A Son of Carver (Carver High #2) (2 page)

Outside of my lunch hour, I’m a stranger to my fellow classmates. Really, I’m invisible. Which is what happens when all of your friends are seniors and all of your classes are with fellow juniors. I don’t mind it at all. I don’t have to talk to anyone. I don’t have to ignore anyone. I don’t have to pretend to be happy. I can just breathe, which is something I definitely can’t do at home and can barely do in social situations because my psychotic cousin, Jolee, is always there. School and work. That’s all I have at the moment.

I used to have Tatum’s house, but she’s deep into the honeymoon phase with Brandon which means if I want to hang out with her in her spare time I have to do it while she’s being pawed by Brandon. And with Tatum out of the picture, there’s less of Angel too. It still feels like he’s her friend, not mine. And although we’ve hung out together alone, it’s only because she left us. And if we shared a mind blowing kiss, it’s only because she dared us to.

I let out a long breath then shut my locker, preparing to go to next period which I’m looking forward to. My schedule only allows for two electives per semester and this semester, unlike my first one at Carver High when I started two weeks in and had to take whatever they gave me, I was lucky to fill both of them with art classes. I had advanced drawing first period and managed to void my mind of all thoughts concerning my family – my cheating dad, miserable mom, controlling aunt and devil cousin. I’m hoping my photography class will have the same effect.

I walk into the room, discreetly getting a lay of the land from behind my heavy black hair that’s hanging over my eye. I recognize some of the faces, some are even seniors, but none of them are part of Jolee’s circle of popular jocks and beauty queens that I have reluctantly been let into. I let my guard down as the corner of my mouth lifts with a hint of happiness, and find a two person table in the back corner of the room that is currently person-less.

I take out my sketch book and pencils and smile at some of the familiar faces when they turn to see who the newcomer is. I regret it though as soon as a boy I recognize from last semester’s gym class lets his eyes wander to my chest and picks up his bag like he’s about to come sit by me.

God damn it.

Gym class, where you’re required to change into shorts that are too short and a t-shirt that’s too tight, is only slightly less uncomfortable than being at work in my ridiculous sexy athlete uniforms. Yes, I have big boobs, but I don’t get why any girl, no matter what size bra she’s rocking, would wear clothes that cling to her body. They’re uncomfortable and attract the kind of attention I’m about to get from this scrawny, popped-out-on-the-other-side-of-puberty-yesterday, walking phallus. As he approaches my table I hold up my hand. “Don’t,” I tell him. “Please, just… don’t.”

He stops in his tracks, confusion covering his face.

“What she means to say is, this seat’s already taken,” a deep voice, that I recognize instantly, says from behind me.

“Oh, god damn it,” I mutter, gripping the edge of the table and squeezing my eyes shut, hoping it’s just a bad hallucination. My one-out-of-two hours of peace cannot be infiltrated by Nash Carter.
Dear god, no
.

I open my eyes, hoping for different results, but all I see is the kid walking backwards, his eyes no longer on me but, I assume, on the mass of muscles standing behind me. “Wait,” I tell him. He continues to retreat. “Come back.” His eyes flicker to mine but the fear on his face makes it clear I’ve lost him. “Please,” I give it one last attempt with my arms stretched out in front of me, reaching for the phallus because a phallus is better than a dick. Which is exactly what Nash is. This biggest one I’ve ever met. When the kid trips over his own feet, falls backwards onto the floor, but manages to continue scooting away from me, I give up. I lay my head on the table and mutter, “Fuck me.”

Nash- who I can tell by the manly scent that has taken over my personal space, is now sitting next to me- laughs his deep, throaty laugh and I instantly regret my choice of words because the man is a Neanderthal with very few brain cells so I know what’s coming next.

“Sure, but we should maybe wait until class is over, or at least until everyone stops staring at us.
Or not.
Doesn’t really matter when or where, as long as I get to fuck you.” Okay, I thought he was gonna say,
Is that an invitation?
But still… total meathead.

I sit up in my stool before scooting it a foot to the right – away from him. “What the
hell
are you doing in
my
photography class?” I seethe at him from behind my clenched teeth.

“Actually, Presley, this is
my
photography class. Did you not see that in the course description?
Photography I, an exciting and intimate journey through all the hard ridges and long terrains of Nash Carter
?”

I shake my head while simultaneously turning it from him. “Ignore him, Presley. He’s not even there. It’s just a… rock. A big, mindless, useless rock next to you.”

He laughs again. God, I hate his laugh. Everything is a joke to him.
Everyone
is a joke to him. His ex-girlfriend, my best friend, Tatum is a joke to him. His ex-best friend, Brandon, is nothing but a damn joke. Even Jolee, who I hate but sometimes pity because she worships him and he uses her like a cheap whore, which she is, but still- it’s all a joke to him.

“If it makes you feel any better, I obviously didn’t know you’d be in this class and the only reason I’m sitting next to you is because it’s the only open seat. I guarantee I’m more pissed about this situation than you are. So if your plan is to ignore me for the rest of the semester – I’m good with that.”

“Perfect,” I mutter.

“Excellent,” he agrees. And even though I refuse to look at him, I know his green eyes are sparkling and he’s wearing that stupid, smug half-grin on his face.

