Fading Out

by Trisha Wolfe

  Vee takes the hint and gets into the passenger-side seat. She looks over at me. “Let’s just hope they defeat Engleton and are feeling so proud they forget about you.”

  * * *

  The news hits during my last class of the day on Monday. Before I officially heard, I noticed the downturned faces, the hungover lethargy that wouldn’t be so prominent had the Bobcat’s won their game against their rivals.

  If not for some snide comments and leering looks from members of the football team, and a handful of random people pointing and laughing, I could’ve almost forgotten the bonfire incident.

  More pressing issues—according to Becca, dire issues—took precedence over my humiliating college life. After she told me that someone within my father’s firm had somehow inadvertently day traded a client’s retirement away, and that Wyndemere Enterprises was being forced to undergo a mandatory audit, I felt a sick drop in the pit of my stomach.

  She went on to inform me of how this will affect me. That I should be supportive of my father, making an effort to attend all social events of the season, dressing the part as the dutiful daughter. The firm and all the “right people” had to see the family unit in classy, functioning order to reiterate our standing in society.

  By “society,” she means money. Anyone and everyone who is somebody with money.

  That tidbit on an empty stomach was enough to push me past any attempt to down my usual protein shake and mega vitamins. It meant the nauseas ache I always battle would be present regardless, so no need to upchuck. The ill-feeling emptiness lingered with me all morning.

  By lunchtime, I was able to force down a measly handful of roasted peanuts and a small carton of milk. Vee assuming my nonexistent appetite was due to still being upset over Friday night. Luckily, other than the few points and giggles at the girl who got dunked in the ocean, there wasn’t much to do about it.

  It was the least of my worries.

  That is, until now, as I head out of East Hall toward the student parking lot.

  The stench hits my senses first. As I walk slowly toward my Jag, my nostrils flare, and I scrunch up my nose. Then I see it. A creamy residue covering my car, dried and baking in the afternoon autumn sun. Condoms plastered to the paint. My car is littered with what looks like broken prophylactics and ejaculate.

  For a short second, dread creeps over me, wondering if it really is… Until I recognize the sour smell of spoiled milk. It’s curdled on the hood, the plastic condoms peeling off in places. It looks like it was attacked by those disgusting monkeys at the zoo—the ones that sling their feces at you.

  I walk closer, anger seizing my limbs and causing me to shake. Scribbled on the driver-side door, as if someone just ran a finger through the drying milk: Prude.

  “Oh, A.” Vee’s voice sounds from behind me.

  I spin on my heel, my face tight with strain. “Really?” A mock laugh bubbles out of my mouth. “Really?” I repeat, as if she can read my thoughts and I don’t have to voice the lunacy jumbling my brain. As if she can somehow put into context the reasoning behind this. But I already know.

  “They did something similar to another girl’s car, if it makes you feel better.”

  It does not. I only feel bad for her now, too. Who do these assholes think they are? I mean, it’s fracking football! Not the Olympics. They are not gods. They shouldn’t be allowed to do whatever they please and get away with it.

  My anger is mounting the more I witness the sympathy in Vee’s green eyes. “Let’s take it to the carwash,” she offers. “I’m sure the paint’s not ruined.”

  Screw that.

  I’m storming off, my feet marching me right back toward East Hall, before I can fully register her words. I’m not all that worried about the paint—but she’s pleading with me to just let this go.

  No way.

  For the whole of my life, I might not have been a lot of things—

  I’ve never been brave; I was mousy. I did what I was told by my family, because that’s what was expected of me. I’ve never been outspoken; I took the dishonoring from Dartmouth and my parents for my ultimate mistake. The embarrassment at having my “illness” outed. I accepted my commitment to a rehab facility with humility, regardless of the fact that I’ve never abused any substance.

  —but I was always a Wyndemere. Bred and raised not to take shit from anyone.

  And for the past half year, I’ve been taking a lot of shit.

  Ryder Nash will be the last.

