Toxic Part One

  “I was thinking maybe a stabbing.” She pours herself a full cup of coffee, black as her heart.

  “Invoking your specialty, I see.”

  “Maybe you’d like to defer to yours and lop off a body part—one you haven’t seen before.” Chloe glows with delight at my lack of carnal knowledge.

  “Like you have,” I hiss.

  She needles me with her aggressive hatred. A dark smile blooms across her face.

  “Why, yes, Skyla. I have.”

  ***

  The evening comes wrapped in a foreboding grey fog. I dread the festivities that are about to descend upon us like some celebratory plague. I’m feeling lots of things and celebratory isn’t one of them.

  “Skyla.” Mom snatches me by the shoulder as I make my way down the hall. “The party started an hour ago. Why are you being so rude?”

  “I fell asleep—I’m still shaking off that flu. I didn’t want to get the baby sick.”

  “He’s not here.” She twists her lips with disappointment. “It’s like they’re purposefully keeping him away from us. They said he’s fussy and hates people.”

  “Genetically identical to Drake. Who knew?”

  “You’re a real comedian.” She spins me toward the crowd. “Now get out there. Your fiancé has been asking for you since he got here. And eat something, would you? There’s tons of millet bread and quinoa.” She pauses before continuing down the hall to greet an entire bevy of unsuspecting souls who she plans on accosting with her progressive cooking regime—and to think all this culinary madness has ensued just to enhance her ovaries. “And there are five full batches of wheat germ chili that nobody’s even touched.”

  I’m pretty sure adding the word “germ” doesn’t do a whole lot to enhance its appeal. In fact, I’m betting that lands it an automatic expulsion from every appetite in a twenty-mile radius.

  She scrunches her nose playfully. “And I even threw in some Kohlrabi.”

  “Are you choking?” That or speaking in tongues—all things seem possible tonight.

  “It’s a vegetable.” She rolls her eyes. “You should have some. I hear it’s used in love potions worldwide.” She gives a wink. “Then again you and Gage don’t need it.”

  God help us. She lacing the food with aphrodisiacs—by night’s end, she might unwittingly have all of Paragon both procreating and running to the bathroom with an urgency to flush out their bowels. We’ll be on the news from the bizarre baby slash incontinence boom—Gage could deliver them all since he’s vying for superhero status. We could call him Gynecological Gage or Assman—Asshole—take your pick.

  “Looks like a real feast,” I say to myself as I enter the family room.

  Bodies mill around—loose laughter congests the air. Contrary to what Mom desires, nary a soul has ventured over to the buffet. In fact, there appears to be a six-foot barrier between the food and any living thing, including Sprinkles the dog.

  I spot Logan and Gage near the back door and everything in me freezes.

  For a second, I consider rescuing Logan from whatever deceit is misfiring from Gage’s sparse brain cells, but change my mind. Instead, I head over and observe a pile of bird seed stacked higher than God ever intended on platter designed to hold something of nutritional value that humans may actually want to ingest. Mom’s menu mishap is proving to be a spectacular dinner fail.

  Both Logan and Gage stop their conversation midflight and turn to look at me.

  I pivot on my feet and head over to Ellis who’s talking to some girl I’ve never seen before.

  “Messenger.” He bumps into me with his hip and continues to espouse the finer points of hemp and its many contemporary humanitarian uses.

  It takes five seconds for the skank he’s trying to bag to belt out a yawn and pull a disappearing act.

  “You really know how to slay ‘em,” I say. Ellis is cute. He wouldn’t have to try so hard to herd unsuspecting girls into his bedroom, if he just behaved like a gentlemen—not some oversexed primate. In fact, if Ellis were a monkey, he’d be the one with the bright red ass who struts around loud and proud when, unbeknownst to him, his crimson-colored bottom is a total turn off to the opposite banana-hungry gender.

  “I need to coach you.” I nod.

  “For what? Cheer?” His sandy hair reflects the light. Ellis certainly has it down in the looks department. He’s just a little rough around the manwhore edges.

