Elysian

  “That sounds special.” It expels from me low, depressed as hell. I glance down and pull a loose thread on my sweater. My heart feels so heavy for Gage I can just cry.

  “Hey.” She reaches over and rubs my back. “You’re thinking about the other hot Oliver, aren’t you?”

  I press my lips together, trying to hold back the pain.

  “Come here.” Brielle pulls me into a powerhouse hug. My face gets buried in her hair, and I take in her warm scent, coconut and flowers. She pulls back and gives an impish grin. “Gage is going to have you forever, Skyla. You already know that. The two of you are going to have insane sex all over this island. And one of these days, while the two of you are going at it hot and heavy, you’ll look into those bright blue eyes of his and think, Brielle was right.” She gives a nod as if to annunciate her point.

  Just the thought of hot island sex with Gage sets my insides ripping with flames. Crap. This entire conversation is getting me all worked up for both Olivers at once while Marshall’s light drive plays on a loop in the back of my mind.

  “So don’t feel bad about Gage.” She kicks my foot. “Appreciate Logan.”

  “Yeah, but how do you think that’s going to make Gage feel? There’s no way I’d ever want him to think he was second best.” Because he’s not.

  “He won’t. Trust me they both know they’re number one in your eyes.”

  “There’s no such thing as two number ones.”

  “Sure there is. It’s called a tie, and, in this case, death is the tiebreaker.”

  Death as a tiebreaker, who would have thought.

  All I know for sure is confusion is the order of the day.

  But I can feel a sneeze coming on a mile away, and I wonder who will be there to share it with me.

  ***

  An entire week falls under the rails as the train of time rolls on. Both Logan and Gage are caught under the proverbial wheels, dragging along for the ride. Neither one of them bothers to hide their long faces, those pissed off expressions they wear like a mask. And, of course, then there’s Marshall. The hours bleed by and here I am with nary an idea on how I’m going to save him from eternal banishment.

  The dull world of morning greets me with the abnormally, and obnoxiously, loud sound of my mother’s voice. Oddly she sounds relaxed, not at all like she’s screaming at the top of her lungs, and yet her voice penetrates the walls and gives the slight hint of an echo.

  I rush downstairs to see if my mother has fallen victim to gigantism overnight or if Ezrina, simply tired of my shit, has decided to hex my family with some voice anomaly that will scare the crap out of the rest of the world.

  “You are brighter than the sun,” Mom says in what I can only assume is her morning affirmation to Beau.

  Tad’s voice booms from the kitchen, “You’re not going to be a screw up!”

  I bolt into the family room and catch Mom and Tad with a megaphone pressed to her stomach.

  “That’s not how you do it.” Mom yanks the apparatus from her swollen abdomen.

  “Wow, you’re starting to show,” I say, drifting in their direction. Mom thought she was starting to show last month, but, really, it just looked like she was letting her gut hang out.

  “Thanks.” She rounds her hand over her belly. “We’re just so excited about the baby.”

  “Speaking of babies, where’s Beau?” The tiny Count is nowhere to be seen which makes me wonder if Tad made Mom return him to the bacon haven next door. I have no idea how long Mom plans on holding him hostage.

  “Asleep in his casket.”

  “Which brings me to my next point”—Tad barks while settling at the kitchen table to view his early morning kitten porn or whatever the hell occupies his many hours of Internet trolling—“tell that linebacker boyfriend of yours to put another one of those things on order. Your mother wants a traditional baby jail, and they’re way over our budget. Maybe that mortician can give you a family discount, after all, you’re dating both his sons.”

  I roll my eyes while pouring a cup of coffee.

  In a way Tad is right. I’m dating both Olivers.

  I frown into my reflection in the microwave. I wonder what Gage would do if he knew I was up half the night devising a way to sleep with his “brother.”

  How did things get so screwed up? And why the hell are there two hot Olivers?

  Mom scuttles over. “I’m headed to Host later this afternoon. If you want I’ll wait until you’re out of school, and we can head over together. I know we have tons to talk about.”

