14. Margo
Chapter 14
Margo
W hen Caleb walks into first period on Thursday morning, he meets my death glare.
His eyebrows hike, and then his gaze drops to my legs.
Bare legs.
Ugh.
He didn’t just wake me up with oral last night—he destroyed my uniform pants. The skirt is fine, I guess, minus the fact that it hits me mid-thigh and feels way too revealing. And I didn’t have any stockings or pantyhose to conceal my legs…
It’ll be on the list of things I need to ask Lenora about.
Another would be period products. That should be coming any day now, and I ran out last month. Doesn’t help that I’ve changed homes and schools since then.
Lenora has been working late. I didn’t see her yesterday until right before I headed upstairs to bed. She hugged me and Robert, apologized for being absent, then went to hunt down the plate Robert had saved for her.
I didn’t see her this morning either. Robert didn’t comment on my skirt. He was probably the one to bring the options from Emery-Rose home, after all. Half his students wear skirts.
The morning air had a bite to it, which made standing out in the courtyard even worse. Goosebumps prickled my flesh, and I practically hid behind Riley and Jacq. No need for Savannah and her squad of evil cheerleaders to spot me. Or Caleb.
Anyway, now we’re in the same class, and Caleb’s gaze heats the back of my neck.
“I like it when you wear your hair up,” he says in my ear.
I jump at his closeness. “Why?”
He trails a finger along my nape, and I shiver.
“Because of that,” he whispers.
He slides back into his seat just as Mrs. Stonewater closes the door.
Luckily, the rest of the day passes without incident. Riley and I hole up in the library for lunch, and we wait until the bell has rung and the main stampede of students have passed before we venture out.
Caleb comes in late to art class, and he mutters something to Robert before taking his seat beside me.
I shoot him a questioning look, then catch myself.
I should not be inquisitive about anything Caleb is doing. Curiosity is just attention that he doesn’t need. Trust me, his head—and ego—don’t need any help.
He ignores me.
I tug at the bottom of my skirt absently, wishing it was a few inches longer, and his lips twitch.
But Robert—Mr. Bryan in this setting—has begun the lesson about shading techniques. There’s no room in this small classroom for side chats because the sound travels so easily. Anyway, it’s a good excuse to stay silent.
We follow along with my foster dad’s lesson, and then he sets us loose to practice shading. He has a table in the center of the room with a variety of objects on it—square blocks, solid-colored marbles, a bowling pin—and a standing lamp directed at it.
“Depending on where you are in the room, the shadows are going to hit differently.”
I adjust my position and dip my brush into the blue paint.
When the class ends, Caleb waits for me to pack up my stuff. He, per usual, has almost nothing. He has a near-empty bag slung over his shoulder that he stowed his set of brushes in, but otherwise, his hands are in his pockets, and he watches me.
“You normally bolt out of here,” I say.
He smiles. “Not today. You’re coming with me.”
Again, with the orders.
My foster dad shrugs. “If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.”
Great.
The whole I-know-his-family conversation pops into the forefront of my mind. I can’t say what I think—which is that Caleb is crazy and there’s no way I’m getting back in the car with him. I can barely think it without fear of him reading my mind and punishing me for it.
Excuses about homework die on my tongue, and I sigh. Nod.
Robert squints at me, but Caleb already has his hand on the small of my back. He wastes no time propelling me out of the room and down the long, curving staircase. All the way down and out the door closest to the student parking lot.
Across the lawn, the cheerleaders are beginning their practice. They mainly perform at the football games, but weirdly enough, they sometimes show up for hockey. And since hockey is the main sport at Emery-Rose Elite, it’s obvious that they care more about them than stinky, hulking football players.
Well, maybe hockey guys also stink?
I don’t know.
I glance over at him. “What are you scheming?”
“What are you afraid of?” he replies.
I wonder if me giving in was a bad thing. If he’d only like me for the chase.
Wait—no. Shoot. I don’t want him to like me. But the same question applies, doesn’t it? Is he only fascinated with me because of the fight I put up? And if so, does giving in make it better or worse for me?
