I shake my head and try my best not to smile at her. “When did you start becoming a badass?”
She grins. “When I saw that you stepped up when Kiki was down. I’m just following suit.”
I nod and smile at her. “Gotcha.”
“Now, come on and have a drink. We’re celebrating finally being done with that bullshit show.”
“You did great, Brisa,” I say as I follow her toward the cooler.
“Learned from the best. Been watching you dance all my life.” She opens the cooler and grabs a beer.
I shake my head. “Gross.”
“How about a White Claw?”
“Fine, but just one.”
Brisa paws through the cooler, asking, “Black cherry, raspberry, lime, mango, or—”
“Hit me with a mango.”
She tosses one to me, and I snap the tab and hold up the can. “Fuck them.”
Four mango Claws down, and I’m actually enjoying myself; somewhat because of the slight buzz, partly due to the fact that Brisa has yet to give me back my phone, which is clearly a trigger for my foul mood, and partially because we’ve been dancing.
It’s been a while since I let go, got lost in the music, the beat, and not worried about who saw me—judged me. Even on stage, I held back. It’s been that way for about a year now. The only time I haven’t had to hold back is around my family and crew. This is definitely the first time I’ve had fun with anyone at Seashore. Hell, I never even had fun at rehearsals for all those seemingly wasted months.
With Gabrielle and her crew running the show, and being completely on edge at choreography rehearsals, never knowing when the assistant choreographer, one Harrison Reeves, would show up and sit in the auditorium, tapping out notes on his phone that he’d message to the actual choreographer before leaving abruptly, never staying to give us the notes himself.
To think, I had a crush on him due to his bio and good looks. Okay, I still do a ’lil bit, but there’s no way in hell I’m acting on it.
There’s a big difference in confidence and arrogance, and it is all too clear that he’s the latter.
“Get out of your head, T. Steel.” Brisa nudges me with her hip. “Let’s dance!”
I look around and notice the little party has dwindled in size. I guess I didn’t realize it until now, but it’s just Baker, Abhi, James, Alexa, Bris, and me still here.
“You think we should head home?” I ask Brisa as I toss the can in the bag of empties.
“Hell no,” she says as she grabs Baker’s phone that’s hooked up to the Bluetooth, hip checks him, laughing, and then turns on “Seize the Day” from Newsies.
Handing it back to him, she points at me. “I, Brisa Steel, challenge the best dancer at Seashore Academy to the “Seize the Day” challenge.”
I start to shake my head, and they all boo at me. I can’t help smiling as I shake my head, looking down.
“Do it, do it, do it!” they all begin to chant.
“Fine!” I point at Brisa. “You’re next.”
“Let’s do this!” She throws a fist in the air.
Every one of us does the challenge, and yes, it’s fun as hell, even in the sand.
When it starts to rain, Baker suggests we go inside.
“Where?” I ask, looking around.
He points across the road to a small beach house.
“This your place?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah. This is Easton’s. He rents it out during the summer and for occasions like this.”
“Easton, as in the president of the student government?” I ask, following behind him.
“Yeah.”
We all follow Baker across the two-lane street, partially covered in sand.
I look around at the neighboring houses, all similar. “Does he own it?” I ask.
Nodding, Baker looks at his phone as he punches in the door lock code then opens the door. Then he waves his hand in front of him. “After you.”
Chapter Two
Idiom
Never judge a book by its cover.
Truth
It’s what’s inside that matters.
Walking in, I notice that the interior doesn’t match the exterior at all. It’s more modern than one would assume, and from what I could see of the outside under the dim lighting, I certainly didn’t expect to see this. Reason number one: it’s clean, damn near sterile, scantily furnished, and very modern. Reason number two: Tobias Easton, the boy with the perma scowl, the one who held his head up and yet never gave anyone eye contact, the boy whose style was envied by boys, unlike my cousins or brother, who gave a shit less about labels, couldn’t possibly live like this. But, as Baker said, it was apparently a rental.
“So, he just rents out his place for parties?” Brisa asks.
I notice Baker, Abhi, James, and Alexa all glancing at each other.
“What?” Brisa muses.
Alexa, who’s a bit tipsy, too, giggles. “Like Vegas—what happens at the pounding palace stays at the—”
The pounding palace?
“Lex,” Abhi interrupts her with a warning.
Brisa scowls slightly. “Like we can’t keep a secret. Our cousin Kiki is married to Brandon Falcon and having his baby. We’ve—”
“Brisa,” I interrupt and say the opposite of what I really want to say, because it pisses me off, too. “Fuck. Them.”
She smirks and nods, repeating the words she said to me earlier, “Fuck. Them.”
Baker jumps in, “It’s just, you know, we don’t want any trouble. He’s never rented this place to Abhi and me before.”
James interrupts, “He doesn’t even look at me.”
Same, brother, I think.
Baker continues, “None of our parents are chill enough to rent us a place. We had to have the guest list approved, pay extra because it was a first time and he’s not sure he can trust us yet, and promise to keep—”
When he starts nearly tripping over his words, all my annoyance shifts from those around us to … them. The four fuckers who rule the school with secrecy and some kind of sorcery. I mean, what else could it be but evil magic of some sort that keeps everyone tripping over ourselves in one way or another, including moi?
“Fuck. Them,” I interrupt Baker.
He runs a nervous hand through his blond hair. “Yeah.”
“You know what? I have no idea what crap happened before we rolled into town. Won’t even begin to try to figure out why everyone bows to them. But fuck them. I’m not playing bitch to anyone anymore.”
James chuckles. “Not one of us is playing bitch to any of them. We just wanna be them someday.”
“What’s wrong with being you?” Brisa asks.
“Not a damn thing.” Abhi, who looks like Zayn Malik with a bit darker skin, from Indian descent, answers her while tossing me a White Claw. “Life is good.”
I kind of dig his laid-back vibe, but still, he cautioned Alexa just seconds ago.
As a seeker of truth … and the fact that I’m buzzed, I ask, “What do the four horsemen of the freaking apocalypse have that you want?”