Friday morning, I head downstairs overwhelmed by the fact I’m the root of pain for dozens of people in the world. Those Counts we killed had families, and just knowing Brielle, Nat and Ellis—I can tell that not all Counts are out to get me. The fact that some or all of those Counts might have had children makes me seriously question my actions. Logan was right I should have thought things through. Logan is always right and somehow this more than slightly pisses me off.
“Ready for the field trip?” My mother swipes a dishtowel into a glass, then holds it up to the light.
“Oh right.” The away game is tonight. After fifth, we’re all getting shuttled to the ferry and heading to the mainland.
Drake comes in and sits at the bar looking rather morose over the fact he won’t be joining me.
Tad rattles his paper. It’s become his way of getting our attention just before something moronic flies from his mouth. Normal people would clear their throats, but then again Tad is not normal so it makes perfect sense. Also, he apparently never got the memo that newspapers have gone the way of the VCR. I’m sure the news he’s reading is as stale as his breath.
“The football team going?” He peppers his voice with concern as though the football team going to a football game is cause for alarm.
“It’s a football game, so it sort of makes sense.” I pull the milk from the fridge and set it on the counter.
Drake’s back vibrates as he gives a silent laugh.
“Skyla,” my mother groans. “Does everything that comes from your lips have to be drenched with such sarcasm? We’re starting to feel attacked.” She locks her fists high on her hips.
She’s feeling attacked? I’m feeling attacked. Of course, I can’t voice that, or I’ll get shipped away to an all girls prison, or the psych ward, or the graveyard—all of the above in quick succession.
“I’m concerned, Skyla.” Tad ambles over next to Mom with his arms crossed tight. They both wear the same irrevocably pissed expressions.
“What’s there to be concerned about? We’ll be back Saturday.”
“The school has you all checking into the same hotel,” he says, laced with suspicion, as if suddenly I’m responsible for travel arrangements.
“Yeah, so? Brielle, Nat, and Kate are sharing a room with me. Boys and girls are on different floors.” I get a bowl out of the pantry like it’s no big deal. Oddly, I haven’t given the away game much thought, but now that they mention it, I think it’s going to be pretty damn exciting.
“There’s always the elevator,” Drake says through a mouth full of cereal.
“That’s right.” Tad is quick to agree. “Gage will undoubtedly be there. Are the two of you?” He conjoins his forefingers then separates them.
“I gave her permission to keep seeing Gage.” My mother sighs into her words as though she were knowingly opening a Pandora’s box of grief.
“Oh really?” Tad’s voice hits its upper register. “Well at least we’ll know who to thank when there’s a crib in her room nine months down the road.”
My mouth falls open at the accusation.
“Skyla is not having sex,” Mom says with a reserved sense of calm. “We’ve already had this conversation.”
Mia and Melissa walk in on cue and take seats on either side of Drake.
“And you know this for a fact, because?” He shouts. “Lizbeth, she routinely lies to us. It’s just who she is.”
It’s who she is? He makes it sound like lying is embedded in my genetic code, or its some pathological condition I’ve contracted.
“And what about the rest of the kids on this trip?” He directs the question over to me. “Do they drink or drug?”
A laugh gets caught in my throat. Before I can wrap my head around his stupid phraseology, Mom steps between us.
“Relax,” her voice is tethered to a false sense of calm. “The email said there were going to be three chaperones. It’s all very well supervised.”
I happen to know Marshall is one of them, Ms. Richards and the coach, the other two. Marshall is practically useless, more of a liability than anything else.
“Oh three?” He balks at her. “So three people are going to control fifty or so hormonal teens? They’ll probably tie them up and throw them overboard, soon as they hit open waters. Good luck with the delusion that everything is going to be OK with her.” He storms out of the room leaving a void of silence in his wake.
My mother spins around with an unexpected look of glee in her eyes. “So! Somebody’s birthday is right around the corner.” She sings the last word.
