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Page 6 of Summer Skin

THE FOLLOWING MONDAYmorning and another endless week of school came quicker than Chase would have liked. In the backseat of his aunt’s Mercedes, he mindlessly watched the scenery out the window, thinking of this weekend—of Aven, and the way his heavy stare started a fire in Chase’s gut. An unwelcome heat he most definitely wished to stamp out.

“Why can’t we ride the bus?” Brooklyn complained. Again. The subject was a near-daily battle his sister wouldn’t let go of.

“Dropping you kids off at school helps me keep to my morning routine,” their aunt replied, a new line of reasoning Chase didn’t buy. In truth, he suspected Colleen chauffeured them to and from the high school as a way of maintaining appearances for the fellow golf and country club moms. The sort who would never allow their precious child to experience the downright horror of public transportation.

“But I want to ride the bus,” Brooklyn carried on, and honestly, Chase didn’t get her long-standing campaign. The bus was only another half an hour a day trapped in a small, crowded space with people who’d rather he didn’t exist at all.

For whatever reason Colleen chose to drive them, Chase was grateful.

Colleen tapped a beige-painted thumbnail against the steering wheel, ignoring Brooklyn’s statement completely, and his sister folded her arms across her chest with a huff.

As soon as the car braked at the curb in front of school, she bolted from the front seat, backpack tossed across her shoulders, and she darted off before Chase even had a chance to say goodbye.

“Hey,” he called, going after her. “Brook!”

She made a shooing motion at him without even turning around and Chase jogged to catch up.

“What’s the rush?”

“I just hate her, you know?”

“Who?”

“Colleen, duh.”

She wove her way between parked cars towards the greenbelt of Douglas fir trees lining the side of the school campus. Her pace was determined and Chase quickened his own to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know where you’re going,” she said pointedly, “but I’m having a morning cigarette.”

“A what?

She didn’t bother with an answer as they stepped around empty beer cans and candy wrappers, trekking farther into the woods. A minute later she planted her feet in one spot, unzipping her backpack and rooting through it until she’d gathered a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He watched, slack-jawed, as she pulled a cigarette out and lit up, inhaling, and then letting a lazy wisp of smoke free from the corner of her mouth.

“What the actual fuck, Brooklyn?” he demanded.

“It’s noir,” she told him, taking in another puff of smoke. Those damn detective novels she was so obsessed with.

“Where did you even get those?”

“The guy at the gas station at the bottom of the hill sells them to me. I have a fake driver’s license,” she said conversationally, a picture of nonchalance.

“Do I even want to know how you got your hands on one of those?”

“Probably not.”

The pungent smell of tobacco smoke crept into his nose.

“Cigarettes are disgusting, Brook.”

“Really?” she asked, her head cocked to one side. “I sort of like them. Try,” she demanded, holding the cigarette out towards him.

Her face carried the same determined expression he’d known since she was a child, trying to cajole him into creating sandcastles for rock crabs or friendship bracelets for the fairies who lived in the flowerpots outside their home.

Chase’s heart went soft, and he rolled his eyes at her, accepting the outstretched cigarette from her hand.

The first drag made him cough, and he immediately went to hand it back to his sister, but she made a tiny motion with her hand instructing him to try again. The second time was a little easier, smoother. Now that he knew what to expect.

A pleasant buzz filled his head, and he let himself relax, dropping his backpack to the ground as he took one more drag before handing it back to Brooklyn.

“See?” she said, with a satisfied expression. “Noir. It’s like we’re in a covert meet-up deep in the woods to share notes on a case.”

“A case?”

“Right. A girl’s gone missing.”

“Why is it always a girl?”

“Good point. A boy’s gone missing. A jock, the football team’s quarterback and pride of the island.”

Chase scratched behind his ear. “You mean Jake?”

“Who?” she asked.

“Our school quarterback.”

“Sure, whatever, it’s Jake.” She lowered her voice, as though someone might overhear them. A sinister figure stalking the woods, looking for their next victim. “So, Jake went missing on the eve of Homecoming, and Andi is an absolute wreck.”

“Wait,” he said, interrupting, “what’s this got to do with Andi?”

“Andi was supposed to go as his date to Homecoming.”

“Says who?” Chase demanded.

“The eyewitnesses. Keep up.”

He shot an annoyed glare in Brooklyn’s direction but waited for her to go on. “We’ve been hired by Jake’s filthy-rich parents to infiltrate the school and pose as fellow students in order to solve his mysterious disappearance.”

She took a long inhale of smoke and suddenly he understood what she was doing. It was the same tactic their mom used when they transferred to a new school in a new town. Make a game out of it. Make it feel light.

Only Mom wasn’t around to do it this time.

