The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2)

by Lauren Campbell

  “Ivy?” I whisper, my mouth wide open. All I can do is stare. It has to be her. Yes, yes it’s her! It’s … Ivy. But she looks so different. She’s damaged. Not the same. Not just physically, but emotionally. What’s happened to her? Who did this?

  Kate walks up, staring at all of us, before Ivy breaks through the crowd and bursts through the doors.

  “Ivy!” I try to scream, but it leaves in a whisper. I start to go after her, but someone grabs me.

  “Don’t,” Kate says.

  I spin around. “Was … was that...?”

  The crowd clears, and students head for the parking lot now that the show is over. “Yes,” Kate says. “That was Ivy.”

  “Ivy Hobbs, right?” I don’t know why I ask. I know it was her.

  “Yeah. She was in some of my classes last year, too.”

  “Why … why didn’t you—”

  “What? Why didn’t she tell you she got her face broken?” Kate’s friend asks.

  “Well, yeah … I … I wasn’t expecting...” I sink against the wall, squatting down on my legs, running my hands through my hair.

  “Honestly, it doesn’t matter. Sorry, bro. Ivy doesn’t want anything to do with you, anyway.”

  My head jerks up, and Kate and her friend are exchanging looks. I don’t know what they mean, but I get the feeling Kate doesn’t want her friend to keep talking, which makes me want to keep asking questions. “What do you mean she doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

  “What Daphne is trying to say,” Kate says, “is that Ivy isn’t interested in you anymore.”

  I stand, not believing their words. I shake my head, but Daphne moves closer to me.

  “Look,” Daphne whispers. “There was an accident just after you left. Eliza accidentally hit her with a bat during practice, and … well, that’s what happened. It was awful, and she’s obviously gained weight since then, too. She doesn’t talk anymore. To anyone. But I heard she saw you today and told someone she wanted you to stay away from her. They said she blames you for what happened—that if you hadn’t abandoned her, she wouldn’t have had to play softball, and she’d still look normal.”

  “What?! Who told you that bullshit? Are you making this up, because it sure sounds like it.”

  “She isn’t making it up,” Kate chimes in. “Eliza told everybody at lunch that Ivy said that stuff a long time ago, right after she got hurt, and after she saw you today, she said it again.”

  I narrow my eyes at them. “I still don’t believe it. You really believe anything Eliza says? Does anyone believe that bitch? Look what she did to her just now. Why would she do that to someone she already destroyed? How can you trust anything she says? Is it normal to wreck someone’s face by accident, and then shove their face into a fountain for no reason?”

  “I heard it with my own ears this morning in first period. I’m sorry. Someone told her you were back, and she confided in Daphne. I know that’s probably hard to hear because you used to have a thing, but it’s the truth. And Eliza is just … well, she’s Eliza. She’s kind of bitter about Ivy not forgiving her for the accident. It kind of ate at her, and I think they mutually hate each other now.”

  “Wait, Ivy told you that herself?” I cut my eyes to Daphne.

  She stares down at her shoes before looking up and saying, “I’m sorry.”

  My bedroom door cracks open before my mom squeezes her head through. “Knock knock,” she says, her tone hesitant. “Can I come in?”

  “You didn’t knock,” I say, my words dead and rotted in my throat.

  “Brooks, your brother is here. We expect you for dinner in five.” But her clipped tone and hasty exit have me down in three.

  I linger in the entrance to the dining room, my breath catching when my brother looks up from the table. He stands, and it’s a slow walk to each other until we embrace, our fists pounding each other’s backs too briefly—like it’s only been a few months instead of a few years. My parents saw Charles at least every six months, meeting him for mini vacations in London. But they’d always leave me behind with our housekeeper, Marie, and our groundskeeper, because they didn’t want me to miss school.

  Conversation at dinner is staler and quieter than you’d expect when a family is reunited. I should be making more of an effort to talk to Charles—ask him how college is going or something. I’m just not in the mood, and no internal pep talk or guilt trip is changing that.

