Chapter 8
BEATRIX
Dying from embarrassment isn't something I usually do, pen-and-paper.
Generally speaking, I prefer the whole not-dying thing to the dying thing. I've got a lot to do with my life - become a famous psychologist, a good one with a very good degree, research how to cure depression, or at least how to treat it better, and help a lot of people all around the world. Including Dad. Especially Dad.
So dying really isn't high on my list of priorities, to say the least. Studying is. Getting good grades definitely is. I remember once, when I died from embarrassment; my middle-school friends and I went to a boyband concert and lost our minds, throwing our bras on-stage, and then the boy band member I was obsessed with looked my way, looked at the bra on his feet, and wrinkled his nose with disgust. I died then. I'm pretty much a ghost. A very smart, food-loving ghost. I cringe thinking about how stupid I was back then, but the feeling is definitely the same. Except minus the fact Wolf isn't a boyband member and I'm definitely NOT his fan and also it's just so dang hard to act normal when your brain refuses to stop playing the same moment over and over and over -
"Bee?" Dad asked over his morning breakfast of orange juice. "Are you okay? You haven't touched your cereal."
Count on Dad to be aware of how I feel when I need him to be the least. "N-No, I'm fine." I take a massive bite of cheerios. "See? Shoveling food into my mouth like always. Haha."
Dad sighs. "Alright. If you say so. You can always talk to me, you know."
My heart sunk a little. It's a lie, and we both know it, but he says it anyway so he feels like a Dad.
To say I dreaded stepping foot on school grounds that day was like saying a snowman dreads a bonfire. I was terrified. Something had happened at the pool yesterday, something between just Wolf and I, and I didn't know how to handle it. It was just a tiny touch, a voice in the back of my mind says. What was the big deal? I didn't know. I mean, I know now what it was, but back then, I had no clue. It had felt...amazing. That strange shiver that ran down my spine, the way my blood felt like it started to simmer - it happened all at once because of a single fingertip to skin.
I was horrified. At myself, at what I'd done, and at how I reacted. I thought I didn't give a shit about what Wolf thought about me, but turns out I did. Especially if he went and told the whole school about it. I imagined the rumors as I drove that morning - 'The scholarship girl likes him'. I could handle the rumors about me being weird, me being poor, me being unfashionable. But liking someone? I didn't have time for that. I wasn't here - at this stupid school - for that. And liking Wolf of all people? After I very publicly declared my hate for him and his whole family? It would look like I'd fallen under his spell like everyone else in a matter of days. Like I'd succumbed. Like I was just like everyone else. I couldn't handle that. I didn't want to be like everyone else, obsessed with their looks and haute couture and their reliance on their parents' money to get them by in life.
I got out of my car, and the moment I did I could feel people staring. They know. Of course they know. My skin prickled, my face got hot. I wanted to yell at them, at someone. 'I don't like him!' I'd say. 'To me he's about as hot as the extra-grody gum on the bottom of my shoe!'
The only reason I didn't say any of that was because Kristin Degal walked up to me.
To describe Kristin is a bit like trying to describe the sun when you don't have a badass telescope - you know it's bright and hot and provides life, but you don't see the details, like the fact it's made out of plasma, and has beautiful arcing solar flares on the surface, and will summarily implode after a million trillion years. You don't know any of that. You just know it's beautiful and warm. Kristin was beautiful and warm, with soft dirty-blonde hair and a physique like an Amazonian goddess. Someone like that has to have some flaws, you protest. Of course she did. She ate with her mouth open and had the loudest, screechiest laugh I've ever heard. But she had a 4.2 GPA and a near-perfect SAT score that got her on the news. She was nice to pretty much everyone, and only person she wasn't nice to was that one guy who tried to grab her ass in the hall one time. She flipped him over her shoulder. That was the day we all learned she was also a black-belt in Judo.
Kristin smiled at me. "Hey, Bee. I'm Kristin."
"I-I know." I managed. "I've seen you...walking around."
