by Angel Lawson
“Babe, you do not have to—"
Adrenaline surges because I know I don’t have to do anything. I want to.
I unbutton his jeans and tug at the zipper. Ezra places a hand on the door next to my head, his chest rising and falling. My own heart thunders as my hand dips under his shorts, grazing the unique feel of hard and soft.
The minute it’s in my hand I have no idea what to do. I glance up and our eyes meet. He licks his bottom lip and then places his hand over mine, moving it slowly. “Like this,” he says, guiding me. He swallows thickly and nods his approval.
Never in my life have I felt something so opposing—hard, yet soft. Hot, yet wet. Smooth, but loose. It’s the most perfect motion, and with every stroke, each tug, the boy in front of me falls gently apart.
The strangest sensation rolls over me as I bring him to the edge. I’ve spent the last month out of control—maybe the last few years—spun into a whirlwind by Rose’s actions. Yet here I am, engaging in the taboo, and I feel more powerful than I have in a long time—if ever.
It only increases when Ezra’s breathing grows ragged and thrusts grow erratic. I wince as his hand tightens around my waist. He looks up, eyes wild and glazed and steps back, wrapping his shirt around the tip of his cock. Again, he leans his forehead against mine, jaw in a tight grimace, and moans deeply. I watch the whole thing in fascination, including when he yanks off his T-shirt and stashes it in a garbage can. He pulls back on his hoodie, zipping it all the way up.
I made that happen.
I made Ezra Baxter, flustered and overcome.
“That,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug, “was epic.”
He holds me so close I can feel his heart beating in his chest. His arms are warm, safe, strong, and I find myself so lost in the moment, that when I hear the voices it takes me a minute to process how close they are.
We both jump at the same time, but Ezra doesn’t let go of me, just pulls me back to the back of the closet. We huddle on the floor. Neither of us can afford to get busted in here.
The door swings open, casting bright light from the hallway. Bodies stand on the other side of the bookshelf. I can vaguely make out their shapes through the gaps in the supplies.
“We should have a bit of privacy here,” a familiar voice says. Coach Chandler. The door shuts with a click. “Okay, Kayla, tell me, what’s going on?”
Kayla, who I can’t see, speaks in a trembling voice. “Things have gotten really rough at home. My mom left last year, and my dad struggles with his health. He’s on dialysis and requires a lot of attention. There’s a nurse that comes and stays with him during the day, but after school, I need to be there. I think I’m going to have to drop the dance team after homecoming.”
Ezra’s body tenses behind mine, hands wrapped around my upper arms. I suspect, like me, he’s barely taken a breath since they walked in.
“It sounds like you have a lot of obligations for a girl your age. I’m sure it’s hard to watch your friends go to movies, parties, and dates while you’re at home.”
“I don’t mind missing out on all those things. I’ve just worked really hard at dance. I’m one of the best on the team. It just sucks, you know?”
He chuckles. “I’ve seen you out there. You’re very good.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a beat, one where it’s so quiet I’m sure they’ll hear the thundering of my heart.
“I hate seeing my students in situations like this, but the good news is there are a lot of options out there for beautiful, talented girls like yourself. How would you feel about me looking into a few things and seeing if we can find the right resources for you?”
“Really?”
“Of course,” he replies. He shifts, and I can see his hand reach out to her, resting on her arm. My stomach churns uncomfortably. “Give me your number, and I’ll reach out to you when I have more information.”
They exchange phones, the sound of typing filling the space.
“Thank you, Coach Chandler. Everyone said you’d be the right one to talk to.”
“I’m not just here to lead these boys to victory on the football field, I’m also here to help the girls of Thistle Cove when they’re in need, too.”
My mind blanks after that, lost in thought, as they exit the closet and close the door behind them. Neither Ezra or I say a word for a long minute, making sure no one comes back in.
Finally, I say, “That was—”
“Fucking weird.” He helps me off the ground. “Was it just me or was that—”
“Wildly inappropriate,” I finish.
“He was hitting on her, right?” Ezra asks, trying to process what we’d just heard.
“Yeah. A sophomore.”
He wrinkles his nose.
I ask the question I’ve held onto for weeks. “You don’t think he and Rose…”
His eyebrows raise. “You mean because of the sugar daddy thing?”
“I read her messages. She implies in them that she’d been with an older man before. A friend’s dad.”
“It’s possible—I mean, after witnessing that, the dude has balls. Big ones, and obviously Rose was in some kind of trouble, or she wouldn’t have been coming to me to self-medicate.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Maybe she went to him the same way Kayla just did? Why wouldn’t she? He’s her best friend’s dad.”
Ezra’s right. I’d wondered before, but after seeing this I think there’s only one thing I can do.
Talk to Juliette.
18
Ozzy
I walk out of school, toward the student lot, and stop when I see a familiar person standing by Kenley’s car. Shannon Hughes spots me and waves.
“Looking for Kenley?” I ask.
“She asked me to meet her here.”
I nod and glance back at the double doors. “She should be here soon. Her locker is on the other side of the school.”
