1 9
See You
Malia takes me shopping the next day.
It's completely out of the blue. We haven't exchanged more than ten words a day since I've moved back, and yet, here we are. At the mall, acting as if we're two best friends wanting to spend the day together.
Apparently, all it takes is not liking the same girl to make us bond.
"What do you think?"
Malia leisurely looks my way, facial expression giving away nothing as she nods once and says, "It's nice."
"Cool," is my lame response.
I don't know what else to say to her. A frown comes to my face as I turn around and head back into the changing room. I take my time changing out of the dress I tried on, exchanging it for the clothes I came in.
I've never been the type of person to seek approval from others. It's not because I'm some girl who thinks she's better than everybody, because that's certainly not the case, and I know it. There's obviously girls much prettier than me out there. I learned that from a young age when all eyes landed on and stood glued to Malia the second we entered a room. Even in Florida, I didn't get much attention. Not until Liam came along. That's when I gained more confidence, but even then, I still knew I would never be the prettiest girl in the room.
There's nothing too beautiful or too ugly about me. I'm average, and I'd become okay with that over my high school years.
I don't have that wow factor like Malia does, or hell, even Jessica. As much as I hate to admit it now, after what that bitch did, she's always been beautiful. She was the one people stared at when our trio entered a room, and Bea and I had grown okay with that. We were okay with her being the pretty one, and us being the fun ones. Years of being by Malia's side prepared me for it.
But being back here, back by my dear cousin's side, makes all those ugly insecurities come rushing back.
She's always had this natural talent of making me feel like I'm not enough, and the sad part is, I don't even think she's trying too. Just by being herself, her overly beautiful and confident self, she makes me feel like shit.
When I walk out the room after my fair share of self-loathing for the day, I see Malia's moved to the counter, waiting for me.
We looked at hundreds of clothes in twenty different stores, and I bought enough dresses and shoes and jeans to last me all the way till the summer, but all Miss Carrington bothered to get with her new dad's black card is my stuffânothing for herself.
"Why are you not getting the dress?" Malia asks when I reach her.
I look down at the shirts hanging over my arm, then shake my head at her. "Didn't fit right."
Malia sends me a confused look, but quickly drops it in exchange for an annoyed glance. It's gone before I can start an argument over it.
Maybe if she didn't seem so distant I'd have actually believed her when she said the dress was nice.
The cashier begins ringing up my clothes, and once again, as I reach for the credit card my parents gave as a we're sorry for being so shitty all your life gift, Malia quickly hands hers over.
I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting to have the no I'll pay debate with her another time today. Instead, I sigh and walk off, needing some space.
Malia says nothing as I leave. I'm sure she knows I can't go far, seeing as she drove, though I wish she hadn'tânot only because now I can't escape her, but because she's so fucking bad at it.
She doesn't speed, she's actually extremely cautious. She's just so jittery behind the wheel. If I had to take a guess as to why, I'd say it's because she didn't actually get her license on her own. I'm sure Mr. Carrington has enough authority to simply buy his new child a license as if it's fucking grocery shopping.
My mouth goes dryâprobably from talking so much shit about Malia, even if it's only in my mind.
I walk further down, trying to remember where the juice cart we passed earlier was. Malia said they're littered all over this mall, so there should be one somewhere here. I don't want to venture too far from my cousin, especially in this big ass mall.
The last thing we need is to play our own version of Where's Waldo trying to find each other.
A smile comes to my face when I spot the sign for one of them, and that smile only grows brighter when I spot Elijah behind it.
He's wearing an orange apron that has a small smiling orange in the right corner with Crushed Oranges by it, showing off the logo and name of the juice cart.
"Hey," I say as I walk closer, till I'm standing in front of his cash register.
"Lyndon, hey," he says while placing a hand to the back of his head.
"I didn't know you work here."
I watch as his hand drops to his side, then quickly moves into his pocket, before finally settling back at his side, fingers toying with the ends of his apron.
"For how long?" I add on, realizing he's not speaking. In his defense, I didn't give him much to respond too.
