Текст книги "Devious Minds"
Автор книги: K. F. Germaine
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter Forty
Between pacing my bedroom and checking my phone every minute, I was slowly losing my mind. Sydney’s radio segment was prerecorded. I knew it was old because I’d heard that same diatribe about the dubious cafeteria sloppy joe meat before. Sydney had questioned the meat’s authenticity. She speculated the campus’ feral cat population had conveniently declined at the same time the sandwiches made the Northern menu.
So what was she doing all this time? And did I really want to know?
It was close to eleven when her truck pulled into the driveway. When I heard her douse the engine, a mixture of trepidation and relief settled into my already churning stomach, but mostly the fear part.
This was it.
I was going to tell Sydney the truth and lose her forever. Or I was going to tell Sydney the truth and probably lose her forever. So you could say I was screwed.
Dread won over relief when angry footsteps stormed down the hall. Then as quickly as they came, they stopped, right in front of my door.
A nearly inaudible knock sounded against the oak, and I jumped.
“Gray?” Sydney’s soothing voice crept under the door like a poisonous gas. “Baby, open up. It’s Sydney.”
She called me baby? This is a trap. All men know the female trap, and Sydney was laying down a snare at this very minute.
“Sydney, I can explain,” I said, locking the door and checking its strength. “Are you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” Her honeyed voice was coated with bitterness. “It’s getting cold in the hallway. All I’m wearing is lingerie. I bet Chance’s room is warm.”
I placed my hand on the knob but jerked back as if it were a hot flame.
Trap, Gray.
“Sydney, please.”
“Please what?” Her voice turned into a siren’s roar, almost shaking the door from its hinges.
“I can explain everything.”
She slid a piece of paper under the door, and I swished it around with my foot. Satisfied it wasn’t laced with any fine white powders, I picked it up.
Syd, Great time tonight. I totally agree with everything you said. Jacob is better for Bella than Edward. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you read the book. No need for threats.
Anyways, my phone battery is dead. Jack’s taking me home. Ur my best friend. I love you so much. Ur like the cool older aunt I never had.
Hugs and smooches ~Ally (followed by a series of asymmetrical, badly drawn hearts)
“A note from Allison?” The paper was familiar, and when I examined the torn edge, I realized it came from my sketch pad.
Fuckity fuck.
“Turn it oooovvvvveeerrrrr.”
Flipping it over, I saw my handwriting. Then I saw my words. Then I saw my sentences. Then I saw my life flash before my eyes. It was my detailed notes on Sunday Lane.
Ripping the door open, I pulled Sydney inside before she could clock me. Which she was just about to do, because her fist was already raised toward my left eye.
“Stop.”
She slammed her palms into my chest. “You made me wear an Iron Man costume,” she said through clenched teeth.
For a second, I lost myself. It was all I could do to keep from laughing at her adorable scrunched-up face… that was now turning red… that was now turning purple…
“Sydney, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to tell you I love you. I was going to tell you about this, I swear.” Open mouth, insert every foot under this roof.
Holy crap, is there a color deeper than purple? Yes, blue.
Sydney was blue-faced, and dropping my arms to my sides, I closed my eyes.
Slap me. Punch me. Do whatever you want. I wanted her to get it out of her system, but nothing came.
When I opened my eyes, she was sitting on my bed, tears pouring down her face.
“Shit, Sydney.” I rushed over but kept a healthy distance. “Please, I’m so sorry. I was pissed about my car, and it all just spiraled, but I didn’t mean for it to go this far. We were playing a twisted game.”
“I don’t even have time to waste being pissed at you, Peters.”
I moved to rub her back, but she jerked away.
“I have bigger problems—my identity is coming out.”
“No, it’s not. Allison won’t say shit.”
“Not Allison, you idiot—Katharine DeSonna. That emaciated bitch. She knows about me, and it’s your fault.”
“Katharine?”
“Yes, and I can’t stop her.” She moaned as a fresh round of tears slipped down her cheeks. “Is this it?” she asked, grabbing the note from my hand. “Is this all, Gray?”
I had to blink a few times. Was this possible? Sydney was forgiving me?
“You’re gonna forgive me?” Sinking down on the bed next to her, I ran my palms over my eyes. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t tearing up my room, screaming in my face, shredding my curtains with a knife.
Wiping her arm across her eyes, Sydney angled her body toward me. “Just tell me you screwed with me for a few weeks… ran me around campus… tried to steal Jack’s virginity? That’s all?”
“You’re not mad?”
