The Nasty Truth (Y2K Betaverse)

PROLOGUE

Playing: “Teenager Dirtbag” by Wheatus

The basement reeks of metal and musk, the ceiling riddled with mysterious condensation.

Everyone stands around awkwardly, mingling as casually as they can, but the underlying tension is stifling.

It’s our first high school party, after all, and we’re all impatiently waiting for Quinn’s parents to leave so the “real” fun can begin.

Well, some of us. I’m sure many of us are actually shitting our pants while pretending to be excited about the scheduled torture of Seven Minutes In Heaven.

I, for one, am not looking forward to someone trying to stick their tongue in my mouth.

It just doesn’t seem like something people should do.

However, given the other girls in my grade think I’ve already crossed that bridge, and probably think I’ve gone to third base too, I need to keep up appearances.

Because, even though they’re sorely mistaken, I don’t correct them when they bring it up because they make it sound so cool.

And sue me. I want to be cool.

But now, my lie is staring me right in the face, threatening to show how truly inexperienced I am. Despite the fact this party is supposed to be our first chance at uninhibited fun, my stress level’s are all the way up.

Not to mention the radio blasting the top forty on repeat. If I have to listen to Mariah Carey one more time, my head might literally explode.

“I think Raleigh will be an omega for sure,” Quinn says as she sips the punch from her red solo cup, her red hair unnaturally straight over her shoulders.

“Maybe, but she’s kind of intimidating,” Hannah protests. “I mean, she does play softball. Those girls don’t really scream submissive.”

“She could be a beta,” I add in. Raleigh doesn’t seem too focused on dominance or submission. She’s a year or two older than us and she’s always been kind despite our age difference, but she also doesn’t seem like she’d let an alpha boss her around.

“Boring,” Gabby cuts in. “Everyone knows being an omega or alpha is the goal. Like, Stacey. You’re definitely going to be an omega.”

I swallow my protest and give a cocky smile instead. “Perhaps. But let’s not jinx it.”

“And then Brent will be an alpha, and you’ll totally get together,” Hannah adds. “A total power couple.”

My nose wrinkles playfully. Brent is a year above us and should be designating soon. He is very attractive, but he’s also very annoying. He may be popular, but his need to lead and dominate sets my teeth on edge. I will admit, his personality lends itself to an alpha presentation.

There have always been expectations in my family: don’t get into trouble, walk with your head held high, don’t let anyone see you sweat.

It pushed me on this path, I think, to these people around me—these people in this town—putting me on a pedestal.

Maybe it’s the blonde hair, or cheerleading, or my parents’ reputation.

Maybe it’s something else, but people look up to me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I can be myself.

At times, the risk of deviating from what is expected of me doesn’t seem worth it.

So, I continue on in this role that’s been built brick by brick for me.

And being a bitch isn’t as awful as it seems. It’s effective and makes it easier to hide that I’m full of shit. Like everyone else in this town, I’m sure.

“Ewh, what is he doing here?” Gabby squawks.

I turn to see who she’s talking about and my eyes widen. Axl Ritchie, in the flesh. He stands there stiffly, his hands in his pockets, right over the chains he has hooked in his belt loops.

Quinn winces. “My parents said I had to invite everyone in our grade. It was kind of a stipulation for the party.”

“And he actually showed up? Wow, what a loser!”

Loser. The word hits me right in the chest, but I compose my features quickly.

Axl has been called every name in the book since we were in kindergarten.

On the first day, he’d shown up with holes in his pants and streaks of blue in his hair.

It was over from that moment, the label slapped on before he could even utter a greeting.

This town isn’t too kind to individuality, and Axl Ritchie is the very definition of unique.

His hair isn’t blue anymore though. For years, his hair has stayed its natural dark brown, so dark that the hue gets lost in the mess.

He’s always kept it longer than the other guys in our grade, letting it fall to his ears in rugged layers.

I quite like it this way. Anything else wouldn’t look right on him.

