Chapter 8 Stevie
Stevie
I hate her.
Joplin nails me with the watering hose on a Friday afternoon in late September as we tend the vegetable garden.
Her cackling intensifies when she sees the look on my face—the shriek of horror, my drenched hair plastered over my eyes like a vile sea creature, and my arms flapping at my sides with outrage.
“S-sorry,” she says, feigning apology, doubled over and clutching her stomach. “I…I had to.”
“You had to.” I am seething.
“I did. You know I did. Call it a sisterly duty or whatever.”
This is war. I leap forward and wrench the hose from her grip, but she fights back, scrambling for leverage, and water shoots to the sky and rains down on us both like an impromptu fountain in the middle of a battlefield.
At least we’re both wet now.
“Ugh.” My sister shakes water out of her sunny floral dress as it tries with great effort to glue itself back to her wiry frame. “Guess I deserved that.”
“You deserve much worse. You’re fired.”
“Fired from what? Being your sister?”
“Yes. Now I’m an only child, and—” I freeze. She freezes too, and the freeze-frame feels colder than the icy water soaking into my skin.
Her lips flicker with a rueful smile as she quickly comes to my rescue. “It’s extra hot today, so I figured you needed a cooldown. You should be thanking me for my service.”
“I’ll thank you in the form of strategically placed glares and passive-aggressive comments… after I lace your dinner with pickle juice.”
She gags. “You’re in charge of dinner tonight, aren’t you?”
My slow-stretching grin is akin to the Grinch devising his nefarious plan to steal Christmas.
Joplin goes to apologize, surely, but she’s interrupted when her gaze shifts across the field to the walnut tree. “What’s that over there?”
Frowning, I follow her stare and squint.
Oh…crap.
Lex left his backpack here, and I know his script is inside. He’d planned on practicing this at home, and it’s a three-day weekend due to a staff in-service day on Monday.
Ever since our bonding moment out on my roof, Lex has been coming over regularly to rehearse lines together.
I’m not sure if I’d call us friends—more like two people working on a big project outside school—but I can’t lie and say I don’t look forward to his visits.
He’s a different person outside the school hallways, where he hardly even looks at me.
I try not to take it personally. Lex keeps to himself at school, rejecting the come-hither glances and batting lashes from all the girls.
I don’t know if he’s made a single friend.
But he smiled at me once.
Just once, as we crossed paths in the cafeteria, our trays filled with potato salad and fruit juice and deli sandwiches, and it was so fleeting yet so…rare. And when someone is on the receiving end of a rare thing, it feels special. Like winning the Mega Millions jackpot.
Lex confided in me that this musical is an outlet for him. It keeps his mind busy, distracted from all the things he refuses to share with me.
So I know he needs this script.
My shoulders slacken with a sigh as I pivot back to my sister. “Do you mind taking over dinner tonight? You do owe me big time.”
“Okay, but why?” She continues to wring water out of her dress as droplets sprinkle across her sandals. “Do you have plans?”
“I should bring Lex his backpack.”
“Text him to come pick it up,” she says. “I’m sure he doesn’t need an excuse to drive that gaudy blue monstrosity around town.”
I would, but since he has yet to text me, I don’t have his number. “I don’t mind. I need to dry off anyway.” I send her one of many glares. “So will you? I was making Hawaiian chicken. Pineapple is already diced in the fridge.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Sure. I suppose.”
“Thanks. Tell Mom and Dad I’ll be home in an hour.”
As I skip toward the tree, Joplin calls out to me, “What am I supposed to tell them?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something!” I shout back.
Once the backpack straps are attached to my shoulders, I wheel my bicycle out of the shed.
Last week, Misty texted me a screenshot of Lex’s giant house, taken from one of the real estate websites.
All the girls know his address now, thanks to their curious web sleuthing.
It wasn’t long before everyone was gossiping about the sprawling multimillion-dollar estate Lexington Hall lives in, right along the lakefront.
I hop on my bike and take a moment to pull up Misty’s text, my eyes skimming over the address, then type it into my GPS and choose the fifteen-minute bike route. Hopefully that’ll give me enough time to dry off so I don’t show up looking like a drowned rat.
Twenty minutes later, after getting stuck at a slew of busy intersections, I’m riding up his cobblestone driveway lined with pillars and paver lights.
