Paper Dolls, Book One

by Emma Chamberlain

  *Brought to you by Holhart Publishing*

  Important Author Note

  Since all people living have certain triggers and sensitivities, it is important to note that this story contains mature content such as: adult language, sex, and violence. Though the main characters in this series start at age seventeen and eighteen this would not be a book that we classify as Young Adult.

  We can guarantee you that no queer characters will die within the course of this book but we would like to inform all readers that there will definitely be talk of rape and a brief instance of attempted rape in this first volume of the series (this one in your hand).

  Our series plans involve delving into mental illness, consequences of abuse, complications to do with sex and intimacy, overcoming loss and grief, and many other intense subjects that are definitely not light in any way. We’re warning you now that this story is not all clear skies and rainbows. There is a lot of dark to this tale. Our intention is to show a queer couple helping each other to overcome their complicated individual pasts. We hope to do what so many have been kept from doing in their published storytelling. We want to show you a queer relationship that progresses farther than just its initial inception. At this point in time we have several volumes of this continuing story that explore the growth of one queer relationship over time which is something severely lacking in the wide array of published works.

  Thank you!

  E & B

  Chapter One

  Olivia

  Mr. Bradford didn’t give me a choice. Honestly, I shouldn’t even be surprised. My Mother wouldn’t give me a choice. My Father wouldn’t give me a choice. Why would Mr. Bradford, an adult in authority, ever think to ask me, a mere child, what I would really like to do for the assignment that was about to take up the remaining bulk of my academic year?

  To be fair to myself, I even offered him my choice. Which he immediately shot down. No question. No: Good job Olivia! Way to think outside the box!

  This was so not like Ben. There had to be some other reason.

  He gave me an order, like I was his pet, nothing more. He and I are pretty close. We don’t treat each other like this… Usually.

  What this yearbook needs is a high-profile piece on the most intriguing and well-liked figure in your entire senior class.

  Those were his words. His exact words.

  From just reading it you might think he meant a teacher or something, possibly even himself.

  He didn’t though, he had a person in mind.

  Avery Nicole Lockhart.

  I know her. Sure.

  Okay, not really. I know of her because she’s everywhere at this school.

  I’ll let you guess what her accomplishments are.

  What do you think? Is she a scientist? A mathematician? Did she invent some life-altering mechanism that can affordably turn salt-water into fresh-water? Can she miraculously find a way to balance our nation’s joke of a budget? Can she part the sea like Moses? Did she write and publish a book that got people thinking? Did she help people? Does she help anyone?

  EEEEEEEH!

  That’s the buzzer.

  WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

  Avery Lockhart has done none of those things.

  Not that she’s not sweet, don’t get me wrong.

  She has her accomplishments and they’re cute, just like her.

  I can understand why a teacher like Ben Bradford would find her intriguing.

  I guess I could try and see her as he might. She’s hot for one (in that way most straight guys think is hot). She’s blonde. She has boobs. She’s fit. Winning smile. And charm, can’t forget that, that’s sort of a deal-breaker, no question.

  I’ve only heard accounts second-hand so I can’t, in all honesty, confirm that these things are all even true. I’ve never had a class with her, myself, and she doesn’t frequent any of the clubs that lean toward the more academic.

  For two though, she’s an excellent athlete.

  I don’t really cover sports, unless forced, so I’ve never seen her swim, but I did seen her run during Cross Country this year. I was kind of distracted though, Nat had come to surprise me that day and I was having a hard time not touching her. I was so tightly wound I may as well have been a top just begging to be spun. I know. It’s gross. I try not to think about these things.

  Anyway, Avery’s an actress too. That’s sort of a teenager thing though, isn’t it? Aren’t we all more than used to being labeled as dramatic and theatrical by our disapproving parents?!

  I mean, come on! Avery Lockhart?! Seriously?! Avery Nicole Lockhart gets an entire two page spread?! Talk about dramatic!

  This thing will be all pictures! That’s all it will be! Is that what Ben wants?! Does he really just want me to go and spend all of my time taking pictures of this pretty girl?

  So she can run. Who gives a shit?! Also: Who can’t?!

  I sound bitter. I know.

  I need to do away with that if I’m going to get any kind of usable dirt on this kid. I feel so pedestrian today it’s infuriating.

  The problem here is not Avery. That’s the thing.

  I don’t know this girl.

  I’ve seen her around. I harbor no ill will. I know that’s hard to believe, given everything I’ve just said, but believe me. My problem is with the assignment. My problem is with Mr. Beautiful Bradford getting to decide that Avery Lockhart has more to tell than someone like, oh I dunno, Rachel Zahara or Elliot Hanz. It’s not like Avery’s ever even written a play or composed some monumental orchestration that’s winning awards. She’s not breaking any molds. She’s doing the opposite, she’s living in one. No offense to this little wunderkind but she’s kind of a tool.

  What is with this common obsession with the all-American girl?

  What is with the entire United States?!

  Why are sports and looks 500 times more intriguing to the masses than actual undeniable creativity and stand-alone G-E-N-I-U-S?! I mean, the kind you can’t learn.

