by Eden Beck
He nods back up at the house in front of us.
I’ve never heard Beck laugh this much. It’s a little contagious. He seems like he’d actually be a cool guy to hang out with if he calmed down.
“I guess I do,” I say, forcing myself to look away from him and back up at the building. I cock my head to the side and try to imagine what it once looked like.
Beck, in turn, narrows his eyes at me as he scrutinizes the reaction on my face. “Okay. So, churches—maybe not romantic.”
“I can see how the architecture could be inspirational, though,” I concede, pushing my hands into my coat pockets. I keep my eyes trained on the building as I take another step away, even as I feel Beck’s eyes linger on me. “Maybe it’s just—”
But I’m cut off as Beck suddenly lunges for me.
“Watch out!” he shouts, grabbing my elbow and yanking me out of the road as someone speeds by in a car, the noise only reaching us as he shoots past through the space I just occupied.
I’m pulled into Beck’s chest once again, and this time for a moment, it’s like he’s holding me.
My heart thumps. Maybe it’s just that we’ve been purposefully going to romantic places today, or that he’s been really relaxed around me, but … when I look up into Beck’s face there, just above mine, I can no longer ignore the knotting sensation in the pit of my stomach.
Fuck.
I think I’m starting to develop a crush on Beck.
I mean, he’s hot. That’s always been the case. Jasper and Heath are hot, too, but something about the way Beck is acting today, almost like I’m a friend of his, makes me feel … nice. Warm and fuzzy, even.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck … fuck!
I’ve never jumped to my feet so fast in my life.
I can’t look at Beck, so I force myself to conspicuously turn away while I pretend to be re-tying my shoe. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see him do the same, and all it makes me realize is just how truly fucked I am.
“I’m so tired,” I groan as I sit down on the train after our last visit. It’s dark outside. The chill of the winter night has seeped into my bones. It has, at the very least, done me the kindness of numbing me into a state of only half-consciousness. It’s almost enough to keep my eyes trained out the window instead of flitting constantly over to my partner.
“Me, too,” Beck sighs, plopping down next to me despite the fact that the train car is practically empty. I’m keenly aware of how his knee brushes mine. The memory of our bodies pressed together not once but twice today reappears, unbidden and unwelcome, in my mind’s eye.
I shuffle my leg a little further away.
“And cold.”
“I’m used to the cold now,” he replies nonchalantly as he kicks his feet onto the seat across from us. “But yeah, it’s pretty cold.”
I resist the sudden urge to lean against him, but he chucks his arms up onto the backs of the seats on either side of him, laying one incredibly close to my shoulders. He’s spread out as if he owns the entire train—which, honestly, he probably could. Everyone at Bleakwood is from a rich family, and I don’t know what his family makes their particular fortune in.
I lean back in my seat and let his arm brush my back. He doesn’t move. He stares across from us at the windows as the train speeds us back to town.
“Alex,” he says after several silent moments pass.
“Hm?” I jerk a little. I’d started to doze off.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For the other day. In history,” he clarifies. “Saying that shit about scholarship kids.”
I stay quiet.
“It was dumb. Bad.”
I still don’t look at him, my mind still processing what he’s saying. Is he … is Beck … apologizing?
After a moment, I just nod. “It’s okay.”
It’s really not, but I also know when not to look a gift horse in the mouth. This is a genuine moment, something I might never get from Beck again. And even if I could find words to speak, I can’t trust myself.
Not, at the very least, with the way butterflies erupt in my stomach every time the slightest jostle in the train makes me brush up against his still outstretched arm.
We’re quiet the rest of the way back to school. When we file out of the train station, he insists on giving me a ride back up the mountain, which I accept only because it’s incredibly cold. We walk into school together, side-by-side.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, glancing once over his shoulder at the road now winding down the mountain away from us. “We didn’t get to visit everything today, what with you almost getting run over and everything.”
I let out a half laugh. “Sure. Train station?”
“Just meet me in the courtyard. I’ll drive you.”
I smile. “That sounds warmer.”
He claps me on the shoulder, grins, and walks off to his own dorm. I head to mine, my head buzzing with a heady, almost giddy rush that only sours when I finally shut the door behind me into my dorm.
FUCK.
Chapter Seventeen
This time, the note from Olive comes in the mail. I open it out of respect before tossing it right away. It’s the first one in two weeks now—hopefully a sign that she’s losing interest and turning her attention back to Jasper.
The thought brings the briefest pang of jealousy, something I shove into a dark place inside myself that even I can’t access. But still, I allow myself a smoke break before I head out to meet Beck at his Aston Martin. Or maybe it’s Jasper’s? I can’t tell.
And I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
“Hey,” Beck says when I climb into the backseat.
I mirror his greeting and he grins so wide that I can’t help but smile back at him. It’s good to see that whatever camaraderie we struck up yesterday is still going, at least a little.
He nods at the driver, present once again today, and the car begins to move.
As soon as we do, Beck turns in his seat to face me, eyes alight. “We have options,” he informs me.
“Oh?”
“Most of the places I think we should visit are out of town, but there’s one place in town here. We could either start with that or end with it.”
