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“Were you, when you refused to see me before going back to rehab?” I ask, and then I climb in and close the door. I'm not going to get from San Jose to Santa Cruz on my own, much as I wish there was a way.
“We're going to LA,” Mom says, getting that no-nonsense tone in her voice. I sit there for a minute while Aunt Elisa puts on her turn signal, and then I climb out and start walking down the sidewalk with my bags. “Charlotte!” Mom calls, but I don't stop. I keep moving, losing her in the crowd, and then I lock myself in a bathroom stall inside the airport.
There's only one person who might be willing to give me a ride.
I call Monica's number.
“Hello?” she asks tentatively, her voice threaded with nerves. “Charlotte?”
“I'm back in town. Can you pick me up at the airport?”
There's a long pause. I'm sure she's shocked to hear from me.
“Give me an hour,” she says, and then hangs up. My phone blows up with messages from Elisa, Mom, and then finally Dad. He is pissed, too. But I ignore him, finally working up the courage to check my messages from the Student Council.
How was the flight? Short and brusque from Ranger.
Spencer locked himself in his room all morning. Just thought you'd like to know. That from Church.
You forgot this. There's a picture of the floppy fake dick the twins bought me. I made sure to leave it on their doorstep, so they'd find it when they woke up. Glad to see they enjoyed it. That message is from Micah's phone, and I've got another from Tobias. We're going to miss you, non-Virgin Chuck.
Hah.
Just two and half months, and we can hang out all summer. Spencer.
My heart clenches tight, and I fire off a few quick replies, including a group message to my parents. Monica's driving me back to SC. I'll stop by Elisa's tomorrow.
As promised, about sixty minutes later, Monica pulls up to the curb in her shiny silver Beemer, mirrored sunglasses on her face, her dark hair billowing in the warm breeze.
“Hey,” she says, her voice tentative in a way I've never heard before. I slide into the white leather passenger seat after tossing my bags in the back, and then buckle up. Monica drives like a crazy person. I'll be lucky to survive the stretch of Highway 17 with her behind the wheel.
“Hey.”
More silence as she puts on her blinker, and pulls out into traffic.
“How have you been?” she asks finally, and I turn to look at her.
“How's Cody?” I reply, which really isn't fair. Seriously, I'm trying to work on my issues. I know I'm half-snark, half-sarcasm, with just a dash of asshole thrown in. It's no wonder all the guys at Adamson hated me.
“We haven't talked since you left. He's dating Andrea now.” Monica shrugs like she doesn't care, but there's a heaviness to her frown that says otherwise. We've known each other too long for her to lie to me like that. Maybe she's even lying to herself? “How are your sexy twins?”
“They rode a carousel with me, took me racing in their matching yellow Lamborghinis, and then set me up in their palace by the sea for my birthday.” I study her face, wishing she wasn’t wearing sunglasses, so I could get a read on her eyes. “They're great. They turned an awful day into an amazing one.”
“I'm sorry about what happened,” Monica says, dropping her voice. “I'm not sure if this helps or hurts the situation, but I didn't forget it was your birthday. I was jealous because Cody kept promising to break up with you, and then he'd flake … He forgot your birthday though, and I decided that if he forgot then …”
Silence falls between us. It's just the sound of the wind as Monica whips us through the city and onto the tight curves of one of the most dangerous roads in California. I've seen so many wrecks on this stretch, it's not even funny.
“Was it worth it? Losing your best friend for a guy?” I ask, and Monica cringes.
“No.” She looks over at me, and then lifts her shades so I can see her brown eyes. She's seriously one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. I used to be intimidated by her, but right now, I feel brazen, like nothing could bother me. I'm here when I want to be in Connecticut. What else could go wrong? “I miss you, Charlotte. I've been meaning to text you, but I could never figure out what to say. I'm sorry didn't seem like enough.”
“It's not, but driving up here to get me is a start.” Another pause. There are so many things we need to talk about, so many things I need to say to her. But instead, all I want to do is talk about Adamson, and the guys, and all the shit that went down. Some people would probably write Monica off forever for what she did, but that's not what I want. People make mistakes. I still believe in redemption. “I lost my v-card finally.”
