by Lucy Auburn
"I don't know." I stare at him, frowning; his answer isn't good enough. "Oh, alright. I guess I just thought it seemed like Cole blew his lid for no reason. All you did was help that Lakewood girl out. Sure, she's loathsome, but it's not like you were going against him. But everything is about loyalty to Cole. It's all black and white—who crosses whom, who is on whose side. I wanted to show him that I couldn't be counted on to play his petty little games, that I'm not at his beck and call like the Queen's foot soldiers."
"Why is Chrissy so terrible?" It's been bothering me since that very first day, this question. "Sure, she's shallow and she likes to gossip, but that's it."
"That's another question you'll have to ask Cole," he says, turning back into the tight-lipped son of a British diplomat. "I can't share his business. All I can tell you is, you should watch your back around that girl. She's not who she pretends to be."
Neither am I, so we have that in common.
I'm about to say something more when the teacher gets up to walk up and down the aisles of our desk, forcing us to the project at hand.
But my mind churns with questions. I want answers to what lurks in Cole's past—and I want to expose those answers, publicly, for everyone to see.
One down.
Three to go.
Chapter 25
I'm sitting in my room one evening, scrolling through the Legacies social media account after a long day of studying to try to catch up on all the classes I'm behind, when a particular news-related tweet catches my attention.
@TODAYshow: In an emotional round table interview, Jake Garrison and his son talk about Blake's anger issues—and how he's working through them, with the help of therapy.
I blink at the tweet. To go with it is a picture-perfect photo of Jake Garrison, Hollywood actor turned director, and Blake Lee Garrison, my personal nightmare first thing every morning. He wasn't in our shared calculus class today, which I chocked up to him skipping after a week full of whispers about his anger and receiving a lower position in the school's totem pole—not a flight to New York City to be interviewed by Savannah Guthrie and Hoda Kotb.
Because I can't resist myself, I play the video. The first thing I notice is how different Blake looks. Instead of stuffy button downs and impeccably pressed slacks, he's wearing casual clothes, complete with a vintage white motorcycle jacket that looks like something his father would wear in his movies—and in fact, his father is dressed similarly.
There's no sign of the fashionable black-framed glasses he normally wears; they must've been replaced by contacts. Without them, you can really see the honey in his brown eyes. His hair is styled differently too, soft and gentle, a little stray piece of long black hair curling down towards his forehead in the front.
But it's not just what he's wearing that makes him look different. His body language is relaxed: shoulders rounded, legs spread on the armchair he's lounging on, and his fingers loosely splayed. More than that his face is open, his eyes missing that coldness I usually see every morning.
I can't tell if the face I'm seeing in this video right now is a mask, or if the one I see every day is the lie. They feel like they belong to two different people, both of them completely separate from the feral, despairing boy in the Seoul night club.
In the interview, Savannah and Hoda give him lowball questions. His father Jake talks a lot about the things he's been through; he mentions multiple hospitalizations when Blake was a child dealing with reoccurring health issues like infections and asthma.
The bombshell comes when Jake tells the interviewers, and the audience, about his son's leukemia, and the efforts they went through to get him cured.
It's something I didn't find in any of the research I did on Blake Lee.
Because, as his father reveals, they kept it a secret from the public.
Then Blake begins to speak, and I feel like I've fallen into a rabbit hole.
"I know that what I did that night in Seoul was wrong," he says, his voice soft but expressive, his eyes earnestly focused on Savannah and Hoda like he truly cares what they think. "I broke the law by drinking while under the legal age of nineteen in Korea. And I hurt someone, who I've since apologized to and made amends many times. That night was the night I realized that I needed to work on my issues. It made me learn how to have control over myself."
Stopping the video, I rewind and replay his words.
Control over myself.
Uniform shirts tightly fastened to the top button. Slacks that look like they've never met a wrinkle or a crumb. Perfect grades. Immaculate hair. Not a single facial expression out of place—no emotions, least of all anger and rage.
