I wasn’t in the mood to go home, so I drove around for a while. The heart of town was a two-lane road, colorful buildings on either side of the street. There were the small homes clustered together, the people who sat out on their front porches, grilled burgers in the backyard. Celebrating nothing more than life. I was envious. There were no backyard barbeques at the Callahans. We lived in one of the estate homes, the monuments to excess and pride. A place that was as warm as a morgue. Everything was about image and appearances, but only on the surface. Behind closed doors, it was something else entirely. As a kid, I lived in fear, now I just wanted out. I’d have left already, but my dad had connections. I wouldn’t have gotten far. I wasn’t sticking around, though. After graduation, I was gone. Where? I didn’t know. Didn’t care as long as it wasn’t here.
I drove down the quiet street. Unlike my neighborhood, this one had character. The houses weren’t big, not like the cookie cutter mansion I lived in, but they had personality. The arts and craft style home had spotlights in the gardens, shining up through the trees, others directed at the house. A large wreath with flowers and pumpkins hung from the black lacquered door. The gardens were pristine, but, instead of the sterile look our gardens had, these were whimsical. Stone fairies peeked out from behind the plants, garden lights in the shape of butterflies changed colors, white fairy lights hung from the heavy branches of a magnolia tree. A stone path led from the sidewalk to the front door, lined with lights, inviting people in. Welcoming them. It was Cedar’s house. Her home. The idea of walking up that path again was what had me driving past it as often as I did. I fucking missed her. I missed her parents. I missed the security and sense of family. I missed the light in my never-ending dark.
I drove home, pulled into the long drive, parking in the garage because my dad didn’t like my beat-up car in the driveway. He offered me a Porsche, but that offer had strings. I bought my car. Had to work double shifts at the garage, but I paid for it with money I earned.
The house was quiet. Dad’s car wasn’t in the garage. He was probably with one of his girlfriends. Mom would be sleeping after downing a bottle of wine, chasing whatever drug she favored this week. Desperately trying to regain her youth and beauty, but knowing she never would. There were no lights left on, no feeling of welcome. In the kitchen, I yanked open the fridge. Our cook left a plate for me. Sad that the only person I actually connected with was Laura, a mother of three who lived in the section of town that I wished I lived in. Taking my plate and a bottle of water, I headed to my bedroom. Nine more months and then I’d be free of the platinum chains…whatever the fuck I had to do to break them.
I stood atmy locker, but my focus was down the hall watching Cedar at hers. Her glasses were sliding down her nose, and she kept blowing her hair out of her face. I swear she was talking to herself. Pulling shit from her locker, only to put it back in again. She closed it, turned, froze then turned back to her locker, opening it again. She grabbed a notebook that looked like a Furby vomited; the notebook was wrapped in hot pink fur, but it was the pen she pulled from her locker, one that had a middle finger on the top of it, that had me stifling a laugh. She jotted something down before closing up the notebook and tossing it and the pen back in her locker. Cedar wouldn’t use that pen in class. It was so tempting to dare her to do just that, but then thinking about what she’d have to do if she didn’t follow through on the dare had the crotch of my jeans growing tight.
She closed up her locker again and started back down the hall. I’d been so focused on what she was doing that I hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. Black jeans, that seemed tame for her, but then I saw the one leg was covered in patches, asymmetrical patterns, colors and shapes. Her white fitted tee had a dipping neckline, which wasn’t helping the tightness in my jeans, and edging the neckline were little rose buds. Ones I just knew she’d done herself. She wore Doc Martens on her feet, but not black like most people wore. Hers were covered in flowers and had hot pink laces.
It was tempting to follow her, to push her up against the locker and kiss her. Instead, I turned and headed in the other direction.
“Hey, are we going drinking again tonight?” Declan asked, as he appeared at my side.
He was a functioning alcoholic at eighteen. His dad owned a fortune five hundred company in Manhattan, like my dad. Our families ran in the same circle, a privileged and pretentious circle, where only the elite of the elite were given an invitation. I wanted out of the circle, and for a time, I had gotten out, but I was pulled back in. Declan enjoyed the benefits that came with being in the circle. He was self-absorbed and partied too much, but he was also only eighteen. Sowing his wild oats before he took over for his father, because that was how it worked in our circle…the son followed in their father’s footsteps…always. He didn’t wait for me to answer his first question before he threw out another one. “What was up with picking that chick yesterday?” He lifted his hands to his head. “The one with all that hair.”