“Are you serious?” I hiss. She’s freaking insane. “You just let him treat me like I’m some sort of juvenile delinquent who drinks and drugs and plans on having sex with Gage tonight.” I pause in reflection. I did get drunk that one time, and I sort of did engorge myself on pot-laced brownies. I’ve tried at least twice to sleep with Gage… hey? Maybe Tad’s a psychic?
I shake my head.
“Forget my birthday.” I abandon the milk on the counter and race upstairs.
***
I try to remember my family, the way it was before my dad died. I don’t ever recall a single argument rooted in my questionable hormonal behavior, for sure no conversations about drugs or alcohol in context with me.
I pull out my duffel bag and throw in a pair of jeans, a sweater for tomorrow, and slide my makeup off my desk and into the bag with a clean sweep of my arm.
There’s a light knock at the door before Mia lets herself in and closes it behind her.
“Hey, Skyla.” She says my name in two equal parts, never a good sign.
“What’s up?” I try not to show any signs of fear as I prepare to be blackmailed into oblivion.
She rolls backward onto the bed. Her long pale legs almost reach the top of my canopy.
“The bathroom was taken so I had to use yours this morning.”
“Oh, that’s fine. You’re welcome anytime.” I get up and snatch Chloe’s diary off the nightstand and stuff it deep into my bag before she gets any funny ideas.
“I wasn’t really snooping or anything, but I dropped my phone in your trashcan, and while I was fishing it out,” she pauses to sit up and pluck something from her pocket, “I found this.” She wands a little pink stick over at me like I should know what it is.
I snatch it out of her hands and examine it.
“What’s this?” I think I know. Looks like a pregnancy test. Inside the urine stained window, there’s a red sign that reads positive. “It’s not mine.”
“You play dumb so well.” She rocks off the bed and jumps in front of me. “So whose baby is it? Is it that teacher’s? I guess it could belong to Gage or even that other guy you were seeing when first we got here.” She itemizes the possibilities on her fingertips.
I stare out at the wall. “Get a grip Mia, it’s not mine. It’s obviously Mom’s. She probably wants to surprise Tad or something, so she took it in my bathroom.”
Mom walks in without knocking, and I hide the test behind my back.
“So when were you going to tell us?” Mia whines, as if she’s honestly offended that Mom hasn’t spilled the news of her cloven-hoofed spawn.
“Tell you what?”
“That you’re having a baby.” Mia’s inflection on the word baby makes her sound like one herself.
“Oh, Hon.” Mom lifts her hand up to her chest. “I’m not. Aunt Flow just paid me a visit,” she whispers. “But I promise, you’ll be first to know. I was just stopping in to let you know,” she points over at me, “don’t pack your hair dryer, they’ll have one at the hotel.” She squeezes her hand in a mock wave before leaving the room.
Mia gets right up in my face. “Thought so.” She takes off, slamming the door on the way out.
It’s not mine.
I pause considering the alternatives.
Brielle?
Brielle and Michelle are both going to have babies? Plus that girl in Spanish, that makes three at West!
&n
bsp; Dear God. We’re going to be on the freaking news.
46
All Aboard
All day long I’m a nervous wreck over the fact I’ve managed to accidentally smuggle Chloe’s diary to school. I took it out from the duffle bag, and it’s been hitching a ride in my backpack ever since. It feels like I’m walking around with a grenade on my back. Like, at any moment Michelle Miller is going to come over and snatch it out and start reading it out loud in the quad. Not that there’s anything really earth shattering in there. That whole this will change everything crap turned out to be just a rouse. I mean what did it change really? My feelings for Gage? That was destined to happen.
My heart sinks. That’s why Logan broke up with me. Maybe that was all a part of Chloe’s plan—break me and Logan up so she could have him to herself when she gets back.
After fifth, Gage and I head over to the bus together. Brielle is already seated with Nat and Kate, so the two of us pick a spot near the back.
