Chapter 13
Jase
What’s your favorite place in the world?
I don’t have one anymore. Your treehouse.
—J
Her eyes follow me. I wish it were different, but it’s my own damn fault. After all, no one forced me to go into her room. Certainly not twice.
Fuck.
I’m so screwed. But apparently, so is Zoe. She had hit her breaking point when I burst into her room for no reason. It just . . . happened, because I heard all that noise and thought—
Yeah, what was I thinking anyway?
Obviously, I wasn’t. I just opened her door, and there she was with wild hair and puffy eyes. She was pale, with red streaks going down her face. That’s why I went in a second time. That’s why I gave her the note.
Fuck. The note. What the hell was I even thinking?
Surprise! Again, I wasn’t thinking at all. I don’t even know what I expected. That she’ll tell me the truth? Actually tell me what happened? She has no reason to confide in me, and we both know it.
But when I went back into my room and saw the notepad on my desk, my hands took on a life of their own. I tore off a sheet and wrote down the same question I’d asked her back then in the treehouse. It was easy.
Easier than it should have been.
“Jase! Are you even listening to me?” Skye throws something at my head, which on closer inspection turns out to be a T-shirt.
I look up and see her accusing gaze. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, you’re going to have to talk to Zoe. If she knows that your scholarship depends on it, maybe she’ll make more of an effort,” she says, pulling the straightener through her hair with a practiced motion. She glances at the curl she’s created with satisfaction.
“Isn’t that thing supposed to straighten your hair?” I ignore her suggestion because I can’t shake the feeling that pressure is the last thing that Zoe needs right now.
Are you getting soft or what?
“Basically, yes, but this is an exception.” Skye reaches for the next strand of hair. “Don’t try to change the subject. You have to get this scholarship. I want you to be my partner next year. It would really be stupid if you were thrown out of school before that happened.”
I groan and throw the T-shirt back in her direction but miss her. “No kidding.”
“Exactly. That’s why you have to talk to her. Maybe you could squeeze in a few extra practice sessions too.”
“Are you going to need much longer?” I ask instead of answering her.
I don’t want to think about Zoe right now.
I can’t. It’s all gotten much too complicated.
I take my phone out of my pocket and check my messages.
There’s only one new one because only two people ever text me anyway, and one of them is standing right in front of me.
East is the other one. We got to know each other last summer by dumb chance, and he was the one who kept me from ending up on the street. It turned out that Dad was actually serious about his threat to throw me out if I didn’t go to Harvard. East saved my ass, and I practically owe him my life.
“You could have gone ahead on your own,” Skye says, giving me an annoyed glance in the mirror.
“We’ve been through this. I’m not going to let you go alone,” I reply as I’m texting a response to East, who wants to know when we’re finally going to show up. It’ll probably be a while if Skye doesn’t get a move on.
She sighs theatrically. “Jase Winslow, my knight in shining armor.”
I raise an eyebrow and try not to smile. “If you say so. Now hurry up. Otherwise, we can save ourselves the trip.”
“Okay, I’ll hurry, and you tell Zoe that she absolutely has to get better so you can stay in school. Deal?” She grins at me.
I look back at her apathetically. Not a chance.
“God, why are you always like this?” Rolling her eyes, she turns back to the mirror when I make no attempt at answering.
“It’s all a matter of practice.”
“Are there courses for that? How to be the world’s biggest asshole?”
“Yeah, but you can’t afford the tuition.”
“You can’t either,” she shoots back, and I have to smile.
A few minutes later, she puts the straightening iron aside, puts on mascara and lipstick, and is finally ready.
“We can go now,” she says, reaching for her jacket and a tiny bag that’s only big enough for her phone. She holds out her hand to pull me up off her bed.
Outside, it’s totally dark. The neatly paved paths are only sparsely lit by some of the old-fashioned gas lanterns that are all over Beacon Hill and Back Bay.
But in an emergency, I could find my way around blindfolded.
I know practically every inch of the wide square and the surrounding meadows, where I spent half the summer lazing around, reading, and killing time when I wasn’t at work.