“No, I’m fucking livid.” She narrowed her eyes to thin slits. “Allison had to wrestle a pair of scissors from my hands. I had this big, elaborate plan to come here and snip your dic—” She paused, staring directly at my crotch. “Anyway, Allison told me I was a terrible person,” she said, dropping her head to her hands. “She reminded me of all the awful things I did to people, including you, and she’s right.”
“No, Sydney.”
“She forgave me,” she whispered into her palms. “Allison forgave me for calling her a shallow puddle. She said sometimes people say things or do things they don’t mean, and she’d only forgive me if I put away the scissors and came here to forgive you.” Grabbing my pillow, she wiped her snotty face across it. “Allison said… Well, she thinks you do really care about me.”
Dropping to my knees in front of her, I rolled my hands over her thighs. “The word care doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about you, Sydney.” I took her hand and lightly kissed her palm. “I’ve never felt so scared to lose anything or anyone in my entire life as I have these past weeks.”
Sydney laughed through her tears and grabbed my other hand in hers. “I can forgive you, but you have to promise me our game is over.”
I opened my arms, and Sydney slid into them, sniveling into my sweatshirt.
She forgave me, but not for everything. The worst part was still to come.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered. Stroking her hair away from her neck, I brushed my fingers over her tattoo. Memorizing it with my fingertips. The tattoo owned by a perfect, witty, sassy girl. A girl who would no longer be mine to mess with.
“I sent that letter to the radio station,” I said, and her body stiffened in my arms. “There’s no internship offer. There’s nothing, Sydney.”
Slowly, she pushed herself from my lap, and I braced myself for her wrath but was met with deadly silence. She said nothing, but she didn’t have to because her eyes said it all.
They were so filled with venom I could feel its painful sting in my own. Soon, I found myself blinking up at the ceiling, taking short, shallow breaths. “Sydney, plea—”
“Don’t,” she whispered on a sob. Clutching at her chest, she released a pitiful noise and doubled over, lying on her side. “Do you know how happy I was?” Her voice was thick with emotion, and I was too much of a coward to look at her. “I told my mother, and she said, Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are talented, Sydney.”
She rolled over on her knees and lifted her swollen cheeks to mine, and it was impossible to divert my gaze. “That’s the nicest thing she’s said to me in years.” Then she slid her cheek across mine until I could feel her breathe against my ear. “There’s no forgiving that,” she whispered, and I closed my eyes. “You deserve nothing but the worst, Peters, and I hope you get what’s coming to you.”
Chapter Forty-One
Whoever said, Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me, was a fucking liar.
Back in grade school, I wrote a heart-warming rap for the love of my life, Jacob Deris, and I performed it in front of my fifth-grade class. A week prior, I’d been tucked under blankets on the couch with a 103-degree fever and a crush the size of Siberia (which is one and half times bigger than the US, FYI). In my delirious state, I came across the magical syndicated TV program, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
After seven episodes, I spent the rest of the afternoon sweating through my nightgown and beatboxing. Somehow I’d convinced myself my rapping skills rivaled the young Will Smith’s.
Jacob Deris didn’t agree.
At recess, Jacob chased me across the bark dust, carrying a piece of dog poop on a stick. I took refuge atop the monkey bars, and all the kids joined in the fun. Soon, I had not only canine feces tossed my way, but the ugly, nasty words that cut me to the bone. I’d never admitted my feelings about a boy again. That was until Gray Peters, and words—especially his—hurt.
“What? What the hell?” I jerked my eyes open and looked down. Arms were wrapped around my waist, I was sleeping on a pile of silk, and all I could smell was apples. A soft neighing, reminiscent of a horse who’d spotted a carrot, blew into my ear, and I turned my head. “Allison?”
Allison opened her eyes and gave me a lazy smile. “Morning, beautiful.”
Ripping her arms off me, I sat up in bed. “Allison, what are you doing in my bed?”
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned. “I heard you crying last night in your sleep, so I jumped in next to you. You fought me at first. Mumbling something like, ‘Hand’s off, micro-dick,’ but then you cuddled against me and went off to Sleepyland.”
Slipping out of the bed, Allison pulled down her skimpy tank top.
I wanted to lay into her, but she’d forgiven me last night, so I swallowed my tirade.
And she was right. I was a mess.
After I left Gray’s house, I drove for a while, listening to bad ‘80s break-up ballads, and ate three cheeseburgers at a drive-in while sobbing into my fries.
“Yum.” Allison bent down and snatched up a half-eaten cheeseburger from the floor. “It’s good to eat your carbs in the morning,” she said through packed chipmunk cheeks, devouring my leftovers. “That way you have all day to burn it off.” Flexing her scrawny bicep, she sank next to me on the bed.
