by J. B. McGee
Holden tilts his head at me, bewildered. “Did you call him?” he asks as my gaze shifts to him, his blue eyes bright and fierce.
“Um. No. No, I didn’t.” I look back at Father. “If you don’t go, you’re going to be late for church.”
His eyes flash open, and I’m sure if he could throw flame daggers at me, he would be in this moment. “Don’t make a scene.”
It’s not a question. It’s not a statement. It’s every bit of a threat. Holden has been used to doing the opposite of what everyone’s expected of him for years, but this is new for me. If I tell him no, I’m going to make a scene. Scanning my favorite coffee shop, people are sipping and eating, carrying on with their conversations, but occasionally glance in our direction with their noses turned upward. I’ve already made a scene. Holden steps in between us. “With all due respect, sir, we don’t want to make a scene any more than you do. Why don’t you sit so we can explain?”
My heart races even more than it already was. That was probably not the best thing to say to him, but something about Holden taking charge makes me swoon, makes me want to fall into his arms even more. “I wanted to talk to you and Mom together later. If it’d make you feel better to talk now, we can.” I nod toward the empty chair across the table.
“I don’t think there’s anything the Masters boy could say that I want to hear. As for you, you look like a slutty streetwalker who’s been…” He glances around. “Fucked all night,” he whispers through clenched teeth.
Bile rises in my throat hearing him talk to me like that. Holden lunges at him, but I throw my arm across him. “Don’t. He’s provoking you, Holden. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you come unglued.” I take his hand in mine and watch as he intertwines his fingers with mine. I assume he swallows whatever words he was about to speak because his Adam’s apple bobs right after he closes his mouth. Averting my gaze back to Father, I shake my head. “I’ll take that as a clue that you’d rather talk in private with Mom. We’ll call you later to set up a time.”
Father grabs my arm as I try to brush past him. I don’t even care that Holden and I haven’t disposed of our trash. “If you walk out of this building with him, don’t bother.”
I swallow, tears busting past the dam and overflowing over the rims of my lids. My chin quivers, and my chest feels like someone’s squeezing the life out of it. I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t expect this. Am I prepared to lose my parents to gain a relationship with Holden? One I don’t even know if it’s going to work?
Holden releases my hand and gets in front of me, tilting my chin up so there’s no place to look except for into his. “Cam, listen.”
I nod.
“My father hurt your family, and I was ashamed so I acted out in the only way I knew how.” He shakes his head and blinks. “But I’m not him.”
“I know.”
Father growls. “You are a disgrace to this community, Masters. Nothin’ but trouble. Cammie has worked too hard for you to lead her down the path your father led your mother down. He damn near ruined us in the process.”
“You don’t know anything about me, Rich.”
“That’s Mr. Spencer to you, son.”
Holden’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something else, but he closes it, then says, “It’s not worth it. What do you want, Cam? Do you want to go with him? Or do you want me to take you to get your stuff out of Oliver’s?” Tugging Holden’s shirt down at the hem, I glance at the clock and can’t help but notice all the sets of eyes that suddenly looked away from our direction at the same exact time I glanced away from him. I release the brown cotton fabric and cross my arms over the exposed flesh of my abdomen. So much for waiting to tell them. I’m not sure if Holden just did that on purpose or not.
“What the hell does he mean get your stuff from Oliver’s?” My father’s gaze bounces between Holden and me.
The tension surrounding us is squeezing me like a boa constrictor hoping to push the last bit of air from my lungs. “I’m not doing this here with either of you. I just need some space.” Pushing off both of them, I walk as quickly as I can—almost a jog—until I’m outside inhaling fresh air. My feet automatically take me to Holden’s silver Mercedes. I’m not sure what kind this is, but even his car is sexy.