  “Brooks,” my mother hisses, my head snapping up to meet her stern eyes. “Would you please stop dragging your fork across your plate and eat something?”

  I drop the fork, opting to repeatedly bite the inside of my cheek instead, and staying quiet while they discuss Charles’s flavor of the month.

  My father’s fist slams on the table, the clang of expensive china unsettling. “Dammit, Brooks. What’s the matter?”

  I rub the back of my neck, and decide the truth is a bad idea. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Can I be excused?”

  My mother stands rapidly, her chair screeching across the wood floor, her hands resting on the table’s edge as she leans in to me. “No one is getting excused from this table today,” she says through gritted teeth. “Now you tell me right now what your problem is, young man. You were perfectly fine yesterday, but if I’m being candid, you’re being an asshole to everyone in this room, especially your brother.”

  Marie appears from the hall, scampering to my mother’s side and clutching her by the arm. She encourages my mother in French to sit down and calm down until my mother’s eyes throw fire at her, and she retreats into the hall again.

  “Is this about that girl?” my mother finally asks.

  Our eyes meet, and I want to say no, but the lie hangs in my throat. “Not really … I mean sort of … I guess. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  She shakes her head, and my father tells her to relax, but she continues. “I told you, Brooks. I told you when we left that the way you two acted with each other was trouble. And who had to hear about her the entire time we were gone? Now you’re showing tremendous disregard for all of us by caring about whatever happened between you and that girl today more than seeing your own brother.”

  “Mom,” Charles says. “It’s okay. He doesn’t have to—”

  “It’s certainly not okay, and I won’t hear about this girl again. This is trouble. Whatever she’s done to you all this time, this … this hold she has on you, it’s trouble. Do I need to ensure her father finds another job?”

  My eyes widen as far as they can open, my voice cracking as I say, “What? Mom, no! She hasn’t done anything! Please don’t...”

  My mother smooths her shirt, takes a deep breath, and places her hand on my cheek. “Good. Since she hasn’t done anything, we would love your attention while we enjoy this delicious meal Marie has prepared for us.”

  I’m on my second session of stalking for the day, but perhaps my first day of killing. This morning, I relished in watching Eliza open the door to her giant flower delivery and Mark’s confused face behind her. She smiled at him, they hugged, and he poked his head out the door like he was looking for the bogeyman.

  Relationship saved.

  Temporarily, anyway.

  Now, I’m watching Brooks. Or, he’s who I was supposed to be watching, anyway. I don’t know who the woman is who skips down Brooks’s steps and enters the taxi with a smile on her face, but I intend to find out. And as soon as possible.

  I think she was brunette, but the indirect glow from the taxi’s headlights wasn’t enough to be sure.

  As I’m scouring Brooks’s friends list, looking for anyone who may resemble the presumed gold digger, I catch movement and see his garage lift. Shit. I drop my phone in my lap, and shift into drive. High-tail out of the area, a little puff of smoke left behind—my hands shaking like I’ve had too much coffee, except it’s the rage waking my inner demon.

  Am I not good enough for him? What am I missing?

  Then, just as I feel as if I’m abou
t to explode, run my car off the road, hunt down the brunette and torture answers out of her, a text sounds.

  My savior. My soul mate who doesn’t know any better:

  Saw your Facebook post. I’m actually gonna be in Myrtle the same time as you. You know my family has a house there, right? I can drive you if you haven’t found anyone. Was gonna fly, but I can cancel, so let me know.

  A smile rests at the corner of my mouth before I will it away when I think of the brunette again. I’m working so hard, and not getting back what I’m putting in. I must demand his attention like a little child. By ignoring.

  Yes, I found someone. Thanks for asking.

