Rival: A Feuds Novella (The Feuds Series) (4 page)

“I’ve got it!” Vera exclaimed. “We’ll do pizza at Zizzi’s. Perfect. It’s casual and fun, and sharing food is always sexy.”

“Vera.”
Davis glanced at her dad, but he was so immersed in his call that he hadn’t noticed. Vera gave her an innocent look in return.

“What? You know I’m kidding.” Vera knew Davis wasn’t there yet. It was different with Vera and Oscar. They’d been together so long, sex was inevitable. But Davis had never gone much further than kissing with a guy.

“Vera, if anyone even sees me with Seth, it could damage my chances at the Olympiads. You know how important it is to me. I just want to honor my mom’s memory. I want people to see that I can be as good as she was. If someone thinks there’s something going on, it would be a huge problem. The performance is … it’s my chance for a leg up. I don’t want to screw it up. I don’t care how cute he is.”

“We’ll keep it low-key,” Vera assured her. “There’s no rule that says hanging out as friends is off-limits.”

“I just don’t want to violate the code of ethics.”

“And I understand that. I just also understand that you could build a foundation with this guy; then after you rock the Olympiads … who knows what could happen? That’s why we’re going as friends. Which I made very clear when I invited him.”

“Okay.” Davis trusted her friend, despite her better judgment.

Later, when she was lying on her bed after dropping Vera off, Davis could still feel the touch of Seth’s skin. She threw her arm over her eyes, groaning inwardly.
It was not a big deal. Just an almost kiss.
No matter how many times she repeated it, she couldn’t get that memory out of her head.

Vera was right—who knew what could happen?

Vera showed up at 7:00
P.M
. sharp the next day. Davis’s DirecTalk pinged to alert her. That day at practice hadn’t been as awkward as Davis had expected; she’d only run into Seth once, and Vera had already given him details. It had been easy enough to ask him to meet them there. Meeting there would diffuse the situation, setting boundaries. At least that’s what Davis had told herself.

“I thought we were going for pizza,” Davis said when they pulled into Rocco Bucco, a trendy spot that was popular with people their age because of its floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Slants, the part of Columbus designated for the Imps. Davis knew a lot of Priors who considered the Slants cool and edgy, but it was nothing their parents would ever approve of. And what was the point of segregation at all, if the Slants were being used as a type of tourist attraction? Davis wasn’t all that comfortable eating a fabulous meal while looking out over the Slants. Their hovels stretched for miles outside the window, and even though it was dark she could see kids splashing around in the toxic, unfiltered river water. It felt wrong that this was all set up to be a voyeuristic novelty, even though she knew the Imps were treated kindly overall by the Priors.

“They have pizza here, too. Very exclusive pizza. You’ll love it. I had to pull some strings to get this res.”

“I’m sure you did,” Davis told her.

“Okay, I lied. Seth pulled some strings.” She lowered her voice. “This place is crazy. You need a password and everything to get in!”

“I can’t believe you asked Seth to get us in when it was our plan in the first place.”

“He clearly wants to impress you,” Vera explained. “It was a good move. I’d heard him talking about it the other day with the receptionist. Who is way not cute, by the way,” she mentioned.

“Um, she’s gorgeous,” said Davis. All Priors were.

“Okay, but not like you,” Vera said, slinging her arm over Davis’s shoulder. “Where’s Oscar? Ugh, he’s always late.”

“We’re meeting friends,” Davis said to the hostess.

“Two gentlemen?” the hostess asked. She was clad in a skimpy black dress, the kind normally worn to clubs, with a low-cut front and back.

“Yes. One’s got messy blond hair. He’s skinny-cute. The other one is pretty built, with brown hair and—”

“They’re both here,” interrupted the hostess. Davis could swear she’d seen the hostess’s eyes roll at Vera’s obvious bragging. “Right this way.”

“Don’t tell Oscar I was complaining.”

Davis stopped in her tracks when the hostess led them to their booth and she saw the view. Columbus spread in front of them like magic. The blinking windows illuminating the city’s skyscrapers left her breathless. The Slants were somewhat obscured by the lights of the city, and their view from the top floor of the high-rise where the restaurant was housed was unparalleled. The landscape—vast and seemingly endless, with colored beams streaming from the tops of buildings like neon rainbows—was stunning.

