28. Hendrix #2
Given I still have no idea what my feelings were for Stevenson—and are for Saint—pretty sure it’s safer to leave the existential answers to the only genius teenager in the room.
So, when I press my lips together Archer does just that…
“You’re explosive by nature. Fearless. Full of passion. Especially about the people and things you love.”
The comparison to what lives and breathes inside me makes me uncomfortable enough to shift in my seat.
I repeat Archer’s words in my head, and how… positive he made them sound. Normal…even though I don’t understand how they relate to me completely.
“Sounds like you just proved why Stevenson and I are endgame.”
This garners me an Archer sized grunted huff.
“What I just proved is that any world where you choose water as your endgame is a world where you’re settling.”
“How the hell did you just prove that?”
“Because your soul is a collection of sparks, Hendrix, and you should be with someone who takes them. Ignites them. Sets your entire soul on fire.”
Spoken with such certainty, but little does Archer know, I found someone who already has.
And, thanks to my best friend’s analogy, I end up spending the rest of the game wondering if he feels the same.
The victory was nothing short of a sweep for The Royals, making this the tenth year in a row our school defeated the rival team at homecoming. A streak nobody at Riverside with half a brain thought Saint would allow to get broken.
After what feels like a millenia, the crowded field finally starts to empty after the winning touchdown, something Vic and my mother were waiting to happen before not-so-subtly insisting I join them on it to congratulate Saint.
We just made it to the sidelines, where most of the team is still celebrating, but Saint’s off on his own several feet away.
“Terrific game, son.” Vic pats him on the back. “You played well, as always.”
Saint’s gaze is ahead as he ruffles the soaked strands of his dark hair, yet to make eye contact with any of us.
“It was a team effort,” he responds dryly, ignoring the pats on the back and congratulations from people in passing.
Vic seems both surprised and proud of this answer, no matter how disconnected his son is from it.
A default setting Saint has been stuck on for weeks now.
Not only with me, but most people around him.
Even Theory who’s rubbing his arm.
“Well, big bro, we’re proud of you nonetheless.”
An awkward silence passes, as if everyone except Archer is waiting to hear what I have to say.
Which is for them to not hold their damn breaths.
There’s a reason I’m standing on the outskirts of this little celebratory circle—the reason being the traitor in black, white, and gold.
I will not be the one to cave here, not when Saint hasn’t even bothered with an apology outside of pretending not to watch me in each of our classes.
Follow me around like a hawk.
As if I haven’t memorized the distinctive heat from his stare, his scent, his neurological fucking pathways.
As if he hasn’t memorized mine.
Swallowing my disgrace, I look down at my Chucks, counting the splatters of soda Theory left on them.
I don’t get far before that same distinctive heat is causing blood to rush from my heart straight to my head.
Like a moth to a flame, my eyes drift to Saint, who’s quick to turn away.
“Hey there, Mr. Lavell.” Annalie appears out of nowhere, strutting over to Theory without enough respect to acknowledge my mother.
Another one of step sis’s petty retaliations:
Becoming besties with the enemy.
The growl I’ve got going is loud enough for my mother to demand I let it go under her breath.
God I’m so tired of letting shit go…and being okay with it to honor the happiness she found.
The only satisfaction in this situation is how the father Annalie’s so desperate to impress refuses to look at her.
“Annalie!” Theory squeals, looping an arm around hers. “You did amazing tonight.”
“As did your brother.” She bats her lashes at Saint. “I’m so proud of him.”
Someone find me a bucket to gag into, please.
Like his father, Saint doesn’t acknowledge her existence, just goes on doing the staring thing.
“You kids have any plans tonight?” Mom asks.
“I’ll be with Annalie.” Theory lifts her chin, eyes piercing me. “A little girl time.”
With a tight smile, my mother adds, “You two have been getting pretty close, I see.”
“Oh, yeah, you bet.” She squeezes Annalie to her. “Annalie’s the sister I always wanted.”
That one stung like the nasty bee she’s been acting like, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing it.
Can’t say the same for my mom, because for the first time in the weeks Theory has been shoving this bitch down our throats, she looks pissed.
That is…until Saint is jolted back to life.
“Where the fuck you think you’re going tonight?”
“The bonfire. Like everyone else, duh.”
“You’re fucking high if you think I’ll allow it.”
“Saint, come on, now,” Annalie chimes in. “I’ll be with her the whole time.”
