by Mj Fields
“JT and Patrick gonna be there?”
“Truth and Brisa are.” She scowls at him.
Zandor looks a bit uneasy but nods. “I trust you, Tris.”
Tris nods then looks at the field as she whispers, “Men are so stupid.”
I look toward the field again and see Tobias is looking back at me now. He winks.
He. Freaking. Winks.
I’m not sure if I’m pissed off or … turned on.
When the boys take the field, Brisa yells out, “Number 27 on three!”
Amias keeps his head down but smirks.
Three batters, one on base. The next batter hits it toward left field. Amias jumps, and I swear it’s fifty feet in the air, probably more like eight, but he catches the ball —basically midair— then guns it to first.
The pitcher drops to the ground as it flies over his head, and Justice does a fucking split to tag first base.
Double play.
We’re all on our feet, screaming and cheering, and Zandor yelling, “That’s my boy! That’s my boy!” in a crowd that is otherwise glued to their seats, theater clapping.
Next batter hits it directly toward Amias, and again, he catches it.
Three outs, and our team runs in.
Three of our batters have hits, no outs, bases loaded. Justice is up, and Amias is on deck.
“Show ’em what you got, JT!” Dad yells.
Justice looks back at us, holds the bat up, and winks.
The first pitch, he lets go by and is called a strike.
Dad, Zandor, Jase, Xavier, Patrick, and Max are all on their feet, cheering him on.
When he hits the ball, it soars through the air and drops right before it goes over the fence.
I watch Justice mouth, “Fuck,” and then he begins to kick up the dust.
Three runners in, and Justice is feet from home base when the ball comes whizzing in.
“Down! Down! Down!” we all scream, and again, I see him mouth “fuck” as he hits the dirt and slides into home base, taking out the catcher in the process.
The announcer isn’t even as loud as our section, and all eyes are on us.
I can’t help but laugh at some of the parents and their pinched faces as they look at us.
We calm down just in time to see Amias swing on his first pitch, and it’s called a strike.
“That’s okay, A! Wait for yours, bud, wait for yours.” Zandor claps.
The next pitch is thrown, and Amias doesn’t swing.
Another strike.
“That’s okay. You got this. You got this.” Zandor claps.
Justice whistles, and Amias looks back, steps out of the box, and then catches the bat that Justice throws to him. He tosses the other back.
Justice looks up toward us and lifts his chin.
Zandor whistles loudly.
“Holy shit!” I gasp when Amias hits the ball and the bat splits in half. “Holy shit!”
“T, you’re at school.” Dad tries to scold me but is grinning from ear to ear as the ball flies over the fence.
“That’s my boy!” Zandor yells, whistles, cheers, and I swear to God he’s on the verge of tears.
Amias doesn’t run; he jogs. He’s hotdogging, and the girlies are eating it up, as he rounds third.
Justice whistles as he claps his hands.
Amias points to Justice, and then himself. He picks up speed, and then slides into home.
After the game, we all wait outside the school for Justice and Amias to get done showering and doing whatever boys do to celebrate a win in the locker room.
Note to self: find out.
We aren’t alone waiting. There are a group of girls giggling next to their Teslas, dressed in clothes I’d wear to a dance, not a ball game.
When the boys walk out with some of their teammates, Amias holds the bat he split in one hand and an unbroken one in the other. He lifts his chin to Zandor. “Got something for you.”
“Proud of you, son.” Zandor beams.
Amias hands him the unbroken bat. “Well aware of that, Dad, so is the entire Seashore ball-field.”
Zandor looks over the bat, still smiling when he then looks at him. “This a thing here?”
“Nope.” Amias laughs. “Just figured you may need this for the next game.”
“Why’s that?” Zandor chuckles.
“As over the top as you were, you might as well join the team.”
Everyone laughs, everyone except Zandor, who arches a brow.
“Don’t think I won’t, kid.”
Amias rolls his eyes as he smiles. “We going for pizza, or do I need to walk over there and allow one of the ladies in waiting to take out the star?”
“Oh my God, Truth, the first four outfits were fine,” Brisa calls from my room.
“Yeah, come on, T; we’re already an hour late,” Tris says with obvious excitement.
“Fine,” I grumble, walking out and tugging on the black skater dress with the rounded neckline and sleeveless bodice.
“Damn, girl.” Brisa grins.
I turn in a circle. “Tell me the truth; does this make my boot look big?”
“Looks great. And your ass is popping, T. Jesus, I need an ass like that.”
Tris looks down at her cute, little wine-colored romper as she pushes her boobs together. “Question?”
“Shoot,” I say, touching up my makeup.
“Does the ass and titty fairy come on the same day?”
“You’re younger than me, so chill out.” Brisa pushes her away from in front of the mirror and turns to look at her ass in her black and white striped, wide-leg pants, then turns back and adjusts her halter, ensuring it shows part of her belly.
“You two look freaking amazing,” I say, turning away from the mirror.
“Let’s go,” Tris says excitedly.
“Wait,” I call from behind them. “Jackets.”
“Really?” Tris whines.
