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AnFBIagent,allsharpsuitandsternface,stridesover “MissLockwood?”heasks BeforeIcanrespond,he’sopeningmy cardoor.Theimpliedcommandisclear: Get out.
“What’sgoingon?”Panicedgesmyvoice.Mymindraces,tryingtofindareason.CouldthisbeaboutthesillyprankIpulled onEthanHawthorne? Onlysome Jell-O inhis locker, pettyrevenge for what he did to myLouboutins But as Itake inthe swarmofofficersandthegravityontheirfaces,Irealizethisiswaybeyondanyhighschooldrama.
“Poppy!”mymotherscreams,comingoutofthehousewithtearsrunningdownherface,ruiningherusuallyperfectmakeup I canhardlyrecognizeherasshestopsinfrontofme.I’dneverseenmymotherotherthanperfectlypresentable.
I huff; that’s myfather ina nutshell far more worried about what our poshneighbors fromRidge Hill will thinkof my mother’soutburstthanthereasonsforhimbeingtakenawayandourhousebeinginvadedbytheauthorities
Isquare offwithhim,scowlingathis handonmycar as anger bubbles up.“This is mycar.Youcan’tjusttake it!” Iadd, tappingmyfootforgoodmeasure.
Very mature, Poppy. Icanhearmymother’svoiceinmyhead,andshewouldbetellingmeoffifshewasnotacryingmess. “Thecar,aswellasalltheassets,areregisteredtoAlanLockwoodand,therefore,arenowseizedbytheUSgovernment.”I can’t believe this is happening Merely hours ago, I was worried about school assignments, and now, our entire world is collapsing.Howdidwegethere?
Myentire life, as Iknew it, is unravelingbefore myeyes. The world Igrew up in. The luxuries Itookfor granted are all crumbling I’mleftstandinginthewreckage,wonderingwhatcomesnext
Ipurse mylips atthe shadows under her eyes, feelinga new wave ofguiltsettle onmystomach “Mom” Ihesitate, my voicethickwithemotion “arewesureaboutthis?Is this reallytherightmovefor us?”Isayas Ilookatastudentandher parentswalkingupthepath,trailingacartfullofboxestothemetaldoorofthebuilding.
I twist my mouth with uncertainty. “But if I’m here, who’s going to help out financially? I can’t leave you to shoulder everything.”Hersmilefalters,givingwaytoafamiliarexpressionofpainandshamethatsurfacesduringdiscussionsofbills orassheacceptsthemoneyIearnfromworkingfull-timeatPizz-tachio,alocalpizzaplace
Sherestsherforefingeronmymouth,silencingmyprotests.“Itwasneveryourjobtotakecareofthisfamily.You’vebeen myrock,myangelgirl We’vebeenoverthissomanytimes Jamesisfourteenandstartinghighschool,andBillyisdoingthe freeafter-schoolactivity,andthedaysIhavelateshifts,Mrs.O’Learywillkeepaneyeonthem.”Shesighsagain,cuppingmy cheek “We all want youto have that Your brothers won’t shut up about comingto staywithyou, and you’re what? Forty minutesaway?”Sheshrugs.“We’llmanage.”
“Youneed toseizethisopportunity. I needyoutodoit,Pops.Youcan’tevenfathomhowhorribleitfeelstowakeupevery dayknowinghowmiserablyyouhavefailedyourchildren.”
Mymotherdidn’tfailme;sheisnotfailingmeorus.ShebecameadrivingforceIneversuspectedshecouldbe. You don’t know how strong you can be until you need to. And mymother is livingproofofthat. Iremember those nights whenshe’d comehomelatefromwork,exhaustedbutstillfindingtheenergytocookusdinner Orthetimeshesoldherfavoritenecklace tobuyJamesanewpairofshoes.Hersacrificeswereendless. Iinhaleslowly,noddingwithresolve “Alright,we’llfindaway Wealwaysdo,”Isaymoretomyselfthantoher “Wedefinitelywill!”Shesmilesandglancesatherwatchagain.“NowIreallyneedyoutomovebecauseI’llbemorethan fashionably late.” She kisses my cheek soundly before brushing a stray hair behind my ear, her eyes glistening. “I’m so incrediblyproudofyou,Poppy.”