God, what crap luck this is. What the hell is he even doing in a photography class? “What the hell are you even doing in a photography class?” I turn and shoot daggers at him with my eyes.

“Ignoring each other, Presley… I know I’m irresistible but come on, you can do it,” he says, eyes staring straight ahead, stupid Nash grin on his face.

The teacher walks in and heads to the front of the room. He’s talking to us, probably sharing all kinds of valuable information that I need to know, but I’m so irritated by the mere presence of Nash next to me that I can’t even concentrate.

Minutes later, and still no knowledge gained on my part, Nash pushes a syllabus in front of me that has been passed back from the front of the room. I’m still only seeing red so I can’t read the words but Nash is laughing again. The tone of it feels like a thousand well-sharpened blades grading on my skin. I pull out my large glasses, shove them on my face and try to focus, wondering what in the syllabus is so damn funny.

PHOTOGRAPHY I: Exploring the landscapes of our lives.

“To photograph truthfully and effectively is to see beneath the surfaces.”

– Ansel Adams

I keep reading, trying to find the source of his laughter, but not succeeding. Is he amused by the fact that the focus of the class is landscapes and he’s equating that with his lame comment about the terrain of his body? That’s not even funny. I wonder, like I have a million times, what Tatum ever saw in him. How the hell did he get her to stick around for
five
years?

I know what Jolee sees in him because Jolee is a stupid skank who just wants someone to have sex with her. And if all you’re looking for is a boy toy, then Nash fits the bill. He’s most girls’ type with his athletic body and angular face, offset by light green eyes and full red lips. But I respect Tatum. A lot. So I expected way more from her. And now that she’s kicked him to the curb and moved on with a real man, it’s hard to believe she was ever stupid enough to date him.

Tatum once told me that I get under his skin, that he’s not used to people being opposed to the general idea of him. Which was shocking to me: why isn’t
everyone
opposed to the general idea of him? Although, I think my perspective on the situation is pretty unique- the kid’s been nothing but nasty to me since day one. This
charm
that people claim he has has never been wielded on me.

I’m deep into my commiserating so I don’t know why Nash is practically yelling, “Is it too late to change seats?”

I look at him, then to my fellow students and teacher, who are all staring at Nash and me.

“I have to assume, Nash, if you chose to sit next to this young lady that she will make a fine partner.”

“What?” I blurt out. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The entire class snickers at me before turning around, and Mr. Photography Teacher takes a seat behind his desk, effectively dismissing us. I have no choice but to turn to Nash, “What the hell is he talking about? Partners?”

Nash actually looks thoroughly irritated- which is not a look he wears very often. Cool and confident is more his style. “This section,” he mutters, stabbing his finger into the middle of the second page which I have yet to read, “the one about working with a partner
for the entire fucking semester
, is what he’s talking about.”

I turn the page, look down at the syllabus and, sure as shit, we are required to, not only explore our own landscapes, but the landscapes of our partner, therefore seeing their life and also what ours looks like through their eyes.

What the seventh layer of hell?

“No, this is not happening,” I mutter, pushing back from the table.

Nash clamps his huge hand onto my thigh, which I promptly tear off me and throw back at him. “Were you paying attention to anything the man said?” he mutters.

“No. Actually, I wasn’t.”

“He’s not gonna let us switch partners. Something about foreign landscapes bringing out our creativity and getting better results if the person next to you is not someone you know.”

“What kind of bullshit is that? And I mean, it doesn’t even apply to you. I believe you are
beyond
familiar with the landscapes of my life considering you’re sleeping with the girl whose home I’m currently living in.”

Nash hasn’t looked at me. He’s studying the syllabus with a kind of laser focus I wouldn’t have thought him capable of, assumedly as he searches for a loophole in our little predicament. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m no longer sleeping with your landlord.”

“Please,” I mutter under my breath, turning my own attention to the syllabus. But, again, my focus has apparently checked out for the day because now I’m racking my brain trying to remember the last time I heard my cousin’s cries of ecstasy seeping through the thin layer of drywall that separates my room from hers. It’s a special kind of puke-inducing torture that, despite the plethora of men who pass through her sheets, only Nash was able to inflict on me. And now that I’m thinking of it, I realize I have been spared her ugly, desperate pleas and moans for a while. Maybe even since before his breakup with Tatum. God, no wonder her bitch level has climbed to an all-time high lately.

“Maybe I can drop the class,” he mutters to himself as his eyes roam the paper.

I refocus and see where his discontent is coming from as words like
home, work, friends, personal interest, favorite hangouts, places of refuge, childhood haunts,
and
future landscapes
all magically pop off the paper and assault my eyes. I do not want to explore Nash’s places of refuge (probably the bathroom where he keeps his hand lotion and porn) and I definitely don’t want him exploring mine… even though I don’t currently have a
personal refuge…
if I find one, I’m not letting him in.

“That’s an excellent plan,” I mutter back at him.

I watch as his hand crumples up the stapled packet with impressive effectiveness. “Actually,” he seethes, “I don’t want to drop this class.” I look at him with shock and horror. “I think you should be the one who has to change classes.”

“What?” I sputter, “No. This is my only… last semester I had to take… I don’t even have a refuge… this was supposed to be… No.” Oh my god, I’ve reached a new low. I’m getting emotional over the possibility of having to drop my photography class. And I’m staring at him like a lost puppy dog.
Pathetic.