Pretty Reckless: Chapter 4

You are beautiful like a song

Ugly like a scream

But beneath your pretty bones

You’re lost from deep within

I want to dig inside the fissures of your soul

Pull out all your secrets

Dump them at your feet

Then devour your expression

For your pain shall taste so sweet

In the morning, I find a green apple with one discolored bite taken out of it on my desk when I wake up. It sits on my open history textbook where a passage has been highlighted, the yellow marker beside it.

The Romans brought apples with them when they invaded Britain.

I want to rip down the walls in the house and scream until I faint.

I settle, however, for skipping breakfast and going straight to school.

Now, in the cafeteria, I’m mostly trying to breathe regularly and survive.

“Artists aren’t team players. Only a true individualist can give birth to something of their own. You need to be both the egg and the sperm to create a masterpiece.” Blythe stands on a cafeteria bench, delivering a theatrical speech. Across the room sits Vaughn, the unaware subject of her lecture. Sitting all by himself, he sketches his next statue on a pad.

“Shit, Blythe, you even make sex sound sad.” Knight yawns.

Vaughn doesn’t eat. Like, ever. I mean, he obviously does—otherwise, he wouldn’t exist—but not in front of people. He doesn’t seem to do a lot of stuff other people do to exist. I think that’s what makes him legendary between these walls. He never goes into the restrooms at school. He doesn’t participate in PE classes. If he hangs out with a girl, you only know about it after he breaks up with her because the crazy bitch vandalizes his locker or desk or mansion. That’s the other thing—Vaughn can hang out with perfectly sane girls and turn them into bunny boilers. But the fact Vaughn refuses to choose a table and affiliate himself with a crowd? I think that’s the cherry on his popularity cake. He can sit anywhere. It’s like the world is his oyster, but he doesn’t do seafood.

“What do you know about artists?” Gus snorts, tossing half his egg and tuna sandwich at Blythe. He’s sitting on the table with his feet on the bench. It’s gross and unnecessary, but I’m not in the mood for an argument.

Blythe catches the sandwich and plops down with a grin, tearing apart the plastic wrap.

“I know they’re good with their hands. Something you’re not.”

She rips a bite off the sandwich and rolls her eyes. “Hmm, so good.”

Esme curls her long raven hair over her finger, popping her gum.

“Not to be impolite, but you guys bore me to death. Cole, go tell Vaughn to come here.”

Busy scanning the room for Luna, Knight’s neck is still craned as he answers her.

“Damn.” He pats the pockets of his jeans, then checks the pockets of his golden Gucci jacket. “I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find what?” Esme blinks.

“The memo where I start taking orders from your sorry ass.”

Everyone laughs. Even I have a smile on my face.

“C’mon, Knighty. We just want to hear about Vaughn’s summer in Italy.” Blythe tosses her hair and bats her eyelashes. I swear she would flirt with the priest officiating her funeral. Bitch is unreal.

“Please, girl. Miles from the chess club could take a trip to outer space and make a historical stop on the sun, and you still wouldn’t give him a minute of your time.” Esme laughs. She and Blythe are best friends, and she knows how much Ortiz adores Vaughn Spencer.

“Yo, Daria,” Gus hollers, and my head snaps from the salad I’ve been abusing with my plastic fork for the past ten minutes. “You’re quiet.”

And you’re surprisingly observant for once in your miserable life.

“Miss Linde is all up in my grill.” I shrug.

It’s not even a lie. Bitch hates my guts. And I loathe sitting in her class, where my parents started screwing each other. I’d ask to move, but I would have to go through the guidance counselor, and she’s already trying to corner me to investigate the Principal Prichard rumor. I don’t want Prichard to get in trouble. Then I have Penn, public enemy number one, living under the same roof. This year was supposed to be my last hurrah before going off to college, and it started as a disaster.

“Do you want to make yourself useful?” Gus licks his lips. Did I mention he’s gross? Oh. Right. Literally a second ago.

“To you?” I give him a slow once-over, stroking my chin. “Only if it involves a huge makeover followed by a nice feast of humble pie.”

