Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3) (18 page)

“Sometimes reaching your dreams isn’t all you’d thought it would be.”

—Sebastian Tate

“PUT YOUR FINGERS here for the C note,” I instructed Kevin, one of the students at Lyons Place as we sat in the music room. About six other students sat around in a circle, all of them here for their second guitar lesson.

I glanced over at Spider, who was helping another group of wide-eyed students in another part of the room. Truth be told, the brass son of a bitch looked quite at home as he pranced around in his blue ensemble, explaining how to hold your instrument.

When I’d come home from my initial visit with Mrs. Smythe and had told him about the place, he’d been surprisingly enthused. Of course, I’d given him a pep talk this morning about his language and behavior before we’d arrived. So far, he’d been clean and chipper. Thank goodness, Mrs. Smythe had been on board with him too. Turns out her husband was English, so she’d been quite taken with him.

Kevin adjusted the guitar and strummed out a basic chord. The music reverberated through the room and I grinned. “Not bad,” I said and showed him the next one by placing his fingers where they were supposed to be. “We’ll have you playing like Stevie Ray Vaughan before you know it.”

He turned red, and I clapped him on the shoulders. “What’s wrong, man?”

“You-you-you’re actually teaching me to pl-play the guitar,” he stuttered. “It’s the coolest th-thing ever.”

I smiled, careful to not interrupt his stumbling words. Mrs. Smythe had given me the low-down on how to handle his speech impediment last week as well as explaining how he’d lost his mom in a house fire years before. He was ten years old with fuzzy red hair and a big hopeful smile. His enthusiasm was infectious.

“You’re a natural, Kev.”

He straightened his shoulders at my praise. “I-I really want to si-sing,” he pushed out. “Be fa-famous like you. When I sing, I don’t stu-stutter. Gi-girls will like me then.”

I squeezed his shoulder. Dude. Been there.

“We can do that, no problem. Chicks dig guys who sing, but being famous isn’t all it's cracked up to be, ya know? It comes with a downside too. Sometimes just being yourself is all it takes to get the girl.” I tossed him a grin and flipped through some of the music I’d brought along with me.

“Do y-you have a gi-girlfriend?”

My mind went straight to V, and I blinked, feeling that familiar pang I got when I thought of her. I hadn’t seen her since the coffee shop two weeks prior. I watched her house each night, of course, scouring her property to look for any sign of her, but she hadn’t been playing outside except for once, nor had she been dropping by to make us green drinks. Her car was often gone from her circle drive, too, and it was killing me wondering where she was. Mila assured me she hadn’t left for New York with Geoff. I was glad for that at least.

I just missed her.

“Do
I
have a girlfriend?” I mused. “Hmmm, that’s a good question. Apparently, there’s a ton of reporters wondering the same thing. You don’t work for TMZ, do you?”

He scratched his head. “Don’t watch that sh-show.”

I chuckled. I liked Kevin more and more.

Of course, there was Blair. Everything in me rebelled at posing for more fake relationship pictures, but I had allowed Mila to release a press statement saying we were still an item. It was a compromise of sorts. Reporters were following us around separately, wondering what was going on, but so far we’d been tight-lipped on the entire thing. Obviously, she still wanted to cling to me because of my younger age, and I still wasn’t ready to give up on Hing and the zombie movie. But I wasn’t with her in public anymore. She wasn’t happy about it.

I glanced back up at Kevin. “I got all sorts of music here. What do you want to do next?”

“G-got any Nirvana?” He sent me a hopeful look.

Hell yeah.

I gave him a fist bump. “Keep that kind of music in your heart, my man, and you’ll be playing on the stage with me someday.”

His face shone.

A flash of purple hair went by the room and caught my attention.

“Wh-where you going?” Kevin called as I took off for the door at a slow jog.

“Thought I saw someone,” I called back. I reached the wooden door, which was much like a classroom door with a thin glass panel above the doorknob. I flung it open and stepped out in the hallway. There was no one there, and I exhaled and paced around. Not only was I dreaming about her, but I was seeing her in places where she clearly wasn’t.

I went back in to Kevin.

“Y-you okay?” he asked.

I thought about it. I took in Kevin, seeing how everything I said or did would make an impression. I pushed my melancholy behind me and instead thought of V and how she played like every note was a physical touch. “Music makes everything better, Kevin. Never forget that.”

Spider and I left soon after. We walked out to my Hummer and climbed in. Before I started the car, I paused, needing to share. “Teaching those kids—shit, man—that made me feel good. It’s like they’re teaching me something.”

He sent me a long look and I could see from his face that he too had felt it. “Yeah.”

I cocked an eye. “Better than the
The Vampire Dairies
?”

He snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, mate. Nothing beats The CW.”

THE NEXT DAY, V opened her door at seven on the dot ready to run, her hair scraped back in a high ponytail.

And I was waiting. Patiently doing leg muscle stretches on her driveway.

She came to a halt, her eyes big as she took in my running shorts and Vital Rejects T-shirt. “What are you doing here?”

