I side-stepped the whole “call me Tricia” thing. I was about as comfortable calling her Tricia as I would be calling my parents by their first names. Besides, my mom might tolerate Aunt Patrice trying to act younger than her years, but there was no way they would approve of me playing along with the madness, and I didn’t want to get used to calling her one thing, only to slip up and call her Tricia in front of my parents.
A remote possibility, but still a possibility. “If this is a bad time, I’ll call back.” Please let me just call back.
“Oh don’t bother, Layla.” It sounded like she was walking away from the noise. “You know how it is, getting things just right is such a struggle. Especially when there are those that just don’t understand your vision, am I right?”
I bit my lip. That question might have been an innocuous conversation filler if someone else said it. But this was my aunt. Everything she said was designed to give her more attention. More prominence. More limelight.
Patrice was always jumping from one project to another and I didn’t want to be roped into a discussion of whatever her latest one would be. Which is exactly what that rhetorical question was supposed to be: A bright shiny hook to catch an unsuspecting newbie to inquire about Patrice’s latest soap box.
I wasn’t a monster, I would normally be supportive of any of the causes Patrice sponsored. Give me a great charity, and I would volunteer the crap out of it.
She was just in it for the prestige.
The charities were at least getting her money. That was the only reason why I ground my teeth and made myself smile into the receiver.
Plus there was that little thing about needing to ask her for a favor. “What vision would that be….Tricia?”
I could almost feel my aunt beaming through the phone. “I knew you’d want to know! I’m putting together a benefit gala for troubled youth and all, you know how it is.”
I actually didn’t know “how it is” nor did I want to know what she meant. My parents were both from two of the wealthiest families living on the east coast. The Newburghs and the Monteleones were a match made in old money heaven. My dad’s family made their money from hotel and real estate, whereas my mother’s family came from banking.
Because of that, my dad, Jack Newburgh, was allowed to be the philanthropic voice of the Newburgh empire, speaking all over the country for renewable resources and other social media-worthy buzz. My mother, Daliah Monteleone, socialite and heiress, was the perfect trophy at his side.
They already had the dutiful heir, my brother, Prince Newburgh, so I didn’t need to be trotted out for all to see. I didn’t quite know where I fit into my parents’ agenda, but one thing was for sure: I wouldn’t be their princess to be married off to broaden their empire.
Aunt Patrice was a little like me in that respect. My mother was the one who was married off and carried on the Monteleone family’s legacy. Patrice, on the other hand, didn’t have that same scrutiny. As long as she was discreet, she could do what she wanted.
I hoped those same rules applied to me, too.
I let Patrice drone on in her monologue about all that she was doing for the community. It would have been more believable if she didn’t wrap herself up in her ivory tower and did all she could to stay as far away from the people they said they wanted to help so much.
I tuned back into her conversation when I heard her wistful sigh. “That’s great...Tricia.”
“Isn’t it though? Well, enough about me. What’s going on with you?” Then her voice hitched and shifted. “How are the Frosts?”
I swallowed my anger. As if she cared. “As can be expected, their daughter dead and all.”
Patrice tsked. “Such a shame. Such a lovely young girl.”
“About that,” I interrupted. My politeness was wearing thin, and I didn’t need to hear any more fake sympathy about Maeby. “Maeby left me something, and I was hoping you would be able to help me get it. I didn’t want to ask the Frosts, because well, she gave it to me, and I don’t know if she would want them to know about it.”
I chewed on my lip. I also didn’t want her to tell my parents, but if I mentioned them, Patrice might gossip to my mother anyway. She liked knowing she was the cool young aunt that her niece could confide in. She was already able to act in loco parentis while my parents traveled out of country. I just needed her signature--and her promise not to say anything--and I’d be home free.
“Of course darling, anything! What do you need?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I just need you to meet me at the bank so that you can sign over the forms.” It sucked being seventeen. Just one more year, and this wouldn’t have been a problem.
“Just tell me when! I’ll be there, tout de suite!”
I gave her the information and she agreed to meet me the next morning.
This could go either way.
I had an entire night to think about what it was Maeby could have left me. Why did she need a safety deposit box? What was with all this cloak and dagger stuff?
As I laid in bed trying to ignore the knot in my stomach and the goosebumps on my arms, I kept replaying the message that Maeby left me, endless loops in my memory.
I must have slept thinking about it, because I had such vivid dreams about the night of the party. In my dreams, it was like I could recall every nuance of that night in exquisite detail. Sometimes, events played in loops. Other times, a scene would pause, then rewind and play again, zooming in and out of focus like my mind was some drunken cameraman.
That was the curse of remembering everything. I wasn’t a freak about it. Like, I wasn’t one of those people who could remember what it felt like to be a baby inside of my mom or anything.
But it was pretty close.
That was why I chose to ignore most things. Willful ignorance was not only a way to be in denial, it was also a coping mechanism. My very special brain remembered things that I wasn’t even conscious about noticing. If I my eyes saw it, my brain would store it.
