Chapter 2
CHARLIE
I’m in the zone, my fingers flying over the keyboard, when Blake sits on the edge of my desk. I ignore him. It took forever for me to get a good flow going, and he’s not going to mess it up.
Wishful thinking .
Blake is a pest and clears his throat, as if his butt occupying precious space on my workstation wasn’t obvious enough.
With a sigh, I lean back in my chair and glance at him. “What?”
“What the hell did you just send me?”
I fake an air of innocence. “You have to be more specific than that.”
“Cut the bullshit, Charlie. You know I can’t publish that article about Troy. You destroyed him. Shit, I’ve seen movie critics be kinder to The Phantom Menace .”
“I only wrote what was presented to me. It’s not my fault Troy bailed from the interview when I asked the tough questions.”
“Come on, Charlie. I know you. You can’t fool me with your angelic face.
I’ve seen your dark side, and it’s mean as fuck.
You got mad at Troy because he was late, and you decided to get revenge.
You can do that on your own time, not in my paper.
” He jumps off the desk, fixing his tweed jacket in the process.
Blake is the poster child for the dress-for-the-job-you-want mentality, hence the stupid jacket and slacks. His dark hair is combed back, highlighting his widow’s peak and pale complexion. It’s not by chance that he plays a vampire in our ongoing LARP game.
We’ve known each other since kindergarten, and we dated in high school. Most exes can’t remain friends, but Blake and I had a solid friendship before, which helped. And the decision to break up was mutual.
“Whatever. I’m not rewriting it.” I turn to my screen.
“We can’t simply not run the interview!”
I shrug. “Get Ludwig to write one for you. He’s buddies with Troy. I’m sure he can come up with a bullshit article that highlights all of Troy’s assets.”
“You can be such a bitch sometimes,” he mumbles.
“Heinous bitch. That’s what Troy said.” I smirk.
“Did he really call you that?”
I look at Blake, noticing the deep frown. He can call me names— sometimes , when I deserve it—but we have the relationship for that. He won’t tolerate any jerk disrespecting me.
“Chill, okay? Technically, he said I was pulling the heinous bitch card, which, to be fair, I was. You can put away your knight in shining armor outfit for now.”
He clamps his jaw shut, but he’ll ruminate on that for hours. “If you were trying to get me to publish your interview, it won’t work. I’ll think of something to fill that spot.”
“Whatever.”
I don’t care one way or another. I wrote the article, which served as a way to get rid of the anger. I might also have tweeted about it, but no one in Troy’s circle follows me, so the chances he’ll read it are slim.
I’m fine if my article never gets published.
I have bigger fish to fry. I’m writing the storyline for next weekend’s LARP event, and it needs to be finished today.
Most of the time I don’t mind this side job.
It’s fun to come up with crazy stories that will be acted out, but I’ve had to work on several assignments for school as well, which has made my schedule this week hell.
A text message pops on my screen. It’s from Ben, my baby brother.
I see it’s a picture, so I click on it. A smile blossoms on my lips.
Ben finally finished his costume for this weekend.
His character is a troll hunter and, as such, needs several props.
He’s been working on that project for months. I reply with a heart emoji.
Growing up, Ben and I shared our love for fantasy worlds and grand quest stories, so it’s not a surprise we both got into LARPing. He found it first, a suggestion from the school counselor to help him with his social anxiety.
“Wow, did you see that? Ben is looking badass,” Blake says from across the room.
No surprise Ben also texted Blake. They’re close.
“Yeah. I can’t wait for this weekend.”
“Me neither. How is that storyline coming along?”
“I’m almost done.”
“If you make me look good, I’ll forgive you for the Troy mishap.” He winks at me.
“You’re out of your mind. You’ve already agreed to be my bitch. No backsies.”
“Ugh. You’re the worst.”
“I’m going to ask again. Why aren’t you two dating?” Angelica, the newest member of the Rushmore Gazette , asks.
“Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt,” I reply with a shake of my head.
“But you have great chemistry.”
Blake and I trade glances, then burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” The poor girl alternates looking between us.
