Chapter 13 – Leslie
“Tondue, tondue, plié, plié, ran de jambe, grand plié,” Madame Poirot, the ballet instructor, directed the class. She was, in fact, much too young to be addressed as “Madame”; a young Black woman in her twenties with braids wrapped into a bun, and a tight purple leotard gracing her athletic body. She’d seemed kind at first, until we jumped into exercises, and then the strict ballet teacher came out.
We’d been at it for two hours. I was dripping with sweat, my thighs and calves were burning, and I hadn’t felt this peaceful since I’d first bumped into Mason yesterday. Ballet kicked my ass, and I loved every second of it.
What I didn’t love was the way Emily kept turning around and glaring at me while talking to her friends. Yes, just to make my day shittier, the redhead who’d sat on Mason’s lap during breakfast was not only in my dance program, but in my class. Which meant I was going to have to see her all the time. I really needed to have a talk with Fate.
I tried to ignore her, throwing myself completely into the exercises. My body was going to hate me in the morning because in some ways I was completely overdoing it, especially for just a class most of the dancers were marking their way through. But the more my muscles burned, the more I strained for perfection, the less my brain tortured me with images of the two of them together. It certainly couldn’t doubly torture me with its taunts asking why I cared who Mason was with in the first place.
Or triply torture me by reminding me how good it had felt when he had played with me in the library. My whole body went clammy at the memory, and this time the sweat pouring off me had nothing to do with ballet.
“Alright, class, take a break,” Madame Poirot called. “You deserve it.”
Leaning back against the barre, I opened my water bottle and chugged.
“Oh, it’s the pathetic stepsister, isn’t it?” Emily sneered in front of me, flanked on two sides by her perfectly coiffed friends.
Shocked that she’d gone from passive aggressive glares to outright confrontation, I choked on my water, gagging and spitting it all over my leotard—and her ballet shoes. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t take some satisfaction in that.
“What the hell?!” she shrieked. “Oh, you little bitch.”
I straightened my back. She thought she was the shit because she had Mason’s attention. But I’d dealt with his girls before, and they were the pathetic little bitches, not me. I remembered Tiffanie, so absurdly jealous she’d taken naked photos of me. I’d always thought that Mason was the one who had told her to take them, but now I wondered: if that were the case, why had they never been posted online? Was it possible she acted without his knowledge?
Emily snapped her fingers in my face, bringing me back to the present.
Right, this bitch.
“That was an accident,” I said calmly. “I’m sorry for spitting on your shoes, but I’m not sorry for anything else. I don’t know why you have a problem with me, but get out of my face—now.”
She sneered at me, looking me up and down. “I’ll tell you the problem I have with you. You’re disgusting, crushing on your own brother, you skank. You’re conceited and delusional if you think he actually wants you.”
Well, I had proof that he wanted me, didn’t I? Unless I’d been right and I was just a game to him.
As if she’d heard my thoughts, she smiled. “Any attention you think you’ve gotten from him is just him fucking with your head. How could he want his silly little, loser stepsister? What do you think you have to offer him, except boredom and ridicule?”
I tried to calm my breathing, willing my face not to turn red. No luck; I could feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment, especially because I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.
“Tell you what,” I said to Emily, “You may think I’m delusional, but you’re making up some false story to deal with your own insecurities—that you can’t hold onto Mason, and that he’s using you. Unlike you, I want nothing to do with him. All of the attention I get from him is his choice. Can you say the same for yourself? Or are you another girl throwing yourself at him? Let me let you in on a little secret: he’s not worth it. Promise.”
With that, I turned back toward the barre and ignored her for the rest of class. I wasn’t going to let her tear me down or chase me away. I’d let someone do that before—Mason and his friends, when they tortured me enough to run off to Bea’s for the remainder of the summer. I wasn’t letting anyone do that again. It didn’t matter that Emily thought I was pathetic, I knew I wasn’t.
Then why did you let your stepbrother stick his hand up your skirt and get you off? my inner voice asked, half-taunting, half-curious.
That question plagued me for the rest of class, as I ignored the glares and whispers directed my way. It trailed me as I walked back to the dorm, torturing myself over my actions earlier that day. Forget what everyone here would think, what would my mom say if she found out I’d hooked up with my stepbrother? Her husband’s son? Shame snuck its way into my dorm room with me, where I collapsed onto my bed and muffled my frustrated scream.
My phone buzzed, interrupting my flip out.
get home okay?
The text was from a number I didn’t recognize.
who is this
you know who it is
Goddamn it. How had he gotten my number? He was the absolute last person I wanted to talk to right now, even though those butterflies danced in excited circles in my stomach. They must have been high.
mason
I don’t know how you got this number
Another text came through.
you’re my stepsister
you don’t think I can get your number easily?
Fair point.
fine
but don’t use it again
I tossed my phone down the bed, but it buzzed again.
Don’t look,I told myself.
But I couldn’t stop myself from picking it up again and peeking at it through my fingers like it was a horror movie.
nice try, butterfly
what’s gotten into you?
other than my fingers
Heat stirred in my stomach and between my legs. His crude words brought back the memory of his hands on me, and how good they had felt. But I couldn’t let him know I felt that way.
cute
I try
I started to smile at that, but froze when I remembered the sneer on Emily’s face, and the judgment I could feel from everyone listening to our confrontation. I had to stay away from Mason. Even if this wasn’t just a new way to fuck with my head. Even if I was right that Tiffanie had acted of her own volition this summer. Even if Emily was full of shit.