  As I push through the doors, the thin thread that’s been stringing together my fragile sanity ever since I was kicked out of school snaps. The world cracks, and I literally hear the pop in my head as I make my way toward the group of jocks.

  6

  Ryder

  “Oh, shit. Incoming. Duck, bro, duck!”

  The urgency in Gavin’s voice makes me do the exact opposite of his warning. I pivot and come face-to-face with a scowling little carrot cake.

  Against my will, my mouth tips into a smile as I spy the pinched frown pulling at her full, soft lips. She’s so cute, it’s actually painful. I’m starting to see her in a whole new way—so distinctly unalike the Alyssa from my past that I can’t believe I ever compared the two.

  She’s obviously still pissed about the ocean dunk. And honestly, I felt like a total shit later that night—my actions reminding me of his. I’m ashamed I somehow channeled any part of him. It scared me, that split second of realization, where I behaved just like him.

  But with how things turned out at the game, I haven’t given it any more thought. Maybe a subliminal form of denial, of rejecting that initial realization—I’ve worked hard at being the exact opposite… But I should apologize. Stuck up or not, this girl didn’t deserve to get that side of me.

  “You arrogant ass,” she seethes through clenched teeth, and my head snaps back.

  Okay…she’s still really pissed. “Hey, you got me first. Can we call a truce?”

  She mock laughs. Again with the manic cackle. It’s a little disturbing and raises the hairs along my skin. As she glares at me, I can almost see the storm of angry thoughts swirling around her little head. “Truce? After the crap you pulled?”

  I feel my forehead crease as shock and confusion wash over me. “You can’t still be this mad about the other night. Look,” I say, widening my stance into a looser, hopefully less defensive posture. “I’m sorry. Really. That was asinine of me. Can we move past it?”

  “Sure, that works out great for you, considering you get to have the final blow. Right?” When I just stare, I’m sure my confusion registering on my face, she continues. “You like, egged my car. But with condoms.” She stresses the last word.

  Behind me, Gavin, Jeremy, and Devon erupt into laughter. My eyes close and I release a heavy breath. Fucktards. When I open my eyes again to chance another look at her, she’s tapping her foot, amber eyes wide and expecting.

  Looks like team morale was low enough after the loss to push the guys to release a little steam. And the fact that they didn’t clue me in beforehand means this was a gift. Something to cheer up their QB. I could try to explain that to her, but I doubt it would help the matter. I’ve seen her Jag, know the money somebody—either her parents or whoever—dished out for that car. I wonder how much shit she’s going to get into if there’s a repair bill. Shit, I hope not.

  Also, I’m guilty by association. The guys probably thought I’d get a kick out of this, that it would help boost my spirit. Despite my game being on—for the whole season; we’re undefeated except against Engleton—we lost by a measly two points. That burns worse than if they’d slaughtered us. And all my guys know is that this girl got to me. Bad.

  As I stand here, silent, contemplative, racking my brain for something that could defend the guys while also not making excuses for them, she loses her last bit of cool.

  “Oh,” she says, shaking her head, dark curls bobbing along her shoulders. “It is so on. You think I’m some little—” her eyes squ
int as she tries to grasp the word she’s searching for “—prude. From some hot shot school. Some little rich girl who’s had everything handed to her so this shouldn’t be a big deal—but it is. I don’t take shit from anyone, Ryder. Especially privileged jocks that get free rides through college because they can toss a pigskin.”

  Ouch.

  But she’s not done. “I’m a Wyndemere. We don’t accept defeat. We stomp out the opposition.”

  Well, at least I now know her last name. Apparently, an important one. And the fact that we have something in common—I don’t accept defeat, either. I almost smile. “So what…this means war?” I roll my shoulders and cock my head, just to aggravate her a little more. I really shouldn’t press her. But I can’t help it. She’s so feisty.

  Her smile transforms her face. Open. Bright and gorgeous. Hell, it’s a shame she’s a snob. I could get lost in her for a long damn while.

