by Rachel Leigh
“Oh shit, Claire, are you ok?” A familiar voice reaches for me, as I stumble back a few steps.
“Mr. Jones. Hi.” I catch my balance and smile. “No harm done.”
The door closes with a thud, “Please, call me Zeke. Mr. Jones is reserved for the students.” He flashes his perfect white teeth. “I was just walking over to my car. I can’t find my cell phone anywhere.” He pats his pockets.
I stand awkwardly with my hands folded together and dangling in front of my blue skinny jeans. I’ve always been socially awkward, so it’s nothing new to me. I either don’t speak out of fear of saying too much, or I say too much out of fear of not saying anything at all. Right now, it’s the former.
“Would you like to walk with me?” His fingers rake through his black hair, peppered with grey streaks.
“Umm, sure.” I shrug, stuffing my keys into my faux leather purse. Against my better judgement, I left all of my valuable possessions at the estate. I don’t need them anymore.
“It’s just down here a little bit.” He points past a row of cars that line the street. “How are you liking Redwood so far?”
It’s boring. I hate teaching. The kids act like a bunch of entitled little shits.
“I love it.” I blatantly lie.
“We’ve got some good students here. I see so much potential in each and every one of them.”
“Mmhmmm.” I nod in agreement.
Just as he directs us around the corner and approaches his silver pickup truck, I catch a glimpse of a boy walking towards us.
Knox.
Only he doesn’t seem as tense as he was when I saw him after class. Instead, he’s sweating profusely, as if he just ran miles to get here. It’s very possible that he did. It’s obvious that he works out, with his muscles straining against the fabric of his black t-shirt.
“Hey, Mr. Jones.” He gives him a bro tap on the back. “Ms. Hyland.” His eyes meet mine, but the tone in his voice shifts to something more demeaning.
Knox and I didn’t get off on the right foot. It’s no secret that I like my privacy, and I enjoy the quiet. He gives me neither.
I’ve caught his stare from his bedroom window that faces the guest house. I also hear the noise every single time his parents are away. Whether it’s for a night, a weekend, or even just an hour. As soon as they leave, that awful music breaks through every wall of the house.
“Hello, Knox.” I reply, looking into my purse and pulling out my phone. I fidget with it a little bit, as if I’m reading invisible text messages from all of my nonexistent friends.
Zeke reaches into his truck. “Ah ha.” He holds his phone in the air. He walks back over to the sidewalk, and we head back to the pub.
“Working tonight?” He turns his head, looking behind us, as his attention shifts to Knox.
“I am. Gotta make that money for rent when I leave for college.”
I almost feel guilty for my bitter thoughts toward him. He works hard at his schoolwork, holds a job, and still makes time for sports and raging parties on the weekend. I try so hard not to judge others, but being back in a high school reminds me of my four years in one. I hated guys like him when I was in school. The ones who think they are better than everyone else. The ones who wouldn’t even give a second look to the pale, skinny girl because she wasn’t a cheerleader or didn’t belong in their circle.
After an awkward silence among the three of us—the only sound being the thudding of footsteps on the pavement, we finally walk into the hazy establishment. It’s exactly what I pictured in my head. A little hole in the wall pub. Stools line the bar, an old jukebox sits in the far corner next to a couple of pool tables, and booths line the opposite wall. The center of the room is filled with tables, and there is an open space in front of a stage, likely a dance floor.
“Does he work here? At the bar?” I question. It doesn’t seem likely that a high school student would be serving alcohol. Then again, what do I know.
“Yeah, Knox has been washing dishes here since last summer. Nice boy.”
“He sure is,” I agree, again.
I’m not usually so passive, but I’m not given much choice. If I start voicing my opinion around here, I’ll be forced to skip town next week. If anyone really knew the thoughts in my head and how much I despise things like small talk and pity, I wouldn’t stand a chance here.
The cards I’ve been dealt have made me a bitter and angry person. The thing is, I have no one to blame but myself. That’s the most painful part of all. I’m my own worst enemy. Aren’t we all?
