I race down the crowded hallway before school, shoes thumping hard against the freshly mopped floors, and I have to shift my weight carefully on each foot to stay balanced.
Where is he? Where could he be?
He wasn't in the cafeteria or the gym. He wasn't in the homeroom or by the football field.
People give me strange looks as I pass them. I must look a little crazy to be running around school at seven in the morning. Heck, I feel insane. But I don't care. With everything that has been happening, I need this. I need some control. I need a way to get even with him.
"Where are you?" I mutter to myself, sliding to a halt at a dead end. I hope he didn't decide to skip today. The one day I actually want to see Hayden Cross is the day he's nowhere in sight. Maybe he's in the office?
I'm right.
Hayden leans against the lockers next to Principal Miller's office, his head against the wall, eyes closed, and foot tapping to the rhythm of some song blasting on his headphones. The closer I get, the louder the drums of his music become, and soon, they match the erratic speed of my excited heart.
"Good morning sunshine!" I chirp, squeaking to a halt in front of him. Hayden's eyes snap open and his bewildered expression makes me smile.
But before Hayden can do or say anything, I push him against the lockers, pinning him to the wall with one arm pressed against his throat, and rip his iPhone right out of his hands. And just before he can grab me, I pluck the carton of cigarettes out of his fingers and make a mad dash down the hall.
"Catch me if you can sucker!"
"What the fuck, Ember!" Hayden bellows.
It's times like this that I'm glad Gabby forces me to run with her. Hayden is a lot faster, however, and with each second that passes, he's closer. But that's okay. We're not going far.
I make a sharp left down the Biology hallway, zigzagging around the massive carts of supplies that are parked outside of Mrs. Coleman's room. Hayden follows me with a loud string of insults and threats that involve curse words I didn't even know exist. I laugh and run up the Chemistry hallway that connects to the History hall. I need to get to the Art Room before Hayden catches me.
"Give me back my phone!"
"Never!"
"This isn't funny!"
"You're right! It's gut-busting and hilarious!"
"What the hell has gotten into you, Chance?"
"Nothing, Cross!"
The Art Room comes into sight, sending a surge of hope, happiness, and victory over me. It's the last room at the very end of the hallway. Just a couple of more feet and it's a touchdown. Something hard slams into my back and suddenly I'm airborne, gasping at the shock of hitting the floor so hard. Hayden's arm circles my waist and he rolls to the side to pull me on top of him. I throw my lesser body weight to the side and with enough momentum, manage to stay on the floor. We roll around on the ground, him fighting to get a hold of me while I struggle to get out of his way, all the while keeping his iPhone with me. People crowd around to watch the unusual scene.
"Give me my shit back!" he demands, grunting in pain.
I grit my teeth, wriggling out of his grasp, and crawl toward the art room. Hayden grabs my ankle and tugs me toward him. He pulls hard enough that my knee makes a popping sound I doubt isn't very good. I claw against the tiled floors, kicking my legs, and slide across the floor. "No freaking way!"
He grabs my thighs and yanks me toward him.
I twist my body and look at him. Hayden's intense gray eyes pierce into mine. When I smile, he frowns. "You want this?" I ask coolly, raising his cigarettes. His mouth drops open when I throw them down the hall, sending them scattering. "Go get 'em!" Hayden's grip loosens on my ankle and I kick myself free, hastily getting to my feet and racing down the hall.
Safe through the doors, I stare back at the bad boy, holding up his phone.
"Hey! You want it! Come and get it!"
Hayden roars and runs after me, the cigarettes long forgotten.
"There's nowhere else left to go," Hayden says in a dangerously low voice when he enters the art room.
I roll my eyes.
Au contraire...
"There is an adjoining room, smarty pants." I reply, getting to my feet and lunging for the door in the back corner of the room. Hayden is at my heels in the matter of seconds. But it's okay. I slam through the door and dive behind the nearest desk.
"Get 'em!" I scream. Hayden looks at me with wide eyes. The door behind him slams shut. And then suddenly his eyes darken when it dawns on him that he's walked into a trap.
Sucks, doesn't it?
Gabby, Gianna, Corry, Felicity, and Paris emerge from their hiding spots around the second art classroom. Each holds a giant stack of green and blue water balloons at the ready. There's a catch, however. These water balloons aren't just filled with water. They're filled with everything ranging from salad dressing of every kind, to egg yolks, and ketchup.
