by Jordan Grant
“I like you, Harlow Weathersby,” he says, running a hand through his dirty blonde curls.
“I’m touched,” I say, “truly touched. Hey, will you do me a favor?”
“Anything, beautiful.”
That simple word, that endearment, does all sorts of funny things to my insides.
“You’re friends with Ian Beckett, right?”
Archie grins and thumps his fist over his heart. “He’s my brother from another mother.”
“Cool,” I say. “Well, would you mind telling him to leave me alone? I’m just concerned about the guy.” I lean across the table and add, “I am seriously worried he is going to have a mental break with the amount of shit I’ve been giving him.”
Archie snorts, but his face falls suddenly.
“I want to help you, Harlow,” he says, “but you made the wrong choice, and there’s bad blood, a freakin’ tidal wave of it, I’m afraid. Don’t worry though. You can always change sides.”
“Oh?” I pretend to think, tapping my index finger over my mouth. “Tell me. Do your friends have like a club name? If I join, do I get a t-shirt that says ‘Bullies ‘R Us’? Maybe a little placard for my desk? ‘Customer service is my last priority.’ Would my hours be 8 to 5 or do you follow, like, Satan’s Time Zone?”
I am pretty sure Archie started laughing sometime after the t-shirt remark, but now he is full-on chortling, and it sort of sounds like he is snorting and choking at the same time.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, wiping away tears of laughter. “Ian...” He pauses to breathe. “Ian said you were something. You’re like a gorgeous war though, and I’m on the front lines and fucking loving it.”
I frown.
He is not supposed to love it.
He is supposed to apologize for what a dick Ian is. He is supposed to convince his friends to leave Molly and me alone.
Archie tilts on his stool toward me and says, “You know,” he draws circles inside my wrist with his thumb, “there are benefits to being with us. We could have a lot of fun, beautiful.”
“Does that fun include leaving Molly alone?” I wheeze. It’s the first time I have actually breathed since he started touching me.
He shakes his head. “Not much I can do in that department, remember the bad blood I told you about? Well, it’s like the Mississippi River, and it is constantly flooding.”
“Then I am going to have to decline your offer,” I say, jerking my hand away. My heart races. This boy, this descendant of angels, is so close I can smell the suntan lotion that lingers on his tan skin.
He regards me, his gaze sparking with amusement.
“You are like sprinkles on a hot fudge sundae, Harlow Weathersby,” he says, leaning over so his breath warms my ear. “I can never get enough.”
My breath gets stuck somewhere on the way down, choking me, and I make a gagging sound and probably a face too.
“Come over to my side,” he says, his words soft like the touch of his fingers atop my hand. “We have ice cream, or, better yet, we can just have each other for dessert.”
Is it possible to suffocate on air? Because I’m doing it.
I can’t take anymore, and though I should hate this guy for refusing to stop his friends from messing with Molly, I laugh, my breath exploding past my lips in a pseudo-wheeze.
Mr. Collins walks to the front of the room, telling us to open our textbooks to page 52. Luckily, Archie does it for me, because I’m too busy staring at him and wondering how I’m going to survive an entire semester by his side.
The rest of the class goes that way, though Archie somehow manages to take excellent notes and correctly answers a surprise question by Mr. Collins. Damn him for being a crazy good student. By the time the bell rings, I have to get away from him. He’s wearing me down piece-by-piece with his jokes and lopsided grin.
I rush out of class, clenching my book bag as if it’s a life-raft and rush to my dorm. When I’m inside, the door locked, safe from Ian and Archie, I reach for my phone and call Mom.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, honey,” my mom says. “How was your first week?”
“Despicable,” I answer, and part of me naively hopes she will ask why and save me from my purgatory.
“Harlow,” she lets out a quiet laugh, “that’s a bit dramatic, dear. Are you taking your medication?”
“Yes,” I bite out, though I am pissed she asked. All because William…
“Harlow?” my mom asks.
“Yeah, Mom?” I say. “I’m sorry. I zoned out for a moment.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” This time I hear the real concern in her voice, and I know what I can say to make them take me out of here. Just say it! Just say it! Just…
“I’m all right,” I say. “I’m just tried. You know, with the time change and all…”
Jesus, the time change…I roll my eyes. Didn’t that happen like months ago?
“Oh.”
Shit. She doesn’t believe me, but then I remember how excited she was about Voclain, how she and Dad raved about how my grandparents were giving William and I opportunities they never had. Am I really going to let a bunch of assholes destroy my dreams and theirs along with it? Through me, their dreams live on like the curled flowers of a rose bloom waiting for the perfect day to blossom.
“I’m all right, Mom.” I pull at a loose thread on my skirt until it is drawn taught. I pull harder, and it snaps. “Really, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll let you know if I need anything. I swear.”
“Okay, honey,” she says, sounding relieved. “Your dad had to go out of town for work, but he wanted me to let you know he loves you and will call tomorrow.”
I want to say something about how he doesn’t need to work anymore, how he could just ask his parents for the money to never work again, but I don’t. My dad loves his job and takes pride in it. I shouldn’t fault him for that.