Gus is a beefy, blond, all-American dudebro with a superhero jaw and wide-set, generic blue eyes, making him look like a shaved alpaca. If this were a ’90s movie, he would be the villain. Come to think about it, he already is. In addition to managing the betting ring at the snake pit, he also has a strict bed ’em and dump ’em policy that landed him in hot water with some of the parents here. And while I’m a porcupine—mean when provoked—he is a kangaroo. A straight-up bully with no direction or reason. I remember when my parents took us on a trip to Australia, and we were warned about driving at night in open areas because the kangaroos jumped onto the road to scare off vehicles. That’s Gus. Aggressive and stupid.

The only people he’s nice to are Knight, his shining quarterback hero who saves most of our games, and Vaughn, the golden egg laying hen who shows up at the pit every weekend ready to be jumped by three gang members and an F-22 Raptor.

People snicker at my comment. The table is full of football players and cheerleaders. Knight finally spots Luna across the room and slides out of our bench.

“See you later, assholes. It’s been real. Well, other than Esme’s tits.” He ambles away. Esme’s mouth goes slack, and she cups her boobs, clad in a colorful D&G dress, shifting her gaze from them to him.

Luna Rexroth refuses to sit with us. One time, when Knight was away, Gus made fun of her at the table for not talking. I didn’t stop him, and I still feel bad about that. She’s a persona non grata and isn’t worth fighting over, but she still didn’t deserve his wrath.

“Useful how, Gus?” Esme munches on the tip of a carrot, shifting the conversation from her fake tits, her eighteenth birthday gift from her parents, back to me.

“Word is Penn Scully’s paying us a visit after school to warn us off from pulling any shenanigans ahead of the game. Last year, All Saints killed the grass in Las Juntas’ field, and the broke ass pussies didn’t have anywhere to play for weeks. I figured Daria can play Judge Judy since she wants to tap it.”

My heart starts pounding so hard and fast, I feel it in my toes. Behind my eyeballs.

Marx, Marx, Marx.

“Scully?” I snort. “Hmm, no thanks.”

“Is that why you screamed when Vaughn knocked his ass to the ground?” Gus cocks his head.

“He was piss drunk. I was just worried about Vaughn getting in trouble.”

Gus runs his pale eyes over my face, his smirk unwavering. He leans forward and taps my nose with his finger.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Good thing I don’t exist to live up to your expectations.” I open an invisible mirror, giving him my middle finger. More laughter. It might look as if I’m in my element, but I’m totally flustered underneath my cute sundress and lacy black pumps.

“Prove it today at three.”

“Pass, jackass. I have cheer practice. Also, a life.”

“The whole point of cheer is to help the football team,” Esme argues, simply to defy me. She’s still butthurt about me getting cheer captain. But the thing about Esme is she fat-shames everyone into believing they can’t consume anything more than Diet Coke. Nobody wants her to be in charge of the homecoming snack menu, let alone the cheer team.

“No can do, señor douchebag.” I grab an apple from his tray and take a bite before I realize what I’m doing.

“Cheer practice is at three thirty. You’ll make it.” Blythe munches on her lower lip. Marx, I hope teenage girls grow out of the need to form alliances with The Boys Club.

“Fine. Whatever.” I stand, grabbing my red plastic tray. Sauntering out of the cafeteria, I swallow the ball of tears in my throat. I don’t want to face Penn. I know it’s stupid because we live together now, and it’s inevitable, but I hate the look on his face when his eyes land on mine. He sees past my exterior and that scares me.

The rest of the school day is a dud even though I keep my head up and my smile extra glossy. It doesn’t help that Blythe and I show up in the same Reformation dress, and all I could think was that we also share the same taste in guys.

Only Penn was never in my bed.

He kissed me just to show me that he can. Then he ripped the sea glass necklace from my throat and told me he didn’t want my firsts.

My heart clenches with every tick, tick, tick of the clock. It’s like a ticking bomb, and when it hits three, the ring of the bell explodes in my ears. Gus waits outside my class, his elbow slumped against the doorframe, his ball cap backward. He pops his gum in people’s ears as the pupils file out of class, and when I slip out, he peeks behind my shoulder and flicks his nose with his finger, sniffing.

“Isn’t that the classroom where your parents boned?”

How does everyone know that?

Because they all have parents who are alumni. People talk. People always talk.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pushes off the doorframe, and we both make our way toward the entrance and out the school gates. I try to tell myself that it is in Penn’s and my best interest to act as if we don’t know each other. This doesn’t have to be a disaster. If anything, it’s an opportunity to prove to Gus that nothing’s going on between us. I would die before ever admitting to dating a Las Juntas rat.