  I wait, my eyes sticky on the screen as the minutes tick by, my heart threatening to stop beating out of fear he may not fight for us. I wait, and wait, and wait. I wait so long, I end up at home screaming into my pillow, Lucy pawing at me as if I’m being hurt. But it’s too late for that. I am hurt. I hurt every second of every day, because I don’t have them, and I don’t have him. I am even doubting whether my friendship with Jared is sustainable. The questioning, the feel of imagined betrayal as I suspected, however briefly, that he was the one who’d broken into my house was enough for me to put some safe distance between us.

  Trust no one.

  A ding. I jerk my head up, my hand swiping the phone from the nightstand, nearly knocking off the lamp and sending Lucy into a barking frenzy. I shush her. Squeal with delight when I see that it’s him.

  Who? Do you know them? I’m going there to buy a boat, so I really don’t mind.

  I purse my lips, eager to respond, but determined to go by the book. It’s better to wait awhile. I set a timer for twenty-five minutes. That’s an appropriate response time of a normal person with a life. I take a bath. Finger my pussy to the thought of us fucking. Then spend entirely too long Googling things like “Why are men players?” and “Reasons a man would have a woman over other than sex” and “Average time for a man to propose.” After reading too many posts I wish I hadn’t, I toss my phone onto the tile and wish I had some ice cream, but broccoli it is.

  I sigh. Bite my lip until I taste a touch of copper. There’s simply no other explanation for who that woman was other than someone he’s interested in. Maybe I’ll ask Jared about this. I don’t need to trust him to get a little man-to-man opinion, right?

  Impulsively, I dial him.

  “Yo!”

  He listens while I drone on about the girl, but I don’t admit to stalking his house, of course. I was stopping by to “return his wallet.”

  Jared laughs. “You know sex is not the same for men as it is for women, right?”

  “Well, I’m personally not okay with someone I’m interested in getting off from someone else,” I snap. I almost feel guilty for the double standard I’ve set, but then I don’t because my escapades have purpose. They’re for the greater good of us both.

  “Oh, yeah, for sure. And honestly, Brooks has always seemed a little—”

  I miss Jared’s last word, too soft with Lucy’s sudden barking. “Hey, um … let me call you back,” I whisper, then hang up.

  Quietly, I rise from the tub. Wrap a towel around my body without even shaking the excess water off. I tiptoe to my bedroom window and peek out. Almost scream when I see Brooks’s Audi. Lucy is still barking like crazy when Brooks resorts to the doorbell.

  “Be right there!” I yell, quickly throwing on some sweats and brushing on some powder before applying gloss. When I open the door, his arms are crossed—he’s somewhere between relaxed and impatient. I know it’s crazy, but for a moment I’m scared he’s here because he’s found out my secret. “Yes?”

  He quickly clears his throat. “You didn’t text me back yet, and I was around the corner, so figured I’d stop by.”

  “Oh-kay?” I eye him incredulously, savoring every bit of him, reveling in his nervousness.

  “Okay, what? I kind of need to know now since we’d be leaving tomorrow and I’d have a flight to cancel.”

  “I told you I found someone already,” I say, my tone icy.

  “Why do you need someone to drive? Are you still sick? Why are you going anyway?”

  Damn, he asks lots of questions. “One: I like the beach. Two: I can’t drive long distances without falling asleep, and I also don’t want to go alone. Three: I’ve only gotten dizzy once since you dropped me off. Four: My grandmother lives there in a nursing home. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her.”

  He nods. Sucks his teeth. “Cancel the other guy.”

  “Excuse me? How do you know it’s a guy?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Cancel whomever it is, and ride with me instead.”

  “Why should I? We can’t even be seen together, but you want to go on a six-hour drive and a weekend trip?”

  “I’ll risk it if it means you not riding with some guy who’s just hoping to get into your pants.”

  “Hmm, like you already did?” My eyes burn into his until they turn a dark denim.

  “There are much easier routes to getting my dick sucked than you, Emily.”

  I raise an eyebrow at his logic. “Touché. Well, we can’t stand here all day. Would you like to come in?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight. It’s a long drive, and I don’t have a giant SUV like you, so pack lightly.”