Shestartsthecar,andIdon’tmovequicklyenoughandstartcoughingattheblacksmokecomingoutoftheexhaust I watchthe car until it disappears around the corner. The campus around me buzzes withenergy. Freshmenlike me look around, their faces a canvas ofexcitementtinged withapprehension The tall oaks liningthe pathways provide shade, their leavesrustlinglightlyinthebreeze.
Takinga deep breath, Iturnmyattentionto the apartmentbuildinginfrontofme This will be myhome for the nextfour years.Well,meandmynewroommatesEvangelineandVanessa.
A month ago, during a private induction session, Evangeline, Vanessa, and I found an instant connection. There was an unspokenunderstandingbetweenus, a shared experience thatbroughtus together We are the firstrecipients ofthe Phoenix Rising Scholarship programhereatSilverbrookUniversity.Itiswhattheycallasecond-chancescholarship,butforus,it’snot merelyascholarship;it’salifeline,asecondchance Idon’tknowwhythegirlsarehereonthisprogram,andtheydon’tknowaboutmyfamily’sdownfall.Together,wemadea pact Noprying,noquestions Whateversecretswechosetosharewouldremainsafelyguardedwithinourtrio,abondoftrust inthisnewchapterofourlives.
AsIcontinuemyascenttotheapartment,Ioverhearhimmutteringsomethingunderhisbreath,butIpayitnomind.Asense ofprideswellswithinme PoppyLockwoodmighthavemoaned,lamentedoverherniceshoes,anddemandedtheelevatorbe fixed immediately. But I’m not her anymore. I’m Poppy Donovan, and this girl can handle a few stairs and unwanted advances onherown.
“Howdidyouknow?”Iask,turningtoseeherstepoutofaroom,herfacebreakingintoabroadsmile I’vegrownfondofEvangelineintheshorttimeI’veknownher.We’rebothnineteen,startingouruniversityjourneyayear laterthanmost ButwhenIlookatEva,sheseemstohavethefashionsenseofsomeonedecadesolder Shedressesmorelikea history professor on tenure than a university freshman. Today, even on moving day, she’s impeccably dressed in a green sleevelesscardiganover aneatlytuckedwhiteshirtpairedwithblackdresspants.Her sleekblackhair ispulledintoahigh ponytail,withheronlyeccentricitybeinghercat-patternedsocks Herplus-sizefigureiscarriedwithconfidence,makingher presenceevenmorepronounced.
AsIglancearoundtheroom,mythoughtsdrifttoNessa.WhileEvaexudesvintagecharm,Nessaembodiesmoderngothic allure Towering over both of us, her long blonde hair often stands out against her all-black attire, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. Her style screams emo goth, from her dark eyeliner to her black combat boots. On the surface,thethreeofuscouldn’tbemoredifferent,bothinlooksandpersonality.Butfromourinteractionsduringthesummer selectionandinductionprocess,Isenseanunderlyingbond Despiteourdifferences,orperhapsbecauseofthem,Ifeelwe’re becominganinseparabletrio.
I shrug in return. Having my own room, a space only for me, feels like a luxury after spending so many nights on the uncomfortablepull-outsofainourtrailer.
Igazearoundatthemajesticredbrickbuildings,theirancientfacadesadornedwithcreepingvines,anembraceofgreenery against the stark, aged brickwork. The air is filled with the scent of the impending rain and fresh grass. Freshmen don’t officiallystartclassesbeforeMonday,buttheotheryearsarealreadystarting,andwecanseestudentsgoinginandout,way toobusywiththeirownagendatospotthetwonerdygirlsgapingatthesimilar-lookingbuildings.“HowmuchdoyoubetI’ll get confused for the next sixmonths at least?” I turnbacktoward the waywe came from, toward the café where Nessa is waiting for us in the warmth with an iced coffee while listening to her music with her gigantic headphones she’s taking everywhereshegoes.
“Whatistheretosay?”Ireply,happyabouthowsteadymyvoicesoundsdespitemywildheartbeatandfaintnausea “Yo,Hawthorne!Weneedtomove.Coachwillhaveyourassifyou’relateforpracticeagain.”Ablondmanwithamanbun and impossibly blue eyes wraps his arm around Ethan’s neck and smirks at us. He’s as tall as Ethan and probably even wider…Seriously,whatweretheyfeedingthem?