As we approach the gates, I spot Penn leaning against his brand-new silver-blue Prius. I bite down on my lip to suppress a snicker. Dad got him the car from a fair-trade coffee-sipping environmentalist who thinks white sugar is akin to pure heroin. Penn’s arms are knotted on his chest, and he is wearing a pair of Jax Teller Ray-Bans and a frown. His black shirt has a hole where the heart is, and his black skinny jeans highlight how tall and trim he is, especially for a wide receiver. Gus, in comparison, looks like a tank (and has about the same IQ as one).

Gus and I stop in front of Penn, far enough away to indicate this is not a social call on both ends. It feels like wielding a sword, and Gus hasn’t seen Penn’s yet, but it already has my blood on it from this morning when he promised to conquer my land and overthrow me.

“Howdy, asswipe.” Gus thrusts his hand Penn’s way for a fist bump.

“I see you brought some muscle,” Penn ridicules me. He leaves Gus’s fist to hang in the air until it drops. “Is she going to bore me to death talking about hair straighteners? Is that your strategy?”

Gus looks back and forth between us, whistling long and low.

“Oh, shit. I thought you two were banging for sure when Daria showed an ounce of emotion when you got your ass kicked by a sophomore. This bitch’s icy heart wouldn’t melt in a desert.”

“We are in the desert, idiot.” I roll my eyes.

“Exactly!” Gus wiggles his eyebrows. “How’re things, Penn? How’s your girl?”

Penn has a girl? That makes no sense. He kissed me yesterday. My heart starts beating way too fast.

“Not your business,” he snaps.

“Let’s get to the point. I have cheer practice.” I wave my hand.

“I think the point is you don’t belong in this conversation,” Penn says in that lazy, unaffected way that drives me nuts. “Gate’s that way, use it.” He motions for the school entrance.

Gus snickers, clapping Penn’s shoulder.

Okay, that’s it. Being a dick at home is somewhat acceptable, but in public? It’s a declaration of war.

“I think I’ll stay.” It’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest. “To translate your language to Gus. He doesn’t speak fluent white trash.”

“And you do?” Penn curves a devastatingly sophisticated eyebrow.

“Burn!” Gus fists the air, laughing. “Shit, you two hate each other. That’s hot.”

No joke.

Before I can think about the meaning of my words or their effect, they rush out of my mouth in a desperate plea to defend my honor.

“Fluent, actually. Your sister taught me.” I smirk.

In my defense, I hate myself even before the words leave my mouth. After they do, it feels like my heart is a sieve and all the poison gushes out. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m not even surprised when Penn’s face morphs from bored to fuming. His nostrils flare, and he removes his shades, his eyes narrowed into hooded slits.

My hand flies to my mouth. Penn’s expression turns volatile. It makes me think of the storms that rip through roofs and uproot trees.

“My, my, my…” Gus pops his gum, raising his ball cap and running his fingers through his blond hair. It’s so shiny and straight, it looks like dunes of sand flying in the wind. “Penn Scully is making enemies in high places, but I can’t say I’m surprised in the least. You were saying, Scully? I haven’t got all day. Some of us need to practice. The first game of the season isn’t one I want to lose.” He winks.

“Forget it, Bauer.” Penn shakes his head, pushing off his car. He’s leaving. He is leaving angry. Because of me. He slides into his car, and it’s all in slow motion.

I want to cry and scream, but I hit my quota of public meltdowns for this semester at the snake pit. Gus bangs his roof twice, parting ways with my new housemate with one last dig.

“Sick ride, dude. Did you steal it from a philanthropic divorcee?”

“Stole it from your ma, Gus. Although she likes a different type of ride, doesn’t she?”

Gus goes red. I don’t know why. I don’t care why. They’re both jerks.

I turn around and run back into the school. I can’t stand here. I can’t stay put. I can’t breathe.

Gus is yelling behind me that I’m becoming a freak and I should stop hanging out with the Luna girl. Not that I ever do. Luna and Knight and Vaughn and Bailey and Lev are a tight-knit group that doesn’t give a damn about what anyone thinks and have each other’s backs—and then there’s me. I give a whole bag of damns. It’s ironic since I’m one of the most feared and loathed people in school.