"Walking? Some people say I strut." She mused. "Would you say I strut?"
"Uh, sort of?"
She thinks on this, then shakes her head and claps her hands. "I'm asking you weird things way too early into our friendship, aren't I? Mr. B told me you were pretty smart, so you definitely know what I'm here for."
"To tell me about a 'rocking party', I assume."
"You got it! It's at nine, at Riley's house. I'll come pick you up at, what, nine thirty?"
"But...it's at nine. What about eight thirty?"
"Early? Aw, you're so cute. No no no, you always have to be late to a party."
"Uh, why?"
"So you can make an entrance!" She winked. "Here, give me your phone number. You can text me your address later."
As we exchanged numbers, I glanced up at her. "Is there like, a dress code?"
"Oh, the usual."
"By the 'usual' you mean Prada."
This got a laugh out of her, that screechy, yet somehow infectious, laugh.
"If you don't have anything to wear, I can bring some of my clothes over -"
"No, it's okay," I protested. "I happen to enjoy wearing regular jeans. Also I'm pretty sure Prada doesn't make jeans that aren't a size 2."
She laughed again. "For sure. Okay, you have my number, I have yours. Text me later - I've got to get to AP Chem early!”
In a whirl of vanilla perfume, Kristin hugged me and then dashed off, waving at other friends she saw around campus as she went. It was weird - the moment she hugged me, the people at the edges of the parking lot staring at me just...stopped. I knew Kristin was popular, but seeing her power in action was sort of terrifying. With a single hug, she got them off my back. Just like, with a single red-card, Wolf got people to do what he wanted. The two of them were in a totally different category than me, a category full to the brim with charisma.
I stepped into Auto Class nervous as hell. My eyes scanned the room, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Wolf wasn't here yet. Secretly I hoped he wouldn't show up at all - that'd save me and him a lot of awkwardness. Who am I kidding - Wolf Blackthorn? Awkward? Not in a million years. He'd walk in that door, glare at me, and never stop. I'd have two holes burnt in the back of my head permanently. And it would only be the back of my head, because I was never ever going to look Wolf in the face ever again, that much was for sure.
Mr. Francis took attendance, and introduced me as the newest addition to his class. Auto Shop was mostly filled with guys, but two or three girls sat at the back table. I sought shelter with them. One of them rolled her eyes at me, the other smiled faintly, but never spoke to me, not even when Mr. Francis grouped our tables together to work on labelling a diagram of a V-8 engine. They just passed the paper to me when it was my turn to fill in a blank, and went back to talking to each other about which convertible they were going to ask their parents for when they got their license.
"I don't want a BMW," the frowny girl sighed. "My brother already has one and I don't want to look like I'm copying him."
"You could always get a Saab," Smiley-girl said. "They're really well made."
"Oh, there's Wolf!" Frowny girl pointed to the door. My stomach dropped, and I bent my head over my paper, trying to disappear into the ink. The girls must've not heard about what I'd done at the pool, because they didn't look at me at all. Or maybe they just really liked Wolf. I'd guess the latter, since they couldn't stop whispering.
"He looks really good today."
"It's the uniform, you know? It just suits him."
"Get it, suits?"
"Oh shut up, you're so punny."
"You're right. It's his hair, I'm pretty sure."
"You like guys with messy hair, though. You're biased."
"Seriously, Amanda? I know you like Fitz more, and I admit he's cute, but Wolf's, like, on another plane of existence. There's cute, and then there's stupid-hot. Wolf's stupid-hot."
"You know, Lily told me the other day he looks like he belongs in a castle in France or something and that's exactly it. Like, he shouldn't be in America, you know? He should be a transfer student from Europe."
"If he had an accent I'd die every time he opened his mouth and I like living, thanks very much."
"You're so dramatic."