I’mmore thanhappyto comply, butbefore we have a chance to turnaround, the blond dude moves, all humor gone, and standsinfrontofus,preventinganymoremovement
But it’s not only her looks She stared right at me, ignoring the bait I threw out Her cold shoulder sends a prickling frustrationundermyskin,amaddeningitchIcan’tscratch.
After sendingCole away, Isearched everywhere for her, butshe was nowhere to be found. Italmostfeltlike ithad been nothingmore thana hallucinationifithad notbeenfor Cole and his grumpyass mutteringthings about“Juilliard” everyso often.
Iexhale, restingmyarms onmythighs amid the chaos, seekinga moment’s peace The tensioninmymuscles echoes the turmoil within,a silentgroanescapingmylips as Iyearnfor release fromthis unexpectedentanglement.Todaywas the first dayofpractice thedaythatCoachenjoyedtorturingustoshowthefreshmenwhattheteamismadeof
I rush downstairs The air, nippy against my bare skin, makes me regret not grabbing a shirt I’m clad only in gray sweatpants. The kitchen air is crisp, the metallic scent of stainless steel mingling with the faint lemon aroma of cleaning products Spotlessgrayandblackmarblesurfacesgleam,reflectingthefaintlight High-techappliancesblendseamlesslyinto thewalls,theirpolishedstainlesssteeladdingtothechillelegance.It’sclearaprofessionalteammaintainsthispristinespace, their touch evident in the orderly arrangement of every utensil and gadget. The expansive island stands out with its black marbletop,waitingforcookingexploitsitwillneverexperience.TheonlyonecookingisLiam,andnobodywantstoeathis ultra-healthy,tastelessproteinexperiments.
Thelockturns,asubtleclickbreakingthesilence.Ifreeze,myhandtighteningoverthecan. Shit, does it have to be now?! Liamstrides in, his presence fillingthe space witha commandingease. Sweatglistens onhis forehead, a testamentto his morning run. His breaths are even and controlled like the perfect robot he is. He pulls out his earbuds, the cord dangling againstthefabricofhisfittedworkoutshirt.
He glances at mycanagain, his eyebrows knittingtogether. “Youunderstand that stuff’s like poison, right? Do youeven realizewhat’sinit?”Hiswordsaregentle,almostawhisper,yettheycarryaweight,agenuineconcernmaskedbythecasual tone
“Bull sperm!” Cole pipes, walking down the stairs with a stupid grin on his face, wearing nothing more than his boxer shorts,hismorningwoodonfull display.OnethingisclearwithCole: hecarriesanunapologeticconfidence,unbotheredby theworld’sgaze,atraitIfindbothamusingandperplexing
I have no girl to call mine, and usually, the jokes don’t bug me But today, with Poppy’s face flashing in my mind, it’s different.It’slikeherimageispokingatasorespotIwasnotawareof.
Liamhasonerule:herefusestosleepwithstudentshere,whichisnotsomethingwewouldcomplainabout.Liam,withhis Europeancharm, his glasses, and his rockstar attitude, makes girls fawnover him, and Cole and Iare more thanhappyto collectthedejectedgirls
Liam’seyebrowarches,askepticalgrinonhisface.“Whythesuddeninterest?” Cole snorts. “Remind me againhow you’re not obsessed.” His words, filled withmockery, make me want to prove him wrong.
FacingCole,our eyes lockinasilentstandoff Wedon’thavetosayit,butwebothfeel it we’retangledupinthesame kindofmess,andminehasgotPoppyLockwoodwrittenalloverit.
Practiceisn’tonlyaphysicaldrain;it’sasoul-sucking,bone-crushingordeal Thesun,amercilessballoffire,glaresdownas wesprint,tackle,anddribbleacrossthefield.Thescentoffresh-cutgrass,usuallyapleasantaroma,nowseemstomockour agony. The ball feels like a lead weight, and my legs move as if submerged in molasses. I can almost hear my muscles screaminginprotestwitheverystride
After what feels like an eternity, the whistle’s shrill cry signals the end. I drag myself to the locker room, each step a Herculeaneffort Mybodyisdrenchedinsweat,mylungsgaspingforairasifI’vebeensubmergedunderwater Thethoughtof collapsingunder the warmcascade of the shower, lettingthe water washawaythe fatigue, is the onlythingpropellingme forward.