I run to the girls’ locker room across the football field. Since I’m late for practice, no one is there now. I swing the door open and lock myself inside a shower-changing stall. Collapsing against its wall, I drag my back along the ugly graffiti of slut-shaming words, some of them written by me, and rake my fingers down my face. Shit. Why did I have to bring Via up? Why am I such a jerk? The Hulk pounded his fists against my chest when we were out there, telling me not to show weakness.

So why do I feel so weak?

I wipe my face, down a bottle of water, and unlock the door. When I step out, I rid myself of my dress, yank my locker open, take out my cheer uniform, and slam it shut. Behind the locker, a familiar face pops into my vision.

“Fight or flight?”

I jump back, slamming my spine against the lockers.

Penn.

“What the hell, Scully?”

He’s in the girls’ locker room at a school he doesn’t even attend. He’s got the word trouble written all over him, and if my dad ever finds out we were in here alone, he is going to hang him by the balls on All Saints’ flagpole and let his broken legs flap in the wind.

Not to mention—he is seeing me close to naked. Again.

“Answer me.”

“Fight. I always fight. So, does your girlfriend know you slept with Blythe Ortiz and kissed me?” I smile sweetly, trying to look unaffected, but I immediately regret my question. I’m not supposed to know about Blythe, and I’m not supposed to care he kissed me.

Penn whistles, nodding. “Keeping tabs, Daria? I just kissed you to prove I could have you whenever I wanted you. But it doesn’t matter what she knows or doesn’t know because I don’t want you. My turn to ask a question.” He takes a step toward me, crowding me against the metal cabinets. The place is spacious, if not embarrassingly luxurious. The lockers are the color of our uniforms—blue and black—and our rich parents shelled out thousands for the fancy chrome sinks, glass showers, and upholstered navy benches.

Penn’s gaze is so penetrating, my skin blossoms into goose bumps. As though he can see beneath my skin. I’m ugly behind the tan and makeup and mascara. All flesh and inner organs and blood vessels and hate. Marx, why am I so hateful?

“Are you actively trying to be a bitch, or does it just come naturally?”

A little bit of both, the Hulk inside me explains. I’m naturally envious and petty, but being a bitch is a knee-jerk reaction when I feel threatened.

Of course, I would die before giving him a real answer. I run my cold gaze over his healing face. Perfectly troubled and gorgeously flawed, like Johnny Depp in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. I’d flip my hair if he gave me room, but with his body flush against mine—much closer than he was when we were in my bathroom yesterday—if I move, I’ll touch him. I want to touch him. Which is exactly why I won’t.

“When it comes to you?” I run my eyes over his face. “I’m a natural, baby.”

When he continues to ooze stoic boredom, I elaborate on a scoff.

“You started it, okay? Gus thought we were peeps, so he wanted me to play mediator. But you couldn’t stop throwing digs at me. Was I supposed to just stand there and take it?”

“Isn’t that what All Saints cheerleaders are for?” He smirks.

“You’re a jerk.”

“And you’re a liar. You ambushed my ass.”

“Why would I ambush you?” I stomp, and my knee brushes his leg. His jeans are torn at the knees, and I caught a glimpse of the dusting of light hair on his tan legs when we were outside. I’m sure all of him is glorious, and it pisses me off that I don’t have the entire mental picture of him naked. The same one he has of me.

“Because you’re the cool kids’ puppet? Because you think you’re some bullshit queen bee who has to shove her nose into shit? Because I hate your—”

I crash my lips on his with a furious kiss that shuts him up. I know I’m a chicken shit and just don’t want to hear the truth. What surprises me is that he relents. His hands cup my face, and his lips mold with mine. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t kiss boys I hardly know. I don’t even kiss boys I do know. Kissing is a huge deal for me. Yet Penn is not exactly a stranger. It’s as though I carried him the entire time he was gone in that sea glass necklace, and now that he took it from me, the only way to satisfy this craving is with his attention.

His stares. His wrath. His lips.

“My dad is going to kill you.” I grin into his mouth, and his tongue wrestles its way between my lips again.

“You can’t put cream in front of a starving cat and expect it to look the other way.”