The Blake Lee I've known so far has been one in complete control of himself. Repressed to the max.
But he's looser on the screen now. Less burdened by the need to keep it all in.
Now that his darkest secret is out, after all, he can be himself.
I wonder if I'll get to meet who that is.
The Rosalinds invite you to a fun-filled weekend on campus: The Traditional Ice Cream Social! Enjoy free ice cream, unlimited toppings, homemade desserts from scratch, and of course live music, all courtesy of the Rosalinds and our sisters the Lovelaces.
Saturday, 7:00 PM. Gladius Outdoor Space.
Don't forget to wear your best 1960s throwback clothes and bring your Coleridge pride.
The ice cream social was the first coed social event ever held at Coleridge Academy. Needing fresh blood, but unsure what to do about boys and girls living on campus together during hormone-filled puberty, the administration came up with a way for all the kids to meet each other, and date each other, under their watchful eyes. This way they could make sure nothing untoward was happening under anybody's skirt and prevent too much sneaking around to socialize.
Or at least, that's what they thought. The way Holly and Chrissy talk, the ice cream social is one of the hottest hookup events of the year, second only to the Blind Ball. Kids eat ice cream, sure—and pour their favorite rum into their bowls from hidden flasks. Holly even claims her sister told her that a girl got pregnant at their ice cream social, and she didn't even know which of the two guys she'd hooked up with was the father.
So it means something that Tanner and I will be meeting up at the social—if nothing else, for the look on Georgia's face when she finds out she's lost to me.
With Holly's help, I put on my new makeup, this time using the name brand Beauty Blender and all the high-end makeup brushes. She sits me down in front of her desk and goes over every inch of my skin quadrant by quadrant like she's painting by numbers.
"This coral blush is perfect for your skin tone. You have the most marvelous cheeks—you should show them off more."
"They make me look like a chipmunk."
"They do not," she scolds. "You look fresh and youthful. Some old ass Hollywood actress is paying for fillers in her cheeks right now. Be glad you've got some now."
"Thanks, I guess."
"And these lips," she marvels as she lines them. "They're to die for. Remind me to show you my matte liquid lips some night when we're not going to be eating our own weight in dairy products."
Holly is every bit the stereotypical supportive female friend—and I love it, even though I know it can't last. She'll get pulled into Cole's little games eventually, no matter what she says, when he spills the truth about me. It doesn't seem like he ever told her I was the one who put the spiders in his locker, but I know she'll hate me if she ever finds out. So I let myself bask in this moment, briefly pretending like we could actually be friends.
"So, who are you meeting up with tonight that you want to look so good for?" She moves on to the curler, heating it up to give me big, bouncy curls that are all the rage for hair highlighted blonde like mine. "Unless you just want to show off to the world."
Biting my lip, I murmur, "I'm not sure if I should say."
"You can tell me. What else are friends for?"
Friends. Such a precious, tremulous
word.
"Well." I stutter, swallow. "Tanner asked me out. He said he and Georgia are on the rocks."
To my surprise, Holly smiles. "Again? Good for him. Maybe it'll stick this time."
"I thought Georgia was your friend."
"Ah." She picks up a two inch section of my hair and wraps it delicately around the thick barrel of her curling iron. "Georgia and I are friends the way you're friends with anyone you grew up with for years and years. We've known each other since we were kids. Our parents summer together."
"Oh."
"But if you ask me, she's bad for Tanner, and he's bad for her." Moving through my hair, she transforms it from limp to bouncy and full of body. "The things Cole has told me... you wouldn't believe the wringer that girl has put him through. She once sent him a video of her giving another guy a blowjob."
She rolls her eyes, and even I'm shocked a bit, despite everything I've seen Georgia say and do.
"Tanner says he doesn't care who she fucks, but it's obvious he does, because we both know she does it just to spite him. It's not like she's some polyamorous girl looking for a triad or something. She just likes to keep him down so he comes back to her, and he always does." Looking at my reflection in the mirror, she adds, "But maybe this time he won't."
