Chapter 12
None of us slept last night.
After dinner, a chaotic game of Jenga ensued. They used those large wooden blocks that allowed you to build a tower as tall as a grown man.
Blocks fell. Asher stubbed his toe on the table.
The tower fell on top of Carter. Laken accidentally hit the table a ninja chop, screeching in agony on top of getting buried under blocks.
Then Asher and Carter turned the living room into a battleground, using the couches and anything they could find to build forts.
They had a minor disagreement during the game and chose battle forts to settle the dispute.
While waiting for them to sort out their argument, Dale and Laken settled in a corner watching YouTube videos on the former's phone.
Sky and I fell into conversation out on the front platform.
He initiated conversation, tapping me lightly on the shoulder and gesturing that I follow him outside.
We sat on the floor of the porch, legs dangling off the edge as we spoke about whatever came to mind.
Most of the time was spent in silence that wasn't uncomfortable.
There was little to no tension between us, yet I remained awkward, filled with shame over the disgraceful behavior of Bully Jace.
We'd grown closer. I opened up to him a little more and he held not a trace of hesitation expressing his thoughts about my friend group.
I'm beginning to see those flaws myself, admitted it to him, and spoke about my friendships with Ashton and Sasha. He understood why I chose to spend the weekend in his company – preferred it, actually.
If I had remained at home, I'd have occupied myself with movies and YouTube videos, maybe a computer game, or a novel when I wasn't studying. If Dad isn't busy, we'd play basketball.
But those things are temporary distractions from the dark, depressing thoughts waiting to catch me off guard. Being here means I'm distracted ninety-nine percent of the time. I don't have to think about me.
That part, I keep to myself.
The night ends with us watching a Sci-Fi movie set in a technologically advanced society where some people are part cybernetic and the main character loses his wife in a car crash, becomes paralyzed, gets a chip implant to help him walk to hunt down the people who killed his wife.
The sun is creeping up the horizon when the movie ends and by then, only Asher, Sky, and I are awake.
"Go around, log!" Asher hisses, shoving Carter around. The latter groans but doesn't move. Asher yanks at the blanket draped over Carter's body. "Give me back my blanket, too!" Asher snaps, slapping Carter upside the head. Only now does he stir.
Their mumbled bickering silences when Dale wakes up, snaps at them to shut up and turns back to Laken. He pulls the smaller boy closer, tucking a blanket tighter around Laken.
Of course, Asher being the spitfire he is, kicks Carter hard sending him flying a solid foot away. Taking his blanket back, he chucks another at Carter who's busy rubbing his aching side.
"Are you okay to sleep out here?"
I prefer a bed. The headaches come on and off and after waking all night, I'm certain I'll suffer a migraine. It's happened before and I've learned that it's best to be at my most comfortable when it does.
I don't say anything though. My cheeks flush with embarrassment because while everyone is sprawling comfortably on the floor, I want a bed. It makes me feel awful about how particular I am and Sky notices.
"Come on," he says softly, grabbing our bags as he starts for the steps. "You can use one of the rooms upstairs. Carter won't mind."
I don't want to be a bother. "You're sure?"
He gives a teasing smile. "Is my sweet Jace Connor making a comeback?"
I look away, cheeks flushing hot. "Shut up."
My embarrassment makes him laugh. "It's fine. Let's go."
Up in the third bedroom, Sky sets my bag down with his, heading to the nearby closet. He pulls the door open and fishes around, returning moments later with a clean pillowcase and a folded, thick blanket. He walks around the bed, grabs the bare pillow and starts pulling on the pillowcase.
"I can do that," I object, already reaching for it.
"It's fine. I'm done, anyway," he says, puffing the pillow and setting it into place. He hands over the blanket, adjusting the air conditioning, lowering the temperature until it's cool while I pat down the pillow and spread out the blanket.
I'm underneath the blanket, the material pulled up to my face when I notice that he's watching me. My face burns hot.
"What?"
He shakes his head, turning away. I frown because not only has he been looking at me often – like a lot – but I could swear his face is a shade darker.
"Is there anything else you need before I crash?"
I feel like I'm forgetting something – Oh!
"A glass of water." I'm already kicking off the blanket and getting out of bed when Sky halts my movements with a wave of his hand.
"No, wait," comes his quiet voice. "Don't get up. I'll go."
Ba-boom!
My entire body goes rigid.
What was that? Did that sound come from...inside me?
He's only offering to get me a drink, yet here I am feeling...I don't know.
Just, feeling, I suppose.
"Uhm...thanks."
I hope he doesn't think I'm asking for much.
We don't have good history and his opinions of me aren't kind.
But hopefully, he doesn't stick around to see those tablets I need to take.
I don't want anyone to find out though I'm certain Asher suspects after I asked him to get the medication from my car that day I was stranded at Sky's house.