Yesterday, Allison had told me Katharine was incensed when we showed up at Gray’s party. In fact, she’d threatened to kick Allison out of Kappa Delta. Understandably, an enraged Allison had handed over the note, thinking it would help her situation, but it didn’t.
Katharine had instructed Allison to ditch all things Porter, including Jack. And worse, she’d ordered Allison to publically reveal Sunday Lane by Monday or risk her dream of staying a Kappa.
“I thought you were staying at the sorority?”
“Screw Kappa Delta,” Allison responded, tossing the wadded wrapper across the floor. “I’m sick of being pushed around, and I’m sick of Katharine.”
“Allison, I need time to formulate a plan. Katharine’s going to expose me today because you didn’t show up there last night.” I began to panic, thinking now I had less time to prepare.
Allison turned with a wicked smile. “Oh, I went to the sorority last night.” She suggestively patted her tummy. “After our pledge dinner, I grabbed three cans of refried beans from the pantry and smeared them all over the bathroom.”
“What? Allison, that’s disgusting.”
She nodded. “Then I moaned from inside, and when Daphne Anderson walked by, she opened the door and screamed, ‘Oh my God, she’s shitting all over the bathroom.’ Katharine was so freaked she kicked me out and cordoned off the restroom.”
Allison crossed her arms, sporting a self-satisfied smile. “But before I left, Katharine said, ‘Do it by Wednesday, puddle, or you’re out.’”
Rubbing my palms down my swollen face, I laughed as they fell to my lap. “Allison Meyers, you faked explosive diarrhea for me? That’s the most disturbing and sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” I gave her a hug.
“And I bought you two days,” she said, arching a thin eyebrow. “Now, what happened with Gray?”
Before I could say anything, a knock came from the door, and I grabbed my covers, pulling them over my face. “If it’s Peters, don’t tell him about the BOMB IN HIS CAR,” I yelled through the cotton comforter.
I heard Allison skip to the door and then a string of frantic smacking noises.
Jack.
“I missed you, sugar bear,” Allison squealed, and I tried to poke my fingers into my brain through my ears.
“I know, sweets. I missed you, too. Where’s Sydney?”
Strong hands ripped the blanket off me, and Jack hovered over my face. “I know, Sydney,” he said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Gray called me last night. He told me about Sunday Lane.”
I felt a fresh roll of anger sweep over me. “He did?”
“I just feel sorry for Chance,” he said with a sigh. “Some people just want to make sure they’re in love before they have sex.” He glanced over at Allison, and she blushed.
“What?”
“Brown-eyed Virgin.” He laughed under his breath. “He said Chance was pretty upset, but he’s okay now. But Gray, he’s a mess, Sydney. It’s not like you haven’t been awful to him. Can’t you just forgive him?”
“It’s complicated,” I growled, and Jack scooted down the bed. “And it’s over, so we’re not talking about it.”
Jack lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Just thought I’d drop off a ticket for today’s game.”
“I’m not going to the game.” I slammed back on my pillow and pulled up my covers. “No F’n way. Besides, Mom’s in town, right? She texted me last night that she was coming in this morning. It would be the first game she’s seen. Give it to her.”
Jack sighed. “It was for her. She called this morning and said she wanted to go shopping instead and that maybe she’d hang out after, but she might be tired, so she’d see us in the morning for brunch.” His voice faded with a subtle ache only a Porter could detect.
Margot Porter had always been selfish, and even though Jack was playing it off like he didn’t care, he did.
“All the other moms will be there, Sydney.” He looked down with red-tinged eyes. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. Mom never liked football, so I don’t want to put her through that.”
I wanted to shake Jack for making excuses for Mom. She didn’t like football, that was true, but she was supposed to love her son. She was supposed to be there screaming and cheering with the other moms, bragging about Jack, the greatest running back Northern’s ever seen.
“Give me the ticket.” I held out my hand. “I’m going.”
The stadium was something out of my worst nightmares. There were thousands of Northern fans dressed in their favorite player’s numbers. Everywhere I turned, #24 Gray Peters slapped me in the face. Jack’s ticket had a special seat number for the players’ families, so at least I had some direction as I waded through the sea of blue and grey.
Making my way down corridor twelve, I located aisle B and glanced down the long row of seats. It was a prime location just off the fifty-yard line. I would be well protected in a mob of Betty Homemakers, and, bonus, maybe someone brought homemade cookies.
“Hi there.” A blonde in her mid-fifties greeted me as I sank down beside her. “Ready for the big game.”
