by L.J. Shen
She threatened. Me.
I was about to burst out laughing when she continued.
“Oh, and it’s Lenny now,” she hissed. “Lenora is an old person’s name.”
It was the first crack in her façade, where signs of the flaming-golden-haired girl peeked from behind the Goth, pasty chick.
“Hate to break it to you, but Lenny is a Gremlin’s name.” I stepped back, throwing the towel into her hands, finally showing an ounce of mercy. “Here. Cover up. I’m planning to eat sometime tonight. May I have my appetite back now?”
She made no move to put the robe on, likely just to spite me. I shook my head, realizing I’d been here far longer than I’d anticipated. The Astalis girl wasn’t important enough to monopolize my time. I tucked my joint into the corner of my mouth and strolled toward the balcony doors, picking up her scattered clothes and throwing them over my shoulder, into the pool. She knew my secret. She had leverage on me, and we were competing for the same spot. Seemed like pissing all over my promise to Knight was in order.
Lenora’s mother died, and that was tragic.
But what happened to me was terrible, too.
Only difference was, my tragedy was silent and embarrassing, and hers—loud and publicly acknowledged.
I stopped at the glass doors, twisting my head around.
“This could get really ugly, Astalis.”
“Already is.” She flattened her lips, looking unnerved. “But if you look closely, you’ll find beauty in the ugliness, too.”
I left without a word.
Lenora was officially my business, and even though I wasn’t fond of complications, the thought of destroying her pierced me with euphoric desire.
She made ugly things beautiful.
I was going to show her my soul was marred beyond repair.
My sister and I were having very different American high school experiences, and that put an invisible barrier between us.
Poppy was head-over-heels in lust with her boyfriend, quarterback superstar Knight Cole. Knight was summer—golden, promising, and reckless, always burning on the edge of something. He led the pack, so she had a temporary seat on the throne next to the king.
Which, I guess, made me the jester. I had the right to spend the time in the cool-kid kingdom’s court, but only as a source of entertainment.
Poppy never did anything mean to me, but she was too obsessed with fitting in to stop, or even recognize, when I’d been taunted.
For the most part, it didn’t matter, anyway. A snarky comment here, a Drusilla remark there. I could take it. It toughened me up, and a part of me began to feel elated, like I was above all the teenage bullshit.
The main offenders were Arabella and Alice.
Alice had a platinum pixie haircut, hazel eyes, and huge implants Arabella liked to refer to as “so very nineties.” Arabella was tan, with cyan blue eyes and long, coal black hair that dangled by the edge of her bum.
They both hated me.
Come to think of it, everyone hated me.
My first semester as a senior at All Saints High proved to be the disaster I’d anticipated it to be. I’d spent most of my childhood and adolescence running with ghosts and chasing demons at Carlisle Prep. I had my best friend Rafferty Pope and other kids to play with.
In England, I’d always felt welcome and cherished.
Not so, here in California.
The black camouflage I’d adapted to shoo Vaughn away and show him I was not scared made people call me a freak and an outcast. No one but Poppy publicly acknowledged me, unless it was to take a dig. Girls detested me for the way I dressed, the fact that I was always cradling a thick book in my hand, and that I answered Vaughn, Hunter, and Knight when they taunted me. Knight and Hunter as banter, Vaughn more viciously.
They called me trash and weirdo for standing up for myself.
Even though the first few weeks had brought with them mildly interested guys of the alternative and Goth variety, their attention died down once they realized Vaughn Spencer found me repulsive.
Which was literally the word he’d used.
Repulsive.
It had happened in the cafeteria some weeks into the clusterfuck of my American high school experience. Normally I picked a bench and ate by myself with a book, but this time, Poppy had insisted I hang out with her.
She did that sometimes—had a spurt of guilt and made me hang out with her mates. And I, driven by the same guilt as we grew apart, obliged.
I had been sitting with her and her friends Hunter, Arabella, and Stacee—who did their best to ignore me—when Vaughn strolled in and took a seat right between Poppy and Knight, directly in front of me.
