by Fields, MJ
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“You sure? Because this is Momma Joe’s cannoli pie recipe. Brisa, Tris, and I made it especially for you, because it’s your favorite. We’d love for you to try it out.”
“Okay. Thanks. I appreciate it,” Kiki says, but she looks like she might hurl.
“I’d love a slice of that pie, Mrs. Steel,” Brand says, and rather loudly.
This is un-fucking-believable, I think to myself.
“Me, too.” Luna grins at Brand.
“You want a brother or sister?” Brand asks Luna.
“You watch it, Falcon. This is family,” I again warn the fucker.
“Um …” She looks at Bella, who smiles at her and nods, then back at Brand. “I want a sister. Do you have one?”
“Nope, two brothers,” he answers.
“I want a brother, too, but first a sister.”
“Katy, what are you hoping for?” Brand asks, his voice softer now, thank God.
“A quick delivery.”
“Most women would answer a healthy baby,” he says disgustedly.
“Walk,” I say, and he glares at me.
Then Kiki says, rather loudly, “It’s delicious.”
Shit, she’s trying to piss him off.
I nudge Brand. “Come on, man.”
“I’m good here,” he hisses.
“Fuck you are.” I stand up. “My uncle looks like he’s gonna explode.”
“Don’t give a damn.”
“You will.” Dad drops his napkin and stands. “Let’s go.”
“Not until—”
“Now,” Dad hisses.
“I wanna talk to—”
He stops when I yank him up and walk him toward the door, whispering, “Shut the fuck up. You will later.”
“You need to stay the hell out of this, Patrick,” Dad scolds me.
“Not like I’m not already balls deep right in the fucking—”
“Mouth,” Mom says from behind me and Dad, who are basically boxing Brand in.
She walks in front of us and grabs his hand. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not River James,” he hisses at Dad. “I don’t need a—”
“Then quit while you’re ahead,” Mom interrupts.
Once out on the deck, I start pointing a finger in his face. “That was bullshit.”
“I’m out.” He turns and heads toward the stairs.
“You can’t drive. I got your keys,” Xavier calls after him.
“Headed to the guest house,” he slurs.
“The what?” I ask.
“Yeah, bought that, too.”
“The fuck did he just say?” I ask Dad.
“I think the three of us need to chat,” Mom says, nodding toward the stairs. “Let’s take a walk.”
* * *
I may have promised Mom and Dad that I would leave him alone, but Crew is Crew.
Not that Kiki confirmed Brand is the father of her kid, but after putting two and two together, we are ninety-nine percent sure. After Kiki agreed to talk to the fucker, that moved to ninety-nine point nine percent.
When I walk to the “guest house,” I find he’s passed out outside in the damn cold, so I shake the fucker awake.
“Katy?”
“No, you stupid fuck. It’s Patrick. She agreed to two minutes.”
“Two minutes?”
“Yeah. Uncle Jase is suspicious, because you’re a fucking idiot. You wanna be with her, be her man. Even though she’s knocked up, you need to chill,” I say, baiting the fucker. Then I let go of him and step back. “Dude, did you fuck my cousin?”
“Not sure I’d call it—”
Without thought, I swing and nail him in the eye. “What the fuck, man? I thought you needed my help getting her attention; make her like you.” I draw my fist back again.
“You got one. You won’t get two,” he warns.
Dumb fuck, I think and hit him with a left.
“You got two.” He shrugs. “Might as well keep going.” He hold his hands up and leaves himself wide open for the next shot, which takes the fun out of it.
“The first was for her. The second, from me, for lying to me.”
“What was I supposed to say? Your little nymph cousin begged for my dick and I couldn’t deny her?”
I swing at him again, and this time, the asshole catches my fist.
“At least I actually liked her, wanted something with her. Did all the others? I don’t see them lining up down the shore.”
Now I’m livid, and I almost get him … almost.
“Stop throwing punches, Tricks!”
“Then shut your fucking mouth!”
“Fair enough. Send her over.”
“Not sure I should!” I yell.
“If you don’t, I’ll go over there.”
“You treat her like shit, I’m coming back with fucking Jase.”
“Noted,” he say then walks inside.
I walk out and see Kiki standing there.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be fucking sorry, Kiki.” I hug her. “Just don’t forget we’re here.”
She hugs me back. “I know.” Then, when she steps back, she shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”
I shake my head.
“Patrick, I outrank your ass. Go. If I need you, I’ll send a message.”
“Kiki …”
“This is embarrassing enough. Please promise me you’ll go.”
I nod. “I’ll be on the deck.”
It takes all of three and a half minutes for her to walk out of his gate and back to the main house.
When she walks up the stairs, her shoulders are slouched.
“Do I need to kill him?” I call down to her.
She shakes her head as she stands on the deck in front of me. “I have to talk to my parents.”
“So …?”
She nods once.
“Could be a hell of a lot worse, Kiki. He’s clearly in love with you.”
“Well, I’ll never love him.”
I hug her again. “We’re heading to Boston at, like, three; you want me to stay?”
“No, but thank you for”—she pauses—“for being you.”
“I will bury him if you ask.”
