Stupid Boy

What had happened, after. At my grandmother’s.

I kept it all bottled up inside of me. Corinne Belle had warned me never to let anyone know of it. Not to let them know who I really was. There’d be consequences, she’d said. And there would be, too. Even now. I hadn’t told a soul anything. The Harper Belle I’d become was a product of Corinne’s fine grooming. If one would call what she’d done grooming.

And as long as it—as I—stayed that way, everything would be okay.

But then, Kane McCarthy happened. I felt as though his sultry eyes could see straight through my lies. The thought terrified me worse than the nightmares I’d grown up with. How could he, though? I barely knew him; had barely been around him. How could he know anything other than what I portrayed about me?

I brought to mind his face; his features. His flawless skin. His gestures. His voice. There was a perception about him that frightened me. But besides that, there was something mysterious about him. As though he, too, were hiding something. Keeping secrets. Funny, I sometimes got the same impression, on a much smaller scale, from his brother Brax.

There was no way out of this thing now. I’d thrown the gauntlet down with the Dare. The girls were completely onboard. To back out would inspire questions; demand answers. I wasn’t prepared for either. So I’d have to figure out another way to get at Kane McCarthy.

Only I was going to have to learn to control the absolute terror he stirred within me.

If not, everyone would know. They’d be able to see me.

And that just simply could not happen.

Ever.

I’d done something I almost never, ever did. Unless I was sick. Which I rarely was.

Skipped a morning run.

Kane would’ve been there, leaning against the tree. Or sitting on my park bench. I knew it like I breathed air. And somehow, that had intimidated me. Kept me prisoner. Kept me from doing the one thing that freed me. Even if for a short while.

It angered me, in the end. I was angry at Kane for, well, intimidating me. Angry at myself for allowing it.

I swiped the moisture from the bathroom mirror with my palm and glared at the face staring back at me. Corinne Belle had always said I had more eyes than face¸ and she was right; so wide that they had to tilt upward at the outer corners to fit properly. Almost like an alien. Watery bluish-green in color, I vaguely remember my father’s eyes being the same. I fingered my wet hair—straight to just below my shoulders, blonde. I lifted my face, turned it side to side. Sharp features, like a bird, Corinne had said.

Just like my dad.

Corinne Belle had changed my name, but not my features. Something I’m sure she would’ve given her right arm to successfully do.

I hurried through my bathroom rituals before the others awakened, and slipped back into my room. With my towel wrapped around me, I searched through my closet and chose a dark brown cashmere cardigan that I layered with a cream silk undershirt and a pair of tan trousers. A pair of brown leather heeled Mary Jane’s completed my outfit for the day. As I dried my hair, thoughts crowded my mind. Calculus. Literature. Bake sale. Turkey Run.

Kane McCarthy.

His words had stung, even though they were the exact impressions I’d purposely given people for as long as I could remember. Rich snob. Better than everyone else.

Both descriptions were far, far from the truth.

Flipping the blow dryer off, I set it on my bed and my eyes found the round vinyl hat box I kept on my dresser. Depicting vintage postcards of travel, like the Fiji Islands, Hawaii, London, Australia, it was where I kept every extra penny my grandmother had sent to me. For food. New clothes. Extra-curricular expenses. Old fashioned, she’d insisted on sending me cash instead of a check, or directly depositing. I didn’t have an account. I never would—not while in college, anyway. I didn’t deserve one, after all. Her money wasn’t my money. One day, she’d said, I’d owe it all back to her. And back to her everything would go. Every stitch of clothing she’d insisted on me buying to keep up appearances. The Lexus. Every handbag. Every pair of leather shoes. Every single dime.

So I used as little as possible. I didn’t want to owe her or anyone else for that matter. Ever. It was one reason why I didn’t go out with Murphy on a regular basis. Or with Olivia and Brax for pizza. Or to the mall with the sisters—unless it was with money we’d earned with a fundraiser and we were using it for something other than ourselves.

No one knew who I really was. No one would.

I applied my make-up, smoothed my hair and tucked it behind my ears, and pulled on my clothes. I made sure everything looked just…so. Then, at my money box, I paused. Considered. Hunger pangs rumbled inside my stomach.

Breakfast it would be.

Sliding the lid over, I lifted three one-dollar bills from its belly, replaced the lid, and folded the bills neatly in half. Breakfast always was the cheapest meal of the day, especially with a student discount. Too bad it was a nearly-impossible task to keep food separate in the community kitchen downstairs. I’d tried before, though, and no one ever seemed to remember whose food belonged to who. So I’d made the decision to select one meal a day to purchase, versus jockeying a loaf of bread and a package of turkey meat, or a box of oatmeal, in the Deltas’ community kitchen.

Easing out of my room, I made my way down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the early morning. On the porch, I paused. Inhaled. Not quite six a.m., no one was yet about, and I reveled in the absolute stillness of late-fall air. Above, the sky blinked with stars over a blanket of inky velvet. It was so quiet. Peaceful. Morning darkness was somehow different than nighttime darkness. Not as threatening. Not as terrifying. The older I’d gotten, the less fearful I’d become of morning darkness. Especially at Winston. With lamp lights blazing the campus, I set out.