I first started hooking with with Randy in sophomore year. He wasn't necessarily a bad boy by book standards, but he was by Fairridge standards. He was a junior who wore leather jackets over all of his clothes, sat in detention at least three times a week, and had a reputation for sleeping around and sneaking out. The first time I talked to Randy was when I was walking across campus to get to French class and I heard him emit a low whistle and yell, "Nice ass, blondie!" I hadn't dyed my hair by then and, I guess, under the spring sun it appeared more golden blonde than dirty blonde.
I turned around and flashed him my middle finger. I wasn't a fan of wasting my breath on people who were so proud to display their idiotic tendencies.
Somehow, he was unnecessarily encouraged, jogging over to stand in front of me. "Get out of my fucking way," I sneered.
"Aggressive," he mused, ruffling up his nearly black hair.
"Annoyed," I rolled my eyes.
"I'm Randy Davidson," he said, as if I asked for an introduction from him.
"Oh, so the harasser has chosen to identify himself."
For some reason, this caused him to smile. "I'm not harassing you. I'm just admiring your figure."
For a reply that stupid, I didn't have an answer. "Okay, disrespectfully, why don't you fuck off." And I walked around him before he could say anything else.
After that moment, I would've been happy to never speak to Randy again, but he kept popping up. In the halls, on campus, at my favourite coffee shop. One time I walked up to him–in a the library, which I've never seen him in–and asked if he was stalking me. He just smirked and replied, "Why? You like it?" The answer was "hell no."
One day, Ana coerced Angie and I into going to a football game. I assume she was dating Landon at that time because she wasn't really one to go to sports games. After getting into some sort of argument with Carter over who would win that year's house games, I had walked off to get some fresh air that wasn't contaminated with the screams of 400 football fans. That's when Randy found me and one thing led to another and we were making out under the bleachers. I still don't know how it happened. One minute I was telling him to "go to hell" and the next he was kissing me, and I was so pleasantly surprised by how good of a kisser he was that I didn't bother to tell him to stop. That's how I found myself abandoning the game entirely and going back to his single dorm.
We weren't necessarily subtle, so the fact that I was sleeping with him wasn't really a secret around campus. That was all, though. It turned out that Randy's personality wasn't really a fit with mine. We weren't exclusive either. There were a number of times when some girl would run up to me and say that someone hooked up with Randy and expected me to start screaming that he cheated on me.
I don't quite remember why we stopped getting together. After we came back from summer break, I just wasn't interested anymore. I told him just that and, after protesting a bit, he accepted it and moved on. I stopped with long-term hook ups after then. Junior year was important and no one was going to distract me from crushing Carter Conners and stealing the number one spot on that Principal's List.
"Her blade was still pressed firmly against his neck, threatening to spill blood. His eyes were trained on her; he hadn't even spared a glance at the crested dagger that cooled his flushed neck. How very interesting this predicament was. She smiled up at him, and a burning desire took over him, so strong that he didn't even feel the cut of the blade when he leaned forward, anxious to catch her mouth with his–"
I'm blushing and trying to suppress a squeal as a hand taps me on the shoulder and I nearly fall off the treadmill I was sprinting on. I had found one the books Ana gave me as an audiobook and had been listening to it for the past hour. I repeatedly tap a black button on the machine until I slowdown into a walk so I can look over my shoulder, where Carter stands, wearing no shirt and glistening in sweat. We had decided to hit the gym this morning because there was no way we could walk past the hundred machines that littered the room and not go in to check it out. As soon as we walked through the door and warmed up, I had challenged Carter to a deadlift competition. Sometimes my need to be the best is really fucking annoying because it makes me irrational. And, as the logical part of my brain would've expected, Carter won. And he did not keep the gloating to a minimum. After that, I left him to lift weights and went to run on the treadmill.
"What are you listening to?" He asks, as I remove the red clip from the bottom of my shirt and step off the treadmill.
"A book," I say.
He smiles, "Smut?" Ugh, no wonder him and Landon are friends. Dumb minds think alike.
The fact that he isn't wearing a shirt is distracting, to the say the least. I roll my eyes. "No."
"Then what's got you all hot and bothered?"
"I'm not. I'm just excited about what happened," I tell him, walking over to sit on a blue mat on the floor. Apparently, no one wants to workout at 6 AM because the gym is empty.
"And what happened?" He asks, dropping down to sit beside me.
I consider making something up, but settle on just telling him the truth. Carter enjoys reading, from what I've seen. "She pressed a knife against his throat and he kissed her."
"Kinky," he comments. "You into that?"