Listening to them talk, I should've felt like rolling my eyes. But I didn't. It wasn't that I agreed with them - it's just that they were obviously really good friends. I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked with someone my age like that so....so casually. So openly. Guilt welled up in my heart. I was the one who pushed my old friends away. So I had no right to feel so sad. I had no right to miss talking like that with someone. This was the life I chose; this scholarship, a good college, Dad's recovery. It was much more important than a few friends.
I squared my shoulders just in time to hear my name said in Mr. Francis's voice.
"Why don't you go sit with Amanda and Jackie and Bee? It's the only group with three people."
"I'd...rather not." Wolf's voice was low, hitting me like a gut-punch to the stomach.
"I'd rather you would," Mr. Francis insisted. "Please, Wolf. Make my life easy today, for once."
There was a pause, and then footsteps grew near. I clenched my fist around my pen and focused as hard as I could on labelling the parts of the engine. Manifolds, oil pan, crank pins - a chair shrieked next to me as it was pulled out – flat-plane crankshaft, rocker cover, valve train -
"Hi Wolf," Amanda said. Next to her, Jackie giggled. Wolf said nothing back. I dared to look up, only slightly. Wolf was sitting next to me. His arm on the table was all I could see. And then his finger pointed on the paper.
"You mixed up the crank pins and the valve train," He said. I jerked my pen away from his finger, paranoid about getting too close again. Shit. He was right. I scratched the answers out and switched them. His hand lingered in the corner of my vision – I could’ve sworn I saw something white and gauzy beneath his blazer cuffs. Had he hurt himself? God, so what? Why did I even care if he did or not?
"Aren't you going to say thank you?" Amanda asked, clearly irritated.
"Yeah! He's just trying to help. The least you could do is say thanks," Jackie insisted.
I opened my mouth, but Wolf spoke first.
"The least you could do," He said. "Is not tell other people what to do."
Jackie shrunk back. Amanda looked like she wanted to melt into her chair out of embarrassment. I started laughing. It was so soft and quiet, but it burst from me like a bubble.
"That's ironic," I said. "When all you do is tell people what to do with those red cards."
I couldn't believe what was coming out of my mouth. It was reflex, an automatic response system my brain had built just for him; insult him, quip back, do something, anything, but don't just sit there and take his shit.
I expected Wolf to stand up and leave, to glare. But he just scoffed, the sound rough but somehow gentle.
"For once, scholarshipper, you have a point."
The tense knot of anxiety in my chest loosened just a bit. It was suddenly just like how things were before the incident yesterday - resentful and wary between us. Nothing had changed, and I was so insanely relieved about it I blurted;
"I have a name, you know."
"It's a terrible one - like you came out of a storybook," He retorted.
"Oh?" I raised a brow, still too scared to look at him, my eyes glued to the paper. "Like Wolfgang's any better?"
Across from us, Jackie smothered a laugh in her throat. Amanda shot her a nasty look, then tried to cover it up with conversation.
"Your name's Beatrix, right?" Amanda asked sweetly. "Isn't that like, Beatrix Potter? The lady who wrote Peter Rabbit? Maybe we should just call you Rabbit-lady instead."
"Wolves eat rabbits," Jackie chimed in extremely not-helpfully, then giggled.
"Not if the rabbits are smart enough to hide," I said. "Everyone knows you have to hide from wolves, or they'll ruin your life."
"Projecting, much?" Wolf asked.
"At least I'm not self-aggrandizing," I shot back and pressed my pen into my paper hard enough to leave an ink stain.
"Look at you and your big words," Wolf sneered. "Yes, we all know you got into this school with your brain, scholarshipper, you don't have to be high-and-mighty about it."
"She does walk around like she's better than us," Amanda said. "I've seen her at break - she never talks to anybody. Are we all just beneath you, Rabbit-lady?"
Anger boiled my stomach. "I - I don't talk to anyone because I don't know anyone! I don't think I'm better than -"
"You do." Wolf smoothly cut me off. "You just don't want to admit it."