His clever sister crafted a story, a reason for them to enter a school filled with kids who’d experienced childhoods so noticeably unlike their own. Weaving a reason to fit in, a make-believe mystery that didn’t directly relate back to losing their mom.

Chase’s chest drew tight, watching Brooklyn, his mind drawn to an image of her sitting off by herself at lunchtime with yet another mystery novel, not even bothering to try making friends. His stomach twisted, a knot of bitterness. It wasn’t fair.

She’d never had it fair.

“Mom should have taken that corporate job,” he blurted, interrupting her theory on what happened to the star quarterback.

Brooklyn’s face fell, and she tossed the butt of the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath her feet. “Chase, she never would have been happy creating art for someone else. Mom loved her work. Designing for some soulless corporation would have sucked the life out of her.”

That all might be true, but it didn’t stop the ever-present want for a different childhood for his sister. For himself. And it didn’t matter anyway. His mom made her own selfish decisions and tore their family apart.

“I don’t hate her for what she did,” Brooklyn said quietly. “Mom is Mom. She was telling herself a story and trying to make it come true.”

“Still, she should have—”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Brooklyn warned him. “If we’d had a different version of Mom, you wouldn’t be you.”

Chase didn’t tell her he wouldn’t mind a different version of himself, not at all. But Brooklyn … she was perfect as is.

“Whatever,” she said, hefting her backpack across one shoulder. “Bell’s going to ring. Come on.”

***

During third period, a girl with a long blonde braid down her back hurried into Chase’s math class and handed his teacher a note. Chase was unexpectedly called up to the front, and his breath stopped, imaging something terrible happening to Brooklyn. When he returned to his seat, he unfolded the piece of paper to read: Congratulations, Chase Matthews! You’ve been selected as a proud member of our school band. Please see Mr. Edwards in his office at the end of the school day.

His heart hammered in his chest. There was no freakin’ way he’d beat out Aven for a spot in the band after the rock star performance the guy put on at auditions. Not an itty-bitty chance. The thought crossed his mind this very well could be a penalty decision. There was a strong possibility Aven ruined it for himself by daring to open his mouth and sing. This couldn’t have been a decision based on talent alone.

That was probably what this request to meet after school was about. A reminder that Chase needed to try harder because he barely slid in as second choice, after all.

***

A few minutes after the final school bell rang for the day, Chase stood in front of Mr. Edwards’s office. The door swung open after Chase gave a brief knock, and there, slouched in a chair with his arms crossed and a glare as deadly as a rattlesnake, was Aven.

“Ah, Chase,” Mr. Edwards greeted him. “There you are. I was just telling Mr. Sinclair there will be two guitar players in our band this year.” He pointed back and forth between Aven and Chase, an encouraging smile plastered onto his face.

It took a second for what he was saying to sink in, and then Chase’s heart dropped.

“This is wrong,” Aven protested, sitting up in his seat. “It’s against tradition. There’s only one spot for guitar in school band.”

Most schools Chase had attended didn’t even allow a single guitar player, let alone two. But he wasn’t going to be the one to say that.

“Sinclair,” Mr. Edwards said, “you’re a good kid, and a great guitar player. I enjoyed having you as part of our team last year. But I’m gonna need you to put your personal feelings aside and choose to get on board with this decision, alright?”

The look of utter disdain painted across Aven’s face told everyone in the room exactly what he thought of that.

“Aven, look,” Mr. Edwards tried again, moving towards him with a placating smile. “Let’s put the rivalry demonstrated at auditions to bed. You’re teammates now. And I need both of you to make peace with each other for the good of the band.” He glanced in Chase’s direction. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Seeing as it was never Chase’s intention to enter into any sort of rivalry with Aven Sinclair, he quickly nodded his assent, and the room went quiet as he and Mr. Edwards waited.

“Fine,” Aven agreed, after a stretch that went on long enough to make Chase truly regret trying out at all.

“Perfect!” Mr. Edwards clapped his hands together. “Now shake on it, boys, and I’ll see you at our first practice next week.”

Aven pushed up slowly from the chair, his face schooled in a neutral expression until he passed Mr. Edwards and let his mask drop, allowing Chase to see the fiery resentment still burning in his eyes. Nothing had changed, and Chase understood in that moment, Mr. Edwards had only pushed Aven’s animosity further along.

With a pessimistic sigh, Chase held his hand out, trying to convey to Aven with his expression that he meant no harm, that he wanted whatever this tension was between them to ease. They locked eyes, and Chase immediately flashed back to that weekend and Aven’s penetrating stare, the way his body had lit up like a firecracker in response. A flush crept up his neck with the memory, and when Aven grabbed his hand, gripping tight, the heat spread.

They stayed like that in the doorway, hand-in-hand, eyes locked on each other, until Mr. Edwards cleared his throat and Aven suddenly broke contact like a shock, backing away.