Staring at what I see, I have to admit that she has a point. Soft, lightened hair, big highlighted cheeks with cheekbones carved out of them with contour, and plump pink glossy lips greet my eyes.
I don't see Brenna Wilder, the girl from Wayborne, in the mirror.
But I do see a girl who might be able to bring a senator's son to his knees.
Chapter 26
The entire campus, a little over three hundred students, has turned out for the ice cream social organized by both the Rosalinds and the Lovelaces. I watch, standing next to Holly, Sasha, and the senior girls as rich kids turn out for something as simple as free ice cream.
But, as I remind myself, it's not the ice cream they're here for any more than the education. We greet them as they line up, give them samples of whatever flavors they choose, scoop ice cream for them and sprinkle toppings on. It's harder work than I expected, getting rock hard ice cream out of the freezer the administration set up, which is running off the same generator that keeps the art tent cool during class.
"The first shift will be over before you know it," Holly reassures me as I step back from scooping to take a break, letting one of the senior girls, Ada, take over. "You'll be on your date in no time."
Looking around at the crowd, I comment, "I don't see him yet."
"That's because he'll be fashionably late. Cole too." Elbowing me, she smiles and adds, "I can't wait for the two of us to be dating best friends. We can go out on double dates and everything."
Somehow I don't see that happening, but I give Holly a little smile like I'm picturing it too. It's more likely this ends in blood and tears than double dates—just the way the Elites want it.
But first, a taste of lust to grease the wheels. I want to know more about Tanner Connally, want to see what pushes his buttons—and even better, what makes him weak. And as everyone knows, the best way to a man's heart is through his crotch.
I get my chance soon enough. We change shifts, and Piper takes over my ice cream scooping station. Georgia replaces Sasha soon after, shooting daggers in my general direction.
"He's not here, you know," she says. "So good luck getting your claws into my man."
"I heard he's not your man anymore."
"He always comes back." She smirks at me, ever the spiteful girl. "You'll see soon enough."
Her words only make me want to snag him from her even more. Moving through the crowd with my own serving of ice cream, I listen to the band change songs from soft acoustic music to louder pop and rock as the sun sets and the evening wears on. There are so many students here milling around, flirting and gossiping, talking to their friends.
Friends. I barely know what that feels like. I have the Rosalinds, sure, but that feels more like a ticking time bomb than a group of friends. Whatever friendship I have with Holly has an expiration date, Sasha is too distant and weird, and Piper and Georgia despise me. I get along well enough with Chrissy and Tricia whenever I see them, but Chrissy cares most about the latest gossip, while Tricia seems to mostly want someone to talk to who isn't Chrissy.
Maybe I'm expecting too much of my first few weeks here at Coleridge. But I thought by now, especially with my new makeover, I would have at least one real friend at my side. Another outcast like me, a girl here on a scholarship who has worries other than the next Louboutin sale ending early.
The other students here on scholarship have hid themselves well, though, and they're nearly indistinguishable from the pack—no stolen credit cards required. I'm the one who sticks out like a sore thumb, scars on both my hand and my heart.
I've gone around the outdoor space three times now and found no sign of Tanner. He told me that I'd be able to find him here, to meet him in the middle of the crowd, but Georgia wasn't lying: he isn't here.
"If you're looking for Tanner, he's probably getting a blowjob in the bathroom." The voice startles me, and I whirl around and stare into cold brown eyes. "You'll have to wait for him to get his rocks off before he'll show up long enough to honor whatever stupid date you let him rope you into."
"I don't see how it's any of your business." I raise my chin and stare Blake down. "Unless you're planning on attacking me because you're jealous."
He doesn't react to my barb. "And if I do? What're you gonna do, retaliate?"
I go cold all over. For a moment I'm sure he's looking straight into my soul. It's like he knows what I want, what I've done—and what I hope to do to him and his friends.
