Her voice trailed off leaving an open door I had no intention of walking through. Black lace or not.
“I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a date.” I slammed my locker shut and stepped back. Two years ago she wouldn’t have shared a table with me, let alone her body. But Fatty James was dead, and I now held keys to the kingdom.
And that was what girls like Jill and what Madison High thrived on—power, status, and reputation.
The bell rang right as I slid into my chair for first period, earning me a scowl from Ms. Yarnell and a snicker from my other group members, Blake and Chugger.
“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” Blake sat with his legs spread, arm perched on the empty chair back next to him. His relaxed posture matched the lazy smile on his face. He was famous for that smile. It was a look that did everything but melt off women’s clothing. I could practically hear the swooning.
Every year, the departing “king” picked a new senior to run the school. It was a tradition dating back sixty years when the school was an all boys’ academy.
This year’s royalty—Blake Mason.
“Mr. James, can you remind me what time school starts?” Ms. Yarnell sipped her coffee and waited for my reply. She was an easy-going, hippie type but a stickler on certain rules. Don’t be late to class, and Lord help you if she ever caught a cell phone in your hand.
“Eight thirty, ma’am.”
“Good. Remember that tomorrow.”
The rest of the class watched our group of three, but I was used to that. Being on the wrestling team meant instant popularity. Being friends with Blake meant superstar status. Chugger and I had both.
“Someone’s on the naughty list.” Chugger kicked back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.
I pulled my history book from my backpack and set it on the table. “Matt tried to kill me this morning, and then Jill cornered me at my locker.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Can’t that girl take a hint?”
“I still don’t get why you just don’t go out with her. She’s hot, man. I mean like, cheerleader hot,” Chugger said.
“He would know. He’s dated half of them.” Blake’s grin earned him a fist bump from his smug friend.
Every muscle on the back of my neck tensed. I’d heard more than I’d cared to about Chugger’s girls. They’d come to him hoping for a status boost and walked away with a trashed reputation. “She’s not my type.”
“Do you even have a type? I’ve never seen you with anyone.”
Blake snickered. “Oh, he has a type. Remember Vicky.”
Chugger licked his lips and sighed. “Vicky Donner. Yum. Whatever happened to her?”
“She graduated.” I wanted our trip down memory lane to stop. I’d gone too far with Vicky. Allowed things that went against every value system I had. Worse, I never called her after because I didn’t know what to say.
No one seemed to care that she cried at school for weeks. Or that I behaved like a jerk. They only cared that I’d been invited to Blake’s table at lunch and that I’d won two matches for the team. I even got a few high fives for the conquest. At the time, fitting in, being a part of the in crowd, and ending the bullying mattered more than my conscience. Now, I just wanted all the memories to disappear.
The room quieted when Ms. Yarnell began talking. Every day was the same. Twenty minutes of lecture. Thirty-five minutes of classwork. Ms. Yarnell said working together helped our social and communication skills. In reality, it was her way of forcing us all to participate. Luckily, we’d devised a system the first day of class that kept only one of us on the hook.
I slid the worksheet and book over to Chugger. “Your turn today.”
Despite the fact that he slept with everything in a skirt, my teammate was a smart guy. Most of us were, though, since Madison High was an elite private school with rigid acceptance standards. Of course, the fifteen thousand dollar tuition meant those brains had to come with money.
Chugger flipped the pages and wrote furiously. “Tell him about tomorrow.”
From a normal person, those words would be harmless, but from Chugger, they were loaded and bound to include some kind of trouble. I cringed. “What’s going on tomorrow?”
Blake flipped the pages of his textbook, pretending to search for answers. “Senior skip day. We’re heading to the lake. Jimmy’s folks have a house out there and two ski boats.”
Chugger looked up with a toothy grin. “Babes, bikinis and booze.”
I winced internally at their words. It’d been the scene all summer, and I was long past fascinated with it. “Coach will have a fit.”
“It’s senior skip day; he’ll get over it.” Blake shrugged and popped a mint into his mouth.