Buttheuniverse,itseems,hasotherplans.
Coach barrels into the locker room, his compact frame belying a commanding presence. His hair, graying and closely cropped,matchesthesternsetofhisweatheredface Despitehismodestheight,hisvoiceboomsacrosstheroom,hiswords sharpandauthoritative.Hisbelly,apronouncedmound,standsasajovialcontrasttohisstrictdemeanor,gentlybouncingwith eachimpassionedwordhedelivers Thesightmighthavebeencomicalifhiscritiquesweren’tsobitingandhisexpectations
sotowering.
“What the hell is wrong with you today?!” Coach’s voice, loud and grating, echoes off the locker room walls. I turn, squintingagainsttheharshfluorescentlightstoseehisface,aripetomatoinhue,theveinonhisneckpulsatinglikeatechno beat.
Islumpontothewoodenbench,thecool metal ofthelocker aslightreliefagainstmyback Histiradecontinues Averbal assaultthatmatches the physical one we’ve justendured onthe field. His finger jabs inmydirection. “Hawthorne!Did you loseyourcoordinationability?YouwereprobablytheworstmidfieldI’veeverseen” Ibite backa retort, mylips pressinginto a thinline. Evenonmyworstday, myskills onthe field are unmatched, and he knowsit.Theexaggerationisanothertacticinhismotivationalarsenal.
The locker roomplunges into silence, the air thickwithanticipation. We stare, a collective holdingofbreath, as Coach’s facetransitionsthroughvariousshadesofthecolorspectrum,settlingonavibrantpurple.
As Coachstorms out, the tensiondissipates, replaced bya mixture ofreliefand residual anxiety. Cole, undeterred bythe confrontation,grins,hishumorabalmtoourfrayednerves “Well,thatwentwell,don’tyouthink?”
Achorusoflaughtererupts,thesoundechoingoffthemetallockers,acatharticreleaseafterthestorm.Ican’thelpbutjoin in Theabsurdityofthesituationovershadowingtheexhaustionandtheloomingpunishment Liam, though, remains stoic, his expressionunreadable as he addresses the team. “Alright, let’s notgive Coachanymore reasonstohaveananeurysm.Wehitthefieldagainintwentyforsomeextradrills.Let’sshowhimwhatwe’remadeof.”
Groans fill the room, but they are tinged with a renewed determination We are a team, united in victory and defeat, in gruelingpractices,andCoach’scolorful outbursts.Together,we’ll facethechallenges,pushour limits,andproveour worth, notjusttoCoachbuttoourselves
AsIexittheshower,towelingoff,Liamapproaches,hisexpressionserious.“Ethan,”hesays,hisBritishaccentmakingeven thesternestreprimandsoundsophisticated,“getyourheadoutofyourass.Idon’tcareifyouneedtogetyour crappyenergy drinkdirectlyintravenously Youare the bestmidfieldwe have,andthis was fuckingcrap!Idon’tcare what’s happeningin yourlife.Theruleisclear:youleaveyourproblemsatthedoorwhenyoustepontothisfield,andyoudonotletanything,most ofallgirldrama,affectyourgame IfyouwantthatinformationaboutPoppyLockwood,youneedtobeonyourgame Nomore distractions.Gotit?”
Ipursemylips,annoyedatbeingreprimandedasanaughtykid,butfuck,he’sright,andIknowit Inod, clenchingmyfist, the image ofPoppyseared inmymind. The field is calling, and I’mreadyto answer, leavingno roomfordistractions.
I purse mylips, myfingers drummingimpatientlyonthe counter as I fight the urge to snap at him. That’s what I get for servingacustomersoclosetotheendofmyshift We’reeightminutesinandnowherenearertohischoosing We’refarawayenoughfromcampusforSilverbrookstudentencounterstoberare,andbasedonthepainfuloneI’minthe middleof,I’mquitehappythatisthecase.
Ishake myhead, exasperationseepinginto myvoice “Margherita, pepperoni, and tuna We’ve beenover this three times already.”
Hefrowns “Didn’tyousaydoublecheesebefore?”
For a fleetingmoment, the image ofshovinghis face into a pizza slice dances inmymind, worththe riskofbeingfired. “Therewas,fiveminutesago,butmycoworkerkeepsonservingcustomerswhoactuallywantsomething”Customerornot,I amdonewiththis.