  “No, not cheer. Girls 101. You could have every skirt on the island worshiping at your feet if you let me polish you up a bit.”

  “I already have every skirt on the island worshiping at my feet—missionary position accomplished.” He expands the girth of his chest.

  “You’re not funny. Besides, they’re the wrong girls.” I dart a quick glance around the room. “And, by the way, I saw your father in the tunnel of terror last week. He is so not a nice guy.”

  “Gage told me what happened.” He scans over me, heavy with concern. “You OK?”

  “Barely. They almost killed me,” I hiss. “Please, Ellis, any way you can, I beg of you to help. Get me out of this mess. I’ll do anything, I swear.” I hold up two fingers in earnest.

  “I’ll see what I can find out from my dad.” He makes a face that assures me it’s a futile effort.

  “Are you guys close?” Somehow I doubt Ellis and his dad have logged too many hours around the campfire, unless of course, it included grilling a Celestra.

  “We used to be. But I don’t like the idea of him hurting my friends.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Hello, beautiful,” a husky male voice rasps from behind.

  I spin to find Logan, resplendent per usual. His long dimple penetrates the five o’clock shadow dusting his skin.

  “I gotta run.” Ellis darts out back as a multitude of FM’s wander outside.

  “Hello yourself,” I say to Logan. “Do me a favor—you see your conniving evil cousin slithering in my direction, give me the heads up, will you?”

  “Heads.” He nods behind me.

  “Skyla.” Gage smiles. He punctuates his happiness with those vindictive twin darts set into his cheeks, and I melt at the sight of him.

  “So, Logan,” I start, “you think we’ll have classes together next year? I mean you don’t think a certain someone will break into the main computer at West and manipulate the situation in his favor again, do you?” I so obviously should have seen his twisted mastermind skills at work. “And lunch, too. I mean didn’t you think it was odd that you had to hang out with the freshman and sophomores? It reeked of evil-handed deception.”

  “OK, I may have had a little something to do with that.” Gage fesses up with a patina of an apology.

  “You bastard.” I shake my head at him. He made sure he was a roadblock for Logan and me every chance he got.

  “Maybe I should return the favor this year?” Logan steps into me. “You prefer A lunch or B, Skyla?”

  “I’ll dine with the seniors, thank you.” I cross my arms, annunciating the fact I’m expressly pissed. “You know what I really like about you, Logan? You don’t feel the need to control my every move—my every emotion while you yourself are being manipulated by Paragon’s resident dragon.” Come to think of it, I shouldn’t insult overgrown reptiles by lumping them in with Chloe.

  “Thank you, Skyla.” Logan pinches a smile at Gage. “Not that I didn’t get the offer. She did let me know she was casting for the part of ‘boy who pretends to love the new girl,’ but I declined. I told her that the well-placed boyfriend thing wasn’t going to work out for me. I had a feeling I’d be the real deal.”

  I catch my breath and hold it. What the hell had Chloe so up in arms about me anyway?

  “Well, then.” My chest heaves. “That’s another thing I like about you.” I press a kiss into Logan’s cheek. “You, unlike some people, have undeniably big balls.”

  I turn around and head toward the backyard.

  That barb of Chloe’s from this
morning comes back to me and my stomach sours. She claims to have seen Gage in all his clothing-deficient glory—and I know for a fact she slept with Logan. God, what if she slept with them both?

  The thought of Chloe Bishop knowing both Gage and Logan’s bodies so intimately kills me.

  Chapter 12

  Walk This Way

  I dart outside to where most of the guests from Ethan’s graduation party have congregated and cast a forlorn look into the milky night sky. I wish Nev would swoop down and take me away, let me ride his wings like a time machine, back to before any of this madness began. Maybe Nev and I can simply run away? He could buffer me from all of this lunacy.

  I spot Chloe and Ethan hanging out with Nat and Emily by the overgrown eucalyptus. The tree bark is bucking and corrugated, shedding in patches, which gives it an overall balding effect. It’s as though Chloe herself had the power to strip the landscape of its beauty. I plan on avoiding the bitch squad at all costs tonight so I head in the opposite direction. No sense in adding any more misery to this evening than I have to.

