Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

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  It was true that Nick really didn't have to work all that hard at anything he did, but he couldn't just go mentally comatose, either, and the incident with Amanda beneath the bleachers had taught him that he couldn't openly flaunt his disregard for the school. Not so blatantly.

  Since he had been performing so badly before, doing the bare minimum now accorded him praise. Nick thought it was a little pathetic how eagerly the teachers wanted to take credit for his successes, each thinking that they were the one to inspire change, not realizing that it was his talk with Jay that had led him to his epiphany. She had to struggle; he didn't—but there was a happy medium, and he found that he could bargain his way out of bad grades more easily if he put down a little collateral upfront. So he turned in his half-assed work and put on a good face for it, and he coasted his way through classes with a low B-average and no parental phone calls.

  When he wasn't in school, he was either swimming, out with friends, or going to parties. But the parties were starting to feel more like work now because the girls wouldn't leave him alone. His friends all gave him a hard time about it and he could tell they were jealous from the way they teased him. He played it off, but the whole thing really annoyed him. He wasn't interested in the attention, especially not from a girl who thought he'd get off on her vapid act.

  But it was like the meaner he was to them, the more the girls wanted to him. Clinging to his arm, touching his chest, telling them where they'd be on Saturdays, trying to sit in his fucking lap. He let them do it, and sometimes he let them do more, but the thought of dating any of them, or fucking any of them, left him feeling strangely chilled.

  “Dude,” said Jake. “Did you see Quentin Ho hanging all over Justine? What's with that?”

  “Why?” Nick asked absently, staring off thoughtfully into space, although of course, he'd noticed, too. Jay didn't smile like that much anymore. “You jealous?”

  “Fucking Quentin,” Jake said in disgust. “What a fucking nerd.”

  “Jay's a nerd.” Nick glanced at him in annoyance, not sure why the conversation was pissing him off so much. “I guess it's a match made in heaven.”

  “Yeah, but she's a hot nerd. It's different. What?” Jake asked, flinching when Nick casually lifted his hand. “I was being respectful. Don't fucking hit me, man.”

  Nick maintained eye contact for a moment before letting the hand rake harmlessly through his hair, hiding his sneer when he saw his friend relax. “Thank God it's Friday. I'm so sick of this fucking hole.”

  “Hey,” said Dave. “Nick. I'm having a party at my house tomorrow. You should come.”

  “Whatever. Maybe I'll show up. I don't have anything else to do and my stepmom's driving me fucking crazy.”

  “Invite your sister,” Dave suggested.

  “Jay doesn't go to parties.”

  “Ask her.” Dave smiled. “Maybe she'll surprise you.”

  “I doubt it.” Nick slammed his empty soda can in the trash. “She's as predictable as a clock.”

  He spaced out through English—it was all about poetry, sappy stuff—and when he met Jay in the South Quad, he found himself feeling strangely uncomfortable as she walked up, looking like a poster child for the school in her perfectly-worn uniform and her too-serious face. Why didn't she smile more at home? She was so much prettier when she did.

  She glanced at him as he slid into the front seat of her little Honda. She could have gotten a Mercedes and instead she got a fucking Civic, and if that wasn't just Jay in a nutshell, he wasn't sure what was. He wondered, a little bitterly, what Quentin thought of her fucking joke of a car.

  “Can you turn that off?” he asked, after a moment. Jay was playing No Doubt on the radio and the bright, poppy ska music was annoying him. “I have a fucking headache.”

  “Wow,” said Jay, glancing at him. “That's cool.”

  “What is?” he snapped.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I thought you had eardrums of steel, Metal Boy.”

  “Well, I don't,” he said, glaring at her. “So either turn it off, or I will.”

  “Not your car, dude. My car, my rules.” But she reached over and switched the music off, just like he knew she would. Her bracelet rattled and he looked at it. The silver was all scratched.

  “That's trashed,” he said, after a moment. “Why don't you throw it out and get a new one?”

  Jay pulled her hand away. “To remind myself,” she said, after a pause.