  Shouldn’t ingenuity count for something?! It’s honestly hard for me not to be disenchanted at this point...

  Everyone knows I’m going to be Valedictorian this year, I think Ben even leaked it. I hate to even suggest this, because I would never do this in a million years, but even an in-depth article about me would be more warranted than an in-depth article on that sugary-sweet, cute-as-a-button, blonde and basic, military brat. I mean, the second I graduate I’ll already have my AA. I’ve published stories, I’ve composed my own music and had it copyrighted too, against my parent’s better judgement (they don’t much approve of my addiction to the arts even though they were the ones pushing me to be all-around educated, well-rounded they like to say, when I was young). Hell, I’ve even invented something that actually has a patent, despite my father hijacking it, owning it, and reaping the benefits like he’s prone to do.

  But I have to do what I have to do. I hold her picture in my hand, a headshot that Mr. Bradford gave me of Avery Lockhart in a bathing suit posing all innocent and beautiful on top of an empty lifeguard stand. She looks about as pure as a freshly picked peach.

  The picture’s on thick paper. It almost cuts me. I try not to look at it, or crumple it, as I make my way to The Truman Swimming Pool to view this aquatic wonder in all her enthralling glory. The hardest thing for me will be to keep my thoughts on the assignment under lock and key. It’s not Avery’s fault Ben chose her. I’ll just be serious and brusk. I’ll try not to let it all affect my usual technique.

  Lame as she is, I’d never want to hurt someone’s feelings, I mean, not unless they hurt mine first.

  Chapter Two

  Avery

  The season’s just started and
coach was already riding us, trying to get our times down. I dreaded spring break. I wanted it to come and go. I feel like I’m rolling between every activity I can manage. If I stopped I’d start to dwell on things. I’d remember and feel the weight that I'm carrying. I lived in the shadow of a ghost. I was the caretaker of death’s debris field.

  Mom’s usually passed out in her bed by five and I’d have the house to myself until she woke up to start drinking and maybe eat a fourth of the meal I’d left in the fridge for her. I always checked on her first. Just to be sure she didn’t have an accident.

  She was my responsibility since Dad was gone, on some destroyer in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Off at sea again while his wife drowns in alcohol and his daughter just tries to keep everything afloat. He’s been gone, and she’s been out of it, since Adam died. It’s not all Adam’s fault but I’m still angry with him. He didn’t have to go joy riding on graduation night. He didn’t have to land himself in a casket and turn our lives into a cosmic joke.

  As nice as it would be, I can’t go home. I agreed to meet the yearbook girl after practice.

  My hair was wet from the pool and I probably looked like hell since I hadn’t slept in more than two days. I was here because Ben asked me to do this and so I sat in the bleachers to wait for this girl.

  I knew her by sight. We just didn’t run in the same groups. She’s all academic: Debate Team and Academic Decathlete. And I’m Swim Team MVP, Drama Lead, and Cross Country all-star. We’re just different.

  I could care less if there’s a profile about me in the yearbook. It just seemed like another random thing in my life. Sometimes it’s like I’m on a stage and everyone’s staring but no one really sees me through the image they want to see.

  My hair was heavy against my back as I shook it out a little and tried to comb my fingers through. If I didn’t do it now it will be an even bigger mess of knots by the time I got home.

  I told her I’d meet her at the pool after practice. It was four-thirty almost to the second when she showed. Always perfectly coiffed and all with the serious face, she was visually perfect. We’ve gone to the same school ever since tenth grade when I came to Huntington Prep. I just couldn’t recall her name.

  “Hey,” I greet her.

  She didn’t smile and I gave a little shrug, doing the smiling for the both of us. She wasn't happy about interviewing me because she sat down on the bleacher beside me and slapped a notebook down between us, making it all seem rather formal when it never had to be. When she sat her hands went up to push her perfect, wavy, dark hair back from her face.

  “Hello,” she finally answered, formally. “Olivia.” She said it so fast, all the while avoiding my eyes. Her knees turned only slight inward. She was close but scared to see me straight on. “You’re Avery,” she said, more to herself than to show me she knew who I was.

  I started to speak but she rushed on so I just closed my mouth and tried not to laugh.

  She was intense.

  “So, I think it’s best if I start with a few general questions. I’ve gotten some of your info from Mr. Bradford but the rest of the interview will just be some more in depth questions.”

  “Okay,” I get out. I don’t know why it feels like I signed up for a polygraph or something.

  Her eyes seem to look right through me whenever she looks up but I can see the dark green. I wonder if we’ve ever had any classes together and I just never noticed her. I think I would have. She stands out. From her business casual type appearance, totally atypical for most high school seniors, to her super serious agitation.

  “Upbringing?” Her voice is so straight, it implies absolutely nothing. I hear one word and feel estranged.

  I blink, not sure if that’s an actual question. “What?”

  She lets out a long breath and her hand tenses around the pen she’s holding. My eyebrow shoots up. This is a great start. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t understand,” I explain.

  With a terse smile and a small bit of agitation she starts again. “Tell me about your upbringing.”