“No,it’sokay,givemetwoslicesofanythingandacanofDietPepsi.I’llbewaitingthere.”Hepointsatthetablefaratthe back “Keep the change,” he adds quickly, and I’maboutto saythatwe don’tdo table service duringthe day, butthe fiftydollarbillstopsme.
As Istare atthe fifty-dollar bill, a mixofemotions swirls withinme. The moneyis a much-needed relief, butthe unease abouthisintentionscastsalongshadowoverthegeneroustip Inarrowmyeyes,notnaiveenoughtothinkhisamazingtipwas formystellarcustomerserviceskills,butIamalsodesperateenoughtowantthesefortydollars,knowingthathalfcouldgoin myfoodjarattheapartmentandtheothertwentywouldhelpfillthecupboardathome IlookatGreg,andheshrugs.“Seewhathewantsandcallifyouneedme.”
Withaheavysigh,Ibalancetworandompiecesofpizzaonaplate,thearomateasingmysenses.IgrabacoldcanofDiet Pepsi,thechillseepingintomypalm.Sheddingmyapron,Iapproachhissecludedtable,mystepsslowandhesitant. He gives a casual nod, his hand sweeping away his messy hair as his foot nudges the chair opposite him, sending it screechingbackwardonthetiledfloor “Whydon’tyousit?”Hisvoicecarriesahintofeagernessmaskedbyalaid-backtone Istand rooted, the chair’s suddenmovement echoinginthe dimpizzeria. Here we go, Ithink, myheart sinking. Mygaze
flickstotheemptychair,itscoldmetalframeuninviting.Iamnotcompletelyconceited,butclarityringsinmymindaboutwhat IdesireandwhatIvehementlyavoid.Andaboyfriend,aflirt,orwhateverthisguyisinsinuatingdefinitelydoesnotmakethe list
“Listen ”
“Jeff”
Myfeetedgebackward,creatingdistancebetweenus.Mygazestaysfixedonhis,searchingforhisnextmove.“Listen,Jeff. Whatever you’re offering,I’mnotinterested,sothanks for the tip,butnothanks” Iturnaroundtoleave,mysteps briskas I headbacktothecounter.
Ah, that’s the class I’m sharing with him “Whataboutsociology?”Itakeafewstepsbacktowardhistable He looks atthe chair across fromhim,jerkinghis chintowardit.“Sit,please.Idon’tthinkIwantthis conversationtobe public”
I see the muscle in his jaw budge. “No, trust me, it’s no joke. I had to pick one social science class, and sociology is supposedtobethesimplerone.”Heshakeshishead.“Idon’thavethetimeforthis.”
I shrug before reaching up to rub my thumb on my locket, something I always do when I amapprehensive and nervous, somethingIhopeheneverreallynoticed.“Iwouldhavebeentryinghardertoavoidyou.” He frowns, and I know I hit a nerve “Avoid me? What amI? The bogeyman?” He scoffs, running his hand through his perfectlystyledhair.“I’mnottheonewhobetrayedthetrustofmyemployer.”
Here we go again. Thenever-endingwarofwhoistoblameinthewholescandal.Exceptthatthisissotrivialformenow. I’mnotinhighschoolanymore Icouldn’tcarelessaboutimageandperception “Soyoudugintomylifetoresurrectoldghosts?”Theaccusationhangsintheair,apalpabletensionbetweenus.
About what? I’dliketoask,butinsteadsay,“Idon’tthinkso Igrantedyouvictory Icandoitinwritingifyouwant Iwould rather we go backto whatwe should have always been. Perfectstrangers. Idon’tknow you, and youdon’tknow me;how aboutthat?”
Nessastraightensupevenmore.“Nothanks,I’mbackfromtheWiccanstore,andIhavenewvoodoodollsandhexestotry out Doyouwanttobemyguineapig?”
“This isn’t over, Poppy,” Ethan warns, his voice low and menacing. He backs away, his glare lingering on me, a silent promiseofacontinuedargument Heturnsandstridesdownthepath,hisdepartureasabruptashisarrival,leavingbehinda trailofuneaseashedisappearsintoashinyblackSUV.
