Page 18

Dallas

“What happened to you?” Austin whispers when I return to my seat next to him.

“Just my brother's idiot friend,” I mumble.

Someone on screen fires a rocket launcher and detonates a gas station, along with a couple dozen mutated aliens. Where’s the guy that was leading the team? Is he dead now? I don’t even know what the hell’s going on in this movie anymore.

Austin furrows his brow. “What?”

I stare back at him blankly.

Shit. Alex is gone and Austin doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“Sorry,” I whisper, “there was a line for the restroom…and then I ran into this girl I know…”

My lie seems satisfactory and we both turn back to the screen to watch the rest of the movie. It doesn’t matter that I have no idea what’s going on; I can’t think about anything else except what happened in that storage closet. I can still feel Alex’s fingers in my hair and the warmth of his chest against mine and the way his mouth— oh, God…

I ate a fucking gummy bear off of Alex Barrera’s tongue!

I sink into my seat with a mixture of revulsion and exhilaration. Alex completely wrecked this movie for me with his stalker-like behavior and his need to get back at me for…for what? Assuming he was kissing some girl who, by the way, I saw sitting on his lap in the cafeteria with my own eyes?

He’s completely ridiculous.

“Since when does Alex Barrera talk to you?” Austin asks as we exit the theatre into the parking lot.

“What do you mean? He’s one of Colson’s friends. I’ve known him for a long time.”

“Known him?” he scoffs. “He’s never said a word to you.”

Fine, that’s not exactly true.

“But sometimes he…” I’m about to rationalize Alex’s irrational behavior when something catches my eye in the distance.

Just across from the marquee, on the other side of the street, there’s a guy sitting on a dirt bike—an orange dirt bike. He glances at his phone and then tucks it back in his pocket before starting the engine. I can’t see his face behind his black helmet, but the bike, his height, the shape of his shoulders all but guarantee that it’s Jesse.

He's here.

I take off across the asphalt, but as soon as I reach the curb, he revs his engine and speeds off, down Main Street. I wave my arm and yell his name, but it’s no use. The bike is too loud and I’m just another face in with the crowd.

And just like that, Jesse is gone again, just like Alex. If it was even him to begin with…

Why is this happening? Do they both belong to some secret society where they have to vanish into thin air once a girl gives them a shred of attention? And what does Alex mean by I’ll be addicted to him? Like every other girl that grovels before him and can’t get enough of his arrogant bullshit because he’s a soccer star? How fucking stupid.

So stupid, in fact, that I’m still stewing about it the next day at lunch. I should’ve sat at the other end of the table. Now, whenever I talk to my friends, I see Alex watching me from across the room. As soon as my eyes meet his, he flashes me a smug grin like he knows he caught me, so eventually I just stop looking in his direction altogether.

I shouldn’t let him get to me, none of this should matter. But as soon as the bell rings, I grab my bag and rush back to class. Once safely back in U.S. History, Grayson Maggard reaches over and flips off the lights as Coach Wheeler prepares to turn on the rest of the movie we started before lunch. Everyone was pumped at Wheeler’s choice to show Selma as our cap on the Civil Rights Movement, but he only did so on the condition that Grayson would yell out some code word to alert him if someone in the administration knocked on the door while it was playing.

“Lutz,” Coach Wheeler calls across the room, motioning for me to approach his desk, “someone found your glasses case in the hall. You can run down and pick it up in—” he squints at the monitor, “122.”

I peer over his shoulder at the desktop screen and there is indeed an email from Mrs. Cunningham, one of the English teachers.

FROM: Cunningham, Leslie

TO: Wheeler, Jim

SUBJECT: Lost and Found

Hi Coach,

Please send Dallas Lutz to room 122 to pick up her glasses case that was turned in.

He scribbles his signature on my school-issued agenda to indicate I’m allowed to be out of class and I head to wherever room 122 is.

After walking the entire perimeter of the first floor with no sign of this phantom classroom, I finally veer off into the library where, thankfully, Sydney is sitting behind the circulation desk next to the girl with teal eyes.

“Hi, Dallas,” she greets me in her lyrical voice.

“Hi, Sydney,” my tone is much less enthusiastic, “do you know where room 122 is?”