  “I wouldn’t dare utter such a cliché,” she says. “But, if I must, then revenge is a dish best served cold.” She glares at me. “Contemplate that one.”

  She turns and storms off down the hall, not giving me the chance to respond. My gaze follows the side-to-side swish of her cute ass as she goes.

  “Dude. I don’t know, man,” Gavin says. He anchors one meaty hand to my shoulder. “Some chicks are just too psycho to fuck with. She looks like one of them.”

  I turn to face him. “Then why’d you guys fuck with her car?”

  “We were just effing around.” This from Jeremy, who’s zipping up his backpack as if he’s already over it all. I actually agree, and reach for my bundle of books by my feet. “She’ll calm down. Just say the word, and it’s history, bro.”

  I nod. “Okay, then. The word. No one messes with her from here on out.” I glare at each of them in turn.

  Devon shrugs. “Psycho prude is all yours, dude.”

  After I get a few more details about what they did, I set off toward the parking lot, dreading seeing her Jag. As I reach the first row where I’m parked, I keep my eyes purposely on my Jeep. I mean, she did dump a cup of beer on me—but the decimation of her car by prophylactics was a bit extreme by comparison. They said they used milk, so it’s not going to ruin the paint, at least. I’d have offered to pay, of course, if that was the case.

  Or made the team chip in.

  Maybe I should have them wash her car.

  These thoughts continue to cloud my head, but they can’t overpower the main thought I’m trying to ignore. This chick might physically resemble Alyssa, but she doesn’t act like her. Arian reminds me of the snobs from my high school—the girls who wished they were Alyssa. And I really, really wish she didn’t. I wish—from that first moment I saw her, met her gorgeous eyes—I’d have said or done anything different. That I didn’t pull this side out of her.

  My parents about killed themselves working two jobs each to afford the private school tuition, to give me a chance at a good education and scholarship opportunities, so I could follow in my brother’s footsteps. Then, the pride of our family.

  And me, being the poor, skinny kid with a cheap haircut and my brother’s hand-me-downs, didn’t make the cut for any of the elite social groups. Instead, I spent those four long years stuck in thriller novels. Trying to ignore them, to avoid getting my ass kicked, and pretending that I didn’t want to be accepted.

  I slam my Jeep door and crank the engine.

  That’s the past. What suck fest my high school years were, I’ve more than made up for them in college. It’s like thinking about a distant, long forgotten friend. Someone who you can’t help but feel sorry for, but who you don’t care enough to reach out to.

  Ryder the loser is no more.

  The Ryde—quarterback legend—put him out of his misery.

  So I won’t let this snooty girl with daddy issues make me feel—even for a second—like that pathetic guy again.

  I peel out of the parking lot, not giving her or her threat another thought.

  7

  Arian

  “So, I guess this means you don’t want to sign up for the boosters.”

  I glare at Vee through the misty rainbow above the spray of water. Then I imperiously go back to hosing down my car.

  Her hands fly up. “Understood. Clearly.”

  Nothing could convince me to sign up for a group whose soul mission is to celebrate—no, worship—a football team. The very team who’s responsible for why we’re both here at a carwash soaking ourselves in soapy water. I’ve been drenched twice now. Out in the cold.

  I know her comment is a joke, meant to calm me down and put things into perspective. But I’ve been fuming ever since we left campus.

  I’m not yet ready for jokes.

  Only… “How close do the boosters actually get to the team?”

  Vee pauses, the soppy sponge in her hand drizzling sudsy rivulets down the hood of my car. She looks up at me. “What is your wicked brain concocting?”

  I shrug, then hang the hose on a hook along the cement wall and grab my own sponge.

  “No, A.” The soft lines of her forehead crease. “Let it go. Just let it go.”

  I want to believe she’s worried about my welfare—which I do, ultimately. She’s a very caring person. In the short time I’ve known her, I’ve seen her devote her free time to many small acts of kindness. She affects a tough and feisty demeanor, but she’s also one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. Unselfish and with a huge heart.

