Ephemeral (The Countenance) (44 page)

“You think they’re responsible for the pictures? The hatbox, your pillow?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I still think you’ve managed to tick off whoever is in charge of the brainwashing department or maybe someone else entirely.”

“You think I’m in danger?” If the Spectators and Fems were any indication, I’d say yes.

“I think we both are.”

44

Cold as Ice

I find Jen writhing over her rose covered quilt when I get back, moaning into the pillow like an injured pigeon.

Suddenly, I want to be anywhere but trapped within these four cloistered walls with poor broken-hearted Jen. It reminds me of how much I was hurting when Wes and Fletch died, and how I wallowed in misery when Tucker riddled me with Megan Bartlett-shaped bullets to finish me off.

With my homework covered for the night, these last few hours of the evening are going to be torment listening to Jen groan like she’s slowly having her head severed. Her tears double as a waterboarding device, which have somehow harnessed the power to torment me as well.

Maybe I should hightail it over to Henderson and beg Wes to let me see his sketches—those beautiful oil paintings that seem to speak to me more than life itself.

Hide a third of them
—I huff a laugh at the thought. He fleshed me out onto those canvasses before I even existed in this world. Wes and his love are wrapped around me like a very tight coil. All of the manipulation in the world couldn’t keep the two of us apart—from unfolding like some macabre fairytale.

“Fletch is taking me to dinner.” Jen sniffs into her spontaneous admission. “Wanna come?”

“Sure.”

“Guess what?” Her tone sharpens as she jabs the air with her words.

“You told Blaine to go to hell, and now he wants you more than ever?” I lie back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling as I bathe in the possibilities. “Welcome to boys 101. They always want you when they can’t have you.” That does seem a rather rosy scenario for Jen’s case.

I wonder if that’s what’s gotten into Coop? He knows he can’t have me. That might explain the sudden uptick in interest.

“No.” She looks dazed as if the idea in general confuses her. “Mars said she saw them together—more than once.”

“Knew it,” I hiss the words out. “So, what are you going to do?”

Lopping his balls off with a rusted razor sounds like a reasonable solution.

“I’m going to do what any other girl would do. I’m going to tell her to back off and get her own darn boyfriend.”

“You sure you want to be that harsh? And that language alone might tarnish your reputation.” I push out a frustrated breath. Obviously my attempt at sarcasm is lost on her. Jen’s overzealousness in the religion of Polly Anna is exasperating on so many levels. “Listen, I wouldn’t necessarily go that route.”

I decide against encouraging her to employ the use of actual expletives if the opportunity arose. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s a rumor going around that they do a lot more than talk when they’re together.” I say it extra slow should the R-rated version, also known as the truth, cross her mind. “I think maybe you should just forget about him in general. I’m telling you, there are a lot nicer guys in the world than Blaine Paxton.” Doubtful that’s his bona fide moniker. Like everything else at Ephemeral, he’s probably just another counterfeit.

“I know.” She closes her eyes a moment. “I know they’ve seen each other. And he’s been courting her behind my back.”

“Courting?” I give a disbelieving blink. “What is this? Dating circa 1865? According to reliable sources, they’ve exchange oral affections when it is clearly neither a holiday nor birthday, and from what I hear, said exchanges were anything but chaste.” 

Jen sits petrified, stiff as a statue.

“He would never do that.” Her face bleeds out all color and for a brief moment, I’m afraid this conversation might have aneurysm-inducing properties that hold the ability to kill faux Jen.

“I really don’t know what they do.” A surge of regret fills me. “It’s just hearsay, sometimes the truth lies in the middle, but in all honesty, even the middle doesn’t paint such a pretty picture.” It paints pornography is what it paints, but I leave out that little tidbit.

“I’ll have to talk to Blaine.” Her features sag with the gravity of the situation.

“You should probably approach Jax first.” Like with a sledgehammer. “You know, gather your ammunition.” Again, sledgehammer.

“Let’s go.” She pulls me off the bed, and we head out the door.

I follow Jen in her quickened state of irritation as we wrap around the long hall and stop abruptly in front of a door with a poster of a cat dangling from a rope to greet us.

Jen starts in on a series of barely audible knocks, so I step forward and explode a few good pounds, feel the solid wood vibrate under my command—swear to God that cat almost fell off the damn rope with my grenade like blows.

“Yes?” Jax answers the door in all her copper glory, wearing a tight-fitting sweater dress and heels. She looks beautiful, unmoved by our hostile actions. The pissed-off look on Jen’s face means nothing to her, which is consistent with a theory I’ve been harboring—deep down inside most cheats are sociopaths. 

“I have choir.” Jax widens the door to charitably let us in. “Make it fast.”

“Stay away from Blaine.” Jen gets right to the point, only she lands the statement with a slight uptick, and it ends up sounding more like a question.

“I do stay away from Blaine—Blaine finds
me
.” She takes a bold step in Jen’s direction. Her short hair hugs the curve of her face, accentuates her sharp molded features. “Look, the show is over for you guys, so why don’t you just do us both a favor, and remove yourself from the equation.”

I take in a breath at her audacity.

“I think it’s you who needs to remove herself from the equation,” I say, maneuvering in front of Jen. What the hell is this girl’s problem? Can’t she see that Blaine is cutting poor Jen’s fragile heart out with a machete that would clearly be better put to use lopping off his balls?