One of the reasons we’d never really be friends was because, when it came to chicks, he was like a little kid with a new toy, he wanted his own, but he wanted yours too. I downplayed my interest when I said, “Just keeping things interesting.”
He studied me for a second before he asked, “You tap that?” I fisted my hands. I wasn’t surprised I’d tripped his competitive nature, but I fucking didn’t like that I put Cedar on his radar. “She’s kind of hot. Odd, but hot.”
Before I rammed one of my fists in his face, I changed the subject. “You finally tap Layla?” I knew he had, but there was nothing that Declan liked more than talking about his conquests.
“Fuck, yeah I did. She does this thing, clenching her hips while she’s riding your cock and her tits. Fuck man, the way they bounce around…” He grabbed his junk. “She told me I could fuck her in the ass.” He adjusted his cock. “I might just have to marry the girl.”
The bell rang saving me from having to answer.
Later in the day, I walked into independent study. Cedar was in my class. She had another notebook opened as she chewed on the tip of her pencil. The class had separated into cliques, likes with likes, but not Cedar. She sat in the front row by herself. When I entered the room, eyes turned to me. Sarah pulled out a chair in invitation; the smile that curved her red painted lips suggested the invite wasn’t just for the seat. I took the spot behind Cedar. She didn’t notice me, too distracted with what she was working on. I heard the whispers, the talk, and then I heard the snickering. I knew it was Sarah, feeling slighted, she tried to turn the focus from her by directing attention elsewhere. And that elsewhere was Cedar.
“Why don’t you just cut it?” Sarah shouted then laughed, when her friends giggled.
Cedar didn’t acknowledge her. Sarah wasn’t having that. She stood, walked across the room, running her finger along my desk, giving me that invitation again, before she stopped in front of Cedar.
“Hello!” she said, her focus going to Cedar’s notebook. “What’s this?” she asked and snatched it from her desk. Cedar’s head snapped up.
“What is that? A shoe?” Sarah held it up. “She thinks that we would wear the shit she does.”
Cedar said nothing. I couldn’t see her face. I thought the silence was because she was upset. The idea of it had my hands fisting. She then stood and, effortlessly, took her notebook back. Sarah stopped laughing, her eyes narrowed. Before she could make a biting comment, Cedar said, “I’m not designing for people like you.”
She sat back down, her pencil moving over the page. Sarah dropped her hands on Cedar’s desk; the action went completely unnoticed by her. I lifted my hand to cover my smile because my Cedar had a bite.
“What does that mean? People like me.”
Cedar stopped sketching, lifted her head and looked Sarah right in the eyes. “Unimaginative sheep who only wear what everyone else is wearing.”
Sarah gasped. Cedar added, “Go be outraged elsewhere. You’re blocking my light.”
I saw the look and was prepared to intervene when Sarah reached for Cedar’s notebook again, but just that fast, Cedar grabbed her wrist tightly, by the wince of pain that moved across Sarah’s face. Cedar’s voice dropped, low enough that I leaned in to hear her. “I let it go the first time. You don’t get a second.”
She dropped Sarah’s arm and went back to sketching. Sarah’s face was bright red, her eyes a little bright. Her focus shifted to me, and I couldn’t help it when I said, “That didn’t go the way you were hoping, did it?”
It was only then that Cedar turned, her green eyes landing on me. Then she smiled. Not grinned, but smiled. The sight hit me right in the chest and pulled a matching one from me. Her eyes drifted to my lips, her tongue appeared, the tip running across her bottom lip. I didn’t think she even knew she did it, but fuck, I wanted to kiss her. Neither of us saw, as Sarah ran from the room.
Chapter Three
Cedar
The craft storewas having a sale. I bought my body weight in colored glass and rhinestones, even bought a soldering gun and iron, so I could try to fashion my own accents for the shoe I was designing. I had several bags that were a bit cumbersome, but I managed.