by Eden Beck
I have seen a bit of encouragement lately, however. A few boys have nodded at me in the hall. Neville, the nerdy kid, told me yesterday just how shameful it was for someone to act so holier-than-thou about money. Last night at dinner, I overheard some boys talking about how uppity The Brotherhood is, and how they should “watch their tone”.
Those people are in the minority.
And they still serve as a constant reminder how much power The Brotherhood holds … even when they’re barely talking to me. One word from one of them, and suddenly everyone is talking about me again.
Will I ever be rid of them, or will they follow me forever?
I know the answer to that.
The image of their faces, of Heath, of Beck, even of Jasper, swims to mind in a way that makes me shove the thought away as quickly as it comes. It would be a whole lot easier to forget them entirely if they didn’t look like gods chiseled from stone.
I know that’s how they get away with all this in the first place. After all, how bad can a boy really be when his face looks like that of an angel?
I know the answer to that, too.
I smoke two cigarettes down to the butt before heading back inside the school to meet Rafael for class. He tries to stick by me, noticing my mood, and dogs my steps all the way to history again, where I sit down and try not to draw any attention to myself this time.
I think I’m successful when, right as the bell rings to end class, the professor calls my name and asks me to stay a few minutes after class.
My heart immediately sinks.
Reluctantly, I sit back down while the rest of the class streams past me, some avoiding my gaze, others grinning mockingly as they pass. I just prop my chin on my hand and wait.
“I’ll be right outside,” Rafael assures me, but I see the way he’s shifting on his feet. He knows something is up too … and would rather not be here for it.
“It’s okay,” I reply, nodding out the door down the hall. “Go ahead to your next class.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
He puts his hand briefly on my shoulder before flitting away, shooting me a concerned look over his shoulder.
After the class clears out, I gather my books and walk up toward the professor’s desk. “Uh, did I do something wrong?” I ask, forcing my voice into its lowest register.
“Not at all,” he replies, straightening some papers. “I just want to inform you that your ticket home, and your admission into the historical conference has been paid for you.”
Stunned, I watch as he pulls a long envelope out from under a stack of documents. He places it carefully in my hands.
I’m less stunned than I am confused. Sure, I was annoyed at how much attention Beck had drawn to the fact that I’m basically a pauper compared to the rest of them … but I’d barely thought about the conference. I hadn’t even begun to entertain the idea of finding a way home.
It isn’t until I turn the envelope over, running one finger along the sealed edge, that I feel suddenly overwhelmed. Home.
Home, where I won’t have to pretend to be someone else, if just for a couple weeks. Just the thought of getting to be myself for a single day is enough to make my vision start to blur for a second. A deep ache lodges in my chest when I look back up.
“Who?” I blurt out.
“It was done anonymously.” He shifts his eyes off to the side, fidgeting slightly. He must be lying. If he didn’t do it himself, he knows who did.
“Well … I …”
“I’ll be sure to thank them for you,” he adds.
“Yeah,” I reply stupidly. “Yeah, I—yeah. Thank them for me.”
My head swirls as I walk out of his office, clutching the pristine envelope that definitely feels like it has an airplane ticket inside. Who could have done this? The professor himself? Dean Robin? Why?
That’s when it comes to me.
Olive.
I feel that ache twist inside me turn wrong.
I stop in my tracks, looking down at the envelope in my hands with a sinking feeling of dread. This is a gift I can’t accept, not if it came from her.
I’d never be able to step foot inside this school again if I did.
But then the thought of going home grips me again, and I’m torn. How can I refuse this … especially when it’s already been paid for? It’s already too late.
I’m bent over the envelope and not looking where I’m walking—which means I run straight into someone. They grab my shoulders to keep me from falling, and I look up straight into Jasper’s stone-still face.
“Jasper,” I squeak out involuntarily.
He stares down at me. This is the closest I’ve been to him without him trying to beat the shit out of me. Up close, his jaw looks even more chiseled, his eyes even more intensely blue. His handsome face bears no expression. He’s like a marble statue, Michelangelo’s David, even, looking impassively into my face and past it.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, my voice coming out higher than I mean it to again. My heart starts thumping. He’s still got his hands on my shoulders, and they’re warm and huge. I should be terrified, but something about his face this time … it doesn’t look like he wants to murder me. Instead, the look there … it’s complicated.
“Make the most of it,” he says flatly.
“Make—what?”
He lifts one hand to tap the envelope I’m holding.
I look down at it, then back up at him as slowly I begin to understand what he’s insinuating.
“You?” I whisper incredulously. There’s no way. A shiver runs down my spine. Why would Jasper pay for me to go home and attend a conference?
Of course it wasn’t Olive. I was stupid to assume it was her. She didn’t even know about the conference. And as obsessed as she seems to be with me lately, deep down I know it’s just because I’m the one person here who doesn’t seem absolutely obsessed with her in return.
This gift home, it was too thoughtful for her.
And too thoughtful, I was sure, for someone like Jasper.