Sydney thinks for a moment. “Is it in the math hallway?”

“No, I looked there already. The rooms end before 122. It’s like it doesn’t even exist.”

Sydney glances over her shoulder where a framed diagram hangs on the wall, showing where the fire exits are. She slides off her chair and walks over to examine it.

“It’s on the other side of the auditorium,” the other girl pipes up, “the old drama room.”

I peer around Sydney’s arm as she points to the red dot on the library and traces a line down the hallway and around the auditorium to the other side of the school. Her burgundy lacquered nail stops on a small cluster of rooms, one labeled 122.

I let out an exasperated sigh at the exorbitant distance I still need to cover.

“Have fun, Dallas,” Sydney chuckles as she returns to the desk.

“Bye, Sydney,” I mumble as I trudge back to the double doors.

All of this could’ve been avoided if whoever found my case just took it to the front office. Isn’t that where most Lost and Founds are located anyway? When I finally get to the tiny hallway on the opposite side of the auditorium, I start to wonder if I really need my glasses case after all.

Because this can’t be right.

The lights are off and it looks deserted. The only light comes from a window at the end of the hall with bars across it that faces a brick wall. I glance around, searching for any other living soul. Finally, I gather my nerves, step into the shadow, and creep down the hall.

Immediately, I pick up the pace so I can just find this room and get the hell out of here. It’s probably like Mrs. Hannigan’s art room on the third floor. She claims it has better light for her plants and it’s quieter to invoke the creative spirit. You can also sneak out onto the roof and smoke.

Eventually, I reach three doors at the end of the hall. One looks like a utility closet, which is locked, and there are two regular size doors on either side—121 and 122. There doesn’t appear to be any light coming from the crack beneath either. I lean forward, trying to listen for voices. Still nothing. Getting more irritated by the second, I try the handle of 122. Once it turns and I know it’s unlocked, I swing it open and step inside.

It is a classroom—or was —and, fortunately, it’s brighter than the hallway thanks to the full-size windows inside. But it looks nothing like a classroom now. This room is where every old piece of furniture and equipment in the school goes to die. It’s crammed with boxes, desks, lab benches, chairs, empty shelves, carts, projectors that look like they’re from the 1970s, an old chemistry hood, whiteboards on wheels, the set from some Shakespearean play, and even a few gym mats stacked against the far wall.

“ Perfect, ” I mutter, deciding to forget the glasses case and get out of here.

Suddenly, a bang echoes through the room as the heavy door slams shut. I let out a gasp and spin around. But as soon as I see what made the noise, I take a few steps back, my eyes darting around in panic.

A dark figure stands at the door, dressed in a black hoodie. His face is just an empty hole obscured in shadow and when he swivels his head to look at me, I think my skin might melt straight off my bones. He must’ve already been in here. Waiting…

This was a bad idea. The worst.

He moves slowly, pivoting his broad shoulders before taking one step. And then another. Until he reaches up and pushes his hood off his head.

His black hair and russet eyes are unmistakable.

“Hey, Mama,” Alex holds up a plastic glasses case, “I think this is yours.”

It’s the same case I returned his glasses in when he left them in my bedroom. My terror turns to anger and I grab for the case, but he moves it at the last second so my hand slices through the empty air.

“Don’t you have things to do,” I snip, “like get ready for your prom date? ”

“You don’t like when I talk to other girls, do you?” Alex cocks his head. “Do you get jealous?”

When I don’t answer, the corner of his mouth curls deviously. “Then I’m going to give you your wish, Dal,” he leans in close, “you have every single iota of my attention now.”

Frankly, it sounds more like a threat.

“What are you going to do, follow me some more? Lock me in a closet again?”

Alex towers over me, invading my space. “I like your games, Dallas. But I don’t know if you’ll like mine.” He starts backing me further into the cluttered room. “You should know something, and I’m only going to say it once.”

My hips hit the edge of a table, making me stumble. Alex comes to a halt, so close that my chest is nearly touching his ribs.

He leans down. “Don’t ever make the mistake of talking to me like I’m your brother ever again.”

I glare up at him, “Then stop acting like my brother and don’t tell me what to do.”