“Margo.”
I’ve grown accustomed to him calling me anything but my name.
“I’m afraid…” I press my lips together. “Of my dreams.”
He snorts. “Of the boogeyman coming out of your closet?”
“There are things I don’t understand,” I say. “My mother?—”
He glances at me sharply. “She was a drug-addicted slut.”
A muscle in his jaw tics, but he doesn’t take it out on me. He just urges me toward the passenger seat, then circles around for his side. The interior is somehow cool, even in direct sun, and I set my bag at my feet. Caleb tosses his in the back.
“Tell me how you really feel,” I mumble.
We haven’t talked about my mother. Why would we? She’s obviously a sore subject. But since we’re opening that can of worms, the least I can do is hear him out.
Unless it’s all slander, then I can pretend we’re going to agree to disagree.
“You shouldn’t talk about her,” he says. “Shouldn’t think about her.”
He twists toward me. I suck in a breath, but he’s just putting his hand on the back of my seat to back out of his parking space. It puts his head too close to mine. Is this sudden bout of dizziness normal?
We get out onto the road, zooming back toward the Bryans’ neighborhood and our childhood one. Who knows where we’re actually going with Caleb at the wheel? We could end up at that forsaken park or…
“I can’t help who I dream about—” We speed around a corner, and I shut my mouth. Close my eyes, too, but I can only handle not seeing for a moment. “Please stop.”
“Stop? Stop what?”
I’m going to throw up.
We’re gaining speed. It’s a sunny day on one of Rose Hill’s many back roads. We’re nowhere near other cars, other life. Hell, we could hit a ditch flipped over, and it might be an hour before someone finds us.
Why did we go this way?
“I’m afraid of you ,” I blurt out. “When you get that look in your eye. When you do mean things. When you hurt me.”
He shakes his head and slams on the brakes. The tires squeal, smoking as the car stops on a dime. He meets my gaze. “I don’t do anything you don’t deserve.”
I laugh in disbelief. “I didn’t deserve you kissing Savannah. I don’t deserve these games.”
He inhales deeply. Under his armor, he’s human, too. I can’t forget that. We sit in the middle of the road in silence, both of us catching our breath. I loosen my grip on the edge of the seat, smoothing my palms down my bare legs.
After a long moment, he continues at a normal speed.
We take a few turns, suddenly headed back toward the Bryans’ house. Or… his. The neighborhoods are right next to each other, so it’s a guessing game at this point.
Still.
In the end, we arrive at his house. He parks in front, either expecting or not caring about the two other vehicles parked in the circular drive. He hops out and disappears into the house.
Per usual, I’m left to follow him.
The last time I was here… bad shit happened. And he left me to walk back to the Bryans’. If he does that again, I’m never going to get in another vehicle with him.
After a long moment of consideration, I grab my bag and get out of the car.
Entering the house takes another spoonful of courage, but then I’m in, with the door swinging shut behind me.
Liam and Theo are in the front room, leaning over a chessboard. The furniture is still covered in sheets. Everything has a ghost-like quality to it, and I’m not convinced anyone actually lives here. Not the downstairs anyway.
But why would Caleb be living in a shut-down house?
They don’t acknowledge me, even though I watch their game from the room’s threshold.
The sound of voices from farther back in the house float toward me, and I head down the hall.
Eli and Caleb are in the kitchen.
“She’s arrived,” Eli announces.
I frown. “What’s going on?”
Eli pops the cap off a beer bottle and offers it to me. Caleb is at the sink, hands braced on the counter. There’s a window there that looks out onto the back patio, and his expression is distant.
When I silently decline the beer, Eli takes a long swallow.
“We’re planning a party,” he says. “A real rager.”
Parties. I think I hate those. The public schools I went to had parties, but they were loud and obnoxious. The cops were almost always called, which is a disaster if you’re in the foster system and they catch you. Those had cheap liquor and a half-keg that everyone was “taxed” for—someone’s way of recouping their money. People drank out of red off-brand cups.
