Chapter 11 Solana
SOLANA
“Let’s play again! Best three out of five!” Jack squeals, bouncing on the couch with his game controller clutched in both hands.
I laugh despite getting my butt kicked at whatever racing game this is. The kid’s got skills, probably from all those hours of practice his mom complains about. “Hold that thought, buddy. I should probably answer this. It might be your mom.”
My phone’s buzzing with an unknown number. Rachel sometimes calls from the school’s main line when she checks in, and it always shows up as unknown or private. I head into the kitchen for some privacy.
“Hello!” I answer, trying to sound bright and responsible, like the perfect babysitter.
“Finally! I had a feeling you’d answer if I called from a private number.”
My stomach drops at the sound of Shay’s voice.
“Why have you been avoiding us, Lana?”
I go straight into lying mode. “I haven’t been—”
“Really? You never texted me back about getting our nails done. You haven’t shown up for our lunch meet ups on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Yvette says you’re skipping the class you have together.”
She’s right. All of it’s true.
For two weeks now, I’ve been a ghost on campus, ducking into restrooms when I spot them, taking the long way to avoid our usual hangout spots.
It’s been easier than facing them and definitely easier than pretending everything’s normal when nothing about this situation is normal.
The anger’s been building since that Saturday night, simmering under my skin alongside the sadness and confusion.
They were supposed to be my friends. Friends look out for each other. Friends don’t let you leave a club so drunk you can’t remember what happened. They definitely don’t turn your trauma into a derogatory nickname.
“Lana? You still there?”
The silence has stretched too long. Normally I’d go on trying to convince her I’m not mad at them. I’m not avoiding them.
But to hell with pretending. I might have aspirations to be an actress, but I’m done acting and squashing down my feelings just to pacify them.
“What do you expect, Shay? You and Yvette have been laughing at me. I can’t trust you!”
“Oh my god, not this shit again. Lana, will you get the fuck over it?” she asks, and I can practically imagine her rolling her eyes. “So we made a joke about you getting a little too turned up. Who gives a fuck? Move on!”
Move on? Like it’s that simple? What’s she not getting about the fact that I woke up naked and confused in Kel’s bed? Forget the flashbacks, which have only increased, only grown more detailed.
It’s to the point almost every time I close my eyes, it’s all I see.
“How can I get over it when I don’t even know what happened? None of you have given me clear answers! We’re not friends, Shay. I don’t trust you anymore. Maybe we never were friends.”
I hang up before she can respond, my hands shaking so bad I almost drop the phone.
It’s not every day I stand up for myself like that. Probably why Shay and the others thought they could mess with me like they have.
“Solana?”
I spin around. Jack’s standing in the doorway, half-hidden behind the frame, clutching an empty Capri Sun pouch.
“Jack, how long have you been—”
“I was just coming to get another drink.” He steps fully into view, looking guilty. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I swear! But then I heard you arguing and I didn’t want to interrupt and—”
“It’s okay,” I say, forcing myself to sound calm. The last thing I need is for him to tell his mom I was having emotional breakdowns during babysitting hours.
I need this job very, very badly.
He shifts from foot to foot, studying me with probing eyes identical to his father’s. “Are you okay?”
The question catches me off guard. This ten-year-old boy is showing more concern for my wellbeing than my so-called friends have in two weeks.
It makes my heart ache in gratitude but with sadness that I’ve trusted the wrong people.
My mind goes to Silver, and how he’s the only one who seems to ever notice when I’m upset. He dropped everything and came when I called. He took me to the clinic and waited every minute I was being examined.
Not once has he judged me for any of my stupid mistakes.
It seems his son has the same instincts.
“Yeah,” I tell Jack, managing a small but genuine smile. “I’m trying to be.”
He nods solemnly, then brightens. “Want me to let you win the next race? Sometimes that makes me feel better when I’m sad.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “You know what? I’m good. But thanks for offering.”
“Okay, but I’m still gonna crush you.” He’s rushed across the kitchen to grab a fresh Capri Sun from the fridge, already heading back to the living room. “Come on! Best three out of five, remember?”
I follow him, leaving my phone on the kitchen counter. Shay can call back all she wants. I’m done with her, with Yvette, with all of them. They showed me who they really are, and I finally believe them.
For once, the house actually feels alive on Sunday morning.