Alex eyes me suspiciously. “I shouldn’t like you so much. You’re Col’s sister and you’re just a freshman. And those things alone should guarantee I never even look at you again.”

I hate the way he says it, like he’s realized that I don’t belong wherever he is. My chest tightens at the thought of never speaking to Alex again after today. Maybe grief is making him do weird things just like everyone else. Maybe he’s realizing what a mistake he’s made and he has to erase it before Colson or anyone else finds out. But I don’t think it’s a mistake. He doesn’t talk to me like it’s a mistake.

Still, the fury keeps gnawing at me, seeking vengeance for images in my mind that I still can’t forget.

“So, you’re just afraid of Colson, is that it?”

Alex’s face hardens. “You’ve got a big mouth for such a small girl. What if I put you on your knees right here, Dal?” A rush of adrenaline shoots through my veins. “When’s the last time anyone came back here? I could put you to work for a good 40 minutes before your next class. How many times you think you could make me come in 40 minutes?”

Another jolt of electricity shoots through my stomach all the way down my thighs. I’m terrified, but it’s also the most alive I’ve felt in weeks. Before I know what’s happening, Alex grabs me around the waist with one arm and lifts me onto the table top. We stare at each other for an excruciating amount of time until Alex finally glances down at his hand.

“Open, Angelína, ” he commands.

“Why?” I croak, my throat parched.

He grins with amusement. “I want to see if that mouth can do anything besides talk shit all day.”

Alex flips the glasses case in the air and catches it next to my face, then he reaches up and squeezes my jaw with his other hand. My mouth falls open and the hard plastic clips my teeth as he gently pushes it past my lips. I squint as my jaw stretches the further back it goes, until he slides his other hand around the back of my neck, holding me immobile against the cinderblock wall.

His lip twitches with sick amusement when the case finally hits the back of my tongue, unable to go any further. Then he holds it there while I suck panicked gasps of air through my nose. To my horror, I feel a faint tickle in the corner of my mouth and realize a thin string of spit is trickling down my jaw.

My heart beats faster, if that's even possible. He tricked me. Alex Barrera tricked me and I don't even know how he did it. And to add insult to injury, now I'm drooling all over his hand while he has me pinned against the wall with my legs dangling in mid-air—the pinnacle of freshman humiliation.

“Suck.”

Enraptured by his gaze, I slowly let my mouth relax and run my tongue along the bottom of the case, my jaw opening and closing while more spit seeps down my chin.

“Now take a deep breath,” he instructs, “and when you breathe out, open your mouth wider.”

I don’t know what compels me to do what he says. Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe it’s the sheer morbid curiosity he invokes whenever I’m in his presence. Whatever it is, I can’t get enough of the adrenaline-fueled high it’s giving me.

I breathe in through my nose, and as soon as I let my breath out, my jaw relaxes and he slides the case further, but I don’t gag.

“ Shit, Dal, ” he murmurs almost painfully, “how deep can you take it?”

His eyes locked on mine, Alex drops his hand from my neck and runs it up my shirt, stopping midway up my ribs. I pull back slightly, startled by the sensation.

“I definitely didn’t say you could stop sucking,” he warns.

I strain to move my jaw, but my muscles are sore and this time I might start gagging. My chest heaves as I try to breathe and maintain some semblance of dignity. But Alex only smiles, and finally slides the case out of my mouth, trailing a string of spit as he sets it on the table next to me.

I quickly reach up to wipe my chin, but he grabs my wrist and pulls it back down. “No, your mouth looks good all wet.” Then he reaches up and grasps the sides of my neck, tilting my chin up with his thumbs like he’s examining my face. “You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever met, but you’re still dangerous,” he leans in close with a whisper, “ like us. ”

When he says it, my muscles tense and something happens deep in my gut. Alex is the first soul to compare me to the force that is my brother, and it’s the first time I’ve ever thought of it as a compliment.

And I actually smile.

He pulls back with a skeptical look. “So sweet that you’ve never even kissed a man, have you?”

“Yes, I have, Alex,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“Who? Bostwick? ” he snickers. “I said a man, not a bratty kid with an inferiority complex.”

