If I told them the truth, they’d probably think I have a concussion. Or am a badly made clone. I don’t blame them, though. I never corrected them when we first started puberty, pretending like I had gone through the bases. Hindsight is 20/20, I guess.
“Hey, so, do you remember what we talked about yesterday? About tonight?” I ask discreetly, looking around for anyone listening in, but we’re the only ones walking down this pathway.
“Not really,” he answers honestly. “What’s tonight?”
“The Oakson race,” I whisper, excitement blooming in my voice. “I found someone who said they’ll give me the address. Are you working? Maybe you can go with me?—”
“Thewhat?” We pause on the pavement, his body turning toward mine with intention. “You can’t go there. That place is incredibly dangerous.”
I halt, a rush of cold running through my veins. “Excuse me?”
“Oakson Lake isn’t the kind of place you can just walk out of unscathed, Stace,” he says, like I’m an idiotic child. “There are gangs, a high crime rate. And you want to go to anillegalstreet race there?”
The way he says it makes it sound so black and white. Even if the town itself is dangerous and there’s a chance of getting hurt, that doesn’t scare me. If anything, it makes the organ in my chest pump faster.
“It’ll be exhilarating—” I try to say but he cuts me off again.
“No. You can’t,” he interrupts, his words sounding final as we begin to walk down the path once more. “Do you know what your mother would say if she knew I let you go to something like that?”
At the mention of my mom, I roll my eyes. As if anyone could keep me from doing whatever I wanted.
Iwantto blend into this town, keep any spotlight from being on me, but I don’t want my autonomy taken. Brent is an alpha, and he does it without realizing, but it’s starting to get on my nerves.
“Promise me you won’t go,” he finally says as we enter the courtyard.
A small part of me wants to call it out, tell him once and for all that I won’t be controlled or put into a box, but there’s another part of me that is scared of the repercussions. Nervousthat people will find out why we had a fight and they’ll discover who I really am outside of the cheerleading rich girl I pretend to be.
And that isnobody’sbusiness.
So, I look up at him with a convincing smile, my eyelashes fluttering. “I promise.”
I fall quiet as we get to our usual table. Our group of friends are already sat, their perfect lunches—probably packed by their maids—laid out in front of them. Cucumber sandwiches and pretzels and fruit galore.
“It’s really blowing up, Gabby!” Quinn exclaims, a beaming smile on her face. “All of Greenwood must be tuning in! Even the mayor’s secretary commented on your last post!”
Gabby’s lips turn up in an arrogant grin and I roll my eyes. My frenemy has recently started a blog inspired by what Greenwood does best: gossip. She spreads false facts, gives vague implications, and stirs up drama as much as she can. She thrives on it, has since we were kids.
But, hey, at least she has a hobby.
“The mayor’s secretary? I’m surprised she has enough time on her hands to even browse the internet,” Brent comments as we walk up.
“Brent!” Gabby smiles wide, and then she sees me, her smile faltering slightly. “And Stacey. Hi.”
I narrow my gaze at her, but don’t say anything as I take a seat.
“The cheerleading squad looks good this year,” Hannah says from across the circular stone table. The hard texture rubs the skin of my thighs raw, the bite of it slightly uncomfortable but welcomed.
“Thank you,” I say cordially. I’m still not in the mood to speak, but that doesn’t matter here. Everyone in this town is a vulture, and you have to keep your emotions level if you don’twant anyone to know there’s trouble in paradise. “We just wrote a new chant, I’m hoping the others will like it.”
“Your cheers are wonderful,” Quinn comments as she eats a grape from the container in front of her. “I’m sure most of the squad will take to it.”
We eat in relative silence for a moment, stopping to talk here and there about any events coming up in the town square. My stomach feels uneasy as I think about what Brent said, the way he steamrolled me into deciding that I wasn’t going. I don’t like being controlled, and Brent is someone who has to call the shots. It’s always felt like something we could overcome, but now it settles in my stomach like soured milk, the aftertaste nothing but rotten luck mixed up in a seemingly perfect package.
I look out over the courtyard, the mass of green that’s probably a bit too big for our college’s small population. It’s in the center of all the major buildings, the cafeteria and the one lonely dorm nearby. My eyes flash to the far corner where there’s a beautiful oak standing tall by itself. Two figures are shrouded in the shadows of its branches, lounging in the grass underneath. Axl Ritchie looks as eccentric and carefree as ever. His band T-shirt is way too thin for the cool weather, and his black jeans are bulky with chains. His drumsticks that are usually in his back pocket sit on the grass beside him, the wood clean and taken care of. My throat bobs with an involuntary swallow.
He smokes a cigarette, wrapping his lips around it and pulling until the end cherries. The curdling in my stomach turns into something else. Something light and fluttery that travels to the apex of my legs. I watch him for a moment as his fingers move naturally by his side and then through his hair with ease. He laughs at something his friend says, unadulterated glee bubbling from his lips. There’s something so pretty about hisjoy, like he has the power to light up an entire room despite his dark clothing and the moody music he listens to.
I bet he would take me to the race, I think selfishly.