"Ready! Aim! Fire!" Corry roars and they begin chucking the balloons at Hayden.
Hayden explodes with different colors across his face and clothes. He ducks to the left and to the right to dodge the balloons, but it's hard when they're coming from every angle. He twists and pulls at the doorknob to the other room. I mentally thank Paris' boyfriend, Devon, for holding it closed on the other side. I stand up and admire Hayden getting a taste of his own medicine.
This is what I'm talking about.
Hayden Cross is dripping wet from the bombs of sweet revenge. His hair is slick and sticky from vegetable oil. Everyone else scurries out the second door to the hallway, leaving Hayden and I alone in the room. The thick smell of everything from the balloons mixing fills the air and I wrinkle my nose.
"Ewww. That's going to take forever to get rid of."
Hayden jumps to his feet and I take a step back on instinct.
"I can't believe you," he growls.
I bow dramatically. "Thank you. Thank you. I had my doubts about pulling this off. I thought you were smarter than that. Boy was I wrong."
"Alright, you got your revenge," he says through clenched teeth. "Now give me my stuff back."
I think for a moment. "Nah, not yet. I was to bask in the glory for a few more minutes."
The warning bell to first period rings with an ear-piercing buzz. I frown.
"Well looks like it's time for class. If I were you, I'd clean up."
Placing his stuff on the table, I slide it toward him. "Have a nice day."
Score for Ember.
* * *
There are a lot of things I could be doing on my Saturdays: working out, going to the mall with my friends, and being a productive member of society.
Yeah, I could be doing those.
I probably should.
I might, if I didn't have a bad boy problem to take care of.
"Morning," I grumble to Corry, shuffling my way through the kitchen and into the waiting embrace of the fridge. "Or afternoon. Whatever it is."
"You're up early," Corry smirks from his place at the counter.
"It's one in the afternoon."
He throws a grape at my head. "Like I said, you're up early."
I catch the grape before it can hit me in the face and pop it into my mouth, scrunching my nose to make a face at him. "That's what the weekends are for, Corry—to catch up on sleep. So excuse me if I'm spending my weekends properly."
"Weekends are to get things done that you didn't have time for, Em."
"Like what?" I ask, piling vegetables and deli meat on the counter to make myself a sandwich.
My brother opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. His eyes widen and the flash of panic in his expression has me staring at him smugly. See? You don't have an answer. I'm right.
But his fish-out-of-water expression, I suddenly realize, is not directed at me. It's directed to whatever human presence has revealed itself in the kitchen doorway behind me. Gripping the door handle, my body refuses to turn in the direction of his gaping. Do I want to know what's there? Can I handle it?
"Hi," a deep voice says from the other side of the kitchen and my body tenses even harder. Corry stands up out of his seat and out of the corner of my eye, I can make the faint outline of someone very big and very menacing.
"Who are you?" Corry deadpans. He doesn't bother to hide the suspicion in his voice or his movement closer to me. When I finally manage to force myself to look at the stranger in our kitchen, I feel like I might drop dead right then and there. My heart skitters in my chest, threatening to give out to the weight that crushes me at the sight of him, and I lock my knees to stop them from giving out.
Rippling muscles and tattoos span every inch of his exposed, pale torso. I can still feel it pressed against my back when he pushed me into the sink.
This is a nightmare. I'm still asleep. This. Can't. Be. Real.
Blond hair falls in his dark brown eyes. The ferocity in them is muted, but I can still catch it when he looks from Corry to me. Recognition and disgusting amusement glitters in them instantly and all I want to do is throw something at him and run. But I can't. Fear has me frozen in place.
He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm Jason," the man answers. "Nice to meet you."
My eyes zero in on his large hands. I remember them digging into my sides. I remember them wrapped around the knife he had pressed against my throat.
This is the man who attacked me at Nate's party. One of Derek's men.
And here he is in my house.
In my fucking kitchen.
"Jason!" my mother's high-pitched voice rings from down the hall. "Where did you go?"
And suddenly, the ice cold fear that saturates my veins is replaced by a boiling rage I thought I'd never experience again. Corry and I watch Stacie Chance dance into the room with her nightgown twisted around her body from hastily pulling it on and she latches onto Jason's arm like a giddy schoolgirl. Her makeup is still smeared on her face and her lopsided grin only pushes me closer to losing it.