  “Of what?”

  “To rely on myself.”

  Nick shook his head. “The bracelet tells you to do that? Right. Weirdo.”

  “Toad.”

  Nick stared ahead, watching the lines of the dividers slip beneath the wheels until he felt a little nauseous. “Dave Byron's having a party on Saturday. He invited us both. Me and you.”

  “I don't go to parties.”

  “Yeah, I know. I told him that.”

  “Oh my God, why? Do you want me to sound like a loser?”

  “Funny how you say that like you think it's hard to do.”

  “God, you're such an ass.” Without taking her eyes off the road, she said, “Maybe I will go. I can sit around and talk big and embarrass you in front of all your friends for a change.”

  “Yeah, you're so embarrassing. Such a little goody-goody, beloved by all. What are you going to do? You couldn't make a tomato turn red.” Nick rolled his eyes. “I don't care what anyone thinks of me—but you do. Too much. The only one you're going to embarrass at that party if you try, blue jay, is yourself. You're such a prude.”

  Jay was silent for a moment. “Is that really how you see me?”

  “It's how everyone sees you,” he said. “It's how you are.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Nick pulled on a white T-shirt and a leather jacket to go with his acid-washed jeans. He tried to straight out his hair but as usual, it refused to lie flat, so he gelled it into intentional disarray. Downstairs, he could hear shouting and knew, with a pulse of irritation, that it was Jay's mother.

  What now? He threw down the comb, making it bounce. Fucking menopause?

  He shoved his wallet and phone into his back pocket and began walking slowly through the den, craning his neck to hear. “—can't wear that,” the step-bitch was saying. “It makes you look like you have mannish shoulders, baby. You should let me take you shopping. We can get you some new clothes. I know what's best for your figure.”

  “Well, it's too late to change now,” said Jay, sounding upset. “Thanks a lot for letting me know earlier when I actually had time to change.”

  Oh, for fuck's sake, thought Nick.

  He saw Danielle first. She was wearing a tight pair of jeans and a leopard-print top that looked cheap but probably wasn't. He'd heard his dad griping about her credit card bills. Not that money was an issue, but he wanted his women to look good, and Danielle did not look good.

  Nick allowed his lip to curl as he looked at her, and then he turned and saw Jay.

  She was wearing blue stonewashed jeans and a red off-the-shoulder top that made her skin look like it was infused with cinnamon. He'd never seen her wear it before, didn't even know she had clothes like that. It didn't make her shoulders look mannish at all. She looked like a fine-boned doll, and the way the fabric pulled seamlessly across her breasts made him realize, with a lurch, that she wasn't wearing a bra.

  Nick blinked and looked away. “She looks fine. All the girls dress like that.”

  “Like you know anything about it.” The step-bitch's eyes flicked over him scornfully. “Men don't know anything about fashion.”

  I know you're a jealous whore. The thought surfaced without warning, gleaming sharply. That's what this was. All those comments, sneaking into her room, stealing her clothes. Danielle was constantly going after Jay because Jay was gorgeous and her mother was jealous as fuck.

  It was so obvious, he couldn't believe it had never occurred to him before.

&nb
sp; He let out a rough laugh that made both women stare at him. “God,” he said. “This is too fucking stupid. Come on, Jay. We're going.”

  Jay glanced at her mother uncertainly and hitched up her purse. “Bye, Mom. Don't wait up.”

  The ride in the car was silent as Jay navigated the dark local roads. Dave lived out in the hills in a nice house—although not as nice as theirs. Nick glanced over at Jay in profile. She was wearing big hoop earrings and a lip gloss that smelled like sugar. He could smell it from here.

  “What's with the outfit? You look like you're trying to be Angela.”

  She shot him a hostile, defiant look. “Well, I wouldn't look like a prude who cares too much about what everyone thinks of me.”

  “So you care what I think of you.” He arched his eyebrows. “Really disproving my point.”

  “Screw off,” she said, so seethingly that he was startled into laughing.

  After a few minutes, he said, “Why do you let that psycho bitch bully you?”

