by Sophie Lark
“We made a great team.” Zoe smiles. “Us and Ares—like Charlie’s Angels and Bosley.”
“Who?” Chay frowns.
“They—never mind.” Zoe shakes her head.
Zoe is a fan of old TV shows, and her greatest disappointment came on the day when Chay confessed that she had never heard of Lucille Ball.
“I still think you should come to the party,” Chay says.
Zoe soberly shakes her head. “I’m going to stay in and study,” she says. “I missed too many Chemistry classes and now I don’t know anything about secondary explosives.”
She stays with us while we get dressed, however. I pull on a black silk camisole and a pair of velvet pants. It’s a softer and more romantic look than what I usually wear—especially once Zoe brushes my hair out and plaits it in a long and intricate braid with a black ribbon woven through.
“You’re so beautiful,” Zoe says, without jealousy.
“So are you,” I tell her.
It’s true. With her coal-black hair and light green eyes, Zoe has a kind of ethereal loveliness that is only enhanced when she looks unhappy, as she does right now. She looks like an elf-princess trapped in a dark fairytale. Which, in a way, she is . . . she’ll have to stay locked in this tower all night by the decree of her father while the rest of us are free to go where we like.
“What about me?” Chay says, more to break our melancholy mood than because she actually cares about compliments. Chay’s sense of self-worth is a perpetual-motion machine that needs no fuel.
I survey her cherry-red pants and cropped t-shirt.
“You look like Mick Jagger,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she pouts. “I was going for David Bowie.”
I give Zoe a quick hug before we part ways at the door.
“Come down later if you change your mind,” I tell her. “When everybody is too sloshed to tell on you.”
Chay and I cross the courtyard quickly, holding our school blazers over our heads as makeshift umbrellas because it’s still raining. We’re heading to the stables where the havoc of a party underway is audible even over the sound of the rain.
The stables are on the far west side of campus, and a popular place for revelry when the weather is bad. It’s been a long time since any animals were kept here, but you can still find traces of hay between the wooden floorboards. One end of the stables is used for storage of odds and ends—broken desks and chairs, moldy textbooks, worn-out mops and brooms, stacks of filing boxes containing the records of students long dead. The still-living students have cleared the opposite side so we can gather here without attracting too much attention.
The most functional of the broken furniture has been repaired and repurposed to give us somewhere to sit. This includes a large sofa that apparently used to reside in the Chancellor’s office until two of the legs snapped off. Now its green velvet is stained and torn, and it groans beneath the weight of a half-dozen Enforcers.
Music is playing from a speaker that looks like the same one Dean borrowed the night I met him in the icehouse. The sound quality is tinny, but nobody cares. It’s turned up full-volume, blasting The Spins.
The Spins — Mac Miller
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Apple Music → geni.us/freshman-apple
I don’t see Dean himself, which is a relief. I doubt he’ll come—the last thing he’ll want to do is watch Leo celebrate his victory. Bram, however, is over by a hollowed-out watermelon turned into a makeshift punch bowl, pouring in a foul-looking combination of liquors.
My eyes keep roaming until I spot the person I most want to see: Leo. He’s surrounded by a crowd of ecstatic Freshmen, assuring them that he thinks our chances of winning the Quartum Bellum have never been better.
As if he can feel me looking at him, he glances up and breaks into a grin, then immediately winces because the smile re-opened his split lip. I’ve never seen him so beat up in my life. His right eye is almost swollen shut, and his entire face is a map of cuts and bruises. But somehow it can’t dampen his handsomeness—just the opposite. His bright eyes and his huge grin shine through all the same, showing that nothing in the world can keep Leo down for long.
I wish there weren’t so many people around. The smell of alcohol and the noise of the party and the press of excited Freshmen crowding around Leo is bringing back painful memories. This is very like the night three months ago when we had just won the first challenge.
I went into that evening full of hope and anticipation.
I’m afraid to allow myself to feel those same emotions over again.
Leo and I have been recovering our friendliness, bit by bit. But I don’t know if we can ever go back to where we were. Actually, I’m sure we can’t. Too much has happened since then. It’s just like I was thinking up in my room—Leo has changed. And so have I.
The night of that other party, when we walked down the path to Moon Beach, all I wanted was for Leo to kiss me. I wanted to see if the thing I’d been feeling could take physical form. I wanted to see if the attraction I was imagining would spark into life if his lips met mine.
Now . . . now I want something much different than that.
I think of the trust, the companionship, and the connection we had. I want all of that as love, not just friendship.
But I don’t know if that’s possible. How could Leo and I truly give ourselves to each other after what happened? He hurt me, and I hurt him back. He fucked some girl practically in front of me, and I dated his worst enemy.
I know I made mistakes too. It wasn’t just Leo—I had a lot of growing up to do this year.
But it still jabs at me, thinking about it. My hopes that were so high that night, dashed on the rocks when I saw Leo with Gemma . . .
Can you ever really forgive something that hurt that bad?
Does Leo even want to forgive me . . . or to be with me?
The other day he practically gave his blessing for me to date Dean. It seemed like he didn’t even care.