"Hi guys," she smiles. "Did you have a nice evening?"
This is why she couldn't bring dinner after work last night. I knew she'd be going to a bar with her friends. But out of all the bars, out of all the people in this goddamn world she could have brought home last night, it had to be someone who almost slit my throat.
It had to be someone whose boss has it out for me and a certain bad boy I don't know I should trust.
It had—it couldn't have been a coincidence.
Everyone always says I look just like her. There's no doubt about it. My car—the restaurant—Hayden being there for both. Who says he's not on Derek's side? They might just be having a disagreement? What if he set this up and told Derek about my mom?
"I can't believe it," I whisper.
Corry's hand brushes mine. He's standing right next to me now, his expression grave, anger directed right at the woman who birthed us. Her expression doesn't falter.
"I can't either," Corry growls. My throat thickens.
"This is Jason," Mom continues. "We've been going out on a couple of dates this month. I hope you guys don't mind that he stayed the night."
"Like you've ever asked us before," Corry snorts.
A couple of dates? Stacie Chance isn't a couple-of-dates kind of person.
"Sorry if I scared you," Jason smiles apologetically. I wonder what he'd look like with a knife shoved down his throat. "It's nice to meet you."
"I have to go," I blurt. "I have to meet someone."
"Em," Corry whispers. "You okay?"
No. I'm not. "Yeah. I just remembered that I have to meet Gabby for our history assignment. She'll kill me if I'm late again." I look at him with pleading eyes. The tightness in my throat intensifies. I'm drowning. I can't stand to be here for another second.
Corry's eyes flicker from me to our mother and with a reluctant sigh, he drops his hand from mine.
"Oh yeah," he says. "Go. It's cool."
The look in his eyes, however, says that our conversation is not over. Maybe for him it's not over, but I refuse to let him get involved in this. Gabriella barely knows anything. Corry will stay in the dark. Especially now that one of Derek's goons has literally stepped into our territory.
"Have fun, sweetie," Mom chirps when I slowly slink past them. Just as I lean into the wall to slip past Jason, he shifts on his feet and our arms brush. Another tremor wracks my skin and I swear I can hear him chuckle from beside me. Bile rises in my throat.
Disgusting. Get out of here now, Ember.
He has to leave. I have to tell my mom to stay away from him.
Derek can't do this.
Slamming my door, I rush to the other side of the room and grab my desk chair, shoving it against the door. It's hard to think. It's hard to move, to breathe, to do anything but stare at the thin wood of my bedroom door, expecting Jason to slam through it at any second with a bloody knife in his hand.
This can't be happening. This can't. This. Can't.
Diving across my bed, I grab my phone.
I have to talk to someone.
"Hello?"
"Cross."
"What do you want, Emmy? Should I expect another salad dressing attack from you?
Clutching my phone to my ear, I close my eyes. "This is serious, Hayden."
There is a long pause. My heart jackhammers in my chest. "What's wrong?" Hayden demands in a tight whisper. "What's going on?"
I hate that I can't see his face. A part of me screams to hang up the phone and call the police. That would be the smart thing to do.
"At Nate's party someone attacked me." I say, dropping my voice to a whisper. "Remember?"
"Yeah," his voice is emotionless. "And?"
Gulping in lungfuls of air, I move to push my desk against the door. "That guy—that—at the party—the memory stick."
"Ember, you need to speak clearly."
"Sorry." I exhale, my voice quivering. "That guy is in my house right now."
"What?"
"He—he's been on dates with—with my mom, Hayden. I think they're—they're dating."
Oh God. It sounds even worse saying it out loud.
I think I'm going to pass out.
"What?" Hayden's voice is full of rage.
"Yeah."
A loud noise echoes from the other end of the line and Hayden swears colorfully. "I have to call you back, Ember. If you think something is wrong, call the cops. Understand?"
"Yeah."
The line goes dead.
Hours pass.
Hayden never calls back.
* * *
Weeks pass without anything happening. I should have been relieved by this idea, but no matter how hard I try to relax and let my guard fall into its normal place, I can't. Not with Derek's minion sleeping with my mom. Not when my family and I get into four explosive fights in the course of three weeks over the top.
