Beast: An Anthology

by Amanda Richardson

  “Next month I’ll be in Cabo for spring break. It’s gonna be epic. I think you’re the only girl from our school not going.”

  “My father would never allow it.” I cross my arms in front of me.

  “I bet your mother could convince him otherwise,” he says and I sigh at the notion that he’s probably right. My mother seems intent to whore me out to the first wealthy prospect. Most girls are being locked in their rooms, protected from being tainted by high school boys. Mine is practically giving them the key to my bedroom.

  “We have our own villa,” he continues, “private chef, a pool that overlooks the ocean and a driver to take us to the clubs at night. All the rooms are taken, but you can stay with me. Clothing optional.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good.”

  “Then you should come to the going away party we’re having the night before. Everyone from school is going. You have to be there.”

  “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

  “That’s because you’ve never been to one,” he says and I can’t argue with that. Gavin stops walking and it takes a few steps for me to realize he’s two steps behind. I turn around and face him. His hands are buried deep in his pockets. “All kidding aside, I would really like it if you came.”

  “Why?”

  “Because what else could you possibly have to do on a Friday night?”

  It’s a rude thing for him to say but it’s true. Two years into my high school years and I’ve buried myself in books. The only socialization I have is from the lacrosse team. I also volunteer at a nearby animal shelter. Still, I assume I should try to be a typical high schooler. Even if it’s for just one night.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll go.”

  We continue walking, I rub my arms to fight off the chill.

  “My biceps are killing me after today’s practice.” He flexes his arm through his suit jacket.

  “I thought the coxswain just sat there and yelled at the rowers?” It was a simple question and by the look on Gavin’s face, he does not appreciate it.

  “It’s the most important job. I have to steer the boat and am constantly straining to yell direction to my crew. I make the race tactic calls, keep everyone motivated. They trust me to help them keep pace, and to really push them toward the end. You must have heard about our competition in Philadelphia.”

  “No, I haven’t –”

  “We won, obviously. There were college scouts there. It’s how I got my offer to Cambridge. I’m headed there in the fall. Rowing scholarship although I don’t need one. My parents can pay for any university I want. Same for you. Have you thought about where you want to go to school?”

  I shake my head. “There are a few—”

  “You shouldn’t worry about it. You’re going to work for your father when you get out of school. If you want to work that is.”

  I open my mouth to counter his claim and ask why I wouldn’t work, but he carries on, “I’m definitely working for my family’s company when I graduate. Why wouldn’t I? Corner office is already waiting with my name on it. My dad thinks I’m going to college to study business so I’ll be ready to take over the company but I’m really just going to party. There’s plenty of years I’ll be stuck behind a desk. I may even stay for my masters just so I don’t have to start the nine to five.” He laughs and starts on a diatribe of all the facets of LeGume Imports.

  As he talks, I look up. There are clouds in the sky. The bright light of the moon is shining behind the darkest of them all. I stare and watch, waiting for the cloud to move but it doesn’t. The moon that waited all day to be seen is still being shadowed by it’s own environment.

  Gavin talks, we walk, and while I should be listening, I can’t help but dream about what it would be like to be up in the clouds.

  ☽

  Gavin sat next to me at dinner and carried on conversations with my father and his about their love of hunting and my father invited Gavin and Mr. Legume over for trap shooting. Mother and Mrs. LeGume planned a ladies day at the spa for us while Aunt Ina sat at another table casting weary glances my way.

  I ate in silence and chimed in when asked a question, which was seldom. When the adults danced, Gavin stayed by my side. When his hand moved over to my thigh I excused myself from the table and told him I needed to use the ladies room. I locked myself in a stall and read from the kindle app on my phone until my mother came in looking for me. I claimed stomach issues and hoped she’d send me home in the town car.

  Instead, she asked Gavin to bring me back.

  “Is anyone home?” he asks when we pull up to the Manor.

  “The night staff. They’re probably asleep though.”

  Gavin parks the car in the circular driveway and turns off the ignition. I arch my brows in confusion. He leans in, his arm snakes across the back of my seat. “That was a slick move. Telling your parents you weren’t feeling well. We have at least an hour until they come back. Maybe more.”

  I lean into my seat, away from his encroaching body. “You have the wrong idea.”

  With a wicked smile and a devilish look in his eye, he creeps in further, “I think I know exactly what you were getting at.”

  Putting my hands on his chest, I push him back, “I’m not interested.”

  His lips are so close to mine, his dark eyes studying me, trying to see just how serious I am. “Okay. I can take no for an answer.” He leans back a little and I let out a breath of relief. “For now. I think you enjoy being chased and I enjoy the hunt.”

  I close my eyes in agony and wonder how in the world I garnered the unwanted affection of the boy who can have any girl. Just not this girl.

  When I open my eyes, Gavin is no longer looking at me. Instead his eyes are wide, looking out the front window. “Who the hell is that?”

  I turn and see, in the shadow of the carriage house, Jameson Brock looking at us with a face so stern and eyes so fierce. His hands are at his side, fists clenched and chest barreling out.

  I swallow at the sight. “That’s our new mechanic.”