I’m curious how the rich kids really party. Do they use actual Solo cups? Or maybe they drink their mixed drinks out of actual glassware? And they probably splurge on a full keg, possibly two. Alcohol that doesn’t taste like gasoline, and mixers to boot.
Imagine.
“A party for what?”
“Why does anyone plan a party?” Eli asks.
“For after the Fall Ball,” Caleb answers, turning away from the window.
I pause. “Is that a school dance?”
Eli’s gaze sharpens. “I don’t know if dance is the correct way to describe the horribly rhyming Fall Ball, but it’s something like that. Are you into school dances, Margo?”
“No.”
“Everyone goes to Fall Ball,” Caleb mutters.
“Not me.” I cross my arms.
I haven’t yet put into motion my plan to ask Liam to be my fake boyfriend. I was planning on doing that tomorrow, but now there’s talk of this Fall Ball . What a terrible name. But, as the name suggests, it’s probably held in the autumn. And since we’ve swept into October without a mention of it…
Eli snickers. “Not sure I’ve ever seen you rejected, Asher. Maybe she’d rather go with someone else?—”
My eyes widen.
Caleb shoves Eli, so hard and fast I almost don’t register it. Eli hits the counter, snarling. Caleb’s expression is impassive, but the muscle along his jaw is jumping as he clenches his teeth. They square off, although I’m not sure either wants to escalate it.
Or maybe not. I have no idea when it comes to guys and their testosterone.
I back out of the kitchen—a guilty relief—and into a strong pair of hands.
Theo scowls down at me. Shocker .
Liam pushes between Eli and Caleb before the tension can boil over. “What’s this about?”
Caleb glares at Eli, while the latter glares at me . Because I said I wouldn’t go to this dance? Or because he insinuated I’d go with someone other than Caleb?
I mean… that’s my plan, right? My new plan. Forget boyfriend—I just need someone to take to this stupid thing.
“You’re an idiot,” Eli declares to Caleb.
The change in his mood doesn’t go unnoticed, although I don’t understand it.
His expression is vicious, his gaze lasered in on his best friend. All his features are sharp, from his nose and cheekbones to the lines of his jaw, to the heated gleam in his eyes.
“You should just leave your history with her in the past. She and her family?—”
Crunch . Caleb’s fist smashes into Eli’s nose, narrowly avoiding Liam.
I leap back, hitting Theo’s chest. Eli stumbles, touching his nose, and lunges at Caleb. Caleb, who still has marks on his face from Liam. I scream when they collide, and Caleb’s head whips around.
Eli takes advantage of the distraction. He hits Caleb hard in the stomach, doubling him over.
Theo shoves me to the side and dives forward, along with Liam. They wrangle Eli and Caleb and force them apart.
My hand is glued to my mouth. It’s one thing to hear about the violence or see it on video. It’s another for it to happen right in front of me. Or even… it’s not because of me, is it?
No… it is.
“Goddamn it.” Theo has Caleb against the far counter, one hand on his chest. With his other, he points at me. “You. Leave .”
You know what? I’m totally on board with that plan.
I take two quick steps backward, unable to even look at Caleb. When no one stops me, when he doesn’t tell Theo to fuck off, I spin on my heel and run.
The house is so familiar, I don’t even think about where I’m going. I cut through the dining room, which leads to a parlor that was once a den for Caleb’s father to host his friends. And partially a library.
All the books are still on the shelves, but the furniture is piled up in a far corner. I pass through it and out the side door. It deposits me behind the garage, on a concrete sidewalk that runs down toward the guest house.
I go in that direction. My lungs are tight by the time I get there, and I gasp for breath. My fingers brush the doorknob. Shock filters through me when it easily turns under my hand.
I take a second to pray that no one lives here, and then I’m pushing inside.
Into the house I spent half of my childhood.
