She needs to get laid, just not by me. Not that I don’t want that. I’d fuck the hell out of that. But my cock does better buried in something it doesn’t give two shits about.
She’s gorgeous. She’s smart. She’s sweet and kind, if slightly confused. She’s a good girl, and she was better off before I opened my big, fat mouth all because I was bored. This would probably be the one time in my life I’d ever agree with Josiah Mackey—I don’t deserve someone like her. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to see her married off to some polygamist asshole, but I had no business fucking with her and opening that can of worms.
I hope she doesn’t stir shit up with her dad. He’s going to want to know why she doesn’t want to talk to me all of a sudden, and I’m pretty sure it’s only a matter of time before he starts piecing things together.
If he hasn’t already.
It would’ve been fun to fuck her, though. Those round, untouched tits begging to be fondled. That perky ass in desperate need of grabbing. I’m sure her pussy’s just as tightly wound as her personality.
I close my eyes and imagine her tongue running the length of my cock, her hand gently massaging my balls. My dick swells, filling my boxers, and I know there’s only one remedy.
I won’t fuck Waverly in real life, but I’ll fuck the shit out of her in my fantasies.
Whatever helps me sleep, right?
***
Breakfast is rough. I sit at the end of the table across from Bellamy and Waverly. I keep sneaking looks at Bellamy, trying to see if I can get a read on her. She sits there with her slacks and blouse and pearls, everything covered up. Not a single blonde hair out of place or a single bag under her eyes. No indication whatsoever that she was out all night doing God-knows-what.
She’s good. She’s fucking good.
Bellamy catches my glance and doesn’t make a face or shoot me a look. For all intents and purposes, I may as well have been dreaming about catching her hiding in the bushes.
Waverly eats in silence. At the opposite end of the table Mark is deep in conversation with his three brides. By the looks of it, they’re clinging to his every word like he’s preaching the gospel.
All the younger kids sit in the middle of the table, laughing and telling knock-knock jokes. They’re carefree, those kids. They have no clue how hard life’s about to get for them in the near future. It’s a miracle the Millers have been able to keep their lifestyle under wraps for so long.
Bellamy is the first to rise. She dabs her mouth on a napkin, runs her hand over her hair, waves bye to her family, and flits out the door, her heels clicking on the tile. Waverly is next. Then me. We walk outside a few feet apart, saying nothing to one another.
Her hair’s piled on top of her head and two diamond studs adorn her ears. She’s dressed down today, a University of Utah hoodie and a pair of dark jeans. I’m guessing she was too tired to dress in her usual twin-set uniform, but she still looks damn good.
We drive to class, me following her the same way but not intentionally. I give her space when she heads inside, sitting out in my truck until she disappears in the building.
I’m bombarded by Claire Fahnlander the second I reach my locker. Last I knew, hers was in a different hallway in the opposite side of the building.
Stalker.
“Hey, Jensen.” She twirls her long dark hair around her finger and smiles. I can almost see my reflection in her lip-gloss. “So… that party tonight at my place. Are you coming?”
I switch my books out and hang up my bag. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
She swats my arm and laughs, dropping her jaw like she thinks I’m flirting with her. I’m not.
“What could you possibly be doing tonight that’s going to be more fun than my party?” She bats her thick, spidery eyelashes.
I glance up at the clock. Two minutes until class. “Not sure.”
“Please tell me you’re not hanging out with Waverly.” She rolls her eyes clear into the back of her head. It’s slightly over the top. There’s obviously some bad blood between them, but I don’t give two shits about the details.
“Why would you think that?”
“I’ve seen your truck at her house almost every night this past week.”
“So you’re stalking me?”
“We’re neighbors. Don’t flatter yourself.” Claire gives a cutesy wave to a girl who passes by. The girl wears a matching Resting Bitch Face. “Anyway, you know the Millers are poly, right? You’ve met the rest of them, haven’t you?”
My stomach drops. I don’t agree with their lifestyle, but I sure as hell don’t want to out them. It’s not my place. “Probably just a rumor. I think I’d know.”
Claire laughs and grabs my forearm. “It’s not a rumor. I know. We used to be best friends, back when Waverly was allowed to have friends. I’ve been over there. The backyards are all interconnected. Have you seen that massive dining room table? They’re totally poly.”
“Is that really your business?”
“So you do admit it. You know.”
“I’m not admitting anything. I just think you ought to be careful about starting up any rumors.”
Claire puckers her lips and waves her hand away. “Don’t worry. I mentioned it to a few people a few years ago and her dad came after my dad with something about a lawsuit. Defamation of character, or some shit like that. Being LDS in this town will get you a gold star. Being poly will get you run out of town.”
I’m not sure why she’s telling me all this. It’s almost as if she’s spent a lot of time fixating on Waverly and the rest of the Millers.
“My brother dated Bellamy in high school. Bellamy’s cool.”
Bellamy dated? I thought that wasn’t allowed?
I suppose it’s fitting, knowing what I know now. I’m sure she did all kinds of rebellious things. Firstborns are like that.