It's easier to get through the day when I can eliminate the faces of people who know the truth.
Sky comes back and sets the glass on the bedside table.
"Thank you."
"Sleep tight," he says, the soft padding of his footfalls across the carpeted flooring quieting as he leaves.
With him gone, I wait until a door down the corridor opens and closes before grabbing the gym bag. I rummage through the pockets fishing out the packet of medication and down a dosage.
The cool water is a blessing, killing the yucky aftertaste of the pills.
Now I can rest comfortably with a guarantee that there will be no pain.
If only I could wake up one morning and never have to worry about it again, but the fact that I've made it to seventeen – months aways from eighteen – is a miracle itself.
I should count myself lucky.
Laughter, muffled voices, and softly playing rock music break through the barrier of sleep. I haven't had sufficient sleep but with all that noise outside, there's no way I'm falling back asleep.
Besides, they might come knocking if I take too long to join them. I turn and stretch lazily, straightening out the stiffness of my joints. I check my phone for the time, buzzing to attention when I see the notification: '13 messages from 3 chats'.
Did somebody die?
Most of the messages are from people I'd rather avoid.
Bracing myself for the worst-case scenario, I pull them up, reading the one from Dad asking after me and if I took my medication. I send him a quick reply ensuring the weekend's going by without a hitch.
The other twelve messages are from Brent and his girlfriend.
Six alone are from him.
'Call me'.
'We need to talk about what the hell's gotten into your brain'.
Reality.
'Ditching us to hang out with those people? Are you for real, Jace?'
You'd swear I killed somebody.
'I thought I knew you. I thought you were just pulling our leg by saying you'd actually go to whatever the fuck kind of party that was'.
It wasn't a party. Just friends hanging out because not every get-together needs alcohol, deafening music, and things that will cause gossip the next day.
'I saw the videos Carter posted. Everyone's seen them. Do you really think people won't talk about how you're hanging around with them?'
One would swear Carter and his friends are part of some exclusive group of psychopaths who terrorize people to feel the most miniscule amount of joy.
'You better come to your damn senses! Or I swear to God, you're going to fucking regret it'.
I'm getting tired of that overused threat.
Each message feels like a dagger, though, that I couldn't ignore. Sky is right. Sasha and Ashton are right.
Brent isn't a real friend.
The last six messages are from Katy.
'I saw the videos.'
'Hope you had fun.'
'Just know...'
'You made a choice.'
'And we offered you an out.'
'See you on Monday'.
I hate the way she texts.
And what videos are they droning on about?
Ignoring the ominous undertone to their messages, I do some investigating, logging into my socials to find the 'videos' they're enraged about.
What I find makes me genuinely disappointed that they're blowing things out of proportion.
They make it sound as if Carter posted something scandalous but there is nothing wrong with the content of his posts.
The videos are seconds long, capturing the more chaotic moments from the Jenga game with a hashtag caption reading: #guysnightchaos.
I text Brent back with a simple: 'Cool. See you on Monday.'
I'm not yielding to peer pressure again. I did it before and hated myself for who I had to become to stay relevant. I'm done with that.
Getting out of bed, I fix the sheets and blanket. Freshen up in the bathroom down the corridor and head downstairs.
Brent is probably still asleep and hungover so he might not see my reply until later on.
Still, he definitely wouldn't appreciate the nonchalance of the text. He'd no doubt pick up on my annoyance and question me about it.
I don't bother with Katy because we're not close. She's the type of person who thinks that just because she's dating my best friend, she can speak to me however she wishes. I never liked her. Not in elementary or middle school. And definitely not now.
Her haughty attitude gets on my nerves, and I was the last person to accept their relationship.
In the end, it's Brent she's making miserable.
I pretend to be okay with it to save face.
Over the course of their extremely toxic relationship, he's only got worse.
It was at that point I started to distance myself from him.
The interactions between us continued to lessen when my attempts to show him that Katy is dragging him down fell to deaf ears.
Our friendship is not what it used to be. As I chose Sasha and Ashton, Brent grew farther from me and started spending more time in Blake Dalton's company.
Blake is no better for him than Katy.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling meat draws me toward the kitchen.
"There he is!" Carter exclaims spritely when I walk around the wall into the kitchen. He swivels the empty barstool next to him, patting the seat. "I was wondering if we'd have to come wake you." He munches on buttered toast, most of it already in his mouth puffing his cheeks.
Asher munches on cereal, looking half asleep, dyed-black hair mussed up. He greets me with spoon salute. Laken is also awake, eating a handful of fries while Dale leans next to him sipping coffee.
Dale reaches over to swipe a fry from Laken who retaliates by snatching it right out of Dale's mouth, leaving him perplexed and unsure of what happened.
Sky stands at the stove scooping fries out of hot oil onto a paper towel-covered bowl.