  “Angela?”

  “No, although her too,” he added distantly. “I mean, your mom.”

  “I don't. But you can't argue with her. With either of them. You'll never change their minds.”

  “She's absolutely jealous of you, you know.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

  “My mom?” Jay's earrings jangled as she turned her head. “Why?”

  “Because you're prettier than she is. That's why she's always doing the shit you hate. Pinching you. Mentioning how tall you are. Telling you to wear more makeup. She only tells you to change when you look good.” Nick glanced at his phone as it buzzed. Dave texting him, Nick, where are you, man? Is your sister coming? “She's a deluded old hag.”

  Yeah, he typed out. We're on our way.

  “She's my mom.” Jay paused. “She's all I have.”

  “That doesn't mean she wants the best for you.”

  “Does your dad do that?” she asked abruptly. “Comment on what you do? How you look? Make you feel bad about yourself?”

  “He doesn't care what I do or how I look,” said Nick. “As long as I don't embarrass him, land myself in jail, or get the wrong girl pregnant, I'm golden.”

  “Standards,” said Jay.

  “It is what it is,” said Nick. “It's different because you're a girl.”

  The party was already in motion when Jay pulled up in her little Honda. Kids were out front, sprawled on the lawn and chatting. It was busier inside where food had been set out and someone had erected a game of beer pong on the kitchen table. Someone shouted his name and Nick looked up. By the time he looked back around, Jay had already disappeared.

  “Nick. My man. Here, enjoy.” Someone pressed something into his hand.

  A joint? No, he didn't want that. He'd played around with pot before and didn't like how floaty and disconnected it had made him feel. Setting it on the counter, he helped himself to a beer from an open cooler while wandering around the house.

  Coolio's “Rolling with My Homies” was playing and the air seemed to be flavored with the skunky smell of pot, sweat, booze, and too much perfume. He loitered for so long that the song on the mixed CD changed to Juvenile's “Back That Thang Up,” the rap indecipherable and monotonous over the sound of the beat and the violins.

  Amanda found him in the living room and started dancing with him, shaking her torso with her arms over her head, spinning around so her backside was pressed against his hips. Nick obligingly put his hands on her hips, looking around and wondering if there was anything more exciting going on upstairs, when he caught a flash of red. Jay was dancing with Michael Valdez, and Michael had his hands on the bare skin of her waist. She was swaying in his arms with the same careless ease as when she danced alone in her room.

  The song changed to “Dirrty” and Jay, obviously a little drunk, stumbled next to Jordan. Nick knew the two of them took Modern Dance together and the two of them were dancing with a couple of the other girls now while some of her friends started clapping and chanting, “Go Jay! Go Jay!” She didn't even seem to realize that she was making a total fool of herself.

  “Ugh,” said Amanda, following his glance. “What show-offs.”

  That's funny, thought Nick. Coming from you.

  Persisting, Amanda said, “Isn't that your stepsister, Jay?”

  “Yeah,” said Nick, looking over again. She was holding an empty shot glass. “She doesn't drink much.”

  “Want to go upstairs where it's quieter?”

  “Not really,” he said coolly. “I'm not looking to hook up. I'm here to have a good time.”

  Ignoring the stung look on her face, Nick eased out of her embrace and slipped outside where the air was cooler. There were a couple people in the pool but a cold wind had picked up and only the hot tub was packed, mostly with seniors. He recognized a few of Jay's friends—Angela, Clary, and two guys whose names he didn't know. The Lacoste Mafia, he thought, with a snort. Suits them.

  He stayed where he was, leaning against the big oak tree in Dave's yard, sipping his beer in the darkness and watching the clouds hide and unhide the stars. Jay had been watching a documentary the other night about the life and death of stars and started sniffling when it got to supernovae. She was so upset about the idea of a star dying all alone.

  The wind was blowing in direction, so he listened to the seniors talking about college plans and summer travel. And then he heard his sister's name.