I scoff, "Wouldn't you like to know."
He smirks, "I would."
I slap him upside the head.
Today's the day of the ball, which, in my opinion, is the dumbest fucking thing the organizers of JW Debate could do. As if a group of private school kids are going to set aside their differences for one night and ask each other to dance. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone just stood against the wall and the dance floor remained empty the whole night. Sure, partners are probably going to go together, but I'm sure their relationships are closer to mine and Carter's and Mariana and Felix's than anything else. Also, the ball is at like 5 PM because apparently everyone goes to bed at 8 PM on debate nights.
I was considering not even going to this stupid ball, but Ana and Angie were going on and on about how it's a once in a lifetime opportunity. They would skin me if I didn't go and I already took that red dress from Ana.
"Are we going to head up?" Carter asks.
"You can do whatever you want," I say. I don't care what Ana and Angie says, Carter and I don't have anything in common and being anything other than rivals would be wrong. Plus, I don't see him like that. Acknowledging that he's hot doesn't mean that I'm in love with him. I don't need any distractions–any more distractions.
Maddie's death should've been a distraction. But I'm a good liar. She was too bright. Too smart. Too lost. She couldn't be dead. She wasn't dead. I told myself that every day. All throughout Thanksgiving break as guilt ate at me, I told myself that until it became true. Then I went home for winter break and my lie began to fall apart as soon as I saw my father standing in the middle of the living room. Sober. The first time I had seen him sober in I don't know how long. I may have blamed myself for Maddie's death, but a small part of me blamed him for her addiction. Even if I knew it was wrong. I know he was too drunk to know what introducing her to alcohol would do and she was too nice to not except the bottle. When I walked up to him, I spit, "This is all your fault." I couldn't say that it was mine. Losing Maddie filled me with so much hatred that burned in the pit of my stomach, the flames licking my heart. I didn't even care how horrible I was being.
His sobriety lasted one day. After the funeral he went out for drinks. I wonder if my comment did that. Guilt consumed me for every day of winter break. I slept all day and night. When I was awake, I would sit in Maddie's room and let the pain consume me, mumbling "I'm sorry" over and over until I thought she would forgive me. I couldn't look at mom and she only barely looked at me. I wonder if she knew about the phone call. I doubt it because then I doubt she would ever want to see my face again. Dad would come home every few days and pass out on the couch.
The day I finally boarded a plane back to Fairridge, I wasn't sure how I should act. There's a difference between being told someone is dead and seeing that they're actually gone. I couldn't lie anymore when the truth was so heartbreakingly prominent. So, I came up with another lie: I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I repeated it every second of the plane ride. And, when I touched down and saw Ana and Angie, I believed it. My sister may have been dead, but I was fine. I'm always fine.
I almost forget that Carter's sitting right beside me, scoffing at my last comment. My eyes drift around the gym, past all of the grey machines, until they settle on a glass wall with a pool beyond it. An idea pops into my mind, causing me to jump up to my feet and walk over to the door within the wall, pulling it open. Carter scurries to catch up with me.
As soon as I open the door, the scent of chlorine hits me in the face and I breathe it in. Apart from the occasional swim at Fairridge, I don't remember the last time I was in a pool. I've never been the best swimmer, but I'm good enough to not drown.
"You're going swimming?" Carter asks, looking around the pool room.
"Yeah, why not?" I don't have a bikini, but the sports bra and shorts I'm wearing are close enough.
"You can swim?" He teases.
"Shut up," I say, walking to the edge of the pool. I'm not sure if you can swim in here if there isn't a lifeguard, but there's no "Pool Closed" sign, so no one can really get mad at me.
Before I can think about, I put my hands together and dive head-first into the deep end. The water swallows me up as I crash through the surface, chlorine burning my eyes, which I didn't bother closing. It's cold, but refreshing. I don't want to swim back up to the surface. It's peaceful down here, where my ears hear nothing but silence and my eyes only see the bubbles my breathing emits. After a little while longer, I swim up and break through the surface, swimming over to the edge of the pool and swiping my soaking wet hair out of my face so it falls in a long sheet down my back. My hands grip the edge of the tiled floor as I look up at Carter who's staring at me.
"You coming in?" I ask.
"I think I'll sit this one out," he laughs.
There are droplets of water falling off my eyelashes and the tip of my nose. "Suit yourself." And then an idea pops into my head. "Can you help me up, though? I think it's time to head back to the hotel room."
"Yeah, sure." He crouches down and extends his hand out to me. Perfect.