Life…Idoknow how unexpectedlythingscanchange.Thatrealizationsteersmebacktomycurrentpredicament.Without Eva, myonlyoptionis to take anUber home I was a little embarrassed about not beingable to do somethingas basic as orderingtransportation.
“Canyou ” I stop mid-sentence as I see Eva turninto the parkinglot, a wave of relief washingover me at her timely arrival.“Oh!”Sometimes,fatedoesshowalittlereprieve.“Sorry,Ihavetogo,”IcallasIstartrunningtowardEva’scar.“I’m late!”Iadd,butshedoesn’treply,andIturnjustasIreachEva’spassengerdoorandseeherdisappearintothebuilding
Asurge of self-directed anger rises withinme Poppyis clearlyapprehensive, and she’s readyto admit her familyis to blame for everything, and yet, it’s notenough. Icanfeel the heatofmyfrustration, a burningsensationinmychestthathas nothingtodowiththegame
Liam, witha playful smirk, says, “Come on, E. Lightenup. It’s onlya game, yeah?” His words, thoughlight, do little to dissipatethetensionknottinginsideme.
Liamfrowns,hiseyebrowsknittingtogetherinconcern “Seriously,whatcrawledintoyourassanddied?” “Thatsecretaryinfoiscrap.Iknowalmostnothing.”MyvoiceissharperthanIintend,areflectionofmyinnerturmoil. Liamrollshiseyes “Herewego,”hemutters “Ineversaidshekneweverything,butIthinkthatheractualname,address, andschedulewerenotnothing.Andwhydoyoucareanyway?Youcangetanygirlyouwant.She’snoteventhathot.” But she is. Poppyis not hot, she’s beautiful… AND hot. The memoryofher smile, the wayher eyes light up, haunts my thoughts,addingtomyfrustration Pushingoffthesofa,Istridetothefridge,thecoolairhittingmyfaceasIyankitopen Igrab a beer, the cold cana briefrespite frommysimmeringirritation. “Ithas nothingto do withthat. She and Ihave accounts to settle”
“Toobadyou’renotsleepingwithstudents,isn’tit?”Ichallenge,keepingmyeyesonhim He nods,runninghis forefinger over his lips.His eyes flicker tomyhandandthe beer I’mholding.“Ithoughtwe saidno alcoholthedaybeforethegame”
He shakes his head and looks at his watch. “Youknow what? Do whatever youwant but don’t go around fuckingup the game.”
“Iwon’t.”
“I’mgoingto shower,” Liamsays before standingup He walks to his roombefore turningaround “Ifyouwantto know everythingabouther,whydon’tyouaskyourfather?”
“Whatisit?LittleEthanisafraidtocallDaddy?”Hisgrinwidensasmyscowldeepens. Liamdoesn’tknow,butI’vemadegettingonmyfather’snervesanationalsportsincethebeginningofmysenioryearofhigh school I thinksome part of me was angryat himtakingPoppyout of the equation Whatever the result of this equation, it startedwiththetattoosthatalmostgavehimacoronary,followedbymychoicetobreaktraditionandrefuseHarvard’soffer, onlytopickSilverbrookinstead He’dthreatened,butIremindedhimthatIhaveaseven-digittrustfundcomingdirectlyfrom mymaternalgrandfatheranddidn’tneedhismoney,butheneededhisheir.
“You missed Sunday dinner Again That’s seven in a row” His voice is filled with disapproval, the familiar tone of criticismmakingmyfingerstightenaroundthephone. Irollmyeyes,eventhoughhecan’tseeit “ShouldbeahintI’mnotplanningtocome,shouldn’tit?”
Igritmyteeth,frustrationboilingwithinme “SilverbrookisIvyLeague,Dad” “Butit’snotHarvard,isit?”heretorts,hisvoicedrippingwithdisdain. Inmymind,athoughtforms,clearanddefiant If Harvard thrives on men like you, I don’t want to go ButIbitebackthe words,knowingitwillonlyaddfueltothefire.
Thecallendswithaclick,hisfinalwordshangingintheair.Istareatthephoneinmyhand,thesilencenowfillingthespace aroundme Ididn’taskaboutPoppy Thetimingwasn’tright Slippingthephonebackintomypocket,Ifeelamixofreliefand frustration.Theconversationwithmyfather,asalways,leftabittertasteinmymouth.Tryingtoclearmyheadofhiswords,I refocus ontomorrow’s game He’ll be there inthe stands, surveying, judgingmyeverymove Butitdoesn’tmatter Ichose Silverbrookforareason,andIdon’tregretit.Notforasecond.