Plastic utensils fell on trays with soft thuds and people whispered animatedly. Vaughn never came to the cafeteria. I’d heard all about his legendary antics. We mortals weren’t good enough to keep him company, if you didn’t count him letting a select cluster of girls suck his penis when he was feeling generous.
Pretending I hadn’t noticed him, I flipped through a copy of The Night Circus, taking a bite of my pizza. I was the only student in the entire cafeteria to buy a slice of greasy pizza. In Todos Santos, people treated carbs as though they were war criminals and sugar like it was poison. I was all harsh lines to begin with, with very few hints of curve, so I didn’t quite care about losing my figure. Fine-looking things required maintenance, and I lacked the desire to be another pretty face.
I didn’t understand the obsession with beauty. We all get old. We all get wrinkles. Life is short. Eat that pizza. Drink that wine. Shut down that bully eejit who tortures you.
Words of wisdom you need to tell yourself, Lenny.
“Vaughn! Why aren’t you eating?” my sister purred, fawning over Satan himself.
I hadn’t confided in her about his visit to our house the other day. She was the exact opposite of me. If Mum’s death made me an angry, unapologetic teen, Poppy made it a point to become the nicest, most agreeable Mary Sue alive—as if being perfect and sweet would prevent people from leaving. From dying.
Yeah, once upon a time I’d been a good girl. It had earned me an arch enemy. I should have bitten and kicked him when I had the chance, not let him set the tone of our dysfunctional relationship.
“Here, take my Caesar salad. I’m so full from that green shake I had this morning.” Poppy slid her tray toward him.
Even as I flipped a page and tried to concentrate on the book, I could tell he was looking at me. I didn’t get him. He’d come to my house—broke into it—and threatened me not to share his secret. I’d obliged without resistance. Even though I’d played it cool, I’d been mortified by him watching me stark naked. I hadn’t spoken to a soul at All Saints High. Not about his secret, not about our history, and not at all.
He’d challenged me to a war I didn’t want, but I wasn’t going to avoid it at any cost.
Vaughn didn’t answer Poppy. And Knight, who had the good sense not to bully me since he wanted to get into my sister’s knickers, elbowed his ribs with a frown.
“Say thank you, Lord McCuntson. Poppy was being nice.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said with his well-practiced icy boredom.
My stomach twisted into deadly knots. I could feel the chill of his pale, cerulean eyes wherever they landed on me, and I suppressed the violent shivers prickling my skin.
“How come?” Arabella drawled seductively, not reading the room.
“I find certain things unappealing to a point of revulsion.”
I saw his gaze from the corner of my eye, skating over my lips. He dug at the knee-hole in his black skinny jeans. His knee was slightly tan, with golden hair—different than the sickly, white-blue he’d been as a child. Smooth and muscular and unfairly perfect.
That was the tragic thing about Vaughn Spencer. He was perfect.
The cold shock of his beauty knocked the breath out of you like a supernova. With ruby, bee-stung lips and wild blue eyes, framed by thick, masculine eyeb
rows and cheekbones right out of the comic books.
He was gorgeous, and I was not.
He was popular, and I was an outcast.
He was everything, and I was…
Heat rose up my neck, but I kept my eyes trained on the same line of the same page I’d started before he approached the table. I thought about something I’d read not too long ago about how the world breaks everyone, but their broken places end up being stronger as a result. Ernest Hemingway said that, and I hoped it was true.
I ignored it when the football team chuckled and bumped shoulders, pointing at me. Poppy glared at Vaughn, openmouthed, furious, but too ladylike to make a scene.
“Vaughn finds life repulsive. Don’t take it personally.” Knight threw a French fry at Spencer, laughing to lighten the mood.
I could feel Arabella’s eyes on me—assessing, taunting, waiting. She never could look at me without turning red. Sometimes she looked at Poppy the same way. I knew how territorial she was about Knight, Vaughn, and Hunter—the third amigo. She regarded them like some impossible prize. Them giving me attention rattled something deep inside her.