"So gullible," I whisper, grabbing onto his hand and pulling him towards me. He stumbles forward, flipping over into the pool as I swim out of the way. He lands with a loud splash and I suppress my giggles in the palm of my hand as he comes back up to the surface.
"You. Are. So. Dead," he says, swimming towards me with so much force that water sprays out of the pool and onto the tiled floors.
"Get the fuck away from me, Conners," I scream, but it's too late. His hand cups the top of my head and pushes me under the water. I squirm and swim away from him, still under the water, and pop back up a few feet away from him.
"Did you just try to fucking drown me?" I gasp.
He just flashes me a smirk, twisting to float on his back. Droplets of water roll off his abs and stick his hair to his forehead. I swallow hard at just how good he looks. Shaking the unwanted thoughts out of my head, I swim through the water to reach him. Placing my hands on the side of his waist, I flip him over onto his front and jump onto his back so he's fully under the water. He flails and pushes me away, still under the water. His hands are still on my waist and our eyes–both open–find each other, even through the bubbles made from our moving hands and exhales. His hair is sticking up in all directions, and I can't imagine mine is any better. Through the blue tint of the pool, his eyes look aquamarine. I can't help but get lost in them. I almost forget that we're underwater until Carter, still holding onto me, brings us back above it.
We're still staring at each other. Our faces closer than they were before. His pink lips are wet from the beads of water rolling off them. I want to take my thumb and swipe it against them. That thought alarms me. It downright terrifies me. Whatever feelings are beginning to rise, I push them down. The palms of my hands slap down on the water's surface, hard. Water sprays everywhere, hitting Carter right in the eye. He jumps away from me, and the distance makes me think clearer.
I look at his shocked expression and smile. "I win."
We do our best to dry off, but we're still soaking wet as we take the elevator back up to our room. We get a few weird looks from people carrying breakfast trays back up to their rooms, but I just ignore them. When Carter unlocks the door, he claims the shower first and slams the bathroom door shut. I'm left sitting on the edge of the bed, drying off with a towel Carter threw at me.
I scroll through the group chat I have with Ana and Angie. It seems like they got back to Fairridge just fine last night.
Smut Addict: ANGIE GET BACK HERE! I LEFT MY KEYS IN THE DORM AND I NEED TO GET IN AND GET MY BOOKS BEFORE BOOK CLUB!
We don't really text each other personally that often.
Teenage Grandma: I'm out with Dimitri.
Smut Addict: I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE.
Me: Why are you out with Dimitri so early in the goddamn morning?
Teenage Grandma: It was a surprise.
Smut Addict: PLEASEEEEEE ANGIE
Teenage Grandma: I'm not on campus.
Me: Oh, Ana. You're screwed.
Smut Addict: Fuck you both.
I'm typing out a reply when my phone rings. The caller's ID reads "Mom." I don't remember the last time she called me. After Maddie died, she was having a hard time handling it and took a bunch of time off work. She would mostly walk around the house crying. I couldn't be around her without choking on guilt or bursting out into tears myself. I wonder if dad is home right now. Mom tries to take care of him, but I know that him being drunk reminds her of Maddie. I hate how she associates Maddie with alcohol now. She was a ray of sunshine, a genius, my best friend; I can't think about her with her addiction. She was so much more.
"Hey, mom," I say, picking up the phone.
"Hi, sweetie. How are you?" She asks. I didn't tell her about JW Debate.
"Good. How are you?"
"Good," the tone of her voice says otherwise. "I'm just making breakfast right now."
"That's nice." I hate how I don't even know how to talk to my mother anymore.
"I'm just calling to tell you that, um, your father checked into rehab. I told him he should."
"Oh, okay." I don't know what to say to that. She never offered to check Maddie into rehab, no matter how many times I told her she should. She doesn't need to. She's getting better. But she wasn't. She was getting worse, and justing getting better at hiding it. On good days, I would urge Maddie to get help, but she just argued with me. "I don't need your help, Sadie. I'm your older sister. I'm doing fine." I should've told someone and got her the help she needed, but I didn't and chose to listen to her instead.
"He doesn't have a phone, so you can't call him," she says, as if I've ever tried to call dad before.
"Okay, thanks for letting me know."
"No problem. Are you coming home for spring break?"
"I don't know," I say. A lie.
"Okay then. Love you."
I let out a sharp breath. "Love you too."
I love you, Sadie, please don't stop loving me because I'm broken.
...
A/N
I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but I thought the pool scene was cute so we're just going to go for it.
We are slowly getting more information on Maddie, but why is Sadie so full of guilt when it comes to her death? I guess we will find out soon...
Carter's POV + the ball scene is coming next!
Happy reading :)