“No worries. I’m not in a rush. I spent most of my day cleaning out my mom’s house. It’s nice to get out for a while.”
Small talk makes me uneasy, so I lean against the car and wait for Kenley to appear. When she does her face is an odd mixture of pale and flushed. I walk over and grab her backpack. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you about it later.” She looks at Shannon. “I guess you got my message.”
Shannon grins. “I did. I think it’s a great idea.”
I look between the two women. “What’s a great idea?”
“Shannon thought it would be nice to do a memorial page for Jacqueline in the centennial issue. You know, photos and some memories. No one else may want to remember Jacqueline, but my job is to recognize the big things that happened over the last hundred years. A missing and murdered girl seems like it should be on the list.”
It makes sense, you know, if anything in this situation was logical. Kenley’s playing with fire. I guess there’s not much I can do but tag along and make sure she doesn’t get burned.
“Do you need me to do some interviews?” I ask.
“Yep. Shannon got one set up for us this afternoon. Is that okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, I can do that. Anyone in particular?
She and Shannon glance at one another. “We’re going to see Jacqueline’s mom.”
Mrs. Cates lives not far from Main Street. It’s easy to see why Jacqueline would have felt safe walking home from the library. It was a short, well-lit walk that she’d probably taken a million times before.
The historic houses that buffer the city and the water range from stately Victorians to smaller bungalows, like the one we’re parked in front of now. It’s red brick with a screened in porch. It’s well-taken care of, but there’s no obvious upgrades or renovations like many of the other homes nearby.
“I called her and told her we would be stopping by after school got out,” Shannon says, climbing out of Kenley’s front seat. “She’s hesitant, which is understandable, but open to talking to us.”
That’s a relief, I think, not wanting to barge into someone’s house and start asking them intrusive questions about their dead daughter.
“And you told her why we’re coming?”
“Absolutely.”
Shannon leads us up the front steps and through the screened door. I hold it open for Kenley, placing my hand on the small of her back as she passes through. We don’t have the chance to knock before the front door opens and an older woman stands before us.
“Mrs. Cates, I’m Shannon.”
“Shannon,” the older woman says, “Of course. You haven’t changed.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” she laughs. “This is Kenley Keene and Ozzy—”
“Drake,” I finish for her. I reach out and shake the woman’s soft hands. “Nice to meet you.”
A moment later we’re settled in the small living room where a plate of store-bought cookies and a pitcher of lemonade sits on the coffee table. I grab three and eat them slowly as I study the room.
Like the outside, the interior is well maintained, but seemingly unchanged. There’s a distinct 1980s vibe to the house, other than a flat-screened TV hanging on the wall. Two large built-in bookshelves flank the fireplace. Framed photographs mix in with other knickknacks, several of Jacqueline at various stages in her life. The first start when she’s just a baby and continue through high school. That’s when they abruptly stop.
“Mrs. Cates,” Kenley starts, “I think Shannon told you that we’re doing a special issue of the yearbook for the centennial. As the editor, I’ve been looking for distinct moments in the school’s past. We’d like to honor Jacqueline in the book.”
“As nice as that sounds, I’m not convinced these are wounds the town is ready to open, especially not on the heels of that other girl going missing.”
Kenley looks at me, and I tug at my cap. “Mrs. Cates, that girl, Rose Waller? We knew her. She and Kenley were very good friends for a long time. Once we found out that another girl at Thistle Cove had suffered a similar fate, neither of us liked the fact that Jacqueline’s life and death had gone unmentioned. We don’t want thirty years to go by and no one remember Rose.”
“We really just want you to tell us about Jacqueline,” Kenley says. “Tell us who she was.”
Mrs. Cates hands tremble and for a second, I think she’s going to ask us to leave, but she doesn’t. She lifts the lemonade pitcher and pours four glasses.
“Well,” she says, gesturing to the drinks. “Tell me what you want to know.”
Kenley leans forward, picks up a glass and replies, “Everything. We want to know everything.”
19
Kenley
Jaqueline Cates wasn’t an extraordinary girl, at least not where the world could see, but after spending the afternoon talking to her mother, I get the feeling she was one of those people that carried a spark.
Much like Rose.
Unlike Rose, she wasn’t a popular girl, had zero interests in cheerleading or sports. She did have a fondness for politics and wanted to be a lawyer when she grew up.
“A public defender,” her mother says, “she could argue for hours. Drove her father crazy.”
When she hit high school, she changed her look, going from standard teen to an edgier look. “Piercings, a tattoo—that one almost gave her dad his first heart attack—she loved music and went to as many concerts in the city as she could afford.” She takes a bite of cookie. “She had a part-time job down at Kendrick’s, which allowed her a little more freedom.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to her?” I blurt. Ozzy shoots me a look. “Sorry, I guess with everything going on lately I can’t help but be curious.”
“It’s a question I think about every day. What happened on that short walk from the library home? Did she get in a car? Did someone pick her up? It’s like she vanished into thin air, which in a town where everyone knows everything about one another, seems unreal.”
Except everyone doesn’t know everything about one another in Thistle Cove. That’s the disturbing fact I keep running into over and over.