  “He looks like a beast.”

  I scowl at Gavin. “Why because he has a beard?”

  “Because he’s about to attack.”

  It’s an odd statement but he’s right. Jameson’s hair is haphazardly falling down his face. His arms look like they bathed in motor oil and his face is smeared in dirt. And with his broad frame he looks like he is about to pounce through the glass.

  “I’ll walk you in.”

  “No,” I say too quickly. “Trust me, I’m fine. You can watch me walk in if it makes you feel better.”

  Gavin looks back at Jameson but doesn’t seem too sure. I open my car door and run to the front of the house before Gavin has a chance to follow. I open it and then wave him off, quickly closing the door behind me.

  With my back to the door, I stand and wait to hear the car’s engine turn back on and leave down the driveway. When I am certain Gavin has left, I can’t help opening the door to peak out.

  When I do, I see Jameson still standing by the carriage house, with his back to me, looking down the driveway. I lean further out the door, and watch as his fists unclench. The ocean air blows his hair around. He raises a hand and pulls the long tendrils back. With a nod, he takes a step then stops. Slowly, he turns around as if he heard his name being called and his gaze locks on mine. Those blue-green eyes that held my attention earlier today are now holding me captive.

  My breath hitches. My body ignites in a rush of anticipation. I should be embarrassed for being caught staring at him but I can’t seem to close the door. Instead, I look back at the wild man who walked into our lives today. I haven’t spoken a word to him but for some reason I can hear his story. He’s a loner in need of a friend.

  Can I be your friend? My soul asks him.

  He closes his eyes and lowers his head. With a slight shake, he turns around and heads back to the carriage house.

  The Carriage House

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

&
nbsp; The sound of rifles shooting causes me to cover my ears.

  Father made good on his invitation to have the LeGume’s over for trap shooting. Our property is large enough, they can launch their disks toward the ocean, and shoot them in the sky, without the town police giving them a citation.

  Although, I doubt anyone would dare to give the great Franklin Bradford an issue at all. Based upon the sizable donation he made at the Police Benevolent Association Gala last Fall, I’d say he’s clear for just about any crime, except murder.

  “Squad ready?” the man at the machine that launches the clay targets calls out.

  “Pull,” Gavin says and the disk is released.

  Boom! He smashes the clay disk out of the sky. After a bout of congratulations from the men, he turns to me and calls out, “Did you see that, Jules?”

  From my spot under a tree, about twenty yards from where they’re standing, I give a thumbs up. Mother and Mrs. LeGume carried on with their spa day. When I declined, my mother was fine with me staying behind, assuming I was going to spend time with Gavin. Really, all I wanted to do was read.

  When I tried to go to my room, my father insisted I join them outside. I thought I’d be able to lose myself in the pages for a few hours but their damn guns are making my ears vibrate.

  I lower my head and try to read when the process starts again.

  Boom!

  With a huff, I slam my book closed. I fill my cheeks up with air and blow out through my nose. My gaze travels to the other side of the great lawn to the carriage house. I look back at the men shooting their disks and then back to the carriage house.

  For no reason at all, I stand and start walking across the lawn. As I get closer to the carriage house, my body begins to feel weighted, as if I’m being pulled in.

  When I reach the side of the building, I hear music. It’s loud, slightly angsty and has an edge. A man’s voice is singing along. The voice is rough and a bit raspy.

  I peer around the corner of the building and walk toward the open garage doors. Inside, Jameson is bent over the hood of one of Father’s cars. His flannel shirt is wrapped around his jean-clad waist, his torso covered in a white tank top that’s smeared in grease. Golden, tanned arms are ripe with muscle and bulging as he cranks something inside the car; the ripples in his back flex with the movement. The boys in my school are lean and athletic. Pretty prep school boys who have everything handed to them on a silver spoon. Jameson is a man who can fix things with his hands and works, out in the sunshine, and scares away guys, who try to make unwanted advances on girls, at night.

  My fingers graze my lips as I stare at the way his hair falls in front of his face and his eyes squint in concentration as he works. His mouth is moving with the words to the song and if I could, I’d stand here all day and listen to it.

  His head snaps up and his eyes widen slightly at the sight of me standing here.

  I place my hand on the side of the door and walk toward him.

  “Don’t stop singing,” I say.

  He stands up and fiddles with the tool in his hand. His brows pulling, eyes averted to the floor. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  I shake my head and walk in further. “What are you working on?” I say and then feel stupid for asking such an obvious question. “I mean, what’s wrong with the car?”

  He glances at the open hood and then back at me. “Engine.”

  “Oh. May I watch? I’ve never seen the inside of a car before.”

  He weighs the idea in his head momentarily and then answers, “Sure.”

  I take a spot on the opposite side, peering down. His mouth pinches in as he turns the crank.

  “Do you need help?” I ask, causing him to pause momentarily.

  “No.”

  I look at the red corvette he’s working on. It’s my father’s latest purchase. One I heard him cursing about at dinner because no one knew how to work on it.

  “How did you learn how to fix old cars?”

  He answers with strained voice, not looking up. “Verdicts still out if I can fix this one.”