"Sky made burgers and fries for lunch," Carter prattles with a frown. "What time is it, anyway?
I slide into the stool next to him. "Just past eleven."
I check my phone, grateful that Brent hasn't responded. That he hasn't seen the message. I'm not in the mood to argue with him over my 'poor' choices and hopefully, he waits until Monday to annoy the crap out of me.
I'm feeling shittier than usual in spite of telling Dad a different story. My friends' red flags glow like neon signs I can't ignore and my tolerance for Brent's bullshit is hanging by a thin thread. Arguing with him might spur words both of us will regret.
A plate slides across the counter snapping my attention to the present. Sky's blank stare moves from my face to the plate and back again. His expectation is crystal clear.
The kitchen has gone uncharacteristically silent. All movement and murmured chatter ceasing as four pairs of eyes train on us.
"You didn't have to do that. I could've fixed my own breakfast."
He doesn't move or say anything, his unwillingness to move past my comment making it clear that he's not going anywhere until I do what he wants.
"Aren't you going to eat?" he retorts quietly, unwavering gaze expectant, bright and blue filling with the same intensity that almost knocks me sideways.
Desperate to break the awkwardness and vanquish the flush of my cheeks, I accept the plate with a quiet "Thank you," and dig in.
Flavor explodes in my mouth. The burger is made from grounded beef, seasoned to perfection, cooked to the perfect medium-rare texture.
One bite has all that good juice trickling down my fingers making my mind go blank, struggling to remember a time before when I'd eaten something that tasted like it belonged on the menu of a five-star restaurant.
It is divine.
Satisfied that I'm eating, Sky wanders off to fix himself a plate and two glasses of ice-cold Coca-Cola. He slides a glass in front of me when he returns.
"Where's my lunch?" Carter whines.
"You're not incapacitated. Get it yourself."
Neither am I. What's he getting at?
Carter feigns hurt, dramatically gasping, and putting a palm to his chest – on the wrong side. "I thought we were friends. You've shown that you won't care whether I live or die."
"I made you lunch," Sky replies with the patience of a monk. "Thank me by actually eating the food I made."
Carter rolls his eyes but gets up to fix himself a plate.
Asher finishes his cereal, snatches a few fries from Laken's plate, earning a soft sound of protest while Dale pours another cup of coffee.
Sky and I eat in silence, but he often sneaks a glance as if checking my progress. When the food is all gone, he asks, "How was it?"
"I liked it," I reply, knowing better than to tell him that it's pretty much the best burger I've eaten. He will never let me live it down and I've no intention for such words to make it back to Mom.
I do not desire starvation.
When everyone's finished eating, the others head out through the sliding doors at the back of the cottage. They're taking a stroll in the surrounding woodland since it's private property while I remain behind to help Sky clean up.
He doesn't seem to mind that his friends ditched him to do all the dishes.
If anything, he looks at peace and very at home scrubbing pots and pans.
I grab a clean towelette and start wiping down the washed dishes.
All the while, he doesn't say a word to make conversation, and it looks like he's not bothered that I'm helping.
Still, I'm tempted to speak, ridden by guilt, wanting to eradicate any lingering remnants of our minor dispute.
"So, what other plans do you guys have?"
He takes the towelette from me, wipes his hands, and hangs it on the oven handle to air out. "Ash and Carter suggested the arcade and the bowling alley." He grabs a nearby box of cereal, glancing over as he pops a few into his mouth. "Why? Is there somewhere you want to go?"
"No, that sounds fine," and I'm afraid of bodies of water deeper than four feet. "Most people from school are going to be studying or recovering from hangovers."
"I doubt they'll want to change plans. But we are planning to see the surf competition after exams."
A beat of silence passes, filled with his quiet munching on cereal while I try to think of something to talk about. It's not that he still makes me uneasy – because he totally does – but I'm thinking I should have gone with the others.
"Something wrong?" he queries, leaning against the counter, ankles crossed, and arms folded over his chest. The cereal box is back in its original spot on the counter. He tilts his head, studying me.
I decide it's better to get to the point of why I came here in the first place. The nervousness starts to creep back in. Caught up in the good-natured chaos of last night, I didn't get the chance to thank them for inviting me or to give Sky the apology he deserves.
"No – uhm –" I clear my throat. I don't know how to begin this apology. I don't want to risk saying the wrong thing that might escalate the tension between us.
I laughed and spoke down to him in such a condescending manner when I was thrilled by the idea of spending my weekend differently. None of the cliché, boring shit my 'friends' indulged just to stay cool.
The excuse of wanting to remain at home wouldn't have kept them away. Brent, Katy, and Blake would have shown up and badgered me to go. It's the main reason my parents dislike them.
"Actually, I want to apologize for how rude I was to you."
His focus zeroes in on me, giving his undivided attention. That intense stare he's been shooting me since last night, returns in full force successfully pushing my earlier confidence off a twenty-story building.