I consider this a moment.
“I say we end with it. The list is shorter today, right?”
“You heard him,” Beck says to the driver, who nods and speeds up.
The rest of the day turns into a blur. There’s a different feel, driving instead of taking the train. Even though the driver is all but invisible, it still feels less … intimate … somehow. Maybe I’m just imagining it.
We’re both less tired when we arrive back in town for our last place, which is a small footbridge over a lake. Despite the fact that I felt a little baby-sat all day with the driver always waiting back at the car, ready to move on to the next destination, riding in the car instead of taking the train did save a lot of energy.
I realize with a jolt as we head over the stone footbridge that I’m going to miss this time I’m spending with Beck. Sure, we have to do the rest of our project—the written bits, like reports and essays—but none of that is going to have the same feeling as strolling through romantic vistas together.
These aren’t dates, I think angrily to myself, getting only angrier at the fact I have to remind myself of that in the first place. And this guy’s an asshole, remember?
Not to mention the fact that he thinks I’m a boy.
I glance sideways at Beck as we pause in the center of the footbridge. He leans against the railing to look out over the icy lake, and I get a good look at his strong profile. A lazy smile plays at his lips, making my knees go considerably weaker.
He spots me staring and gestures to the space beside him.
“Lean down like this,” he tells me, patting the railing beside where his arms return to rest, crisscrossed in front of him.
I do as he says. Now we’re both bent over the rail
, leaning on our forearms. He’s almost a foot taller than me. Or maybe he is an entire foot taller? I don’t know, I just know he’s tall and broad, and I like being this close to him.
At least when he’s like this.
“This place reminds me of where I grew up,” he says softly after a moment of silence, eyes shining as they scan the view laid out before us.
I smile at him and look out over the lake again. It’s beautiful and icy, but not completely frozen over, and the opposite bank is covered in snow. On the other side of the footbridge a path continues into the woods and the tree line pushes right up against part of the lake.
“Did you have a nice childhood?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I suppose so. Can’t complain.” Then he gasps and gently grabs my elbow. I freeze at the touch. “Don’t move too quickly, but look over there, at the woods.”
I turn slowly as a deer walks out of the trees in the direction he’s pointing. She has no antlers, her ears flicking cautiously back and forth as she walks on slender legs toward the lake, placing each hoof carefully in front of the other. She leaves little semi-circle hoofprints behind her in the snow on her trail to dip her head down to drink at a crack in the ice that hasn’t yet frozen over.
“Beautiful,” Beck sighs. “Can you see how this place would be romantic?”
“Yeah,” I reply, shifting my eyes to sneak in a look at him … only to find he’s looking back at me.
We’re very close together. I’m struck by just how romantic a spot this is, especially in the snow. Everything around is blanketed in white, giving it a sort of fairytale feeling. It would be easy to get caught up in it, to be completely lost in it.
As Beck appears to be right now.
“Alex,” Beck says slowly, his head leaning in ever so slightly, and his voice so soft and low it’s almost unrecognizable.
His eyes flicker down to my lips so briefly, I almost think I imagine it.
What’s happening? I think, my heart hammering in my chest.
He leans in again, just a bit, his eyes once again dropping to my parted cupid’s-bow lips—this time, for long enough that I know I’m not imagining it.
He’s … he’s …
Not going to do anything, apparently. We’re interrupted with the echo of a faraway shout.
“BECK!”
I’m startled. Beck’s startled. The deer is startled, but unlike us she doesn’t stand still. She bolts away into the woods, fueled by the need to flee that I should feel, but don’t. Beck and I immediately straighten, and he whirls to search for the source of the shout.
It only takes a second to spot the source of our interruption.
Heath is jogging toward us from the town. He shouts his friend’s name again, his arms waving above his head in excitement.
“What?” Beck shouts back, his shoulders hunching as he shrinks into himself a bit. A little color has risen into his cheeks, and he isn’t looking at me anymore.
Heath doesn’t answer. Instead, he breaks into a sprint and pelts toward us, stopping only once he gets to us on the footbridge. He isn’t even panting.
“Me and Jasper were gonna get some beers. Wanna come?” he asks, then glances over at me. “Oh, Alex. I didn’t see you there. You can come too, if you want.” His voice is considerably flatter when he addresses me.
I shrug. “It’s fine. You don’t have to pretend we’re friends.” I shove my hands into my pockets as both boys stare at me. “I can just head back to the school. It’s not a long walk.”
I could use a moment to clear my head.
And to force the decidedly disappointed feeling away. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Heath hadn’t arrived just now, at such a perfectly inopportune moment.
“No, I invited you,” Heath snaps, surprising both me and Beck apparently, because Beck starts at his tone. I just narrow my eyes at him a bit. How is he irritated at me in this situation?
Heath doesn’t back down. “I’m not gonna take it back now. You’re coming.”
Beck shrugs, and with it, any sign of his earlier behavior disappears. “Don’t go forgetting who we are, now, Alex,” he says. “When The Brotherhood invites you to something, you come.” Just like that, he’s suddenly Beck again … and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
But when the two of them turn and walk off with me following in their wake, Beck’s shoulders look unusually stiff. His walk seems more jerky than usual, less smooth. Whatever happened between us just now has affected him after all.