  “You don’t know how?”

  “I do,” he says, exasperated. “I’ve done the same thing three times and it’s not working.”

  “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

  He glares at me under a furrowed brow. “Are you saying I’m insane?”

  With my book clutched to my chest I answer, “Technically Albert Einstein is.”

  Something about that statement causes him to drop his hand onto the side of the car and look away.

  I step back and walk around the room. I’m never in the carriage house. Cars aren’t something I’ve ever been interested in before. The floors are a shiny concrete and there’s the distinct smell of rubber in the air. A door to a small office is on this side of the room, as is a spiral staircase in the back that leads to the room Jameson is currently living in.

  “How is your room?” My hair twirls as a I spin around.

  He clears his throat and answers, “It’s very nice.”

  “Why don’t you have a place to live?”

  “Why do you ask so many questions?”

  I gnaw at my lip. “I’m curious.”

  His brows rise. “About me? Why?”

  “You’re interesting.”

  His fingers scratch beneath that course beard. “You’re odd.”

  “I know,” I sigh. “That’s what everyone at school says.”

  He motions toward the open garage door. “Your boyfriend doesn’t think so.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I deadpan. “He’s only here to kiss up to my dad.”

  “He was trying to do more than that last night.”

  “And I protected myself just fine.”

  Jameson lifts a rag from his back pockets and wipes his hands with it. With a shake of his head he answers, “Listen, kid, I have work to do. Why don’t you go back to reading your book?”

  With the rise of my chin I say, “I’m not a kid.”

  “Go,” he demands.

  “Why are you being so mean?”

  “Because I want to work.”

  “You can work with me—”

  “Go,” he practically shouts.

  I stomp my foot. “Have you remembered the step?”

  “What step?”

  “For the engine. Whatever it is you were trying to do before . . . You were missing a step. Now try again.”

  With pursed lips, he thinks for a second and then lowers himself back to the engine. He moves something and then starts working again. After a minute, he stops. A bewildered expression crosses his face. He accomplished whatever the heck it was, that he was trying to do.

  “You’re welcome,” I say and walk out of the carriage house.

  What a pity. The most egotistical, yet boring boy in the world wants to spend time with me and the one person I find remotely interesting casts me away.

  ☽

  For three weeks, I’ve stayed away from the carriage house. It’s not that I’m intimidated by Jameson Brock. I just don’t care to be where I’m not wanted.

  While I haven’t gone out of my way to see him, he tends to always be watching. When I get home from school, dressed in my long plaid skirt that falls below the knee, white button down and navy blazer, I feel his eyes on me. There he is, working on one of father’s cars in the cool April air.

  Or when I’m on the great lawn, with my lacrosse stick in hand, lobbing the ball in the air, up and away, and then running and diving to catch it, he’s on the side of the building, hosing down equipment.

  And when I take my walk along the beach, he’s out for his run, passing me on the sand, not making eye contact.

  At night, I stand on the veranda of the Manor and look out to the Atlantic Ocean and stare at the stars in the sky. Usually, the sight is nothing but blackness, the only light is whatever the moon decides to give me.

  These days, th
ere’s a faint glow coming from the second floor of the carriage house. The room where Jameson Brock now resides, yet doesn’t want this ‘kid’ around.

  He’s probably just like everyone else. Ready to dictate what kind of life a ‘girl like me’ should be leading. Little does he know, I have so much more than they’ve got planned.

  The Rescue Pup

  “WHAT IN THE world are you doing?” Mother is shrieking.

  “He was going to be put to sleep. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

  I’m standing in the circular driveway with a ten-year-old golden retriever who is blind and can barely walk.

  Mother steps down the front stairs, her hands on her hips, her voice shrill, “You will not step foot in this house with that mutt!”

  Clenching the tattered leash in my hand, I can’t fathom why she would refuse to let such a kind creature into our home. “What do you suggest I do with him?”

  “Take him back!” She says this like there is no other option.

  “He’ll die.”

  “Then good riddance.”

  My tone is defiant. “Great, so when you’re old and senile I’ll just put you to sleep.”

  She throws her arms up in exasperation. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore.” She points to the dog with a vengeful finger. “That thing is not coming inside this house and that’s final.” She stomps through the front door and slams it behind her.

  I crouch down and run my fingers over the dog’s ears. “It’s alright, Buddy. I won’t leave you alone. If you’re not allowed inside then neither am I.”

  I walk him over to the great lawn. He’s slow. Painfully slow. Today was my day to volunteer at the shelter after school. Buddy was brought in a few weeks ago, someone dropping him off because they couldn’t care for him any longer. The other volunteers run to the puppies and smaller dogs that look like puppies. Not me. I like the old, mangy mutts. The ones society casts aside because they’re not cute or perfect.

  When I found out he was going to be euthanized, I filed adoption papers, grabbed his collar and walked him out of there. What a cruel thing to do to a dog. Just because he’s blind and no one wants him, doesn’t mean he should be killed. We won’t let terminally ill people, who want to die on their own terms, go in peace but society will so easily cast aside an animal because it doesn’t have a home. It’s just cruel.