Very Wicked Things

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  I was a criminal.

  I trudged to my locker and Cuba was already there, leaning against it, his eyes skimming through the crowd, as if he were looking for someone.

  I didn’t fool myself into thinking it was me.

  Sweat immediately popped out all over my body.

  Would he speak to me today or would we resume our stand-off?

  And then I got dizzy at the thought of him finding out I was dealing dope.

  His eyes landed on me and stayed, skating over my yellow and navy argyle printed tights and blue miniskirt. I’d paired it with a pair of neon yellow two inch heels from Heather-Lynn’s closet. A throw back from the sixties, they were a tad clunky, but I’d wear anything.

  “You’re a fashion disaster, you know that?” he said with a small smile when I opened my locker.

  “Not a blind slut?”

  He paled. “Shit. I’m sorry for saying that.”

  I shrugged. “You have to admit, my outfits do make it hard not to look, huh?”

  He did a double-take at my remark, and I couldn’t have made it any plainer to him. But, he let it go.

  “Did the Mercedes come back? Or the men?” he inquired, eyes intent on my face.

  I blinked, racking my brain for what to tell him.

  Here’s the thing, last night I’d lain in bed after leaving the warehouse, debating on whether or not I could ask Cuba for the money. I was tempted to, but telling him meant I’d have to explain I was the unwanted child of a mobster and his whore. Yet, at the end of the day, I could swallow my pride and reveal my secrets for Sarah. But, on the other hand, Cuba didn’t get my world. He’d never ransacked his house searching for food; he’d never walked the streets with a sock full of rocks; he’d never been cold. Scenarios flashed through my mind of him calling the police or perhaps even something as simple as telling his father who then called the police. I just didn’t trust him, not after last year.

  And most importantly, involving him might put him in serious danger. They were following me now.

  I sighed. No. I was on my own.

  I waved my hand. “Huge misunderstanding. Sarah woke up and explained the whole thing. She never borrowed the money. They actually had us confused with one of the renters.” Which could only be Heather-Lynn, but he didn’t know that. “So, we passed along their message this morning, and the person who borrowed the money is taking care of it. See, no biggie.”

  He nodded, a relieved expression on his face. “Cool. That’s good. But, if you need money or anything, I’m here. I can always ask my dad or—”

  I cringed and held my hand up. “Stop. Thank you for getting my car fixed and having it delivered to me. I appreciate that, but I’m making it, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, shifting from one foot to the next. His eyes darted around the hall.

  What was up with him?

  “How are you doing?” I asked, remembering Cara and his mother.

  “Anything is better than yesterday,” he said on a derisive laugh.

  I nibbled on my lips, dying to ask him where we stood. Did he want us to be friends? Was it possible?

  His shoulders flexed underneath his black knit shirt, and my eyes got tangled up on his roses and thorns that ran up his left arm. I knew exactly how far that tattoo went because I’d traced it with my fingers, kissed every inch of it with my mouth. Now, blood dripped from the thorns. Something new. And didn’t that thought just bring a world of regret. An entire year had passed between us, where he’d gotten new tattoos, been with other girls.

  He edged away from me slightly, as if he’d thought he’d been too close before. And I got it. I did. He’d seen a glimpse of how messed up my situation was in Ratcliffe. Maybe it was Sarah, maybe it was the wackiness of Heather-Lynn, and it damn sure was the fact I was familiar with shady people.

  Whatever small moment we’d shared in Sarah’s bedroom, it had evaporated.

  But, it was still Cuba, and we hadn’t even been talking at all until yesterday.

  Not knowing what to say, I twirled my hair over and over, looping the strands through my finger.

  He smiled sadly. “I dig the blue. I didn’t think I would.”

  Ah, small talk. Reserved for people who made you feel uncomfortable. Next, he’d comment about the…

  “I hear it’s going to snow,” he murmured. Bingo.

  The bell rang, giving us two minutes, and I felt a bit desperate, as if something important was slipping away from me. I opened my mouth to say something…I don’t know what…but clamped it shut.

