by Lucy Auburn
"I don't know what the big deal is," Sasha complains, watching Mrs. Reynolds give the instructor a dressing down. "I mean, no offense Brenna, but you weren't hurt. And rock climbing accidents are rare. It won't happen again."
"Yeah," I echo, glancing over towards Cole. Lukas has approached him, and they're talking in low voices, their expression inscrutable. "I'm sure this won't happen again."
But something else will, and I might not survive next time.
There's just one question I have that I don't think I'll ever get an answer to: why did Lukas catch me, when he could've let me fall?
"Are you okay? That fall looked pretty bad." Holly approaches me as we all file out of the indoor climbing area, heading towards the locker rooms. "Whoever inspected the equipment did a terrible job. I think Mrs. Reynolds is going to chew them out until we get our deposits back."
"I'm okay. Just a bruised ego more than anything. I can't believe I didn't make it to the top." Eyeing the back of Lukas's head, I add, "And I didn't fall that far, really."
"I'm just glad it happened on the indoor course and not outside on the quarry." We reach the hallway that splits into the two locker rooms, and I try not to show the anticipation I'm feeling, the way my pulse is speeding up and my fingers are shaking in anticipation. Holly adds, "You're lucky a dreamboat like Lukas caught you."
"Yeah, I guess." I take a moment to pause and retie my shoe, and Holly hangs back with me. "I didn't really notice any dreamboat qualities," I blatantly lie. "I was just glad not to break my neck."
"He seemed really concerned about you." She stares towards the boys' locker room, eyes as keen as her observational skills. "Lukas is usually so aloof. I've never seen him like that."
"He barely said two words to me."
"I think he felt guilty," Holly says. "He was talking to Cole about it being someone's fault. He blames himself since he was your belayer."
If he blames himself, it's because he helped Georgia sabotage my climb. I'm not enough of a fool to think his offer to help me against Cole was sincere—boys like him don't turn on their own kind.
"He's cute," Holly adds. "Want me to see if he's interested in you? He and Cole are really close."
"I don't know."
"We could always set you up. Now, or during the Blind Ball at the end of the semester. It's a bit of a well-known secret that us Rosalinds can set each other up with anyone we want."
That doesn't surprise me. I can tell Holly is excited about the idea of me and Lukas together, and I don't know how to tell her it's never gonna happen. So I try to just be vague. "Maybe. Let me spend more than a hot minute with him though, okay?"
"Of course! Anything you want, Brenna. I know today was rough, but just know I'll always be there for—"
She doesn't get to finish her sentence before there's an ear-splitting shout of alarm from the boys' locker room, followed by frantic yelling.
"Get them off! Get them off! What the fuck—" A sob of anger and disgust. "Who did this?"
Holly sprints into the boys' locker room without a care, but I just hang back, knowing that my face will give me away.
A moment later Cole comes barreling out of the locker room, brushing frantically at the front of his shirt. Dozens of spiders are crawling up and down his clothes. He screams as they crawl down his collar, then grabs his shirt and yanks it off, shaking it.
Shirtless, he reveals the muscular plane of his chest. He works out, you can tell, but that's not what shocks me.
There's a large scar running from his shoulder to his hip, thick and twisted, from a relatively recent, life-threatening injury.
"Fuck!" He's stomping on his shirt, trying to get the spiders off, when his eyes find me. "You did this, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you mean."
Cole advances on me, the fear gone from his eyes and replaced with cold, dark rage. "You fucking bitch. You took it a step too far."
He gets so close that I'm forced to press my back against the wall, cowering from him. Despite myself, fear thrums in me at the look in his eyes. I meant to be far away from him when he opened his locker, but I couldn't resist hearing and seeing the fruits of my revenge.
That was a mistake.
"You're going to pay for this."
"This dramatic shit again." He's bracketed me with his arms, trapped me against the wall. I push against his chest, angry to find that he's too strong for me to push away. "You're full of it, you know that? You sent a girl to do your dirty work."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, like he's not the one who got Georgia to mess with my harness. "What I do know is that everything up to now will be a picnic compared to what I'm going to do to you next."
His breath skims my cheek with every angry word. The muscles of his chest are taut beneath my hands, resisting my pushes and tugs as I try to get him away from me. I can't tell anymore what's going on, can't make my beating heart straighten out the frantic jumping of its rhythm.
I want to press my mouth against his.
I want to bring him to his knees in pain.
I want to see him beg for more—pleasure or pain, I can't quite decide.
"Try your worst." I lift my chin, staring up into his dark eyes, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath my palm. There are students gathering at the edges of the hallway, watching us, impossibly quiet. "I don't care what you do to me, including what happened today. I'm not going to stop."
Confusion knits his brow. My fingers curl against his chest; I don't know where to put my hands anymore. He opens his mouth to say something.
"There you are!" Holly comes around the corner and tugs on Cole's hand. "C'mon, let's get you into the shower." She surreptitiously reaches up and plucks a spider from his hair, yanking him off me, her eyes full of worry. "This way Babe. I'll take care of it for you."