I purse my lips together, as I fight back the urge to just breakdown. The depression looming over me, almost sucks the air right out of my lungs. Loneliness in a room full of people. Kind people at that. Ones who try to befriend me and have invited me to come here with them for weeks. I’ve always made some lame excuse. It’s not the fact that I am probably the youngest of the staff at Redwood High. Or even that I am just a long-term substitute. It’s my fear that if I get too comfortable, I’ll endure the pain of having to pull my roots up and leave. It’s also my inability to socialize. It’s my fear that every time I hear the sound of a door opening, I jump. It’s also because I feel as if I’m living a lie, and if I take down my walls, if I let people in, we will all burn. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year—but someday, he will find me. I just haven’t decided yet if I’d rather end my life or die a thousand times as his prisoner.
I follow Zeke over to a few of the staff members. Kari, the senior English teacher, is seated between a man I don’t know and the PE teacher, Matt Wright.
Matt waves us down. “Claire. You made it. Go ahead and take a seat, first drinks on me.”
“I found Claire, here, at the door.” Zeke hooks his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in, as if we’re old friends. “She took a stroll with me to my car.” He holds up his phone, pleased with himself. “Found it, right where I left it.”
Suddenly, feeling intensely uncomfortable, as all eyes are on us, I can’t help but wonder what thoughts are going through their minds. Do they think that Zeke and I have something going?
The bartender makes her way over, and I could hug her for her perfect timing. “I’ll have a glass of Dom Perignon, please,” I blurt, without even thinking. It's a habit. It’s my favorite. And, it’s far too expensive for a substitute art teacher to be ordering.
“Aha,” Matt points his finger at me with a chuckle, “good one.”
I giggle, nervously, in return. He thinks it was a joke. “Kidding. He said he was buying, so I had to get his heartrate up there a little bit.”
“My morning job and a school full of teenagers did that enough today.” He tips back his bottled beer.
“I’ll just have a glass of your cheapest champagne.” I take a deep breath, and on the slow exhale, the large wooden door creaks open. I turn my head instantly, my pulse remaining at a surprisingly normal rate.
Closing with a thud, Axel Thorn walks in with his crew behind him. Hearing the drawn out sighs from the company beside me, I assume that they have just as many daily encounters with this boy as I do. Mine, being more on the intimidated side versus the authoritative.
“Hey,” his voice is buoyant, yet sarcastic at the same time. “If it isn’t the selfless souls who teach me about pertinent information for a living.”
There it is. This boy is a spitfire. He just has to use words he probably doesn’t even know to make himself feel superior.
All four of them fill the empty seats beside us, and just my luck, their leader has to be right next to me. The bartender returns with my drink and sets it down on a white square napkin. I thank her, although she acts as if she didn’t hear me. Her eyes are zeroed in on the newcomers.
“Axel, you know you can’t sit at the bar. I don’t know how many times we’ve been over this. Kip and Luke, yes. You two,” she points to Axel and Bryant. “You two have to sit at a table.”
Like a hyena, he starts laughing hysterically, then his hand lands on
the bar, startling me. Not in an angry way, but in a way to get the attention of everyone sitting here. Even Knox has come out of the kitchen at this point. “Honey, I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell you, this is my bar, and I can sit wherever I want.”
His bar? Is this kid on drugs? Now that I think about it, it’s very possible. Maybe that’s why he is always so happy and angry at the same time, walking around like he owns everyone and everything in this town. Like we all owe him some sort of bow when he walks into a room.
Zeke stands, as his stool slides behind him in a swift motion. “Son, just do as you're told. You can’t sit up here until you’re eighteen. She doesn't make the rules.” He walks over and places a hand on his shoulder, and Axel senses his need to make him obey.