“Waverly’s cool, too.”
“Not really.” Claire sticks her hand out, admiring her neon pink nails.
I slam my locker. “At least she’s not a stuck-up bitch.”
I don’t wait for her to react. I head straight into Chem and take my seat next to Waverly. Waverly might be difficult, but she’s not malicious. And in some weird, fucked up, spiritual way, we’re technically family.
I’ll stand up for her because it’s the right thing to do.
I’ll stand up for her because people can be shitheads sometimes for no fucking reason.
I’ll stand up for her because no one ever stood up for me.
“Hey.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “Are we not speaking?”
She turns to me. “What’s there to talk about?”
“I dunno. We can talk about what a bitch Claire Fahnlander is.”
I don’t usually make it a thing to talk shit about other people because it’s generally a huge waste of my time, but in this case, I’m making an exception. Waverly’s lips crack into a smile, which disappears in a flash.
“You shouldn’t say that about people,” she scolds me, but I know she’s amused. I can tell by way her eyes spark. I’m simply saying what she’s too polite to say. Besides, she can’t stay mad at me forever, and just because I won’t fuck her doesn’t mean we can’t try to forge some kind of friendship. We’ve got plenty in common. We’re in this weird family together, and we’re both trying to make it to the end of our senior year. We both hate Claire-fucking-Fahnlander.
There’s no reason we can’t at least try to be friends.
Claire ambles in just before the bell rings and flips her hair over her shoulder as she takes her seat, refusing to acknowledge me. Waverly and I exchange glances and stifle smiles. Her eyes widen and squint, and I respond with an extra wide smile and a wink. We have a thing now, she and I. We can communicate without words.
I’ve never had that with anybody in my entire life, and now I have it with her.
CHAPTER 14
WAVERLY
I never thought I’d say this, but Jensen Mackey isn’t al
l that bad.
I take back what I said. I don’t hate him.
He’s arrogant, sure. And mouthy. He’s opinionated. Brash. Crude.
But he’s also funny and intelligent. He’s one of the smartest people I know. And the guy can draw like nobody’s business.
Plus, he hates Claire Fahnlander. Almost everyone is afraid to hate her, to cross her. But not him. I’m not sure Jensen is afraid of anything.
We silently agree to pretend like nothing happened. It’s easier that way.
For all intents and purposes, we never confessed a thing to one another that night in the hallway his first week here, and for all intents and purposes, I never threw myself at him, begging him to kiss me in the dark of his room the night he snuck out.
He’s been here a few weeks now, and for the last couple of them he’s walked a straight line, and I’ve kept my nose clean. We graduated from high school, even walking next to one another thanks to our last names.
The waters have been… oddly smooth. Not a single ripple in the pond. Which is good, because one rogue event can destroy my chances of leaving for school this fall.
I just need to keep walking that straight and narrow path my father has laid out. Demonstrating that I’m responsible and virtuous is my one-way ticket to freedom.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about Jensen still. I think about him all the time. I just don’t let it show. He can read just about anyone like a book, but I’ve gotten pretty good at making sure he can’t read me. He’d have a field day if he knew I thought the world of him.
And we’re friends now.
Weird.
But it has to stay that way. My future depends on it.
***
The rumble of his truck outside signals the six o’clock hour. He’s just finished putting in his time at the garage. His dark hair is disheveled, his hands greasy. Uncle Rich has been letting him do oil changes ever since he had a few guys walk out on him a couple weeks ago.
My belly flutters the way it always does when I see him for the first time each evening after a long day at school.
Jensen enters through the garage and heads upstairs to wash up. I set the table, making sure I put his favorite cobalt blue cup in front of his spot. He hops down the steps, two at a time, a minute later. His shirt is white and clean, his hands are washed, and his hair is combed.
He cleans up well, as usual.
The younger kids file in with Summer and we all settle in, my father saying grace at the head of the table. It’s just another weeknight dinner, the quiet spots filled by the clinking of silverware on ceramic.
“Oh, Waverly,” Mom says. “You got a letter from the University of Utah today.”
My stomach balls into a tight knot. I swallow my bite of mashed potatoes and wash it down with a drink of ice water. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for all year.
Shouldn’t it be a packet and not a letter? Does that mean I didn’t get in? And why so late? Fall semester starts in three months.
“May I?” I ask.
Mom nods toward the mail center in the kitchen where I dig through until I find my letter. My heart is pounding. I open the red envelope with one neat tear and pull out the three page letter, bracing myself for rejection.
Dear Waverly Miller,
Please find enclosed your original acceptance letter, sent to you on the fourth of March. We have yet to hear back from you, and your response is required by June 30th. Please fill out the attached form with your decision, and return it in the envelope provided.
I flip to the second page, heart pounding.
Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the English Literature program at the University of Utah. You were selected from an extraordinarily talented group of applicants, and for that reason, we are also offering you our Calcott Scholarship which covers approximately 50% of your tuition.
I stop there. I don’t need to read further.
“What is it?” Mom asks from the table.
I spin around, grinning big as if I just won the lottery. “I got in.”