“You smokin’ something good, Seven?” He invades Annalie’s space. “Getting involved in my family business?”
Hearing Saint refer to this bitch by a number is one of the very few strands of hope I have left.
“It’s a great opportunity to get to know the cheerleaders, Saint. Annalie said it’s not too late for me to join the squad.”
“Totally not too late.” Annalie winks at Theory. “I got you, girl.”
Everyone, including my mother, flinches when Saint rips Annalie to his chest, demanding she, and I quote, “fuck off before he breaks one of the legs she uses to fly with.”
As much as I’m sure Vic’s been banking on a less hostile version of this moment, he throws out a warning for him to let her go.
With a nasty glare at Annalie, Saint listens, leaving the bitch tripping over her feet as she leaves.
My mother has been sheltered by Vic to never have witnessed Saint in action beyond outbursts at the dining room table, and the hand clutching her chest proves it.
As for the rest of us…just your typical Friday night.
“Why’d you have to do that, Saint?” Theory whines. “You ruined my chance at joining the squad.”
“You never stood a fucking chance, Theory. I’ll torch the school before letting you put on those short ass uniforms.”
“Daddy said I could!”
Vic slides his hands in his pants pockets. “I said I’ll consider it.”
“There’s nothing to fucking consider.” Saint’s eyes darts to his father, then his sister. “You go to classes, then back to the dorm. The mansion on weekends. Exactly how it’s been.”
“After weeks of silence, suddenly you wanna get involved. Why?”
“I’m sure your brother has his reasons, Theory,” Vic insists.
The fact that this man is allowing Saint to make such harsh demands over his own daughter, speaks volumes on who’s really in charge and how controlling Saint truly is over his sister.
Something I used to feel bad about.
But now I could give a shit less because she sucks.
“Yeah…” Theory folds her arms. “And I bet they have something to do with a specific someone .”
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know who she’s referring to.
The resting scowl on me is strong with this one.
“How about we save this conversation for when we’re in private?” Vic suggests with a cautious glance at Theory. “Maybe over dinner?”
“Oh, hell no,” Archer whispers in my ear. “I love you, Hen, but you’re on your own with this one.”
“Shut it,” I whisper back to him.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Mom says, her lips widening into a nervous smile. “We can continue to celebrate the big win.”
Saint wrenches his helmet off the bench. “Tonight’s a big night for the team. I’m needed at the bonfire.”
And just like that, her smile falls, attention aimed at me.
“Well, how about you guys?”
My mother’s delusional if she thinks I’ll be subjecting myself to Theory’s attitude, especially when it’s frowned on to slap it out of her.
“I…uh…”
A plethora of excuses run through my mind, but Saint’s eyes and how they’re grilling me makes it that much harder to settle on one.
This is the first time in weeks he’s made eye contact with me for more than a split second, and the jolt it has on my heart shows as I tell her, “Sorry, Archer and I are going out.”
“You are?” Mom quirks a brow.
“We are?” Archer mumbles right after.
With a forced smile on my face, I kick him. “Yup. And super excited about it.”
Saint’s stare only grows harsher the more I wing a bullshit answer to her question about where we’re going.
“Probably not the best idea, Hendrix.” Vic adds his unwanted two cents. “It’s too dangerous right now.”
Apparently not for his son who will be getting drunk, high, and God knows what else at some beach party in another borough.
So why should I be forced to lay low?
“Ah, yes.” I tap my chin. “Now tell me…why is that again?”
Both his and my mother’s lips straighten to offer silence.
“ Exactlyyyyy .”
LACE.
One of the biggest nightclubs in Manhattan.
Granted, I could’ve chosen somewhere much lower key to forget my problems. But fuck it. Go big or go out to an awkward dinner.
Besides, what better way to do some forgetting than at a place Archer’s older brother Micah has friendly ties to?
Friendly ties equals friendly drinks on the low without question.
A courtesy I’ve been taking full advantage of for over an hour.
“Here!” I slap the beer I ordered down on the bar, where Carlo is hovering next to me like a needy toddler. “Let loose a little bit, man!”
“ No, grazie, signorina! ” He speaks over the music with a stern shake of his head.
“C’monnnnnnnn…!” I sway the bottle in front of him. “You know you want to. Hell, need to after putting up with me!”
Especially now that I’m passing tipsy, something I promised I wouldn’t do as long as he promised to keep his trap shut about me drinking.
“I’m, eh , very happy to be here with you. It’s-eh no problem!”