Blake had been popular since freshman year. Mostly for his looks, but also because his brother had been a football god and the king of the school the year before we started at Madison. Blake was the only freshman to ever sit at the head table, and the student body had worshiped him ever since. Even though he wasn’t technically the “king” our junior year, we all saw him that way.
Since getting the official title, he’d been pushing the limits with the faculty, too. Showing up late, leaving early. Anything to solidify his power. His charm typically earned him a smile and a pass from most of the administration, but Coach Taylor was a whole other animal—a rabid one.
“Senior skip day is supposed to happen at the end of the year.” When grades and teacher recommendations no longer mattered.
Blake pulled the sheet from Chugger and pretended to write. “Last year’s seniors had three of them. And, you know, I have to leave a legacy that exceeds Chuck Winston’s. He was seriously the lamest king this school has ever had.”
I grabbed the sheet next knowing it took Ms. Yarnell ten minutes before she was completely absorbed in whatever she did on her computer. “Principal Rayburn will suspend us.” He’d already pulled the seniors together and warned this year would be different. But then again, he’d made the same threat the year I was relentlessly tormented. It didn’t mean much. “And if he doesn’t, Coach will make our lives a living nightmare.”
“He won’t suspend the entire senior class. The man’s already on probation with the school’s board of directors. A board my father’s the president of, if you recall. Besides, we’ll be back in time for practice. No harm. No foul.” Blake’s tone carried the same edge that surfaced when he got agitated.
Invisible shackles locked my wrists. The same shackles I felt every time Blake laid out some crazy scheme I didn’t want to do. I popped my neck to each side. At some point, I had to start saying no. “I can’t do it. Sorry.”
Chugger’s face dropped into a frown. “Then it won’t work. Word’s already out, Cody. If you don’t come, the entire senior class will be busted. Besides, you owe us.”
A chill inched up my neck. “I owe you?”
Chugger leaned closer. “We’ve put you in this position. Now it’s time to take one for the team.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My hands curled into a ball. I’d earned everything I’d been given.
“He
means
we have to stay united, all participate or it’s pointless.” Blake scowled at Chugger, who begrudgingly returned to his task. “You’re the captain. The team’s not going to go without you.”
“Yes, they will. I may be the captain in name, but you’re the leader of this team, and we all know it.” Because Blake “reminded” anyone who forgot, and the memory jog was rarely pleasant.
“Then do this for me. In a few weeks the weather will change, and wrestling will be all we eat, sleep and breathe for the next four months. With everything going on with Lindsay and my parents, I need an escape.”
Recognition clicked, calming the flame that Chugger had stirred. I’d barely seen Lindsay and Blake together since school started. “Everything okay with you two?”
He hung his head, his shoulders rolling down into an uncommon slump. “We’re taking a break. Things were getting too serious, and we just needed to step back for a little while.”
Suddenly senior skip day didn’t seem so shocking. Blake and Lindsay were an establishment at school. The class sweethearts since freshman year. Our very own Ken and Barbie. They obviously hadn’t confirmed the split because news like that would have spread through the school like a virus.
Chugger’s shocked expression said it all. “Lindsay’s back on the market?”
Blake lunged and would have gotten the collar of Chugger’s shirt if I hadn’t intercepted the move. Although part of me wanted to see Chugger laid out, I held down Blake’s arms and squeezed.
Our classmates whispered and watched because it was Blake. And they noticed everything he did. Thankfully, Ms. Yarnell tapped wordlessly on her computer.
His stare was murderous. “I said we’re taking a break, you moron, not that she’s available.” As he attempted to struggle out of my rigid hold, Blake’s ears turned bright red against his blond hair.
Blake stopped thrashing, but his nostrils still flared. He pointed his finger. “I better not see you look in her direction. You got it?”
Chugger threw his hands up. “Got it. Sorry man, I just assumed you broke up with her.”
“Nobody broke up. Just drop it.”
Blake settled in his chair, but his muscles were tight and his breathing shaky. He turned to me, his blue eyes hard and flinty. “You coming or not?”
Though his words offered a choice, his stare told me there was no option but his. The gauntlet was thrown, and we both knew I wouldn’t pick it up. No one challenged Blake without consequences.