"I have been crushing oranges for a little over a year now," he says while pointing to the oranges lined up in the display case next to him.
"These drinks are made fresh?" I ask with enthusiasm in my voice.
"Are you implying you've never had a drink from Crushed Oranges before?"
"I gotta say, the name never sounded too appealing to me," I say while shaking my head and trying to fight off a small smile.
Elijah sucks his teeth with fake disappointment. "Shame on you. Judging a book by it's cover."
My eyes go to the cashier on the other side of the cart, handing a drink over to her customer. "The drink doesn't look appealing, either."
An offended gasp comes from Elijah, as he brings a hand to his chest, fighting off a smile but failing. "How dare you insult my livelihood."
"Change my mind," I say while shrugging my shoulders.
"Which drink would you like, m'am?" He asks with what I'm assuming is his professional voice.
I scan the menu quickly, before deciding, "I'll take whichever drink you think is the best, sir."
Elijah nods and moves to begin making it, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead as if this drink will make or break his juicing career.
The laugh I let out at his antics fades when I feel my phone vibrating. I'm ready to scream, thinking it's my mother already harassing me for details, seeing as she was so excited when I told her I was going out with Malia this morning.
Instead, I see Dude on my screen. My eyes widen. I haven't spoken to Jalen since... well, since I finally got the kiss I've been pretending I didn't want all this time.
But the kiss doesn't erase everything else that happened before and after it.
Everything with Cortney, Malia, David, and Daniel has been swirling around nonstop in my mind all fucking night. I can't pretend none of it happened. Even if the cryptic warnings, overly extravagant parties, and shady antics aren't his fault, they're all related to him.
Plus, I'm still a little salty he never mentioned the party to me in the first place. Finding out through gossip on the damn lunch line is irritating.
So, because of that, I'm gonna make him sweatâjust a little.
No matter how amazing the feel of his soft lips was, and how good of a kisser he is.
I hit decline before I lose the willpower too. But, of course, I feel a little bad, so I shoot him a quick text: out, can't talk. Short and simple, but most importantly, readable.
I just can't hear his voice right now. It's obvious that the second I do, I'll forget everything else that's going on.
"Voila," Elijah says from behind the counter. "If you hate it, I'm quitting."
"Oh my damn. My anxiety cannot take that kind of pressure," I say with widened eyes.
After taking a sip and a much longer time than necessary to give my verdict, I laugh at the exaggerated breath of relief Elijah exhales when I tell him in my best Tony the Tiger impression, it's great.
And then I begin wishing I could just stay here a little longer, talking and laughing with him, able to pretend Malia's not somewhere waiting for me and my phone's not beginning to ring again.
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"Holy shitsticles! You really did make out with Jalen Uccello?"
I quickly move my fingers to lower the volume on my phone, already cursing myself for hesitating to answer when Rachel asked, letting those few seconds of silence give her the confirmation she wants.
I should have ignored her fucking phone call.
"How in the world did you even hear that?" I waste my time asking, already knowing it has to have been from a rumor, but who the fuck would have even known about it happening?
I knew I was getting weird stares in the hallwaysâokay, more like weirder stares than usualâand some looks of jealousy was mixed in there, but I assumed that was because people witnessed Jalen desperately trying to get my attention.
Maybe it wasn't so much desperate, just him actually putting in some effort.
He called my name out once over the past week, and it was so loud and firm that everyone had turned their head as if their name was Lyndon. I was shocked they didn't get whiplash from how fast their heads turned toward Jalen, and then toward me. I had to refrain from throwing my textbooks at all of them, because that meant they knew my real name, and just insisted on calling me London. Either that, or they thought Jalen said my name wrong.
None of that matters anyway. Clearly, whether they know my name or not, they talk about me.
And I figured I only became talked about and looked at more once I completely ignored Jalen in the hallway. I remember the shocked whispers, questioning how I had the audacity to ignore the king.
I also remember scoffing and wishing they didn't see him that way. They don't know him at all. At least, not the Jalen I know.
You know, the Jalen who doesn't tell me when his girlfriend who's not really girlfriend is throwing him a birthday party?