  But I also know that if there’s one thing to trigger a girl’s needy, greedy side, it’s a guy. And if I do anything to piss off the team—well, more than I already have by humiliating their starting quarterback—that means pissing off Gavin, too. Maybe even crushing any chance Vee has with him. Because she’s too good a friend to abandon me, she’ll go down right alongside me.

  I don’t want that for her. I may think the football team as a whole is a bunch of misogynistic a-holes, but Vee’s allowed to have her own opinion of Gavin. I won’t allow her to be any part of this. I refuse to tarnish her rep.

  For a minute, while I scrub the dried milk from the silver paint, I weigh the outcome. I should probably listen to her and let this go. Really, it’s just a dumb prank—only, it’s more than that to me. My whole life, I’ve bowed out in the midst of any confrontation. With my parents, teachers, peers. I carved a secluded little section in the world for myself, content to exist solo. Just so long as no one looked too closely.

  I’ve known guys like Ryder most of my life. Even dated them. Hell, if he has any real money at all and didn’t play football, my father might even arrange our marriage—he’s just the type my father would endorse. Only, Ryder doesn’t act the part. He’s too…rough around the edges. Not polished like a socialite.

  A brief image flits before my vision. Ryder’s clear blue eyes studying me, as if he wanted to know me. His broad shoulders, corded, muscular arms, the squinty corners of his eyes, dark hair falling over his forehead. That moment when we first made eye contact.

  The callused skin of his fingers as the grazed my skin. Hands that have seen hard work.

  Warmth pools in my stomach, and I forcefully push the memory away. I can’t deny the guy has it. He’s every girl’s wet dream. I’d have to be blind not to acknowledge that he’s hot. And for a split second in the lunch line, when he gazed at me, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I truly wanted him to be interested in me—and I allowed myself that small hope too soon before reality crushed it.

  All my future prospects are only interested in marrying Jonathan Wyndemere’s daughter. I’m a name without a face. But Ryder saw me. Or at least, I thought he did. Then everything just got so ugly and went all wrong.

  Besides, he’s a jock. It’s not just a title, or a cliché. It’s who he really is; how he views the world. His world. As if it belongs solely to him, and everyone merely exists to orbit around his sun.

  Just like Stephan.

  My three-month detour into narcissistic jock world that lef
t me reeling, on the brink of self-loathing.

  “Ari.” Vee’s questioning voice pulls me from my downward spiraling thoughts. “You’re not really thinking of retaliation, are you?”

  I toss the sponge into the bucket of soapy water. “No, I’m not, Vee. I’ll get over it.”

  She nods slowly, watching me, trying to figure out if I mean it. Then, “Well, hey. Maybe joining the boosters would put a stop to all this. I mean, they couldn’t very well keep picking on one of their own, ya know?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Are you trying to gaslight me?”

  She laughs and goes back to washing the car. “No.” But then she stops scrubbing and places her hands on her hips, soaking her tee further. “Okay, maybe a little. I know, I’m being somewhat selfish, but I still need numbers for my raffle idea to be considered.” With a sigh, she adds, “I’m sorry this happened, and I’m sorry that you and the school ‘it’ boy have major sexual tension…but you could still help a girl out.” She bats her long eyelashes at me.

  “Oh, my God,” I say, purposely avoiding her comment about Ryder and me having any form of sexual tension. “Will you just admit why you’re really doing this?” When she shrugs, averting her gaze, I moan. “If this guy is worth all this effort, Vee, then why not just talk to him.” I tilt my head. “No one should make you feel inferior.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Wow. Where did this spunk come from, all of a sudden?” She shakes her head and dips her sponge in her bucket. “The Ryde really fired you up. Maybe this little spat was a good thing for you.”

  She’s avoiding, too.

  But as she says this, my immediate reaction is denial. To fall back on my claim that all I want is to coast unnoticed. Only, I realize with a start that Ryder’s antics, not to mention his gorgeous…everything, has awoken something inside me. Ignited a fire—one I never thought existed in the first place.