“And they never had any suspects?” Ozzy asks.
She shakes her head. “Not really. They paraded in half the town, but it felt more like it was for show than anything else. I know they talked to her friends and the kids on the debate team. Her co-workers at Kendrick’s, but no one knew anything.”
“And there was no physical evidence?”
She shakes her head. “She was in the water too long. Although since it was so cold, her body was very well preserved. She had a bruise on her cheek—kind of a specific shape and size. Chief McMichael told me at the time he thought that may lead to something, but it never did.”
She stands and crosses the room, entering the dining room across the hall. The three of us wait, until she returns with a small cardboard box. “I collected a few things you may want to use for the yearbook. It’s just photos and a few ticket stubs to concerts she went to. She went to a debate championship—she and her partner won. I put some pictures of that in there, too.”
Shannon stands. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Cates.”
“It’s nice to have someone ask about Jackie. People feel uncomfortable bringing her up. I understand that, but she was my little girl and pretending like she never existed is hard.”
“She seemed like a really interesting person,” Ozzy says.
“She was. Once she got out of Thistle Cove, I knew she was going to do great things, she just never got the chance.”
It’s a somber parting, but nothing about this is happy. Ozzy takes the box from Mrs. Cates, and she ushers us to the door. None of us speak until we’re back in the car.
“That was rough,” Ozzy says from the back seat. The box is on his lap.
“It was, but I think she enjoyed having us there,” I reply, starting the car. “I think doing this memorial page is the right thing to do.”
“Or it’s poking the hornet’s nest,” he replies, “which is exactly what Chief McMichael told you not to do.”
I look in the rearview mirror, catching his eye. “I’m not planning on poking the nest,” I say, glancing over at Shannon. “I want to take the whole damn thing down.”
Since tonight is the final day of float building, I stop by my house to change after school. We’ll work non-stop until the judges come by and force us to put down our tissue and glue—if we’re finished or not. Tomorrow we’ll haul the trailer to the school where they’ll be judged before the parade.
The weather turned that afternoon and cold wind whips off the water. I’m looking for the Gryffindor scarf Alice gave me for Christmas two years ago. She sorted me into that house using the fansite. I don’t care what house I’m in—the scarf is soft and warm. I toss through my closet and dresser, trying to remember where I saw it. I squat, opening the bedside table drawer, and see the burgundy and gold fringe, right behind Rose’s iPod.
I pull both out and sit back on my heels, opening the device.
Messages pop up, but I skim past them quickly, looking for the only one I’m interested in. Down near the bottom; BD has replied.
BD: Never give up hope, Princess, or underestimate your worth. I think my girls are lucky. I provide support to them in a variety of ways; emotional, spiritual, financial. I truly believe that every female should blossom into a strong, sensual, capable woman. That’s why I joined SugarBabies in the first place, this isn’t a place where men have all the control—women are powerful, and in this world, you can assert yourself to maximize your worth.
Once again BD surprises me. He’s not vulgar or an asshole. He’s very smooth and convincing. If he spoke to Rose like that, I have no doubt she would have found it very appealing. Living with Brice Waller is like living under a microscope, and, like Juliette said, under his thumb.
Eden: I like the sound of having some control over my life—lately everything has been feeling just the opposite. Not only is my mom sick and my dad gone a lot, but a good friend of
mine killed herself. My best friend. It’s been really hard, and it makes me wonder what’s the point of it all? So yeah, having some power would be awesome. If only I had a magic wand and a fairy godmother to make it happen.
I read it over twice, wondering if by mentioning Rose I’ve gone too far, but I’m playing a game of cat and mouse. At some point I have to make a move.
I press submit and stash the phone, then stand to wrap the scarf around my neck. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My cheeks are tinted red from the discomfort of communicating with BD, my hair is up in an easy ponytail, and the scarf is tied in a knot at my neck. No one would have a clue I’m in my room doing what I’m doing. No more than anyone had an idea the trouble Rose was flirting with.
I glance over at the box that Mrs. Cates gave us today. I can’t dig into it now, but I have a feeling that like me, like Rose, Jacqueline may have been flirting with her own kind of trouble.
I plan on finding out exactly what it was.
20
Ezra
The final night of float building is insane. Lights blaze in the driveway, Ozzy, Finn, and Juliette direct everyone as they finalize the structure. Our Viking has one leg that’s shorter than the other and a group of girls just realized they misspelled “Crush” forgetting the ‘R’ but overall it’s coming together.
“What’s going on with the tiger’s teeth?” Kenley asks.
“I’m not sure. We let the art club kids handle it, but they kind of look like razor blades, right?”
She laughs, and I fight the urge to wrap my arms around her. When I realized Kenley marked me with a hickey, I almost sent it out on ChattySnap for the whole world to see, but that’s now how we’re doing this. It’s low key, which is fine, that’s typically how I roll, but with this girl? I want the world to know she’s mine.
Car lights flash in the driveway and chatter picks up. A few minutes later, Coach Chandler gets out of the SUV. He walks around the front and meets his wife, Monica, grabbing her hand.
