Page 31 of Little Pieces of Light

Emery

Halloween night was strangely warm, which boded well for Tucker and his Mojo Dojo Casa House Ken costume. When he’d picked me up to take me to the festival, I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing as he yes, sir’d and no, sir’d my dad while wearing a full-length faux fur coat and no shirt.

But in Tucker’s truck, my humor faded. I sat in the passenger seat in my pink gingham dress watching Castle Hill zip past in the dark.

Although I hadn’t been thrilled about going as Barbie, I never did anything halfway.

My costume was spot-on, right down to the white jewelry and pink pumps, while Tucker was the perfect Ken.

We had a good shot at Best Couple, which was probably why he was so excited.

Tucker hummed along to a song on the radio, tapping the wheel and nodding his head. We hardly spoke—certainly never had conversations like Xander and I have.

Had, I corrected. Xander isn’t speaking to me anymore.

After Dad ushered Xander out of the house a few days ago, he informed me that our tutoring sessions were over. Now Xander avoided me at school. Whatever my father had said had done the trick. Something disgusting about Dr. Ford, maybe, that couldn’t be taken back.

So be it. I’ll keep doing what my dad wants, and he’ll love me, and we’ll be a happy family. No turbulence.

I sounded out-of-control in my own head. I felt out-of-control. Like whatever mental fortitude I’d been using to survive my own household was starting to unravel.

I turned to Tucker. “What are your hopes and dreams?”

His brows furrowed under the black-and-white bandana around his forehead. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. What do you hope for your future? What do you want to do?”

“Well, I want to go 3-and-0 in the regattas this season, grab a championship in water polo, make Prom King with you as my hot Queen, and then I’ll go to Columbia. Get into politics.”

“Do you see yourself as a senator, too?”

Tucker glanced at me sideways. “Why all the questions? Did Grayson put you up to this?”

“No. I genuinely want to know.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll run for office. Don’t know yet.”

I waited, arms crossed. “Now, you’re supposed to ask me about my hopes and dreams. Not that I’m allowed to have any.”

Tucker frowned. “You’re acting weird.”

“It’s not weird to want to talk, Tucker. Talking is what boyfriends and girlfriends do. Otherwise, it isn’t a real relationship.”

“How are we not real? We’re together, aren’t we?”

“But why? What do you like about me?”

He grinned. “For one thing, you’re the hottest girl in school.”

“Try again.”

“I don’t know. You’re a good dancer, and you’re…hot.”

“You said that already.”

“What’s gotten into you, Em? You’ve changed since Ford’s been ‘tutoring’ you,” he said, emphasizing tutoring with air quotes. “Just what the hell is going on with you two?”

“Nothing’s going on, and he’s not my tutor anymore.”

“Good,” Tucker said. “Ford’s a killer stroke seat, I’ll give him that, but he’s aiming pretty fucking high if he thinks he’s good enough for you.” He frowned at me when I turned away. “Jesus, Em, that was a compliment. You’re awfully touchy about a guy who supposedly doesn’t mean anything to you.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself, I thought, and tried not to burst into tears.

Tucker pulled his truck into the lot at Bennington Farm.

It was a rustically elegant estate on twelve acres that held weddings, balls, and parties of all kinds.

Its expansive backyard could serve as a beautiful place for a reception or, like tonight, be transformed into a Halloween festival with hay, pumpkins, and wagon wheel decor.

Lights were strung up between booths that offered popcorn, caramel apples, hot dogs, and cotton candy.

Tucker led me across the hay-strewn grounds to find our group. Along the way, he signed us up for the costume contest, and then we hit a photo booth where a professional photographer took our picture.

At the edge of the dance floor, we joined my friends along with Tucker’s athlete buddies, including some of the row crew, his water polo teammates, and a few guys from the gymnastics team.

Big, blond Gideon Foster was dressed as a gladiator.

Orion Mercer was elegantly handsome as a 1920s gangster.

Elowen, a sexy pirate, stuck to his side like glue.

He ignored her and seemed to be scanning the crowd for someone else.

I kept my eyes to myself, not wanting to see Xander and Harper together.

Not wanting to see Xander at all. I could still feel his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing away my tear.

He’d wanted to kiss me; I’d felt it vibrating off of him like a current.

And God, I wanted it too, and I hadn’t known how badly until it was happening.

As if what had begun seven years ago was finally coming full circle.

