The Prologue (7 page)

I see Tony leaning against his silver BMW, and my hands start shaking again.
Steady, girl
.
Put on your game face.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer, ever since I can remember. But since I started dating Tony, I’ve realized I have completely missed my calling. I should take up acting, because it’s become second nature for me to be able to hide everything, to act like I have a normal, happy life. To shove it all aside, and act like nothing is wrong, like at the dance studio with Jenny yesterday. Yes, the silver screen is missing out on something extraordinary, not getting to see my talent.

“Hey, baby,” Tony says, pushing away from the car and circling to open my door. “Ready to go home?”

“Yes, thank you,” I murmur. He’s smiling down at me, and I realize that perhaps Tony is the better actor between the two of us. Or maybe he’s just even crazier than I am, for staying with him.

Tell someone, Evie!

Zeke’s voice echoes through my head as Tony closes the door, and I emit a strangled sob before I can stop myself. I quickly suck in a breath, franticly pulling myself together.

Tell someone? He doesn’t even know how badly I want to, how many times I’ve come so close. How every time my dad gathers me against him for a hug, I almost break down and tell him everything. How when Jenny looks at me a little too closely and quietly asks if everything is all right, I nearly blurt it out to her.

But I can’t. The consequences are too great. I won’t have blood on my hands, the way Tony does. I refuse. And there’s the simple fact that I also don’t know who I am anymore without him, who I would be if I tried to stand up on my own. I don’t even know if my legs are strong enough to hold me, or if I would just collapse, and never be able to get back up again.

I’m too scared to even try.

Ezekiel

8

I’m on pins and needles all weekend, waiting for school on Monday morning. I don’t even notice my dad nagging me, or pay attention when Cindy asks me to watch her new routine. All I can think about is Evie, wonder what happened after I left the bathroom and she went out to Tony, wonder if she’s all right. Hell, if she’s even alive.

When my alarm goes off on Monday morning, I practically vault out of bed and into the shower. The extra ten minutes I have to wait for Cindy practically kill me, and when she finally comes down the stairs, I grab her arm and whisk her out of the house. I drop her off at the middle school and walk so quickly to the high school that I’m ridiculously early.

I use the extra time to take my place in my spot against the school wall and then light up a cigarette, hoping it will calm my jangling nerves. I’m leaning against the front wall of the school, facing the big open parking lot, and I keep my eyes trained on it. Ten minutes later, a sleek, pearlescent beige Lexus coupe pulls in, headlights on against the foggy April morning. Evie waits in her car for exactly three minutes, and then the silver BMW sedan slides in next to her, and she and Tony get out.

I keep the hood of my black zippie up over my head, semi-concealed as more people arrive and walk back and forth in front of me, but my eyes never stray from Evie and Tony. They exchange greetings, and I note, with newly opened eyes, the stiffness of Evie’s back as he gives her a hug. He releases her and grabs her backpack, carrying it for her, and then reaches to take her hand. My eyes narrow as I see the slight hesitation Evie has before she grabs his hand and they walk up toward the school.

Koby and Dominic pass me and call my name, but I wave them on, too interested to give up my spying yet. Only when Tony and Evie pass me and are pushing through the doors to the school do I push off from the wall and follow them. My mission is cut abruptly short when an arm reaches out and blocks my path. I run into it, and then look over, ready to scowl at whoever is getting in my way. My scowl fades away when I see it’s Mr. Bryant, the head of our art department.

He smiles pleasantly at me. “Got a moment, Zeke?”

“Not really,” I reply, and try to push past him. I can just see Evie and Tony, they’re at the end of the hallway…

Mr. Bryant steps with me, still effectively blocking my path. Evie turns the corner, and they’re both gone, out of sight. I sigh heavily, and return my attention to the teacher that won’t leave me alone.

“-sent over some more of the sketches that you did in middle school, Zeke, and I wish you would consider at least sitting in on a class. Talent like yours is rare, and the scholarships for art are quite-”

“Thanks, Mr. Bryant, but I’m done drawing,” I interrupt in a hard voice, and finally break away from him. It’s incredibly rude, and any other teacher might have tried to give me a detention, but I know Mr. Bryant doesn’t want to alienate me and destroy the chances of me joining his precious art department. He’s been hounding me to get back into class ever since I dropped out freshman year, after my mom left. The man doesn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’.

Giving up on finding Evie in the crowded hallways, I head to my locker. I’ll see her in class, regardless, but Dominic and Cameron are in our anatomy class, and it will hardly be the ideal opportunity to talk to her. At least Tony isn’t there. My fists clench at the thought of that pig. Maybe I’m reacting this way because I’m scared for Cindy, that there are people like that out in the world, and I don’t want her to become the kind of victim Evie is. Either way, I’m not done trying to get Evie to tell someone.

School passes by with excruciating slowness, and sitting behind Evie in anatomy is pure torture. Everything about her seems normal; she jokes with Chantal, who sits next to her. Her hair still emits the intoxicating floral scent I can’t seem to ignore. She still doesn’t look me in the eye, give me the time of day.

But I don’t miss the careful way she lowers herself into her desk, the stiff way she sits all through the period. I’m amazed by her performance, that she can appear so happy and carefree, fit in so well with all these people, when she’s hiding such a big secret. I wonder again how long she’s been hiding it, and decide that her act is so convincing, it must be a long time.

I have my own issues with love and affection, secrets that I keep, scars I don’t let anyone see. Still, I can’t help but wonder what a secret like Evie’s does to a person. To stand on edge like that all the time, to never be able to trust anyone enough to tell them. And even though I’ve sworn off any kind of empathy, any kind of pity or emotion toward another human being, my heart gives a pang when I think of Evie.