Nerves weave their way through me the moment I’m in front of his house, my heartbeats still in a tizzy from the long ride.
I plant both feet on the ground and look up.
And up and up and up.
It’s enormous. A beacon of wealth and privilege.
Lex told me he has no places to escape to, but that doesn’t make any sense. It appears he has plenty of space to hide here, considering the garage alone is bigger than my whole house.
Gulping through my intimidation, I toe the kickstand and jump off the bike.
I’m second-guessing this idea with every anxious step toward the grand front entryway.
Potted plants, lush rosebushes, and perfectly cut grass lead me up the walkway until I’m standing on his pristine front stoop.
The doorbell looks like it came straight out of the future as I extend my hand.
Then I hesitate.
Commotion sounds from inside the house, a racket of bellowing voices and crashing noises. I blink, frowning, wondering if maybe I have the wrong house.
I double-check the address, which looks to be accurate. Though I guess I can’t be certain Natalie and her cheer squad got it right.
Dallying in place, I wait a few more minutes, trying to make out muffled words.
I hear a lot of “fucks.”
Am I witnessing a home invasion?
Joplin watches those true-crime documentaries every night and takes meticulous notes on how to avoid, dodge, and outrun a predator. There are bullet points. Chapter headings even. My mind races as I think about what my sister would say right now: run.
But I don’t run. I press the futuristic doorbell contraption.
A long-winded, theatrical bell chimes throughout the house, and the ruckus from inside promptly ends. Silence follows.
I think I might puke.
But I’m here, and I have his backpack, and I’m doing a good thing.
I press the doorbell again, waiting on the stoop, but still, no one answers. With a sigh, I bite my lip, debating whether to call the police and report a disturbance. Instead, I turn back for one last attempt. I knock, rapping my knuckles against the frame.
Another minute passes until finally, I hear the sound of footsteps.
A shadow is visible through the stained glass, making its way toward me.
I take a moment to smooth out my damp tank top, inch down my sopping-wet shorts, and fiddle with my chaotic flyaways until I’m as presentable as possible, given I was just doused with a watering hose and then rode my bike three miles through heavy traffic and up steep hills.
The door cracks open. A woman pokes her head out, her golden-blond hair looking far worse than mine and a giant pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes. “We don’t need any Girl Scout cookies.” She moves to close the door.
I pop a hand out. “Wait, please. I’m not selling anything.”
The woman falters, inches the door open another fraction. She looks like a wreck in designer clothing. Glamorous and tortured.
“Who are you?” she demands.
“My…my name is Stevie. I’m Lex’s friend.
From school.” I clear my throat, shifting from foot to foot as her attention sweeps down my body.
I’m wearing worn-out jelly shoes, once the color of Ariel’s fin, now a desaturated shade of teal.
Childish, I realize. “Sorry to show up unannounced, but Lex left his backpack at my house. His script. I figured he’d need it since I won’t see him again until Tuesday. ”
She lowers the sunglasses, just marginally. There’s an ambiguous bruise above her cheekbone, and my gaze is glued to it as her blue-gray eyes thin with what looks like scorn.
“What was my son doing at your house? He said he was at an audition in the city.”
Oh.
Shit.
My mouth fumbles for words, flopping like a fish. “I…well, we were practicing our lines for the show. The director suggested it.”
More ice shimmers in her eyes. Judgment and loathing. “My son is friends with you?”
I blink at her, nearly going catatonic. “Um…I guess. Sort of. I’m really sorry if I—”
The woman, who I presume to be his mother, leans farther out the threshold, getting right in my face. “Do not come here. Ever again.” Each word is sharp and punctuated.
My face ignites. “I’m sorry.” Swallowing, I loosen the backpack straps until they slide down my arms. I hand her the bag, my hands trembling. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Can you give this to him?”
She eyes it like it’s a steaming sack of dog shit, then looks up at me like I’m no better.
“Listen to me,” she says, pushing her sunglasses back in place.
“I’m letting Lexington indulge this need to feel ‘normal’ for now.
But just because I’m allowing him to slum it at your little rural public school for a year doesn’t mean he should be wasting his time on some silly high school musical or spending his days with someone like you. ”
She wrenches the book bag from my grip.
And slams the door in my face.
