Stepbrother Obsessed

by Devon Hartford

  At the entrance to the library, Rox says, “I’m not spending lunch in the library, Skye.”

  “You don’t have to,” I smile.

  “Oh, good.”

  “Wait right here.” I lead Jason into the library. We emerge with Trevor, Stuart, and Brian a minute later. They all wear the same outfit: nerd default. Jeans, tennis shoes, and some sort of colored T-shirt with a video game logo on it. Xbox. DragonAge. Oh wait, Trevor is wearing a My Little Pony shirt with four different horses on it. I guess Trevor is a Brony? Who knew.

  “This is Rox,” I say to them.

  The three freshman boys stare at Rox like she’s a Playboy centerfold, which she basically is.

  “Rox,” I say, “This is Trevor, Stuart, and Brian. We’re taking them to lunch.”

  “We’re what?” she scowls.

  “Let’s go, guys.” I lead everyone out to the parking lot.

  “You so owe me,” Rox hisses in my ear.

  We all pile into her Toyota. The four boys are so small and lanky, they easily squeeze into the back seat. On my suggestion, she drives us to Del Taco for lunch. It’s cheap and quick. We park and everyone piles out of the car.

  “Wow!” Jason says. “I’ve never been off campus for lunch!”

  “With senior girls!” Trevor giggles nervously.

  Stuart and Brian just stare at Rox and giggle like Beavis and Butt-head.

  I hold the door for everyone and we file inside Del Taco.

  The line of customers is long, but the kitchen staff is working double time. After a few minutes in line, I order for everyone and pay for all of it. Jason grabs a booth for us and we all sit down. Jason sits next to me and Rox (I think he made that happen on purpose), and the other three sit across from us. It’s a tight fit in the booth, but we’re all small, so it works. Jason and Trevor fetch our trays when the food comes out all at once. Everyone unwraps tacos and burritos and starts eating.

  “I never pegged you for a Brony,” I say to Trevor.

  He pauses his taco halfway to his mouth and glances at his shirt. “Oh, it’s not a Brony thing. It’s the Four Ponies Of The Apocalypse. It’s from Robot Chicken.”

  “I love that!” Brian says.

  “Yeah, yeah!” Stuart grunts like a gremlin.

  “What’s Robot Chicken?” Rox asks innocently.

  What follows is a fifteen minute lecture from the Four Freshman Of The Apocalypse about the genius of stop motion puppet comedy using action figures. Highlights from the show include: Voltron Got Served! The Emperor’s Phone Call. Golden Girls In The City. Mario Meets The Parents (as in, the Mario from Mario Brothers). Law & Order: KFC. And most confusing of all, Sailor Moon Is Hot. After mentioning that one, the four boys stare at Rox and titter like guilty mice. Most of the Robot Chicken lecture goes over Rox and my head. At one point, I lean into her and mumble, “You shouldn’t have asked.” Eventually, the Robot Chicken chatter fades into reminiscent chuckling from the boys.

  “So, guys,” I smile at them, “I need your help.”

  “Anything,” Jason says earnestly.

  “Sure, Skye,” Trevor adds.

  “Okay,” Brian says.

  “Yeah, yeah!” Stuart grunts.

  “I know you all are good with computers.”

  The four of them spend the next five minutes debating who’s better at computers. You’d think they were comparing dick sizes based on their bravado and trash talking.

  “Okay!” I interrupt. “You guys are all awesome with computers. Way better than me and Rox. But can you hack ChatBrat?”

  Their eyes all glow with evil glee as they glance between themselves with jittery agitation. They seem to have an entire discussion solely by eye movement, almost like a hive of bees communicating through a complex series of body movements. Then as one, like possessed horror movie children, they all slowly swivel their heads to stare at me and Rox. I half expect the boys to begin cackling wickedly as their lips peel over needle sharp teeth the moment before they attack like a pack of piranhas and eat the two of us.