I’m sitting at dance during Cindy’s lesson, torn between relief and annoyance that Koby has a shift at the club tonight, since I’m bored. Dominic is there as well, and it means they can’t answer their cell phones, and without anyone to text, I’m feeling restless. Even watching Cindy dance doesn’t calm me the way it normally does, and I drum my fingers against the armrest of my chair.

I know exactly what’s eating at me, and I wish I could make it go away, erase what I have seen. It’s too much, making me feel too much, worry too much, about another person, and that’s what I’ve been avoiding for three long years now. I’m doing my best to fight it, because last week we almost got caught while spray painting the bridge, and I can’t get picked up by the cops again. I think briefly of going home and opening a sketch pad, getting all of these feelings out of me
some
way, but banish that thought as soon as it comes. That’s one promise I’m not breaking to myself.

The bell above the door tinkles, and I look over, glad for the distraction. In an eerie case of deja vu, my eyes land once again on Evie, pushing through the door of the dance studio. Her eyes rove over the people in the crowded waiting room, at first skimming over me, and then doing a near comical double take.

She has two Starbucks cups in her hands this time, and I can see her battling between fight and flight, clear as day in her big expressive eyes. Especially when she realizes that the only empty chairs are on either side of me. I have to hand it to her though—she takes a deep breath and then starts forward, slowly, gingerly sinking into the chair on my left. She sits on the edge, carefully balanced, as though ready to spring up and fly away at the slightest wrong word.

I search for the right words, and finally come up with, “That for me?”

She finally looks over at me, glaring. “What?”

I gesture toward the coffee. “You know I only drink decaf, I hope?”

Her nose inches up in the air slightly, and I realize this Evie is a far cry from the sobbing, helpless girl of Saturday night. This is Evie the actress, the side of her I’ve seen all my life. I wonder how in the hell she can keep it straight, being two people, and which of her two selves is the real her.
Buddy, you probably don’t want to know
, I tell myself.

“It’s for Jenny,” Evie finally says. “Not you.”

I shrug my shoulders, and for a long minute, we both watch all the girls out on the dance floor, practicing their pirouettes or some shit like that. I’ve never been able to keep the names of any of the moves Cindy shows me straight.
Leave it alone, Zeke
, I tell myself.
Don’t get involved. She’s crazy, and so is Tony. She told you to leave it alone and not bother her.

Even as I’m telling myself this, I hear my own voice asking quietly, “How are your ribs? Are you feeling… all right?”

She glares at me again, eyes hard chips of amethyst. “I’m fine,” she bites out. “Thanks for asking.” It’s added almost as an afterthought, as though she can’t escape the manners that have been instilled in her.

I have to admit, even pissed off as she is, she’s much politer than any of the other people in her crowd; Chantal, Tiffany, Grace, and Tony and his friends. Dom, Koby and I all let out identical groans when we see them come into the club, whether at an event, for golf or tennis, or even a simple dinner, and we all beg the other staff to take care of them so we don’t have to. The few times we’ve been unable to avoid them have always resulted in near-firing from the club.

Evie and Jenny are probably the most civil of the group. They actually smile and thank us when we serve them, and I’ve seen them arguing with the others about shorting our tips. That doesn’t mean they don’t think we’re still beneath them, of course. But at least they have sympathy for the lowlifes.

Another long silence passes, and I strive to find something to say, because the tension is killing me. I cast about for something harmless, wondering if I can at least make her a little easier in my presence. She’s still sitting stiff as a board, and as I remember how I grabbed her wrist in the bathroom, a feeling of shame flushes through me. The least I can do is try and make her relax. I want to keep people at arm’s length, but I don’t want to terrify a girl who already has every reason in the world to be scared.

“See that girl there?” I ask, and point to Cindy, who is to one side of the room, waiting for her turn to leap across the dance floor. “Brown skin, dark hair, cute nose, prettier than all these other girls?”

Evie’s eyes flick toward Cindy, and she gives a curt nod.

“That’s my sister, Cindy,” I say with pride. “She’s only eleven, but she’s won this studio nearly as many awards as Jenny. She was even in the Nutcracker at the Palace Theatre last Christmas.” It’s a sappy, random thing to say, but if there’s one thing I know will impress a girl, it’s a brother’s love. The girls I’ve casually dated in the past have all pretty much melted when they saw Cindy and me together. Unfortunately, that’s usually also when they said they loved me, which was my cue to bolt.

“Jenny told me,” Evie said, and I’m pleased to hear that her voice has softened fractionally, and she watches as Cindy crosses the stage, her legs practically bending upward. “She’s very good,” Evie adds.

“I know,” I agree. “She’s going to be one of the best.”

“With you to push her along, it sounds like she has no choice,” Evie says dryly, and to my intense surprise, I actually let out a laugh.

Evangeline

9

When Zeke bursts out laughing, my heart almost stops in my chest. I realize that I’ve never seen him smile, legitimately smile, before. Not ever. And when this boy smiles, he’s beyond beautiful. He’s absolutely stunning. His teeth are white and strong looking, and his curious green eyes light up and dance. He’s enchanting.

I push the thoughts away, incredulous that I can find any man good looking after all that Tony has done to me. Zeke has the potential to be just as dangerous and horrible as Tony, and I feel fear build up inside me as I wonder if I’m only attracted to people who will hurt me.

But as I watch Zeke watch his sister, somehow I don’t think he has it in him. And even though he’s intimidating, big and scary, I somehow still feel comfortable with him. I search for a name for the feeling coming over me, and incredulously, I realize its safety. The way I feel with my dad around. As though nothing and no one can get near me and hurt me. Amazing. Especially since this is the first civil conversation that I’ve ever had with him.