“Maybe one day we’ll tell you,” I say.
Unlikely .
Blake and I are the perfect match on paper. We like the same movies, the same books, are into similar hobbies, and mesh really well intellectually. But chemistry, the stuff that makes my knees go weak and my stomach turn into knots, is what we never had or will.
“Are you going to the Pike party tonight?” She changes the subject, thankfully.
Blake snorts. “Not in this lifetime.”
Angelica gets the dumbfounded look again, so I’m quick to explain, “Blake doesn’t do Greek Row.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re all fucking assholes,” he replies angrily.
She glances at me for further explanation, but I just shrug. That’s Blake’s issue. It’s up to him to elaborate.
“We also have a LARP meeting tonight,” I add.
“Oh, that’s the Live Action Role Playing thingy, right?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve always thought people who were into those things were a bunch of weirdos, but you guys aren’t.”
My spine goes taut, and I see Blake has a similar reaction to mine. Angelica’s comment wasn’t malicious, but it’s hard not to get defensive.
“How do you know we aren’t weirdos?” Blake raises an eyebrow.
Angelica’s cheeks turn bright pink, and she drops her gaze to her laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I have to finish this article before my English Lit class.”
Blake and I share a what-can-you-do glance. A second later, he sends me a message through Facebook.
“I’m kind of tired of people’s bullshit. Aren’t you?”
“Since when do you care about what people think?”
“I don’t.”
“Hmm. It sounds like you do, or is it Angelica’s opinion that you care about?”
“Ha-ha. She’s too vapid for my taste.”
“Oh, look who’s judging now.”
“Shut up. What time are you picking me up?”
“Excuse me? Why do I have to drive?”
“Because my car is being serviced.”
“What about Fred?”
“He’s going straight from the store. He said he has a surprise for us.”
“Oh, I love Fred’s surprises.”
“Samesies.”
I chuckle out loud. “ Samesies? What are you now, a thirteen-year-old girl?”
“I’m practicing being your bitch for this weekend. LOL.”
“Right. I’ll pick you up at five.”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
Fred is one of my best friends, but he’s also a lunatic with mad convincing skills. If the guy wasn’t an artist, he’d be a fantastic salesman. It’s the only explanation for what’s happening just outside of Zuko’s Diner in the pouring rain.
The California sky decided to drop on us with all its fury as we were taking pictures, wearing Fred’s surprise.
His father owns one of the biggest movie prop companies in LA, and he scored us some sick postapocalyptic costumes.
It won’t work for our current LARP theme since we’re not doing the Mad Max thing, but it was too badass to resist trying them on.
“I think we’re ruining the pictures with our umbrellas,” I joke.
“I’m not getting this baby wet,” Blake replies.
“Just take the damn picture already,” Fred shouts at Sylvana, the coordinator of our LARP group, who also happens to be his cousin.
“Stop talking and strike a pose, dumbasses,” she fires back.
We have fun for about ten seconds until Sylvana demands to be in the pictures too.
I remove my headgear and then trade places with her.
Despite the rain, the sun hasn’t set yet, and the clouds are scattered, so it’s not as dark as it could be.
I wait for them to get in position, aiming the phone in their direction.
I only manage to take one photo before a splash of cold water drenches the back of my pants.
I yell and then turn around to curse at the driver who sped over the puddle near the curb. The four-wheel-drive truck stops not too far from us at a red light. I can’t see his face, but the license plate says it all—ALXNDR7. It’s Troy’s fucking truck.
Son of a bitch .
He lowers his window and waves at me before speeding off as the light turns green.
“Who was that?” Sylvana asks.
“Troy Alexander, Rushmore Rebels’ quarterback,” I reply.
“Did he run over that puddle on purpose?” Fred asks.
“Sure looks like it.” I pat my butt, confirming that it’s soaking wet, underwear included.
Shit . I have to go home.
“What an ass,” Fred replies.
“You know what?” Blake chimes in. “Fuck him and the football team. I’m running the article you wrote.”
“What about not using the paper for revenge?”
He looks straight into my eyes. “That fucker just made it personal. No one messes with my staff.”