Lovely Vicious (5 page)

3 Years

12 Weeks

4 Days

For approximately two weeks I debate the validity of ruining Jack Hunter’s life slash reputation slash all future prospects with women. Or men. Just love in general, really. Guys like him shouldn’t get to be happy. He ruins a girl’s happiness at least once per hour. On Wednesday, someone left him a love letter tucked between the wipers of his black sedan. He tore it off without a second glance and ripped it in two. A distant wail could be heard as a well-dressed, beautiful blonde girl from drama club had her heart shattered and smeared all over the pavement. She’d been watching for his reaction, and now she had to watch the pieces of her carefully-crafted letterfeelings whisk across the parking lot. I chased the pieces around, grabbing as many as I could, and comforted her for three hours in a stairwell while she cried on me. I pieced the letter back together. It was full of Shakespearian references and a particularly well thought out passage in which she drew comparisons between Jack and Romeo. I informed her she was right – Romeo’s manic mental illness and pigheaded refusal to acknowledge another person’s feelings are mirrored exactly in Jack. She thanked me for that keen assessment by calling me a bitch and storming off.

Dramaclub Wailer was just the first. In two weeks of stealthily following Jack around campus, I count four love confessions, each more creative than the last. The girl who runs the morning announcements says Jack’s won a prize from the announcement committee, and to come to the PA room after school to get it. She does this every. Single. Day. And yet every day Jack never goes near the PA room – he doesn’t even walk in the same hall as it. He takes a route that leads him around it and makes him almost late for fourth period. I sneak a peek at the PA room after school for a few days; sure enough, announcement girl waits in that room for thirty minutes every day before finally locking up and going home with a defeated look on her face. A girl in art club is working on a
marble statue
of him (it’s definitely him, everyone knows that) complete with resplendent Greek posture and a perfectly replicated face. She’s left the crotch area blank and goes red if anyone asks her about it, but she’s diligently chipped away at it since Freshmen year, and she’s now a Senior. Another girl writes poetry and leaves it in his locker, and another girl in culinary class is drawing up plans to make him a three-tier cake for his birthday in January.
  

Through all this, Jack is impervious. He reportedly dropped out of art class so he wouldn’t have to see the statue in the studio. With an expression of utter boredom, he cleans out the dozens of new poem scraps that appear in his locker every day. It’s like he’s numb to whatever a girl does to get his attention. No one dares to call his name out loud in the hall. He doesn’t have any guy friends – he keeps to himself at lunch and during recess he’s in the library.

At first I stayed far away from Jack to quell the rumors, and to maybe-hopefully get Kayla to forget the fact he kissed me. But there are so many rumors now; it’s just one irritating slurry. ‘They’re going out’ is the usual one, the most out-there one is that he’s my pimp and I’m addicted to lean, and my favorite is the one where I’m his long-lost half-sister and we’re doing the incest and doing it hard. None of them are helping my relationship with Kayla, of course, but today she sat at my table and we ate together. In total silence. Which isn’t exactly a step in the right direction, but it’s a step nonetheless. She only started sitting with me after she returned Jack’s wallet to him, which I watched in on. It went much smoother than their first encounter – she handed it over and he actually nodded at her! A positive signal! I don’t see his lips form the words ‘I’m sorry’, though, so technically he still hasn’t swallowed his pride and technically I am
not
regrettably still at war with him.

Kayla’s smile lasted for hours after that exchange. It’s incredible how much control he has over her emotions, and how little he cares. Any guy in school would kill to make her smile like that.
 
And his indifference towards her only makes me hate him more. No one should pour their entire heart onto another person without even an acknowledgement.

I open the door to the library. Frigid air mixed with the pulpy smell of old books greets me. The librarian eyes my purple streaks but doesn’t say anything. She’s seen worse. I meander down the aisles, looking up and down for him. Finally, I find him in the romance section, leafing through a book with a beefy guy on the cover. I feel my eyebrows shoot up.
  

“You could do the fair maidens of the school a favor and inform them you’re gay,” I say.

“Didn’t you read the sign?” He asks coolly without looking up. “No harpies in the library.”

“If I was any fantasy animal I’d be a majestic unicorn, thank you, but I’ll forgive your transgressions. It takes keen eyesight to differentiate a harpy from a unicorn. Also, common sense.”

He looks up, blue eyes growing irritated. “I don’t have the patience for you right now.”

“Listen to yourself! ‘
I don’t have the patience for you’
,” I mock in a deep voice. “You sound like my freaking Mom! Like a parent! Like a really old, decrepit man. You’re what, seventeen? Start acting like it.”

“They’re spreading rumors about us. It’d be best for you to keep your distance.”

“Aha! I’ve already thought of that! But let’s be realistic – this is high school. No amount of space between us is gonna stop the rumors from breeding like rabbits.”

“Your Freudian choice of metaphor is getting ridiculous, now. If you want me, just come out and say it. Get it over with so I can shoot you down.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Nope. Not happening. You aren’t my type, first off –”

“I’m everyone’s type,” He says, tiredly.

“- And second off, have you even
seen
that marble statue? It’s incredible. You should at least give her a chance, okay? Someone with that much talent has to be cool.”

He snaps the book closed and picks up another one. “No.”

“You have to agree it’s an incredible piece of art, creepy stalkerish qualities attached to it or no.”

“You’re the only stalker I see here,” He sighs.

“And what about that girl in the PA room? She might not be as pretty as drama club girl –”

“Who?”

“Windshield love note girl.”

“Ah.”

“ – But she’s so cute! And short!
 
And she has huge boobs! And she’s got tenacity! But mostly
huge
boobs! That’s a thing with guys last time I checked! Boooobs!” I make a cupping motion around my significantly flatter chest. “And if she has tenacity she’ll be able to put up with your arrogant bullshit longer! It’s a perfect match!”