Like coming home…

He doesn’t want to kiss me anymore. He won’t even talk to me.

If my father had been truly cruel to him, I couldn’t blame Xander for wanting nothing more to do with me. I just wasn’t prepared for how much it hurt or how much more suffocating my life had become. It felt like I could barely breathe.

“Em! Tucker!” Aria waved as she and Rhett joined us.

“What do you think?” she said, showing off their costumes, which, like most Richies’, were professional quality down to the wig and makeup.

He was dressed as Gomez Addams, she as a sexy Wednesday.

“We just might give you and Tucker a run for Best Couple.”

“Bloody hell.” Orion snorted a laugh. “You realize Gomez is Wednesday’s father, right?”

Aria sniffed. “They’re fictional , Orion. No one’s going to care.”

“If you say so.” He shot me a private Can you believe this shit? glance and I managed a smile in return.

I noticed Tucker and some guys already passing around a flask; he’d be wasted by ten o’clock.

I felt drunk too, in my own way. A strange energy ramping up inside me, trying to break free.

Like I wanted to scream or cry or run and not stop until I arrived somewhere else. Until I could be someone else.

Delilah and Sierra bounced over, Sierra a white swan ballerina and Delilah her twin in black.

“You look ah-mazing, Emery,” Sierra said.

“Thanks. You guys look great, too. From The Black Swan , right?”

“Yes!” Sierra said. “Before and after the madness.”

“You okay?” Delilah asked, scrutinizing. “You’re the saddest Barbie I’ve ever seen.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I muttered. “I have everything I could possibly want.”

They exchanged glances, and Delilah touched my arm. “You want something to drink, Em? I’ll get you some water—”

But before I could answer, Tucker was there, pulling at my hand. “Come on, babe. Let’s dance.”

On the dance floor, he wrapped his arms around my waist, his groin grinding against me as the DJ played Sabrina Carpenter’s “Please Please Please . ”

“You want to know what I like about you?” Tucker growled in my ear, his breath tinged with whiskey. “You’re fucking perfect. No girl comes close.”

“It’s not a competition,” I muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

I ringed my arms around Tucker’s neck; if not for my heels, I might not have reached. I wanted to hold and be held, but he led with his crotch, his hands massaging my waist, then slipping lower, over my ass.

“I can’t wait to get you into the truck later,” he said. “We can celebrate our costume win. Whaddya say, Em?” He held me tighter so I could feel his erection through his leather pants. “You make me so hard. I don’t want to wait anymore. Let’s just do it.” He put his mouth to my ear. “Let’s fuck.”

Why not? What was I holding out for? I didn’t believe in that archaic nonsense about “giving away” my virginity. I only wanted to feel comfortable and respected. I wanted to want to do it, not to just get it over with. The first time and every time.

But it didn’t matter what I wanted, anyway, or who I wanted it with. My father had taught me that, and suddenly I felt like if I didn’t say something true and real, I was going to explode. So I did.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Tucker’s eyes widened; he was just as shocked as me. “What did you say?”

“I said, I don’t think we should be together.”

“What the fuck? Em…are you breaking up with me?”

“I think so,” I said, my heart pounding. “Maybe. No, yes, I—”

“Maybe?” he scoffed darkly. “Oh, I get it. Maybe , if my dad loses the election. Maybe not , if he wins. Whatever it takes to keep Grayson Wallace happy.”

“He’ll never be happy,” I said as the force of what I’d done hit me. “I need some water.”

I pushed through the crowd to a long table set up with refreshments. My hands trembled as I poured myself some water.

What did I just do?

Something my father would think was wrong but that felt exactly right. A paradox or a superposition or something that was both things at the same time. I tossed the water back like it was a shot of booze, then reached in my clutch for my phone to call an Uber to take me home.

But the costume contest was beginning. Tucker found me again.

“Come on, babe.” He took me by the arm and guided me to the stage on the dance floor. “Don’t be like that. Let’s go win this and then we can talk, if that’s what you want so badly.”

We lined up with the other contestants to wait until it was our turn to parade across the stage.

The winners would be determined by whomever the crowd cheered for the loudest. The Scariest and Most Original winners were picked, and Dean Yearwood easily took Best Costume for his Ferris Bueller—not only because his leather jacket and leopard-print vest were spot-on, but also because, like Ferris, everyone loved him.

Then it was time for Best Couples Costume.