  “Alone?” Marshall steps in next to me and we observe the multitude of bodies milling around. “Have the Pretty One and Jock Strap grown immune to your seductive scent, or are they wrestling it out to see which one will have your hand for the evening?”

  “None of the above. For all I know they’re comparing the size of their non-vital organs.” I shrug. “Anyways, I could care less about Jock Strap.” I try to buy into the lie, but it bites through me as it rolls off my tongue and signals otherwise.

  “Aren’t you in a cordial mood? If I knew his aligning with Chloe would set you so far off the deep end, I would have alerted you to the situation far sooner.”

  I swat him in the stomach. “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew. Ms. Bishop’s pornographic ramblings entail many a deep dark secret.”

  “Dear God.” The harsh reality slaps me in the face all over again. He really is in this with Chloe, and come to think of it, she probably has seen parts of his body I thought were strictly off limits to anyone but me.

  “Skyla,” Marshall says, giving me a quizzical look, “he hasn’t filled you in on the details yet, has he?” It comes out more fact, less question.

  “Oh, I know all the important ones. I’m not interested in any more of his colorful dishonesty.”

  Tad squawks in the distance, inspiring Marshall and I to revert our attention.

  “I spent four hundred dollars on organic fare and streamers!” Tad snatches up a fistful of curled ribbon and shakes it in Ethan’s face. “And you choose this moment to alert me to the fact you’re not walking at graduation?” He takes in a sharp breath. “I told you, Lizbeth!” He turns and bellows at my mother. “Having a graduation party a week before the actual event was going to put a hex on the situation.”

  A circle of gasps and titters erupt.

  “Relax,” Ethan says, hitting the air brakes. “I’ll be taking some time off to think about my options.”

  A burst of murmurs erupts in the crowd.

  “Options? That’s the stay-home-and-watch-TV degree!” Tad continues his tirade. “You’re over eighteen. It’s about time you start contributing to this family. I’m not going to coddle you anymore in hopes you won’t take off with the next band of hippies you come across.” He wiggles his fingers for effect. “In fact, you keep up these backward life moves, and I’m going to encourage you to take a drastic course of action to straighten you out. Join the Army, the Navy—wait they won’t even take you if you don’t have a high school diploma. Hell—you’ll be lucky to join the circus!”

  “I don’t need to join the circus.” Ethan stretches his arms to the sky, bored with the entire situation. “I live with you, don’t I?”

  “He so got Tad there,” I whisper.

  Mom goes over to try and douse the fire otherwise known as the moron she’s conjoined herself to legally.

  “Skyla.” Barron and Emma pop up beside me.

  “Hi.” I offer them both a brief hug. Just because I have a seething hatred toward their only offspring doesn’t mean I don’t like them. They’re the nicest people on the planet even if Emma does seem to dislike me at times—most of the time.

  “We heard what happened with Gage,” Emma whispers secretively. Her tangerine lips twist into a frown before corking up to a smile again. “It’s not so bad being single,” she quips. “You’ll find someone new—Logan perhaps.”

  God, if I ever thought for a moment this woman liked me, her eagerness to push me in Logan’s direction should clarify everything. If I’m not good enough for her son, who is?

  Chloe struts by on cue and gives a brief wave to the Olivers.

  Figures.

  “I’m sure it was nothing but a horrible misunderstanding,” Barron assures in vain.

  I find this doubtful. In fact, I find it doubtful Gage filled them in on the terms of his agreement with the python of Paragon. Although, I’m sure the princess of death had a few undisclosed clauses that Gage, himself, was unaware of while signing his body and soul over. I’m sure once she bared her chest at him, his critical thinking skills went right out the window.

  Marshall engages the Olivers in small talk as the party guests dwindle. After Tad’s animated tirade, an entire parade of partygoers streamed for the exit.