My ears went red. "Fine! So what if I do? So what if I think the entire school is an idiot for being hypnotized by your bullshit? All you guys do is talk about cars and clothes and -"
" - how would you know?" Wolf asked. "You've never once spoken to anyone for a long period of time. You’re always wrapped up in reading some huge book."
"Are you keeping tabs on me like some creepy stalker?" I snapped. "Oh, wait, you do that for everyone you give a red card to, don't you?"
"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize you aren't the type to make friends easily," Wolf drawled.
"Oh! I saw her talking to Kristin this morning!" Amanda said. "They got like, super close. Really close. I think Kristin has a crush on her -"
"That's -" I sputtered. "That's ridiculous! We only just met."
"That doesn't matter," Amanda sing-songed. "Trust me, I've got a great crush-detector. I can definitely tell she's a, you know, lesbian. You'd make a great couple."
She said it like it was a dirty word, something bad. My skin crawled at her awfulness, but that only lasted until Wolf spoke.
"Enough." He said, so sharply it left me with whiplash. "You're a lot of things, Amanda, but I thought you were better than malicious ignorance."
Amanda crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at me. Of course she was aiming it at me - she thinks this is all my fault. If only I was nicer to Wolf. If only I was less stuck up. If only, if only, if only I wasn't all these things people think I am.
When the bell rang for next period, I bolted from my seat. I wanted to put as much distance between me and everything back there as soon as possible. Wolf was faster, somehow, stepping in front of me before I could get seven paces out the door.
"You're not going to change your mind about taking my twenty, are you?" He asked, walking backwards effortlessly as I strode forwards. I aimed my gaze over his shoulder. His face was still off limits.
"No. I'm never going to take it. I don't want anything you have to offer, and I never will."
He stopped, falling off to the side. I pushed past him and walked up the stairs. I was too afraid to look back, too ashamed. The farther away I got from him, the longer the usual school day went, the more and more I realized he'd been right. I didn't talk to anyone. Sure, I overheard people talking about stupid stuff like brand name bags and what drugs they were going to score for Riley's party, but I never listened longer than that. I always tuned them out.
Friday morning, I went running with Burn again. He ran silently and I not-so-silently huffed and puffed as I tried to keep up with him. He waited for me, again, at the halfway point, and we watched the same beautiful sunrise spread over the horizon. It was peaceful, centering. As much as I hated the running part, it was worth it. It was worth it to just sit here and have all your problems be put in perspective.
If Wolf was right about me being stuck up, was it really such a bad thing?
"Is being stuck-up a bad thing?" I asked Burn. He downed some water from his bottle and offered it to me. I hesitated for a split-second, then took it, waterfalling it into my mouth just in case he was the type to hate second-hand saliva.
"It's only bad if it hurts someone," Burn said after a long consideration. "People call me stuck up."
"Why?"
"Because I don't talk to anyone," Burn said. "And that makes people think I don't like them."
"Yeah, they're just assuming things about you," I agreed. "I think you're pretty chill."
"That's assuming, too." He said. "You've spent a total of four hours with me in your life."
"Four hours is better than none!" I insisted. He nodded.
"I guess."
"So what do you do?" I asked. "When people call you stuck up?"
"Ignore them," He kneeled to tie his shoe, and it was weird to see someone so tall and intimidating bent in half. "But before I ignore them, I make sure to listen. If you listen to people, you understand them. And if you understand them, understand where they're coming from, you aren't stuck up, no matter what they say."
His words kept with me, even after we parted ways at the trail's head.
So I decided to try.
That's right, pen-and-paper. I, Beatrix Cruz, decided to swallow my pride and try something new.
I spent all of Friday listening to students in the halls talk, to the smaller conversations, the one-on-ones instead of the huge groups. They talked about their parent's strict expectations, their worries about not being smart enough for college even if they were guaranteed to get in with their parent's money. I noticed more things instead of writing them off; a girl came out of a bathroom stall clutching a pregnancy test, her eyes swollen with crying. Two freshman guys who always sat in a corner of my class whispered that they didn't understand the homework and were too scared of being made fun of to ask the teacher. I watched Jackie, who was in another of my classes, open her purse to get a pen, and spotted the label of a pill bottle inside with a very familiar name; Axoprol, the same stuff Dad takes for his depression. Nobody takes anti-depressants for fun, I knew that much.