"I'm listening," Sky encourages. I clear my throat again to settle the nervousness. His calm demeanor exuding an air of unfathomable patience helps a little and I find comfort in that.
"It was uncalled for. But I promise, it's the lesser evil."
The intensity wavers, giving way to confused curiosity. He waits for me to elaborate.
"If I had accepted your invitation on the spot, treated you nicely, things would've escalated.
You know how Brent and the others are. I wasn't in the mood to deal with their drama, but they definitely might've blown things out of proportion.
It wasn't fair to you either and for that I really am sorry. "
He doesn't say anything at first, but he never looks away. I puff my cheeks, brushing my knuckles together, unnerved by the strong gaze and unreadable expression that makes me feel like a dissected cockroach under a microscope. I break the awkward atmosphere with a follow-up suggestion.
"Maybe next time, text me?"
"Okay. I accept your apology," Sky suddenly says. He's accepting? "On one condition."
Oh. Figures.
"The next time anyone from your little posse says something against me, I won't be as nice. I don't tolerate being disrespected. Am I clear?"
He was...being nice?
The warning set my heart racing, leaving me rooted to the spot. There's something eerily domineering about his tone and posture. The calmness of his disposition makes me think twice about his choice of words.
An underlying threat, almost as if the freedom to hurt someone comes as easily as breathing to him.
The dark look in his eyes says as much and I barely resist the urge to shudder.
Sky Daniels is a mystery shrouded in danger I should be careful to avoid. He's not somebody I can afford to piss off.
The "Okay" that slips out is no better than a backstabbing knife. It's not how I intended to say it, so meek and small, making it difficult to mask the fact that he rattles me.
"Jace? Are you afraid of me?"
The sound of his footsteps draw closer, and I instinctively step back putting distance between us, desperate to keep it that way when he's radiating a sense of brusqueness.
I can't trust him enough to believe he won't do anything to me.
For all I know, he's simply tolerating me because I'm the one tutoring him.
His hand shoots out, fingers gripping my wrist in a firm hold. It halts all movements from my end as my heart rate suddenly skyrockets. My face grows hot, and I can't find the courage to look him square in the face.
I'm reminded that he's more muscular and stronger than me. Strong enough to probably snap my six-foot frame in half like a toothpick.
"Jace?" His hand slides from my wrist to rest around the bend of my elbow.
His grip is firm, more like he's keeping me from running away.
"You don't need to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.
Your friends, however. They might not be so lucky.
" A teasing light brightens his eyes and though the tension dissipates, it's replaced by another kind.
He lets go of me as I create some distance, purposefully putting the island counter between us.
My heart is beating a mile a minute and I'm not sure if it's still because of his earlier demeanor or the fact that he follows, slow but surely reminding me of a wild animal hunting for sport.
"Isn't that a bit excessive?" I ask through an awkward laugh.
"No." Those dark eyes remain affixed. He's mindful to maintain space, stopping a proper two feet away. "They're toxic trash. That's not the kind of people I want you around."
Those aren't words I expect to hear.
I didn't think he cared about who I spend my time with. Sky harbors a deep dislike for my friends that it can pass for a passionate hatred. I can't blame him for that.
They're flawed in their thinking, possessing the largest egos I have seen on anyone. They think they're untouchable, superior to everyone at Jasper Falls High. They live in a fantasy world believing that they're the center of it.
I'm only acquainted with them because it makes high school easier. They have connections to all the quote-unquote elite social circles.
The vibration of my phone snaps me from the conversation.
Shit.
Brent's awake and he's seen the message. While reading Brent's reply to my nonchalant text, Sky's attention never falters from me. He watches closely, gauging the subtlest change in my face. There's a churning in my chest, a bout of panic and worry.
'You're going to regret this. Enjoy the rest of high school, asshole.'
An unfathomable weight pushes on my chest. It's heavy and uncomfortable. Something inside has been fractured.
Hurt.
It's the only word I could use to describe how I feel, how much Brent's words affect me. My so-called best friend is this quick to turn against me because I want to try something different. He hasn't bothered to ask what might've brought it on.
It dawns on me that Brent doesn't give a rat's ass because someone who cares would notice when something isn't right. Not jump to conclusions. Like I noticed when he suddenly withdrew himself. How we grew apart and he stopped talking about himself, his home life.
All of this hostility because I didn't attend Katy's party.
I can't understand it. I can't say how much it hurts because I know Brent well enough to know that his threats aren't idle. For whatever reason – and I'm certain it's valid – he hates Carter and his friends.
There was a time when we were little, he was close to them. Blake too. Then things changed when his parents went to work one morning and never came home.
He hasn't been the same since, and he's never opened up about it.
At least, not to me.
Sky hums softly, the sound capturing my attention. Disapproval is written all over his face.
"You can do better, Jace."