  So, she wanted my life story then. “My Dad’s in the Navy and my Mom used to sell stuff online but she stopped working. I’m not sure what all you want to know but there’s not much more to tell.” I was not going to talk about Adam. Not a chance. It was the event that defined the line between childhood and growing up and no one needed that information. My Mom’s inability to do her art, and my Dad’s inability to leave work, were only symptoms of the illness affecting my family.

  I stopped being a kid the day Adam died. After that I was the mediator and the one who took care of Mom when Dad was gone. Let’s face it, after four tours away, he was always gone. Never home for more than a week’s leave. So, I did everything: shopping, cleaning, getting to and from school.

  Most kids would kill for that kind of freedom. No one would ever know if I stayed out too late or partied too hard. I had no rules. No one cared if I came home. I was left to manage my own life. All I wanted was out of this school, out of this city. So, I stuck just inside the rules. I just needed to be good enough to land an athletic scholarship.

  “Is your Dad deployed or stateside?”

  Simple questions now. “Yeah, he’s on his fourth tour. He’s the Executive Officer on some battleship.”

  Chapter Three

  Olivia

  Some battleship…

  The words clunked around in my brain. Who talked like that?

  I’ll tell you who: someone who was mad. Or disappointed at least. Talk about abandonment. Fourth tour? Fourth goddamn tour? That wasn’t right...

  “We don’t have to do this, ya know.” For the first time since we sat, I allowed myself to look up and actually see her as a real person. I felt the words come out of my mouth before I even had time to think them.

  Her eyes were so piercing. Somehow today they almost looked grey. I made a mental note to check the picture again once I left, the one Ben had given me. They were blue I thought. I could’ve sworn her eyes were blue.

  I felt my own eyes flicker at the honesty there as she noticed me looking. “This isn’t an interrogation,” I said, softening. “You don’t have to be some topic of discussion. Mr. Bradford just thought—”

  “It’s fine,” she said, cutting me off.

  All off a sudden she’d grown balls I guess. Maybe I rubbed her the wrong way. I know it wouldn’t be the first time. A lot of people didn’t want to like me right away.

  I’d held eye contact too long. She noticed. I’m an idiot.

  “Let’s try this another way,” I said, my eyes refusing to look as I let out a sigh. “What do you want people to know? I mean, that they don’t know already? You agreed to this. You must’ve thought it was wise.”

  “I agreed to a simple interview,” she said.

  “This isn’t simple?” I asked. My eyes were on hers again. I couldn’t stop it. I wanted to look at her.

  I was asking normal questions. She was the one who was making this hard.

  “You want something else,” she said, turning her head towards the pool so that she wouldn’t have to see me.

  “I want a good story, that’s all.”

  “You don’t like me do you,” she sighed. She seemed bored now, she was dodging me.

  “I don’t know you,” I said, trying to get her to see. How could I not like a person if I didn’t even know them at all?

  “You don’t like me. I can tell.”

  Silence hung between us. I wondered if she was just bored and looking to play. This interview was like pulling teeth. Staring over at her, all of a sudden, she seemed so far away.

  “What is this?” I freaked. “Some kind of pity party? Do you want me to be like everyone else and tell you you’re beautiful and amazing and hand you awards and take pictures of you and then disappear?”

  Avery scoffed; a loud bark of a scoff. And then she was laughing but it wasn’t the happy sort of laugh. It was dark, bitter.

  “Is that really what you t
hink I like?” She asked.

  “Again, I don’t know you,” I said matter-of-factly.

  There was no reason for her to take offense. That reminder of mine calmed me down. It was a misunderstanding. We were misunderstanding each other.

  Oddly, that bothered me. It wouldn’t usually.

  “You act like you think you do. And anyway what about you?” She said, turning her head back around to face me again. “Let's talk about you. How about that?” It was a challenge. “Daughter of a Judge, right? Smart? Pretty girl who hides it from everything and everyone. Pet to every Teacher, probably.” She was reaching and it hurt. Of course now she was staring at me. “What about you? You think you know me already? You came in here thinking you already knew all there was to know?”

  I gulped before slipping, my hands tightened down on the edge of the metal bleacher by my thighs. “Avery—” I warned. I’d never actually noticed myself saying her name out loud until now. All this time, I hadn’t been trying to hurt her but she called me a pet and a jerk.

  “You walked in here all better than me. You ignored me, wouldn’t look me in the eyes, until you had to talk. Do you think I don’t know what that means? It means you don’t want to see me, that’s what it means. And why is that? Why would a smart beautiful stranger, someone my own age, be afraid to look at me? Afraid to ask me a question?”

  My eyes shot back up and she was staring at me but this time. She was fully there, fully present.

  She’d called me beautiful...

  I felt a blush on my face even though I was very mad.

  Her eyes were, they were blue. My eyes flickered as if seeing her was too much.

  “Your eyes changed.” It was all I could think so I said it. I swallowed again.

  My own eyes, they flickered again. I didn’t have that experience often but it kept happening with her. It was like seeing her hurt but that wasn’t it at all, maybe she was just too pretty to also be so fucking smart.

  “Excuse me?” She challenged.

  “They were grey before. Now they’re blue.”