by Angel Lawson
“Gwen,” Brayden says, reaching for me.
I twist away. “I know you and Michelle get along, Brayden. And that’s great.” I look at the twins, adding, “If you want to see Bridget that’s great, too. But I won’t do it. Not today. Not ever.”
“Honey—”
“I’ve made my feelings on this perfectly clear.” I look her dead in the eye, doing my best to adopt a facade of calm, because I want her to see that this isn’t a tantrum. “You don’t respect my feelings, and you don’t respect me.”
Her face falls. “Of course, I do. It’s just that—”
I stop her. “I don’t want to hear your mental gymnastics at rationalizing this. You didn’t do this for me, you did it for yourself. I’m sorry to be one less kid you can throw in front of their own emotional freight trains for the sake of looking virtuous.” I storm out of the room, climbing the stairs. I’ll hide out in my room if I have to. Or Michaela’s room. Whatever.
I don’t expect them to follow me, and they don’t. If Debbie had been here, she would have stepped in and supported me. Unfortunately, she’s at home with her own family, and that simple fact makes me feel more alone than anything else. The sick, hollow feeling deepens when I hear the front door slam, car eventually revving up outside.
A few moments later, I’m truly alone.
I curl up in my chair and pull out my phone, holding my thumb over my contacts. I want to call Hamilton. I won’t deny it. But we just spoke yesterday, and some niggling sense at the back of my mind is afraid of seeming—and being—clingy. Nevertheless, he’s been on my mind since I got home, a constant loop of the time we spent holed up in my room. I keep remembering him on my bed, the way it felt to rest my cheek on his shoulder, how sometimes his hand would come up and sweep my hair back as he looked down at me, smiling about something we were looking at on the laptop. I remember the way he kept covertly trying to take my temperature and thinking that he was better at taking care of people than either of us gave him credit for. I remember the way he felt sleeping beside me, curled protectively around me. It was only for two nights, but I somehow find myself missing it, all the same.
And I definitely keep replaying us having sex. It was a new, almost scary level of intensity. Gentle. Overwhelming. When he gazed down at me with those heavy gray eyes, I got that crazy swooping feeling in my chest again, like the second after the drop of a rollercoaster.
He was like a completely different person while we were in my room. Or, maybe not different, just more. Better. I want more than anything to believe he’ll be the same person outside of it—that I’ll be the same person, too—but I’m not convinced. There’s just so much baggage between us. So much anger and hate, history and bitterness. How can that all just disappear? How can it do anything but keep creeping back like a sickness?
I’m startled by the shrill ring of the phone, jolting in my seat. I look at the screen, thinking that I’ve somehow summoned him with nothing more than the power of my thoughts. But it’s not. It’s not even my phone. It’s the antiquated landline my parents will probably never get rid of.
I reach over and pick it up. “Um, Adams’ residence?”
There’s a moment of silence before a voice answers. “Wait, Gwen?”
“Sky?” I straighten in my chair, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Hey! Hi!” I’m a little caught off guard. Usually these calls are planned well ahead of time and Mom is all over them. “Oh my god, How are you?”
“Good,” she answers, and her voice is bright, excited. “Mom called earlier, so I was just calling her back.”
“Oh, she’s…” I bite my lip, looking around the empty room, and decide she’s probably better off not knowing where they’ve went, or what they’re doing. “Well, they’re all out right now. How was your Thanksgiving?”
“It was really great,” she says, bubbling with enthusiasm. “We had a big potluck with the residents and staff, then we got to go on a horseback ride. It’s really nice out here.”
I smile at the warm happiness in her voice. “I’m really glad to hear that.”
“Sooo,” she begins, voice growing even more excited. “Since Mom isn’t around for once, I’m dying to hear all the dirt from school. Tell me everything!”
Everything?
Ever since she left, Skylar has been on a need-to-know basis concerning the goings-on at Preston Prep, but I understand her curiosity. She’s blissfully unaware of my ostracism, and I intend to keep it that way. “Nothing much has changed. It’s swim season, so I’m spending a lot of time there.”