Every so often, Heath glances back my way and makes a beckoning motion for me to follow them, as if he’s making sure I don’t try to slip away at the next possible moment. I guess I should feel suspicious, after all it wouldn’t be above these boys to lay some kind of trap like this, but for some reason I don’t think that’s the case.
At least, not today.
I guess I’m just supposed to pretend to be somewhat friends with these guys now, I realize as I drift behind them toward Beck’s Aston Martin. Jasper did pay for me to go home over the mid-term break, after all. He even said something about me not being a “true member” of The Brotherhood. Does this mean I’m an honorary member?
I find myself grinning as we climb into the car. Right. Me, a member of The Brotherhood. I’m not even a Brother.
Jasper’s standing outside the pub where I met Olive when we arrive. I feel my stomach flip upside-down. I hope she won’t be joining us. Then again, I don’t even like that I’m joining us.
I meet Jasper’s gaze as I slide out of the backseat. He frowns, but it’s more confusion than anger as the three of us walk up to him.
“We were working on our literature project,” Beck says by way of explanation, one thumb jabbing in my direction.
Jasper nods, and I’m surprised not to see anything other than bland disinterest settle in his expression.
“I’ve got us a table,” he says, nodding back towards the pub. “And I’m freezing my ass off out here, so let’s go on in.” He opens the door, his eyes finally settling on me as we file inside the crowded pub.
I didn’t go into a lot of bars in America—not unless you count places like Applebee’s—so I have no idea if there’s any comparable place like this back home. But it’s sort of beautiful; every surface is gleaming, polished wood, and the round tables are surrounded by comfy-looking wingback chairs. The bar has a line of tall stools with spindly legs.
“This is us,” Jasper says, indicating a table with four chairs. We settle in, and I realize I was right—they are comfy. “Vier Biere,” he adds to the waitress when she comes to take our order.
The little Swiss town near Bleakwood doesn’t seem to lend itself to luxury, but everything around me is so shiny and pretty that I wonder if I can afford anything here. My eyes dart around as I look for some sort of menu or price list. Beck seems to notice my discomfort, and he lays a hand on my arm gently enough so that I look at him, but Jasper and Heath don’t notice.
“I’ve got you,” he says in a low whisper.
“I can—”
“I’ve got you,” he repeats firmly.
I nod. “Thanks.”
He nods back. I feel a thrill in my stomach just before his eyes pull away from mine and I inwardly have to remind myself to keep my head on straight.
But I know the moment the waitress plops four massive mugs of beer down in front of us at the bar that that isn’t exactly going to be easy.
Not tonight, anyway. Not with the way I can already tell this is headed.
Chapter Eighteen
It’s not easy at all, it turns out.
Is my head on straight? Do I have a head at all? Where am I?
My stomach certainly isn’t right. I heave and retch, and the gross sound of my own puke splashing makes me heave again.
“Just like I said. Gonna fucking get us killed,” a voice mutters as fingers gingerly push baby hairs back from my face.
“R-Rafael?” I gasp, then lean over the toilet—oh
shit, this is a toilet—and vomit some more.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he replies, sounding irritated. I bet I can guess why.
“Where—?”
He knows my question before I’ve finished asking it. “You’re in our dorm,” he says with a sigh, still gently stroking hair back from my cheeks so that I don’t get puke in it.
“You’ve asked me about a million times already.”
“Oh.” I feel terrible. I wish I didn’t have a head. “Are you okay?”
At this, he laughs, and it actually sounds pleasant. “Me? I’m fine. But you’re gonna need so much water it’s not even funny.”
“I’m too young to drink,” I lament, heaving again, but nothing comes up.
“Not here,” he tells me. “Legal drinking age for beer is sixteen. Oh—gross, don’t come away from the toilet.”
I try to sit back, but he doesn’t let me. I feel myself do another dry heave. My chest clenches.
“You should probably stay back from classes today.”
“Today?” I repeat incredulously.
“Yeah. It’s four in the morning. You’ve been like this for a few hours.”
I groan and slump sideways, ignoring Rafael’s cries of disgust and worry. The bathroom floor is cool against my cheek.
“Can’t,” I groan.
“You done puking?” Rafael asks, shutting the toilet lid. He presses down the handle to flush it.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I turn over so that my whole body is pressed against the nice, cool floor. “Can’t skip class.”
“Yes, you can,” he replies.
I shake my head. “Isn’t there something I can take for this?”
He sighs and tugs on my arm. “I’ll go get you something, but not until you sit up, at least.”
Laboriously, and with a lot of resentful groaning, I allow Rafael to pull me into a sitting position. He lifts the lid of the toilet for me before heading out of our bathroom. I hear the dorm room’s main door open and close.
I take the opportunity to look around. Past the partly open bathroom door, I can see a little bit of our room, which is littered with several hoodies and jackets that I must have shed on my way to the bathroom. I look down. I’m not wearing pants or shoes. I am, however, still wearing my T-shirt, and the bandages I usually wear to hide the vaguely breast-shaped lumps on my chest.
