reputation

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Zach was all I could think of,” Tay ended, regretfully. I knew that feeling. All too well. “I’m sorry.”

  My head moved back and forth between them like a volley, both bombarding me with reasons why this was the only way.

  I shook my head. “Even if I could…” I trailed off trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “How am I supposed to convince him? When am I supposed to convince him? I never see him. I don’t even know—”

  “He’s going to be home for Christmas, too. I already talked to Ash.” My assertive mess of a friend looked at me calmly and I knew that she had the whole thing figured out already—she always did.

  “You told my brother about this—”

  “No. Of course not.” She slid her laptop back into her bag. “But you’re going to have to; he’s part of the band. Along with your parents. Because they’re going to see and they’re going to need to know that it’s not real.”

  “He won’t go for it,” I resorted to the last and probably most truthful pitfall of their entire plan.

  I’d wanted Zach before. I could pretend something that I’d already felt. Zach, on the other hand, had never wanted me and never would; he’d made that painfully clear. And the last thing I needed was to hear his rejection for a fake relationship when I was still haunted by his rejection for a real one.

  “We’ll make him an offer that he can’t refuse,” she replied simply and stood, reaching down to calmly collect her department-store-sized collection of bags. “We should get going. Better to be early to the airport. We have a busy week ahead.”

  “I trust you’ll let me know what you decide,” Bruce said calmly; if they gave out ranks for emotions, he would have a black belt in impartiality. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t inform you, Miss Tyler, that there is no explanation you can give to make this better. This tour is no longer about you or Lovestruck. This tour is about saving your reputation.”

  I stood, pulling down my oversized sweatshirt over my yoga pants and gave him a quick nod. “Have a good holiday,” I replied, standing abruptly and heading for the door.

  Was it worth it?

  I stood outside in the hallway, waiting for Taylor to catch up.

  Was saving my reputation worth the open and public dissection of my heart?

  Track 02: Sixteen

  “Cause when you’re sixteen and all you wanted was to be wanted.

  Wish I knew what I know now. I should have looked before I fell.”

  9 years ago

  THIS WAS THE BIGGEST MOMENT of my entire life: the moment when I would kiss a god.

  Zach… Zeus… We’d been learning about Ancient Greek mythology, but I think the textbooks spelled it wrong.

  He certainly looked like the statues in the book. All big and cut and strong. Like if the un-tool versions of Zac Efron and Justin Bieber had a love child that was actually cool while still being incredibly hot. That was my Zach. He had a Southern twang that made my toes curl, especially when he sang, and a smile that made… other parts of me… curl even tighter. To top it all (melt-my-bones hot, talented, and stereotypically popular) off, he was sweeter than Southern sweet tea—which said a lot when you lived just outside of Nashville in Franklin, Tennessee.

  We take our sweet tea very seriously down here.

  How did that make him a god?

  Besides the above-mentioned reasons…

  Well… how else do I explain why, when he walks by, I can barely breathe?

  And like any god would, he looked down on me like a mere mortal. At least nowadays. And it wasn’t just because I was only fifteen (for a few more months) and he was a senior. There was a time when he was nice and attentive and a friend. But I was younger and I didn’t look at him the way that I do now. Now, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him while he hardly looked at me. And even though I knew I’d loved Zach for a long time, it was only recently when I craved everything that word could mean. And that’s when the space between us began to grow larger. Insurmountable.

  For a while, he treated me the same as my brother. If Ash was annoyed with me, so was Zach. If Ash ignored me, so did Zach. If Ash teased me, so. Did. Zach. And that’s why looking down on me was preferable because at least it meant he was looking.

  “Baby Blake… are you wearing make-up? Are you old enough for that?”

  “Baby Blake, put some clothes on. You look like you just went shopping in the toddler section.”

  “Baby Blake, why are you playing guitar so late? It’s past your bedtime.”

