Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I’m going to a party.
But that’s not important.
That’s not even on the list of top three important things.
It’s not as if I haven’t been to parties before. I have. A few times.
But between school and my dance classes, I don’t get a lot of free time so I’m not that experienced with them either.
The ones that I have been to were loud and overcrowded and had really bad music.
Not to mention, they sort of freak my brothers out.
They don’t show it though, no. For my sake, my four overprotective older brothers try to hide their worry.
They try to hide the fact that every time I go to a party, they’re all always watching the clock. They’re always watching the door too – well, Con does because he likes to stay home, the rest of them are usually out and about with their friends – and texting each other to see if I’m back.
I think they have a group chat together.
I mean, we have one where all five siblings are included but I think they have a secret four-person chat where they sort of obsess over if I’m okay.
I guess even though I’m in high school now, I’m still their baby sister.
The one who followed them around while growing up. The one whose ballet recitals they all went to. The one who couldn’t fall asleep by herself for the longest time when our mom died, so all my brothers would take turns during the night and stay with me in my room.
I don’t really remember that part, about not falling asleep by myself, probably because I was only four when Mom died, but every time I think of it, I can’t stop crying and smiling.
I can’t stop the rush of love I feel for my big brothers.
So over time I decided not to go to parties at all.
I don’t want to worry them for something I don’t really have the time for and don’t like to begin with anyway.
But I’m going to this one.
And I’m going without telling my brothers.
That’s their one rule – to keep them updated about my whereabouts.
They’ll let me go to parties, or to the movies with my friends, but they need to know where I am at all times.
They don’t know where I am right now.
They think they know; I texted them saying I’m studying with one of my friends and that I’ll be back by my curfew.
They don’t know that I’m here.
That I’m going to a party thrown by Reed Roman Jackson.
My brother’s rival.
The guy I’m supposed to stay away from.
And I have.
I have stayed away from him.
I have been extremely careful never to be in the same place as him.
If he’s in the courtyard with his friends, I’m in the library. If he’s in the cafeteria, sitting in his usual spot, I know to stay on the opposite side of the room.
If I see him sitting inside his Mustang in the parking lot after practice, listening to music with his eyes closed, I turn around and walk through the soccer field to get to the bus stop.
Basically, I have done everything in my power to stay away from him.
So I don’t really know what I’m doing here.
I don’t even know how it happened. How I got pulled into going. By his sister, no less. Who I met only a little while ago.
But one minute we were watching the game and I was explaining to her about the rivalry, which I’m so glad to say that she doesn’t really understand either.
And the next, the game is over and Tempest is pulling me away from the field, telling me that we shouldn’t be controlled by our brothers’ stupidity.
That I should ignore all the rivalry stuff and go to a party with a friend — her — if I want to. And besides, if I don’t like it, I’m free to leave.
So here I am.
Going to a party with a friend who has promised me that I can leave if I want to.
And I want to, I think.
Because as soon as I see the crowd, I realize that this is even stupider and more dangerous than I originally thought.
This party, which is happening in the middle of the woods that border Bardstown, is full of people from the Mustang camp.
The soccer players who worship him, the students from Bardstown High who are in awe of him and girls from all over town who want to be with him.
All of them are either laughing or talking or swaying with the music with red cups in their hands. I even hear people chanting his name off to the side.
Of course, Callie. This is his party.
This is his territory.
Everything here is his.
Except me.
I’m the trespasser. I’m the one who doesn’t belong. I’m the anomaly here.
And what if someone recognizes me, the sister of his rival?
What if they tell Ledger about it?
Oh Jesus Christ, I haven’t thought this through, have I?
I have not thought this through at all.
What if he uses this, me being here, as something to rile Ledger up in the next game?
He’s done it before.
I mean, he hasn’t used me to rile my brother up. But he has used things against Ledger. And well, Ledger has done the same, but yeah.
I need to get out.
I need to leave.
I grab Tempest’s hand and try to stop her from getting into the thick of the crowd. “I think I’m…”
Going to leave.
That’s what I was going to say before I left my words hanging.
Because just then the crowd parts, the horde of swaying bodies falls apart, and there opens a direct line of vision.