  Mia and Melissa rush into the kitchen and start in on a choir of, take us, take us!

  Mia snatches my mother by the elbow. “They have the hottest stores over there, all of our friends shop there—and Melissa and I have been saving our birthday money.”

  “The shopping sucks here on Paragon,” Melissa chimes in to reinforce Mia’s argument.

  “Fine.” Mom waves them off. “We’ll take the four o’clock ferry.” She glances back over at me, and her features darken. “And I’m dying to hear what’s going on with you and Gage. Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t go to homecoming with him. That’s a pretty big deal, Skyla,” she says it stern as if I’ve really fucked up good this time.

  “That was a pretty big deal.” I’ve suddenly lost my appetite for breakfast. “Well, I’ll see you later.”

  “Skyla?” Mom calls from the kitchen table. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that your birthday is this Friday. Anything special you’d like to do?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s the last game of the season, so I’ll probably be out late. And Gage has his birthday Saturday, so I’ll be busy then, too.”

  “We have to have cake.” Mia protests as if I were trying to deny them the inflated carbohydrates they’re entitled to once a year in my honor.

  “Fine. We’ll figure something out,” I say.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom assures. “I’ll talk to Emma, and we’ll take care of everything. Maybe we’ll do a big brunch on Sunday?”

  “Yeah.” That won’t be awkward at all.

  I wonder if it was a coincidence that Gage was born less than twenty-four hours after me? And if there are no coincidences, what exactly does that mean?

  The list of questions I have for Candace Messenger is growing.

  My birthday can’t come fast enough.

  ***

  The fine folks at West Paragon High apparently don’t let the mortification of others go too easily. Lex, Michelle, and Chloe have undergone an assortment of name-calling, spontaneous reenactments, and supercharged mocking from their fellow peers. So it doesn’t surprise me at all when two adult diapers and a vomit bag appear mysteriously on their desk in chemistry.

  “They’re going to think I did it,” I whisper to Logan and Gage just as the bell rings.

  The bitch squad arrives sporting the latest in skank-wear, which would make Mia and Melissa drool with envy.

  Michelle gags at she spies the horrific hijinks but Lex and Chloe exchange looks before reverting their lasers of destruction in my direction.

  “Take your seats, girls,” Marshall coaxes.

  “There’s shit on my desk.” Lex is quick to fill Marshall in on the décor strewn across her table.

  “Pardon me?” Marshall’s features harden, lending him a wicked charm. “Watch your tongue, or I’ll arrange for it to be removed.”

  The class gives a collective gasp.

  “I’ve no patience to deal with your inappropriate use of the English language today or any other day.”

  Wow.

  I exchange glances with both Logan and Gage. Something’s unleashed the inner demon in my favorite Sector. I’m guessing it has more to do with my mother and less to do with Lexy and her salty tongue, which might soon be extricated from her person.

  I could kill Logan for sending Marshall to the Justice Alliance, although Chloe beat me to it. Speaking of Chloe, if Marshall is going to excise anyone’s tongue, I vote we put
hers up on the chopping block first.

  “Who pissed in your Wheaties?” Lex says it low, yet smothered with angst, and the room inhales as if an apocalyptic event were upon us.

  Marshall’s brows pull back in amusement. He gives a gentle smile in her direction. From a distance he looks innocent enough, benevolent even, but God almighty knows Marshall Dudley is exacting his revenge.

  Lexy and her glibbery member better watch the hell out.

  Lexy lets out a strangled cry, and the class spins around to see what’s the matter. Her hands are crossed over her crotch while her jeans darken considerably as if someone were dousing her with a glass of water.

  Crap. He’s gone the route of Kate and made Lex piss herself.

  She snatches her backpack off the floor and speeds out of class, shrieking from the humiliation of it all.

  The room breaks out in titters, then a loose circle of laughter takes over until hysterics ensue.