“Yeah. You’re not repulsive in the slightest. I would fuck you, and not even just anal. I would gladly look at your face as I plunge into you.” Hunter snagged my can of Diet Coke and chugged it empty in one go.
If Knight was a golden boy and Vaughn was a bad boy, Hunter was a mix of the two, with hair a rich hue of wheat and a cunning smile even his mother couldn’t trust.
“I would look into your eyes while eating you like a Del Taco on a road trip. Nasty, but worth it,” one of the jocks exclaimed, shooting me a wink.
“I raise you looking into her eyes and add an Atticus quote while I wreck her uterus. But that’s gonna cost you a cream pie,” a third tsksed in my direction, dipping his index and middle fingers into a cupcake on his tray suggestively.
Vaughn sat back, an amused smirk on his face.
I yawned, flipping another page without processing any of the text. Vaughn was pushing it. I was honoring my side of the deal between us and keeping my mouth shut, yet he deliberately antagonized me.
None of it made sense. Vaughn wasn’t daft. He was cruel when messed with, but if you kept your distance, you were safe.
Why wasn’t I safe?
“Thanks for the riveting mental images, dipshits.” Vaughn stood up, glancing around. “Where’s Alice Hamlin? I could use a blowie right now.”
Jesus Christ.
“She’s with her new boyfriend.” Arabella tossed her hair, sucking her green shake’s straw unnecessarily hard.
“Good. He can watch,” Vaughn clipped, pivoting and making a beeline to the doors. I’d almost taken a relieved breath—almost—when he paused and turned around, as if forgetting something.
“Lenora.”
My name felt like whiplash curling on his tongue. Poppy winced. I had no choice but to look up. I put a little smile on my black-hued lips, just to make sure he knew I wasn’t impressed.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” He cocked his head, another one of his patronizing smirks tossed my way.
“Duh, unless Lucifer was feeling desperate…” Arabella huffed, pretending to examine her hot pink nails.
More laughter boomed across the cafeteria.
“That’s enough,” Knight hissed, pushing his tray until it bumped against a smug jock’s abs.
His swift mood change made me think Vaughn had hit a sensitive nerve. As if the Knight Cole even knew what virginity meant. He probably thought a virgin was a Virginia-state resident.
“It’s fine, Knight. I appreciate you coming to my rescue, but I don’t need protection from toothless, ball-less dogs who bark, but can’t bite for shit,” I said serenely, making a point of tucking a bookmark between the pages of my book.
“Whoa…” The guys at the table balled their fists, howling.
I turned to Hunter and the jocks and swept a bored look over their athletic bodies.
“Also, I appreciate the hospitality, but I’m rather adamant on sleeping with men, not immature twats who are only good for drinking, partying, and burning their parents’ hard-earned cash, desperate to forget that high school is the peak of their lives. Which says something, because you’re at an age when not wanking for a day seems like a herculean accomplishment.”
Silence fell across the table. All eyes tried to penetrate the mask of indifference I was clinging to with bloodied fingernails.
Were they expecting me to cry? Cower? Run away?
To ask them why they did this?
Stifling another fake yawn, I licked my finger and flipped a page in my book, taking the bookmark out. My heart searched for an escape route, thrashing against my ribcage. One thing I knew about men like Vaughn Spencer—they either broke you or you broke them. There was no middle ground.
But I wasn’t going to be the one picking up the pieces when we were done with each other.
“You should come and see how it’s done.” Vaughn ignored my comeback, his iron voice slicing the air between us. “Prep you for next year, Good Girl.”
I looked up, despite my best intentions.
“When you assist me, silly. I’m sure your father thinks it’s a great idea.”
No, he doesn’t.
But when was the last time I’d spoken to Papa about my art? About me? He was too busy, and I was too shy to demand his attention. He could think that. He could.
“Never.”
“Never is a very long time,” Vaughn mused, his voice sweet and faraway all of a sudden. “Pride comes before the fall.”
“Don’t be so sure I’ll be the one doing the falling.”
“Considering you can barely fucking walk without tripping over your own feet, I’m hardy shaking.”
