I found the twins sitting with Austin on the stairs we always occupied. I didn't even wait to be an acceptable proximity from her to talk. My deep voice sounded boosted, “When are you gonna give me an update? I've texted you.”
Cheyanne looked up from her phone with a glare that was made to turn people to stone, except me. “Relax, Bolton. I'm working on it. It's not that easy. It takes time.”
Impatiently I asked, “What part takes time? Just do your witch shit and tell me if she's one of us.”
Omari, her twin, who never spoke unless it was gravely necessary, added to our conversation. “Worried she may not be one of us? You know what happens if she isn't Bolton. Be careful what you share with her.”
Her cult vibes disrupted his angel features.
I carefully didn't share anything, not to protect her, but myself. Sharing wasn't a priority. Neither was venting enough to let anyone in our little secret we all shared.
“I don't share shit. We all know that.”
Cheyanne sat back, enjoying the exchange. She enjoyed anything with an edge enough to cut, and our words were vicious.
Omari was suddenly a talker. “I see how you look at her, Bolton. It's trouble. If she is one of us, good luck convincing her you aren't crazy, and if she's not, then you know what happens. We can't stop the ritual; you know that.”
Annoyed, I looked away from him and the truth I avoided at all costs.
I always avoided the reality of how many times we had been wrong in the past, how many people we buried in the woods behind the school, and how many lies we came up with to protect our asses from questions. I could even name every person that wasn't the one.
Raven.
Darren.
Harold.
Francesca.
Samantha.
Tom.
Lucille.
Norman.
Scott.
Brittany.
Simone.
Anthony.
And last year, Ryan.
We were all so sure about him until we arrived at the altar and the way it all felt wrong. It was pure bile swimming in my stomach threatening my lunch to come up, because I couldn't bear to put any dinner down my throat.
The real person wrecked was Cheyanne, who fell for Ryan’s charm as soon as he stepped foot on campus.
She tried to protect him, but at that point, we were so desperate to get out of our own hell that anyone attracted to us became the center of a witch hunt.
Cheyanne may seem cold on the outside, but her insides were as warm as anyone’s. Her first love had been ripped from her arms in the hopes he’d set us free.
Boy, were we wrong.
After sending Cheyanne into a full personality change, we put a lot more caution into the ritual that we did before.
She used to be normal, piercing-free, even nice .
Now she was this hard shell that terrified even me sometimes. There was no more guilt, shame, or even fear of the repercussions; she was unapologetically looking for an escape, no matter what it cost.
She stared up at me, like she resented how much I saw her as broken now. Really, I just saw how much I was about to be her if Arianna wasn't in fact the one.
“You let me know when you're done doing your little magic show and have some fucking answers,” I practically growled at her, before I stormed out of the dining hall, more pissed off than ever.
My mind was still stuck on Arianna, the ritual, and all the trouble she was creating in my life. On the way out, I crashed into her like my thoughts conjured her up right in front of me.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Arianna. Watch where you're going!”
I stepped away from all her books, papers, and phone, which clearly cracked when it fell. I wasn't about to help, so the least I could do was move out of the way.
She kneeled down, looking up at me. “You don't have to be such an asshole. Are you shooting for some kind of award?”
I stood above her, exactly where I liked to be, above everyone, looking down at her only to prove a point.
She can sit on me like a throne, but I will always be king.
“I have my reasons. What are yours for being so clumsy?”
I didn't expect her to answer me. I was being more asshole than normal.
“Well, you don't have to keep being an asshole to me.”
She actually thought she was different, held some meaning, all because I took her back to my room. That didn't win her any brownie points. I leaned down, eye level, while she picked up her stuff defeatedly.
“Prove it, and I'll stop being an asshole.”
I made sure she looked at me when I said it before I got up and ambled down the hallway away from her, the mess, as the pain in my chest filled with doubt that she wasn't the one.
Anyone on the football team was excused from our last two classes on days we had games.
It wasn't really a luxury if you knew our coach.
He was permanently dressed in Arcadia pride, all navy and maroon, all the time. He was a cliché if we were being honest. He blew his knee out a few months into going pro, and it never healed right for him to get a second shot at his dream.
Coaching a private school’s team? Probably wasn't even Plan B for this guy.
I changed into my under armor, leaving my pads alone until actual game time. On game days, we didn't actually run plays or get to hit anyone until the other team stepped onto the field. No, instead we did cardio, which normally meant laps until someone either threw up or passed out. I had seen both happen, even in the shadow of Seattle.
I arrived on the field, pushing myself between Austin and Nyx, trying to find what their gaze was stuck on. On the other side of the field was the team we would play in two hours and their cheerleaders in smaller outfits than our own wore.
They were early, by hours, and I was aware they didn't come from that far. Our coach came up next to us, arms folded against his chest, eyes squinting in their direction.
“Their field is under construction, and they needed a place to practice. I never told them we'd be welcoming. You're welcome, boys.”
Nyx reached over me to slap Austin’s hand in excitement, completely ignoring me and going right for my runner up. I watched a brunette cheerleader smile and look down when our eyes met out of embarrassment of getting caught.
“Still mad at me?”
Nyx bulldozed into me when he walked around me and onto the field, clearly making a point. Yep, still mad.
I followed him, throwing my hands out in a clear defeat.
“Everyone knows you two like each other. It was a bad joke, okay?”
He turned around, rushing towards me, until his face was an alarming distance from mine. “It wasn't yours to joke about. You're just mad, because no one is ever gonna love an asshole like you. You wanted to be king? Now you are. Lonely, huh?”
I wanted to fight back. I wanted to push him out of my space. I wanted to do a lot of things that would make him my enemy, but I didn't.
Instead, I shouted right into his good looks: “I didn't want any of this, and I didn't ask to be anything. I stepped up because no one else was.”
Nyx started chuckling, like anything I said was actually funny. He even pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force it to die down into a more controllable state.
He patted my shoulder before he walked backwards shouting so effortlessly. “Keep me, my feelings, and Luna out of your mouth. Oh, and Bolton? Next time? Just apologize.”