“What’s the big deal, Dad? I was just asking him about the neighbor.” I pick up a basketball lying in the grass and dribble it around. Dad grabs the ball out of my hand. “What the hell?”
“First of all, if you ever disrespect anyone in this family like that again, you can go back to Las Verdes... alone. Second of all, quit trying to stir up trouble. Third, I heard what you said, and if you ever speak about another lady in that context again, I’ll take it upon myself to feed you something... my fist. I don’t know what your intentions are with Blakely Porter, but I think it’s best that you steer clear of her.”
“No intentions. Just trying to get under the boy’s skin.” I really don’t have any intentions with her. At least not yet. She’s hot and all but that mouth on her drives me fucking crazy. She’s cruel, feisty, and unusual. She’s a female version of myself, and if anything ever did happen between us, we’d probably tear each other to shreds and burn down the house in the process.
“Good. Keep it that way. Now, I want you to get your ass in that house and apologize to Val.”
I do as instructed. Dad’s been through a lot, and he deserves this happiness. I don’t want to be the one to bring him back to that dark place. It took years for him to walk, or rather crawl, out of it. I haven’t seen his eyes light up the way they do now since before the accident. It was a hard time for both of us. I never showed my emotion out of fear that it would hurt Dad more. Instead, I grieved in silence.
The house emptied quickly. Knox and his friends headed the dance where Dad and Val were chaperoning. I look out my bedroom window, even though B’s curtains are pulled shut and she’s not there anyway. No way Queen B would miss the opportunity to doll herself up and socialize with the rich and the snobby. Just as I’m about to walk away, I catch a glimpse of a shadow walking along the driveway at the Porter house. A hairless cat? No, a small dog, probably a chihuahua or some little ankle biter. That’s when I see her. Her hair down, strands glistening under the night sky. No dress, no heels, no makeup.
She’s not at the dance. It doesn’t make any sense. Chicks like her live for this stuff. I peel myself away from the window and walk down the hall into the forbidden bedroom. A neat and tidy room with the bed made perfectly. His mom probably makes him clean it daily. He’s such a tool. His walls are lined with shelves of numerous trophies and awards.
A poster of Gigi Hadid in a bikini tosses away any suspicion that he was batting for the opposite team. Not that I would care, I just wouldn’t be surprised. I open his laptop. Password required. Damnit. I try a couple random words that come to mind. Ravens, football, douchebag.
No luck.
I look to the left of his desk and see a picture of him and B, he’s on his back on the floor, bench pressing her. Her ass in the air and his fingers in her thigh. He wants her, I know it. They might claim to be just friends, but there is no way in hell this guy spends this much time with a girl like B and doesn’t try to get it in, or at least jerk it to this picture every night. I’m half tempted to take it myself for the night and return it with my jizz all over her pretty face.
One last attempt.
Blakely.
Bingo. I’m in.
I click through some shit just to see what this kid’s into. His search history is full of sports and a couple porn sites. He’s probably still a virgin. I click on his last site. Fully clothed chicks making out. Definitely a virgin. I let out a laugh. This kid doesn’t know what he’s missing. After I finish snooping through his personal space, I pull up his contacts list on his iCloud account, find the number I’m looking for and punch it into my phone. I go back into his web browser and type in a nice porn site for him, leaving it up on the screen.
Me: No dance tonight?
I hit send.
Not even thirty seconds later, a response.
B: Who the hell is this?
Typical response from the Queen.
Me: Go to your bedroom window?
I perch myself on the ledge of the window and wait. Staring at my phone, glancing up and then back to my phone when she doesn’t show.
Me: Quit being stubborn and just do it.
I look up from the phone and there she is. Her curtains around her face, hiding her body. All I can see is her sad eyes.
B: How did you get my number? Better yet, what do you want?
Me: Why aren’t you at the dance?
B: Why aren’t you?
Me: Fuck all that noise. I’d rather die a slow death than mingle with those highbrows. Your turn.
She doesn’t respond. I look up and see her wipe her eyes then pull the curtains shut. She’s been crying. I’m not sure why, but it has an unsettling effect on me. The realization that someone as cold as Blakely is actually feeling something other than hatred is captivating, but also gut wrenching. A few minutes pass, but I don’t move. I grip the phone and wait. She’ll respond, I know she will.
Ten minutes later, she does.
B: None of your business.
I should have expected that.
Me: Look at us having something in common. Who’d have thought?
B: We have nothing in common. Lose my number.
I can’t help but grin at her attitude. I love that she doesn’t take my shit, probably because I don’t give her half of it. I almost feel guilty being harsh to this girl. She’s obviously hiding some deep wounds in that thick skin. She just won’t admit it. The cruel ones usually feel pain the deepest. I should know.
My next move is gonna be a tough one, and she may not budge, but the possibility that she could, makes it all worth the effort.
Me: Get your ass dressed and meet me outside in five minutes.
B: You really are delusional. Either that or you’re asking for a bitch slap.
Me: Four.
One last look—her curtains are still closed. Risking rejection, I still make my way downstairs. I grab a bottle of wine from the wine cooler and a couple glasses and throw them into my backpack, no carefulness involved as they clink together with each step. No one will even notice. There are at least two dozen bottles, and the good stuff, not that dollar store shit.
I start up my car that’s parked in the garage, in my space, so it can warm up. Technically, it’s Knox’s, but I stole it from him. I make it a point to beat him home every night after practice, just so I can park there. I step out of my car, smiling in spite of it each time.
Me: Two.
I’m waiting in the front yard between the two houses, our house looking like a camper next to her castle. Still a thousand times better than the box I occupied in Las Verdes. It’s been five minutes, and she still hasn't come. I know women take a while to get ready, so I give it five more.
After five more minutes, I sit down in the damp grass. Staring at her house, waiting for her to walk out.
Twenty minutes have passed and I’m starting to feel like the world’s biggest fool. I pull myself up, and instead of feeling hurt, I feel anger. Feeling bad for the girl, I thought maybe I’d get her out of the house, so she wasn’t sulking alone on the night of the homecoming dance. A gesture I normally wouldn’t even consider. But being the heartless ice queen that she is, she couldn’t even acknowledge my act of kindness. Not even a lame excuse. I know she saw me sitting out here. Probably texting all her girlfriends and cracking jokes about it.