My father said if I walked out with him, not to bother coming around later, but I didn’t technically leave with him, did I? Before the charity event, I’d put my phone down in the cabana while waiting on Oliver. In my haste to leave after my incident with Holden, I left it there. I didn’t realize it until Holden and I were straightening the place back up. I put it in the pocket of the jean shorts he brought me. Pulling it out, I swipe the screen, and then pull up my Uber app. I should have done this last night.
But if I’d done this then, I wouldn’t be wearing Holden’s cut off shirt. The one Violet stole from him. The ones I know means something to him. I wouldn’t have gotten to see this sweet side of him. And the thought of leaving him like this makes my gut twist into several knots.
I close the app, tapping my fingers against the back of my phone. Then, I open it back up again. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’ve ordered myself a ride, a way out of this particular nightmare.
I watch her walk away, and I want to scream, “Wait up.” But an arm grabs me as soon as my feet get the message to run after her. Mr. Spencer’s. “Let her go. You and I need to talk, son.” I cringe at the word son. The only person who can call me that is Georgette Masters. And he’s sure as hell not her.
“Holden! Wait up.” Charity Winthrop’s voice bounces off the metal lockers and echoes through the nearly empty halls of St. Sullivan’s High. She hooks her arm in mine and it makes me cringe. What if Cammie saw us like this? She’d think there was something going on and there isn’t. I shrug her off.
“What’s up?” I glance over my shoulder as she skips up beside me. “I’m running late. Stupid Vi and her primping every morning.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you.”
I furrow my brows. “About her primping?” I ask.
She shakes her head, pressing her lips together. “No, just about Violet.”
Shrugging, I roll my eyes. I know she likes me, but I can’t seem to send the message clear enough to her that I’m not interested. I’ve tried being nice. Maybe if I’m short, that’ll help. “Then hurry up. Walk and talk. I can’t get another tardy or I’ll get detention.” What could possibly be so important? Probably just Charity trying to get my attention. I cock my head to the side. If I’m honest, I’m a little bit curious. I don’t want to be late, but I definitely am interested in knowing what she has to tell me so I can see if it’s just a pathetic attempt at flirting or if there’s something I need to know about Vi. If I have learned anything the past couple of years, it’s that girls are mean to each other for no apparent reason. If I find out someone’s being ugly to Violet, a tardy and detention may be the least of my worries.
She huffs. “Not how I wanted to have this conversation.”
Hmm. “Just spit it out, Charity.”
“I was in the bathroom yesterday. It was about thirty minutes after lunch.”
When I said walk and talk, I really meant gush whatever the heck is so important and sprint. I guess I should have been clearer. “O…kay.” I snap my fingers. “Get to the point, Charity.”
“I heard her gagging, then vomit when I walked in. She was the only one in there, so I know it was her.”
My feet freeze, refusing to budge another step. Charity’s head jerks forward, then she backs up a few steps, I guess not realizing I’d stopped while she kept walking.
“Holden?”
“That’s what’s so important?” I ask Charity even though the reality is there’s nothing more pertinent than this. Vi acted completely normal after I caught her a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it was a front. What if it was too normal? My chest aches. It’s been two weeks since I caught her in the bathroom with her finger
down her throat.
“Yeah.” Charity nods. “When she came out, she looked shocked to see me. Like she was trying to hide something. I tried to talk to her, but she put her hand up before walking around me and back into the hall. I watched her go back across the hall to her class.”
“So?”
“So, she didn’t leave school yesterday, and she was back today. She clearly wasn’t sick, Holden.”
My eyes narrow. I use Vi’s words to me from weeks ago. “She had an AP psych test yesterday and an AP geography test today. There’s no way she would have gone to the office after puking and missed those.” The AP geography test I made up on my own.
Charity is a smart girl. They’re both in advanced classes. But since Violet is a year younger than us, they’re just not in the same ones. There’s no way Charity should know what day tests are on. Hopefully. “Anyway, if she had a stomach virus, I’m sure I’d be feeling sick by now. It’s nothing to worry about. She was probably just nervous.” There has to be a reasonable explanation. But what if there isn’t?