“You wanna get out of this house, then yeah.” I laugh and toss her a leather jacket.
“Hey, wait. What about me?” Brisa pouts.
I walk into my closet and grab a black, cropped cardigan and my cropped jean jacket.
“Jesus, do these people ever let you park less than a mile away?” I grumble.
“I’d offer to give you a piggyback ride, but we’d probably make The Sound tomorrow,” Patrick says with a slight laugh.
“You can give me one.” Max hops on his back without warning, and Patrick almost falls.
“Get your boney ass off me,” he jokes.
“Chill, Max,” Amias grumbles.
“Leave him alone.” Brisa elbows Amias. “Superstar.”
“That’s fucking right, and since JT decided to hang back, that superstar status is gonna gain me some extra lovin’ tonight.”
“Better chill yourself, man.” Max turns, walking backward, and points at Amias. “You know which one of us is gonna get the most attention.”
“Turn around, smart ass, before you end up busting your ass and walking in there looking like you shit your pants,” Patrick says, looking down at his phone for the hundredth time.
“She’s not coming, man,” Amias pokes fun at Patrick.
“Who?” Max asks.
“Mind your business, both of you.” Patrick nods toward the house now coming into view.
“Holy shit,” Brisa gasps.
“Next level bouj right there,” Max quips.
“He’s right. If our homes are considered mansions, Gabrielle’s is a castle,” Tris says with a hint of awe in her voice.
Patrick chuckles. “Three of our houses could fit inside that bitch.”
And here I am in a skater dress. I laugh at myself, and not in the funny ha-ha way either.
“Who gives a shit?” Amias shrugs. “Certainly hasn’t made her a happier human. I bet her snatch has frostbite.”
Amias is clearly high on a high school baseball win right now, because it is very uncharacteristic of him to talk shit abou
t females.
“Ew, Amias, gross.” Brisa cringes.
“She’s a cunt—we get it—but, dude, if Dad heard you say that shit …” Tris tsks.
“Not thinking cunt would go over well either,” Amias says smugly.
Amias and Max walk in first. Patrick stays behind us.
The place is packed. There seriously must be at least two hundred people here, and I’m happy to see that we aren’t underdressed. Not to say we are overdressed, but it’s not as bad as after the game in the parking lot.
Everything I’ve ever imagined about a stereotypical college frat party is playing out in front of me. Loud music, packed rooms, kegs and people cheering others on to “Chug, chug, chug.” But the fact it’s going on inside of this home is almost shocking. The contrast of the party and my lavish surroundings causes me to pause.
Looking up, I see an open foyer to the two-story ceilings, where South America is painted in beautiful earth tones and one country in gold. I wish I paid more attention during geography.
“It’s Colombia,” comes from behind me.
I turn and see Gabrielle in a gold-toned dress and shoes I would die to wear right now.
“My parents moved from Colombia to the United States before I was born.”
“Your home is”—I pause and look around, somehow managing to catch one of the ball players throwing up in a vase that looks incredibly expensive—“getting trashed.”
She looks around and nods to a very big, somewhat familiar looking guy who walks over to puking boy, grabs him under the arms, and drags him toward the door.
“Is he—”
“Going to be outside until an Uber takes him home.” She rolls her eyes.
“And the vase?” I ask.
“He’ll take care of it,” she says, looking around nervously.
“He looks familiar. Does he go to Seashore?”
She looks at me and shakes her head. “You probably remember him from last weekend.”
I shake my head.
“The fight, all fights. He’s hired muscle.”
I nod. “I’m sure you have plenty of guests to entertain. I’ll let you—”
“Entertaining isn’t on tonight’s agenda. I’m mentally making a guest list for my summer parties.”
“Gonna guess that guy doesn’t make the cut, huh?”
She looks back at me and shrugs. “He was one of the fifty or so who came right after the game and helped ‘set up.’ He will probably just get a warning.”
“What gets you banned?” I ask.
She looks back at me suspiciously. “Are you looking for an out?”
I shrug. “Not sure yet.”
“Fair enough. Fighting, stealing, wandering around where you shouldn’t be wandering, fucking in my bedroom or my parents’, attempting to mess with someone who’s fucked up and can’t say no, calling the cops, messing with the hired muscle, or pissing me off in general.”
“How do people know where to wander and where not to?”
“Hired muscle.” She smiles as she scans the room. Her smile is actually quite pretty.
She looks back at me. “So, was it Tobias pleading my case, or trying to avoid Harrison that convinced you to come?”
“I knew they wanted to come”—I gesture toward my family—“and I didn’t want our issues to make them miss out on hanging with friends.”
“They’re both here, by the way.”
“Great.” I fake excited, and she smirks.
Looking away, she asks, “So, which one is it that Truth Steel has her eyes on?”
“Um, neither.” I laugh.
She looks at me, brow arched.
“Let me ask you the same question.”
She shakes her head. “Harrison was a means to acceptance. Tobias is hot as hell but never on my radar.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m … How do I say this? Feisty, dramatic, love attention. Harrison is infuriating, but when he turns on the charm, he’s actually pretty good for one’s ego. Tobias would sooner cut off his left arm than be involved in any drama.”