It’s just as I remember it, plus a thick layer of dust. The kitchen is pale yellow with one of those retro green refrigerators at the end of the counter. A worn and scratched round table with four chairs set by a window. Magnetic block letters are on the fridge, all jumbled. A drawing—one of mine—clipped to it, too.
There’s a cup by the sink.
Mesmerized, I pick it up. It sticks a bit, leaving a ring on the vinyl.
I can’t remember who left it here. Whose cup it was. The liquid—water if I had to guess—had long since evaporated.
It’s been seven years, after all.
“Put that down,” Caleb hisses from the doorway. He marches across the room, kicking up dust, and wrenches the plastic cup from my grip.
My fingers are frozen.
He slams the cup back down in its spot and grabs my arm just above my elbow. When he drags me out of the room, something wild fractures in my chest. I shove him and manage to get loose.
He can’t tear me out of here.
This was?—
I used to?—
You said it wasn’t your home . Just a house, nothing more. But that was a lie. My family was happy here, weren’t we?
I race down the hallway and open a door. I stop dead in the doorway, my brain glitching.
My things.
My bed and toys and clothes and drawings on the wall.
Oh my God.
It’s a time capsule. The whole place is. It’s stuck in the past, probably the exact moment we were all dragged out of here. The social worker didn’t let me come back. One of my drawers is open, and a flashing image of some stranger rooting through my clothes blindsides me.
I can’t breathe. Everything inside me is twisting, shredding.
Why is it all the same? Why hasn’t this place been cleared out or burned to the fucking ground? For the hate he’s shown me, the loathing he so clearly feels, he should’ve destroyed it.
My palm flattens to my chest. My heart races, and I take another step forward. Toward the bed. We made it that morning, my dad and me. We painstakingly organized all the stuffed animals in a row along the wall side of it, my favorites in the middle.
Caleb grabs me from behind. He picks me up off my feet and carries me out.
I scream and thrash, but it doesn’t matter. Not when my heel connects with his shin, or when I throw my head back and barely miss his face. My voice is shrill, the sound endless. It’s disconnected from me, though. Not my high-pitched noise.
Once we’re outside, he pushes me against the house. He claps his hand over my mouth, his fingers digging into my cheeks.
I scratch at his arms and kick out. It just makes him pin me down harder. His hips pressed to mine, our torsos aligned.
His breathing is out of control, even his hair is messier than before, but his eyes suck me in.
“Stop,” he says. “Just stop.”
The noise ringing in my ears slowly fades. I suck in gulps of air through my nose. Slowly, he releases my face.
“Breathe, baby.”
My heartbeat is going to jump out of my throat, but I focus on his lips. He makes a show of inhaling and exhaling dramatically, enough for me to follow along.
My vision blurs.
Did I do something wrong?
“You didn’t—no one?—”
“We left it,” he says. “No one’s gone in there since they took you away.”
“Caleb.” I don’t know why it sounds like I’m pleading with him. I’m still gripping his wrists. His forearms are scratched…
My mother shaking me hard enough to snap my head back.
I flinch at the jarring thought. “Those are my things. My childhood.”
All of my memories of my parents are in that house.
He cups my cheek. “You don’t go in there. It isn’t yours to take.”
It is mine.
My life unraveled, and all I want is to roll it back up again. Now Caleb is the gatekeeper to my past.
My present.
Hell, maybe my future—but not if I have anything to do with it.
“Please,” I whisper. I’m less than air, floating away. His hand on my cheek, hotter than fire, is the only thing keeping me grounded.
But please is the wrong word to say.
His gaze hardens. His fingers dig into my skin, as if he’d like nothing less than to claw my heart out. He leans in close, close enough that I could move forward just a bit and kiss him if I wanted to. Or bite him.
Or claw his eyes out.
His gaze goes from my lips to my eyes and back, the burning fury at odds with how soft his hand still is on my face. For the briefest moments, I had my friend. But he’s quickly reverting back to the bully.
His posture straightens, shoulders back. The arrogant asshole transforms right before my eyes, and one word decrees my death sentence: “No.”