  He seemed antsy as he straightened up from the wall, ready to leave. I had to force my hand from reaching out to him. Which was crazy.

  Something I didn’t intend to say came out. “Maybe we can get together sometime and talk.” I mentally groaned. Had I sorta-kinda asked him out?

  His eyes widened, and I caught a mix of emotions across his face, maybe pleasure, but then dismay as his mouth dipped.

  “Forget it. You’re right. Dumb idea. Talking is completely stupid and over-rated,” I said. “I mean, you have rowing coming up, and I have an audition, so yeah, I’m sure you’re too busy—” my idiocy stopped as Emma swooped in.

  “I’m never too busy for you, my love,” Emma chimed in, her perfume stinking up my air. She wrapped her arms around Cuba’s waist, her eyes now leveled on me, a look on her face that said, Back off, bitch.

  She rubbed his chest like she owned him. He pulled her hand away, his eyes still on me, as if he were sorry she’d interrupted us, but it was too late.

  I got angry. Mostly at myself.

  Why did he have this stupid power over me?

  He was a liar and a cheat and a user. Was I the kind of girl who got dumped by a guy but kept going back time and time again, begging for another chance? No, no, no. I was not that girl, had never been that girl. Because I had better things to do. Like ballet…and sell drugs.

  Wake up, Dovey, I yelled at myself. Dude is a loser.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. “See you in Lit,” I pronounced in a bright voice. I practically ran to class and to my seat, cursing myself for entertaining the idea of spending time with him. I sucked.

  Mrs. Weinstein made a bee line for me. “Dovey, I’m putting you with Sebastian today, and Emma with Cuba. You good with that?” she asked, a tentative tone to her voice.

  “Why?”

  She sighed. “You both seemed agitated yesterday, and after class, Cuba came to me and requested—”

  “Fine,” I said, getting up and going over to the desk Emma had had the day before.

  Cuba really couldn’t stand to be near me.

  The three of them came in together, of course. Cuba avoided my eyes, but Emma didn’t. She smirked and glared at me triumphantly. Whatever.

  Weinstein informed Sebastian I was his new partner, and he flashed me a big smile and a wink. He eased his muscular build in his seat, looking hot in his tight jeans and Vital Rejects shirt. Yep, another rich jock who had it all: looks, money, and charm. Great.

  “So, me and you babe?” he asked, hitting me with those ice blue eyes.

  I arched a brow. “Don’t call me babe, or I may kill you. It’s Dovey.”

  He chuckled. “Touché.”

  I decided to dig a little.

  “So, April Novak, huh? You and Cuba dating best friends. Very cute.”

  He grinned. “I don’t have a girlfriend if that’s what you’re asking. You interested in the position?”

  “Um, no.”

  He pretended to be crushed. Then he flung a glance at Emma. “And FYI, Emma is not Cuba’s girl.”

  Indeed. “She wants to be,” I commented under my breath.

  Even though I knew it wasn’t a good idea—when would I ever learn?—I cocked my head enough so that I could watch them. Emma had scooted her desk over to Cuba’s until they were situated side-by-side, their arms resting against each other as they kept their heads low and whispered. And his face…I don’t
know…it was just different from any of the other times I’d observed him with a girl. More soft, almost gentle. It pierced my heart. Because he’d been that way with me. That unbreakable gaze he was giving to her had belonged to me first, dammit.

  My hands bunched up, and I blinked rapidly, pushing back the emotion. Had he finally fallen in love? Was it really over between us? Because I’ll be honest, since yesterday when he’d looked at me, a tiny part of me had been toying with the idea—and there I go again. Being ridiculous. Get a grip, Dovey. He broke up with you. He’s moved on.

  In the background, Weistein mentioned something about Samuel Taylor Coleridge, so I followed Sebastian’s lead, turning to the same page he did, attempting to keep my eyes off Cuba. This class wasn’t for slackers.