“Seriously?” Monica asks, grinning. “To which twin? Or both? Please say both.”
“To Spencer Hargrove,” I admit, holding up my phone, so she can see a picture of him. I only have this one that I took at the last Culinary Club meeting, of me and him. It makes my heart hurt to look at it. “Isn't he cute?”
“Cute? No way. Handsome. Feisty. Looks like trouble. What happened with the twins then? I thought you guys were dating?”
I almost choke on my own spit.
“It's complicated.”
“Did you break up?” she asks, and then pauses. “And when they said you were dating both of them …”
“I'm sort of trying the polyamorous angle, you know?” I lean back against the door, waiting to see her reaction. “Like, dating Spencer and both twins.”
“Yeah? I'm sort of into that, too. Dating two guys right now, but like, with their full knowledge. It's been interesting.” Another pause. “What are you doing back here anyway? I mean, not that I'm not glad to see you …”
“My dad forced me to move back,” I admit, sighing. “I didn't want to. I mean, at first, when we moved, all I wanted was to come home and be with you and Cody. But then you guys kept blowing me off, reading my messages and not responding, and then I got here and found out about …” I trail off. There's no point in saying it aloud; we both know what happened. “Anyway, I like what I have going on back at Adamson.”
“Girl, I like what you have going on back at Adamson.” She glances over and then cringes a little. “Sorry, too soon? It's awkward, isn't it?”
“If you sleep with one of these guys, I'll never forgive you,” I say, but also, I'm not worried. Not because of Monica, but because I don't think Spencer or the twins, or even Church or Ranger, would do that to me.
“Understood,” Monica says, and then we both get quiet and stay that way until we pull into her driveway. Her parents on their way out, but they give me a quick pair of hugs before leaving.
That's when I remember what Micah said about the Peters being behind on their mortgage payments.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as Monica waves them off, and then glances over at me, frowning.
“Not really. But my grandpa's stepped in, so we don't lose the house. Other than that, I don't know what's going to happen. My parents' business is in the toilet. Eventually everyone in town will know, and I won't have any reputation left to stand on.”
“There are worse things,” I say, thinking of Jenica. Of Eugene. Of the crazy stalker who's been calling himself Adam. “You'll figure it out.”
“I hope so.” Monica pauses awkwardly for a minute. “Do you want to get your suit on and just chill in the pool for a while? I can make us drinks.”
“Sounds good,” I tell her, and then I head upstairs to dump my bags. Maybe I'll stay a while? It's gotta be better than letting my mom drag me to LA, right?
Hanging out with Monica is both nice and weird, all at the same time. I missed her like crazy, but despite our familiarity with one another, it’s like we’re starting all over again. The trust and the friendship we had before is broken, shattered really, and I’m still bleeding from those wounds.
In a way though, it’s sort of a good thing. I broke up with Cody, realized I never actually liked him all that much to begin w
ith, and now here I am with a dozen messages from my, uh, three new boyfriends?
It’s fucking weird, man.
I reply to everyone, trying to hold back a rush of irrational tears. This isn’t the end of the world. Sure, it fucking feels like it, but it’s just a blip. I keep telling myself that, keep trying to look on the bright side. At least I won’t get hung from a tree, right? But the nooses, the notes, the stone, the dead bird … it’s a lot. And leaving that mystery unsolved is leaving me unsettled. On top of that, I’m worried about my crew. That one week of thinking Spencer was dead was almost too much for me. How would I survive if I had to go through it again?
With a groan, I roll onto my side and pull up Jenica’s journal instead. Ranger’s sent me screenshots of every page, including the one that has the stone’s symbol drawn on it. That, and he’s also sent me her suicide note. Church was able to quote it word for word, but seeing it written out in Jenica’s loopy, whimsical handwriting makes it seem more tragic somehow.
I flip to the beginning of the journal and start reading.