“Course not, Vaughn. The only things that scare you are feelings and little girls who walk into the wrong place at the wrong time.”
I’d been busting my bum for years for this internship. I wasn’t going back to Carlisle Castle as an assistant to an intern. I was going to be the intern. Assisting a star intern was prestigious, and I’d have loved the opportunity, but not if the intern was Vaughn.
Never the ocean-eyed god.
I felt my nostrils flare as I stared back at him. I hated him with abandon, with passion that seared through my veins. Fury could be either a weapon or a liability, but in my case, it was both.
There was nothing diabolical about him. No. The devil was red, hot, expressive, and desolate. Vaughn was the Night King—cold, blue, dead, and calculating. You couldn’t get to him, no matter how hard you tried.
I thought wearing black clothes, eyeliner, and making up elaborate stories about my summer in Brazil for fellow students who didn’t care would show him how much I’d changed. But he kept challenging every syllable to come out of my mouth.
It was time to fight back.
“You know what? I think a lesson in oral is an excellent idea. And who could teach it better than the expert?” I shot to my feet, pushing my tray aside.
I had actually been enjoying my pizza before he arrived, but I wasn’t hungry anymore. I also knew my calling him an expert was getting dangerously close to the truth about what had happened in the darkroom that day.
“Shall I bring a notebook to take pointers? Perhaps an iPad?” I smiled, blinking angelically at him.
“Just your smart ass.”
If Vaughn was confused and taken aback, he didn’t show it. Poppy, however, shot up in an instant.
“Lenny!” She slapped her heart. “Why would you ever—”
“Go back to pretending you have a personality, soul, or prospects that do not include marrying a rich, fat asshole who’s going to cheat on you with his secretary and give you ugly-ass kids, Daffodil,” Vaughn barked at my sister, his icicle eyes still holding mine. “This is between me and your sister.”
“It’s Poppy!” she exclaimed, Knight tugging her by the hem of her skirt to sit back down.
“Because t
hat was the entire fucking problem with what I just told you.” Vaughn’s mouth twitched in menace.
I grabbed my Sprayground shark backpack and followed Vaughn out of the cafeteria, acutely aware that all eyes were pointed at our backs as we exited through the double doors.
Knight’s voice rang behind me, gruff, low, and lazy. “Y’all gonna slow-dance to a Billy Joel song? If so, don’t forget to leave room for Jesus. And Moses. And Muhammad. And also Post Malone, because hey, he’s kind of a religion now, too.”
As we filed into the buzzing hallway, I couldn’t help but notice how tall Vaughn had become. Whether he ate at school or not, the boy ate, all right. He filled his clothes nicely. He wasn’t beefy by any stretch of the imagination, but muscular, with sinewy dexterity and the grace of an archer. In fact, there was nothing boyish about him anymore. He was all man, and it was ironic that he reminded me so much of the iconic, imperial statues he carved.
“What’s good, Good Girl? I mean, other than your untouched hymen,” he asked, gliding along the hall, looking for Alice.
I found it hard to believe he’d be able to rip her from her boyfriend’s arms, but stranger things had happened where Vaughn Spencer was concerned. Plus, I knew Alice. She fancied Vaughn for all his eccentric, tyrannical behavior.
“Spare me the bullshit, Vaughn. You hate me.”
“Hate you?” he mused in Thinker pose, fist curled under his square chin. “No, that requires commitment. I find you embarrassingly disposable. Are you going to chicken out on me, Astalis?”
“No,” I clipped. “You seem eager to show everyone your willy. You are aware fifty percent of the world population is male, right? Your cock is not a national treasure.”
“Don’t slam it before you’ve tasted it.” His jaw twitched, and he seemed done with the conversation.
I’d hit a nerve. Why was Vaughn so fond of having an audience when he was intimate with girls?
And while we were on the subject—why did he choose the least intimate way to be intimate with girls? One that didn’t require him to touch, to caress, to reciprocate?
A few seconds of silence passed before he rounded a corner and snapped his fingers, motioning for me to follow him.