  “Jay's been acting so weird lately,” said Angela. “First she gets her panties all in a twist because I said Amanda looked like a stripper, and now she's in there dancing like one.”

  “Senioritis,” one of the guys said knowingly. “It makes everyone act a little loco.”

  “I just don't get what her problem is. What, does she moonlight as a stripper down in Huntington Beach or something to pay for her college? She's all over Michael. I mean what the fuck.”

  “Didn't Michael just break up with you?” the other guy asked pointedly.

  “That's what I mean. Friends don't steal other friends' exes. It's slutty.”

  “You just called her a stripper,” said the first guy. “How friendly can you be?”

  “All I'm saying is, Little Miss Good Girl in there better watch it, or she might blow any chance of making connections that she has in this town. Nobody really knows who she is, anyway. She just showed up one day with the Beaucrofts and expects everyone to accept it. She doesn't even have their last name.”

  “Calm down, honey,” said Clary. “Take a breath.”

  “I am just so done with her shit. And fucking Jordan and Quentin always take her side! Like, whose friends were they first, anyway? And now Michael likes her—I'm just tired of it,” she said, her voice suddenly small. “We were friends first and then she came and . . . and ruined our thing.”

  Nick tossed his empty beer bottle aside. It hit a rock with a clang and rolled, which made them startle. “Dude,” said one of the guys. “Is there someone in the bushes?”

  “Oh shit,” said Clary, when Nick strolled into the light. “I didn't realize you were out here, Nick. Um, what are you doing out here?”

  Nick glanced at Angela, whose expression was both defiant and afraid. “Nothing much. Enjoying the fresh air. Clearing my head.” He folded his arms. “Any of you seen my sister.”

  The second guy said, “Uh, I think Angela mentioned that she was inside dancing.”

  Angela splashed water at him. It got in his beer can and he said, “Hey!”

  Nick watched them squirm for a few seconds longer before heading back into the house. He and Jay had arrived pretty early; now it was even more packed than it had been before before. Someone had switched the rap to hard synth and the heavy beats of Goldfrapp's “Yes Sir” were pounding out of the speakers, making his ears ring. Eventually he found Jay in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table with her head between her knees. She wasn't holding her purse.

  “Nich—olash?”

  “Time to go,”
said Nick.

  She blinked at him and made no move to get up. Nick wondered if she couldn't.

  Hissing through his teeth, he bent to drag her up, looping his arms around her waist to keep her upright. She stumbled a little, just an inch or two taller than him in her heels.

  “Give me your keys. Where is your purse?”

  “Dunno.”

  Nick tilted his head and saw it kicked under the chair she'd been sitting in. He leaned her against the table and grabbed it, looping it around his arm before propelling them both towards the door, against the crush of bodies. She immediately started shivering. When he opened the door, Jay fell against him, hands pressed against his chest.

  “Nick,” she said, tilting her head up so her mouth grazed the top of his lip and his nose.

  Everything inside him seemed to stiffen up at once. “What?”

  “I need to throw up.”

  Nick swore right as she dropped to her knees. He just barely managed to grab her hair before she began to puke her guts out right beneath the tires of her car.

  “How many drinks did you have?” Who made them? If it was fucking Michael—

  “Dunno.” She blinked as she tried to remember. “Two?”

  Two. “Two what? Glasses Beers? Shots? Did you mix them? Your face is all red.”

  “Two shots.”

  “Jesus Christ. You're a fucking lightweight.”

  He bundled her into the seat and buckled her belt, tossing her purse into her lap before swinging himself up into the driver's seat. They were the same height now, so he didn't have to adjust the seat. Even though he'd just turned fifteen, he didn't have a permit yet, but he'd been practicing with Yelena and Jay and some of his friends. He knew the basics.

  Better me than her, he thought grimly. She could barely keep her eyes open.

  “You really can't handle your liquor, can you? What do you do when you drink?”

  “Put water in shot glasses. Tell people it's vodka. Nick, my stomach hurts.”

  “Then you shouldn't have fucking taken the shots.”

  She made an unhappy sound and he threw his head back against the seat.