"How could I not have heard it, Lyndon! All everyone's been saying all week is how you crashed that party and staked your claim on Jalen! Stephanie just texted me asking if I heard the latest, about Cortney noticing you two had disappeared, so she stormed the mansion searching, and finally found you guys all over each other!"
Her enthusiasm over this topic reaches me even through the phone, worrying me. How can she find all of this entertaining? Sometimes, it sounds like more than entertainment though. I guess I could understand listening to the gossip if it's for a good laugh or because this school has made it such a normal thing. But the way Rachel acts, as if this is all that matters, so desperate to hear more about The Boys, makes me wonder if staying friends with her is wise.
Then, I want to smack myself. Because so far, she's the only friend I have that's technically not in that group.
She could never be a worse option to associate with than Malia.
"Are you almost done? I want a close seat."
Speak of the devil and she shall appear.
"Rachel, I gotta go," I say as a goodbye, not feeling up to answering what she said.
I hear her protesting on the other line, but I end the call and walk past Malia to the bleachers.
I can't believe I even let her convince me to come to a football game, but since I'd missed the last one I planned on attending, and have spent more time talking with Elijah in class since our brief talk on Sunday at the mall, it only felt right to finally attend one of his games.
Not like I had any other plans for a Friday night. Pathetically, my life has revolved around Arlin Preparatory High School since my return to New York.
"There's empty seats there," I point toward the spot, but when I get no response from Malia, I turn to look at her and see she's eyeing a spot closer to the field. When she starts walking that way, I call out, "Where are you going, woman?"
She doesn't answer, making me mutter to myself, "I am so sick of her shit."
That doesn't stop me from following her, though, or letting out the world's longest groan when she continues on until we're standing over David.
Oh come on!
"Are these seats taken, or can we sit here?" Malia asks in a sweet voice.
David looks up slowly with a smirk, already knowing who approached him just by the voice. "Does it matter? You're not someone who'll take no as an answer."
There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, an undertone holding a whole other meaning I can't decipher. But Malia does, and for once, I see the collected version of my cousin briefly slip away, hip jutting back in and perfect posture breaking.
It's quick to change, though, as Malia sends him a devilish smile and says, "Just because I don't hear it as often as you, doesn't mean I don't respect the word."
David's own smirk drops, remaining with a stoic face as Malia takes the seat next to him and then claims his drink as her own.
She turns to me with aâsomewhatâkinder smile. "Sit, Lyndon."
And like her dog, I obey. There's already enough awkward tension floating around. I don't need to add to it.
I begin searching the field for Elijah or Daniel. I told them both I'd be coming tonight, and they'd both told me how happy they were I'd finally show up.
But I really only believed it when Elijah said it, seeing as Daniel quickly asked if I was coming with Noah. When I informed him that Malia wasâunfortunatelyâmy ride, his happiness deflated. It wasn't such an obvious reaction, but I noticed it, even when Elijah didn't and continued explaining his role in the game to me, so I knew what to cheer for and what to boo at.
Now that I'm here, I feel better about the decision. Even more so when Elijah takes the field with his team and, somehow, finds me amongst the crowd, waving eagerly.
Just as I smile and wave back, I feel someone take the seat next to me. The warmth is unavoidable, and as the satisfying smell of their cologne reaches me, I know who it is.
My smile and arm drop, turning his way, feeling my stomach flip when I see those navy blue eyes sparkling at me. But the frown on his face makes one come to mine, knowing I might be the reason it's there.
"You've been avoiding me," Jalen states, barely audible over all of the cheers surrounding us as the game starts.
I say nothing, choosing to instead take in his appearance. He looks tired, like usual, but there's something off. Sadder than usual, darker bags under his eyes, making my heart momentarily break thinking it's because of me.
It can't be. We barely know each other... right?
"Will it be like this all the time?" He asks, aggravation clear in his voice. "I do something to annoy you, then you avoid me until I guess what's made you mad?"
My brows furrow at his tone, frown deepening. His eyes scan my face before he sighs and scoots closer. His voice lowers as he says, "I'm lost, Lyndon. I don't know what's bothering you."