  His taunts were casually cruel. Maybe if his voice wasn’t so calm and indifferent as he spoke… maybe then I could’ve read more into why he said what he did. Instead, he was always the jaw-dropping, gorgeously perfect god of disinterest when it came to me—the mortal… the little sister.

  I wondered if he knew that he was all I thought about at night.

  So, I began to push, and every time I did, he pulled away.

  I wasn’t deterred though. If there was one description of me that he and I could agree on, it was ‘fearless’. I’d had to be in order to grow up and keep up with the two of them.

  So, I pushed harder—completely unaware of Newton’s Third Law of Motion and how it came into play. I learned the hard way that every time I pushed, he pulled back with an equal and opposite force.

  I tried everything in the book. I tried flirting when my brother wasn’t looking; that was met with a blank stare in his delicious honey eyes. I tried new clothes to highlight my long not-quite-filled-out form; I might as well have worn a grocery bag for all the difference it made: his eyes still scanned my body like a barcode that registered ‘Not Interested.’

  In fact, my attempts only made it worse. The past year or so, indifference had turned into sour annoyance.

  “Are you trying to practice flirting with me, Baby Blake?” He smirked. “You need help, but not from me. I can tell you though—don’t do what you just did. It’s borderline pathetic.”

  “I’m not trying to practice, jerk,” I shot back in defiance and mortified defense. “I’m trying to flirt with you!” Maybe a shot at the truth would change something.

  It hadn’t.

  “I’m not a cradle robber. Find someone your own age, kid,” he sneered and stalked from our kitchen, leaving me to explain to my brother why his best friend had up and left while he was in the shower.

  Since then, even my breathing in his presence had become an offense.

  That conversation sent me back into a dark hole where I wallowed, writing in my diary, writing angry and then apologetic letters to him that I never sent. Finally, six months ago, I renewed my efforts with a subtler attempt. For my birthday, I asked for a guitar and music lessons. Maybe a similar hobby might pull me out of the little-sibling-zone.

  He hardly said a word about it, let alone allowing it to grow as something between us. Another failure.

  Ever fearless—or maybe just foolish—I didn’t give it up. I realized that I couldn’t. It felt like each strum of the pick was retaliation. I sang my hurts, my feelings to the guitar instead of him.

  At least, it couldn’t talk back.

  Those diary entries, letters, poems—all to Zach—had now been set to music. A depressing and pleading soundtrack to my love.

  But if there is one thing in this world that is the strongest instigator of action, it’s fear. In my case, fear that my time was running out—that my chances to show Zach just what he was missing out on were dwindling. If he could just see me, something told me things would change.

  Tonight was their senior prom. Graduation was in two weeks and after that was Zach’s combined graduation and eighteenth birthday party. One week later, he and Ash would be heading further south to the University of Alabama—both of them on football scholarships. I should have known his favorite hat would be bad news for me.

  Every breath was like a ticking time bomb to when my time would run out. I knew what would happen at college. I knew what girls he would find there. He’d find them
and forget about Ash’s lanky little sister that got left behind.

  In a stroke of pure luck, I’d overheard him and Ash talking last weekend about their plans for prom night. They both had dates already, but I wasn’t worried about Alexa. Sure, she was a blonde bombshell. Sure, she wore short skirts while I preferred to steal Zach’s old t-shirts. Sure, she was the cheer captain and I was just a quiet nerd, jotting down lyrics and humming melodies as I got lost in my own head. But I was the one who’d been here the whole time. I was the one who had grown up with him. I was the one who knew how important music was to him and how not important football was becoming even though he took the scholarship.

  I was the one who understood him.

  He was the one who didn’t understand that what he’d been looking for was right in front of him this whole time.

  But I was determined to make that crystal-clear tonight.

  Their plan (and mine) involved our treehouse that sat between our two houses; I’d passed it on my way over to Zach’s house an hour ago. Built in the thin strip of trees between our two properties, the tiny room sat high above the ground with a giant open window that looked off into the horizon and a metal roof that turned raindrops into a melody.