“You’re a boyfriend snatcher,” I say butting up against her. “Those happen to be my least favorite people. You’d better watch your back.” Okay, so I’ll think of something far more threatening later when I’m mulling over the situation in lieu of sleep.  

“I didn’t purposely set out to steal anybody’s boyfriend.
He
came to
me
.” She shakes her head at Jen. “And FYI—I think you’re the one who needs to stay the hell away from
my
boyfriend. Things have changed, Jen.” She bites down a smile. “You’re the one who’d better watch her back.”

The oxygen in the room dissipates. You can feel the angst rising swift as mercury in the desert afternoon. I half-expect the windows to burst from the animalistic pressure building.

Jax snatches up her purse and takes off without another word.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, offering Jen a hug, but she recoils my efforts.

“It’s time to get even,” she hisses.

It’s safe to say I’d go along with just about anything to help Jen out with this one since I clearly have a transference issue with Jax and every girl Tucker Donavan ever cheated on me with.

Jen convinces me into helping her haul two giant buckets of ice all the way from the kitchen and dumping them in both beds just to make sure we actually land Jax’s mattress in a state that matches her frozen heart. Jen pulls up the covers and smooths out the comforters as though there were bodies lying in state.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say. I’m not sure what the penalty will be for such stupid debauchery, but I’m betting it’s a sure fire way to get me out of cheer. I can smell the academic probation a mile away.

“Not yet,” Jen snatches a pair of scissors off the dresser and heads into the closet.

“Jen?” I walk in and witness a hacking spree as Jen cuts through jeans and sweaters at an alarming rate.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snatch her arm back. “She’s going to know it was you, genius.”

“That’s the point, Laken.” Jen abstains from dissecting the uniforms that hang lifeless in the back of the closet—figures. She picks up a pair of furry boots I’ve specifically seen Jax wear on several occasions and spits into them.

“Jen, stop.” I take her by the wrist before she has a chance to commit any more loogie-based offenses. “You’re going to look back one day and realize this is all Blaine’s fault. If he wants someone as stupid as Jax, let him have her.” He will anyway, with or without her permission.

“Blaine is mine.” She needles into me with a glassy stare.

“You don’t own people, Jen. Let him go.” Then again, she is a Count, owning people seems to be an inherent character flaw.

Jen explodes in a fit of rage, yanking clothes off hangers at random. She gives a violent kick, dismantling a neat row of shoes that detonate into the far reaches of the closet.

“I’m not done with Jax.” She storms out and heads for the door. “I’m not done with either of them.”

45

Falling for You

Fletcher drives us to a Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of town, called Maria’s. Jen sulks all the way over, which goes blissfully unnoticed by Fletch, so when we hit the entrance to the colorfully decorated establishment, and Jen starts bawling like a baby, it more than catches him off guard.

“What in the hell’s wrong with her?” He wrinkles his brow, seriously stymied as to why Jen just sprinted toward the bathroom full throttle.

“She has a broken heart,” I whisper. It’s bad enough Jen caused a scene. Fletch isn’t exactly helping by shouting obscenities.

“Good evening.” Cooper appears, holding a stack of menus. “Welcome to Maria’s.” He’s slow to beam his resplendent smile, but when it arrives, it lights up the room brighter than the sun, leaves me feeling disoriented and hungry for his touch.

“Are you stalking me?” I bite down a laugh. I’m more than thrilled to see Cooper anywhere, anytime.

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I, Laken”—he starts with a playful smile tugging at his lips—“am an employee.” There’s a slight sarcastic inflection. He’s enjoying this. “And I assume you’re here as a patron, so technically it would be impossible for me to do the stalking. I think the better question is, are you stalking
me
?” He holds back his smile, but it plays on his lips, shines in his eyes.

I don’t know why I couldn’t put two and two together. Of course Cooper works here. He welcomed us and happens to be holding a stack of menus as thick as a dictionary.

“
Me
stalking
you
? Don’t you wish.” It comes out far sultrier than I want it to.

“Three please,” Fletch interjects.

I wonder if Fletcher picked up on our flirtatious banter? I wonder how much I risk losing with Wes each time I unwittingly play this game.

Cooper extends his hand and lets me go first, navigating us through a dim pathway over to a booth near the back.

The tables are adorned with lace tablecloths pressed under glass. A small red votive burns bright in the center. White carnations poke sadly out of a chipped crystal vase, and yet it lends a certain charm to the place.  

A group of girls giggle across the way and arouse my attention. I look over to find Kresley and Grayson… and Carter sitting with them like a traitor.

Great.

“Laken!” Carter jumps ship and appears at our booth in less than two seconds flat. “Hi, Fletch.” She offers a starry-eyed gaze and relaxes her shoulder into his. Something tells me I was just a nice segue into having dinner with my brother. Why she would willingly trade Jackson in for Fletch is beyond me. Jackson is gorgeous and a seemingly all-around nice guy. And Fletch is, well, Fletch.

“Hey, Coop?” I hesitate before sitting. “Can you point the way to bathroom? I seem to have misplaced Jen.”

He ticks his head and leads the way.

I follow Coop as the scent of deep fried tortillas gives way to the gentle fragrance of his cologne. Even from behind, Cooper is stunningly gorgeous. His white dress shirt makes his back look twice as expansive as it does in his dark school blazer. It’s no surprise he’s a force to be reckoned with on the football field, probably the bedroom, too.