Heshakeshishead,hiseyeswidewithexaggerateddisbelief “Okay?!Okay?!ItwasbettertoplayFIFAthantocomemeet meatthegymasplanned?”Hisarmsflailinadramaticgesture,emphasizinghismockoutrage. Fuck, Poppy is really messing up my mind “Youshouldhavecalled!”
“Fine,shutthefuckup!”Ibark,pullingthepagefromunderPoppy’sscheduleandpushingittowardhimonthecounter Iam notinthemoodforanotherspeechabouthowsportsandfriendshipcomebeforegirldrama.
“Worktowhat?”Iask,notsurethathisintentiontowardEvangelineisthesameasmineforPoppy What are your intentions? thevoiceinmyheadasks,andIhavenoidea. “I’mnot certain yet, but one thing I know.” He points a finger at me, a mock serious expression on his face. “No more missinggymsessionsforstalkingmissions.Gotit?”
Mysteps guide me effortlesslyto Eva’s usual spotinthe library, a secluded table thathas become our unofficial meeting point Acreatureofhabit,shealwayschoosesatableneartheback,tuckedunderasmallalcove,transformingapublicspace intoourprivatestudyground.
Isitdownandturnthebookopenonthetabletowardme The Canterbury Tales Lord,Ican’timaginepickingthissubject willingly.Iwaitafewmoreminutesandfrown.It’snotlikeEvatoleaveherthingsunattendedforsolong.
I try to navigate through the maze of unfamiliar sections, looking for Eva The ominous silence of the library is a little uncomfortable. Evenmysteps are unnaturallyquiet, the softcarpetswallowingthe sound. Yet, a drumbeatofanxietyIcan’t explainresonateswithinme.
Hisblueeyessmolderwithanintenseblendoffrustrationandlongingasheclearlytriestoconvinceherofsomething.Eva’s eyes are wide, her usual pragmatic demeanor replaced with visible distress Her hands clutch her books tightly, a shield againsthisunwantedadvances.
I rush forward, my protective instincts kicking in. “Hey, what’s going on here?” I demand, my voice slicing through the silence The sudden interruption startles them, their heads snapping toward me Cole whirls around, his eyes wide with surprise before he quicklysmooths his expressioninto a casual grin. “We were onlytalking. It’s nothingfor youto worry about,”hesays,histonetoosmooth,toorehearsed Evapushespasthim,clutchingher bookstoher chest.“It’snothing,Poppy,”sheinsists,her voicetremblingabit.Wehad agreednottoshareourpast,butthefearinhereyesspeaksvolumes.
Not anymore isnotreallytheanswerIwant Iwantedaloudandresounding“no”
Mymouthopens,thensnaps shut,a silentsurrender tothe battle before me.Recognizinga lostcause doesn’tmeanIcan’t wageasilentwarinherdefense,unbeknownsttoher
“Wantmetodropyouatwork?”IlookatmywatchnowthatEvacutherstudysessionshort.Ihaveacoupleofhourstokill before work, and I decide to do something I swore I’d never do, but for Eva, I amready to I’mgoing to look for Ethan Hawthorne.
“Poppy…” she trails off, her eyes searching mine, laden with concern and a silent warning. “Don’t go meddling into somethingthathasnothingtodowithyou.”
The soccer ground is bathed inthe goldenglow of the settingsunas I arrive, the players onthe field movinginperfect synchronicityasthecheerleadersareworkingontheirroutineattheotherendofthefield
Ilingeronthesideline,observingthemforafewstolenmoments.Theymoveinaseaofbright-blueuniforms,highponytails dancingjoyfullywitheachcoordinatedmovement,sharplyjuxtaposedwiththeturmoilbrewingwithinme Ionceagainalmost subconsciously reach for my own ponytail that is no longer there. I cut my hair short about six months after my family’s downfall.Iwentfromexpensivetreatments,oil,andbimonthlyhairdresserappointmentstohavingtowashmyhairwithcheap shampoo Whichcausedmybeautiful,lustroushairtobecomeatangleofunrulywaves Icutitshort,anditwasmucheasierto maintain.ItisallIseenow…practicality.Withasigh,Iturnbacktowardthesoccerpracticeandthescreamingcoach,trying to find Ethan Finally, I see him in the middle of the field; his movements are fluid and graceful, a ballet of power and precision,andevenwithhowmuchIdislikehim,Ican’thelpbutadmithehasarealgift.