  Jason mutters malevolently, “We’ve got this.”

  Just when I’ve reached maximum creep out, Stuart grunts his gremlin grunt:

  “Yeah, yeah!”

  Chapter 21

  Ashley Masters is expelled from North Valley High two weeks later.

  The reason?

  Cyber bullying. Real Bullying. Slut Shaming. Unethical Conduct. Violation of School Cell Phone Policy. The list goes on and on.

  Jason, Trevor, Stuart, and Brian were able to crack through ChatBrat’s security after only two hours of trying. They traced every last post to the IP address and phone of Ashley Masters. Every last post. They took screenshots of everything and emailed it all anonymously to Principal Brown. The police got involved. There was a rumor that Ashley would go to jail, but I think someone made that up.

  Like I predicted, the owners of ChatBrat never responded to any communications sent to them by the school. They’re in Latveria. Why would they bother?

  Shortly afterward, Principal Brown announces that usage of ChatBrat is now banned from North Valley, and anyone caught using it will have their phone confiscated for the remainder of the school year.

  Do I emerge as some heroic figure in all this?

  No.

  People call me a rat and a snitch and a do-gooder. Who knew being a do-gooder was a bad thing?

  At least they stop calling me slut.

  Eventually they stop calling me anything.

  I succeed in fading from the limelight, which is all I wanted.

  The only person who calls me names anymore is Dante Lord.

  He calls me Cielo every single day. First thing in the morning, when he texts me randomly during the day, when I come home from school, and when he says goodnight. And during sex, duh.

  Dante continues to live with us throughout the school year. Dad completely accepts him. He doesn’t call him ‘son’, but I don’t blame him. It would sound kind of weird if he did. And it’s not like Catarina calls me ‘daughter’. Dante and I don’t flaunt our relationship in front of our parents because, well, that would be too weird. But we’re more in love today than the first time we called each other mí Amor.

  With Dante’s help, I study diligently for the December SAT. I make sure to get good sleep the entire week beforehand. It’s hard at first because stressing about the upcoming StressAT keeps me up at night, but Dante helps with that. There’s nothing like regular lovemaking to help release tension. We do it in the afternoons, in my bedroom, before our parents come home. Sometimes we use the guest bedroom. Sometimes we use the kitchen. Sometimes the living room. Sometimes the garage. You gotta try every room, right?

  Anyway, I take the SAT in December and do good on it. Do I score over a 2,000? Heck no! But I come close. And I do way better on the math than last time, thanks to Dante. Well, and maybe a little to Marvin the math genius, and poor Luke, who I’ve made peace with.

  Oh yeah, I also fill out my college craplication to SDU and submit it well before the deadline. My personal statement is titled Why I’m Ready To Soar. I’m really happy with how it turns out.

  The only thing left hanging over my head is whether or not I get accepted to SDU. SDU is a competitive school. With my decent grades and decent SAT score, it will be close. Fingers crossed!

  If I don’t get accepted into SDU, I can always travel the world with Dante.

  My pink on black motorcycle helmet resides in a place of honor on the corner of my desk. The pink studded Vixen leather jacket hangs on the back of my bedroom door where I’ll always see it. Both are a constant reminder of the new adventures that await me and the man I’ll share them with.

  Dante Lord.

  Epilogue

  The misty morning clouds part overhead, revealing an endless blue sky.

  A rocky alien world surrounds me. Strange upside down rock formations carved by the wind defy gravity. Ancient vegetation that looks like it’s from dinosaur times. Puddles of fre
sh rainwater everywhere in all the pocked and gouged stone. Some of the pools are big enough for several people to bathe in.

  Mount Roraima, Venezuela.

  The roof of the world, and we’re on top of it.

  Off to my left, a rainbow falls below the horizon, pouring color onto the jungle below.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Dante asks.

  “Incredible,” I gasp.