“I’m not your son, get your hands off me.” He nudges his shoulder until Zeke’s hand falls freely. “I’m not sure if you’ve all forgotten, but my dad owns this place, just like every other establishment in this town. Hell, he pretty much owns every single one of you.” He turns his head, and his eyes meet mine. A sour feeling pools in the pit of my stomach. “Except for you,” he swipes his thumb under my chin with a devious smirk, “not yet, anyways.”
Disgust. That’s what I feel. This kid is disgusting to think that he can use the power of his parents and their money to manipulate people. I’ve known far too many people with his same repulsive attitude.
I turn my head away from him swiftly, killing the idea in his head that he will ever have any power over me. Although, I’ve probably already given it to him with my submissiveness towards him in class. He knows my weakness, and he uses it to his advantage, just like Malcolm does.
I take a sip of my much-too-bitter champagne and rub my lips together.
At this point, Zeke pulls Axel away to the center of the pub and is gritting his teeth, while speaking to him in a demeaning voice. The others just sit there quietly, as their leader is getting a lecture on respect and laws. I just ignore it. I didn’t come to this town for drama. I’ve managed to stay away from it up until this point. Now, I imagine everyone will be talking about Axel’s anger and daddy issues—whatever his problems are, and I’ll have to sit back and listen to the gossip.
This is why I avoid people. This is why I have no friends, no life.
I snap out of my slumber and realize that I’ve shredded the white napkin in front of me like a bored child. Dampened pieces lie in a pile beneath my fingertips. I look up abruptly to see if anyone has noticed, but they’re all engaged in their own conversations. Except for one person. Knox Burton is standing at the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, as he leans against the doorframe, watching me. He doesn’t roll his eyes or turn away. His eyes just bore into mine, as his mouth slowly curls upward. The sourness in my stomach dissipates, and it’s suddenly filled with a new feeling, a giddiness. I break the gaze and take another sip of my champagne, licking a drop of the bitter liquid from my bottom lip. I look back, and he’s still there. Instead of looking away, I surprise myself.
I smile back.
5
Knox
The sound of the water running in the kitchen reminds me that I left the sink running.
Fuck.
I drop my arms from my chest and turn around quickly. Hurrying over to the large stainless steel sink. Soap suds begin to pool over the top, dropping to the floor. I just about slip and bust my ass but grab a hold of the counter to brace myself. I reach into the sink to pull the drain, without even thinking, and shriek as the scalding water burns my bare arm.
I give my arm a shake, as the suds fly off and wipe my arm across my t-shirt. If it weren’t for the fact that I need the money for a house in LA this summer, I’d quit this job in a heartbeat. It’s not that Mom and Isaac struggle. We have money. Mom just feels that I need to work hard for what I want. I’m not bitter about that notion, it’s true. So many kids these days get everything handed to them and grow up with a holier-than-thou attitude. Much like Axel.
Axel really thinks he has this in the bag. I noticed the way Ms. Hyland looked at him when he, ever so asshole-like, grazed his hand across her face. I also noticed the way she looked at me. It was a new look, one I’ve never gotten before. I don’t know why, but I kind of liked it. I’m not as skilled as Axel when it comes to the ladies, then again, this is no high school girl. The idea of him filling his ego anymore sickens me. Why her? He could bag Brenda, the lunch lady. Why does he have to go after my new neighbor, who I can’t stand. I feel like she’s always watching and waiting for me to screw up, so she can call me out on it. At least that’s the vibe I get. She doesn’t smile or show any feelings other than hatred for life. Yet, for some reason, the idea of Axel laying a finger on her irks me. Hell, I don't know. Maybe she isn’t that bad after all. She sure as hell isn’t bad on the eyes.
If he really does sleep with our art teacher, he will not just be a king at Redwood High, he will be a god to all the guys who have dreamt of her since she stepped foot in the school.
I toss the dirty rag into the sink and grab the dry mop, soaking up the water on the greasy waxed marble floor. “Memories” by Maroon 5 plays through the small speaker in the corner wall, and my mind drifts to Blakely. Wondering how my best friend is doing these days. I don’t see her much anymore. She’s so busy with her art studio and traveling back and forth to visit Jasper. I make a mental note to stop over after work and say hey.
