by Ava Harrison
“Get movin’, Lancaster. We don’t have all day,” I goad.
He smiles widely at that before jetting to the left and effectively losing me. I go after him, albeit slowly, but eventually, I’m standing right in front of him, getting right up in his face, arms stretched above my head. I’m so close I can smell the perspiration mixed with his deodorant. As much as I don’t want to admit it, the scent is intoxicating.
The boys must have already been playing because there’s a sheen of sweat lining his forehead. He can’t possibly be already sweating. He swipes it away while dribbling with his right hand, then makes a move and dribbles the ball underneath his leg.
Such a showoff.
I’m breathing heavily after the smallest movement. I barely even had to walk half the court and I’m ready to call it quits, but that’s not going to happen.
Too much damn pride has me moving faster than I have in months to try to guard him.
Pierce loses me in a moment of weakness, shoots a layup, and scores a basket. The boys cheer and I moan in frustration. It still surprises me that Pierce Lancaster is actually athletic.
I thought the only sport he participates in is beer Olympics. I should know; I’ve been standing right next to him for years. Those days are over for me. But what about him? What does he do after he leaves here? Is he still hitting up the clubs until all hours of the morning? He couldn’t possibly. If he were still doing that, he’d never make it here this early in the morning. I’ve been there and know how grim the mornings after are.
I need to stop being so judgmental. I want to hate Pierce, but I have to remind myself it’s not his pastimes I hate. It’s the way he treated me. I was no better in regard to the party life. I can’t fault him for that. My brush with death helped me, and if not for that, I might still be doing the same things.
Taking the two steps I need to, I’m back in front of him, arms up in the air. Everything hurts, but instead of stopping, I push through the pain and back my approach again to block him.
“Linds, you’re so cute, thinking you can actually stop me,” Pierce badgers me.
“I’ll do more than stop you. I’m going to steal the ball from you,” I promise.
Don’t do this, my inner voice screams. I can barely walk as is but wiping the smug look off his face sounds too good to me, so I do what I know I shouldn’t, I try, more determined than ever to keep that promise. I won’t push myself too hard. I’ll just block him, no running.
He smirks, dribbling two times. Despite everything inside me screaming at me to stand still when I see my chance I take it. Consequences be damned. I swipe the ball out from under him, square up and shoot the ball. It hits the rim and goes around and around. There’s a collective gasp as everyone watches. My hands are clenched and excitement courses through me. But at the last second, it falls out, not making the point.
“Better luck next time, sport.”
I sneer, pissed I missed that shot. I go to square up with him again, but the muscles in my legs tighten painfully. I fall forward, clenching my calf.
Pierce comes to my side. “Lindsey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, not wanting anyone to see this part of me. I’m tired of being in pain, tired of everyone looking at me with their sad eyes. I’m strong. I’m a survivor, and they’d do best to remember that.
“If you need to, go get some ice. We can work on drills,” Pierce suggests.
“I said I’m fine.” The words snap out of me, echoing off the high gym walls.
Pierce steps back, eyes wide. “You heard her, guys. On the line. We’re going to work on some drills.”
As they walk away, everything in me crumbles, all of the fight leaving my body. He’s right, and Alison’s words from earlier come back to me. Don’t overdo it. Clearly, I have. I stand up straight and shake it off, then walk with a slight limp back to the office, where I spend the rest of the session hiding and licking my wounds.
A sound from the hallway has me looking up from my computer. I’ve been here for the last thirty minutes sulking and distracting myself working on a business plan. Ideas have been playing in my brain ever since I saw Olivia. The need to do more to help these kids runs through my mind day and night. But what? What should I do? I think about how Olivia is helping models, protecting them. That’s what I want to do. I want to help girls. I want to help the boys too.
“Are you okay? I just wanted to check on you,” Pierce says as he enters the office where I’m sitting.
“I’m fine,” I hiss back, annoyed that he interrupted me, annoyed that he reminds me of what an idiot I made myself look like by hurting myself again. He keeps coming over. I want to tell him to leave, but he doesn’t deserve my malice. It’s not his fault I hurt myself.
He walks up to where my leg is propped on the desk. His hand reaches out and touches the material of my pants. My breath hitches. He’s too close to me. He can’t touch me like that. If he does . . .
“Let me see.” He moves to lift the hem of my pants, but I can’t let him. He can’t see my scars. Not up close and personal like this.
“Stop. Don’t touch me,” I whisper, and he takes a step back.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know, I’m just . . .” I bite my lip. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
He assesses me for a minute before he inclines his head down and then nods and walks away.
God I’m a bitch.
It’s better this way.
You can’t let him in.
Can you?
An hour later Carson is standing at my door. “Just a reminder that next week is the all-staff workshop. Make sure you put it in your calendar.”
I don’t look up from my papers. I simply tip my head down, telling him without words that I heard him.
“See you later, Lindsey,” he calls from the doorway.
I start packing up my stuff to get home.
“Miss Lindsey? Can I talk to you?” Xavier says from the doorway. I look up and smile.
“Of course. Come in.” I wave to the chair across from me. “Sit down.”