“Ladies, welcome,” Oscar said, sliding over on his side of the booth to make room for Vera. Davis took a seat next to Seth, who touched her knee gently, then pulled his hand away before she could react. The booths were small. Uncomfortably small. Or just right, depending on how you looked at it. A bottle of red wine was already open on the table and half-drunk. Davis raised her eyebrows.

“Connections,” Oscar explained, gesturing toward Seth. “Apparently the guy’s full of ’em. You’re a good man, Seth. We should hang more often.”

“Anytime,” Seth said, “as long as Davis comes along.”

Vera took this as her cue to whip out her flask. Winking at Davis, she leaned over to pour whiskey in her soda. Davis’s eyes flickered to Seth’s, nervous he might be offended, but he reached for the flask after Vera had finished serving herself and Oscar drinks. Seth motioned to Davis, and she nodded and watched him pour the whiskey into her glass. Davis took a tentative sip. It occurred to her that he was in a precarious position, too—he could lose his job if anything happened between the two of them and they were caught. The fact that he was willing to risk everything for her made Davis’s stomach flip. It also somehow made everything seem a little more okay. They were in it together.

An hour later, after at least four pizzas and another flask of alcohol, this one procured by Oscar, along with a very long, very slurred conversation about art in which Oscar pontificated (obnoxiously, Davis thought) about his parents’ collection, Oscar pulled Vera out of the booth and led her away to “check out the view from the opposite side of the restaurant.” This meant, as Davis knew well from past experience, that he wanted to get Vera alone to make out. Davis was painfully aware of Seth’s thigh brushing against hers—his hand touching hers as he reached for his glass. The whole left side of her body felt electrified, moving unstoppably toward his.

“So,” she began, feeling out of sorts. “You’ve been dancing since you were a kid?” She already knew he had; she was grasping.

Seth laughed, bringing his glass to his lips. “That’s right. How long have
you
been dancing?” he asked, redirecting the focus of the conversation, which seemed to be his habit. Davis was about to respond when she heard a commotion from the other side of the room. She craned her neck, looking to see what the matter was.

“Oh, shit,” she said as she watched a concierge escort Oscar and Vera toward the restaurant’s exit. Oscar had red lipstick distinctly smeared over his face and Vera was adjusting her dress. They must have been hard-core making out this time.

“Looks like I’ve got to go,” Davis said, standing up and reaching for her black snakeskin purse.

“What’s the rush? Let them go. Our night doesn’t have to be ruined.”

Davis hesitated. Vera
did
have Oscar with her. It wasn’t as if she were alone. Seth took Davis’s hand, motioning for her to slide from the booth. She glanced around for their waiter, but Seth shook his head and told her that the bill was already taken care of. Taking her hand, he led her across the restaurant. Her hand felt small in his, and although his palm was rough, his grip was gentle. Her pulse quickened. They walked past the bathrooms and down a set of utility stairs. Seth pushed open an unmarked door one flight down, and they emerged in an empty, glassed-in enclosure—a storage room, filled with wine boxes stacked high around them. Seth pried open a box and offered Davis a swig from the bottle he’d pulled out. She took a deep breath and sipped. Seth indicated out the floor-to-ceiling window.

“Nice, right? This is why I like this spot.”

“It’s beautiful.” The stars spread out around them. Davis could practically see the entire sky stretching out beyond the city, glittering in all its starry splendor. She was a little tipsy; it was getting to her—the beauty and magic of the night. He placed a hand on her lower back, sending her head spinning, and she almost forgot herself. When he moved it to her hair, her back began to tingle, and she shivered. He took her in his arms, rubbing her shoulders as if to warm her, and she instinctively pressed into him. He leaned down, pushing her long hair away from her neck and kissing her neck lightly, his lips soft against her skin.

“Seth, I—”

He turned her in his arms, and she didn’t resist this time when his lips met hers. She melted into him, her stomach and body coming alive in ways she didn’t know she could feel. She pressed her body against his chest, feeling the gentle strength of his torso against her curves. He moved his mouth from her lips to her cheek, from her cheek to her throat, which felt like it was buzzing from his touch.

Her DirecTalk vibrated from the necklace she always wore, near where Seth had just kissed.

“Ignore it,” Seth said, his lips against her ear.

But Davis pulled back, a wave of awareness overcoming her. It could be Vera. It could be Davis’s dad. But mostly, she wanted a reason to break away from Seth’s embrace, which was powerful in a way Davis didn’t quite understand. She clicked on the message, moving several steps farther from Seth.