Well, that’s all over now one way or another. I told that to Dean a few days after his disastrous attempt to fuck me. He cornered me outside my dorm, and I told him it was over. He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “No it isn’t.”
“That’s not up to you,” I said, trying to steady my hands from shaking. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”
He stared at me, not answering. Then at last he said, “We’ll see about that.”
I don’t know what the fuck that was supposed to mean, and I don’t care.
Maybe I should have told Leo that Dean and I broke up, but it hurt my feelings all over again, the way he didn’t seem to give a shit anymore. The way he almost seemed to be promoting it.
That’s why I don’t run over to Leo right now, pushing my way through the crowd of people around him. Because after all this time I still don’t know how he feels about me.
It may be that he just wants his best friend back.
As badly as I’ve missed Leo, I don’t know if I can be that for him anymore. Not with the way I feel. It would be torture.
“Hey!” Chay says, seeing the unhappy look on my face. “Come dance with me!”
She pulls me out onto the uneven wooden boards before I can answer, elbowing her way through the press of kids who are jumping around, singing along to the music without knowing the lyrics, grinding against each other, and doing everything else short of actual dancing.
Chay knows how to move. She has that effortless sensuality that draws every eye in the room toward her—not just the guys, but plenty of the girls too. She knows how to use her hips and her hands, how to bite her lip and toss her hair in a way that has four or five different dudes trying to cut in within five seconds.
“No, fuck off! I’m dancing with Anna!” she shouts, shoving them away unceremoniously.
But I can sense Chay’s eyes drifting over to Ares on the opposite side of the room. He’s leaned up against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. Plenty of p
eople want to come up and congratulate him, but he shrugs them off in the nicest possible way. I can practically hear him saying, “It was nothing. It was Leo’s idea.”
Ares is allergic to attention—probably because so much of the attention he gets from idiots like Bram is negative. Also I just don’t think he likes it. If he weren’t friends with Leo, he’d probably never come out of his room.
Chay views that as a challenge. Now she’s turned to face Ares directly, showing him some of her best moves. She winks at him and beckons for him to come on over and join us. Ares blushes and shakes his head, determinedly turning his eyes somewhere else.
“How he could he turn this down?” Chay says, scowling and gesturing to her tight gymnast’s physique.
“Must have hit his head in that challenge,” I laugh.
“Who wouldn’t want to dance with the two prettiest girls in the school?” a deep voice says.
I spin around, seeing that Leo has snuck up behind us. It was a silly compliment, something that could mean nothing, but already my skin is burning just from how close we’re standing.
“Fuck, you’re a mess!” Chay laughs, looking up at Leo’s battered face.
“Don’t I know it.” He grins. “Worth it, though. You girls were fucking flawless. All that target practice paid off.”
“It was your idea,” I tell him. Then, screwing up my courage to say something a little more real, “I’m proud of you. Trusting Ares like that. Trusting all of us, instead of just doing it yourself.”
Leo looks down at me, his brows drawn together in a way I can’t quite interpret.
“Sometimes the harder thing is to let go,” he says.
My stomach drops like a rock. Does he mean that about us? Did he let go of the idea of what could have been between us? He could have given up on it months ago. He could be miles past it now.
The music switches from upbeat pop to something slower.
Wicked Game — Chris Isaak
Spotify → geni.us/freshman-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/freshman-apple
Quickly, Chay says, “I need a drink!” and she abandons us on the dance floor.
Leo and I look at each other awkwardly for a moment, and then almost without thinking, his hands encircle my waist and I reach up around his neck. We fit together so well, Leo just the right amount taller than me even when I’m wearing heels. We’re swaying together in perfect tandem without even trying.
I look into his eyes. They glow like embers in the deeply tanned skin of his face. I see that hunger burning in them—that expression when Leo sees something he wants desperately. When there’s a prize he’ll give anything to win.
My heart is swollen and hot in my chest. My cheeks are burning. For no reason I can tell, tears are pricking my eyes.
Leo swallows hard, making his throat contract. His lips part, and I’m both terrified to hear what he’s about to say, and wildly anticipating it. Everything in the world hangs on this moment.
“I missed you, Anna,” he says thickly. “I’ve missed you so bad.”
I blink, and two tears run down my face, searing the skin in parallel tracks.
“All the light went out of my life,” I whisper. “I’ve been so dark without you.”
“Really?” Leo says, and his voice cracks.
I nod, dropping the tears to the ground.
Leo hugs me hard against his chest. I smell his scent—the thing I love most in the world. I don’t want to go one day without it.
Then someone shoves us hard, breaking us apart.
Dean snarls, “Get your fucking hands off my girlfriend.”
25
Leo
Dean faces me, fists already raised, Bram and Valon Hoxha right behind him.
Dean never turns red when he gets angry. His skin blanches paler than ever and becomes as stiff as a mask. The only light in his face is the glint of his incisors as his upper lip draws up in a snarl.
“I’m not your girlfriend,” Anna says, furious.
Dean ignores her completely. His eyes are fixed on me and me alone.
So I say it again, to be sure he heard it.
“Anna doesn’t belong to you.”
