PROLOGUE
Playing: “Teenager Dirtbag” by Wheatus
SEPTEMBER, 1996 – 14 YEARS OLD
The basement reeks of metal and musk, the ceiling riddled with mysterious condensation. Everyone stands around awkwardly, mingling as casually as they can, but the underlying tension is stifling. It’s our first high school party, after all, and we’re all impatiently waiting for Quinn’s parents to leave so the “real” fun can begin. Well,someof us. I’m sure many of us are actually shitting our pants while pretending to be excited about the scheduled torture ofSeven Minutes In Heaven.
I, for one, am not looking forward to someone trying to stick their tongue in my mouth. It just doesn’t seem like something people should do. However, given the other girls in my grade think I’ve already crossed that bridge, and probably think I’ve gone to third base too, I need to keep up appearances. Because, even though they’re sorely mistaken, I don’t correct them when they bring it up because they make it sound so cool.
And sue me. I want tobe cool.
But now, my lie is staring me right in the face, threatening to show how truly inexperienced I am. Despite the fact this party is supposed to be our first chance at uninhibitedfun, my stress level’s are all the way up.
Not to mention the radio blasting the top forty on repeat. If I have to listen to Mariah Carey one more time, my head might literally explode.
“I think Raleigh will be an omega for sure,” Quinn says as she sips the punch from her red solo cup, her red hair unnaturally straight over her shoulders.
“Maybe, but she’s kind of intimidating,” Hannah protests. “I mean, shedoesplay softball. Those girls don’t really scream submissive.”
“She could be a beta,” I add in. Raleigh doesn’t seem too focused on dominance or submission. She’s a year or two older than us and she’s always been kind despite our age difference, but she also doesn’t seem like she’d let an alpha boss her around.
“Boring,” Gabby cuts in. “Everyone knows being an omega or alpha is the goal. Like, Stacey. You’re definitely going to be an omega.”
I swallow my protest and give a cocky smile instead. “Perhaps. But let’s not jinx it.”
“And then Brent will be an alpha, and you’ll totally get together,” Hannah adds. “A total power couple.”
My nose wrinkles playfully. Brent is a year above us and should be designating soon. He is very attractive, but he’s also very annoying. He may be popular, but his need to lead and dominate sets my teeth on edge. I will admit, his personality lends itself to an alpha presentation.
There have always been expectations in my family: don’t get into trouble, walk with your head held high, don’t let anyone see you sweat. It pushed me on this path, I think, to these people around me—these people in thistown—putting me on apedestal. Maybe it’s the blonde hair, or cheerleading, or my parents’ reputation. Maybe it’s something else, but people look up to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I can be myself. At times, the risk of deviating from what is expected of me doesn’t seem worth it. So, I continue on in this role that’s been built brick by brick for me.
And being a bitch isn’t as awful as it seems. It’s effective and makes it easier to hide that I’m full of shit. Like everyone else in this town, I’m sure.
“Ewh, what ishedoing here?” Gabby squawks.
I turn to see who she’s talking about and my eyes widen. Axl Ritchie, in the flesh. He stands there stiffly, his hands in his pockets, right over the chains he has hooked in his belt loops.
Quinn winces. “My parents said I had to inviteeveryonein our grade. It was kind of a stipulation for the party.”
“And heactuallyshowed up? Wow, what a loser!”
Loser.The word hits me right in the chest, but I compose my features quickly. Axl has been called every name in the book since we were in kindergarten. On the first day, he’d shown up with holes in his pants and streaks of blue in his hair. It was over from that moment, the label slapped on before he could even utter a greeting.
This town isn’t too kind to individuality, and Axl Ritchie is the very definition of unique.
His hair isn’t blue anymore though. For years, his hair has stayed its natural dark brown, so dark that the hue gets lost in the mess. He’s always kept it longer than the other guys in our grade, letting it fall to his ears in rugged layers. I quite like it this way. Anything else wouldn’t look right on him. Even though he’s stopped adding the blue streaks, I’m glad he has still found his own way of standing out.
It’s…refreshing.
Our gazes collide, and time stops. We’ve had conversationsbefore, here and there. Been assigned as project partners on multiple occasions, but I never really see him outside of school. His eyes linger over my face, making it flush from the unwanted attention. Needing to get back some kind of control, I flip him the finger, but it doesn’t upset him. He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by my middle finger and the threat it’s supposed to convey.
What an asshole.
He walks out of sight, and I’m left reeling from the unspoken exchange. It’s not normal for me to get so rattled by someone looking at me, but his blatant attention in front of the group was too much for me to bear. What if someone had seen? Does he not know the bored people of this town will take any information and run with it until there is no way to untangle the truth? A simple look can mean a lot of things, but that wasnota simple look.
It made my face turn red and my stomach tense. Nope, that wasn’t a simple look at all.
“Quinn, we’re heading out!” Her mom cuts through my inner monologue, calling from the door at the top of the stairs, and suddenly it feels like you could hear a pin drop, despiteOne Sweet Dayplaying once again.