Good question. “I’m sick of not seeing you.”

She stood there, a wary expression on her face. It made me ache to soothe her.

I clenched my fists. “I know you’re still mad at me, because I never hear you play anymore, and I’m sorry for it. It kills me to think I hurt you. I was a total douchebag to you at the coffee shop when I told everyone you played naked for me. I was a callous dickhead at Masquerade when I just assumed you wanted to have sex with me. I’ve been full of shit, and I don’t deserve to have a girl like you give me a second chance, but I’m asking. Right here. Right now. You are a hundred times better than me. You’re beautiful and your music makes me fucking happy, and all I did was make an ass of myself. And if you want Geoff—pompous nitwit, sorry—I’ll try hard to be good around him. For some reason that I can’t explain, I need you, V.” I paused and took in some air. “Will you—will you be my friend? I hope so, because I need to bitch about Spider and Mila—who are probably having sex. Not to mention, Harry called today and told me that Hing is vetting new guys for the role I wanted.”

She still stood there. She swallowed.

“Do you want me to go?” I asked.

Had I gone too far with the nitwit remark?

A car went by. A bird called out.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she spoke. “Douchebag, dickhead, and an ass? Wow, you didn’t hold back. I’m impressed.” She gave me a grin.

Right then a fluttering took up in my gut. Like butterflies. I didn’t try to analyze it or dissect it. I just sucked in a sharp breath and went with it. “Do you forgive me?”

She nodded.

I relaxed, letting go of some of the tension that had ridden me for two weeks.

She frowned. “I’m sad for you about the movie, though. If you hadn’t helped me—”

“No, V, stop. Please don’t feel guilty for that. I wanted to help you. It’s done and over and I’m moving on from it.”

She cocked her head. “You’d take it if Hing offered, though, right?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’ve been chasing this film for three months—ever since Harry approached me with it before I moved here.”

She smiled. “Spider and Mila, huh? The girl who wears pink and the boy with blue hair?” She snickered. “God, it’s too much. Can I say anything? Can we tease them?”

I snorted. “If I catch them together, he
will
marry her.”

She laughed. “You really do try to be a hero. You try to hide it, but I see it in you.”

I tingled all over. “I’m no hero.”

But her thinking I was? Shit, that made me giddy.

“You ready to go?” I asked, checking my watch after we’d talked some more, catching up.

She grinned. “You’re really going to go on my run with me?”

I flexed a bicep. “Sweetheart, I’m one lean, mean, running machine. I can outrun a gazelle. I can outrun a Bengal tiger. I can run circles around—hey where are you going?”

She tossed a sassy look back at me as she trotted off down the drive. “I’m doing eight miles today. Try not to poke—or puke.”

Eight?
“You training for a marathon?”

“Just keeping the cheese puffs and tequila at bay. You scared?”

I puffed up and ran with exaggerated motions, high-stepping by bringing my knees up to my elbows. Just to make her smile.

She gasped out a laugh. “Alright, stop before you hurt yourself—or someone sees you.”

We ran together that morning, side-by-side, neither of us speaking—just together.

Were we friends? Were we more?

In the end, I decided it was just running.

“Loving means losing.”

—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

A WEEK AFTER Sebastian and I made up, I got excited when Mila suggested we get out of town on an overnight camping and horseback riding trip with the boys. Sebastian and I had spent almost every day together since our run, but it was either at his house or mine. Reporters were constantly driving by now—wanting to catch a glimpse of Blair or the Mystery Girl. So far no one knew it was me, and I wanted to stay under the radar.

We all piled in the Hummer and drove up to the canyon and rented horses. Ten minutes into the ride, Mila and Spider, who seemed to have a knack for disappearing together, took off ahead of us on their horses.

Sebastian pulled up next to the slow mare I’d ended up with. “Living on the edge there, V. You better slow your roll or you’ll break that pretty neck.” He tugged on my ponytail.

I sent an envious look at his stallion. “Coming from the guy who’s riding Black Beauty. Why did you have to pick out the pokey one for me? Turtle here is ready for the glue factory.”

“Just want you to be safe,” he said, and sent me a lingering look, his eyes pausing longer than necessary on the neck of my blouse. Slightly sheer and low-cut, I’d pulled it out of my closet this morning and shouted with glee. Behold, I did have some sexy clothes. True, it wasn’t practical for a camping trip, but I didn’t seem to care.

He adjusted himself in his saddle and I let my own eyes linger. With his low-slung designer jeans and form-fitting shirt that showed off his toned muscles and tan, he epitomized virility. And sex. My mouth actually watered. We’d been keeping each other at arm’s length and so far it was working. Although last night when we’d snuggled on the couch and watched TV, he’d been especially tense. I wasn’t stupid. He wanted me, but he didn’t want to hurt me either.

He cleared his throat. “If your horse is that slow, you’re welcome to ride with me. You can sit up front, and we’ll go as fast as you can handle it.”