“Okay,” I say. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetie. Take care. Call if you need anything.”
I hang up first, just after she says goodbye.
I am sitting at my desk, feeling sorry for myself, when Molly opens the door. I expect her to look exhausted or like she’s been crying, but instead, she’s smiling.
“Hey.” She gives me a little wave before shrugging her backpack off and letting it fall to the floor.
“Hey,” I say.
“I, um, never really thanked you, you know?” Molly inspects the comforter on her bed before turning toward me. “It’s been a long time since anyone stood up for me. I think Raven would, you know, except Aurora might try to kill her while she’s asleep or something.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I can’t imagine having to live with that. No worries though.” I shrug. “Bullies suck.”
“You have any plans this weekend?” she asks.
I laugh because the idea of me having weekend plans is actually crazy. We are both social pariahs.
“No.” I clear my throat. “No plans.”
“Want to hang out?”
“Yeah,” I say, “that would be nice. Is there like a mall around here or something?”
Molly laughs. “I wish. Voclain was built in the middle of nowhere. There’s a killer cafe about an hour north though. I think my parents and Atticus are going to come visit tomorrow. We always meet there.”
I frown. “I don’t want to intrude.”
She waves a hand. “Please. My parents would love to see me with a friend, and Attie loves to meet new people. He’s just discovered crayons though, so be prepared to be colored on.”
“All right,” I agree with a laugh. “I’d love to, Molly.”
“Cool,” she nods like it’s not a big deal, but as she sits down on her bed and opens up her laptop, she smiles like she just won the lottery.
8
Harlow
Sometimes I dream about him. He looked so much like me, both of us with white-blonde hair and blue eyes. He was always the funny o
ne, the class-clown who lived life with a permanent smile on his face and a joke on his tongue. It was always harder for me to make friends, and maybe that’s what saved me in the end.
When Granddad and Grandma won all that money, my friends weren’t like his. Mine didn’t ask me for cash or to cover the check. But William’s friends did, and he ate up the attention, handing out twenties like they were candy and it was Halloween. The day after the news broadcast my grandparents on television, William bought a pizza party for the entire school, much to the chagrin of my parents.
He comes to me in my dreams, smiling. The sunlight transforms his hair into a halo of blonde curls, and he waves to me.
We are at the park we loved as kids, and I want to run to him and hug him and tell him to come home, only when I try to, I can’t.
My feet are welded to the ground. I look down at my scuffed-up black converse and blue jeans. Everything seems normal.
My gaze flicks up to find William, and he’s still there, smiling at me and waving. A blue-jay chirps as it flies overhead. I hear the laughter of children playing nearby.
“William!” I yell, beckoning him over.
He cups his hands around his mouth to shout at me. Whispers of my name reach me like faded echos in a cavern. I try to move toward him again, but my feet won’t budge. I try harder, pulling at my leg with both hands, but I am stuck, my feet immersed in invisible concrete.
Panic claws inside my throat, threatening to choke me. I need to move. I need to see him, to hug him, to tell him I love him. But the harder I try, the heavier my feet become until it’s like I’m spinning in a Tilt-a-Whirl at the fair so that when I lift my head, I’m dizzy and can’t breathe.
Angry tears spill from my eyes and run down my cheeks. With a shaky breath, I reach into a jean pocket and pull out my medication. My hands tremble as the darkness drowns me from the inside out.
I am going to die.
I am going to die!
I AM...
I spill my medication, and the small round pills scatter, lost to the blades of grass at my feet.
“Fuck!” I curse, but no sound escapes my mouth.
The noose around my neck cinches tighter. I claw at my neck, my gaze locked on my brother smiling and waving at me as I fall to the ground, my knees buckling to the warm, hard earth.
Darkness overtakes me.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t scream for help.
I awake, panting and out of breath.
“You okay?” Molly asks. She’s used to my nightmares. They come almost every night, and I always wake looking like I am going to throw up, paler than the white sheets on my bed.
“Yeah.” I groan as I make myself sit up. I’ve survived my first week at Voclain and even my bones seem to hurt from the long hours I’ve spent studying. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
My words carry an implied again considering my brain decided it was a good idea to claw myself free of the comforter and fall off the bed at 3 o’clock in the morning two nights ago.
“Nah.” She flips through Beowulf on her bed. I wish we could be in the same class section, but I couldn’t be that lucky. “We can leave whenever. The fam flew in this morning. No doubt my mother has already wrangled them into an enlightenment adventure.” She uses air quotes around the last two words.
“An enlightenment adventure?” I ask.
Molly rolls her eyes. “Something her acupuncturist-slash-therapist told her to try. It’s supposed to help you find meaning in the little things in life and soothe your id.”
I pull back the comforter and swing my feet to the floor, sitting on the bed.
“So if your mom has to go to Wal-Mart, she’s supposed to like try to find meaning in that trip?”
Molly laughs. “My mother wouldn’t be caught dead in retail, but yeah, something like that.”
I brush my teeth and dress quickly. I use Molly as a gauge for how to dress, and within ten minutes, I am also in a pair of khaki shorts and floral, bohemian-type blouse.
