by Isla Jones
With three plastic menus tucked under her armpit, Blake pranced over to the booth at the far end of the diner. At the table was Liam Cook, from her History class; Josh Cotton, the Sheriff’s son; and Jake Crosby, the football captain.
As she approached, she caught a snippet of their conversation.
“I can’t believe my dad’s ruling it as an animal attack,” said Josh. “It’s like he’s never watched Supernatural before. Animal attacks are never animal attacks, even when they are.”
Liam’s face crinkled. Blake mused that he looked like an outraged goldfish. “What does that mean?” asked Liam.
“It was a joke,” scoffed Josh. He looked at Blake. “You get it, right?”
“Sure do,” she said with a nod. “You meant werewolves and stuff, yeah? Because, technically, they’re animals. So when it’s ruled as an animal attack… well, it isn’t really. Because werewolves aren’t animals, are they?”
Josh spread his fingers and nodded. “See? She gets it.”
“I got it,” laughed Liam. “But it was a lame joke, mate.”
Blake smiled and handed them menus. “Drinks to start?”
“Three vanilla shakes,” said Liam with a smile. He was a pleasant boy, but he was extra sweet to Blake, because last year she’d walked in on him snogging the quarterback in a corner of the school library. She never blabbed, but he was nicer to her just in case.
Blake whipped out the pen stuck into her messy bun and jotted down the order. After the Supernatural chat, she just wanted to go home and binge on the show. It was one of her favourites. “Anything else?”
“We’ll have three cheeseburgers,” said Jake. “And a side of wit for Josh, here.”
Blake smiled and went to collect their orders. Before she could pass the front door, it swung open and Blake froze.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted, revealing her over-chewed wad of bubble-gum. The man in the doorway snapped his striking gaze to her. It was the guy she’d met at the reservoir. Blake had forgotten all about him until now. That familiar dread seeped back into her body and pumped her heart.
Much like last time, he wore a white shirt and a pair of black trousers. This time, however, she noticed his shoes—polished, shiny, and expensive, like his car.
The corner of his pink lips twitched and stretched into a smirk. The fluorescent lights bounced off the paleness of his porcelain skin, and glinted in the fierceness of his arctic-blue eyes. He went to the bar and perched himself on a stool.
Blake followed, and shouted through the kitchen window to Jimmy, “Three vanilla shakes and three cheeseburgers.”
A grunt came as Jimmy’s response. Blake approached the bench where the stranger sat, watching her with his guarded eyes.
“What do you recommend?” he asked, drumming his neat fingernails against the countertop.
The urge to hide her shabby nails took her. Instead, she licked her lips and tapped her pen against the notepad. “Chocolate mud cake,” she said. Frank demanded the wait staff push expiring food. “And a cappuccino to go with it.”
“Sounds delicious,” he said.
Blake didn’t have to leave the bar to serve up his order. Everything was within a few steps. When she set the plate and mug in front of him, he handed her a twenty for the bill.
“Keep the change.”
Blake stuffed it into her apron, making a mental note to ring it up later. Folding her arms over her chest, she asked bluntly, “Why are you here?”
A grin lit up his face. “Are you always this tactful?”
Blake shrugged. “I just meant you’re not from around here, is all. We don’t get many travellers this way—too far out from the cities, and not a whole lot to see or do.”
The startling grin faded to a smirk, one that told of a joke Blake wasn’t privy to. “I’m visiting family.”
Blake eyed the untouched cake and coffee. Were her coffee-making skills that terrible? The cake, she understood—it was as stale as a rock. “And who might that be?” she asked.
The stranger traced her gaze to the cake. He lifted the fork and dragged it over the glossy frosting. Blake was reminded of the zen gardens Abe had in his studio at home.
“The Prescotts,” he said. Blake’s brows furrowed as she met his calculative gaze. “You know them, I take it?”
Blake nodded. “I know Bethany and Zeke. We’re good friends, actually.”
Amidst the cool hues of his eyes, Blake detected a flicker of amusement. But it passed quickly and all she could see, looking into his eyes, were calm blues.