Why had I not noticed any of this before? I just wrote everyone around me off as a product of too-much-money, and don't get me wrong - they were still very much rich. But they were also people, and I'd refused to see that. Why? I had no idea. I'd been worried about Dad, I guess. I'd been worried about my grades. I'd been worried about the future. I had a hundred and one reasons, but none of them were excuses.
Wolf had been right.
Wolf had been right and I hated it.
So I did what anyone with a fresh wound in their pride would do; I went to the library and buried myself in books. Not the fantasy books – no matter how much I wanted to. I wanted to give in and lose myself in other worlds for a while, if only to get away from all this crap. Except I couldn’t. Except if I did that, I’d be wasting precious time. So I went to my usual haunt – the psychology textbook section.
But that just irritated me more - how could I read so many of these psychology books and not realize I was judging people harshly in my own brain? How could I help people if I judged them like that? If I ever wanted to become a shrink worth a damn, I needed to seriously step up my self-awareness game.
"There you are!”
I looked up to see Fitz walking towards me, sandy hair wind-blown and his hands in his pockets. A huge grin was on his lips. I shielded my face with a book.
"Can't a girl have an existential crisis in peace?" I groaned.
"Oh, is that what we're doing right now?" He chirped. "Because I thought you and I had a tutoring session. Or did you forget?"
"If I recall," I scowled as he put one finger on my book-shield and lowered it. "Halfway through our talk about tutoring we had a horrendous argument and I stormed off to confront Wolf about something stupid."
"And then you embraced him lovingly," Fitz continued. I gaped.
"What? No! Where did you hear that?"
"The entire varsity swim team - who, if I may remind you, was there when it happened - insists you tried to kiss him. It's all they've been talking about for two days; captain of the swim team, the one and only Stoically Nasty Prince Wolfgang, allows a lady to touch his face for an extended period of time! How scandalous!"
Fitz mimed fainting like an 18th-century dame, and I suddenly felt sick. Was that the rumor that'd been going around? Holy shit - was that what it really looked like to an observer? I definitely, under no circumstance, could look at Wolf again. Not even at his hand, or over his shoulder, or a single flyaway hair of his. Nothing. Ever again.
I tried to bury my heated face in my book-shield, but Fitz pulled a chair up to the table and slammed a few heavy books of his own down.
“What are you doing?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“We had a deal,” He said lightly. “I’d tutor you, if you apologized to Wolf. And you did. Sort of. Not really. But it’s the thought that counts. Let's start with the War of the Roses, shall we? That's what the upcoming quiz is on."
"I don't want -"
"You do," He insisted, eyes sparkling. "You want a good grade. I know that you, more than anyone in this goddamn school, wants good grades. So c'mon. Sit up. Let's refresh that naive-yet-clever little brain of yours."
Inwardly, some part of me cheered. This was exactly what I wanted. This is exactly what I needed if I wanted Mr. Blackthorn to keep my scholarship up. But the victory still felt a little hollow. It was just an act, after all. We weren’t really becoming friends. It was just for the scholarship.
"I can't - I can't pay you. I've got nothing to pay you with and I don't want your charity."
"Yes, I'm aware you hate charity," Fitz exhaled. "If you really are stuck on paying me back, just think of this like a raincheck. You owe me in the future, alright? Just a little favor, or an errand, and we'll be even."
I wrinkled my nose. I was pretending to struggle in that class, but would owing Fitz really be worth it? I shook my head. Of course it would be. I was already doing pretty well with Burn - getting to know him slowly. And now that Fitz was willing to tutor me, I was two-thirds of the way there! All that's left was -
Wolf.