I nodded, distracted by her large sunstone earrings (okay, this is the one time geology had paid off).
“You look a little young to have a player out there,” she teased, and I echoed her warm smile. “Who’s your boy?”
“My boy?” I asked, stiffening against the cold plastic stadium chair. “Jack Porter is my brother.”
“Jack Porter,” she squealed, gripping my forearm. “My baby Gray’s been watching out for that boy.”
I looked down at her lace-collared sweatshirt and to a silk-screened picture of a young boy in diapers tossing a football. Great.
“You must be Sydney?”
I started coughing uncontrollably, and Gray’s mom smacked me across the back. Then she grabbed a water from her purse. “Quick, drink this. They charge three dollars a bottle here! Outrageous if you ask me, and think of all that wasted plastic.”
Accepting the drink, I took a long sip. “How did you know my name?”
She chuckled as her large earrings swatted against her neck. “Oh, honey, Gray’s told me all about you. He’s over the moon about you. Doesn’t usually talk to his momma about girls, so I figured you’re something special.”
I handed her the bottle and she took a sip. “Been using the same water bottle for five years. Bet you couldn’t tell.” She winked. Glancing over the aisle, she let out a line of profanities. “Oh, here he comes.”
A tall, rotund man wearing a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket approached us at the rail. “Della, you look lovely today, as always.” His voice had a rustling slither to it. Like a snake weaving through tall grass. And Della and I both shifted uncomfortably in our seats.
“Talked to your boy this morning.” He continued, passing Della a business card. “He’s interested in early draft, and we’re interested in him. His stats are loo—”
“What’s early draft?” I interrupted. My stomach suddenly tensed and my eyes watered (must be allergies). “I mean, I’ve never heard of that term.”
The man gave me an annoyed look but answered. “It’s when a player forgoes his remaining college years and enters into the NFL draft, sweetie.” He turned to face Della. “And Gray’s as good as in… He’s got my number, Della, and this time he’s eager.” Tipping his black baseball cap, he turned and walked down the aisle.
“Despicable man,” Della mumbled under her breath. “That scout’s been on Gray’s heels since freshman year.”
My broken heart had somehow glued back together just to tease me before an anvil dropped on it again. The pieces were everywhere, and I looked up at the stadium lights, blinking away stray tears. Gray is leaving?
“Honey, don’t be upset,” Della’s soft voice whispered into my ear, and she gave me a motherly side hug. “That man’s all talk. We’ll straighten this out.”
I shook my head. “Nothing to straighten out. Gray can do whatever he wants.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I wasn’t there today. My body wore the gear, but my mind wasn’t in the game.
That is until I looked up into the stands and saw Mom chatting it up with Sydney. I prayed Mom would sneak a crystal rub on her when she wasn’t looking, and maybe I’d have a text by the time the game ended.
Nothing.
I had nothing but a chasm in my chest where my heart used to reside.
When Sydney rushed out of my room last night, all I could do was lie on my bed and bury my head into the pillow she’d used as a snot rag. I thought about texting, but what could I say? I saw the look in her eyes last night. I’d broken her trust. She’d told me she loved me, and I pissed all over it.
“Take it easy, Peters,” Chance scolded, cracking open a beer. “You’ve been pounding booze like there’s no tomorrow.” He scrolled through his text messages, laughing under his breath. “Party at Echols’s house tomorrow. His mom’s sleeping on his bed or he’d have it tonight. Should be good since there’s no school Monday.”
I nodded, staring off into the television, preoccupied with an infomercial selling electric bath towels. “We need those,” I muttered, and Chance flashed his eyes to the screen. “I hate a cold towel.”
Grabbing the remote, Chance flipped off the TV. “Feeeerrrrnnnnaaannnddooo,” he bellowed down the hall. “Take a shower. We’re going out. Peters needs to get laid.”
“Move the hell over,” I growled at Fernando. All three of us were shoved tight in the front of Chance’s truck. “And did you take a shower? Christ, you stink.”
“I showered. I just don’t use soap,” Fernando replied, raising an eyebrow at me. “My natural odor is a part of my defense tactic on the field. One whiff and they’re falling at my feet.”
“It’s a part of your defense against chicks, too, idiot.” Chance rolled his eyes as we pulled away from the house. “No wonder you’re a virgin.”
“At least I’m not the Brown-eyed Virgin,” Fernando countered on a laugh, and Chance shot me a dirty look.
