Nothing had worked since Lev’s death—not stellar grades, not the cigarettes or the vaping cartridges I stole from Lord, or even me swilling from a bottle of vodka while sitting on Mom’s bed and talking to her last week.
Hugh grunted. “You’re pushing it with him. No matter who your parents are, it won’t help if Lord and his buddies decide to take you down.”
Hugh was a nice kid, and I actually liked spending time with him. He was easygoing and funny, unlike most of the kids here at Holyoke, who I simply couldn’t stand to be around.
Lord yanked his arms from his friends’ hands and turned to glare at me. Just to piss him off more, I waved. Lord’s face darkened, but he strode off.
“I’m not sure I want to take advice from the punk who kissed Naomi after lunch today,” I said, turning toward Hugh.
Fear seeped into his features before he stood up straight. “She kissed me.”
“I know. That’s the only reason I haven’t pounded you into the ground. Except I don’t need to hit you to ruin you, and we both know it.”
One call—that’s all it would take to blackball Lord or Hugh. Not just because my mother, Carolina, had been the supermodel when she married my father, and because of that fame, she still had a packed schedule. Or because my father, Brad, was one of the hottest names in rock. Nope. Carolina Syad Porter’s father, my Pop Syad, had more money than most countries. His bank account made us Porters look like paupers.
“You wouldn’t,” Hugh said, eyes wide.
“You remember what an obnoxious little shit I was in elementary school,” I said. That was part of the reason I didn’t hate on Hugh, even after today’s incident. I’d known him since kindergarten—and he’d been nice to me after Lev died.
“But that was before. And since, you know, your brother died, you’ve been…”
Fucked up. I was so fucked up. If Lev hadn’t drowned in the lake behind our house last year, maybe my mom wouldn’t have turned to substances and my dad to pounding anything with a vagina to forget their shared pain.
Their vices left me unable to move forward and unwilling to fall back—a terrible limbo I’d been stuck in so long it felt…if not normal then conventional. And I hated this conventional space I existed in.
Hugh continued to meet my gaze, his irises too dark, but it was my insides that were black around the edges. Hugh was from a relatively normal family—if any family that lived among the sprawling homes and ranches dotting the Hill Country could be considered normal. I didn’t think they could—not after I’d turned on the news a couple of months ago and caught the latest crazy-town events happening at the house next to ours, where Camden Grace lived.
Cam was a rising star in the music world, and I’d met him two years ago at a music festival where my dad first played the song I’d created. Cam had performed a stage over from my dad’s band, and I’d soaked up his edgy sound and deep, dark Springsteen-like lyrics. When Cam found out who I was—from his security chief, Chuck—he’d invited Lev and me to hang out backstage. Lev had been into a girl, and more interested in following her around, but I stayed with Cam for a few hours and learned that he lived in my neighborhood back in Texas.
He’d invited me to jam with him a few times after that, but then he had a groupie break into his place and burn the house to the ground. His leaving had coincided with Lev’s death last year, so I’d lost my brother and my pseudo-friend/mentor.
That left me with Hugh.
Hugh was taller than me now, with dark hair to go with his tawny complexion. His plastic-surgeon dad was Greek or Haitian or something—I’d never bothered to ask because it didn’t matter, really. The important detail was that Hugh never pushed me about my mom or my brother. That’s why I let him stick around.
And now, as Hugh continued to hold my gaze, even knowing that I’d expressed interest in Naomi, I gave him mad props for the show of bravery.
“Like I said, she kissed me, and I like her back,” Hugh said. “Like, a lot. So take someone else.”
“Or what?” I asked, my voice soft. Naomi was pretty and fun. I liked the idea of kissing her, but to like her the way Hugh seemed to? No, I wasn’t that stupid.
Hugh swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Or I’ll quit hanging out with you.” His voice cracked and then broke.
I studied him. “You’d do that—over a girl?” I asked.
For a moment, Hugh’s resolve dimmed, and I thought I’d broken him, but then he straightened. “Yeah. For Naomi I would.”
I shrugged, even as I wondered if I’d ever like a girl enough to forfeit a friendship. After seeing my parents’ implosion, I doubted I’d ever even bother with a girlfriend.
I wondered if I’d ever have another friend, a true one, like Lev had been. Like Cam had tried to be.
I wondered about a lot of things during ninth grade, especially since I cut myself off from Hugh after that day and didn’t have much of anyone else to talk to.
But that was all before I met her.
Well, met might’ve been too strong a word. I heard about the new chick when our English teacher informed us of a lame-ass project that was supposed to help us with those all-important communication skills.
I grimaced. I didn’t need to work on stupid English syntax. I needed to write a hit song so my dad would look at me with pride and excitement again. So we could be a family.
“We’ve been asked to set up a pen-pal relationship with an incoming student,” Ms. Gates, our English teacher, explained. “She’s currently in Nepal with her mother. When Aya Aldringham returns to the United States, she’ll attend Holyoke.” Ms. Gates said this with glee, which led me to believe this Aya chick’s family was loaded and had been very, very generous in their giving. “And we can all agree that it’ll be nice for her to have friends.”
I rolled my eyes, already hating on this rich girl, gaming the system.
“Each of you will send Aya an email, as she’s quite anxious about joining our class,” Ms. Gates said.
I snorted. No way, no how.
“Here’s a picture of her.”
I glanced up at the smart board where Aya’s picture bloomed on the white space. As soon as I saw those eyes peering out from all that smooth, tanned skin, my mouth went dry. I knew those eyes. A memory wormed its way to the surface: a girl with a shy smile, a wave, white sand…the shell I still kept on my nightstand.
A buzzing started in my ears. I couldn’t look away from those thickly lashed eyes. Those eyes mesmerized me.
They were purple. No, not purple. I continued to study them. A more bluish tone near her pupil that radiated out into… Hell, I took art. What was that color called? Violet. Yeah. The chick’s—Aya’s—eyes were violet. The shade was even more striking against her dark hair.
And they were soft, filled with knowing—like she understood how hard it was to be the rich, famous kid. Like she cared that my brother was dead, that my only friend, Hugh, had chosen a girl over me, and that my buddy Cam was busy living his life—and not interested in the fact that my mom cried herself to sleep every night.
Maybe Aya did understand all that. Maybe. I mean, her parents hadn’t even realized she’d been so close to danger all those years ago. I’d dragged her out of the waves—something I hadn’t been able to do for my brother. But that little girl…I’d saved her. And she’d looked up at me like I was the most heroic person ever.