“Did you make captain?”
I hesitate. “Yeah. Co-captain, actually.”
She barks a loud, “Ha! Who’s the poor soul that has to work with you?”
“Hey! I’m a pleasure to work with!” Skylar was never a fan of my competitive streak or penchant to overachieve. Many of her afternoons during our childhoods were spent trying to convince me to put down a book and come do something ‘fun’. I take a steeling breath, deciding I can at least be honest about this. “You’re not going to believe it, but my co-captain is Hamilton.”
I brace myself for a reaction. Any reaction. With Skylar, you never know. Even so, I’m a little surprised when she just lets out a thoughtful, “Huh.” And then, “Yeah, that makes sense. It was always going to be one of you, right?”
“Yeah.” I wrap my arms around my knees. “We’ve also been stuck in Saturday detention together for the last month.”
“Detention? You? What did you do?”
“Well, it’s not as rebellious as it sounds. Dr. Ross gave both of us detention for being, like, ten seconds late.”
Skylar groans. “Oh, god, Dr. Ross! She’s such a total hardass. I’ll never forget freshman year, when she put down that line of masking tape, you remember? Anyone who didn’t have all appendages on the other side of it, down to the second, instant detention.” There’s a wistful tone in her voice.
I can’t help but wonder, “Do you miss it?”
“Preston?” She sighs but doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Sometimes. I like the program out here, though. I think it’s helped a lot, and I really love the horses and the farm. There’s no judgement from the animals, you know? I realize now that things weren’t right. That I wasn’t right. But out here, I’ve learned how to put myself first and not worry so much about pleasing others. You know that’s always been hard for me.”
I nod, frowning. “I know it has.”
A long stretch of quiet follows and I panic, captured by the strange worry that we might not have anything else to talk about.
And then Sky lets out a small, tentative, “Gwen?”
“Yeah?”
“How’s Xavier?”
“Oh.” I lean forward, thinking. “He’s doing okay. He actually asked me about you the other day.”
“He did?” I’m not sure how I feel about the hope in her voice.
“Yeah, he...” I pause but decide to give her this. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry about everything that happened. And that he’s sorry he never got to tell you that.”
“Oh.” I hear the exhale on the other side of the phone. “I really liked him.”
“For what it’s worth, I think he liked you, too.” Again, there’s a long beat of silence, so much going unsaid about that night, about how everything imploded. This time, I’m the one to break it. “Sky, I’m really sorry about that night. I should have been there. I should have gone with you, or told you not to go, or—”
“Gwen, I hate to break it to you, but what happened that night had nothing to do with you. I was upset and insecure and drunk, and I let it all drive me to.... do that. Xavier and I had that stupid fight, and I think... well, I think maybe I understand now that he was upset and insecure, too. The both of us, feeling the way we did? It was a mess, right from the start.” Her sigh is a small, sad thing. “I just liked him so much, all I wanted was for him to like me back. And the thing is, he did. He really liked me. But the other Dev
ils didn’t, and they weren’t nice like Xavier, but they were his friends, and I thought... if anyone knows him, it’d be one of them.” She pauses for a moment but seems to recover. “It just got to my head, Gwen. That’s all.”
My voice is quiet and careful when I ask, “Was it really your idea to—” but I can’t say it. To give a dozen or more guys a blow job?
“It isn’t important,” she insists. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in all these months of therapy, it’s that the only thing I have control over is myself. Blame won’t fix what happened. I’m stronger now. More self-aware. That need I have to please everyone—I’m working on that. I’m not perfect, and I’m sure I’ll do stupid stuff again, but nothing like that. I promise.”
Tears prick at my eyes and I’m overcome by a burst of pride in my sister, for facing her demons, for putting in the work. But at the same time, it’s all tinged in sorrow that she’s had to deal with so much. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”
She chuckles, sniffing as well. “I had an awesome big sister who was always there for me. That helps.”