I forced the nagging voice in my head to still. Nine months until this nightmare would be over. I could do it. I could play the game for just a little while longer.
“Yeah, fine, I’ll go.”
L
iver Cancer
.
It’d been two years and ninety-five days since my father’s doctor had uttered the words. Sixty days since it had returned, inoperable this time. Fifty days since my father canceled his sold-out European tour. And twenty-eight days since we packed up our villa in Germany and moved to Asheville, North Carolina.
And now, we had one day before our new normal began. Mine at Madison High, while my father’s would be at Mission Hospital, undergoing an experimental chemo that would hopefully save his life.
Descending the stairs in our new home, I glanced at the dozens of framed albums that signified my father’s music career. Gold. Platinum. Multi-Platinum. Pictures with presidents and foreign heads of state, A-list actors and directors, and my personal favorite, the one he took with eight-year-old Brent Williams for the Starlight Children’s Foundation.
Meeting my father was Brent’s wish. A day with Donnie Wyld—international rock legend and lead singer for the band that shared my name, Skylar Wyld. Brent sang on stage, signed autographs, rode in the limo and had the time of his life.
I touched the glass, my gaze lingering on the man who could captivate millions. We’d both need my father’s determination if we were going to get through these next few months.
I found my dad in the kitchen. He sat at the bar, elbows propped with his head resting in his hands.
“You’re awake.” I kissed his cheek, his late afternoon shadow scratching my lips. The deep purple under his eyes reflected his exhaustion. The pain was getting worse.
“Yeah. Can’t sleep all day.”
But he was sleeping all day. Going to bed early, getting up late, taking three to four hour naps. I knew the tiredness was due to his medicine, and I prayed every night this new medical trial would work.
I grabbed three plates from the cupboard and started setting our kitchen table. “When is the wicked witch getting here?”
“Skylar.” My dad rarely scolded me, but he’d made it clear I needed to watch my attitude with my aunt.
“Sorry. When is Josephine getting here?” My tone was anything but remorseful. The woman had invaded our lives. Not only was she here several times a day, taking up the little time my father was awake, but also she was pushy and pessimistic, and rearranged our kitchen after I’d spent two hours unpacking it.
I’d barely known Josephine as a child. We only saw her twice a year and, every time, she pushed me aside, interested in spending time with only my dad. Plus, I distinctly remembered my mom and dad fighting after one of her visits. Something they almost never did. Now, I understood my mother’s irritation. The woman was impossible to like.
Daddy sighed, fatigue etched in the lines of his too-thin face. “Any minute now. We need to discuss our plan for tomorrow.”
My entire body flinched. “Let me go with you. I’d be much better company than your sister.”
“No, Skylar. We’ve been through this. I won’t let you be my caretaker. It’s bad enough your life is getting turned upside down at seventeen. You don’t need to take my illness on as well. That’s why we moved here. So I could have Josie.”
I wanted to yell how unfair he was being. That I was old enough to be of help to him. How moving us back to the States was a mistake. But I settled for saying, “This sucks.”
I missed everything about Germany. My old house, the lack of paparazzi, Ricky and the rest of my dad’s band. We were like family. I’d grown up with their kids. And now they were half a world away, replaced by a woman who grated every one of my nerves.
“I’m sorry, Skylar. I wish this wasn’t happening either. But your life shouldn’t stop just because I’m sick. I want you to reconsider Paris. You already took your SATs, and Ms. Stapler says you are well ahead of any other senior.”
I eyed my father. His publicist had recently updated his style, chopping off his signature shoulder length hair for a more trendy style. He still wore the earrings and multiple leather bracelets, but I missed his old look. I didn’t miss this old argument, though.
“I need to graduate. Officially.”
“Ms. Stapler is a certified teacher and has been your tutor since you were ten. She’d write your diploma without a second thought. You could start applying to ESMOD fashion school now, and be in the seat by January.”
I loved that he supported my passion to study in Paris, but my mind was made up. “I can’t design clothes for teenage girls when I’ve hardly met any of them. High school sounds so, I don’t know, different, romantic.
Normal
. I want the experience.” And I wanted to be near my dad, even if he was pushing me away.