“I apologise,” he said, and extended his hand. “I’m Theodore. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Blake shook his hand, but the suspicion in her hooded eyes shone beneath her lashes. “Blake Harper,” she replied. “The pleasure’s all yours.”
A light chuckle rumbled up his throat. But … his chest hadn’t move, not even with a slight quiver. She’d never seen somebody laugh and be perfectly still before.
Blake decided that she was tired and was imagining things.
“So,” he began, “this is what you do, Blake Harper. Serve food, clean tables and serve over-brewed coffee.”
Blake’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, me being a waitress.”
“I meant no disrespect,” he said sincerely.
“Order up!” shouted Jimmy.
Blake shot Theo a scathing glower before she turned and grabbed the tray from Jimmy.
“Problem, Blake?” asked Jimmy.
Blake shook her head and took the tray to the booth at the end of the diner.
“Three cheeseburgers, three vanilla shakes,” she said as she served the plates. “If you need anything else, give me a holler.”
Blake shuffled back to the bar and rounded on Theo. “How are you related to the Prescotts? I’ve never heard of you, and I’ve met all their cousins.”
“Perhaps I exaggerated,” he said, resting his forearms on the countertop. “The Prescotts and my family have known each other for many generations. We have a history.”
Blake swept her green eyes over his stony face. “What kind of history?”
“A deep one,” he replied. “You could even say I wouldn’t be here without them.”
His evasiveness didn’t go unnoticed. Blake released a haughty ‘humph’ and grabbed a tea towel from beneath the counter.
“Any other interrogations?” he asked. “Or are your suspicions at rest?”
Blake wiped down the counter. “Who said I was suspicious?”
Theo laughed and scooped foam from the mug. Then, he licked it from his slender finger. “Have you spoken to Bethany lately? Her grandmother is concerned about her wellbeing.”
Resting her elbows on the bar, Blake leaned closer to him. The tea towel was entwined with her fidgeting fingers. “Concerned how?”
“I suppose we worry that she’s isolating herself,” he explained. “Is that something you’ve noticed?”
“Yes,” she scoffed. “Bethany won’t even talk to me anymore. I’ve tried to support her, but she wants nothing to do with me. Though Rachel—our other friend—hangs out with her all the time. They don’t invite me.” Blake twisted the tea towel in her hands. “Has Bethany said anything about that?”
Theo assessed her for a moment. His icy eyes ran over her face before resting on her mouth. Her tongue darted over her chapped lips before he reached out and brushed his thumb over the bow of her lip. Blake recoiled before she noticed the dirt now smeared over his thumb.
A flush burned at her cheeks. Earlier, she’d scoffed down handfuls of chocolate in the kitchen. Had she been walking around the diner for hours with chocolate staining her lips? Worst of all, why had no one told her?
“Bethany’s behaviour is peculiar to us all,” he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Zeke, on the other hand …”
“What?” she prompted. “What about him?”
“I’m sure you know,” he said. “Zeke is cop
ing in other ways.”
“What kind of ways?”
“That is why I am here. Your bond with the twins is stronger than my own. I was hoping you could enlighten me.” He lowered his voice to a soft whisper as he added, “Any information would be appreciated.”
The door swung open, and the shutter blinds rattled. Blake looked up to see Kyle, the waiter, rush in. “I know, I know,” he rambled. “I’m late. I couldn’t find my car keys.”
Blake frowned before she realised, with a quick glance at the clock, that her shift had ended fifteen minutes ago. “Oh,” she said. “It’s all right. Frank’s out back, he didn’t notice.”
Kyle’s muscles relaxed as he breathed a sigh of relief. He scurried into the kitchens to change for his shift.
As Blake unfastened her apron strings, Theo said, “What a shame.”
Shooting him a curious glance, Blake rang up his cheque at the till. “What’s a shame?”
“Our conversation has been cut short. It was rather enjoyable.”
Blake snorted and counted her tips. “Everything good must come to an end, right?”
