Out for Blood

by Devyn Forrest

  “I got her!” he cried and turned his head to beam at Clinton.

  I knocked open the car door and Zed cranked my seat up so he could clamber into the back seat. He cried, “We’re busting out of here!” His energy was infectious and for a second, I forgot just how angry and unsettled I was. Clinton eased in beside him a moment later.

  “I thought we would never get out of practice,” Clinton grumbled. He drew his hand over his shoulder like he had messed it up, and he winced. “They’ve got me doing the butterfly and I swear it’s killing me.”

  I started to get back into the passenger seat when I heard the voice from the door of the main building. I whipped around to see Poppy. She wore this beautiful light pink dress beneath her overcoat, and her blonde hair had been straightened and it shimmied around her beautifully, like a Barbie doll. My heart hammered like I was in the middle of the road and was about to get hit by a car. When she reached the door, she said, “Hey guys. Your dad just called Theo. He invited me, after all.”

  Theo gaped at her. Zed muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “I doubt that.”

  Poppy shrugged and gave Theo this silly smile. “Why don’t you call him if you don’t think so?”

  “There’s no room in my car,” Theo said.

  “Really? Me and Rooney can squeeze into the passenger seat. Can’t we, Rooney?” She grinned at me and pushed herself against me before I could even reply. I crunched into the middle and nearly hit the gears.

  “Ashley and the others already left. She texted me,” Poppy said. Her voice was too bright, like a screech through my ears. With her so tight against me, I felt like my heart was going to explode. She reached forward and fiddled with the radio.

  Theo exchanged glances with the guys in the back. Clinton shrugged like he didn’t care what happened next. “We’re going to be late,” Zed offered. Theo cranked the engine and thrust his foot on the gas. Seconds later, we rocketed away from the school and back onto the winding mountain roads.

  “God, it’s so good to get out of there,” Poppy said. She knocked her head back on the seat rest and gave me a friendly look like we were in this together. Like we were friends. "It's too bad Chloe couldn't come, huh? How are things going between you two? Best friends, right? It’s so sweet to see you together.”

  I glowered at her and muttered, “You know exactly how they’re going.”

  She cackled. "Come on, Rooney. You know you're better than that. You're better than her. It was only a matter of time before everything broke down.”

  I clenched my fists. The car was too tight. I couldn't exactly get into some kind of scuffle with her, and it wasn’t like I was that kind of person, anyway. Everyone was quiet and I just pressed my lips together into a tight line and told myself to live through the night. I could explain everything to Chloe tomorrow and Max would obviously back everything up.

  The drive to Theo’s house took about thirty minutes. The enormous mansion lurked at the end of a long drive, and it was protected by a thick gate with the letter E carved in the center. Theo clicked a button on his keychain and the gates burst open. We eased through and parked next to another expensive-looking car—was it a Ferrari? I couldn’t get a real glimpse of it, and it wasn’t like I could recognize the make and models of vehicles, anyway. When we stopped, Poppy squeezed my knee so hard I thought she would leave a bruise. My leg kicked out from the reflex.

  “Let’s go!” she said. You would have thought we were on some kind of adventure together and I wanted to smack the silly grin from her face.

  The boys and Poppy and I walked up the stone path to the front door. The house seemed to be about four stories high, built from limestone, with big dark green shrubs lining the path. The air smelled earthy like we were deep in the mountains. And when we reached the front door, which was also carved with a big E, we found Thomas Everton himself standing there waiting for us. He beamed and tilted his head.

  “I see you have a stowaway,” he said. His eyes turned on Poppy. “Ah, well. The more, the merrier, right?”

  It was just like Poppy to sneak her way into whatever situation she wanted to be in. She burst in front of us and gave Mr. Everton a hug and a peck on the cheek. “I couldn’t miss out on this, Mr. E. I always love catching up.”

  Mr. Everton’s smile was difficult to read. He had obviously known Poppy for years. “It was a gross oversight, Poppy. You know you’re always welcome.”

  Poppy glanced back and gave me this sinister look like she was telling me, I can do whatever the hell I want. I can do whatever I want to you because you’re my toy, Rooney.