As they disappear back into the locker room, a crowd of boys shows up at the entrance, milling around in confusion. I meet Lukas's bright blue eyes, see him zero in on me, his head cocked curiously to the side. I can tell what he's wondering: was it me? Did I do this?
Staring straight at him, I smile.
Let him try to catch me a second time.
I won't fall for him ever again.
Chapter 22
Staring at myself in the mirror, I wonder if I'm seeing things. "That's... me?"
The hair stylist fluffs up the sides of my now-blonde, balayage hair. "It looks great with your coloring. And the trim is just perfect to go with the shape of your face." She flicks at the face-framing layers she gave me, which somehow slim down my chubby cheeks. "Now all you need is the makeover next door and you'll be good to go."
"Thank you so much."
She brings me to the front counter, handing over the ticket with a description of the services I got: balayage color, toning, a haircut, and a blowout. The total makes me sweat beneath the collar, but thankfully I'm not paying for it. I hand over the black card with a smile.
"Thank you so much for trusting us with your hair today, Georgia," the receptionist says. "Would you like to book the next appointment now, or later?"
No doubt the card will be canceled by the end of the day, so I demure. I've got an appointment to get to at the makeup store a few doors down, after all.
The ironic thing about this trip into town is that it was all scheduled by my fellow Rosalinds. Right now they're sitting in a spa a few blocks down—at least Holly, Piper, and Georgia are. Sasha claimed she was going to "buy weapons," and I'm not sure if she was serious or not.
I've done my research on Georgia, courtesy of her Instagram. This salon is exactly the kind of place she'd come to have her ends trimmed, and the makeup store is her favorite. There's also a clothing store a few doors down that she hashtags all the time—though I plan on stuffing the clothes I get there into my reusable grocery bags so she doesn't put two and two together when the fraudulent charges show up on her credit card statement.
Not that I think she's smart enou
gh to figure it out anyway. There's just no reason to play with fire.
As I walk through the aisles of the makeup store, waiting for my appointment to be called, I look on the insane price tags on all the things here and smile. I've been wanting to do this since I found the card on the bathroom floor, but it feels even better to do it now, given everything Georgia has done to me. Chrissy is going to just love it, I know—I already sent her a snap of me in the middle of getting the highlights put in.
I just don't know how I'll keep all of this maintained after today.
Being pretty costs money, after all. And while Georgia Johnson has plenty of cash to spare, Brenna Wilder has none.
I'll just have to hope that my little plan for the campus-wide ice cream social next weekend works without a hitch.
When everything is said and done, I meet back up with the Rosalinds near where Mrs. Reynolds parked our off-campus van. And the expression on Holly's face is worth all the risk, the planning, and the subterfuge.
"Wow, Brenna." She puts her fingers in her mouth and wolf whistles. "You look stunning."
I grin at her, ignoring the way Piper and Georgia are glowering and pouting respectively. "Thanks. You were right—that brand of foundation you recommended is so much better. The makeup artist said once I throw out my old stuff and switch to using it instead, my skin should clear up in no time."
"Just in time for the ice cream social," Holly observes.
That was the plan. As Sasha rejoins us with a box full of knives—she was, in fact, buying weapons; apparently she has plans to make a sculpture out of them—Mrs. Reynolds arrives back from doing her own shopping, and we all climb into the van.
For a brief moment, as she climbs into the back, Georgia is close enough to hiss angrily in my ear.
"It won't work, trailer trash," she says, her hand squeezing my shoulder. "You'll never get a boy like Tanner to even look at you twice."
I don't answer her; I've already gotten my revenge by spending her money to do my hair and makeup. But I do take the opportunity, while she's so close, to slide the credit card into her back pocket as she moves into the back seat.
I'm just about to give up on the Legacies blog entirely and resort to good, old-fashioned pranks to get back at the guys when an email hits the inbox that sends my pulse racing.
Subject: son of a hollywood legend breaks down in public
Body:
Someone told me this blog exposes privileged rich kids. I've got a video I want you to publish. The subject is Lee Woo Bin, the son of Jacob Garrison, the Hollywood movie star.
This video has been suppressed here in Korea by his mother because her family is so powerful that our reporters are afraid to cross them. They know the punishment will be swift and severe. I was hoping that because your blog is in America things would be different.
Someone should see this. He's dangerous. In Korea he's what he call a chaebol. He'll inherit everything if the truth about him doesn't come out.
—Kim Jae Beom
I stare at my inbox for a long moment, cursing and praising my good fortune simultaneously. I've had next to no encounters with Blake Lee so far; he seems to be constantly studying and brings books with him even to lunch. But his cold eyes have always sent shivers down my back, and I suspect there's something dark beneath his Hollywood meets Seoul exterior.
Clicking on the attachment, I wait for the video to play. The title is in Korean, and it looks like it was filmed there too, but it's easy enough to get the gist once it starts up.
Blake is in the back room of a club, sitting listlessly on a booth, the table in front of him covered in empty plates and liquor bottles. His hair is messy, his clothing rumpled—he looks nothing like the sharp, pressed uniform boy I see in Calculus I every morning. Based on the way he looks and the lighting inside the club, it must be late. A timestamp on the video confirms my suspicion: 22:04:15 2018|01|02.