I won’t admit anything to him. I’ll remain stoic and act like he’s not reading every thought in my head like it’s on a damn teleprompter. He doesn’t need to know what happened over winter break, some of which I can’t even remember myself after the copious amounts of “festive holiday punch.” Alex doesn’t need to know I might’ve kissed Austin, but it was fuzzy and neither of us have acknowledged it since.

“Like you?” Now I’m the one nearly touching my nose to his. “Luring girls into dark closets— again? ”

“You need to get used to seeing me in dark places, Angelína , because if I have to keep seeing you without touching you, I’m going to go fucking insane.”

My stomach flips on itself with every name he calls me and I lose all sense of rationality. I reach up and clench the chest of his hoodie, pulling him toward me. And when his lips meet mine, I want to drink him up before he disappears again.

After a few seconds, Alex gently pulls back. “Slower, like this.”

Holding my head steady, he slides his tongue between my lips, moving his mouth at a torturous pace. Each time he pulls back, he gives my lip a slight tug, only to go back in deeper each time. All I can smell is the sharp, clean scent of his hair and it’s blurring my vision the more I breathe him in. I can feel his cheek muscles move and I know he's smiling, probably laughing at me, but I couldn’t care less right now. I just want Alex to keep kissing me.

He runs his hand around the back of my head, weaving his fingers into my hair before giving it a tug, making my breath catch when he pulls my head back. A shiver runs down my spine while Alex trails long, slow kisses up and down my throat.

“You’re too good at this, Dal,” he groans against my throat. “I want to leave so many marks on you,” he sinks his teeth into my neck, making me wince as the adrenaline shoots from my belly down the entire length of my legs, “in places no one will ever see.”

Fear claws at me, but the more he touches me, the more light-headed I get from the constant rush of dopamine. He guides my mouth to his, devouring every inch while I knead his sweatshirt, trying to feel the contours of his shoulders beneath the thick cotton.

“I…I love kissing you.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

“Maybe I want to do more than kiss you. Would you like that?”

I nod, my breaths shaky and deep while I’m about to melt into the wood veneer.

“Are you sure, Mariposita ?” I nearly fold in on myself when he calls me that and I don’t even know what it means. “I thought you said I’m no fun anymore,” he lifts my hand from his chest and kisses the inside of my wrist, “that I’m just a quarter of a brain,” he wraps my arm around his neck, “a fucking idiot. ”

I start shaking my head frenetically.

“This is mine,” he says as he leaves a lingering kiss on my lips. Then he runs his hand down the back of my shorts, over top of my cheeky underwear. The wider my eyes get, the wider his smile gets. He palms my ass and gives it a squeeze. “This is mine.” Then he slides two fingers right down the center.

My eyes fly open in a momentary flash of panic and I don’t know what to do except dig my fingertips into his shoulders.

“And this, ” he starts dragging his fingers up and down, “is mine, too.”

My eyelids start to droop and my mouth falls open. Because the more he does it, the more I like it. The thin layer of material does nothing to dull the sensation, only makes me want it more.

“You are a little hellion,” he hums into my neck. “I knew I found the right one.”

A tiny moan escapes my throat as I fidget against his excruciating touch. The harder I lean into him, the more my legs fall open and I want something to fill the space between them. But suddenly, my face falls away from the warmth of Alex’s chest. He lets go of me and steps back from the bench top. I grab the edge of the table, my legs still dangling in mid-air. Then he raises his chin, looking down at me with smug satisfaction.

“You should get back to class, Dallas,” he says with a sharp nod to the door.

I gape at him with vacant eyes. Words don’t exist, only the euphoria that’s quickly dissipating like a wave on a beach. He’s drawn me in again, just to rip everything away at the last second. And now the tide’s going out, and it’s dragging me along with it.

But unlike last time, Alex doesn’t leave me. This time, he watches like a hawk as I slide off the edge of the table and gingerly make my way across the room. My legs feel like Jell-O and I think they might collapse under me. When I reach the door, his voice finally splits the air like thunder.

“Nine days . ”

I don’t know whether it’s a threat or a promise. Maybe both.

Either way, it spurs me to action and I grab the knob, fleeing into the dark hallway and all the way back to class.