Keeping bits of information stored until I needed to recall it.
And, eventually I would be able to recall it.
Like right now.
As I watch Maeby speak on repeat. That shadow behind her.
The Westhaven crest.
The boy at the funeral. That face. His hands. How he carried himself.
He was from Westhaven Prep.
Not just that. But he was an heir.
My mind zoomed in on the moment when four of those boys appeared the night of the party as if they had been born from shadows.
That cold gaze that settled on me before Maeby went to meet them.
I filled in the details of their faces in my mind's eye, fixing them there.
They were the last people to see Maeby alive, I knew it in my bones.
I’d mentioned the boys in passing to the police, not realizing who they had been. They were from Westhaven Prep. What were they doing at an Eastside party?
No wonder the police didn’t put much effort into questioning them, either. Those boys would have the same clout as my parents did. As I did.
If I had to be questioned by the police, my family would close ranks immediately, and I would be as untouchable as those boys were.
The only suspect in Maeby’s case was an unidentified middle-aged man whose face sketch was so generic it could literally be anybody.
I woke with a start, my dreams still clinging to me. Names and faces faded quickly, but I clung to the four figures in my dream.
One of them had come to Maeby's funeral. I didn’t have any logical reason for it, but I was sure that one of them was there. I could have been face to face with one of the last people to have been with Maeby alive.
I shuffled myself into my shower so I could think more clearly, but the more I did, the more troubled I was with my thoughts.
Guilty people wouldn’t go to a funeral, would they? Even sociopaths wouldn’t help me with trays of finger food and help clean up without asking?
>
And, why was a dude from Westhaven Prep seen that video with Maeby? Someone she had trusted that wasn’t me?
I hoped that all the answers was waiting for me in that security deposit box, but I knew in my gut that I’d likely have more questions than answers.
“You don’t have to stay with me, Au--I mean, Tricia.” I twisted my fingers together so I wouldn’t fidget with my skirt. I hated wearing this thing.
“Nonsense, this is a mystery now, and I want to see it through with you until the end!”
I’d wondered why Patrice wore her red Chanel suit paired it with her Louboutin spikes and extra-large sunglasses. She looked like a stereotypical Bond girl from a 007 thriller from the nineties. This must have been her interpretation of “subtle.”
“Of course. Thanks,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. We followed the bank manager to a private room where we were told to wait while he returned with the box.
My aunt was already deep into her phone notifications. Good. Maybe she’d be too distracted to notice the bank manager’s return.
No such luck. As soon as there was the possibility of an audience, Patrice perked up immediately. She smiled as the manager laid the box onto the table and then leave the room.
I gave Patrice a long look. Maybe she’d take the hint and follow after the manager.
“Okay, so let’s open it! He left you the key, right?”
Why did she decide to be parental now?
Instead of answering her, I shook the box. It was really light.
I opened it without preamble and confirmed my suspicions.
Empty.
“After all that! It was empty!” Patrice was indignant. “This better not have been a cruel prank that those Frosts played on you. Or worse! Employee theft! I have heard that most employees would just as soon steal from their employers as anything. Of all the places to get a safety deposit bank, why here, and not in one of our many hundreds of banks!” She scrambled out of the room, shaking her head as if Patrice would catch thieves in the act.
I was suddenly so very tired. I wanted to be alone, in my bed, and away from the world.
I slumped in my chair while Patrice marched her high-heeled shoes out of the room to speak to the manager.
As I stared at the box, I noticed something small inside of it. It could have been nothing. Trash. Flaking paint. Anything, really.
I shook the box upside down, and a little thing fluttered out of it the size of a confetti flake. It was a SIM card.
Footsteps and raised voices came back to the room, and I placed the SIM card into the folds of my phone wristlet.
“Well, come along Layla, it seems that the manager is as useless as the rest of this bank. We will make sure that there is a proper investigation and that certain employees didn’t take what was not theirs to take.” Patrice gathered her things, and waited for me to leave with her, staring down the bank manager whose only fault was that he had to work today.
“Thank you for your assistance,” I said. “Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
The man didn’t seem to believe me, worried lines furrowing his brow. “We will make sure to review all our tapes and make sure that only those with access to your box have handled it.”
I gave him a wan smile, knowing there’d be nothing, but also understanding that he was as powerless as I was to do anything about his given role. He was just the unfortunate soul that crossed paths with me today. It wasn’t his fault that I cursed everyone I touched.
Predictably, when there was no longer any more drama, Patrice found somewhere else to be.
At least she left me with a car, driver, and a handful of spending cash.
On the drive home, I kept touching the little bulge the SIM card made inside of the wallet pocket. That little assurance made me feel better.
Maeby was still with me. I could feel her, cheering me on, needing me to find out the answers as much as I needed to know them.
I wouldn’t rest until she could rest.
No regrets. Those were her last words to me that night on the beach, and I would keep her promises.