Good luck,
the message read.
Some say your mother’s shoes can never be filled. –Gabrielle.

Davis’s entire body went cold.
Gabrielle Reydell—
Davis didn’t even know how Gaby had gotten her number. She read the message over and over, covering her mouth with her hand. That was low, even for Gaby. Davis had spent her entire life trying to live up to her mother’s image. Her entire life.

“What is it?” Seth looked at her, his hazel eyes alight with concern.

“I need to go,” Davis said. Nothing felt right, not even Seth’s light touch on her shoulder. “I’m tired. I need to go now.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Davis shook her head, walking quickly away from him, back up the stairs to the dreamscape where they’d eaten and down the long corridor that led to the elevator bank. From there she descended to the ground floor and headed straight out the door.

Davis leaned against the smooth marble façade of the building, trying to quell the panic rising in her chest. She searched up and down the street for a car, wondering if she should call her father’s chauffeur, when she heard shouts from a group of people not twenty feet away from her.

Imps. An argument between Imps and Priors, right in front of the restaurant. The conversation was getting heated; Davis decided she’d head for the monorail rather than wait for a car. She pushed past the group.

“The strike is serious,” one of them, an Imp, was saying. He was a broad guy with bottle blond hair. “It’s gunpowder waiting to be lit. It’s happening any day now. And after that … the city won’t be able to function. You wait. You see what you can do without your
‘Imp’
slaves. You perfect Priors are pathetic. You couldn’t tie your shoes without us.” Davis was startled. Imps usually referred to themselves as Gens. They refused to use the “Imp” or “Imperfect” label that Priors used for them.

“Shut up,” the Prior opposite him demanded. “You have no damn clue what you’re talking about, man. You’re just detritus. You’re nothing. You’re treated way better than you deserve, because
you’re not important.
Columbus doesn’t need you at all. That’s why you are where you are—cast aside.”

Davis’s heart accelerated, and she took another step toward the monorail, accidentally brushing one of the Priors as she went.

“What the hell?” he snapped. “Watch where you’re going.”

He yelled something more, but the monorail pulled up to the station, approaching the tracks with a screech. Davis couldn’t make out his words, but as she stepped on the monorail car she looked back to see one of the Priors yelling obscenities at her. Then, for no reason at all, he shoved one of the Imps, who’d told him to chill out. Then several of the others jumped in, and soon it was a full-on fight between Imps and Priors. The train was stalled; an automated announcement said it was being held at the station.

Tonight was falling apart. Davis felt like she was dancing and all her moves were missteps. Why had the Prior been such a jerk? She hadn’t done anything to him, and now they were all fighting over nothing—but she’d had a part in starting it, even though she didn’t get how. She felt compelled to do something about it, so she left the car and ran toward the group. If the Imps just stayed in the Slants, this wouldn’t be happening at all. But then, why had the Imps bothered to fight on her behalf? Why was any of this happening at all?

“Stop!” she shouted at them, her heart racing. All this over her. Over a stupid accident. “You’re being insane. This is ridiculous!” She yanked at one Prior’s arm, trying to pull him away from an Imp, but the Prior was too strong. “Please,” she said again. “Please just stop this.” She was near tears, breathless from the violence of it all and the fact that she’d catapulted it in this direction. She stepped toward the group but was shoved back painfully. Determined, she tried again, moving for a Prior who was poised to punch an Imp. Suddenly she felt a strong hand on her arm, and she looked up into the green eyes of a handsome tanned, sandy-haired guy about her age. Without saying anything, he lifted her and carried her back to the monorail, planting her safely inside as the doors slid to a close behind her.

She was safe, but the fight was getting worse. One of the Priors threw a punch that knocked an Imp to the ground; then the Prior kicked the Imp in the stomach and he rolled over into the fetal position, clutching his torso. She met the eyes of the boy who’d put her in the car, which were locked on hers. She put a hand to the window. It was impossible to tell if he was an Imp or a Prior; his handsome features suggested Prior, but he was dressed in a worn undershirt and torn, ragged jeans. She didn’t recognize him. He lingered on her for a brief second, then rejoined the group, kneeling behind the fallen Imp and fielding other blows. He looked invincible. As the monorail pulled out of the station, she looked back to see him pulling bodies from bodies, attempting to break up the fight.