.
I look at Johnny and his lip trembles. He’s not faking this time, he appears scared. “Please don’t tell Mom.”
“Don’t ever do it again and–”
I cut Dad off again, “She needs to know! She treats me like I’m a freak and he feeds her bullshit half the time!”
“Mouth, Natasha,” Dad corrects me then looks at Mom. “You find this acceptable?”
“This, meaning our daughter cursing in our presence for the first time at seventeen? Or this, meaning a thirteen-year-old taking pictures of my daughter when she’s half-dressed and clearly doesn’t know he’s there? The same kid who traded a picture of her for a boob picture? Which one, Davis? Because I’m clearly confused as to why you’d scold her after all she’s been through.”
“You know what I mean, Angela,” he sighs.
“I may understand what you mean, but understanding and agreeing are two totally different things. Your daughter, however, is seventeen and has been.” She pauses and scratches behind her ear. “No, Davis, I don’t know what the hell you mean.”
Dad looks at me and shrugs, “I’m sorry, Natasha. I guess, boys will be boys?”
“It’s time for you to leave. And if I happen to get even a feeling that he may be up to something, I will call the authorities.” She looks at Johnny. “You basically paid for an underage girl's naked picture, young… man. That’s a felony.”
“Woo, woo, woo, Angela.”
“No, no, no, Davis. It’s illegal, and he’s not too young to learn boundaries or be prosecuted.” Johnny who now looks as if he may pee his pants. “Mark my word, Johnny, I will be checking up on you and your computer, which better be free of photos of my daughter.”
He nods ferociously.
“And Davis is wrong. To even utter the words boys will be boys, that’s so wrong. Do you hear me?”
Again, he nods.
“Good, now I’d like you both to leave.”
“It’s my damn weekend, Angela, I haven’t spent time with my daughter in–”
“She’s clearly avoiding for good cause. I will not encourage her to accept that kind of treatment, and shame on you, Davis Petrov, for not wanting to protect her from little predators.”
“Jesus, Ang,” he gasps. “I get it. Fine. Whatever.”
“Good. Keep in mind, deleting something doesn’t make it go away. It can be found. It can and will be used if necessary. Now make good choices, both of you.”
She just ‘mommed’ my dad.
After an almost bone-crushing hug and a kiss to the top of my head, Dad whispered, “You know I love you, right, kid?” I answered with a simple nod. Mom and I talk for over an hour about what happened, about the issues with my friends, namely the boys, and that she had overheard me mention London as a choice for college.
“It’s too late, Mom,” I laugh. “Anyway, it’s Stella’s idea. I’m good with going to school here.”
“Good or great?” she asks.
“It’s too late.” I laugh it off, but her constant questioning makes me wonder if it is a possibility.
“How about we look into it. Then decide.”
“You trying to get rid of me?” I joke.
“No, not at all. I’ve just seen you grow so much. Even with everything that happened the other day, you’re still thinking of tomorrow.”
“Ugghh, tomorrow.”
My thoughts are back on the post. We look at IG and see, not only is it gone, but so is Johnny’s account.
“You should send him a text, Natasha. Tell him thank you and that you love him.”
It hits me that I hadn’t said it when he left. But he didn’t really say it either, he just asked if I knew he did.
Mom pats my knee. “It’s not always easy to do what’s right, but it is–”
“Always right,” we finish together.
After we laugh, she nudges me with her shoulder. “There’s a big difference in doing what’s right, and being a doormat.”
After sending the text, we snuggle under the blanket and Mom turns on the TV.
I see a movie pop up we’ve never watched. “What’s Meet Joe Black?”
She scrolls to it and says, “Let’s find out.”
Walking through the steel doors of MSAD, passing through the security checkpoint, I take a deep breath before stepping into the main hall.
Stella and I are surrounded by our peers asking questions about how we managed to break through the platinum gates of de la Porte.
“Natasha mom is Jean-Paul's right hand.”
They all stare at me, but for different reasons than they did three days ago.
I shrug and look at Stella. “I need to grab some things out of my locker.”
Popularity is daunting, tiring; too much… peopling. But at least they weren’t looking at me like I was a freak.
By lunch, I was sure half the student body had complimented me on every article of clothing I had on, and of course, they’d ask if it was de la Porte.
I answered honestly,
“The dress is from Beacon’s Closet. The shoes are my mother’s.”
They laughed like I was joking. I wasn’t.
I saw Aaron sitting across the room looking at me in the relaxed manner I was accustomed to with him. And on the opposite side of the room was Sylvia and her girls, but for once, they weren’t snickering at me.
Not that I had too much time to look around, too many people wanted our attention.
It went on, All. Day.
The rest of the week was draining, and normally I would have looked forward to tutoring, especially Aaron, but I was exhausted.
The conversation wasn’t like it had been, fewer questions, more notes taken by him, and I just checked them over.
On Friday when I went to lunch, and it was just Tyler, Jenny, and Jamal at the table, I looked to see if Stella was coming and I saw Aaron and Elijah exchanging words. Then I saw Stella crying. Then they both hugged her.
She didn’t come back to the table; neither did Elijah or Aaron, for that matter.
When I messaged her to see if she’s okay, she replied yes and we’d talk after school.
I didn’t want to push, but it also didn’t feel right doing nothing.
When I decided to find her, I stood and Tyler got my attention.
“Hey, girl,” Tyler said, and I looked over at him. “That’s old drama, I’d let them handle it.”
He was right, so I sat and waited for time to pass.
When Stella wasn’t in class, I began to worry. When I didn’t see her in the hall between classes, I worried more. By the end of the day, I found myself standing at her locker, looking at my phone, waiting for a reply that wasn’t coming.
“Hey Fancy Face, got a minute?”
Annoyed, I shake my head. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Your skin is flawless, makeup perfect, you’re beautiful. Doesn’t have a damn thing to do with that fucking post.” He’s pissed… at me. “And I’m not asking for a minute for me. Stella wants to talk to you.”
“Fine.” I push myself off the locker.
“Good,” he replies and turns his back to me.
I follow him outside
When I see the vehicle he’s walking to, I stop. He must sense it because he turns around and looks at me.