Chapter 6
"Feminism isn't about making women stronger. Women are already strong, it's about changing the way the world perceives that strength."
~G.D Anderson
Savvy
It isn’t often I use my bank card, but when I do, it feels like I’m breaking some sort of code, rule, or unspoken promise made in my other life. I spent years of not seeing my mom or Liberty use anything but cash because they felt that it was restricting their beloved freedom, another way in which “the man” had control over them. Then again, it was one of the things that was left inside Pandora’s box—aka the suitcase of secrets—so it really wasn’t a broken promise; it was me using a lie.
What did I splurge on? A Wi-Fi card so that, while I am “camping,” I can binge-watch the show those traitorous bitches apparently compared me and my situation to. Spoiler alert: it was nothing like my previous life. The fact that they even get off on laughing behind my back, comparing me to Kimmy Schmidt, pisses me off and makes me want to burn more than that bitch’s bras.
And then, well, then I decided to find out all I could about the boy who seemed to be popping up at every turn, including on my cell phone’s message app.
1:19p.m-Offer still stands … Doll.
It wasn’t difficult to start an IG, Snapchat, or TikTok account. Apparently, any idiot with an email address and a smart phone can do it. I mean, I knew it didn’t take a genius, but seriously, every person with thumbs could tap into millions of others’ lives. Again, I knew this, but it’s still unnerving to me that it only took me an hour to have not only a basic understanding of Patrick Steel’s, aka Tricks, entire life, but everyone else in his inner circle was exposed, too.
The Steel family …
Momma Joe,
apparently the matriarch of the family, is stunning and spent a lot of time traveling the world—Italy for the most part. Her four sons, all very close, moved their family to Mantoloking just recently.
Cyrus Steel, the oldest, married to Tara and has two children, Truth and Justice. Not going to lie, I love their names.
Jase Steel, the second, married to Carly, who is very much a supporter and activist for the women’s rights movement, and has three children. Bella, who is married to someone they call Tags. They produce and host a reality show called Convicted Ink and have a daughter, Luna. Katherine, “Katy Girl,” or “Kiki,” name depending on who tagged her, and Max, one of the ones in the Jeep with Patrick on Wednesday night.
Zandor Steel, the third, married to Bekah and has three children, Brisa, Amias, who was the other one from the other night, and Tris.
Those three men, and apparently their wives, work at a family-owned company just about an hour from Mantoloking.
Xavier Steel, the youngest, who was with Patrick today, is married to Taelyn. Patrick is their only child. Xavier and Taelyn own, run—whatever—Forever Four, a music label.
The parents all have social media accounts, as well, but the only thing they post is annual family pictures. However, they do comment on the younger members’ social media. Carly does post a lot of inspirational quotes definitely geared toward women. I imagine, if Mom and Liberty had social media, they would do the same.
What did I learn about Patrick? He’s a typical guys’ guy. A Chad. Plays sports—soccer, baseball, and basketball, with teams—and he likes to surf with his family. He’s been to many formals, all with different girls, and he collects guitars. He also appears to have stopped wearing shirts about a year ago. Apparently, the rest of his male cousins have the same aversion to shirts.
Justice, who I surmise via social media, and his sister, Truth, are twins. They share a birthday with Patrick. And Justice is also the one with a permanent scowl and no posts with girls, besides his #steelcrew.
Max, sticks his tongue out a lot, and Amias constantly has his hands in his pockets. I’m guessing there is a rather disturbing reason for that, and that it probably has a lot to do with the fact that, like most men, he’s very taken with his dick.
Another interesting thing: Patrick seems to be around the girl cousins a lot; likes to hug on everyone, and well … he smiles and laughs the most.
He has a good smile. A really good one.
I set the phone in the cupholder and rub my fingertips gently over my tired eyes, wishing that the rest of my body would tire, too, but I’m still jittery due to all the caffeine I consumed. And that’s not all that has me off balance. With the conflicting thoughts pertaining to Patrick Steel, and the worries about what will happen when I return to campus on Sunday, I’m not sure it’ll be possible to realign fully.
Worries due to the fact that, after this past summer’s incident—a peaceful protest for “women’s right to choose”’ by day—turned into an angry disagreement with the protestors and the police when night fell. I was one of many arrested for social disturbance. I then received a charge for obstruction of justice when I tried to stop an officer from cuffing a woman whose young daughters were with her. It was heartbreaking, and they were scared; what else was I to do?
I was shocked when Whitaker showed up in DC the next morning and bailed me out. All chargers held, but because I am a minor, they were sealed and would be dropped on my eighteenth birthday, if I didn’t get in trouble again. Honestly, I plan to make sure it sticks. I want to own my actions, and people to know I’m not afraid to stand up against injustice. But on the flip side, I kind of promised Whitaker that I would keep my nose clean. Had I not, he told me I’d be expelled and be placed with a family by the courts.
Hello, my name is Savvy Sutton, daughter of a freedom-loving feminist who lived and died on her own accord, vowing never to bow to the man, yet has left me in a basic kneeling position, where I have to do exactly what I was taught not to do.
“I don’t want to doubt you, Mom, but three years of living this life, what the hell do you expect?”