We talk for a while longer and I feel better about Skylar than I have in a long time—if ever. I do tell her a bit more about school, including meeting Tyson, and I even vaguely mention Hamilton.
“So he covered for you in detention while you were sick?” Her tone is incredulous. “Wow. That’s…”
“Surprising?”
“More than surprising. Shocking? Impossible?” She laughs. “Hamilton Bates doesn’t do anything nice for anyone.”
Warmth floods my chest at her statement, a spoken confirmation of what I’ve experienced. What Hamilton and I have is different. He’s different.
I hang up a little while later, and spend even longer in my chair, lost in thought. When I pick up my phone again, I see that there’s a text from Tyson, asking if I want to hang out with him and Presley.
I reply quickly and definitively.
Yes.
“Wait, wait! I don’t know if I can do this.” We’ve just gotten out of Tyson’s truck, but I’m assaulted by a stomach full of nerves. “You really want to go to a Preston Prep party? At Campbell’s house?”
Tyson glances at Presley. “Babe, give me and Gwen a second?”
“Sure.” She kisses him on the cheek and climbs back into the truck. He and I stand on the sidewalk outside the massive house overlooking the lake.
“I know this isn’t what you normally do, but Presley really wanted to come. You know she’s into all my school stuff. She just wants to be involved.”
I wrinkle my nose. “But Campbell Clarke? You don’t know these people, Tyson. They’re the worst. And beyond that, they really don’t like me. And beyond that, I’m definitely not invited.”
“Well, I am invited—by one of the guys on the diving team—and if I want you and Presley to come with me, then there shouldn’t be any problem.” He cuts his eyes at me. “And, from the way Hamilton’s been looking at you lately, I’m not sure I’m buying that they all hate you.”
My cheeks heat at Hamilton’s name, and I’m suddenly very glad it’s dark outside. I know Tyson has noticed something going on with us, but I’m no more ready to tell him than anyone else. However, after talking to Skylar and listening to the way she talks about her life, the growing understanding she’s gaining about her own issues, I can’t help but wonder if maybe I need to accept that I have more control over my place at Preston than anyone else. Including the Devils.
The only thing I have control over is myself.
And then there’s Hamilton. I’m not ready any more than he is to go public, but sharing a social space? If we can’t manage it at a simple house party, then there’s no way we can make this work.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling slowly, “but if things go sideways, or if anyone is a mega asshole, I’m leaving.”
He smiles and gives me a hug. “You’ve got it.”
I dither for a moment, trying to decide if I should take off Hamilton’s hoodie before going in. I’d put it on earlier, partly because I knew it’d be cold outside, wherever we went, and partly because of something far more complicated and difficult to put into words.
It still smells like him.
That harder-to-define part of myself is what eventually decides to leave it on.
Five minutes later, we’ve made it past the foyer. The pulse of my heart beating in my ears is louder than the bass of the music coming from the speakers wired throughout the house. Campbell’s home is massive. Really. Just a true monument to the arrogance of man. Seeing this many people recklessly moving about makes me over-warm, anxious, and uncomfortable.
“Whoa, look at this place,” Presley says, verbalizing, sort of, what we’re all thinking. She looks at me with wide eyes. “Is your house like this, too?”
“No.” I snort, scuffing the toe of my sneaker against the shiny floors. “I mean, we have a nice house, but my parents aren’t really into materialism. They’d rather go save a rainforest or build a school or something.” She raises her eyebrows, and I concede, “Yeah, those are totally pretentious in their own special way. But it’s just different.”
“I need a drink,” Tyson declares, bringing his hands together in an excited clap. “Anyone else?”
I shake my head, because there is no way I’m drinking around these people. He heads toward the back porch and as I follow, I pretend like I don’t notice the stares. The whisper. The elbow-jabs between friends. I also pretend like I’m not searching the room for a particular, tall, broad-shouldered, ridiculously handsome Devil.