As opposed to the younger students in the dormitory across from us, we don’t have to worry about being caught by security. As soon as you move from the small dorm to the big one, a lot changes. At least, that’s what Skye told me. Especially when it comes to curfew. We don’t have one.
Our Uber is just turning into the parking lot when we step through the main gate. The ride doesn’t take long, and I’m glad that Skye is there to talk to the young woman behind the wheel. I’m even less comfortable with small talk today than I usually am.
The longer we drive, the denser the traffic becomes, even though it’s already late. At least, it’s late for the dignified citizens of Back Bay. The West End, on the other hand, is bursting with life, and the line in front of The Lighthouse is visible from a few blocks away.
I thank the driver and get out as soon as the car comes to a stop. Skye follows me, and we walk past all the people, who are mostly students at all the local colleges. Then we turn into a small alleyway.
The Lighthouse is slowly but surely turning into one of the hottest clubs in the city. Technically, Skye and I have no business being here. We’re only nineteen, too young to be allowed in. But age doesn’t matter if you know the right people.
We stride purposefully through the alley behind The Lighthouse, squeezing past a couple who are leaning up against the wall. They’re putting on a show that looks like it belongs in a porn movie instead of a public street.
At last, we stop in front of a beat-up wooden door that looks like it’s seen better days. I send Easton a short message.
Jase:
We’re here.
We don’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes before the door opens a crack, letting us quickly slip into the dark hallway. The pounding bass makes the floor shake.
The guy who let us in disappears immediately without a word. His broad shoulders fade into the darkness. Skye and I follow him and step through a curtain that separates the backstage area of the club from the main room. Now we’re on a little balcony with a perfect view over the crowd.
The room is overflowing, and sweaty bodies jostle each other, swaying in wave-like movements in time to the beat like a single entity.
The whole place pulsates like a beating heart.
The air is stuffy, saturated with sweat, deodorant, and the undeniable scent of sex.
But nobody here cares about that. This isn’t the Boston upper crust. People come here for one thing: to let go for a few hours and forget everything.
There’s a reason that I’m here too, even though I might get not only myself into trouble but also East and his buddies if any of the staff figure out that I’m not twenty-one.
Not to mention Skye. But unless there’s a police raid, the chances of getting caught are minimal.
Identification is checked so thoroughly at the entrance that the majority of students are sent away as soon as they show their fake IDs.
I spot East and his friends at the other end of the balcony, where he’s standing at the DJ booth and making sure that the crowd on the dance floor is losing all their inhibitions.
Heading his way, I push past a group of girls sitting on the floor. One is crying, two are trying to comfort her, and another looks like she’s about to throw up at any moment.
“There you are,” East says with a wide grin. He grabs my hand and puts an arm around my shoulder before letting go of me and giving Skye a hug. “I was wondering if you changed your mind.”
“Nah.” I shrug, and East hands me a bottle of beer. He’s three years older than me, and because he’s responsible for the music at The Lighthouse most nights, anything he wants is brought up here for him. I’ve never seen him or any of the other guys lining up for drinks at the bar downstairs.
“Sorry, that’s my fault. Getting ready took me a little longer than I thought.” Skye blows a dark curl off her forehead and looks around.
East gives me a meaningful glance and points to his friends, who are lounging on beanbags in the back corner of the balcony and talking. We can’t hear them over the music.
“Jax is back there with the others,” he says to Skye. She doesn’t even blush. I’m not the only one who wants to forget something here. She winks at East, kissing him on the cheek and leaving a red lipstick print, and strides over to the boys, her hips swaying.
Colin, Jax, and Beck are almost always here when East is DJing. The four of them have known each other since kindergarten. They discovered their love of music together and eventually formed their own band.
They’re sometimes allowed to do live shows here when the owner of The Lighthouse remembers that it’s mainly thanks to East that his club is doing so well.
The band may not have made it yet, but in the meantime, they’ve gotten so well-known here that certain girls sneak up to the balcony to at least create the illusion that they’ve spent the night with someone almost famous.
“Are you okay? Looks like something’s going on.” East crosses his arms over his chest and sizes me up a little too scrutinizingly.