It begins with her first day of high school at Adamson, as the only female student. Unlike me, however, Jenica Woodruff was a hell of a lot braver. She walked in wearing a skirt, her long hair thrown over one shoulder, and she marched right into the cafeteria. According to her words, she announced: I’m not here for dick; I’m here for academics.
I snort and roll onto my back, scrolling to the next page.
I’m not sure why I said that. Really, it was stupid as hell. And it made no sense. But everyone laughed, and patted me on the back, and I felt more welcome there than I’d ever felt at Everly. The bullying will stop, I’m sure of it. The things I went through the last three years, they won’t happen here; I won’t let them happen here.
I read until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, but none of the ‘fucked-up’ stuff that Ranger spoke about is in here yet. What is in here are mentions of Rick, her childhood friend that she was dating, and even Lionel aka Mr. Murphy who was nice to her from day one.
I am suspicious as fuck about that guy.
“What can I do from here?” I grumble, turning on my side and setting my phone on the wireless charging pad that’s built into the nightstand (yeah, it’s pretty swanky in here, I know). My eyes close, and before I know it, I’m out.
On Monday, I'm back at school, dressed in a short skirt, tank top, and sandals. I've got my contacts in, makeup on, and my hair as straight and shiny as I can get it.
It's a little weird, going to class and not wearing my uniform. I thought I hated Adamson, but now that I'm standing in the front hall of Santa Cruz High with its brightly colored walls and beach-ready populace, I miss the stone walls and rough-hewn wood beams.
I miss the stupid Student Council, and the Culinary Club.
With a sigh, I head down the hall, find my old locker and stuff the jacket that I most definitely don't need inside of it. What was I thinking? The stupid northeast weather is messing with my head.
The school day is pretty boring, pretty much what I expected. My old friends and teachers greet me warmly, but I still end the day feeling like a fish out of water. Monica takes me back into the fold, and by the end of the week, everything is starting to feel like … well, like it's sophomore year all over again. Minus Cody, that is.
I spot him once in the hallway and his eyes go wide, but I end up just flipping him off and sauntering down the hall after Monica. I don't have time for scumbags.
Instead, every day after school, I head back to Monica's place and video chat with the guys.
They always answer my calls. Every single one. My texts, too.
“Nothing new to report,” Spencer says, lying on his back on his bed, totally shirtless and drool-worthy. I shift uncomfortably and then lie back into the pillows of the guest room bed, mimicking his pose. “I mean, since we last talked a few hours ago.” He smirks at me. “I like this, having you call me every day.”
“You call me every day,” I retort, and it's true. He does. We still haven't exactly ironed out what it is we both expect from our relationship, or what it means that the twins are now somehow a part of that. It just seems like a conversation that’d be better had in person.
“Yeah, because I like you.” He pauses and bites his lower lip, holding the phone straight above his body so that I can see his entire top half, from his silver-ash hair down to the deep 'V' muscles near his hips. I swallow hard.
“Yeah?”
“Dude, Chuck,” Spencer says, grinning and reaching up to ruffle his silver hair. He looks like a fox when he smiles like that. “I was into you when I thought you had a dick. Dicks gross me out, and I was getting hard at the thought of sucking yours.”
“Please stop,” I choke out, but I'm laughing and blushing at the same time. “You were not.”
“Yeah, I was. That day I came to your room to fix the door, I was prepared to do it. I wanted to do it. Like, I'm really glad you have a vagina instead, but that's just a bonus.” He shrugs his muscular shoulders, and I feel this tingle that travels from my chest down to the ends of my fingers and toes. My hand sneaks between my thighs and just brushes up against the thin cotton of my shorts. Paired with the sight of Spencer, and the sound of his voice, it's enough to make me shiver.
“So,” he starts, and I withdraw my hand, swallowing hard and hoping he didn’t notice I was up to anything untoward. “How are your parents handling you staying with Monica?”