He looks nervous, which makes my stomach turn. Something is wrong, I can feel it.
“I have some trouble going on at school and I need advice.”
I frown, wondering where this could be going.
“What kind of trouble?” I ask, hoping to God it’s not the kind that will land him in juvie. He’s been one of the best turnarounds I’ve seen since working here. The first day he came to the center he was all sorts of trouble, but the kid sitting across from me is a different person from that day and I hope to hell he isn’t going backward.
“My older brother is a dealer for one of the gangs. He then, in turn, supplies drugs to smaller dealers at my school, but apparently, he stiffed the big dealer.” His eyes are lowered to the desk, not looking at me.
“What does that have to do with you?”
“Nothing, but they want revenge and they see me as a way to get it.” When he lifts his head, I can see how scared he is, and it breaks me. This is the problem for most of our kids. Even if they attempt to better their lives, their families have a way of pulling them back into trouble.
“Have you spoken to your principal or your teachers?”
“Yeah, but this isn’t a new thing, Miss Lindsey. They hear the stuff every day, and they rarely ever do anything about it.” His shoulders slouch forward and he hangs his head down.
I’ve heard the stories about inner-city schools. Teachers have their hands tied behind their backs most days. They’re lucky to avoid gang violence, let alone take on every kid’s issues individually. Our system has royally fucked these kids. There’s no protection. No getting out without the help of our program and others like it.
“Maybe we should go to the police,” I suggest.
“No,” he says, surging to his feet. “That will make everything worse.”
I figured that would be his answer. It always is with these kids.
Getting the police involved will only bring the trouble right to his door. “I don’t know how to help you if you’re not willing to tell someone who’ll do something about it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Nobody will do anything about it and I’m scared.”
My stomach drops at the sincerity and fear in his eyes. I come around the desk and, forgetting all about rules, bring Xavier into a tight hug. These boys have seen so much in their short lives and it makes me sick. No child should fear for their safety going to school, yet they do every day.
I feel helpless in this moment, knowing there’s nothing I can do. This is why we need funding. This kind of center needs to transition to schools, to give kids who want to break away from those types of issues, a safe haven. Otherwise, we’re sending them to the wolves every day.
“If they give you any more problems, please come see me, okay? I’ll figure out something to help you. Whatever it takes.”
“Thanks, Miss Lindsey,” he says, hugging me once more and continuing to break my heart in the process.
I don’t sleep that night, anxiety building for Xavier. The excruciating pain in my leg doesn’t help the cause, and the thought of Pierce and the concern that played on his face, the way he came to me to help, what does it mean?
Nope, no sleep for me.
It’s got to suck to be in constant pain. I saw Lindsey’s face today, and she definitely was hurting. I might not feel physical pain, but I do understand not wanting to appear weak. I never want to appear weak in front of my family. When they’re around, an extra level of personal armor is needed. Kind of like Lindsey today. I don’t fault her for snapping at me. If the roles were reversed, it would have been the same. I’d snap. How could you not?
Pride.
It’s an ugly beast that likes to rear its head.
Regardless of the reason, it sucks to know I’m trying and she keeps pushing me away. It’s fucking exhausting to keep at it. But I’m not willing to give up. Yeah, sure, the chances of us fucking again are slim even if she wants me, which was evident in the kiss, but right now I’d settle for friendship.
Sounds lame. But it’s true. She’s a cool girl, and to be honest, it’s obvious we’re more alike than I’d originally realized. It would be nice to have a friend. Even now it’d be a relief to have someone to keep distracted because a part of me is itching to go out and get fucked-up. Instead, I sit on my couch, pull out my vape and smoke some pot. It will certainly take the edge off the nervous energy coursing through me on wanting to break down Lindsey’s walls.
My apartment is eerie as fuck right now. It’s dark out regardless of the time. It’s not even five p.m., but a storm is brewing. The sky is pitch-black from the clouds hovering above the city, and at any moment it will open and pour torrential waters upon us. It’s the perfect excuse I need to not go out and chase temptation.
I take a deep inhale. This would certainly piss off Carson and Lindsey. Lindsey more so, but she’s not here and she’ll never know. Getting high isn’t what she’d deem a smart move for a “reformed party boy,” but am I really reformed?
Each hit calms me to not care. Within the next thirty minutes, I’m high as fuck, loving life and not caring about any problem at all. My phone starts ringing beside me.
Josie.
Fucking Josie.
She’s been calling nonstop since we went out and hooked up. Dumb move. Really dumb leading her on. Now I have to let her down easy, that I don’t want her. She’s not the girl I want. I want someone else. A fiery brunette who gives as hard as she takes. I really want Lindsey.
The thought has me sobering.
I don’t just want friendship with her. No, the desire to sink into her again is what consumes my thoughts.
Fuck.
That’s exactly what needs to be done. Feel her around me. Thrusting in and out of her tight body. Before I can think twice, I’m gripping myself in the palm of my right hand. Fisting myself from root to tip. My eyes slam shut and all I see is her. I’m so high it’s almost as if she’s actually here. Stroking me with her hand. Licking the tip. All the muscles in my body tighten. And then in a haze that threatens to knock me unconscious I come.