He grinned. The sight still gave her the shivers—there was something cruel about it, like the way a tiger purred before it pounced. “That is what they say,” he replied.
Kyle dipped out from the kitchens and handed Blake her things. As she made to slip her arms into her denim jacket, the door burst open, smacking the blinds against the thin glass. Blake’s gaze darted up at the new arrival. A whisper of a curse word breathed from her lips.
Abe stood in the doorway, his eyes ablaze with fury, and his fine lips thinned even more than usual.
“Dad,” she stammered, clutching her bag and jacket to her chest. “I was—”
“Don’t!” he bellowed. Everybody in the diner stared at him with poorly veiled interest—everyone but Theo, who watched Blake squirm on the spot. “I don’t want to hear a single word from you! Get in the car!”
Flames of shame licked up her crimson face. Bowing her head, she plodded around the bar. “I drove here,” she whispered. “My car’s out—”
“I SAID NOT A SINGLE WORD!”
Blake swallowed back a snivel and ran through the door. If she’d had a tail, it would’ve been tucked between her legs. Whenever Jack would yell at her—a rare occurrence—she could take it. But Abe wasn’t one to raise his voice. She had only ever heard him shout once before when she was a child, and it hadn’t been at her. It had been over the phone to his estranged mother, who’d called a child of the devil before he’d hung up on her. That had been the last time Abe had spoken to his mother.
Blake didn’t look back as she followed Abe to his wagon. It was only when the roar of a motorcycle neared that she looked up. Hunter’s bike pulled into the lot, flanked by four others. One of them was Cheyenne, observed Blake. Cheyenne was with the Wolves a lot lately. Maybe, Blake wondered, she was doing her initiation?
Abe shot a meaning glare at Blake, as if it was her fault they’d arrived. He unlocked the car doors.
Blake, red-faced and snivelling, chanced a glance over her shoulder. Hunter parked his bike by the entrance to the diner and stared back at her. She didn’t doubt that he took enormous pleasure in her glassy eyes. Though, Hunter snubbed her. He suddenly swerved his gaze to the diner window. Blake frowned and followed his line of sight. She could see the bar, and Kyle scrubbing the counter. But there was no sign of the stranger who had been sat there only moments ago. Theodore had disappeared.
Abe smacked the roof of the wagon, hauling her attention back to him. “Get in,” he hissed. Blake climbed into the passenger seat, thoughts of Theodore and Hunter vanishing from her mind.
5
Girl Code
Breakfast at the Harper household was quiet that muggy morning. Blake ate her plain porridge in silence, enduring the fierce glowers from her dads. Jack sat across from her at the dinner table, reclining in his chair, and drummed his fingers against the table. He was mulling over punishments, she suspected. Beside her, Abe poured himself a cup of coffee. He ignored Blake’s empty mug. She pretended not to notice. Jack and Abe had gone back to the diner last night to get her car. Neither of them had spoken a word to her, until—
“Pass the salt,” ordered Jack.
Blake pushed the saltshaker across the table. He didn’t touch it. Blake suspected that he was setting up for a quarrel. She was right.
“Have you anything to say for yourself?”
Shaking her head, Blake kept her stare fixed on the porridge. Abe never cooked her a nice meal when she was in trouble.
“No excuses?” said Jack. “No apologies?”
A crease formed between her brows as she looked up at her dad. “Flora needed my help. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“That’s right, Blake,” he agreed. “You won’t do it again. You’re grounded until further notice.”
“And,” added Abe, staring at Jack.
Jack sighed. “And,” he parroted, “you are on probation with your car. It is a privilege; one that is to be earned. You will have your car to get to school, but the second you step back into this house, you’ll hand over your keys.”
Internally, she screamed. Mentally, she kicked over her chair, threw the table topside, and wailed on the kitchen floor. On the outside, however, she only puckered her lips and nodded. “Fine,” she said.