The bus is tight, three to a seat, and Logan’s yet to get on. I see Lexy craning her neck waiting in anticipation. I feel like craning her neck—twisting it. I wonder how many revolutions it would before it actually popped off?
Logan steps on. He looks coolly around at the sea of faces. My stomach bottoms out at the sight of him.
“Wave him over,” I say to Gage.
“Who?” He looks up. “Oh.” He sinks back in his seat mildly irritated. “What for?”
“We can talk faction business.” And Lexy won’t win.
Gage leans up and waves Logan over.
He’s coming. He’s about to pass Lexy, and I’ll die happy if he does. Logan pauses and whispers something to her before heading back. It was a simple act, innocent really, but it churned up the acid in my stomach in one hot bite.
“What’s going on?” He lands next me, and every bad feeling in me settles. It’s blissful like this with Gage and Logan on either side of me—safe.
Logan busies himself adjusting his backpack while Gage tries untangling his earphones. I see Lexy pinning me with an aggressive hate-filled stare, and I do what any other girl in my shoes would do—blow her a kiss.
Gage looks up in time to see me do it—makes me feel like I’ve just thrust a dagger into his heart.
I pick up his hand and hold it in plain view of Logan. This isn’t going well. This will never, ever go well.
***
The ferry ride is so annoyingly boisterous it makes me wish my head would explode and put me out of my misery. Ms. Richards stands at the front and shouts revisions to her latest cheer torture routine over the jutting sound of the engine. Gage and Logan were yanked up deck, with the rest of the guys to go over plays or something. See? Tad had nothing to worry about. Even the boat ride is segregated.
“I need some air,” I say.
“Me too.” Brielle fans herself spastically.
We head up top, into the wild blowing wind, and my hair flies in a million directions at once.
I pull my hood on and take in the sights. Paragon’s coast looks like an emerald illusion veiled in a thin coat of fog. The ocean is frosted with whitecaps, just one violent wave collapsing after another. It reminds me of the first time I saw Marshall, speaking of which….
“Ms. Messenger.” He slips in besides me.
Brielle has already migrated over to Nat who—oh my God—Pierce is here!
He’s got his arms all over Nat, one on her thigh, the other dancing up and down her back.
Shit!
“What’s the matter? Count on board rile you up?”
“Yes.” My hand flattens across my chest. “He’s a freaking psycho! He did all kinds of bad things to me, and he’s like part vampire or something.”
“You must taste delicious.” He tracks a row of pelicans as they skirt across the water.
“So, what’s going to happen?” I pull at his sleeve and that soothing rhythm surges through my bones. “Am I going to be OK? Is this trip going to end horribly?” Sheer panic begins to bubble out of me.
“Do I look like a magic eight ball?” He pulls his cheek to the side mildly amused. “I don’t know Skyla. I’m not a voyeur into the future. I let the visions come as they may.”
“If I had that gift, I’d want to know everything about everybody.” I fold my hands up over the lip of the railing.
“You’re vexed with the simple detail of marrying Gage.”
“Shhh!” I swat him.
“How do you think you’d handle the rest of the details? The life altering ones? Honestly, I’d have to snatch at your ankles just to save you from tossing yourself overboard, if you knew every last one.”
“Wow. You must really know something big.” I look up at him somberly. “Anything you’d like to share?”
“You know the rules.” He penetrates me in with a smoldering look.
“I don’t mean weak stuff like a runaway butterfly. I’m talking earthquakes of my existence—that kind of life altering.”
“I promise you an earthquake, Skyla.” He plucks off his black leather gloves one finger at a time. “Payment is a little higher—room 417, nine-thirty. Be there—prepare to shake, rattle and roll.” He walks toward Ms. Richards briskly. Probably rescheduling.
I look up and see both Logan and Gage eyeing me with unsettled expressions.
I wonder which one of them is involved in this earthquake and how strong it will register on the Richter scale.