Uncle Eddie’s got his old-school music blasting—Tupac flowing into Biggie then some Wu-Tang Clan. The bass rattles my bedroom walls while he’s in his room getting ready, probably already three beers deep even though it’s not even noon yet.
Apparently there’s some club event welcoming back Thomas Cutler.
I’m sprawled on my bed with the script for Moonshine & Magnolia, running through Magnolia’s lines for what feels like the millionth time. The audition’s in three days, and I’ve got every word memorized, every pause, every emotional beat.
It’s easier to lose myself in someone else’s story than think about my own.
A knock at my door breaks my concentration.
“Ay, Sol.” Moses pokes his head in, looking more put-together than I’ve seen him in weeks. Fresh cut and new fit as he’d call it, he almost doesn’t look like a biker. “You coming with us to the club thing?”
“I’m good,” I answer, not bothering to look up from the script. “You guys have fun.”
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he says, pushing the door open wider and leaning against the frame. “Most of the guys are bringing their families. You should get out of the house for once.”
“I get out of the house. I have classes. I babysit.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
I sigh, setting the script down. “I don’t know, Moses. It’s probably not a good idea.”
The truth is, I’m not ready to see Silver.
It’s been a week since he took me to the twenty-four-hour clinic. I had a whole breakdown that night. Two if you count the moment in his truck as he drove me home. I snapped at him about his suggestions when he was only trying to help.
Guilt still plagues me over the fact that I told him to leave it alone.
The test results came back negative—no pregnancy and no diseases.
Kel was telling the truth about using a condom, at least. But that doesn’t make me feel much better. It doesn’t change the fact I didn’t want what happened.
I never consented to it. I still can’t even remember most of it.
The fragments I do remember keep me up at night. The flash of him over me, my body limp and useless and refusing to cooperate. His heavy breathing as he presses me down.
New disturbing details like the motion of his body. The movement of his hips. The pain tearing me up from the inside. Yet being forced to lay there and take it.
It plays on repeat behind my eyelids every time I try to sleep. I’ve been surviving on coffee and anxiety, jumping at shadows, feeling like my skin doesn’t fit right anymore.
Which sounds insane, but there’s no other way to describe it. It’s as if I’ve been ruined. My body was taken and will never be mine in the same way again.
“You’re always complaining about how we’re never around,” Moses says, sounding genuinely offended. “But when we try to include you, suddenly you don’t wanna be part of what we’re doing?”
Damn. He’s got me there.
I have been complaining about being alone and them always being gone. Now here they are, actually inviting me to something, and I’m pushing them away.
“Fine,” I mutter, already regretting it. “I’ll go.”
Moses grins, but then his eyes narrow taking in my outfit—yet another oversized hoodie that used to be his and baggy sweatpants that hide the rest of my body.
“What’s with all the baggy clothes lately? This your new style or something?”
I pull the hoodie tighter around myself as if it can protect me from his questions. “Just comfortable.”
The truth is I can’t stand anything that shows my body anymore. I had really pushed myself to be more adventurous in recent months, wearing cropped tops and short dresses.
But in the wake of what happened with Kel, I’m not sure I want anyone looking at me right now. I barely look at myself.
Moses shrugs, apparently buying my excuse. “Whatever. We’re leaving in an hour. Try to look like you didn’t just roll out of bed.”
I drag myself off the bed and open my closet, staring at the clothes I can’t bring myself to wear anymore. I already regret saying yes.
The Steel Kings know how to throw a party. But that’s no surprise to anybody.
The patio behind the Steel Saloon is packed with leather cuts and laughter, smoke from Cash’s grill mixing with cigarette smoke and the occasional joint being passed around.
Ozzie’s got his speakers cranked up, jumping from classic rock to rap to some terrible nu-metal that makes everyone groan.
Moses was right about the families being here. Kids run around with juice boxes, old ladies cluster like they’ve formed their own little club within the club, and the mood is celebratory and festive.
At least among everyone but me.
I drift toward the old ladies’ table because it seems safer than standing alone like a weirdo.
Sydney spots me first, patting the bench beside her. “Solana! Perfect timing. We’re placing bets on who’s getting the drunkest tonight.”
“Tate’s at least a seven,” Korine says, gesturing toward where Tate’s already double-fisting beers. “But Bush? That’s a guaranteed nine. Maybe a ten if someone challenges him to shots.”