  The three of us (with some help from our dads) built it. The biggest reason I loved it was because Zach and I had spent a lot of time together working on it since Ash wasn’t big into manual labor; he’d rather just boss us around. That was when he’d looked on me kindly—and I’d fallen further.

  The treehouse had gone unused for some time now; teenagers had cooler places to hang out. But when we were younger, we practically lived in the thing—even when Ash tried to insist that there were ‘No Girls Allowed.’

  Yeah, I scoffed, not tonight.

  Unfortunately—or fortunately—Zach was only allowed to bring his date back to his house where his parents could keep an eye on things. And so, the treehouse had been resurrected to serve a more sophisticated purpose.

  Sneaking out from his house to spend the night in the treehouse was a piece of cake.

  You already knew this, I reminded myself as my body cringed.

  I already knew that he and Alexa had slept together. I’d cried for weeks—and wrote three songs—after Tay broke that news to me. Pain is certainly productive.

  They thought they were clever. I thought I was cleverer. (And yes, that is a word when you are almost sixteen.)

  At fifteen, that should have been the first indication that I was not.

  It hadn’t been hard. Childish? Yes. But not hard.

  I’d snuck into Zach’s house through the basement doors that connected to the back patio. His family had a finished basement complete with a family room, bedroom, a sewing room for Zach’s mom, Trish, and a bathroom. That guest bedroom was where Alexa would be ‘sleeping.’ It was also the farthest spot from Zach’s room on the second floor.

  From my dark corner of the sewing room, I listened for the two soft taps as Zach knocked on Alexa’s door just before I saw his shadow slip smoothly through the hallway and out the patio doors like Peter Pan was after it.

  My heart pounded against my chest, screaming ‘Bad. Idea. Bad. Idea. Bad. Idea.’—if I’d cared to listen to it.

  I didn’t.

  Hormones and teenage crushes and all that.

  My bare feet padded over to the door, half-expecting Alexa to throw it open any second and send caution to the wind. Hardly breathing, I listened but didn’t hear anything on the other side.

  Youthfulness blurs the line between foolishness and fearlessness. And while believing it was the latter (when later I’d realize it was the former), I reenacted an event that had happened to me countless times in the past. (Although I’d always been the one in her position.) I propped the sewing chair underneath the door knob, making it impossible to open, and trapped her inside.

  What was she going to do? Scream for Zach’s parents? Yell to let her out so that she could go sleep with their son?

  Yeah. I didn’t think so.

  I felt a twinge of guilt as I let myself out of the basement, glancing back but still hearing nothing. Maybe she’d fallen asleep.

  Sorry, Alexa.

  Zach Parker is the other part of my soul. Find your own god.

  My feet flew over the familiar terrain, the chill of the spring night air not even touching me as I slowed when I reached the thick of trees. Branches cracked underneath my bare feet and I bit my lip to keep from whimpering.

  “Alexa?” I heard Zach’s hoarse whisper from above.

  There was a bright light and I quickly darted right underneath the treehouse, my back pressed against one of the support trees, as a flashlight flickered out of the window.

  “Yes,” I whispered steadily even though my chest was heaving—and it had nothing to do with the sprint over here.

  The light instantly shut off. He knew the trees weren’t dense enough to hide any light out here from either house, which meant that maneuvering in utter darkness was a complete necessity unless he wanted to risk being caught.

  “Come up,” he whispered back roughly. Something changed in his voice. Maybe he’d hidden some alcohol up there.

  Steady, Blake.

  I took a deep, slow breath, oxygenating my anxiety. This was it.

  Turning to look up the ladder, I stubbed my toe on the side of it, tears balling in my eyes as I bit down on my fist to stop my cry. It was cloudy so there was no moon (or moonlight) out tonight which meant I was lucky to be able to see my hand in front of my face. Honestly, it would have been a miracle if Alexa had made it out here without hurting herself; she hadn’t made this trek, oh, only a thousand times before.