I'm lost, too, Jalen. I don't know half of what's going on when I'm with you.
His mouth opens and closes, fingers twitching, before he brings a hand to his face and rubs his temple.
"It was the kiss, wasn't it?" He shakes his head before continuing. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have done that. I didn't want you to feel pressured, and that's what I ended up doing."
"What? No," I finally find my voice. Whether I'm annoyed at him or not, I don't want Jalen thinking the kiss was only his choice. "It's not that. It'sâit's..."
I can't seem to say the words, suddenly finding the whole thing stupid.
How many more times can I be reassured that there's nothing real between him and Cortney? How many public displays of affection will Cortney put on? Because that's all it seems to be. Little shows she does when she has an audience. Once in the hallway with the students, and the other at the party with her parents.
So far, what Jalen and Malia said adds up. It's not real. It's just for show.
If I really like Jalen, then that's something I need to deal with. I'm not sure yet just how much I'm willing to put up with, and in this moment, I'm deciding that I still have time to actually decide. After all, I'm still in no shape to be in any kind of relationship.
No matter how beautiful or exciting or great of a kisser Jalen is, that doesn't erase the fact that I was cheated on because of one minor inconvenience in a relationship.
Trust is obviously an issue for me.
But when I look back into Jalen's ocean eyes, and take in how worried he looks for what I'm about to say, I can't help but smile and wish I could just kiss his frown away.
"It doesn't matter," I finally say, deciding to dismiss my previous worries. "All that matters is that I... I wanted you to kiss me. I kind of initiated it myself. If anything, I should be worried that you felt pressured."
Jalen's shoulders drop in relief before he's letting out a loud laugh that catches the attention of everyone around us.
"True," Jalen says in a low voice, aware of the eyes on us. "But I wasn't the one dodging calls and running in the halls."
"That rhymed," I point out.
Jalen smiles and shakes his head, then moves even closer, making me notice he has each leg straddling a side of the bench, allowing our faces to be less than a hair length apart, my arm touching his chest as he speaks. "Just to clarify, we both didn't feel pressured, meaning we both wanted to kiss."
The cheeky smile on his face mixed with his suggestive tone has my stomach swarming with butterflies. I try to play it cool and just nod, but it's useless to fight off my smile.
"It would appear so," I say in a nonchalant tone. His growing smile has me adding, "I know I wanted to kiss you."
"Trust me," Jalen says, eyes flicking to my lips before licking his own. "I really wanted to kiss you."
Cheers erupt around us, making me worry for a second we're being overheard, but instead, the applause is for the touchdown the team just scored. I look at the field in time to see Daniel, along with the rest of the team, rushing to hug Elijah.
I missed him scoring.
For some reason, I feel guilty. I actually showed up this time, but I haven't been watching.
I know it's because of Jalen. And even though my guilt should multiple when he stands to properly sit on the bench, letting his leg press against mine as he quickly reaches out to lightly squeeze my knee with a smile, it doesn't. Instead, I smile back and try doing the same to him, hoping no one notices.
Though I don't miss David watching from the corner of my eye, or the annoyance present on his face.
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Last Thanksgiving in the Prince's house was spent in Florida with screaming and yelling and fighting happening before the meal was finished being served.
Everything that could have possibly went wrong did. I had expected my parents to argue, and even expected squabbles to ensue between my brothers and I seeing as my parents' problems somehow always ended up becoming ours. I expected those petty insults and harsh words, but what I wasn't prepared for was just how severe the damage ended up being.
If I had to pinpoint the moment in which I knew there was a chance we'd move again, it would've been during that dinner. I had figured something drastic needed to happen in order to save their disastrous relationship.
Holidays always bought out the worst in us, and this year is no different.
"More gravy, honey?"
It's almost comical how Noah, Knox, and I all look up at the same time, pure confusion engulfing our faces. Hearing our mother speak so sweetly to our father has got to be the most shocking thing we've ever heard.
"Yes. Thank you, Elle," Dad answers, accepting the bowl from her while flashing her a kind smile.
I continue pushing my food around on my plate, appetite long gone now.