But that would never happen. I'd sunk that ship so far down they might as well have started calling it the Titanic. Burn and Fitz would be enough. They had to be.
I never expected Fitz to be a good teacher, but he was. Despite the fact he slept through all of the class, he knew everything we'd covered, top to bottom. His teaching was easy to understand, and he even managed to make it fun. I couldn't keep myself from smiling and laughing at the history jokes he'd make. The hardest part of it all was remembering to play stupid - to not immediately give him the right answer. He drew stick figures to represent all the royalty I had to memorize, and I called them ugly. He then drew a stick figure of himself, which he claimed was his most beautiful work yet. We got sidetracked, and he drew Burn - huge and sleepy-eyed - and then Wolf, with his perpetually angry face and sharp eyebrows.
"And this is you," Fitz announced. He drew a stick figure with the long ponytail I usually wore and an armful of books.
"That's way too many books!" I protested. "I look like I'm about to fall over!"
"No, no, that's Wolf," He corrected. "Trying to push you over with telekinesis."
"Ah, so that's the Blackthorn secret. You're all supernatural telekinetics."
"And vampires," He said. "Huge, godly, vegetarian vampires who sparkle in the sunlight constantly."
"Just like a disco ball."
"That's us; three massive disco balls," He agreed. "With great hair and no modesty."
I laughed, but it was cut off by my phone buzzing. Dad. I made a motion for Fitz to wait as I walked away and picked up.
"Hey, Dad! Is everything okay?"
"Why do you always ask that?" He sighed. "Just a 'hello' would be fine."
My throat squeezed. "Right. Sorry. Hello. Any plans for dinner yet? I could stop and pick us up some pad thai or something if you don't feel like cooking."
"I can cook, Beatrix." His voice got cross. "I'm capable of cooking, alright?"
It was happening. That spiral where nothing I could say would help was just beginning. If I let it go on too long, he'd get more and more irritated, until he snapped. And then, after he snapped, he'd feel so terrible about it he wouldn't get out of bed for days. I had to cut it off here, at the head.
"Okay!" I forced my voice to be cheery. "That's great! I'm just at the library, but I'll head home now."
Dad quieted, and then; "What are you doing there? Reading?"
"Studying. With a -" I looked over at Fitz, who waved a few fingers at me and smiled with all his freckles. " - a classmate."
"Oh, that's good. Are you two friends?"
"I'm not sure - it's still too early to tell."
"It shouldn't be too hard to figure out, Bee. It's so easy to make friends at your age."
I swallowed the urge to correct him. I didn't want to start an argument.
"Yeah. Well, I'll be home soon, okay?"
"Okay. Drive safe."
He hung up, and so did I. I stared at the blank screen of the phone for a moment, resting my arms on the glass rail of the balcony. Today had clearly been a bad day for him. Part of me wanted to go home as soon as I could, to make sure he was alright. The other part of me, the selfish part, didn't want to go home at all.
But there was no choice. I had to. What I wanted didn’t matter – I had to make sure Dad ate. He wouldn’t do it if it was just him, alone at the house. I walked back over to Fitz.
“Thanks for the session, teach. But I’ve gotta go.”
“So soon?” He lamented. “We were just about to get to the juicy bits – beheadings.”
“Sorry,” I packed my things up. “But I really do have to go. Let’s – let’s do this again. I had fun.”
“Surprisingly, I did too.” He tilted his head. “Weird. I thought I stopped that nonsense when I was twelve.”
“Right when you hit puberty, huh?” I joked.
“Oh you know it. I got zitty, hormonal – I transformed into a gross teenage boy who has no fun ever.”
I laughed, and started to walk away.
“Hey! Scholarshipper!” He called. I turned.
“I have a name.”
“Right. Bee,” He corrected. “Kristin told me you’re going to Riley’s party. That true?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“No shouting in the library!” The librarian hissed up at him. Fitz pressed his hands together as if begging for an apology, and I shook my head and left.