  Again, Marshall’s aim was a little off. I’ll have to talk to him about creating hand signals to let him know when I’d like Chloe’s bladder to malfunction. Oh, who am I kidding, I want nothing less than perpetual humiliation for Chloe. A momentary bladder malfunction does not a retribution make.

  “Anyone else?” Marshall challenges the room full of minors with a marked note of anger. “Very well. Today the focus is sexual chemistry.” He pierces me with his stare, his brows still knit with fury.

  Sexual chemistry? Shit. I so know this isn’t going to end well. I’m betting this is Marshall’s way of inciting Logan and Gage. Who knows what bodily function he’ll evoke from them if they dare protest his method of educating us on all things coitus.

  “What role does sexual attraction play in human preservation?” He strolls to the front of the class.

  Ellis’s hand spikes in the air.

  It would figure. It’s the first time I’ve seen Ellis so excited in class, let alone willing to participate.

  “Down, Mr. Harrison.” Marshall leans against his desk. “Sexual attraction is one part chemistry and equal parts emotion. When a young man looks at a girl for the very first time, a series of neurotransmitters go off, and he might find himself sexually aroused. The ability to override a sexual response is entirely up to the cerebral part of the brain, and, as most of you can attest, that part is often on lockdown in situations such as these. It’s where the expression love is blind derives from.”

  A boy in the front row has the audacity to yawn, and Marshall’s eyes expand with rage at the sight.

  “I apologize,” Marshall seethes at the poor, unsuspecting student. “I didn’t realize I was boring you out of your mind.” His lips purse, and for a second I’m afraid for both the boy and his urinary tract. “Perhaps if I bring this home a bit, you’ll find it easier to digest.” Marshall straightens and offers a dubious grin in my direction. “Take Ms. Messenger for example. Let’s say she and Ms. Bishop were walking down the hall and Mr. Oliver, Gage, to be exact, was striding toward them. Mr. Oliver might very well be attracted to them both. After all, both are comely in their own respect, each with their own stunning physical attributes, but he’s not attracted to them both. He’s distinctly attracted to Ms. Messenger. Why? What makes her more appealing to him than Ms. Bishop? There are at least ten boys, on any given day, who would voluntarily lose body parts to bond with Ms. Bishop, so why not her? Perhaps Mr. Oliver is particular.”

  I steal a glance at Gage to see if he’s taking this all in stride. His dimples are inverted, with no smile to comfort me.

  “Perhaps it’s that golden hair that’s captured his attention,” Marshall continues as the class remains riveted to his hypothetical dalliance. I don’t like the way he’s reducing Mr. Oliver’s attraction to me as nothing more than some autonomic response linked to Gage’s penis compass. But I’m willing to give Marshall the chance to redeem himself, so I continue to pay attention.

  “Or perhaps Ms. Messenger has bewitched him with that come-hither look in her eye or her vexingly long legs?”

  Logan groans and folds his arms across his chest.

  Marshall turns abruptly in his direction. “Did you have something to add to the lecture?” A bout of silence thumps by. “Oh, I see. You, too, are smitten with Ms. Messenger, and, therefore, would like an equal evaluation of your sexual attraction. Perhaps you can fill us in on what you find so alarmingly magnetic that both you and your relation find her so alluring.”

  “I love Skyla for her inner beauty.” Logan is quick to shoot down Marshall’s theory on sexual relativity. “She’s a good person, and she’d sacrifice everything for the people she cares about. She has a good heart and a sweet soul. I can make a list, as long as the island, of things that I like about her that don’t happen to include the way she looks.”

  I nudge my knee into his and give a private smile.

  “So you’re saying”—Marshall holds up a finger as if he’s about to contest this—“if Ms. Messenger were to suddenly morph into a haggard old women with a bent back and a crown of burnt, wiry hair, you would still hold her near and dear to your heart?”

  Shit. He so just described Ezrina. I bet he’s got all kinds of inside information on the happenings of their new trial.

  “And, Ms. Messenger,” he continues, “I’m sure you have an equally good report regarding your attraction to the Oliver on your right and you would profess your undying love to him even if he were to magically morph into”—he cuts me a look, sharp enough to slice through steel cables—“a raven?”