47
Blood Like Sugar
The game is uneventful. The field sits nestled in a clearing amidst a circle of dense overgrown pines. A fog bank has settled in this bald patch of earth and it feels like we’re cheering while perched on clouds way up in the stratosphere. I can’t make out the players, for sure can’t see the numbers on their jerseys. It’s a big ball of confusion, so I focus on my high kicks and scream into the wind.
Marshall happens to be seated right next to my least favorite vampire—Pierce. Nat mentioned they might go out to dinner tonight. He probably has a major artery of hers lined up for dessert, but then again she’s a Count, no point in blood suction there.
You like the company I keep? Marshall nods over to Pierce. I see the discontent on your face when you look over. You’re glaring. Do be a little more discreet.
I try not to make eye contact with Marshall. Pierce will totally misinterpret that and think I’m shooting daggers at him, or worse, lusting after him. He’ll think I’m wishing he would drain the life out me as though it were some sensual thrill ride.
I’ve been reading his thoughts for a while now. Would you like the exhaustive or the synopsized version? Marshall pauses. He says you’ve got a great ass. His words, not mine, although I agree. He also likes the way you choreograph your sweater to rise at the precise moment you lift your skirt. He finds that very erotic.
Again with the sex on the brain. It’s every single one of them, I swear.
He’s drifting in and out of a fantasy concerning your blood. It’s gory and degrading, and I choose to skip the details.
The pom-pom in my left hand starts to wiggle out of control. It takes my arm on a wild ride directly into Michelle’s face and smears into her hard.
“I’m so sorry!” I shout.
Shit!
I try to drop the haunted ball of tinfoil, but it sticks to my skin as though it had somehow magically adhered.
Michelle jumps back and clamps her hands over her nose. The black circles under her eyes have impressed themselves as permanent features. For a moment, I think I should take advantage of the opportunity and rip the Fem-riddled rose off her neck.
“You bitch!” She gurgles from under her fingers.
In one quick motion my arm turns, before I can grasp what direction it’s about to maneuver, I’m bopping Lexy in the face, fast and repetitive like a cartoon kangaroo.
“Holy shit!” Emily pushes me hard, landing me flat on my back in a patch of orange dirt. Brielle, Nat, and Kate run over to help me to my feet. They’re
laughing so hard they’re dry hacking.
Good show Skyla! Good show! I see Marshall in the stands clapping while gazing out into the field as though the team might have done something worthy of his praise.
If anybody can stop Holden, Marshall can.
Maybe I can cheer that in his room tonight.
***
Dinner theater. No, really. Come to find out Ms. Richards is a theater buff, and the small abandoned town which lies on the outskirts of civilization is putting on a production with all of its thirty-five inhabitants in the cast—that includes an infant.
The play is Romeo and Juliet. The entire tragedy is narrated in verse by a tall, thin, man who looks as though he might have literally been stretched out by Fems.
“Seventh century outdid itself with this one,” Marshall leans in and whispers from the table behind me. “The past was much more fun. More rebel rousing, less social death by internet.”
“Do you mind?” Gage hisses over at him.
It’s not easy to rile up Gage, but I think deep down inside he senses a connection between Marshall and me. Not that I’m even remotely interested in Marshall.
Michelle is practically sitting on his lap, glaring at me with that gaunt haunted expression she wears like a mask. As of late, she’s pretty damn scary to look at. Just past her, I can see Logan sandwiched between Lexy and Emily. I should have taken Lexy’s eye out while I had the chance.
Logan gives a heartfelt smile. It’s the distinct look of longing—that covetous look in his eye when he sees me with Gage that makes me want to forget about everything we’re hiding from and go over to him. But it’s Gage I’m here with and Gage I’m committed to—Gage that I really do love, so I turn around and try not to let Logan’s resplendent face burn a narcotic image into my heart—too late.
The play comes to an end—the actors walk the plank and dip down together in an arm-linked bow.
Natalie whispers something to Pierce, and they laugh in unison. He continues his crooked smile in my direction, but something in his eye glints a challenge.