Blake didn’t have to agree, of course. But the word distracted her tongue from slipping curse words. It wasn’t that she was attached to her car, but even with Jack grounding her, she’d still planned on sneaking out to the bayou party the next night. That plan had been destroyed, thanks to Jack-Ass, she thought.
Blake rested her chin on the heel of her palm and looked down at the grey porridge.
“Is your breakfast not to your liking, Blake?” Abe’s voice was cold, like the porridge she pushed around her bowl.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“In that case,” he snapped, and wrenched the bowl away from her, “you best get going for school.”
Blake jolted from the chair and kicked it back. “Whatever,” she said, snatching her bag and jacket from the table. She stormed out of the kitchen, making sure to slam the door behind her.
It trembled in its hinges, and drowned out Jack’s shouts.
Blake’s locker had seen better days. The dents and scratches were worsened as she yanked the door open and hurled her belongings inside. A tornado of textbooks and pencil cases spiralled around the locker. Blake cursed under her breath as she refrained from kicking the locker beneath hers.
Josh Cotton, her locker neighbour, snickered at her expense.
Blake hadn’t been grounded in years. She’d never lost the privilege of her car. Her dads had overreacted, decided Blake. It wasn’t as if she’d snuck down the bayous and done drugs with the Wolves. And Blake had thought Rachel was dramatic! Abe took the prize of drama-queen for the year.
Blake snatched the gym bag that wobbled on top of the pile. Slamming the door shut, she ignored the sound of crashes and spun the dial to lock it. Before she turned to leave, a sliver of white caught her eye.
Poking out of the vent in the metal door was the corner of a folded note. Blake reached out and slipped the paper from the vent. It was an envelope with her name on the front.
Dropping her gym bag to the floor, Blake peeled open the envelope and removed the folded sheet. Her brows scrunched deeper as she read the letter. Exasperation began to swarm in the emerald of her eyes, and her lips mouthed the muddled words.
‘Dear Blake Harper. I, also, will attend youthful reservoir-do on Friday. Early, um, six? —M.’
Bewildered, Blake frowned down at the note. She hadn’t a clue who ‘M’ was, nor did she recognise the handwriting. Not to mention that the note was a scrambled mess of incoherence. It wasn’t Rachel’s or Bethany’s handwriting, that much she knew for certain. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and stuffed the crumpled letter into her gym bag. The bell rang throug
h the bustling corridors, forcing the note from her thoughts.
The gym hall reeked of soggy socks and sweat. Acrobatic bars were assembled all around the hall, among the mats that the students rolled over. The lazier ones—Blake included— sprawled out on the blue mats and avoided exercise at all costs. Blake wasn’t exactly the active type. She was more of a binge-eater and chronic sleeper.
Rachel, on the other hand, was a gymnast and cheerleader. Beside Blake, she flipped, spun, and twirled in the air. Then, she landed with grace, like a cheetah jumping from a tree.
Rachel whipped herself up, doing a handstand, and looked at Blake. “Are you just going to lay there the whole time?”
Blake threw her arms and legs in the air. “There,” she said.
“What are you doing?” sneered Rachel.
“You haven’t heard of it?” she said, dropping her limbs to the mattress. “Crab-on-its-back. It’s a classic.”
Rachel laughed and sat beside Blake. She gave the solemn girl a once-over before she sighed. “All right. What’s the matter with you, B? Are you cramping? I have pain killers in my locker that I could give you.”
“If I was cramping, I wouldn’t be in gym.”
Rachel hummed. “I suppose not. Nice deflection, though. You didn’t answer my question.”
Blake turned her face to the side and looked at Rachel. “I’m grounded,” she said. “And, I’m banned from my car.”
Rachel couldn’t hide the shock from her face. “Perfect little Blakie Bear? In trouble?”
“It’s not funny.”
“I didn’t say it was,” she replied and flipped over to face Blake. “Did you ruin your dad’s magnolias?”
Blake rolled over to mirror her. “I wish.”
“What could possibly be worse than destroying Abe’s flower garden?” Rachel gasped. “You didn’t crash your car, did you?”