“The fuck she doesn’t,” Dean hisses. “If you so much as look at her, I’ll cut your fucking throat.”
“Leo . . .” Anna says warningly.
She’s probably worried that Dean’s out of his mind, because he certainly looks crazy enough to try to kill me. Or she might be concerned that it’s three against one. Until Ares materializes beside me, silent but staring at the Penose in a way that makes it very clear that he’ll back me up whatever happens.
“It’s okay, Anna,” I say, giving her a reassuring look.
Apparently Dean was serious about me keeping my eyes to myself, because that’s all it takes. He charges at me, fists up in his boxer’s stance. I barely have time to get my own hands up before he sends a flurry of punches directly at my face.
I’m not in the best condition for a fight. Those paintballs were no fucking joke—my head was already throbbing before Dean clocks me with a hard right cross, rattling my brain in my skull.
Vaguely I’m aware that Bram and Valon have likewise charged at Ares, and the three of them are rolling around on the floor kicking and punching each other. But I can’t pay any attention to that, because Dean is still attacking full-throttle. He’s no easy opponent even when I’m in peak condition.
He slams his fist into my ribs, ribs that might already be fractured from half a dozen paintballs. The yell that comes out of me is strangled and hoarse.
Exchanging blows with Dean while he’s fresh and I’m beat is a bad idea. I’ve gotta follow Ares’s example and take this motherfucker down to the ground.
Diving under Dean’s next blow, I drive my shoulder into his chest and knock him backward. He goes down hard, all my weight on top of him. He tries to roll out of it, but I’ve already seized the front of his shirt and I use that to hold him in place while I pummel him with my right hand. I’ve got the longer reach, and I hit him three or four times hard in the face while his punches can only barely make contact.
Valon gets free of Ares and punches me hard in the left ear, knocking me off of Dean.
Furiously, Anna knees Valon right in the face, but she’s grabbed around the waist by another Penose who drags her backward out of the fight.
At this point, it’s an all-out brawl. The mood of celebration has splintered into a dozen different fistfights, mostly between Dean’s Penose and Bratva and some of my closer friends, including Kenzo and Hedeon.
I can’t see Anna. While I’m distracted looking for her, Dean hits me with a left hook that sends blinding flashes of light across my vision. I hit him back in the nose and jaw, and soon we’re rolling around again, kneeing, hitting, and elbowing every inch of each other we can reach. Our blood is pattering down on the bare boards, some from Dean but more from me.
Dean tries to stick his thumb in my eye, and I boot him off of me with a heel to the chest. We both scramble upright again, Dean bleeding heavily from his nose and me leaning hard to the side, ‘cause my ribs are a flaming ball of agony.
We’re about to rush each other again when I hear Anna screaming, “STOP! PLEASE STOP!!!”
Dean and I stare at each other, breathing hard, our blood pattering down.
I don’t want to stop. I want to fucking kill him.
But I’d do anything for Anna.
“Alright,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’ll stop.”
I turn to look at Anna.
That’s when Dean’s fist comes crashing down on my jaw in the last punch I can feel.
26
Dean
Anna screams for us to stop fighting, and Leo holds up his hands, signaling his willingness to stop.
He doesn’t get to decide when we stop.
This isn’t over until I say so.
Leo looks over at Anna, looks at my fucking Anna, after I just fucking warned him. I p
ull my fist back and sucker punch him from the side, the hardest fucking punch of my life, with every bit of my fury and bitterness behind it.
I see the lights go out as soon as I make contact. That was too much for him in one day. His knees buckle, and he’s going over. He would have crashed all the way down if not for Hedeon Gray catching him from the side, stumbling back under Leo’s dead weight.
I only have a second to enjoy it before Anna slaps me hard across the face. And I mean really fucking hard—it makes my ears ring and my eyes water. I have to blink hard to make her pale and furious face swim back into view.
“You ASSHOLE,” she seethes.
Anna is burning with fury. I can almost see the sparks of outrage popping off her skin. And I feel exactly the same. Why doesn’t she see that she and I are the same at our core? I know she has the same capacity for obsession, extremism, violence that lives inside of me. If we were to combine our strengths, we’d be unstoppable.
But she insists on turning back to Leo Gallo again and again.
What will it take to show her that I’m the better man . . .
“I am an asshole,” I tell her. “A brute. A killer. I do what it takes to win the fight. And I won’t ever stop fighting for you.”
I look at Leo, supported by Hedeon Gray.
“He’s soft,” I sneer. “And he has betrayal in his blood. You deserve better.”
With that, I walk away from her, Bram and Valon in my wake.
Bram is chortling as we exit the stables. “That fucking idiot—didn’t see that coming!”
For me, the elation of hitting Leo was short-lived. Already I’m swirling with bitterness again, the image of Anna dancing with Leo burned in my brain. The way she looked up into his eyes. The expression on her face that I’ve never seen when she’s looking at me, not one time.
Leo got knocked out because he was distracted by her. Because he listened to her when she asked him to stop.
That’s how you make a fool of yourself. That’s how you make mistakes that can get you killed—by allowing a woman to twist your judgment. To make you weak.