  Ten hours in the air from LAX to Caracas, Venezuela. Fifteen hours by bus to San Francisco de Yuruaní, which included a stop to register at a military checkpoint. Another hour by hired car to the trailhead in Paraitepui. A day and a half of hiking through steamy jungle to reach the base of the peak. The whole time I’m waiting for the Jurassic Park dinosaurs to jump from the bushes and eat us, but they never do. Another half day to reach the flat summit roof.

  Then we’re on top of the world.

  Dante leads the entire way. He’s been here before.

  “This place is magical,” I say as we hike across the rugged sky-high terrain.

  We’ve already passed a pair of backpackers on the summit. Yesterday, on the hike to the base, we passed several other groups. It’s the dry season, which means not as much rain, but also tourists. Well, the hardcore outdoor adventure kind. One group hiking out greeted us with friendly smiles. They were French, and spoke little English, so we stumbled through conversation. But we all sat and talked while we shared trail mix and energy bars. When we realized that one of the French women spoke Spanish, we switched to that and she chattered away about how amazing the top of the mountain was and how they spent the night on it and they heard something stalking around in the dark. I asked if it was dinosaurios, but she laughed and said she didn’t think so.

  Despite the slight presence of people up here on the summit today, it still feels like we’re on another planet. Totally alone.

  “You know,” Dante says as we hike, “for a long time people thought that Arthur Conan Doyle based his story The Lost World on Mount Roraima.”

  “I thought that was a Spielberg movie.”

  He grins, “I’ve actually seen that one.”

  “Oh,” I giggle. “So, does that mean there are dinosaurs living up here?”

  “Not that I know of.” He looks around nervously, “But you never know…”

  “Stop!” I whine.

  He chuckles, “Kidding.”

  After hiking across the summit for over an hour, we stop at one of the rock pools, take our packs and hiking boots off, and soak our feet.

  “Wow,” I moan. “That feels good. I haven’t done this much hiking all in one shot.”

  “Good thing we worked you up to it with all that hiking back in L.A.”

  “Yeah.” I lean back on my arms. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “You never shared any of your poems with me.” I kick my foot in the water and gently splash him.

  “I’ve never taken any women up here either.”

  “Oh. Wait, you haven’t?”

  “You hiked here,” he chuckles. “How many women do you think want to go all this way?”

  “I don’t know! I thought maybe one of your adventurer women that you know came here with you.”

  “You’re the only adventurer woman I know,” he winks. He leans over to his backpack and unzips one of the pockets.

  For a second, my heart races. I hold my hand to the silver pendant necklace resting against the hollow of my neck. I’ve worn it every day since he gave it to me. The cloud and earth symbol. Heaven and Earth. Cielo y la Tierra.

  He sits up with his tattered notebook in hand and opens it. He flips through several pages. He clears his throat and turns to face me. His eyes are watering, sparkling emeralds that dance between my eyes and his notebook.

  “I wrote this for you,” he says. “I’ve never written a poem for anyone. I always wrote them for myself.” He clears his throat a second time, head now hanging as he stares at the page. “Heaven and Earth.” He opens his mouth to continue reading, but he has to stop and clear his throat a third time.

  It’s impossibly sweet. My eyes are already tearing, and I haven’t even heard his poem yet.

  He begins again:

  “Heaven and Earth

  One heart wanders,

  weary head, weary breast

  Lonely traveller,

  never rest

  Scour the earth

  it was a test

  Young heart floats,

  isolated, all alone

  Hummingbird,

  heaven sent

  Still at home,

  not left the nest

  Earth below, Sky above

  Joined in water

  They fall in love…

  One heart alone

  Two hearts a home

  Wind and Drifter,

  together… roam.”

  I’m speechless. It’s the most beautiful poem I’ve ever heard. I lean over and we fall into each other’s arms.