Even though he’s stopped adding the blue streaks, I’m glad he has still found his own way of standing out.

It’s… refreshing.

Our gazes collide, and time stops. We’ve had conversations before, here and there.

Been assigned as project partners on multiple occasions, but I never really see him outside of school.

His eyes linger over my face, making it flush from the unwanted attention.

Needing to get back some kind of control, I flip him the finger, but it doesn’t upset him.

He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by my middle finger and the threat it’s supposed to convey.

What an asshole.

He walks out of sight, and I’m left reeling from the unspoken exchange.

It’s not normal for me to get so rattled by someone looking at me, but his blatant attention in front of the group was too much for me to bear.

What if someone had seen? Does he not know the bored people of this town will take any information and run with it until there is no way to untangle the truth?

A simple look can mean a lot of things, but that was not a simple look.

It made my face turn red and my stomach tense. Nope, that wasn’t a simple look at all.

“Quinn, we’re heading out!” Her mom cuts through my inner monologue, calling from the door at the top of the stairs, and suddenly it feels like you could hear a pin drop, despite One Sweet Day playing once again.

“Okay! Have fun!” Quinn calls up, but her voice cracks. Then, we all wait and listen, and the second the front door closes, everyone cheers.

Fuck.

“Okay everyone! In a circle!” Quinn squeals, clapping her hands together.

“Oh god,” Hannah whispers, looking sick.

Same, girl, same.

We all crowd around the basement, thirty of us sitting on the cold concrete floor. I’m glad our entire class didn’t come despite being invited, because then this circle would be comically big for a simple game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

“Here are the rules. We’re going to go around and spin the bottle, starting with Stacey.

” She looks over at me and I fight a gulp.

A couple guys laugh in the corner and whistle, but I refuse to look over in case the unease is written on my face.

“Whoever it lands on has to get in the closet with the bottle-spinner for seven minutes! Understood?”

Everyone echoes back an agreement, and I steel my spine.

“Give me the stupid bottle.”

The party girl hands it over, the glass heavy in my hand.

When I sneak a look at the circle, my eyes snag on Axl.

His gaze is already on me, waiting for the spinning bottle, and I quickly avert my eyes.

My hand places it in the center and only hesitates for a moment before I spin it, turning it completely on its axis as it starts to move.

It happens in slow motion. I will it to land on someone that’s scared of me.

Some guy in my grade that doesn’t have the balls to fuck with me in any way. I will it to land on anyone except…

Not him… not him… not him…

Fuck.

The bottle stops gradually, the neck of it pointing directly at the one person I don’t want to rendezvous with. Axl stares at it in surprise while everyone oohs and ahhs around us in amusement.

“Alright, you two.” Quinn points at the door in the corner. “The seven minutes don’t start until you’re in there.”

I roll my eyes for everyone to see and then practically stomp into the closet. Axl must follow, because a second later the closet door is shut, followed by the sound of a chair scraping and being propped against it as a lock. I’m irrationally angry, and this closet smells like mothballs.

After a few moments, I finally turn around. He’s sitting on the floor, patiently waiting for me to join him. When I sit, there’s nothing pressing in his eyes. If anything, he looks bored.

“Well, this party is a wild one,” he comments.

I scoff. “Not up to your freakish standards?”

“I’d say the people forcing us into this closet to make out are the real freaks, wouldn’t you?”

That makes me shut up, because yeah. This game does feel kind of ancient and not focused on consent. But it’s a rite of passage, right? That’s what I always assumed.

We sit there for a few more minutes, not speaking, and instead listening to the party continuing outside.

“Your scent,” he interrupts, breaking the silence. “It’s floral, but what is it?”

I balk. No matter what designation you’re assigned, everyone has their own distinct scent. But my scent is fairly new, so I’m not used to people bringing it up.

“It took a while to figure out,” I admit. “But it resembles gardenias. White ones, specifically.”

He nods. “It’s beautiful.”