I pull the zero-degree sleeping bag up and tighten it around my face, leaving only my nose and mouth exposed. It’s about forty degrees out—or so my phone says—which is five degrees colder than last night. Still not cold enough that I’ll freeze.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.
My hike today was grounding, and until I got back to the VW and turned on my phone, I wasn’t thinking about the outside world.
1:19p.m-Offer still stands … Doll.
Would it be that awful to let him in a bit?
Yes, yes, it would. He is a man, after all.
The van is backed up, perfectly hidden from plain sight, between two trees, facing the lake. The moonlight flickers across the surface of said lake, making everything else appear so much darker, the ripples like lullabies of long ago.
I’m not afraid of the dark, not at all. It’s the light that has become my tormentor, a constant source of confusion and fear.
* * *
As predicted and expected, I was up five times peeing. As not predicted or expected, I was pissing in the woods and not my dorm’s bathroom. I went to work, ate a huge breakfast, and then another. So stuffed I actually felt like I was wobbling as I thrifted my ass off.
I found a pair of mustard pants, two maxi skirts with amazing patterns in vibrant fall colors, two sweaters; my favorite one black with a mustard pattern. I binge-bought scarves; some for cold weather, and some I’d use to tie up my hair. I found three pairs of men’s Levi’s, wide-leg and perfectly worn so that they’re already soft, and a couple new-to-me belts to synch them up. I even found some packages of girl’s boxer briefs, unopened … In. My. Size! But the coolest things I found were a dark blue tin, with the moon and stars on it, and not just one but two Mexican Bajas, or as some call them drug rugs, that I would probably live in when I didn’t have to wear the fucking blazer, an old Army jacket that is lined, and a brand new pair of those black rubber Birkenstock slides. How much did I spend? Because even the poor get to Black Friday with the rest of them—under a hundred dollars, which happens to be less than the Birks that still had the tags on them. Today was, by far, my best thrifting day ever.
With the extra money I made from tips on Thanksgiving—the biggest from Patrick Steel—I stopped at Target and splurged on cabin socks of varying lengths and colors, two sports bras that I will only wear on gym days, toiletries, and everything I need for tonight’s treat—s’mores.
I stopped and washed everything at a laundromat next to the YMCA, where I snuck in and showered, a trick I learned while growing up when we traveled and got back just in time to toss my treasures in the dryer. I immediately threw the gray, purple, and black drug rug on, and it felt so damn good.
Pulling onto the road leading to the lake beyond the trees, I am transported in my own personal heaven-like headspace, with Zeppelin’s “Ramble On” playing, a first song Mom and Liberty played every time we got in the vehicle for yet another move.
Nearly through the trees, singing at the top of my lungs, I am happy for the first time in a couple of days. I feel that balance returning, like maybe I didn’t hit the reset hard enough. Then I see a vehicle, an older model Ford Bronco, sitting in front of my lake.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble as I come to a stop.
I’m about to throw it in reverse and back the fuck out of my secret spot when the driver’s door opens and someone, a man, steps out and waves me forward.
“Pfft,” I say. “Do not beckon me.”
When he reaches in his pocket, my badass bubble bursts as I think about the old-school slasher flicks that played in the quad on the inflatable movie screen all night on Halloween and fear sets in as I think, This is not how my life ends.
My phone rings, and I jump and look toward the man, who is holding something up.
A phone.
I look at my phone and see a
local 732 area code. Reluctantly, I hit accept but don’t say anything.
“Savvy, it’s Tobias Easton.”
Tobias is the president of Seashore Academy’s student body, and he and three others basically run the school and the underground parties, fights, and gambling in the area, along with the stupid app, The Seashore Sound. Neither the local police nor Whitaker call them on any of the illegal activity. He’s the head of all the assholes, the elite.
“Heather contacted us. Told us what was up and asked for my advice on how to deal with the situation.”
“Is that what I am?” I huff. “A fucking situation?”
“I—”
“You may have the cops and Whitaker on a leash, but let me tell you something, Easton, I’m nobody’s bitch. So you, your uppity wannabes, and the boys’ club can fuck off and take those horrible excuses for women with you.”
“Nobody wants to put you on a leash, Savvy,” he says with a smile in his voice. “And I have no desire to leash anyone. I’m counting the days until graduation to get the hell out of here.”
“Like I should trust you.”
“I’m thinking you’d rather deal with me than Harrison, Kai, or Miles, which is why I’m alone.”
“If you kill me—”
“If I kill you?” He laughs like he’s annoyed. “I fuck up my chance at Colombia. I’m not willing to do that. I’m also not willing to help keep your ass out of trouble if you don’t come talk to me. So, let’s chat so I can get on with my day.”
When I don’t say anything, he lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “Savvy, it’s me and you figuring this out, or she goes to Whitaker. I’ve had her mark you as checked in. So, you decide. But before you do, remember that you made a deal after your arrest.”
“Wait—how do you know about—”
“I know everything.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it back into his truck. Then he walks around and behind it and grabs what looks like wood from out of the back.
“Is he building a damn fire?” I ask … myself.