The Party
The beach night was always the high point of the summer.
Exactly half way and a time when the junior class claim our reign as seniors.
Donovan was meeting me at the beach that night. It wasn't going to be exclusively Eastsiders there, but the vast majority.
Donovan was older, but he would he'd gone to Eastside. He didn't exactly graduate from it, but he got his diploma all the same.
There were bonfires, drinks, loud music. Some brought tents for a full blown picnic/make out session station.
Some people were prepared.
Me? I was content to be invisible.
Despite how loud and dramatic Maeby was, I liked to melt into the background.
The only person I wanted attention from was my best friend.
The first person who'd greeted me that night was Cade. I should have known he would be here. Yeah, he owned an automotive shop but everyone in the community knew that he was the guy who supplied anything you needed.
Whatever it was, you paid him, he supplied it for you.
"Hey Girl," he called out to me.
Cade was the only one I knew who could call me girl, and make it seem appropriate. Like he was addressing my name and not using it as an insult.
It also helped that he likened me to a sister he never had.
"Didn't think to see you out here."
"Why not? Tradition, right?" I angled my head to accept a peck on the cheek. He smelled of leather, engine grease, and smoke.
What little boys were made of.
"Like you'd follow tradition for the hell of it."
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder leading me toward a cooler full of drinks. "Take from here if you're thirsty. Don't want you getting anything funny in your drinks."
I gave him a disapproving look. "Wouldn't be anything funny in the drinks if you didn't bring any, Cade."
He managed to look both charming and unapologetic as he didn't bother to deny it. "Let me know when you leave. I'll make sure you get home safe."
"I drove in with Maeby. Pretty sure we're leaving together."
He snorted. I didn't know if that was commentary or what.
I realized then why he was bothering to talk to me despite how much he hated small talk and babysitting.
Out of one of the tents emerged a blissed out blonde trying in vain to fix her hair and makeup.
A minute later, Donovan exited the same tent.
My eyes were trained to see stuff like that and not react. Like a science experiment.
I kept my gaze even, as if I hadn't seen anything interesting.
As if it was nothing more than a rock. As if I found the other partiers entertaining.
I felt Cade's gaze bore into me, waiting for a reaction.
I swallowed down my self-pity with a mouthful of truly ratchet beer.
He quirked his eyebrow but said nothing.
That's what I liked about Cade. He kept his thoughts to himself.
"Hey, you don't drink beer," Donovan said, taking the beer from my hand.
I was going to say something, but I coughed on the gross liquid, proving his point.
Yeah, I don't like beer, but I preferred filling my mouth with that swill rather than with words that would embarrass me for the rest of my life.
Donovan pounded my back to help me, and I lifted my hand. "Stop, you're killing me."
I motioned for the beer back, but he tipped the rest of the liquid back, tossing the bottle into the trash.
"Dude, what was that for?" I said.
He kept his eye trained on me even as he placed a fresh cigarette to his mouth and lit it. A curl of smoke swirled around his head.
I wasn't into smoking, and kind of thought that the smell was gross on most people.
But it was such a part of Donovan's DNA that it was like a kind of aromatherapy f
or me.
Another advantage of smoking. It was an easy way to buy time. Donovan was on another level in that respect.
"If you're thirsty, drink La Croix."
I rolled my eyes. I wanted to be the one with the quick answer, but there was always a disconnect between my brain and mouth. So instead I just ignored him.
That annoyed him, which was the result I wanted anyway.
"Ugh, why don't you go fuck with someone else, Don. We're here to have fun, and that includes little miss good girl. Come on," she said, grabbing my upper arm, and dragging me toward the center of people mingling.
Maeby always had my back, through thick or thin. She didn't have to. In fact, I never understood why Maeby was friends with me. But, she plucked me from my loneliness and stayed with me despite the bullies and weird attention I'd get from people.
She wouldn't even care that I read more books than I did talking to her. Only I knew that she loved reading classic novels and had a straight A average without me.
But I also heard the rumors. Other students thought that I somehow helped her with her homework and stuff. That somehow, I let her cheat off of me.
Even though we never had any classes together.
Whatever.
People believed what they wanted. They believed the stories.
And I've learned that it was easier to let the stories happen rather than tell people the truth.
"We going anywhere in particular?"
She handed me a cup. I sniffed it delicately, and she snorted at me. "It's legit just lime flavored La Croix."
Maeby, always pegged as a hardcore party girl, was actually very sober at every one of these parties.
See? Smoke and mirrors.
No one trusted the straight-laced, honest, and nerdy ones.
But I kept her secrets.
If she wanted to be the party girl queen bee, then that was on her.
"Just checking," I winked at her as I took a drink. Here, in the middle of the crowd, she could put her guard down. She was searching for someone. "You looking for someone?"
Maeby looked startled at the question. "No. Why do you ask?"
MALICE: A High School Bully Romance (The Heirs of Westhaven) Page 3