Well, shit. That sobered my ass up.
Looking at the clock, I realize it’s now after seven. How much time had I lost already in drugs? Pot doesn’t count. Sure it does. Try telling Lindsey that.
I shake off the thoughts and move to clean up the mess I’ve made. Now what do I do? Paint.
When all else fails, paint.
With a steady stride, I make my way into my studio, pull out a new canvas, and start to paint. I paint her. The girl is making my mind mush. She’s tearing through my walls. I paint her until my hands are numb. Until my fingers want to bleed. I paint until all I feel is gone and I’m lost in my art. In my work. In my own broken mind and how I view everything.
When I’m done, I step back, sweat dripping off my brow.
It’s beautiful
She’s beautiful.
I grab her and then I place her away to dry. Hidden from the rest. She shouldn’t be tainted by my other paintings.
I can barely keep my eyes open as I make my way to my bed. The phone rings again. This time it’s Trey.
Voicemail.
I don’t need that tonight. Not when her kiss lingers in my mind, the thought of her body around me still playing behind my lids.
Instead of getting in bed, I go back to my studio.
I need to paint again.
Tomorrow I’ll win her over.
Tomorrow I’ll do what I need to do.
I didn’t do better. Instead, I’m sprinting into Polaris, late.
Very late.
I should have called, but I’d fallen asleep in my studio painting all night and forgot to charge my phone. If that’s not bad enough, I woke up so late today that it’s actually noon.
It’s not unlike me to wake at noon on the weekend, or after a night of partying, but recently, I’ve tried to be responsible. Other than the one mistake weeks ago I’ve been on time, worked hard, and kept my nose clean . . . pun intended. The worst part is it’s damning how I look. When I walk into Carson’s office, it’s empty and I head to the gymnasium to see if he’s there.
Just as I suspected, he is. He’s stepped in to practice my drills since I’m not here. God, if it wasn’t bad before now, I really feel like shit.
“Hey, man. Sorry I’m late. I-I . . .” What do I say? I fell asleep late. No matter the excuse, the damage is done. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
He looks me up and down and just shakes his head. It looks bad. It would take an idiot not to see I haven’t showered. Haven’t shaved. The scruff on my face is longer than normal, and I probably smell.
“You got this now?” he asks. “Is there any reason you’d need me to stay?” Are you hungover, he’s asking?
“Nope. I’m good. Right as rain.”
He narrows his eyes at me before deciding in his head that I’m either sober or not hungover enough to be a problem. The need and desire to defend myself is real, but weighing the options, I know staying quiet is my better bet.
“If you need me, holler.” With that, he walks out the door and I’m left with Xavier, Christopher, and Marcus. We decide after running suicide drills to play a game of two on two.
Hours later I’m ready to leave, and I’m happy there was no incident after my late arrival. I expected Carson to pull me into his office eventually, but I was pleasantly surprised. Still, no matter the fact Carson never called me into his office, I know I need to talk to him. Squaring my shoulders, it’s time to own my mistake. As my hand touches the knob to open the door, Lindsey’s voice echoes through the hall.
“Classic Pierce. Always irresponsible and here I thought I was wrong. That maybe there was more to him than he let on, but I guess not. Maybe he should go, Carson.”
My fist clenches.
What the actual fuck?
Something ins
ide of me snaps. I thought we’d reached an accord. That maybe people would see me. The real me. That maybe Lindsey would see past the facade that was draped over me every day of my life. But no. Like everyone, she thinks I’m shit.
And I guess if everyone thinks that, it must be true.
Turning on my heel, I storm for the exit instead. Fuck this shit. By the time I land in my apartment I’m seething. By the time my phone rings I’m already drunk.
“Trey.”
“What you doing?”
“Getting high.” I laugh.
“Alone?”
“Yep.”
“That’s the definition of lame.”
“Got a better idea?” After my day at Polaris, after hearing Lindsey bash me, I deserve a night off.
“You know it. Linc and I are going out.”
“Tell me the deets. Where’s the party at?”
“Same place as the last time I saw your lame ass.”
“Cool. I’ll be there.”
He hangs up and I take another hit. This is probably a bad idea, but right now, as fucked-up in the head as I am, I can’t find it in me to care.
Hours later, I’m high as a kite. Drunk off my ass and barely able to stand. Fuck. I need to go home.
Stumbling into the street, I hail a cab and get in. I see there’s a text from Linc.
Linc: Where did you go?”
I try to type back a response, but every word comes out wrong, as I can barely see straight.
Me: mthe can
Linc: What?
Me: can
I try to type again and get annoyed and swipe through my contacts to hit his name.
“Too fucked to typpppe,” I mumble out, the words sounding a mess.
“Pierce, is that you?”
Fuck.
I slam my finger down on the end button. That was not Linc. Looking back down, I see who I called. Oh fuck.
The phone rings back. Fuck. Did I really just tell Lindsey how fucked-up I was? Now what? Shit, shit, shit.
Send to voicemail.
Ring.
Ring.