I don’t see him, but I do see the others. Emory is leaning against the fireplace, arm around Campbell’s shoulder. Over by the kitchen, Ansel is chatting up two girls, happily replenishing their cups. Xavier is in the dining room playing beer pong on a massive glass tabletop. We make eye contact, and he seems as surprised as anyone else, but he actually waves.
“See? Not everyone is unhappy to see you,” Tyson declares, catching the exchange. We walk onto the back porch, which is a multi-tiered structure that overlooks the glassy lake below. He grabs two cups and fills them with beer, handing one to Presley. A few guys from the diving team bound over to give Tyson bro-handshakes, leaving me and Presley alone. I’m trying to think of a conversation starter when her eyes widen and she asks, “Isn’t that Hamilton?”
My body reacts before my mind does, stomach lurching anxiously, but I look across the patio to see Hamilton deep in a conversation with Reagan. His shoulders are tense, jaw tight, and from the way his hair is sticking up, it’s obvious he’s been running his hand through it. Reagan’s arms are crossed over her stomach, her face pale. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I don’t think it’s good.
“If I had to guess,” Presley says, reading my mind. “That girl is getting dumped.”
Again, my stomach twists. “You really think so?”
“Oh yeah, and she did not see it coming.” She takes a sip of beer and watches with fascination.
I start to turn, feeling guilty and intrusive, but not fast enough. Hamilton’s eyes flick my way, and he reacts with the slightest twitch of the jaw. Otherwise, he’s stone-faced as he focuses back on Reagan. He says something else, something visibly final, and she storms off, swiping a hand over her cheek. This time I do turn away before she can see me, not that she’d connect the dots in any way. That’s just my own guilt speaking.
“Wow.” Presley’s eyes keep watching him over my shoulder. My skin itches with its awareness of him.
“Um, what is he doing?”
“Well, he stared at the ground for a second, and then glanced over here. Now he’s walking down the steps.”
I bite my lip. “Is he gone?”
“Yes.”
I look back, needing to know for my own sanity that he’s not just lurking in the corner or something. If something did go down with him and Reagan, I’m not sure I want to deal with the possibility of him lashing out. His tantrums are a thing of absolute lege
nd, and I know that from first-hand experience. Despite that, I can’t fight the impulse, the niggling need, to make sure he’s okay. I don’t do anything, not until Tyson comes back over and plants a sloppy kiss on Presley, effectively distracting her. I cross the porch toward the railing and tuck my hand in my back pocket, pulling out my phone.
G: You okay?
I wait, thinking he may ignore me. Who knows where he went, or who he’s with. My phone quickly buzzes with his response, however.
H: Yeah, although I’m surprised to see you here.
G: Tyson talked me into it.
There’s another long moment that’s filled with my racing heart and surreptitious, paranoid glances around the porch, as if someone might be able to determine who I’m texting with. Truthfully, no one is paying me much attention. I suppose, like Skylar said on the phone, not everything is about me.
H: Can you get away?
I peek over to where Tyson and Presley have joined in a game of cards around the fire pit. I can see Reagan inside talking to Campbell, and Emory’s expression is irritated. Because he’s mad at Hamilton? Or because he’s annoyed the party is disrupted by Reagan’s upset?
G: Yeah.
H: Come find me. There’s a door off the downstairs porch.
My stomach flip-flops, and never before in my life have I been so happy to be invisible. I slowly make my way over to the staircase and follow it down. Fairy lights brighten the way, and when I get down to the landing to another small porch, I search and find the only door. I turn the knob and walk inside.
Hamilton’s leaning on the back of a couch that sits just a few feet away. The room is on the dark side, illuminated only by a single lamp. He’s holding a plastic cup to his chest, watching me enter the room with shadowed, hooded eyes. Every inch of my body sears with heat, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, or what he asked me down here for.
“So,” I say, taking a step into the room, “Reagan? She looked pretty upset.”
“I broke it off with her.” He sets the cup aside, eyes scanning my body, perhaps noticing his hoodie. “I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time.”