But then Jasper puts his hand beneath my chin and tilts it up, looking straight into my eyes. I feel a thrill of something in my stomach. We’re alone in the hallway; no one is here to see him holding me like this, staring down at me, his full lips parted like he’s about to kiss me.
I feel a crazy urge to stand up on tiptoes and close the distance myself, to press my lips against his and feel how soft they are for myself. I stifle it, thankfully.
It’s strange how close fear and attraction are.
I should hate his very guts, but here, this close to him, I don’t feel hate and fear. I feel something burning, right, but it isn’t rage.
And even when our lips don’t touch, I still can’t get the image out of my head.
Jasper clears his throat, one finger tapping on the top of the envelope.
“So we can never speak of the other night ever again,” he whispers, somehow keeping his voice hard. “This doesn’t mean you’re a part of The Brotherhood. But I’ll be damned if you spoil its good name.”
With that, he drops his hands and steps away, leaving cold air to flood where his warm hands just were. He walks past me without saying another word.
Alone in the hallway, I clutch the envelope.
I should be angry that he’s tried to purchase my silence, that he thinks my forgiveness can be bought.
But all I’m thinking about is how my own thudding heart has betrayed me.
Chapter Sixteen
Literature class today is going to be nerve-wracking, I know it. The deadline for our project looms ever closer. Beck and I, partners though we are, haven’t spoken about it since we were paired up, so no work has been done as far as I know. And I need to get this done.
I can’t afford to lose my scholarship, so I need my grades to stay as high as they possibly can. I’ve waited until the last possible second, but now I have to talk to Beck today. There’s no other option. Not, at least, one that I can
foresee.
And if there was another option, believe me, I would take it.
I take a deep breath to steel myself up as I drift into the classroom, hoping I’ll have a few moments to compose myself … but he’s already here.
Even without The Brotherhood, he’s intimidating—his high, sharp cheekbones and pointed chin give the impression of a knife, and his narrow gray eyes make him look cold and calculating. It doesn’t help that’s he’s also wide, broad, and muscular—much too much of each to be a typical high school guy. He’s wearing just a T-shirt today, and his biceps bulge and ripple as he moves.
Just because he isn’t as athletic as Heath doesn’t mean he doesn’t look the part.
“Beck,” I say seriously as I approach, my voice steadier than I expect.
He glances up at me. I can’t stop the little flutter in my heart as he tips his face toward me, but I sure can be pissed off at myself about it. I should hate him and Jasper and Heath for the things they’ve done to me, not least of all for the way they cornered me and Olive in the alley, but I can’t seem to do that.
Not, at least, enough to stop my heart from beating faster each time he—or any of them—glances my way. It’s as if every time he does, I remember the moment he pulled me back out of Jasper’s reach. I remember the moment he told me to run.
And I remember yesterday, when Jasper pulled me aside to tell me we were supposed to be even. We’re not even, of course, but the moment … it left me unsettled. Confused.
Even more confused than usual.
“We need to get working on this project,” I begin. I have a whole speech ready, but the words are slipping out of my mind in the face of his terrifying beauty. Why does he have to look like a weird cross between a statue and an angel?
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem in a mood to argue.
“I agree,” he says shortly.
That shocks me. I blink stupidly at him as he starts getting his papers together into a pile. “What?”
“I’m just busy.”
“We’re all busy, Beck,” I snap. “I want my grade to be good, please and thank you. I can’t just buy a grade like you can.” I grit my teeth and inwardly kick myself. Where did that come from?
And more importantly, where has it been hiding all this time?
His eyes flit up to mine, and a handsome yet manic grin spreads across his face. “Oh?”
I suck in a deep breath. “Can we just get started on this before it’s too late?”
The grin drops as quickly as it came. “Fine.” He yanks out a piece of paper and scribbles down his phone number. “Just text me. We’ll meet at the train station in town.”
“Today,” I say firmly. I know if I let this wait any longer, even a day longer, I might lose my nerve. Or, at the very least, my ability to string together a full cohesive sentence.
He sighs, the back of his pen tapping on the top of his desk. “Fine. Today. After school.” He shoves the paper at me. “Leave me alone now.”
Seems Beck doesn’t know what to do with me if he’s not bullying me … and I suppose I don’t know what to do with him either.
So I do what he asks, for now.
Winter has descended upon us seemingly out of nowhere these last few days.
It’s cold as hell outside after class and on top of that it snowed this afternoon, so everything’s even colder.
I stand outside the train station, shivering in the coat I borrowed from Rafael even though it’s zipped up over several layers of hoodies. I’m not even that early, so where the hell is Beck?
People eye me quizzically as they pass by on their way into the train station. I know I look like an idiot all bundled up in coats too big for me, a hand-knitted scarf covering most of my face, and a somewhat ragged hat pulled down over my choppy hair. Or maybe a hobo. It doesn’t help that I keep hopping on one foot or the other to get some blood going.
I’m about ready to give up on Beck when, at long last, a familiar-looking Aston Martin pulls into the parking lot by the station. He has a driver today. Of course, Beck slips out of the backseat looking like a model for some designer’s winter wear, only making me look even more wretched in comparison.