  Mr. Everton shook each boy’s hand and said their names while greeting them. “The others are already in the parlor. Theo, you can show them the way, can’t you?” When he reached me, he held my hand a bit longer than the others and really looked me in the eye, like he was studying me or something. “Rooney, I’m so glad you decided to come. A fresh face in this group. We always need new blood, don’t we, Theo?”

  But Theo wasn’t there anymore. I tried to drag my hand away since I started to feel awkward and a bit too close to him. He chuckled and said, “You know, Rooney, you really remind me of someone I used to know. It’s really remarkable.”

  I arched my brow. I hadn’t expected that. I gave a shrug as he dropped my hand and said, “I hope you liked them?” I said and smiled, feeling a bit nervous.

  He laughed, but the laugh wasn’t necessarily good-natured. “Sure. I had my moments with him.”

  Him?

  I stepped around Mr. Everton and glanced around the enormous foyer, with its marble floors, dark red walls that attached to high ceilings and a staircase that wrapped around to the upper floors. It reminded me of a museum one of my foster moms before Karla had taken me to, in downtown Denver. I had gotten lost on the third floor and wound up on the staircase, crying into my knees.

  I followed the boys and Poppy into the parlor, where Ashley, the swimmer, Ursula, a runner, Sydney, a senior volleyball player, and Isaac, a junior volleyball player, waited for us. Every sport was represented with a male and a female, except for gymnastics, of course. Poppy and I seemed to be competing for this spot. She blinked at me from her little spot on a stiff-looking dark green couch and gestured to the tray of cookies on the miniature table between all of us.

  “Would you like a cookie, Rooney? I’d hate to partake. With the mid-semester contest next week, I need to make sure I know what kind of weight I’m flipping around,” she said. She said it like I shouldn’t worry about it, like it didn’t matter how I competed.

  I didn’t respond. Zed grabbed two cookies and stuck them together like a sandwich. I glanced around, feeling every single eye on me—the outlier, the “orphan.” On the far side of the room, Thomas had arranged all of his Olympic medals, his gymnastics rings, banners and awards. There was a large portrait of the entire men’s Olympic team—the names of which I could recite by memory. Thomas Everton on the far left, then Mike Atherton, Quintin Cottrill, Rudy Eyser, and Peter Staton. They beamed out of the photo with so much pride and optimism. I realized with a jolt just why they looked so thrilled. All their training, everything they had ever worked for—all the drama of it—was over. They would always know that they hit their ideal goal. They didn’t have to fight for it anymore.

  Thomas appeared with a maid like a shadow behind him. She carried a tray, on which were several glittering glasses of lemonade. She stopped at each of us as we collected a glass and then turned our eyes back to Thomas. He looked at us all with his hands behind his back.

  “Good evening, everyone. I want to welcome you to the Everton Estate,” he announced with a smile as he looked at everyone. “This is the first time for some of you—“ His eyes turned toward me. “While for others of you, this isn’t your first rodeo. To begin, I wanted to say—” He lifted his glass of scotch, while the rest of us lifted our lemonade. “I wanted to say that your time at Denver Athletics is absolutely sacred. I know how much you fight fo
r what you have. I know that you push yourself in every way—mentally, physically and emotionally. You don’t have the same kind of life that other teenagers have, and you’re all the better for it. So, this dinner is to honor your efforts, just a week before your mid-semester competition. Cheers to you and your hard work so far.”

  He thrust the glass forward a bit more, and we all followed suit and muttered, “Cheers.” When we drank, I found the lemonade to be sparkling lemonade—carbonated and delicious, bubbling over my tongue.

  “Oh my god. It’s delicious,” Ashley said, breaking the silence.

  Poppy giggled. “I guess this is someone else’s first rodeo. Don’t feel too stupid, Rooney.”

  Ashley’s cheeks reddened. I glared at Poppy and felt a retort brewing. But before I could answer, Thomas continued.