Mason had once told me I’d ruined his life. Well, if I kept letting him play his games, he would ruin mine. I was sure of it.
Mason, what happened today…
what about it, butterfly? want a repeat, just say the word
I swallowed, typing words I didn’t totally believe. But I had to.
…it can’t ever happen again.
There was a pause in the conversation, then he responded.
why
you know why
careful, butterfly
goodbye, Mason
This time, I turned off my phone and slid it inside the drawer in the nightstand next to my small bed. I buried my head in the covers. I should’ve felt relief, right? Instead, I felt unspeakably, inexplicably sad.
Someone knocked—tentatively—on my door. The butterflies started up again…could he have gotten here so soon?
Yeah, you really seem like someone ready to say goodbye, that inner voice scoffed. I shushed it, opening the door, preparing to tell him to leave.
I was annoyingly disappointed to see it wasn’t Mason, but instead Chris. I leaned away immediately, trying not to completely recoil at his smell: slight BO and a pretty strong stench of alcohol. I knew drinking was a big part of college, but it was only 4 p.m. And he was alone.
“Leslie!” He slightly slurred the “s” in my name. “What’s happening?”
“Um, nothing, just resting,” I said.
“Cool, can I come in? Or is your douchey brother here?”
“Stepbrother,” I corrected immediately. “But no, he’s not.”
“Great.” He stumbled past me, sitting—or rather, falling—onto my bed. I wrinkled my nose. I didn’t want his stench all over my bedding.
“Chris, why are you here?”
“Figured I’d lend you a hand if you needed anything else set up or nailed in your room.” He snorted at his own gross joke.
“No, I’m good.”
“Aw, don’t be like that.”
I swallowed. “Chris, are you drunk?”
He sat up. “No, of course not.” His hiccup contradicted this.
“Chris, please leave my room. I don’t feel comfortable with you here.”
“And what are you going to do about it? Sic your jock stepbrother on me?”
I had no idea if it would work. Mason had taken issue with Chris earlier—in fact, his interaction with Dan from lit class proved he didn’t like it when other guys talked to me at all. But I had no idea if that extended to confronting or threatening my creepy, drunk RA. I also didn’t know if I had any other way to warn Chris away from me.
It fucking pissed me off, how little power I had.
“He’s super protective,” I said quietly. “He won’t like you bothering me.”
Chris spat on my floor. “Fine, you’re clearly in a mood. I’ll come back at a better time, cutie.”
I stood by the door, watching warily as he stood up and stomp-stumbled his way out of my room. As soon as he was gone, I slammed the door shut, locked it, and slid down onto the floor, burying my head in my hands. Should I report him? Or would that cause more trouble for me? College was supposed to be fun, wasn’t it? So far, it was more stressful than this summer had been.
On impulse, I picked up my phone and told Siri to Facetime my mom.
A moment later, her face appeared on screen. She was in the kitchen, her face and hands covered in flour. She was grinning wide as she brushed her blonde bangs out of her face.
“Honey! How was your first day?”
“Hi Mom,” I said, settling back against the wall and forcing a smile on my face. “It was good.”
“Yeah? Have you made any friends? How are your classes? Have you seen Mason?”
I nodded. “There’s a girl in my dorm, Lucy. She’s nice.” Mom didn’t need to know we’d barely spoken. “Ballet was good—I love the instructor. And I have an American lit class I like so far.”
It didn’t really count as lying if I didn’t say that Mason was in my class, right? It was only omitting a fact.
“Oh, good. I’m glad you’ve made a friend. I know it’s hard, being in a completely new setting—but you’ll find your group soon enough. And that stepbrother of yours should help—he promised us he’d watch out for you.”
“Yes, he did,” said Paul, and then the phone camera turned to show my stepfather in a suit and glasses. He, too, had flour on his clothes, sticking to his lapel and marring his otherwise pristine button down. “Has he been treating you well?”
I hesitated. I could tell Paul right now what his son had done. He didn’t know about Mason’s antics this summer, and certainly didn’t know about what had happened in the past forty-eight hours.
I hadn’t told them this summer because I was worried friction between us would weigh on my mother’s new marriage, and I desperately wanted her to be happy. After the way we’d learned that we were my father’s second family, and she was, essentially, his side piece, she deserved some joy in life.
God, my father, that fuckface. Proof that there were very few good men out there.
“Leslie?” Paul prompted, a frown appearing on his face and between his eyebrows.
I could tell. I should tell him. He’d intervene, punish his son, maybe even threaten to stop paying for school if he continued to be a dick.
I could. But I remembered the embarrassed look on Mason’s face when he told me he had a hard time concentrating, and that Paul “gave him shit about it.” And even though Mason was unequivocally an asshole, I couldn’t put him in a position where his father hurt him again…especially after he’d confessed something so vulnerable and private.
“He’s been very helpful. And kind,” I added, because if I was going to lie, I was going to throw my whole self into it.
Paul snorted. “Mason, kind. That’s a first.”
“Paulie!” my mom interjected off-screen. “Don’t be cruel. He’s changing.”
Paul shook his head. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Here, I’ll pass you back to your mother.”
The phone shook as it turned, and I heard whispering and my mother’s laugh. This time, my smile wasn’t forced.
“You sound happy,” I told her when she was back on camera.
“I am, honey. All I want is for you to be happy too, okay?”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure if happiness was in the cards for me anytime soon. “Okay.”
After we said our love you’s and hung up, I stared at my phone, clicking back to the text chain with Mason.
He’d read the last text, but hadn’t responded, and if I were honest with myself, it made me sad.
But it was for the best.
Even if it hurt.