Mom’s eyes snap down to her plate as she clears her throat. She’s not excited for me. I understand. I’m still her baby. She doesn’t want me to leave the nest yet. And she doesn’t think I need to go away to college either. We’ve had the “there are other options” talk.
She exchanges looks with my father. Everyone else is silent.
“They said they sent the original letter months ago.” I clutch the papers against my chest.
“We get a lot of mail, Waverly,” Dad says. “I’m sure it was thrown out by mistake.”
I don’t care. I’m not letting anyone ruin this moment for me. I grab a pen and sign my name along the dotted line before anyone can stop me.
Bellamy shoves the peas around on her plate. I don’t even think she paid attention to a word of what’s going on. She’s texting someone under the table, and it makes me mad only because I’m still not allowed to have a phone. She claims it’s for her job, but that thing never leaves her side.
Jensen rises from the table and walks over to me, offering me the world’s cheesiest high-five and a sincere smile. Out of everyone in my family, he’s the only one who appears to be happy for me.
It hurts.
“Dad, isn’t this great?” I search my father’s face for an ounce of joy, something that tells me he’s proud. He promised. He said if I could land at least a partial scholarship, I could go away for school.
“Good work, kid.” He takes a sip from his iced tea goblet, his eyes averted. That hurts, too.
Where’s the praise? Where’s the fanfare?
I smile through tears that threaten to fall, my eyes stinging when I blink. I don’t want them to see me cry. I don’t want Jensen to see me cry, either.
I don’t care what anyone says, I’m going to Utah. I’m getting my degree. Marriage and babies will be there when I’m done.
“Oh, Jensen and Waverly,” Kath says. “I signed you both up for Camp Zion.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Camp Zion?”
“It’s an LDS summer camp, of sorts,” Mark says, clearing his throat. “Morning devotions, faith-building classes. Just remember, you mustn’t let on that we’re not LDS, but this is a great program. Might open your eyes a bit to a more… righteous path?”
“It runs for about eight weeks at Whispering Hills Community College,” Summer says, salting her dinner and smiling. “Monday through Friday, eight to three. Just like school. Honor, Justice, and True will be attending the half-day session.”
“Do I have an option?” Jensen’s face pinches. “Like, did anyone think to ask me if I wanted to attend?”
“Jensen.” Kath tilts her head at him, her voice a light slap on the wrist.
“No, Jensen. You do not have an option.” My father’s voice is staccato and gruffness mixed together. “Teenagers need structure in the summer. Idle minds are dangerous minds.”
I throw him a look, silently warning him not to argue. Dad will never change his mind about this. Plus it’s my last hurdle, my last chance to prove I’m worthy of going out on my own for a few years. If I can get through Camp Zion and make him happy, I’ll have nothing more to prove.
“Camp starts Monday.” Mark forks his food.
Jensen’s biting his tongue, I can tell.
“It’s not so bad,” I whisper across the table. “I’ve gone every summer. It gets us out of the house, at least.”
“Camp?” Jensen arches his brows, saying the word like it’s got as much appeal as swallowing a mouthful or razorblades.
“Just eight weeks of camp and then we’ll be shopping for mini-fridges and extra-long sheets,” I say, steering the conversation back toward college in the fall.
Dad chews his mouthful of food. “We’ll see how the summer goes.”
His words pack a punch. I’ve done everything he’s asked of me thus far. I’ve helped put the kids to bed, I’ve carted them around
to various lessons and events, I’ve done more than my fair share in the kitchen, and last week I weeded the garden and helped Summer plant flowers.
I pull in a deep breath and excuse myself from the table. No need stick around and get myself all worked up over nothing.
I’ve got this. I know I do. At this point, I don’t see how my father could say no.
CHAPTER 15
JENSEN
This whole family’s fucking bizarre.
I mean, I knew they weren’t normal, but that stunt they pulled with Waverly? Beyond shitty. She might be a prissy little overachiever, but she worked hard to get into college.
I’ve never been one to make a big deal about school and the whole follow-the-herd-mentality, but watching the excitement on her face get washed away by the silent reception her loved ones gave her damn near broke my heart.
We finish eating, her empty chair soaking up the hush in the room.
I make a mental note to go up and talk to her after the rest of the house is asleep tonight. Kian’s band is playing downtown and Liberty said she could get me in. I doubt she’ll go, but it’s worth a shot.
“Jensen, can you play Connect Four with me?” It’s Gretchen. She’s standing there twirling a strand of white-blonde hair around her finger and digging her toe into the wood floor. I figure it’s kind of my duty now to forge some kind of bond with those two, because someday they might need to turn to someone with half a rational thought process.
“Of course, G.” I ruffle her soft, baby hair. We head to the family room where Honor and True are quietly reading. The T.V. is off, Gideon is assembling a dinosaur puzzle, and I’m not sure where Justice is.
Mark’s voice trails in from the next room over—his den. The main house is so big and open that every sound carries, at least downstairs. The upstairs is all closed off and compartmentalized, like shoe boxes stacked side by side.
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