His breath is ragged, and his hands are big and callused, rough and warm and familiar. His fingers trace my face and neck and hair, tugging it back to arch my neck, and he sucks on the spot beneath my jaw until I yelp as he marks me. Joy explodes in my chest. Penn’s taste in my mouth is heaven. Sweet and dangerous, like a man. I taste cut grass and the California sunshine and a bit of sweat and toothpaste and heat. Our tongues are dancing together. I’m no longer sure if I’m sad or happy, but whatever I am—I’m feeling it. I’m living it. I’m alive.

His erection presses against my stomach, and I’m beginning to grind myself against it when reality trickles into my brain. I hear the whine of the door as it opens. At first, I think a teammate must’ve walked in on us, but when Penn plasters himself against me, covering my semi-naked body, and I find myself chasing his touch with my hips and lips, I realize he doesn’t want to make out with me—he is shielding me.

I blink, desperately trying to sober up.

“…much explaining to do.” A metallic voice seeps into the room like chemical warfare, causing my eyes to pop open.

Oh, Marx.

When I twist my head, I see Principal Prichard standing in the doorway, filling it with his intimidating frame. He is alone, but I’d rather the entire school watch me making out with Las Juntas Bulldogs captain than him. Penn steps in front of me and tilts his body fully toward Principal Prichard so I’m still covered. Instead of apologizing or explaining himself, he rummages in his back pocket for gum, unwraps it, and tosses it into his mouth. The wrapper falls to the floor.

I think he just unlocked a badass level I’ve only seen Vaughn and Knight ever reach.

“Principal Prichard.” My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. He stares at my face behind Penn with raw anger that makes my cheeks burn. I shouldn’t feel like a cheater—Prichard and I are not like that—but something about the scene feels wrong. Disloyal.

“Penn Scully.” He clucks his tongue. “When I invited you to join our team, I meant the football one, not cheer, and I definitely did not count on you taking a tour in our facilities unannounced.”

“Should’ve clarified.” Penn pops his gum, running his fingers through his hair.

“Step away from Miss Followhill.”

“Not before you look the other way,” Penn shoots back.

To my shock, Principal Prichard averts his gaze to the lockers on the other side. Mr. Prichard doesn’t do nice very well, so I need to fix this. Fast.

“This one’s on me.” I jump in front of Penn before he has the chance to escalate the situation any further. “I dragged him here. It was my idea.”

They both stare at me, stunned. I don’t mind taking the fall for this since my reputation is already toast with Principal Prichard, what with the way I let him use me. Plus, I genuinely feel crappy about what happened with Via.

I want to atone for what I did to Penn’s sister. I’m not a monster.

“He’s here because he wanted to come here. He has full motor control of his two legs,” Mr. Prichard snaps.

“Three, if you count the important one, sir.” Penn rubs his cheek, indifferent boredom dripping from his voice.

He is sticking it to Prichard. This punk is unreal.

“Actually, he is here because I lost a bet and needed to kiss a thug. We’re done here, anyway.” I snort, slipping into my cheer skirt and cropped shirt. I don’t dare lift my gaze to see their reaction. It’s a lie, but it’s one that would pacify Prichard and make him understand that Penn is not my boyfriend. That way, Penn won’t get in trouble.

Prichard narrows his eyes at Penn.

“I don’t appreciate you talking back to me, young man.”

Penn rolls his eyes as though the man’s dramatics have exasperated him.

“Penn,” I whisper-shout. I clutch the fabric of his shirt next to the hole, and he shakes me off, still staring at my principal. He is fearless. That’s when I realize I’m not only attracted to him. I envy him, too.

“If I see you on my school grounds one more time, I’ll inform the authorities.” Principal Prichard turns around, his whole body rigid. I chase after him on an impulse. Penn grabs my wrist, pressing his thumb to my vein.

His snake eyes ask me a question I haven’t given anyone a straight answer to.

What the fuck?

“I got what I needed from you.” I wiggle free of his touch, yawning. “If you’re here to clean the lockers, the mops are in the maintenance room across the field.”

The walk to Principal Prichard’s office is silent and long. When we reach his door, he tells me to forget about making it to cheer practice today.

“Esme can cover for you. She’s quite clever when it comes to getting what she wants. Besides, we have some business to attend to.”

He locks the door. My heart races.

A click never sounded so final in my life.