To him.
The guy who owns everything around me.
Reed Roman Jackson.
He’s sitting on a log, his powerful thighs spread, his demeanor casual, his body leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
And as usual, he’s not alone.
There’s a girl draped over him — I think she’s from school — and she’s talking to him, whispering something in his ear.
It’s not the fact that a girl is hanging off his arm that makes me pause, no. I’ve seen this before at school, multiple times. I mean, it would be more of a shock to see him without a girl.
It’s not the girl. It’s him.
It’s the fact that despite very meager lighting in the space — the moon and headlights from parked cars — every single thing about him is so clear, so vivid.
So alive.
Like his hair, for example.
His spiky, dark hair. The strands of which have little droplets sitting on the tips, making me think that he just had a shower, right after the game.
And maybe he was in a rush to get to his party.
Because he didn’t bother with a shave and his jaw is stubbled with a five o’clock shadow.
I don’t think he likes it though.
Because I always catch him touching it, rubbing and scratching it as if irritated.
A gesture that’s more like a habit to him. That he’s performing right now even, as he talks to the girl, his face turned toward her, a smirk lurking on his ruby-red lips.
A gesture that makes me think that maybe he likes smooth things. Soft things.
Things like his hoodie.
His white hoodie, to be precise.
So his hoodies are famous around school and in town. They’re always white or cream colored and they always seem thick and cozy.
And of course soft.
Also, his hoodies are his favorite thing to wear.
Because he always has them on — well, except in summers but still. That and his dark jeans.
Black and white.
And needless to say, girls around town are obsessed with his hoodies.
They stare at them. They talk about them. They want to touch his hoodies and play with the strings. They want to wear his hoodies too.
Which from what I’ve heard is a privilege.
Not every girl gets to wear them, only the special ones, and so it’s a coveted thing: Reed Roman Jackson and his hoodies.
Even now the girl who’s wrapped around him is tracing the fabric, pulling on the strings, fingering the edge of his sleeve at his wrist as she laughs at something he’s said.
Stop staring, Callie.
Right.
I need to stop staring. But the thing is that it’s very hard to do.
See, that’s his magic I think.
The dark magic that I was talking about.
It makes him glow.
Like his very skin absorbs whatever light is in the vicinity, leaving the rest of the world in darkness.
So much so that the only thing you can see, the only thing that you can focus on, is him and nothing else.
But.
But, but, but.
I’m one of the Thornes. I’m my brothers’ sister. I know better.
So I should look away, and I do.
Well, I try to.
Because the moment I make the decision to look away, he decides to look up at me.
And I step back.
As if someone has pushed me. As if he has pushed me. He has put his hands on me and I had to step back, had to, under the weight of his touch.
The strength of his gaze, his wolf eyes that land right on me.
And now that he has found me, he’s not letting me go.
He’s absolutely not letting me leave. My legs won’t even move. They won’t.
Because they somehow, the traitors, know that he wants me here.
It’s in the way that he slowly straightens up, the way he completely abandons interest in the girl beside him. It’s in the way something breaks open on his face, on his gorgeous, gorgeous face made up of sharp, smooth, fascinating lines as soon as he sees me.
Something that looks a lot like interest. Curiosity.
Something that makes his pretty eyes go slightly wide followed by a tiny smirk on his lips.
It’s like… he’s excited that I’m here.
It’s like he’s thinking, now the fun begins…
I’m not sure how I know all of this. But I do.
It’s not as if I’m an expert on Reed Roman Jackson.
I mean, we haven’t even talked before.
This may be the first time that he’s looked at me, and this morning when I woke up, I had no idea that today would be the day he’d look at me for the first time ever.
So yeah, I have no clue how I know all this except that I feel exposed under his eyes. I feel vulnerable and fragile. I feel like I’ve somehow walked into an evil den.
His evil den.
Which isn’t that far from the truth.
I am in his evil den and I need to move. Right now.
I need to run. I need to…
Suddenly there’s a commotion and Reed’s attention breaks away from me. And I think I draw my first breath since he found me in this chaos.
It’s Tempest. The source of commotion, I mean. She’s running toward Reed.
Yikes.