  A few minutes later, Sebastian tapped his pencil against my head.

  “Ouch,” I said. “What was that for?”

  “I’ve been talking to you about this Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and you haven’t heard a word I said. Partners help each other, Tiny Dancer.”

  I ignored that and fumbled around with the book, trying to see where we were.

  I found it. “Yeah, I love this one. It’s where the old sailor kills an albatross and everyone on the ship gets upset.”

  He pointed his pencil at me. “We haven’t gotten to that part yet. You can’t fool me. Who were you thinking about in La La Land?”

  I cut my eyes at Cuba.

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s not into relationships. You know that, right?” he murmured, coming in closer so we could talk more privately. I leaned in.

  “Don’t care about him,” I said softly.

  He nodded. “No matter what your mouth says, the heart wants what the heart wants.”

  “And how do you know what my heart wants?”

  He grinned. “I got skills when it comes to relationships. Trust me. If it wasn’t for me, my bro never would have gotten with the love of his life.”

  I arched a brow. “Really? So you’re like Mr. Cupid?”

  He busted out with a guffaw. “I love that. Call me that from now on. I insist.”

  “You’re really full of yourself.” And I kinda liked it. And him. “Here’s the deal: you don’t call me Tiny Dancer, and I will call you Mr. Cupid.”

  He grinned and cocked an eyebrow. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  My lips twitched. “Maybe I already know it.”

  “How?”

  I shrugged. So not telling him how I like to listen in on convos.

  He continued, “I want you to come to the dance.”

  “I don’t date guys from BA.” Now.

  “I would love to take you out,” he flicked his eyes to Cuba, “but that guy would beat the shit out of me, so not gonna happen.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not true. There’s nothing between us but a rotten history.”

  “Ha. I saw him react to you this week when most stuff never fazes him. That guy can mow down the fastest quarterback and never miss a beat. You on the other hand, sent him off. Crazy that.”

  I shook my head. “He wouldn’t want me there.”

  He chuckled. “I do. I think you might be what he needs.” He arched his brows as if I should know what that meant.

  “Hmmmm, maybe you missed it, but out in the hall this morning, Emma had her hands all over Cuba. And I’m not interested anyway.”

  “Forget them. Just come and have fun. If you say yes, I’ll add you to the limo list. Only the sexy people get to ride,” he said, doing a goofy shoulder shimmy.

  I laughed. A party sounded like fun.

  But wait.

  I had a cache of drugs sitting in my dance bag for crying out loud. That was my priority, not Cuba and his party.

  “Earth to Dovey. Are. You. Coming. To. The. Dance?”

  “Were you not in this room when he went off on me? When he told me I was a curiosity to him? Hello?”

  He nodded. “And I saw what his face looked like when you left.”

  My breath caught. “How?”

  “Like you fucking slayed him.”

  Hope sprang up, but I slapped it down.

  “Whatever you think you saw—”

  “Dovey, he hung his head and wilted right there. I don’t know what happened between you two because I wasn’t at BA then, but he—”

  “Yesterday was the anniversary of the day his mom killed herself.”

  He straightened up, eyes wide. Apparently he hadn’t known. Or maybe he had but hadn’t realized it was the one year anniversary. It made me like him more.

  Because he was the kind of guy people didn’t gossip to.

  “And that’s what you saw, okay? Not some left over feeling for me. He made it plain how he feels about me, so let it go.” I put my finger on the poem. “Now, let’s see what happened to this poor albatross, shall we?”

  THE REST OF the school day dragged.

  The bathroom seemed to be the primo spot to sell drugs, so I hung out there in between classes, often staying long after the bell had rung. If I kept this up, my grades would suffer, and I might even be sent to the Headmaster for all my tardy slips. I cringed to think of how that would look on my transcripts for the ballet company.

  In between European History and Calculus, I psyched myself up and approached a senior girl in the bathroom. Rumor was she’d been kicked out of a private school out East for drug use, but had gotten clean and then come to BA. And, here I was, planning on sucking her back into the vortex of addiction.

