Page 114 of Jerk

Mac shrugs. “Your boyfriend said you needed a statement piece.”

My attention shifts again.

Boyfriend.

That word hangs. Foreign and warm.

New, yet fitting.

Sublime.

THIRTY-SEVEN

HANNAH

“Ready?”

“Ready.” Krystal stands next to me, both of us staring down the quad. "You sure we won’t get kicked out for this?”

“No,” I reassure her, taking her hand in mine. “I’m HannahAlfonso,and you’re KrystalRowen. And we’re going to act like it.”

With one step forward in my platforms, Krystal follows with our heads held high and strides fit for a runway. With Michelle Nam as her mother, Krystal is no newbie to walking with attitude. She's taller, so I make sure my walk keeps up.

The last few weeks, we’ve kept our heads down. Classes, then studio, rinse and repeat. Take out. The studio scattered with lace, silk and leather. The whirr of the machine steady in my head. I’d be up til the wee hours some nights, only stopping when Rye brings me food. Or breaking long enough for him to fuck me against the fabric-scattered floor.

“Is that Hannah and Krystal?”

“Oh my god, what are they wearing?”

“This is about to be iconic.”

Oh, and what we’re wearing? Two corset dresses laced with silk ribbon all the way through the back. Krystal’s in black while I’m in crimson red. It’s the rejects from our show, too tame for our vision. But that doesn’t mean they’re not show-stopping. Ask our audience.

Jaws drop as we make our way through the quad. Then, when I know I have the attention of our fellow students, I reach into my large black velvet bag and toss out red rose petals. Krystal follows when I do, throwing down silver foil cards that glimmer under the sun. Eye-catching. Just like us. Students scramble for what falls out of our bags. If they know me and the Rowens, they know the fight for a card is worth it.

The quad becomes covered in roses and cards in no time, students looking at those cards in awe. Chatter erupts, but students don’t dare approach us with questions. Without a word, we continue through the skating rink doors, locking them behind us so no one follows.

“That was smooth,” Krystal says, peeking through the glass window.

Joining her, both of us watch as students continue to scramble for the remaining cards. On them are QR codes with the name and time of the event. And each card only admits one.

“Still a good team,” I remind her. “I’m happy they can see us working together.”

Krystal adjusts her beret as I adjust the black butterfly clips in my hair. We smile, a friendship I never saw happening growing, and not just because I’m fucking her brother. I’ve found something genuine in her, too.

Who knew the Rowens had so much heart?”

“And if they see you and Ryung working together?” Krystal’s smile tells me she knows she’s poking.

“The locker room is that way,” I instruct, ignoring her question. “I’ll meet you back here.”

Krystal takes my hand, stopping me. “You sure you’ll be okay?” Her eyes search my face. “With whatever it is you're doing?” She squints her eyes like she’s trying to read my master plan.

“Don’t worry, this is still my domain.” I push my velvet bag to her chest. “I’ve got this.”

Leaving Krystal behind, I move down the hallway towards the men's locker room. Glass cases with trophies and plaques line the wooden and quartz wall as I pass, but it’s all a blur. Heat comes to my skin when I’m reminded of what happened here last time, Rye and I in a position I never thought we’d be in. A position I now crave. It also reminds me why I’m doing this. I hope I don’t fuck it up. If my profs get wind of this, it’s game over, and I’m already on thin ice.

“Looking good, Hannah,” Vince calls, leaving Coach Winslow’s office in his hockey gear. Scratches and cuts still remain on his face, a reminder of what Rye did to stand up for me.