  I wave at him as he walks to his car, simultaneously waving off most of my worries over Ms. Brunette.

  I wake up when we hit a sign that says Conway, which I believe is somewhat close to Myrtle. After arranging for my neighbors to feed and walk Lucy, I intentionally stayed up most of the night so I’d be tired enough to sleep most of the drive—a strategic move to avoid small talk during a time of great anxiety.

  I’ve never been to the ocean before. It’s something I’ve always dreamed about, but something my parents could never afford. They tried. One year, we got halfway there after they’d saved up for a two-day hotel stay when our radiator went out. Since I’ve had Grandma Gertrude’s money, I’ve simply been too preoccupied to worry myself with things like trips to the beach, but it has been on the list.

  Speaking of Grandma Gertrude, I need a grandma. Quick. I never anticipated Brooks volunteering to drive me. I merely thought he’d be jealous, that it would eat him alive while I’d be “gone,” which would really have meant being holed up in my house, sharing random beach pix from the internet on Facebook.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” he smiles.

  Man. Waking up to that face is a treat. “Conway?”

  “About another half hour. You sleep okay last night?”

  “I told you I fall asleep on long drives.” Lie. I haven’t been on a long drive since I was a kid.

  “Right. You hungry?”

  “Not yet. You canceled your flight, right?” But of course, he didn’t, because I doubt he ever even had one. I truly believe—or at least I want to believe—that he’s simply getting tangled in my ropey vines of love and unable to free himself.

  “Yeah, last night.”

  I turn my head, staring at the trees through the window. “I don’t know how you fly so much. I hate flying.”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “The thought of flying over the ocean is the worst to me. I’d actually love to visit France or Italy one day, but I don’t know … I’d probably have a panic attack the entire flight.”

  “If you can fly to California, you can fly across the ocean. Just get an aisle seat. And let me guess ...you want to go to France for Paris?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  We stop at a light, Brooks flicking his left blinker as we wait to turn. I’m starting to feel sick with anticipation. Will we swim? I’m an excellent swimmer, but not knowing what’s lurking in the water is a child-like fear. I’m afraid I’ll freak out.

  “Paris was great for me. I was popular with the ladies, but I was only thirteen.” I cringe as he says those words, wanting to go back in time and slap all of those ladies in the face. �
��We moved, though. After moving to Paris, we moved again.”

  “Where?” I didn’t know this. Why didn’t I know this?

  “A little town in the countryside. God, there was nothing out there. I was home-schooled. Pretty miserable time. I was happy to come back.”

  I change the subject, not wanting to hear any more details about his little French girls or his boring time segregated from the world. I’m not interested in negativity, in messing up the energy that surrounds us right now.

  Soon, salt permeates the air of the car, and not long after, neon buildings advertising $5.99 beachwear start popping up everywhere until the road is flanked with palm trees, mini golf, and seafood restaurants. People walk the streets in bathing suits and no shoes. I try to hide my amazement. Keep a straight face. But I’ve never seen a place like this before—carefree and alive all at once.

  We park underneath the beach bungalow we’ll be staying in. It’s small, but really nice, and in a great spot.

  “Is a twin bed okay with you?” he asks as we unload our luggage. “We really just use this place as a rental during peak months, and there are only two bedrooms. Kind of hard for me to fit in a twin.” He laughs.

  “It’s fine,” I shrug. Wince inwardly at the thought of us not sleeping together.

  I linger at the window once we’re inside, staring out at the roll and crash of the waves as he makes a phone call. I’m in awe of God’s work. He’s created this massive infinity pool for us to enjoy—one that can provide entertainment, transport us from one corner of the world to another, and even feed us. Maybe even shield everyone from a couple of sex-starved people like Brooks and me having a good time. I could picture us out there between the waves, my legs wrapped around him, his arms locked around my back as we brace for another wave—all the while, his cock in my pussy.