I’d asked Chance to claim he was the Brown-eyed Virgin so Jack wouldn’t find out. Jack would never forgive Sydney if he knew she was talking about him. For once, Chance manned up. I owed him big time—which meant I had to drop whatever I was doing to play Call of Duty whenever he beckoned.
“Shut up,” Chance growled. “Peters, where we going? Your pick tonight. The quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?” He wagged his eyebrows, and I slumped against the window.
“SpaceRoom?” Fernando teased, and I elbowed him in the gut.
“Anywhere but the SpaceRoom. I don’t need to see Sydney and Nick flirting all night.”
Just the thought had my stomach reeling. His hands on her. His disgusting mouth over hers. I’d probably lose it if I had to witness that.
“We’re never going there again,” I announced with conviction.
“Sharbus and Sydney, huh,” Fernando said thoughtfully. “Makes sense, I guess. They did seal the deal freshman year.”
I gave him a stern glare. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Fernando ignored the threat in my tone and continued. “Yeah, I thought you knew. It was in your room, stupid. Remember? It was Potato Pancake Day with Applewood smoked bacon?”
One of Fernando’s many useless talents—linking cafeteria food to important should-have-mentioned-this-years-ago moments. I tried to keep my cool, but I felt my throat tighten and forced myself to swallow down my mounting rage. “Go on.”
Chance noticed my clenched fists, but Fernando leaned back his head and pulled his eyes up to the truck roof, oblivious. “Well, it was the night after that dorm party. The one Sydney was at… two years ago?”
He waited for my response.
“Yes, Fernando,” I said through gritted teeth. If he wasn’t responsible for my life on the field I would’ve killed him right here.
“I woke up and was super excited. I love Applewood smoked bacon because it’s so sweet, and when it’s cooked just right it’s a little soggy with some fat marbling around its edge. The potato panca—”
“Get to the point,” Chanced interrupted, knowing he’d have to do all the talking. My throat had reached another level of pain, dry and thick, too strangled to form words.
“I left the dorm room and saw Gray. He was running down the hallway toward me and I’d said, what’s up man? Potato Pancake Day and he’d said, just worked out… I’m grabbing some water… I’ll be down in a little while. You had this stupid shit-eating grin on your face, shirt off wearing just your running shoes and boxers, but you took a left into the alcove to the snack machines which I thought was strange. The water fountain was across the hallway. Well, maybe you just wanted a bott—”
I faced him. “So help me God, Fernando. If you don’t get to the fucking point I will call your Grandma Louisa and tell her what you really do on Sundays instead of church.” He spends Sundays in his boxers watching Doctor Who reruns.
“No need for threats, Peters.” Fernando twisted deeper in his seat and wrung his hands. “I stopped at Chance’s room for a minute and he blew me off too, and once I got to the elevator I saw your dorm door open. I ran over, thinking you were back, and Nick was standing over some sleeping girl in your bed—Sydney, I guess, because she had that guitar stick thingy tattoo on her neck—then I’d whispered to Nick, what are you doing in here? I barely had the words out before he’d pushed me outside the room and slammed the door.” Fernando stopped, cautiously shooting me a glance.
“That’s it?” Chance questioned, as the truck stopped at a red light.
“Well, before I could ask Nick again, Ashton Williams came strutting down the hall, proud as a peacock. He was always so cocky. I remember Ashton had said, ten on the pussy scale. What about you, Nick? I’m in the lead so far.”
My chest tightened, nearing a full on cramp, and I closed my eyes, lying my head back on the headrest.
Fernando continued. “Then Nick had answered, I got two. He’d knocked on Gray’s door and said, Quarter point on the pussy scale for that dirty bitch in there, but I took her to Pound Town. She’s learned her lesson.” Fernando mimicked Nick’s stoic tone and I took in a deep breath.
“You’re an idiot, Fernando,” Chance broke in, slamming his foot down on the gas pedal. “You didn’t think to mention this before now? Didn’t you think it was weird that Nick was in Gray’s room?”
Fernando pursed his lips together, deep in thought. “Now, I guess it seems weird, but Ashton had asked him where Gray was and Nick had said, verbatim, I told Peters to take a hike, so he stayed on the couch in the rec room.”
“What next?” Chance snapped, jabbing Fernando with his elbow.
Fernando smacked him back and said, “Then they both laughed, and Ashton asked, What about the other one? Nick answered, Brittany? She earns a ten.” Fernando gave me a slight nod and stared out through the windshield. “So yeah, they slept together, Peters. I thought you knew… You were the one sleeping on the rec couch.”
Drunk off my ass and now pissed as hell, I gave Chance a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Where does Ashton drink?”