“So, why did you come at Kiki, and then at me, if Harrison is such an asshole?”
“I have no idea how you’ve avoided this all your life, but as Tobias pointed out to me, high school girls are attention bitches who will sell their soul for popularity. I thought I was lucky that Harrison took interest in me right away. But the reality is that he fed that need like a dealer feeds a junky, and then dropped me on my ass when you all came in. I’m always going to be some kind of bitch, but I don’t want to be that bitch.”
“So, just like that, huh?”
She shakes her head. “Trust me; it hasn’t been easy. Admitting you’re wrong never is. But a few weeks with text bombs and constant reminders of who you are becoming and who you want to be is probably like fucking conversion camp.”
“So, Harrison or Tobias bombarded you?”
“Harrison just stopped instigating me when he decided you weren’t going to just give it up, that you weren’t an attention-seeking little girl with Daddy issues and chose a different angle of attack—be nice or else I will tell everyone about how you suck dick.”
“Okay, maybe that’s TMI.”
She shrugs. “I promised to stop acting like a cornered snake. I do keep my word.”
She must read me immediately because she smiles. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me.”
“Well, let’s be honest; you did take freaking pictures outside of my bedroom.”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Not my style.”
“Then who did?”
“Someone who decided to take a stupid risk to get on my good side.”
“That’s pretty fucked up.”
“Agreed. And again, I promise not to talk shit out of jealousy around people who would legit bury a body to be here if asked.”
I feel my mouth drop open.
She shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“Have you ever?” I whisper.
She throws her head back and laughs. “No!”
“Well, it’s not really funny, considering.”
“Don’t you see? You are the most protected girl in this fucked-up circle.”
Chapter Fourteen
Idiom
Money makes the world go round.
Truth
Or destroys it and everything in its wake.
“I should go,” I tell Gabrielle, who has put her fangs away for the night.
“Understood. Thank you for making this look real.”
Oh, I see, I think.
“That came out cold. As I said, I’m working on the bitch thing. But that wasn’t me being a bitch. That was me sincerely thanking you.”
“While you’re working on the inner bitch thing, you should work on your whole RBI thing, too,” I suggest.
She smiles, and again, I think it’s genuine, but who the hell knows? The only time I’ve seen her shield down, so to speak, was around Justice.
“Before I go, let me ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a thing for my brother?”
Her face immediately turns red. “No.”
Bullshit, I think, but instead I say, “I see.” Then I turn to walk away when she grabs my elbow. I turn around.
“There’s something about him that’s … unnerving.”
I can’t help but smile. At the same time, I have a feeling she’s got teeth … down there. “Don’t fuck with him.”
If possible, her face gets even more red. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A hot breath hits the back of my neck as a very recognizable voice says, “Hope you brought your wallet.”
I look at Gabrielle to see her reaction, expecting a little hint of … something. She just rolls her eyes slightly and says, “The thing you just asked me not to do?”
I nod.
She raises her perfectly arched brows, and a look of malice crosses her face. “Now asking the same i
n return.”
She walks away, and Harrison takes her spot at my side.
“She’s something, isn’t she?”
“She’s not as bad as I had initially thought.” I look at him and smile. His look is GQ, but his aura screams Junior Healy from Problem Child.
He purses his lips. “Get to know her a little better. Her crazy shines brighter each day.”
I turn and cross my arms over my chest. “Let me ask you something.”
“The answer’s yes. The question is: how do we sneak away for a quick thirty minutes without your little crew”—he nods toward them—“catching us in the act?”
“You’re something else, you know that?”
“And you’re hard to figure out. So, what is it, Miss Steel? Flowers bought me no favor, my attempt to woo you at the game was a—”
“Disaster?”
He smirks and shrugs. “I suppose I forgive your father’s less than civilized—”
I palm his face and laugh as I push him back slightly. “Trust me; that was civilized.”
His eyes nearly bug out of his head. He looks shook.
“What?”
“Did you just”—his voice squeaks, and he clears his throat—“palm my face?”
“Oh my God, that offends you?”
“I’m really not sure,” he says in complete seriousness.
“Okay, cool. Well, you think on that while I go grab a drink.” I turn and walk toward my crew, laughing to myself.
“What the hell did you say to him?” Brisa laughs.
I shrug. “Not much. I need a drink.”
“You’re driving,” Patrick reminds me.
“Right. Then find me a club soda.”
Tris giggles. “You hate club soda.”
“I’ll just carry it around with my pinky stuck out.”
We grab drinks, from an actual bar, with an actual bartender, and then stand in the middle of a room full of people—teenagers. Some, I suspect aren’t teenagers, chatting amongst themselves.
Tris is looking around, transfixed by her surroundings.
“Whatcha thinking?” I ask as she sips her club soda.
She shakes her head. “That this is the lamest party at the prettiest house I’ve ever been to.”
“Prettiest house?” Max puffs. “It’s like a museum.”