  Logan should redirect them toward the bowling alley for some edible fare that can be described in words other than palatable or fibrous. But I’m too pissed off at Gage to even go near him to suggest the idea. Gage is ruining everything, right down to the dinner rush at the bowling alley.

  “OK!” Mom claps like a trained seal—the one trick she’s picked up from Tad. “We’ve got a special hero with us here tonight.” She waves her hand toward the patio, where my least favorite heartbreaker darkens the doorway. “Skyla, why don’t you get the cake and bring it outside. I had the bakery whip up something special just for Gage—carob and barley—it’s to die for! Can I get a round of applause for the young man who delivered my grandbaby—and who will one day bless me with lots and lots of grandchildren himself!”

  I gasp at my mother’s audacity. Everything in me freezes as a spear of heat bisects my stomach. And, sadly, for this one moment, under a clear bed of stars, I actually wish my mother’s words would come true.

  I stagger inside and spot the round cake with “We Love You Gage” scrawled across the top in powder-blue icing. I pick it up and it wobbles unsteady in my hands. It’s heavy—like my heart, and knowing my mother, there most likely is a heart buried beneath this innocent coat of frosting. Carob and barley—could there be a more twisted combination? Chloe and Gage. That’s pretty twisted.

  I’m so angry at him for ruining our forever—for cheating my mother out of her future grandchildren—I want to spit at him, slap him, eviscerate him with a cake knife.

  I hobble back out, trying to balance the ode to the perfect douchebag, and hold it out in front of him.

  A small crowd gathers around, and my mother appears with a camera at the ready.

  Gage looks down with a soft expression of gratitude as though I had taken time out of my busy schedule from captivity and poisoning myself back to health to bake the organic, vegan, cardiac concoction because I love taking whatever the hell he dishes for me while he gets it on with Chloe on the side.

  “Gage.” I pause to steady my breathing. “I just want you to know that I think nobody deserves this more than you.” The words vibrate with anger as they make their way from my lips.

  “Thank you,” he says, trying to decode my spontaneous turnabout.

  “I hope it taste as good as it looks,” I start, “but try not to be too disappointed if it doesn’t. Looks can be deceiving. You of all people should know that.”

  In one swift move I shove the cake high up in his face and squish it around for good measure. I’d hate for him to miss out on all those beneficial barley greens and carobs that smell like feet.

  For a moment everything stands stil
l. It’s just Gage and me, his cobalt spheres illuminate in my direction while cake and frosting drip from his face. Once upon a time we held a future that promised to spool out into eternity, and now here we are reduced to nothing more than anger and fits of public humiliation. I may have tossed a cake in his face, but he drew first blood with a sword from Chloe’s personal cutlery collection.

  “Aha!” Tad laughs. “You owe me ten dollars, Lizbeth. Told you she’d desecrate the confection before the night was through.”

  What little guests are left, bypass the new blemish on the festivities and show themselves out.

  “Skyla!” Mom scuttles up and helps dust vanilla frosting off Gage’s shirt. “I’m so sorry,” she gasps to Emma and Barron.

  Demetri crops up and the tension in our small circle rises like heat through a magnifying glass. Of course, in my fantasy, Demetri would be the ant. My anger alone has the capability to incinerate him.

  “I’m having a get together tomorrow.” The words slither from him, thick and wicked. “My first annual kickoff to summer, and I’d love for all of you to join me,” he purrs.

  Gage excuses himself into the house. A foolish part of me yearns to go with him and yet the wiser part chooses to stay out here with the people who are way more honest with me, like Demetri.

  “Of course we’ll come!” Mom beams. “I haven’t worn a bathing suit in ages. I’m sure the only one I’ll fit into is my birthday suit!” She titters.

  “You’re such a tomcat, Lizbeth.” He cajoles right back. “Just like the old days.”

  What’s like the old days? The tomcat or the birthday suit? And by the way, eww. There’s an image I did not ever need.

  “Anything we can bring?” Marshall bows to the invitation. “A salad, a casserole, perhaps a bloody Mary? I hear you’re partial to plasma-based cocktails.”