Molly looks at me. “You ready?” she asks.
“Ready, Freddy,” I say.
We walk out of the dorm room, and I am surprised as we head toward the student parking garage. It’s based on a raffle. I didn’t enter, but I know enough to know it’s hard to get a parking spot.
“You have a car?” I say.
Molly grins at me. “Got my license this past summer.” She waves her keycard at the glass door to the garage, and the door opens with a click.
We walk inside. It’s like a normal parking garage, except the entire thing is climate-controlled perfection and the spots are extra large and divided from each other by thick plastic dividers. We pass Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Porsches, and Bugattis.
“You’re lucky you won a spot,” I say.
She laughs. “Don’t believe everything you read, Harlow. There is plenty of parking. The administration just doesn’t want our pretentious classmates deciding they need a car for every day of the week.”
I grin and wonder which one of them tried it first. I am still grinning when Archie seems to materialize out of thin air and plasters himself to my side.
“Hello, lovely ladies,” he says, clearly staring at my breasts.
I laugh despite my best efforts. Molly rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s not even one hundred percent immune to his charms.
“If you are going to Chippendales, I’ll save you some money. You can just come up to my room.”
Now, I’m really laughing. Molly pretends to gag, which only causes me to chortle even harder.
“Archie!” someone shouts. “Hurry the fuck…”
Ian stops talking as he emerges from alongside a cherry-red Lamborghini. He looks relaxed in a pair of cargo shorts and a navy polo.
“Stormy,” he says, my nickname a soft purr that is all too intimate. The butterflies in my belly awaken from their dreams. When his gaze slits to Molly, he frowns.
“Molly,” he says her name like it’s a curse, but it’s the first time I have ever seen him acknowledge her, so maybe I am getting through to him.
My backbone bends a little, but I keep walking.
“Wait,” he says, and despite my better judgment, I stop and turn on my heel to look at him.
“What do you need, Beckett?” I ask. “Decide to make my life miserable today?”
Ian shakes his head. “The Rules don’t say anything about weekends. No weekends.”
“You and your stupid rules,” I hiss.
Archie stares between the both of us, his eyes wide. No amount of banter will make this better.
“Harlow,” Ian says my name, my real name, and something inside my chest breaks under the pressure.
“Just spit it out, Ian. Molly and I don’t have all day.” But when I look around, I see Molly has found her parking spot and is waiting for me inside a Lexus SUV.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he says, his eyes closing briefly with his words. He stalks forward, erasing the space between us. I wish he smelled as dark as his soul, instead of warm, wonderful things. He’s standing so close his hot breath fans against my forehead as I look up at him.
“You say you don’t want to fight with me,” I say, “but then you make me choose. You and your friends make me choose.”
He shrugs, helpless. “Those are the Rules. I can’t change the Rules.”
I throw my hands into the air. “This is pointless.”
I stomp toward Molly, and he doesn’t try to stop me.
“Are you all right?” Molly asks as I buckle my seatbelt. She pulls out of the parking spot.
“I’m fine.” The thunderous roar of Ian’s Lamborghini vibrates all the way to my soul as I look over at her. “Molly, please know you don’t have to tell me, but I need to ask. Why are they doing this to you?”
She swallows, and I regret my question. The color bleaches from her face so she matches the white blouse she wears.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “You don’t have to
answer that.”
She swallows again and shakes her head. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve been great to me, Harlow, and it means the world.” She pulls out onto the road leading us away from campus. “They blame me for something horrible that happened to their friend, and honestly, it is my fault, at least part of it.”
“We all make mistakes,” I say. “No one deserves to be judged by their worst moment.”
But as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I am doing just that to Ian. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
We drive with the windows down, the breeze in our hair, and the sunroof open. Molly looks entirely different away from the Academy. It’s like light has entered her soul, only it’s overfilling, and the happiness just needs to shine out. She cranks up the top forty hits, and it feels good, being away from Voclain.
We pull into the cafe a little over an hour later. It’s a small place in the middle of nowhere, next to a gas station with pumps designed to look antique where the numbers roll like a rotary dial as you pump gasoline.
Molly parks the car and bounds out, running to wrap her arms around her family. Her mom and dad smile while her brother, a tiny mini-me of Molly no more than two years old, giggles in the middle of them all. They act like they haven’t seen each other in ages, rather than just a week.
A thin matronly woman separates herself from the group when she spots me.
“Oh, you must be Harlow!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing tight. She holds me for a long moment, and it makes me wish my parents were here.
“I’m Barbara.” Molly’s mom gestures to the thin man still holding Molly. “Benjamin is my husband, and that little ball of terror and giggles is Atticus.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bellamy,” I say.
Molly’s mom smiles and stoops in close. “Call me, Barbara, dear. Mrs. Bellamy reminds me of Ben’s mother, and I try to not think of her often.”
I laugh. She sounds like my mom.
Molly’s mom ushers us inside the cafe as Molly carries her little brother. Atticus looks just like her with big brown eyes and a mop of wavy, chestnut-colored hair.