He snorts. “You don’t know anything about me, let alone enough to matchmake me with some pathetic girls.”

“Stop saying they’re pathetic! They’re nice, okay? You just haven’t given them a chance –”

He moves so fast I barely have to blink and he’s looming over me, arms on either side of me and that same deadly-cool look in his eyes I saw when he was talking to Evans. A strange pressure threatens to collapse my lungs, but I stay strong. For Kayla. For the sake of the war. I’m strong and I can’t let him see anything otherwise.

“All they do is grovel,” He snarls. “I am a thing to them, not a person. They worship me because they don’t know me.”

“Yeah, but you keep it that way – everybody thinks you’re intimidating and hard to approach, just how you like it. You don’t make any effort to be nice, or make friends. It’s easier to be worshipped by people than it is to be friends with them.”

“What the hell do you know?”

“I don’t know anything - except that you’re here, in the library, reading corny-ass romance books.” I gesture around me. He holds my gaze, like he’s looking for something inside me, and then backs off. He puts the book back and takes out a few, piling them on his arm.

“These aren’t for me.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I have a friend who enjoys them,” he says, voice now softer. “But she can’t get out a lot. So I bring them to her.”
 

“Oh. Well. That’s nice of you. Also kind of weird, since you seem to intensely dislike all women.”

“I don’t dislike them. I’m tired of them. There’s a difference.”

“
Tired
of them? You’re seventeen! Why do I have to keep reminding you of that? There are soooo many women you haven’t even met yet! Don’t act like you’re tired of the puss-puss, no guy is ever tired of the puss-puss.”

He shoots me a withering look, but for a split second I swear I hear him half-laugh, half-scoff quietly under his breath.
 

“You’re bizarre. And a moron. But I suppose it could be worse. You could be normal.”

“I could be normal,” I agree. “It could be even
worse
– I could like you.”

“True. I don’t like you, either. In fact, I despise you.”

“Can we maybe not talk about your gross little feelings for me?”

“Trust me, they are anything but little. And gross is an understatement - they cause instantaneous vomiting.”

“Oh good! That makes two of us. I threw up four times on my way to the library to ask you about this!”

I flash the black and red card between my fingers. Jack’s expression doesn’t change from one of utter boredom. I flash it again in front of his face, waving it back and forth a few times for good measure.

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned I have one of these?”

“I know you had it. I counted the cards when your friend returned my wallet.”

“How did you know I was the one who took it?”

“How else would Kayla get it?” He sneers. “She’s not the type to steal. You are.”

“I’d be insulted if I wasn’t rolling in five cubic tons of hot-ass self-confidence.”

“I have twenty-two cards, and there were twenty-one when she gave it back,” He ignores me.

“Are you OCD or something? You keep count of how many business cards you have in your wallet?”

“Can you just get on with threatening me?” He sighs. I treat him to a brief glare.

“I haven’t called the number on this card. Yet.”

“But you’ve memorized the number.”

“Of course,” I breeze on. “And if you have an ounce of brain in that thick head of yours, you’ll apologize to Kayla before I call it and leak to the campus cop whatever sordid drugs you deal as a side job.”

He scoffs. “Drugs. That’s what you think it is? You think I’m that predictable? I’m offended.”

“The people in juvie will certainly be offended by your holier-than-thou attitude. Offended enough to beat you up on the daily.”

“You poor girl,” He laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. “You poor, naïve little girl. You talk a big game, about how much smarter you are and how you’re different from them. But at the end of the day, you’re just as oblivious as all the other girls.”

“Don’t patronize me!” I snarl. “I know you’re doing something illegal. If you don’t apologize to Kayla –”

“You’ll what? Out me? Go ahead. Call that number.” He leans in. “I dare you to.”

“Back the hell off,” I hiss up at his face. He narrows his icy-flint eyes, but doesn’t lean away.

“Do it.” He holds out his phone.

It’s a trap. I’m walking into the biggest trap in the world. Jack looks at me with a keen, almost hungry interest. He wants me to find out what this card means. By the time I do, I might’ve sprung the trap closed. But I want to know, too. The part of me that wants to know more is louder than the part of me that’s a prudent, tactical battle master. If I call this number, I’ll get a significantly huge amount of blackmail material. In theory. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like he’s rigged a bomb to the number or anything. It could be nothing at all, a huge dud, but I won’t know until I try.

I dial slowly, and raise it to my ear. There’s a ring. And another ring. Jack isn’t moving. He’s barely blinking. I’m barely breathing – anticipation heavy on my chest.

“Hello, Madison speaking,” A pleasant woman’s voice chirps. “How may I help you?”

“Uh, hi, I’m –”

“Looking for a rose,” Jack says lowly.

“Looking for a rose.”

There’s a brief pause. “One moment while I bring out the books. May I ask your name?”

I look to Jack again, but he just shakes his head.

“Isi – Isabelle.”

“Alright Isabelle, and who are you calling after?”

“Um…”

“The name on the card you were given?”

“Oh. Jaden.”

If this is a drug request line or something, it’s the weirdest one ever. There’s a tapping noise as the woman types on a keyboard. Jack’s eyes are scanning over my shoulder, watching people walk by, but I can tell he’s still fully tuned in to the conversation I’m having.

“And is this your first time with the Rose Club, Isabelle?”

“Y-Yes? Yes.” Club? What kind of Club –

“Alright, thank you so much for choosing to book with us, Isabelle. Jaden’s one of our most popular escorts, so I’m afraid there’s a bit of a wait. The soonest opening I have is on December 4th, at 12:30 pm, in Columbus. In addition I’m obligated to mention to any and all customers his fees are considerably higher than those of our other escorts –”