  That evening, we set up camp in a remote corner of the flat summit. Clouds roll in as the sun goes down, blanketing every inch of the jungle floor far below in a puffy white blanket of mist. It reminds me of when you’re flying over nothing but cottony clouds in an airplane. But we’re on a huge hunk of mountain, high above everything.

  It is so quiet up here. We are truly floating in paradise. We eat dinner and relax afterward, lying on our sleeping bags and staring up at the heavens. The twilight sky glows deep blue. Swept away by the moment, we kiss passionately. Eventually, all of our clothes come off and we’re completely naked on top of our sleeping bags and foam pads, surrounded by the tranquility of endless unadulterated nature.

  We make love on the top of the world, where heaven and earth meet, his back touched by the sky, mine firm against the earth.

  After we climax together, we kiss softly and tenderly, our naked bodies tied in warm embrace.

  He whispers into my ear:

  “I don’t know what the future holds, mi Cielo, but I know I’ll be holding you every step of the way…”

  “And I’ll be holding you, mi Tierra…”

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  Heaven + Earth

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  Personal thanks from Devon Hartford:

  Thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to live with Skye and Dante for a while! If you enjoyed Stepbrother Obsessed, please leave a review wherever you purchased this ebook, on Goodreads, or any book blogs you frequent. Be sure to tell your friends about it!

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  ~~~~~~~~~~

  WANT MORE DEVON NOW?

  THEN TRY:

  FEARLESS

  THE STORY OF SAMANTHA SMITH #1

  A Romantic College Comedy

  BY DEVON HARTFORD

  If you want to find out more about San Diego University, Skye’s favorite college, you can go there now. The following sample is the opening chapter from FEARLESS, the first book in Devon Hartford’s #1 best-selling romantic college comedy trilogy, The Story of Samantha Smith.

  CHAPTER 1

  I was disastrously late for my first college class ever. My master plan to live at the beach while remaining close to the San Diego University campus had blown up in my face. I had left out one variable: suck-ass traffic.

  Nobody had given me the memo that the Pacific Coast Highway was the route that half of San Diego County took to work in the morning.

  At least I had a scenic view of the beach while I waited behind a line of cars at a red light in my raggedy VW. I watched a bunch of surfers skimming across the top of the ultramarine Pacific Ocean.

  I did my best
to relax, clicking my nails on the steering wheel, keeping time to Born This Way by Lady Gaga. I didn’t care what people said, Gaga wrote great music. Girl Power!

  The cars in front of me had moved. Finally. Horns blared behind me.

  “All right!” I shouted at them. Not watching what I was doing, I reached for the stick shift and knocked my Venti Americano out of the cup holder. The lid flew off and coffee poured all over my bare legs. “Shit!” Fortunately I loved half-and-half, so the coffee didn’t scald me. But the cup had been nearly full. Creamy coffee coated my legs and the footwell. At least none of it got on my new print dress.

  “Move it!” someone yelled behind me.

  Seriously? I had the BP oil spill turning my car into the Gulf of Mexico and I was supposed to worry about traffic? I threw napkins at the mess, but I didn’t have enough to make a dent.

  I frantically grabbed the stick shift and put the car back into first. My foot slipped off the clutch as I put on the gas. I lurched forward and the car stalled. Crap. Coffee sloshed against the floorboards and waved into the back seat. Craptastic.

  “Go, you dumb broad!”

  I glanced in my rearview at a red-faced guy in a gaudy gold Mercedes convertible. He stood up in his car and leaned over his windshield impatiently.

  Flustered, I twisted my keys in the ignition and nothing happened. What was wrong with my car now? I hoped nothing serious because I didn’t have spare cash for a replacement thingamajig or whatever. I took a deep breath. Duh. I’d forgotten to push the clutch.

  Red Face shook his fist at me. “You made me miss the light, stupid bitch!”

  Bitch…

  I leaned my head out my window and prepared to give this guy a dose of feminine fury. My face was nearly sliced off as a motorcycle lane-split between my car and the sedan next to me.