Detention starts and ends without a single word being exchanged between Hayden and I. No fighting. No banter. For a minute, I'm relieved, but the exhaustion on his face has a new kind of paranoia setting into my skin.
I tell my mother not to see Jason again. I plead. Corry agrees with me, but he demands to know why I'm so insistent on keeping her away from Jason.
"Have you seen him?" I explode. "He looks like trouble!"
"Talk to me, Ember!" Corry presses. "I know there's something more!"
"There's nothing!" I scream.
"You need to get to know someone before you make harsh judgments, Ember!" Mom insists. Corry refuses to look at me.
"He's here every weekend, Mom!"
"So?"
"So? Find someone else!" I respond. "Not a tattooed asshole!"
"He's been nothing but nice!"
She insists that isn't going to happen and that Jason makes her happy. I tell her he's a creep. His looming presence sends the house into chaos. Corry decides to stay with Gianna over the weekend. I do the same.
And to top off the insanity that has become of my senior year, Nate Lincoln still manages to come around and turn my brain into a jumbled mess.
Since I'm not home most of the weekend, I decide to get to school early to finish up my homework. I love Gabby and Gianna, but when I'm with them, there's no way I can focus on my homework. So it should be no surprise that one morning, an hour before first period begins, I'm up to my eyes in history homework. What is surprising, however, is Nate Lincoln joins me minutes later.
"Do you always come to school this early?" he wonders, piling notebooks onto the table.
"Do you?" I counter as the rising sun peaks through the high library windows to illuminate the walls bright gold.
I can't help but stare at the way the light glints off of Nate's pale hair. I wonder what it would feel to run my fingers through his silky hair. The thought doesn't shake me but when he tilts his head to the side and studies me curiously, I realize I'm staring.
Good job, Slick.
Nate smiles. "We normally have weight lifting in the morning, so yes."
A deep blush washes over my face until I'm certain I look like a tomato. "Right."
"It was cancelled this morning but I guess I never got the message," Nate shrugs. "So here I am. With you."
"Yeah." I purse my lips. "And a crap ton of homework."
You suck at flirting, Ember. This is an absolute disgrace.
Nate slides closer and peers at my assignment. "On a Monday?"
"Busy weekends," I stutter. "You know."
Nate's eyes glow bright green in the light. I've never seen such gorgeous eyes before. "You weren't at the game." His words catch me off guard. "I didn't see you there."
He was looking for me? "You were looking for me?" I breathe and abruptly stop. "I mean. You—Gabby was there—I know—"
"No, I was looking for you." Nate admits. Is he blushing? "Gabby told me you weren't there."
Holy crap.
My mind flashes back to come from after work and stumble in on my mom and Jason making out on the couch. I threw up four times that night: once from nerves, another from seeing my mom sucking face with the enemy, and twice from eating some bad tacos from the gas station. There was no way in hell I was going to show my face at a football game.
"I had a busy weekend," I admit.
"Do you have a busy weekend this week?" he asks, innocently. My stomach erupts into a million butterflies.
"No..."
"You never answered my question," Nate reminds me. "About the date?"
I blink. "You meant it?"
Nate laughs and this time, he's the one blushing. "Yeah. What do you say? You, me, and La Rosa's spaghetti?"
Yes! Yes! A million, billion times yes!
Tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ears, I smile. "Sure." Nate's eyes light up.
"Ember, you have a pass for the office," Mrs. Christy says, approaching my table when the warning bell for class rings. "I hope you're not getting into trouble again," she scowls.
"Never!" I grin. For a moment, the older woman doesn't look very convinced, but her stern scowl quickly dissolves into a mischievous smile that has my heart soaring with pride. Mrs. Christy has been in my corner from Day 1.
"Don't get into too much trouble," she corrects. "I heard the senior class is going to New York for their graduation trip this year. I wouldn't want it jeopardized for you, sweetheart."
Sighing, I purse my lips. With the registration deadline getting closer and closer, it's all anyone could talk about lately. Last year, the senior class went to Nashville. The location was always based on how much money everyone raised after prom was divided up. Our class raised so much money our freshman through junior year—thanks to my best friend and amazing class president—we'd be going to the Big Apple for our trip.
That was, if the school gave you the okay.
"I've been saving up," I tell her. "There's no way I'm letting anyone spoil that."