  At the bottom of the ladder, I pulled my hoodie and track shorts off. I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d tried everything in the book so the only thing left to do was throw the stupid thing at him. And that meant removing as many obstacles beforehand as possible.

  Alexa. Clothing.

  I held back a pathetic curse as my sleeve got caught on my charm bracelet that I’d forgotten to remove. It only had one charm: a guitar with my initials on the back. Ash had given it to me for my birthday last year. I unclasped the hook and hung it, along with my clothes, on one of the rungs before climbing up to the side entry in only my bra and boyshort underwear. They were plain cotton—nothing sexy like I’d wanted, but when you can’t drive, options are limited. The bra was too big because I’d bought it at first hoping my boobs would grow into it and then settling for the fact that at least my boobs looked bigger wearing it. Now, it rubbed uncomfortably against my tight nipples.

  The ladder led up to a small latch door in the side of the treehouse. I was shaking so badly by the time I reached the top, I’m surprised that I didn’t slip and fall right back down. Through the opening, I could see that the window was propped open, the dimmest light from night just filtering through. Zach was standing, facing out the window with his hands on the wooden sill. His silhouette darkened even more with the outlines of his muscles, tensing as he stood. I allowed myself just a second to look—to look and not be afraid that he would notice, to look and not worry who was around or could show up at any second… to look at him like he’d turn and look at me with the exact same burning inside that never went away.

  Swinging my legs over the edge, I stepped into the treehouse; I stepped into the ring, my body prepared for anything at this moment.

  Slowly, he turned towards me and my heart stopped, waiting patiently to see if he would notice my ruse as I stood completely encased in the shadows along the back wall. His eyes felt like spotlights along the length of my body and I thought I heard a growl—or was it the wind through the trees?

  “Cold?” he asked.

  I bit my lip, afraid to even whisper. Did this mean he didn’t realize it was me?

  He stalked carelessly over the makeshift bed that was on the floor; he was coming for me. Finally.

  And he didn’t stop until he was practically on top of me, breathing down on me l
ike a lion about to devour his prey. I’d been close to him before but never like this. I could taste the anger and desire that flickered over his shadowed face. I should have known then and there that the game was up—that there was no rational way he didn’t know who I was. I had no excuse for why I thought this would actually work.

  I was crazy.

  Love made me crazy.

  Our breaths turned into steam in the cold night air. I expected the curtain to fall and my charade to crash and burn. Instead, his face drifted closer, like the sea coming for the shore. I licked my lips, my need to kiss him stronger than anything I’d ever felt before.

  Was it always like this?

  Was this even right?

  Maybe something was wrong with me to want him so much.

  “Fuck.”

  His lips crushed over mine. He was burning and sweet—like the brandy that he and Ash and I had snuck a taste of a few Thanksgivings ago, only better. I’d never kissed a boy—really kissed, that is. His tongue traced along the seam of my lips unlocking them and sinking inside. With each lick against my tongue and stroke of exploration, he wiped away pieces of my innocence—pieces that I was only too happy to give.

  Licking… Sucking… I had no idea what I was doing, but whatever it was, I threw everything I had into it. My tongue met his. I traced along the inside of his teeth; I always wanted to taste the smile that made my knees weak and the difference between seeing it and tasting it was the difference between a glass of wine and a bottle of Jack.

  He stepped further into me just as I began to sag against him, my body in overdrive with sensations it couldn’t process. I shivered as the damp wood hit my back and his hot hardness hit my front. The hard ridge of his erection jammed against my stomach and triumph exploded inside me.

  I’d won. He wanted me.

  But why wasn’t he touching me? I wanted him to touch me. My hips rocked forward, wanting to feel more of everything that he had to give and searching for something that I wasn’t quite sure about.