“Very good,” Mr. Edwards told them. “I look forward to working with both of you.”

The music teacher nodded his head, dismissing them, and Chase spun quickly out the door, hurrying down the deserted hallway, hoping Brooklyn had successfully convinced their aunt to wait a few extra minutes to give him a ride.

He only managed a short distance before a voice called out, “Why?”

For one sweet second, Chase imagined ignoring Aven. Considered turning speed-walking into an outright run, pushing through the school doors to freedom. Maybe he wouldn’t stop at the edge of the school’s property. Maybe he’d go as far as hopping on a ferry and escaping this island, far away from Aven, and his aunt, and the ever-present whispers of pain and self-doubt that kept him awake at night.

But there was no outrunning those feelings forever. No way to realistically escape Aven and his monumental grudge. Nothing to do but settle this, right here, right now. So, fuck it, Chase planted his feet and wheeled on him.

“Why what?” he asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral.

Aven stalked toward him until he was cornered against a row of lockers, and Chase’s hands curled into fists. Ready.

“Why are you everywhere? Always in my space.” He inched closer, tapping two fingers against his temple. “Getting into my head. Trying to take away everything that’s mine.”

The sound of Chase’s heart pounded in his ears. Calm, he told himself. Stay calm. “Like Mr. Edwards said, there doesn’t need to be any competition between us. I promise I don’t want to take anything from you. We’re on the same team, right?” he asked carefully.

“Bullshit!” Aven snarled. “Who’s sitting in first chair? Who gets the best solos? Who’s earning the most applause?”

Chase’s stomach plummeted. Damn it, Aven was right. Joining the school band meant an entire year full of an unwelcome pissing contest he never asked for. Why couldn’t this guy understand Chase just wanted to be left the fuck alone?

“Look, I’m only trying to fit in on this island enough to not completely hate my life,” he admitted. “It’s hard, being new. Having no friends. Don’t you get that?”

“Oh, man,” Aven deadpanned. “Cry me a river.”

It was a little surprising just how rude Aven could be while staring right into his eyes. It shocked a laugh out of him. “You”re kind of a dick, you know that, right?”

Chase knew he was playing with fire but, damn, he was sick of this. It was exhausting, the arrogant way Aven sauntered and stared. The way Chase’s ridiculous teenage body heated up in response. The way that, even now, when he was half convinced they might come to blows, Chase couldn’t stop his gaze from finding Aven’s mouth.

Standing up to his full height, Aven stared him down. Eyes boring into him like he could read every fucked-up thought racing through Chase’s head. An unrelenting buzz hummed beneath Chase”s skin. Yearning for something to happen, waiting for Aven to make contact.

“You”re not fucking funny.” Aven jabbed a finger into Chase”s chest, pressing hard underneath his collarbone, pushing until he”d backed Chase up as far as he could against a locker door.

They shared breath, inches apart, and Chase felt the all-over flush of pure adrenaline prickling beneath his skin as Aven dug his finger in that much deeper. “I wish you’d never moved here,” he hissed out through clenched teeth.

Chase”s head jerked up. A brief look of unguarded hurt crossed his face and Aven dropped his hand like he’d touched acid, taking a step back. But their eyes stayed on each other for long seconds before Chase finally looked away, and said, quietly, “More than anything, me too.”

Aven’s brow wrinkled, and Chase could sense his hesitation on how to answer something like that. Chewing his bottom lip into his mouth, Chase made a choice and said, “My mom’s in prison.” He couldn’t meet Aven”s eyes. “For art forgery. I don’t know my dad, he was never around—took off when I was a kid and all that. I’m living with my aunt and uncle. But I wish my sister and I were still in California with our mom. Every single day I wish for that. Every night.”

It was quiet. Deadly still over the emptiness of a school day drawn to a close. Aven shifted on his feet. He opened his mouth once, twice, and then said, “Why did you tell me? You don”t want everyone knowing your mom’s in prison, right?” He studied Chase’s face with curious, wide eyes, like he couldn’t read him, not even a little bit. He swallowed, looking young, unsure. “I might tell.”

Chase blinked up at him, considering. “You won”t,” he said, thinking of the inexplicably intense connection between them, and how Aven must feel it too. Thrumming like a heartbeat, a pulse of life. He could almost touch it in the air circling around them, sense it as a tingle running up his spine. Whatever this was, it was between the two of them. No one else.

“You don”t know that,” Aven said, low, nearly under his breath.

Chase turned his back, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and walked away. “Dude!” Aven called after him. “You don”t know that!”

But he didn’t turn around, just tossed a wave over his head and slipped out the door. He’d thrown down the gauntlet.

Now it was time to see what Aven was made of, once and for all.

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