I’m a stone statue on his doorstep, my heart beating a mile a minute, my insides shriveling with shame.
Someone like me.
Poor, homely, and underwhelming.
With a stinging knot of indignity burning a hole in my throat, I find my footing and step off the porch step, beelining toward my bike. Everything blurs through a glaze of tears. Her words echo like a cruel mantra I can’t escape.
I’m hauling myself onto the bike with shaking legs when a figure comes jogging down the driveway from the side of the house.
Lex.
He does a double take when he spots me, his eyes rounding to volatile spheres.
I try to move faster, try to situate my feet on the pedals—because he can’t see me like this—but the soles of my shoes have no traction, and I sag in place like a beaten-down rag doll.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
My mortification morphs into white-hot anger. “Your mom has your backpack. I was just leaving.”
He runs the rest of the way toward me and plants both palms on the handlebars, halting my retreat.
“Let me go.” Tears betray me, gliding down my cheeks and making me feel small. I try to shimmy the bike from his grip, but he holds tight. “I have to go,” I force out.
“What did she say to you?”
“Nothing you haven’t already implied.”
His fingers curl around the handles. “How did you get my address?”
“Just let me go, Lex. I—” My gaze lifts, finally landing on the side of his face where blood dribbles from his ear. Eyes flaring wide, I freeze, my pulse kicking up speed. “What happened?”
Lex frowns at me, his entire body vibrating.
Then he blinks, swiping his arm along the side of his head, his shirtsleeve coming back red. Swallowing, he stares at the stain for a beat before slowly looking back to me with an expression I’ve never seen before. Panic, fusing with anger.
I can’t fight my instincts. I jump off the bike and let it tip sideways, my hand extending to his face.
He shoves my arm away, takes a full step back. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Not a single fucking soul. Do you hear me?”
“What…” I try to reach for him again, but he dodges me. “Lex, tell me what happened.”
“Tell me why you’re here, at my goddamn house.”
His rage is a loaded gun, his words bullets. “I told you…I was bringing you your backpack. You left it by the tree.” I swallow, trying to rein in my unsteady breaths. “Your script.”
“My script.” His tone softens marginally but does nothing to minimize the hurricane in his eyes. Then he pivots away, putting his back to me, and tugs on his hair with both hands.
He’s hurt.
He’s clearly been struck by something.
When his mother’s bruised face flashes back to mind, all I can think of is…
His father?
“I’m calling the police.”
This has him whipping around, stomping forward, and grabbing me by the shoulders. He shakes me a little. “Don’t you dare.”
My wide eyes meet his. Electric blue. Terrorized blue. “But—”
He shakes me again. “Don’t do it, Stevie. I swear to God.”
I don’t know what to say. What to do.
With a little croak of despair, I swing my head back and forth, my bottom lip trembling. “Did your father do that to you?”
His Adam’s apple rolls, an audible swallow. Lex glances at the house, looking nervous, the panic still gleaming in his gaze.
Then he lets me go.
Lex doesn’t respond to the question, but I already know. I see the truth, the evidence. It’s a rusty ax to my chest.
“You have to go.” His hands ball at his sides, teeth clenching. “We’re not friends, Nicks.”
“What?” I breathe out.
“We. Aren’t. Friends.” Inching closer, he grits out more cruel words through bared teeth.
“You can’t just show up here on your dirty old bike and start asking questions, thinking you belong in my world.
You can’t just sniff around my life like you have any fucking right.
You can’t just…” The light leaves his eyes with a single blink. “Care.”
I stumble backward, my stomach curdling as his words settle like sour milk.
We stand a foot apart, staring at each other, breathing heavily.
All I can muster is “No problem” as I bend over to retrieve my fallen bike and hop back on.
Lex watches me, his hands slackening at his sides. “Don’t come back here,” he says. “I mean it.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t tell anybody about this.”
I use the toes of my shoes to drag myself out of the driveway, unable to look at him as I slide my feet on the pedals and start to ride away. “I won’t,” I repeat, but I don’t know if he hears me.
Racing three miles home, I charge through the front door of my house, ignoring the chipper greetings from Mom and Dad and the aroma of grilled pineapples wafting from the stove.
I run all the way up to my room, slam the door, and launch myself onto the bed, clutching the limp teddy bear to my chest.
And I cry.