I catch Noah's eye from across the table, resulting in him mimicking putting a gun to his head and pulling the triggerâclearly a much better alternative to whatever the hell is happening here.
Poor Knox still has an empty plate, having pushed our mother away when she offered to serve him earlier. Of course she only offered after serving and kissing her husband as she did so.
With the scowl on my baby brother's face, it's obvious he's realizing he's not her priority anymore. No one else matters as much as Dad does to Mom when they're on good terms. Suddenly, all Mom can do is make sure they stay that way, pushing aside any and everything else.
The funny part is that by doing so, she only pisses Dad off. He hates being the center of attention, and she loves making him it. It's ironic as hell.
But tonight, as I expect him to finally have enough and tell her to leave him alone, the opposite happens. He welcomes her attention, giving her just as much in return.
I think it's safe to say this is making my brothers just as sick as it's making me.
With Knox, I know it's more so because of his own pent up resentment towards Dad. Being the biggest mama's boy in the world has left him taking everything Dad does to her personally.
Noah and I are just mad at how shitty of a father he's become. We couldn't give less of a damn about their relationship.
The difference between my twin and I is that he prefers them getting along to them arguing. It saves him from feeling obligated to step in when their fights start to get heated.
I prefer the fights. The arguments and slamming doors and leaving. I've grown used to it, and sadly, comfortable with it. It's much better than what they're doing now.
Pretending nothing's wrong, when we all know nothing is right in their toxic ass relationship.
Just last Thanksgiving they were on the brink of divorce, worrying even me that their arguing had gone too far. I felt even worse because they'd actually involved me, letting the fact that I'd gotten kicked off the swim team cause more issues in their relationship. After that fight, Dad leaving Florida the next month and never coming back came as no surprise to either of us kids, even though it hurt all the same when he never bothered to call any of us after New Year's Eve.
I wish they'd ended things that night, rather than sitting here holding fucking hands as if we're high schoolers, rather than a family that's been separated for months. Broken for far longer than that.
I wish they'd just be my parents. Just be co-parents to each other.
How can I be the only one who sees that as the best option for everyone here?
"How's school going?"
Dad's enthusiastic voice has me dropping my fork, letting it clink loudly against the plate in this quiet ass room. His eyes find mine, making my teeth grind together in annoyance at the sight.
I hate looking at his face and almost seeing my own. The similarities between us are frightening, because though I wish they were purely physical, I know deep down that our personalities aren't too different.
He's got to be the one person I despise most in the worldâmaybe even topping Liam and Jessica, though I'd rather beat the shit out of them than ever fight my father. Maybe that's because, despite my feelings toward him, I could never fully hate him for sharing some of my bad qualities.
That doesn't mean I can't act like I hate him, or at least show how infuriating he and his wife are. Especially when they're both sitting here, acting as if they're something they're most certainly not.
"I made the track team," Noah announces, sensing the tension and wanting to diffuse it.
My jaw clenches. That happened weeks ago. Did Dad really not know?
"Oh wow, congratulations, bebé," Mom says with a smile, briefly glancing at Dad.
This bitch. She's totally faking. She knew he made the team. She was standing right next to me when Noah came in and yelled it out loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.
She's pretending so Dad doesn't feel like shit for not knowing after all this time. This woman will do anything to cater to him.
"We knew." I remain expressionless as I speak. "You told us about a month ago."
Mom sends daggers my way before turning toward Dad. All he does is send me a knowing smile, before facing Noah and asking, "When's your next meet?"
When Noah actually answers, allowing them to dive into a whole conversation about it, I have to stop myself from chucking my fork at my twin. I know this is how he copes with everythingâdiffusing the situation, making things fun and lightâbut it's not me. I can't sit here and pretend we're fine.
I can't pretend we're a family.
The sound of my chair scraping against the brand new hardwood floors echos around the room, garnering the attention of everyone.
"I'm done," I say out of courtesy because, after all, they're still my parentsâthey pay for everything and supply this roof over my head.
Mom sets her glare on me, assuming I'll crumble under her stare. When I don't, she says sternly, "Sit down, Lyndon. You weren't dismissed."