Charity eyes me speculatively. “Ri-ght.” She’s known me for a long time. I’m pretty sure she’s looking straight through me, through the lie I just told. “I know she’s your sister, and I shouldn’t say anything bad.”
I bite down, my jaw tightening. “No, you definitely shouldn’t. But I have a feeling you’re going to do it anyway.” I really should be walking to class, but my chest is still at war with itself regarding the news that Violet got sick in the bathroom after she ate yesterday. And that she got sick in our bathroom two weeks ago after breakfast. And that both times, I think she made herself puke. My stomach starts to roll violently at the mere thought.
“She’s so skinny, Holden.”
My blood pumps through my body, pulsating and whooshing in my ears. “She’s always been skinny, Charity. I gotta go.” Yeah, she pissed me off. She should have just kept her mouth shut. Maybe this is the kind of crap that makes girls be mean to each other. Busybodies sticking their noses in crap, crap they shouldn’t sniff because it’s none of their business. A guy would never want to sniff another guy’s crap. We’re good with keeping to ourselves, minding our business.
With that, I turn my back and walk in the complete opposite direction of my class as the tardy bell causes me to jump. The only place I can think to go to save myself from this situation, to get some time to clear my head and figure out what to do with this information, is the clinic.
I’m surprised I even know where it is because I’ve never been there. In fact, I’ve had perfect attendance since kindergarten. I don’t get sick, which is why Charity probably didn’t buy the whole, I’d be sick too excuse. Not sure how I managed to get an immune system made of steel. It’s just another way, though, that Vi and I differ, how she’s able to garner attention while I’m brushed away because I can take care of myself. She catches everything.
I catch nothing.
Is it possible she’s sick? Yeah, but it seems odd that she’s thrown up twice in a two-week period. Around meal times. The first time I caught her red-handed. Charity didn’t see her making herself sick. Maybe her nerves are just a mess. The only residual effects from her being a preemie has been constant struggle to maintain her weight and reflux, which she takes medicine for. She rarely complains about that unless she forgets a dose or the strength needs to be adjusted. Maybe that’s all this is. She needs more medicine.
There’s no way I can sit through classes and learn anything or participate. There’s this overwhelming feeling that Violet is in trouble, and I can’t shake it. The look in her blue eyes as she pleaded and begged me not to tell Mom haunts me. If she didn’t have something to hide, why would she care if I told Mom? Because Mom can be overbearing and suffocating when she thinks Violet is sick. I need time to think this through. If I tattle on her, she’s going to be pissed. In fact, I may never get to use my bathroom again. She’ll probably stomp on all my toothbrushes without telling me. I cringe at the thought of her doing something worse than that. Like peeing on it or something. My stomach rolls, and I’m not sure if it’s over the thought of Violet’s revenge or concern for her.
Walking into the office, past the front desk, I act like I know where I’m going, but really I’m just sticking my head around every corner until I finally find the room I’m looking for. The bed covered in blue leather was a dead giveaway. A fairly young girl is sitting at the desk. It’s like they wanted to see how much furniture they could cram into a closet. If someone was sick, I’m not sure this space would make them feel much better. It’s making me claustrophobic, and I’m not even afraid of small areas.
I clear my throat, not wanting to startle her. Dang, is she a student? If not, she could sure pass for one. Her natural strawberry blond wavy hair cascades down her perfectly sized tits. My eyes stay there a moment too long. She glances up at me, and her eyes are surprisingly not blue like most blondes’. They’re brown. Her skin isn’t fair, either. It looks like it’s been kissed by the sun. “Uh…” I swallow, trying to remember what I was going to say. It’s probably a good thing they have her shoved in this closet and not teaching in front of a classroom full of horny boys. Although, it’s not fair a face this pretty is hidden.