  I waited until the restroom cleared out.

  “You wanna buy some blow?” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth as she looked in the mirror above the sink and applied her pink lipstick.

  She startled. “What did you say?”

  My mouth flapped open and shut as I tried to find the words.

  Don’t be a chicken. Just say it. Think of Sarah.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you? You look weird.”

  I swallowed. “You—you think it’s gonna snow?”

  She shrugged and turned back to the mirror. “I dunno. Maybe. I hope—”

  But I didn’t hear the rest because I ran out of that bathroom like I was possessed, dragging my dance bag with me.

  “I didn’t want something I needed. I wanted Dovey.”

  –Cuba

  I’M GOING TO be a father kept banging around in my head like a pinball.

  The thought made my hands clammy, and I wiped them on my jeans as I stood in the foyer at BA, waiting for Emma to sign out of school in the office. It was Friday, and she was headed to the OBGYN today to get the official confirmation. But I’d seen the pregnancy test stick she’d shown me.

  There was no doubt a baby was coming.

  I slumped down in one of the leather chairs and pulled out my phone, grimacing when I saw a message from my dad. He was coming home tonight, which meant I’d be telling him the good news. Hey dad, I know we don’t talk much anymore, but you’re going to be a grandfather. Surprise.

  Dovey’s smooth gait caught my attention as she walked down the hall. Dressed in a zebra print skirt and a tight shirt, she passed by the other students, her head bent. I wondered what she was thinking about. Was she remembering the night at her house this week when I’d confessed about Cara? I’d thought about that night a lot, and how good it had felt to have her arms around me. I felt like I couldn’t talk to her right now because of Emma. Fuck. It was frustrating the hell out of me…because we’d crossed a bridge this week, and I wanted to explore it.

  In Lit class this morning, I’d gotten annoyed with how she and Sebastian seemed to be hitting it off. They’d giggle at something, and friend or not, I’d wanted to yank him up out of his seat and pound his face. I was a douche for being jealous, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Now, I kept staring at her, willing her to see me. We’d always seemed to have this little connection between us, as if we could sense the other, but it didn’t work today. I sighed, wi
shing I could go up to her right now, pull her aside, maybe get her to leave and go outside so we could talk. Yeah, right, like that’s all I wanted to do to her.

  How in the hell had I avoided her for an entire year?

  Because my lust for her still burned white hot. And the love? Who the fuck knew.

  Whatever. It didn’t matter. I had Emma. I had responsibilities.

  But at least I felt better about the whole Barinsky thing since she’d told me it had been a big misunderstanding…

  “Okay, I’m off now,” Emma said, coming to a stop in front of me, blocking my view of Dovey.

  I blinked, letting go of Dovey. I had to.

  I stood. “I still don’t see why I can’t come with you.”

  She jangled her keys at her side. “Because you don’t need to miss class. You’d said you wanted to try to do better. You still have a chance at getting into Southern Methodist, remember?”

  I sighed. Yeah. At least, out of all of this, I’d made a conscious decision to wake the fuck up and improve my grades so I could get back on track with pre-med.

  But still. Emma was worrying me with her long face and the way her shoulders had seemed hunched over these past few days. She’d withdrawn, barely talking to anyone except me, and it worried me. It reminded me of my mother.

  “Text me if you need me,” I told her.

  She bit her lip. “It’s fine. I’ll tell you everything they say tonight.”

  I smiled, trying to be brave for the us both, when I felt anything but. “Let’s celebrate at dinner tonight, and then we’ll go tell your parents, okay?”

  She agreed and left, walking out the double doors. I watched her the entire way, wondering what our future was together. Was I ready to be tied to her for the rest of my life?

  I didn’t have a damn clue.

  “I took a pair of leather shoes, and turned them into a dream.”

  –Dovey

  FRIDAY ARRIVED, BRINGING with it the realization that tomorrow was D Day. I shuddered to think what Alexander would do if I didn’t have the drugs sold.