“They’re pissed,” I say, thinking of my last conversation with my dad. He called me on a video chat, but I didn’t answer. There was no way in hell I wanted to see him glaring at me with those daggers he calls eyes. I called him back, and we had a short, terse conversation that didn’t end well. He wants me to go back to Aunt Elisa’s, but I don’t trust Mom. She tried to drag me to Los Angeles against my will, and I know she’s still staying with her sister. I had Monica drive me by the day after the airport incident, and then again yesterday. Elisa and Mom were standing out front of the apartment building, smoking cigarettes. “I mean, my aunt doesn’t give a shit what I do. Actually, I’m sure she’s thrilled I’m staying at Monica’s. But both parents are furious. Archie threatened to call the cops, but the Peters ended up giving him a call and talking him out of it.” A heavy frown sits on my mouth, and I nibble my lower lip.
“So you get to stay there the rest of the school year?” Spencer asks, absently trailing his fingers down his taut belly. My eyes follow the motion, and my brain short circuits a little bit. It takes me a moment to reorient myself.
“Apparently. I mean, I don’t think they’re going to stop pressuring me to head to Elisa’s, but for right now, we’re at a stalemate. They basically took away the one thing I wanted most, which was to stay at Adamson. I’m not scared of anything else they might throw at me. I did agree to spend at least two weeks at my mom’s place during the summer though.” A sigh escapes me, and I swipe a hand down my face. I do want to spend time with Mom, that’s not the issue. It’s just, I don’t trust her and dad not to pull some coup and force me to spend my senior year in LA. It’s my worst nightmare.
“Well, shit, we’ll join you then,” he says, and I force my eyes from his firm lower abs to his face. “Ranger’s mom has this killer estate in LA that she never uses. We can hang out there for a bit, and be your backup.”
A smile takes over my lips, and I exhale, noticing the way Spencer’s running a finger along the waistband of his shorts.
“What are we doing?” I ask him after a minute, my senses hyper-aware as he sets his palm down on his lower belly. There’s a tension between us that I can feel, even though he’s on the opposite side of the country.
“I was honestly hoping you'd tell me that. But since you asked … do you want to uh, make this a thing?” His hand slides a little lower, fingers teasing the waistband of his sweats. “Like a sexting thing?”
That's not exactly what I meant, but … I'll take it.
“Is it still sexting if,
you know, there's no texting involved?” I raise an eyebrow, but Spencer's already running his tongue along his lower lip in a seductive little come-on.
“Does it matter?” he asks, mouth curving to one side as his lids droop into a seductive, heavy bedroom look. “Do you really want to talk semantics, or do you want to do this thing?” Spencer makes this low, groaning sound in his throat, the movement beneath his gray boxers indicative of, um, well jacking-off. “I'm already imagining you touching me, your hand curving around my cock …”
“I've never actually touched it with my hand,” I add, squirming in the sumptuous satin sheets and hating this perfect bed, and this perfect room, and this perfect house. I just want to be back in Connecticut with the Student Council. The stupid, stupid Student Council.
Spencer pauses, and then curses under his breath.
“We can rectify that when we see each other next,” he purrs, stroking himself. Or at least, I think he's stroking himself. I swallow hard. I want to ask when that might be, but I don't want to ruin the moment. “Come on, Chuck, don't leave me hanging.”
“Take your boxers off,” I command, wanting to see him naked and vulnerable before I dare to go there. If I close my eyes, I can just imagine his woody smell, like cedar and hyssop. Ugh. “Also … what fragrance do you use?”
“Fragrance?” Spencer asks, his eyes opening wider, the turquoise color shocking even when it's only pixels on a screen. After a moment, he flashes a cocksure grin. “Ahh, okay, I gotcha. You want to buy the cologne I use and spray it all over your shit, huh?”
“What?! No!” I shout, far too enthusiastically. I pretend to yawn, hoping Spencer won't be able to see the pinkness in my cheeks with the low light from the bedside lamp. “I just … I need a gift for my new beau here. And your scent wasn't all that bad.”
“Your new beau, huh?” Spencer asks, and then he pushes his boxers down his hips, revealing the path those gorgeous 'V' muscles take downward, toward the hard length of his cock. My throat gets tight again, and words fail me. “I guess maybe your new beau wouldn't appreciate you sneaking around with me behind his back? We should probably stop.” Spencer wraps his hand around himself, and teases the head with his thumb.