I reel my head back, losing the one ounce of respect I tried showing. "Good thing I didn't ask to be dismissed. I said I was done, so I'm done."
They can take that any fucking way they want too. Done with dinner, done with them, done with it all. I don't care.
I half expect my mother's shoe to come flying at me as I walk away, but instead, conversation continues at the table.
It's both a relief and hurtful that they can carry on so easily without me.
Closing my bedroom door behind me and locking it, I reach for my phone, needing to talk to someone. Anyone.
Rachel's name is the top one in my messages, meaning she sent me a text a few minutes ago. I don't bother reading it before dialing her number. She's not the ideal person I'd like to speak too right now, but at least I know she was just by her phone. Hopefully it hasn't gotten too far from her since.
Her laugh greets me after just two rings, followed by, "That was fast."
I sit on my bed. "What was fast?"
"Your answer," she says with another giggle. "I figured you would, though, considering what we just found out."
"I am so confused right now," I say, joining in on her laugh, thankful for this distraction.
She lets out a disappointed sigh, tsking as she says, "This is why we need to read our messages, Lyn."
"Don't call me that," I say with animosity in my tone, unable to shake the feelings that come with that once beloved nickname.
Good thing I didn't eat a damn thing. I would've thrown up from the memories that name just bought.
I try to push away the memory of Liam being the one to comfort me after last year's horrible dinner. I want to cry at the fact that he won't be doing that this year, that he won't do it ever again.
"I'm sorry, Lyndon," she says, enunciating the words carefully. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Her worry is clear. I've noticed Rachel's always on edge around me, scared to lose me for some reason. I never understood it, because she seems to have so many other friends. But now, I think that maybe it's less about me and more about just having someone there. Maybe she's the type that wants as many friends as possible.
Just wanting to have someone there is understandable. I'd do anything to have someone right now. Someone to hold me back together, the way Liam always did.
Ugh, stop thinking of him! He cheated on you! With your best friend!
My eyes sting with tears at the reminder. I blink them away and ask with a shaky voice, "What did you just find out?"
Again, I need the distraction, no matter how stupid it is.
"That the Uccello's and Rousso's are spending Thanksgiving together. Cortney raved about it all day in school apparently. I just found out now. I would've told you earlier so we could've planned something out."
I let out a watery laugh, not even bothering to blink away the next tear that drops.
"Of course," I mutter to myself at the news. "Wait, plan what out?"
"Your way in, of course! The same way you planned on getting into that party two weeks ago!"
"I didn't plan that out, it just... happened," I clarify.
"And it worked out great for you!" She sings.
I stay silent, agreeing that it did work out, but that wasn't my intention. It seems like I'm being thrown curveballs in life, and just doing my best to not get hit with them. I got lucky and finally caught one that day.
"Do it again," Rachel suggests happily.
I'm horrible at catch. I doubt I can pull off another stunt like that.
"Don't let Cortney get away with stealing Jalen," Rachel goes on. She's nowhere near as convincing as Malia, but luckily for her, she doesn't need to be. I don't agree that Jalen's being stolen away, because he's a person, not a thing, but I get what she means. And though he's not necessarily mine to steal, I want someone. Even if it's just for tonight. "Oh my gosh, you should go to his house!"
I'm hanging up and dialing Jalen's number before I can convince myself not to.
This feels eerily similar to the first night we talked on the phone. I had called him, worried as all hell and rushing to do it before I changed my mind, just as I am now.
It rings a few times, enough for me to second guess my decision.
Finally his deep voice comes across the line, sounding confused but not at all angry as asks, "Lyndon?"
"Um, hi," I answer, trying to give myself time to really think this through.
"Did you mean to call me?" He asks, but again, he sounds more confused than anything.
"Yeah, I, um," I begin, before shaking my head and deciding that this is what I want right now. "I did."
"Did something happen?" His voice grows quieter.
I don't know who's around or what's going on, but I ignore all of that and ask something I'm sure he won't expect, throwing his words from before back at him.
"Can I come see you?"