She smiles. “Do you need something?” she asks, her voice much sweeter than I expected. Although, I’m not sure what I expected. She exceeds everything I could have imagined in a clinic worker. I’m surprised there aren’t a butt load of guys up here faking illnesses. Illnesses of their cocks, asking if she would touch them and make sure they are okay.
Shaking my head, I push all these crazy thoughts out of my head before I get myself in a heap of trouble. “I am not feeling well. My stomach hurts.” I blow out a breath. “Think I need to go home.” I assume that’s how this works, right? I go to the clinic, profess my illness, and ask to be excused. I’d just skip, but that’d get me grounded. And if I get grounded, I won’t be able to hang out with Amie, Brody, and Cammie, pretending my world doesn’t revolve around Camellia Spencer. This is the perfect way for me to get out of my tardy and then some.
Pretty smart if I do say so myself.
I nearly smile, but remember I’m supposed to be miserable.
She nods. “By all means keep your distance. There’s a nasty bug going around. Did you drive or does someone need to come get you?” A bug going around. Huh. What if Vi just had a touch of that? What if Charity is just stirring up crap? I shouldn’t be leaving. Instead, I should be snatching Vi as soon as she leaves her class into an empty hall and interrogating her. Or maybe I should just ask to stay in the clinic a little longer with Ms…I glance at the name plate on the outside of the door. Mrs. Miller. Married. Of course she is.
But it’s just that easy to leave? My curiosity is piqued. Surely not. “I drove.”
“Just sign yourself out, then. Unless you want to lie down for a bit and see if you feel better, which you’re welcome to do.”
Crap. “I…uh…” I should stay and rest, enjoy the eye candy, and take an excuse back to class. Violet will need a ride home. But before I can do anything else, the words tumble out of my mouth. “It’s just getting worse. I don’t think resting will help.”
Does it count as a lie if I’m talking about Vi instead of me?
“So, where do I sign out?”
She stares at me like I’ve grown three heads. Or maybe just two. “Attendance.”
I nod as a small smile emerges. “Thanks,” I mutter, not moving.
Mrs. Miller analyzes me. “Is there something else I can help you with?”
“Attendance is…” I point, using both my hands in different directions. “Which way?”
Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes. “Just go and stop playing games before I send you back to class.”
Putting my palms up in protest, I slowly back away. “I have perfect attendance. I don’t know where it is. Swear.”
She does this half laugh that doesn’t convince me she believes me. “To the left.�
�
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Making my way in the direction she instructed, I realize it’s not even lunch, though, so this is going to ruin my perfect record. But in the grand scheme of life, I’m not sure anyone is going to care that I didn’t miss school. They’ll probably pity me for having not had the experience of skipping a class to do something reckless. You never hear people talk about how glad they are they attended every minute of school. It’s the crazy stories of mischief that get told for generations. My mom told me once about how her brother put smoke bombs in his school bathroom. He barely got suspended for that. If we did that now, we’d probably get arrested for being a terrorist. So, Uncle Sully probably isn’t the best influence, but he’s hilarious, and he’s been trying to corrupt me my entire life.
Less than ten minutes later, I’m pulling into my driveway. It’s still baffling for me how easy it was to bust out of the prison confines of school. Pressing the garage door opener, I pull my car into my bay, one of six spots. Two are for the RV. There’s a spot already filled with Violet’s black Beamer. She can only drive with a parent. And then, there are two spots for Mom and Dad. Before I can even cut the ignition, the garage door slings open. Mom’s standing there, her head tilted and her face scrunched together. Swallowing, I pull the keys and get out.
She doesn’t even let me explain before she lights into me. “Holden Masters, you better have a good reason for being home this early in the morning without so much as a call from the school to ask if it’s okay.”
Pursing my lips together, I give her a quick look as I walk past her. “We need to talk.”
“It couldn’t have waited until after school? Where’s your sister?”
“No. And at school.”
I pull a chair out and plop down, tossing my keys on the table. I spread my legs in an attempt to relax myself and take a deep breath. “Mom…”