Blake goes on, "Play whatever games you want with Cole and Tanner. I've got too important a future to roll around in the mud with you." He leans in so close that I can feel the heat of his body. "Good luck getting Tanner to give a shit about something other than where his next blowjob is coming from. Georgia Johnson found him about as easy to hold onto as holding water in a sieve. You'll find the same."
He disappears into the crowd before I can come up with a retort. Clearly Cole and Tanner have been talking to him; I expected as much. I just didn't think he would talk to me. Of all the Elites, he's seemed least interested in Cole's games, even in passing.
His eyes stay with me long after he's gone, though. It's hard to shake off the feeling of him looking so intently at me. I don't really manage to forget it until I spot Tanner across the crowd, coming towards me.
He's wearing casual clothes: nice sneakers, faded jeans, and a leather jacket I haven't seen before on top of one of the blue and gold Coleridge T-shirts. There's a smirk on his face, his short black hair newly faded at the edges.
He doesn't look like he's just gotten out of some seedy encounter in the restroom. Blake was probably lying about that, I decide. It was some ploy to get to me and make me feel bad.
But when Tanner looks me up and down, a wolfish grin on his face, I feel like a thousand bucks—which is about what this hair, makeup, and outfit cost.
"That's a nice skirt," he says, moving in close. His fingers skim the bottom hem of the white cotton flared skirt I'm wearing. "I like the neckline on that top, too."
I reach up to play with the V of my blouse, warmth spreading across my cheeks. "I thought for a second there that you weren't gonna make it."
"And miss out on my hot date? Nah." The flash of his white teeth against his tanned warm skin is almost as electrifying as the feeling of his fingers trailing across my collarbones, warm and intimate without hesitation. "The real party doesn't start until the sun sets. You'll see. It's not about the ice cream."
"So I've heard." Staring in his eyes, I dare to ask, "What game are we playing tonight, Tanner? One of Cole's little games, or one of yours?"
"Didn't I tell you?" He moves his finger down my arm, to the inside of my elbow, then slips his hand onto my waist, palm warm and gentl
y curved. "We're playing my game. The naughty kind. We're going to commit some sins worthy of being haunted by that ghost in Hayes Chapel."
I can feel my pulse in my throat, the flex of his fingers on my waist as he draws me close. The crowd around us disappears.
If this is a trick, I'm going in willingly, eyes open. Because even if he's playing me—even if he intends to steal my heart—he'll never get it anyway.
And I know that the work I've done to get his attention has paid off. I can feel it as he slips close enough that his arousal becomes clear against my thigh. Tanner can fake a lot of things, but not how much he wants me.
Being wanted changes everything for me. I feel the girl inside me rise to the top, the one I've wanted to be for a long, long time. The girl who boldly takes what she wants.
"What kind of sins are on the menu tonight?" I ask him.
"All of them," he answers, pressing his mouth to the cusp of my ear, his breath sending electric tingles through me. "I'll give you whatever you want. Pick your poison, Brenna Wilder."
Chapter 27
A shudder of revulsion and horror goes through me, even as my body responds to Tanner's hand dipping beneath the hem of my shirt to touch my bare skin. His warm mouth moves from my ear to my cheek, lips against me, his other hand cupping my neck as if to keep me still.
"Cole told you."
"He said he had to warn me." He draws back enough to look down into my eyes. "Apparently I'm not supposed to trust you."
"What are you going to do about it?"
I swallow as his fingers find my pulse and press against my skin, as if he wants to feel every frightened beating of my heart. He's still aroused; I can see that clearly. And I wonder if it's part of the game.
"What am I supposed to do?" He cocks his head, shrugs at me. "Your brother is gone, just like we wanted. So what if you came here? Maybe you wanted to be nowhere near him. I wouldn't blame you for that."
My fingers curl up towards my palms, nails digging into my skin. I feel the snake bite scar pulse with an echo of pain.