The quality is poor, the video nearly black and white it's so grainy and lo-fi, so it must be security footage. For a long moment he just sits there, sagging against the back of the booth, eyelids fluttering closed like he's about to pass out.
Then someone enters. A girl whose back is to the camera, a tray in her hand. I can't understand what they say to each other—there's audio, but they're speaking Korean. Their voices rise quickly though. She starts yelling at him, and he yells back.
The girl takes a step towards him.
And he erupts in rage. Throwing himself out of the both, he wipes his arms across the tabletop and sends countless glass bottles crashing to the ground. She backs up, obviously frightened, shards of glass at her feet. Her voice gets high-pitched and tremulous. She tries to escape, but he blocks the exit.
Face twisted in rage, he throws more bottles to the ground. All of them shatter, one by one. A pair of what looks like security guards appear in the doorway, hovering behind them, but they do nothing to intervene as Blake grabs the edge of the table and flips it over. The whole thing crashes to the ground, the sound so loud it blows out the shitty microphone taping the whole thing.
Then he just... stops.
Standing in the middle of the shattered glass in his dress shoes, clothing crumble, blood dripping down his arm—somehow he cut himself—he stares at the girl, his breathing deep and rapid.
He looks up at the camera.
And there's nothing in his eyes but despair.
The guards step forward, grab each of his arms, and escort him out. Shaking, the girl flees the room, stepping across broken glass to escape.
Then the tape goes black.
I watch it again. Then again, and one more time. Though I come no closer to understanding anything they're saying—and curse my public high school for barely teaching me even a word of Spanish, much less anything else—I understand the emotions. There's rage and fear, anger and disappointment, but more than anything it's the despair that gets me.
Right at the end, after throwing the table to the ground, Blake says something. A small, quiet word, barely audible. I listen to his voice over and over again, stare into his eyes as he glances up into the camera.
It feels like he's looking at me.
What's even more frightening is, it feels like the darkness in him is speaking to the fire in me. Because while I don't understand what's going on or what he's saying, there's one thing I do understand, and that's rage. I know what it feels like to be so angry you're willing to ruin everything and hurt anyone, including yourself. Afterwards, all you're left with is an empty feeling inside and an unending sense of despair.
Blake Lee may have cold eyes, but there's something underneath him that's willing to destroy it all to get what he wants.
I'm going to show the world that side of him.
We'll see what they feel about the son of Jake Garrison once they see the darkness that lurks beneath his empty eyes.
By Monday morning, the whole campus is buzzing with news of the video. I practically spring out of bed, beating Chrissy to breakfast for the first time, more pep in my step than terrible-tasting coffee could ever give me.
There's something to be said about the stimulating effects of getting revenge.
Other girls are talking about the video as I get in line to grab my morning bacon and muffin. They're curious about the girl, why he was mad, what they were both saying, and why it's all coming out now. The video has already made a splash on the internet in Korea; it's a trending topic there, and netizens are outraged about the cover up of Blake's actions. At least, that's what I can gather based on my browser's auto translate feature.
It doesn't look good for Blake. If he came to Connecticut to stay out of Hollywood's lights and away from Seoul's scrutiny, he just got a taste of something else, something my brother experienced. Now he knows what it's like to be infamous—and hated—online.
"Brenna!" Chrissy joins me at my little breakfast table, Tricia not far behind, both of them still wearing pajamas. "Did you see that video of Blake Lee going full psycho on some
poor waitress? It's all anyone can talk about."
I try to look coy. "What video?"
It's delicious to have her explain it to me. She shows me the video on her phone—it's already been uploaded to dozens of places outside Legacies—and sends Tricia through the line to grab her food.
"The last I saw, a bunch of people who are fluent in both Korean and English have been trying to translate what they're saying. Apparently they're arguing about some boy—people think he had some kind of crush or relationship with this girl, and she cheated on him. She keeps begging him not to be jealous."
Chrissy looks like she's eating up every bit of this. "I can't believe pristine and privileged Hollywood boy Blake Lee is getting canceled before he even managed to get famous. It's been a long time coming if you ask me."
"What do you mean?" I ask around my strip of bacon as Tricia joins us, two plates of pastries, coffee, and orange juice juggled in her hands.
"Blake has always had anger problems. He hides it well now, but in middle school..." She shudders instead of finishing her sentences, the meaning clear. "His parents were always having to pay people off to keep him from getting suspended or expelled. He did all these heinous things: cut a girl's hair off, mouthed off at the teachers, punched the wall, that kind of stuff. He didn't really calm down until Holly and Cole got together."
I frown at her. "What do you mean?"
"He did it all for Cole," she explains, crumbling her pastry into little bite-sized pieces. "Everything Blake Lee does is for Cole. I don't get it, but he's utterly devoted to the asshat. Then he got together with Holly, and now Blake acts... different." She shrugs. "I guess there's no time for the two of them to get into machinations now that Cole's getting it on the regular."
Tricia wrinkles her nose. "Can we talk about something other than the incestuous foursome? I want to keep my food down, and after what they did to Reggie over the weekend, I don't want to think about them."