  Knew it.

  I pick up Logan’s hand. It’s happening. We’ve finally found a way to live happily ever after, I say while glaring over at “Mr. Dudley.”

  “Yes,” I say it crisp and loud should my mother be moved to listen in on the bastardized lecture. “I would love Logan even if he magically morphed into a bird. When you care about someone, it doesn’t matter what’s on the outside. He has a heart of gold.” I give his hand a squeeze. “And I think the planet is better off with him on it.” Preferably above ground.

  Marshall leers over at me, and his face brightens unnaturally. A visual of that intense light drive we took spins out like a movie in my mind, and I drop Logan’s hand in hopes to keep him in the dark regarding my future sexcapades with our chemistry teacher.

  Oh shit. My breathing grows erratic. Here it goes. It plays out clearly in the theater of my mind—Marshall and me in the bedroom, my hands tied high above me on the post of his bed as he parts my knees with his big strong hands.

  I guess you could say this was Marshall’s way of engaging in some serious “hands on learning”—teaching through example of where some serious chemical attraction might eventually land you.

  Marshall fixes his gaze over mine, and I can’t look away. He’s magnetized himself to me, and the urgency to have him—to replicate the actions reeling through my brain have intensified. He’s overcoming my good senses. I give a heated breath as I flatten my palms over the cool surface of my desk. I can see it clearly as Marshall rides over me in waves. His hot, exotic kisses spear me with surprise. His hands float up and down my body, his heated skin rakes against mine, and, honest to God, I can feel him. A warm sensation fills me, and I let out a soft groan.

  Marshall is taking me—making me his, and my entire body wants to cry out with pleasure.

  Oh God. My chest heaves as my insides quiver. An unfamiliar sensation quickens through me, it’s building, an anticipation rises throughout every fiber of my being, and for a split second it feels as if my entire body wants nothing more than to…sneeze.

  Holy shit! My eyes widen in horror as the scene continues to beat through my mind.

  Marshall runs his tongue down my neck, down my chest before tracking lower, so low—

  The bell shrills up above, and I give a cry as my entire body seizes.

  My eyes squeeze shut a moment before I force them open, panting wildly.

  “And that”—Marshall says, still fixated over me—“is exactly where sexu
al attraction leads you.” His lips pull back in a line. You’re welcome.

  Gage wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in. “What the fuck was that about?”

  God, if I tell him, he’ll try to kill Marshall and only end up maimed in the process.

  “Nothing.” I try to swallow, but my throat has run dry.

  The muscle in Logan’s jaw pops. “I saw enough to know it wasn’t nothing.” He glares over at Marshall.

  “Look, I’ve got to ask him something. I’ll meet you guys outside.” I speed over to the raunchy ringmaster with a disproving scowl.

  “Just a while ago I refused to stand by and watch my mother banish you to hell, but now I’m not so sure.” I fold my arms as I nestle into my backpack.

  “Did the lesson of the day amuse you?” His features lose their soft appeal. Marshall is very much back to being annoyed.

  “What happened? Are Nev and Ezrina all right?”

  “As it stands, the trial is not, as you would say, in their favor. And in the event you were curious, the Kraggers aren’t fairing so well either.”

  Crap. “I won’t have to worry about turning into Ezrina. The Kraggers will kill me long before that happens. Shit. Why couldn’t I live a normal life like everyone else?”

  “Dare you use profanity in my presence after the misfortune that befell Ms. Bakova?”

  “Sorry, and well done.” I tuck a smile in the side of my cheek. “And I can’t believe that making it all the way to the sword of the Master wasn’t enough to crush the Counts.” I grit my teeth. “But I’m not done with them or with Chloe.”

  “The fun, my love, is just beginning. You keep up this brave girl façade, and you’ll crush the Countenance into submission with your pretty little heel.”

  I hold back a smile, wild-eyed at his apparent oversight.

  “Who the hell is putting up a façade?”

  “You sound convincing.”