My cheeks flush pink, but the light is dim and I pray he can’t see it.

I take a subtle whiff of the air, but realize there isn’t any indication of his scent lingering.

There’s only the floral notes of my own and the moldy essence of the closet.

I’m not surprised, though. Guys tend to get their scent later, like everything else with puberty.

I fall back into silence, willing the minutes to go by quicker so this can be over. I can already hear the whispers, see the questioning on everyone’s face when we leave this closet. Did she kiss him? What else did they do in there? Wow, who would have thought?

“Have you ever kissed someone?”

“What?” I panic, then snarl at him. “Of course I have. I bet you’re the one who hasn’t kissed anyone.”

“I haven’t.”

I rear back. “What?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve been waiting… for the right moment.”

“And when is the right moment?”

He doesn’t supply an answer, only gives me an impudent look.

I scoff. Doesn’t he know I’m the arrogant one here? How dare he look at me with a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eye? Like he knows something about me.

“I guess we’ll see,” he utters covertly.

As the countdown to the end of our seven minutes starts from outside, the rest of the party chanting loudly, we stand.

My fingers flex by my side before I cross them over my chest. This hasn’t been horrible.

Anxiety-inducing, sure, but that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the judgemental spawn of this town hanging outside the door, waiting to catch us in some sinful act.

“This was fun,” he says, and I narrow my gaze at him. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“Ditto,” I respond and then there are forty seconds left and I’m panicking.

He looks at me and there’s a new look in his eye.

It travels down to my lips and I exhale on the next breath, parting them under his gaze.

Then he’s leaning forward. Something jolts inside of me, but I can’t seem to move.

I’m completely frozen as he places his lips on mine, a tiny shock of electricity shooting through me at the movement.

It’s short and chaste, no tongue or anything that I was fearing.

It’s there, sending a shutter over my spine, and then it’s gone just as fast.

When he pulls away, the shadow of the kiss still lingering, I stifle a shriek. “Why did you do that?!” I whisper-yell.

At first, he shrugs, but then he grins. “I wanted to be your first.”

The door opens then and he walks out, leaving me behind to deal with my shock. How did he know? Have I really been that transparent? No one else has been able to see through my lies, not even the people who are supposed to be my best friends.

How is Axl Ritchie able to see right through me?

I compose myself and walk out, trying to look as unphased as I possibly can. When we get out there, they all look at us expectantly.

“Well?” Gabby asks, eyeing the two of us.

“It was certainly Heaven,” Axl says dryly.

Everyone snickers, and it’s the first time I’ve felt my skin physically flush from embarrassment.

“Nothing happened,” I hiss at them with enough venom to make them look sheepish.

“Chill, Stace,” Gabby says. “We know nothing happened. You’d never kiss him.”

That makes everyone laugh again, but it’s no longer at my expense.

I turn and catch Axl’s eyes. There’s nothing negative there, no shame or anger.

He only watches me, his lips curving up in an arrogant smile.

For half a second, I think he’s about to call me out, tell everyone the truth about what happened in there, but he doesn’t.

He lets everyone laugh at him while he smiles knowingly.

“Well, I’m going to head out,” he announces, heading toward the stairs.

“Oh, so soon?” Gabby taunts.

Quinn’s eyes light up, but she feigns concern. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He waves a hand behind him. “I got what I wanted.”

He leaves, but his last words linger like smoke from a lit match. My face flushes once more, but I cool it, my features hardening until there’s nothing left to show that he got to me.

“Are you sure nothing happened?” Hannah asks beside me, and I turn my glare on her.

“Yes,” I say, my face void of any emotion. “Nothing but him annoying me to death. Let’s see who’s next.”

Luckily, the bottle spared me for the rest of the party.

There were no more forced closet dates for me, and good thing, too.

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, how gentle and normal it was, and how I didn’t completely hate it the way I thought I would.

It’s a shame, too, because it can never happen again. Not with the town freak.