I throw the mop into the corner, and Sid, the cook and manager, comes through the back door. He’s a soft-spoken giant, at least six foot ten. He has black dreadlocks that are pulled back into a long ponytail, and a stained white t-shirt with Scotty's logo in the corner.
“Long enough cigarette break?” I joke.
He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “Not long enough. This place is dead. I could probably smoke an entire pack, before we get an order.”
“It’s always dead during the week. The pub just isn’t what it used to be.” I used to come here for dinner with Mom as a kid, back when it was just the two of us. I’d keep the jukebox going. Always playing Bruno Mars on repeat.
This was all before Mr. Thorn took ownership. He basically let this place go to hell. Everything remains the same way it was when he bought it five years ago. I keep harping on Axel to get him to fix it up, or at least get some new flooring and tables. His response is always, he doesn’t give a fuck about that place. He just bought it to piss my mom off. Which is true. After Mr. Thorn found out that his wife was having an affair, he bought up every place in this town, just to try and keep her out of it. She was a sweet woman; she was just dealt a bad hand. She passed away at the end of last summer and Axel hasn’t been the same since.
“Sure as hell isn’t. I remember when this place was packed every day of the week.” Sid waves his hand in the air. “Why don’t you just take off. I’ve got this.”
“Nah, I could use the money. I’ll stick around for a bit longer. Wanna make me some mozz sticks?” I smirk.
“You know I don’t. But, I will because I’m bored as fuck. I may even fry one at a time just to keep myself busy.” He laughs. “Go sit out front, I’ll bring em’ out to ya.”
I do as I’m told, without argument. I don’t want to be here, but since I need to be here, I’d rather sit on my ass and eat. The training session today after school was intense, and my strained muscles are feeling it. Not to mention, my mile run from the warehouse to the pub. I could drive, but I have to keep my body in check, if I plan to win these damn fights I’ve agreed to. I won’t lie, I’m pretty impressed with the way I’m shaping up. I don’t like the idea of fighting, but I think I have as good of a chance as any of the other guys.
I walk out of the kitchen and notice that Axel and the guys are gone. Probably for the best. He only came in here to make a scene. He would lie and say that he came to say hi to me, but we all know the truth. He gets bored and likes to go around causing problems. One of these days, it will bite
him in the ass.
Sitting at the bar is just Mr. Wright, Ms. Hyland, and Mr. Jones. She looks uncomfortable sandwiched between the two, and I, unknowingly, let out a chuckle. She’s fresh meat on the staff at school, and I’m not a bit surprised that these men are flocking over her. However, she’s a bit young for Mr. Jones. Mr. Wright, on the other hand, could be a little competition. What the hell am I thinking? It’s not like there is one. She’s a teacher, and I’m a student. I’m just a boy to her. I don’t even like the girl, or lady. Whatever she is. I just can’t seem to figure out why she gets to me so much. Why I think about her all the time. Why I want to break the fingers of any man who touches her. She’s nothing to me.
I shake the unwanted thoughts from my head and walk over to one of the empty tables in the middle of the room, with my head hung low. Technically, I could sit at the bar. Whereas, Axel is only seventeen and considered a kid, I’m eighteen and have that right. But, this time, I don’t. Something tells me not to.
“Alright, you take care, and we’ll see you tomorrow.” I hear Mr. Wright say, before he pushes his stool back and heads for the door. Mr. Jones follows. Leaving just myself and Ms. Hyland in this room. I don’t know where Ruby took off to. Probably in the back giving Sid a blowie. I know they’ve got something going on. They just try to keep it a secret, even though they are loud as fuck at closing time, when they think no one can hear them.
I wish I would have grabbed my phone out of my backpack. At least then I’d have something to do with my hands. Instead, I sit here awkwardly, watching the backside of Ms. Hyland’s head. She tips her glass back, getting every last drop in her glass and sets it down gently on the bar. Then she turns her head to look at me.