"Even with the salad dressing fiasco?" She raises an eyebrow. Nate whips his head around to give me a curious look. I wink at him. "Between you and me, I thought it was an excellent idea."
Gathering my books, I stand up and press a finger to my lips. "Everything was cleaned up before Miller even knew it happened."
"Right. Well, try not to do that again."
Just as I'm about to leave, Nate grabs my wrist and tugs me closer. "Friday, okay?" he smiles. Another blush heats my skin. I feel like I just might spontaneously combust this time.
"Yeah," I nod. "I'll see you Friday."
As I pass the cafeteria, a loud crash grabs my attention, and my mind catapults back to the first day of school when Gabby's hormone-crazed boy toys almost turned them into skewers. But this isn't a battle between two love-struck morons. It's between two bad boy morons. I'm surprised by what I see.
"You asshole!" Hayden Cross snarls, slamming one of his friends into a lunch table, pinning him into a chokehold that has the boy beneath him turning bright red.
That boy is his best friend, Chase.
What the hell is going on?
Chase's face holds an expression just as murderous as the one Hayden wears and when he shouts something I can't understand, Hayden brings his fist down on the table beside his head. The smaller boy shoves him away and they exchange words I can't hear over the commotion of people around me. Just as Hayden is about to turn and leave, Chase jumps and punches Hayden in the jaw. A lunch aid rushes to pull them apart, saying something into her walkie-talkie.
Get in there and do something!
Yeah, okay. I'd rather stay in one piece, thank you very much.
Besides, there's nothing a 5'2 pipsqueak could do.
A few football players try their hardest to intervene as well, but Hayden and Chase move too fast for them to keep up. How am I supposed to help if they can't even break it up?
"Guys! Stop!" their other friend, Logan, screams. Hayden lunges at Chase and his fist connects with his eyes, causing Chase to finally crumple to the ground, moaning in pain.
Security guards rush in quickly, circle the two boys. One grabbing Hayden and twisting his arms behind his back while the other one kneels beside Chase and gently probes his arm with her fingers.
I can't help but feel worried. I've never seen Chase and Hayden fight. Ever. And the way they were throwing punches at each other—that's not how normal teenage boys fight.
"Get out here! Get to class!" a Security guard screams to the crowd of freaked out high school kids. "Now! Or you get a three day suspension!" A new wave of teachers corrals the reluctant crowd away and I see three officers rush down the hall.
"Keep moving," Mrs. James says, motioning us forward. "There's nothing to see here. Come on, keep going."
When I reach the office, Principal Miller greets me with a welcoming smile too rigid to be genuine. Which is odd considering I grew up around him.
Someone else is in the room with us, I notice. A middle-aged man with black hair sits in the seat opposite of Miller and I take in the striking cut of his jaw and cheekbones. They're familiar. The look he gives me is quite familiar too.
"Hello Ember! How are you today? Take a seat!" the rounded principal says in a cheery tone that matches the sunny day outside. I smile at him and awkwardly sit down. Does Principal Miller know what's happening in the cafeteria right now?
"Hello," the other man smiles. His mercury gray eyes glimmer in the pale light above us. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Instead, they assess me with cold calculation, like he's trying to figure me out with just one glance.
I know those eyes.
"I'm Mathew Cross," he introduces himself. "But please call me Matt."
Well, shit. That explains a lot.
He does look a lot like Hayden.
"So what is this about?" I question, turning back to Principal Miller. And why the hell does Hayden Cross' dad want to talk to me?
"You're not in trouble," Miller explains.
Oh thank god.
Matt Cross turns to face me directly. "I'm here because I need to ask you a few questions regarding Hayden's behavior since he's returned to Valleyfield."
Shaking my head, I ask, "What?"
"I know your history with my son and I know it's one of the reasons why he went to Westwood Juvenile Detention Center," Matt explains.
"No shit." I blurt and slap a hand over my mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"
Matt shakes his head. "I get it. I take full responsibility for Hayden acting out."
Acting out? You call that acting out?
Matt picks a few papers off of the massive desk in front of him. "I won't waste your time with the full story. Right now I need you to tell me something very important, Ember. Have you seen Hayden with him before?" He tilts the papers and fans them out in his hands to show me. My eyes sweep over the grainy black and white images and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
They're all pictures of Derek.
* * *