  “I wanted to point out how far your efforts can take you,” he continued. He gestured to the portrait of the Olympic team, the silver medal he had earned even after Rudy Eyser had beaten him for the gold, along with the rings and other awards he had gotten. “I hung up my gymnastics hat when I was twenty-four years old, and I did it with a heavy heart.” He lifted a ring into the air and it glittered with the soft light of the parlor. “This ring, I won at the United States Nationals. It’s one of my most prized possessions. Back then, it slipped over my finger easily—and now, of course...” He tried to cram it over his finger and winced and made eye contact with me. “Rooney, do you want to hold it?”

  I hated that he picked me out, hated any attention on me. I swallowed and said, “Sure,” because I felt there wasn’t another option. I rose and walked toward him and then he slipped the heavy, ruby-filled ring over my finger. I couldn’t breathe. The only thing that went through my mind as I held it there, as—if only I had this wealth. If only I had this. I wouldn’t have any struggles. I could pay my bills. I could stay in school. I wouldn’t have this horrible target on my back...

  “Well, what do you think?” Mr. Everton said, beaming down at me.

  “It’s beautiful,” I finally said. I hated myself for letting so much silence fall between us.

  “Maybe you’ll have something like it someday,” he said.

  My cheeks grew warm. I pulled the ring off my finger and passed it back to him. I didn’t want anything to do with his wealth, with anything that I hadn’t earned. Again, he studied my face again, like he was trying to calculate something. You remind me of someone, he had said earlier. Well, I couldn’t do anything about that.

  Thomas continued to talk to us for a while about the good old days. A few times, he brought up his rivalry with Rudy Eyser, which was something I had read about frequently a long, long time ago. Throughout it, his eyes turned from Poppy to me and back again, like he wanted to compare the rivalry between him and Rudy with mine and Poppy’s. I refused to believe it was a rivalry. Rather, I was going to squash her on the mat, on the balance beam. She could tear through my friendships, belittle me at practice, or whatever. But when it came down to it, I was the better performer and she knew it.

  After about forty minutes of chit-chat and storytelling, Thomas led us into the dining room, which was decorated, in my eyes, like a king’s dining room. The table was a dark redwood, beautifully carved along the legs. Each chair seemed too big for a single person, with little carved wooden portraits of regal-looking men and women on the back. Each of the place settings had a name, and mine was situated between Theo and Zed. Poppy, it seemed, already had her own chair, and she was situated directly across from me. I was beginning to believe that the whole thing was a set-up—that Thomas really dug the idea that we were rivals.

  Poppy flipped a napkin over her lap and stared at me. I avoided eye contact and turned toward Mr. Everton. The attached kitchen propelled out some of the most delicious smells ever—and Mr. Everton announced we were having roasted duck, vegetables and freshly-baked bread, followed by several different types of desserts. I wondered if this was the kind of thing Theo was used to eating all the time.

  When the two maids arrived with the platters and passed them around, Poppy glared at me, like she could read my mind, and said, “This must be really different than what you’re used to, right, Rooney?”

  I flared my nostrils. “It’s certainly not poisoned frozen yogurt, is it?”

  Poppy’s face was exuberant. “You’re a funny girl, Rooney. Did the foster care system teach you that, or does the humor just come naturally?”

  I shut my mouth and tossed her a smirk that could have killed someone.

  “Come now, girls,” Mr. Everton said.

  “I think she’s hilarious.” Zed flashed me a smile.

  I glanced toward him, oddly grateful that he’d said something, a reminder that we came from similar situations. He tore into a roll and gave me a little nod, just enough that only I noticed.

  “Come on, Rooney, tell us what it was like,” Poppy started again. It was like she had a needle and wanted to insert it deeper and deeper into my stomach. “What was it like to grow up in foster care? I mean, you always see shitty movies on TV about it, but what was the nitty-gritty like?”

  I couldn’t even touch my food. I crossed my arms and glared at her. I thought about lifting up my sauce-covered roasted duck and smashing it against her face. The thought of her porcelain face covered in sauce made me smile to myself.

  “What?” she demanded. “You look like you want to say something.”

  “Poppy, I don’t think Rooney needs to thrill us with stories of her life,” Mr. Everton said.

  “Come on, Rooney. What was it like? I want to know the details.” Poppy asked.