Finally, Cole enters the field, stoppingthe practice as the coachturns all his frustrationtoward him, and he takes itwith completeease.
Ethanshakeshishead,andasheturnstowardthebleachers,hespotsme,hiseyeslightingupashejogsover,agrinonhis face
His smile falters, his brow furrowinginconfusion “Cole is not rapey,” he defends, but I cut himoff “I don’t care I’ll answertwoquestions.”
He groans quietly, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Fine, Cole will stay away. Why are you starting universitynow?”Imeethisgaze,myexpressionsteely
Hetakesastepcloser,hishandsraisedinagestureofpeace.“Poppy,Ihadnothingtodowithwhathappenedtoyouoryour father Iwas a kid like you Iswear, Ididn’tenjoyyour downfall Ididn’tevenknow whatwas happeninguntil itwas all over.”Heextendsahandtowardme,anofferingofpeaceandreconciliation.“Whynotleavetheoldrivalryatthedoor and givefriendshipatry?”
The locker roomis a racket ofpost-practice banter and the muskyscent ofsweat-soaked jerseys. Atightness forms deep within,thinkingaboutPoppyandherblatantrejectionofanypotentialfriendship. But it’s not only friendship you want, is it? It never was. Mymindrilesme. MygazelockswithCole’s,hissmirkrevealingthatheknowsexactlywheremymindis ThatremindsmeofthepromiseI madetoherandneedtoupholdifIeverwanttoearnalittlebitoftrust.
Liam’svoiceslicesthroughthetension,hisBritishaccentsharpwithanger “Fuck,guys!Ihaveoneruleforthisteam One rule!Wedon’tfightoverpussyordick!Wejustfuckingdon’t!”
Who’s the predator now? I thinkas Poppyexits the pizzeria, still inher uniformand clutchinga pizza boxtightlyinher hands. My heart’s doing this weird hammering thing as I observe her. Hidden in the shadows of my car. It’s concern, not obsession.Ithastobe,right?
Who’s the predator now? Cole’svoicechimesinmyhead.
She’s always beenuntouchable, evenbackinhighschool whenI’d watchher fromafar But here I am, years later, still trappedinherenigmaticpull,stillwantingthingsfromherthatIcan’tquitename.
The bus arrives, and she boards, her movements hurried. Istartthe car, followingata distance, mymind a whirlwind of confusionandcuriositywitheverystopshedoesn’tgetoff,andshegetsfartherdowntheSouthside
Shefinallygetsoffatastopinfrontofadiscountstore,holdingherbagandpizzaboxquiteprecariouslyassheentersthe store
Iparkacross the street, readyto wait, butrightafter she walks in, she steps outwithanother plastic bag, a cheap burner phoneinhand,speakingrapidly,hereyesdartingaroundnervously.Hervulnerabilitypiercesthroughme,andbeforeIknowit, Iblowmyperfecttailingbysteppingoutofthecarandapproachingher
“No,it’sthatway”Shepointsforward,andmyfrowndeepensascoldrealizationdawns “But ”Istop,lookingattheroadahead.“There’sonlythetrailerparkdownthere.” She doesn’tsayanything, onlystares into nothing, and ithits me like a punchto the gut. This is her life. The struggle, the constanthustle It’slikeseeingbehindacurtainshenevermeanttoopen She’snotonlydownonherluck;she’sbeendragged throughhell.Andme?I’vebeenpilingonevenmore.
Thesilenceinthecar isthick,chargedwithunspokenwordsandemotions Anapologyisonthetipofmytongue,andthe urgetoofferhelpswellswithinme,butthewordsstickinmythroat,heldbackbythefearofpushingherfurtheraway. She’s different, this Poppyinfrontofme Her eyes hold stories thatthe PoppyIknew never had, and I’mleftwondering whatthehellhappenedtomakethemsodamnhaunted.