His peacoat looks tailored, and the navy blue scarf he tugs over his mouth and nose highlights his cheekbones and the gray eyes above them. He tugs a gray fur-lined cap onto his head, letting the ear flaps hang down to frame his face as he searches the platform for a moment before spotting me. He shoves his hands into his pockets and strides toward me like a male model on a catwalk.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice muffled from beneath the scarf. His eyes dart down to where I stand. “Stop that. Come with me.”
I stop hopping on my foot and fall into step beside him. “Where are we going?”
“The forest.”
“The forest?” I repeat incredulously.
“Don’t be weird. One of our assigned books has a passage about a meeting in a thicket.”
I vaguely remember something like that, but I still feel my mind searching. Do I really want to be out alone in the forest with Beck? Not to mention the fact that I was really looking forward to getting out of the cold, even just for a bit.
“Didn’t you have some places you wanted to look at in another city?”
“We’ll get on the train for that.”
“Not your car?” I ask, trying not to huff and puff as I crunch in the snow next to Beck.
“Last time I asked you if you needed a ride, you seemed uncomfortable,” he grunts in reply. “Figured you’d be happier with the train.”
I’m shocked into silence. He’s trying to be … considerate?
We reach the tree line of the woods near the train station and plunge past it. The snow is thicker here, untouched by human feet. I guess we’re the only people crazy enough to come here on a day like this.
We don’t have to walk too far, thankfully, before we get to a small clearing. The pine trees are tall above us, but this dense growth of shrubs tangle themselves around a fallen tree trunk.
“Well.” Beck grabs one of the snow-covered branches and shoves it out of the way. He ducks beneath it and slips into the heart of the thicket.
“Wait!” I hurry after him, struggling to move the same branch he did, but it’s all tangled up with others.
“It’s hollow in here,” Beck says interestedly as I peer in. He’s right, he’s sitting on untouched grass with his legs crossed. The tree branches grow so close together overhead that the snow has still left this little spot untouched. He glances up as I continue to struggle with the branch.
“Need a hand?” he asks, his voice bland but his hand still outstretched in another surprisingly considerate gesture.
“Maybe,” I grunt, after struggling for another moment to no avail.
He comes forward on his knees and pushes some of the overgrowth out of my way as he reaches for my hand, but he does the former too soon for me to keep my balance and the latter too late to catch me before I fall through the hole he’s made and into the little hollow.
I smash into him and take him with me. We tumble for a moment, Beck grunting as he finally lands on his back with me on his chest.
“Off,” he grunts again as he tries to push me away, but he’s not angry. Instead, his shoulders shake as he bursts into laughter.
I’m pressed against him, chest to chest, paranoid that he must be able to feel my bound breasts. I roll off him as quickly as I can, my eyes averted from his.
“I meant to do that,” I gasp, once I’ve finished disentangling myself from him.
“Sure you did,” he says with another laugh.
“Best way to enter a hollow inside a thicket,” I respond, dryly.
Beck laughs again, and I watch him. When he’s smiling without all that manic glee behind it … he almost looks sweet.
“So, what do you think, bro?” Beck asks, spreading his hands. “Think this is romantic?”
I start a little at being referred to as “
bro”.
“Sure,” I reply, glancing around. “Insulated from the cold. Cozy. Barely any room,” I add, pointing at his knee brushing mine.
“Yeah, write that down. Professors love that kind of shit,” he says, nodding before suddenly glancing around the space while patting his outside pockets. “Let’s take pictures or something.”
We do, and then we crawl out and take pictures of the outside, too. Beck slips his phone back into his pocket and leads me back to the train station.
Somehow, the walk back seems just a little less cold.
“There’s a town with a grand church in it,” he tells me as we head inside. Now that I’m with Beck, I seem to draw fewer stares. It’s like I’m his pet, that somehow being with him takes away any question of my own legitimate right to be here.
I pause at the ticket counter and search my pockets for a second, but Beck only purses his lips, pays for me, and leads me to one of the compartments without a word. When we sit, he keeps talking about different places we’ll visit as though nothing happened. As if he didn’t just pay for me only weeks after mocking my own inability to afford a trip home for fall break.
A trip that’s now been paid for by our very own Jasper.
I wonder if Beck is aware of that. Even more, I wonder if that would change anything about the way he’s treating me … if he would go back to acting like I’m a burden of a charity case, or if that would make him more sympathetic.
I used to think that he and Heath simply did whatever Jasper told them to, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe there’s more to this Brotherhood than meets the eye.
The first church he takes me to is beautiful, but not what I’d call romantic. I find the village surrounding it much more … quaint. It’s run down, the houses in a state of disrepair that is just beyond the level of comfort. Rather than looking well-loved, the whole village just looks on the brink of abandonment.
“I like the wood framing on the outsides,” I tell him, looking for something to say that isn’t going to make me sound ungrateful.
“Chalet,” he replies.
“Gesundheit.”
That comment makes him laugh again. “No, I mean you like the chalet style.”