  I didn’t have full control over my body anymore. I cut up from my chair and it fell back behind me. I nearly toppled my plate off the table. My hands were in fists and I towered over her. Everyone just stared at me. I looked insane.

  “You want to tell us when you turned into such a fucking bitch, Poppy?” I demanded.

  “Woah! Hey, now...” Mr. Everton said. But he blinked back at forth at us, like he took immense pleasure in this situation. “Everyone, calm down. Seriously. Let’s just sit and have a nice dinner. Rooney. Poppy. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but...”

  Theo’s hand wrapped around my knee. The touch was so tender, almost loving in a weird way. I glanced toward him, and his blue eyes held mine. The touch said It’s okay. Sit down. We can get through this.

  “I’m really sorry, everyone,” I said, although I really didn’t mean it. Slowly, I sat back in my chair, and my jaw cracked back and forth with rage. I kept my shoulders back as I slowly cut through the beautifully roasted duck. It was juicy and gorgeously cooked, and the sauce oozed down onto the plate like a cracked egg. I dug my fork into the center of a large piece and drew it toward my lips and then cut down on it with my teeth as I stared Poppy directly in the eye. I hoped she knew it was a threat.

  She did. She only grinned at me. “Don’t worry, Mr. Everton. She told me that she’s always been my biggest fan, didn’t you, Rooney? You had magazines of me and stuff. Admit it. You looked up to me.”

  “I didn’t,” I lied.

  “Why don’t we talk about anything else?” Ashely said.

  “Good idea. Ashley? Zed? Why don’t you tell us what’s going on in the world of swimming and track?” Mr. Everton said. He studied my face as Zed broke into his analysis of the current practice schedules and slowly dragged his eyes away. I busied myself with my meal and seethed and imagined just how miserable I would make Poppy the minute I was picked for the Olympic team, and she was left behind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I thought the night would never end. After some sherbet, which we ate sparingly, we crowded back in the parlor. Mr. Everton returned and said he would have just one final drink with us before heading back to his room for the night. I glanced around, suddenly petrified. I realized I hadn’t known that the night would turn into a sleepover.

  “Everyone has a separate bedroom,” Mr. Everton said. “Theo
can show you. And I trust everyone has their eyes on the mid-semester competition and knows to keep things calm tonight.”

  I felt like a drowning swimmer. I had no way to get back to school alone. The minute Mr. Everton disappeared, Poppy rollicked toward the cabinets and grabbed a bottle of wine, a bottle of whiskey, and a bottle of vodka. She beamed at Theo and arched her back so that her breasts bounced up. Theo didn’t give in to her, didn’t glance down. My heart thudded. Was it possible that he actually felt something for me?

  “Who wants what?” she asked, and she flipped around to look at all of us. “Rooney, since you’re not used to fancy things, I guess you’ll take the champagne, right?”

  “Fuck off, Poppy,” Zed said.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Poppy smirked. She yanked the top of the champagne bottle and dropped her hand against the top like a seasoned pro, to make sure the bubbles didn’t escape. She batted her lashes toward me then poured glass after glass. She then passed around the glasses, one for each of us and we didn’t bother with a cheers.

  Clinton’s black eyes beamed at me. “What’s it like, Rooney? To have everyone so focused on you. You’re like a fucking celebrity around here, aren’t you? Mr. Everton’s obsessed with you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What’s it like to always have everything you’ve ever wanted, Clinton? To never have to work a day in your life?”

  Clinton smirked. It was obvious I couldn’t cut through any of them. Theo eased next to me on the little hard green couch and his hand flicked near my thigh. I shivered, both loving and hating having him so close. “She’s just interesting, isn’t she? We’ve never really seen anyone like her before. It’s why Poppy’s so jealous. Isn’t it, Poppy?”

  Poppy’s face fell in disdain. She clenched her champagne glass and hissed. “Fuck off, Theo. You don't know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Actually, I do. I’ve known you since we were, what, seven years old?” Theo said. He arched his brow. To me, he’d never looked more handsome. “You’re just a fucking bitch if anyone else is around who has any kind of talent. Everyone knows what you do to people who get in your way. And you know what I think of that? I think it’s disgusting.”