Messed Up (35 page)

“I didn’t know what we were being groomed for as Delancey Boys until I reached junior year. That is all part of the plan. Alastair Bennett must figure after two solid years of absorbing the power of the Delancey Society, of watching those who step out of line being punished, and those who offer their complete allegiance being rewarded, we would do exactly as we were told without ever considering going to the authorities,” Mr. Miller stopped speaking for a moment to look at me with a grave expression, “Chelsea, what I am about to tell you can never leave this room. I am only sharing this with you so you will understand who you are dealing with. If it ever got out that I exposed their secrets, the Bennett’s would destroy us both.”

“I promise,” I said grimly. I already knew enough to understand his concern completely.

He took a breath and continued his story, “It was the fall of my junior. Steven had invited a small group of us, three juniors, to a gathering in the woods behind the school. I remember it was a completely dark night. We built a small fire just for the light. Eventually, we were joined by the leader. Although he always wore a black ski mask, we all knew him to be Alistair Bennett. He gave us instructions for our first official mission as Delancey Boys. We were to break into the home of an elderly woman and replace her will with one that Mr. Bennett had provided. Not one of us questioned our assignment, although I am certain that we all understood that we were being used as pawns in the Alistair Bennett’s pursuit of wealth.

“We each pulled on our own black ski mask and gloves and silently followed Steven out of the woods and into an unmarked van. We rode in silence to a gigantic mansion on the side of a hill overlooking the ocean. The plan went exactly as it had been described to us. Every detail was carefully considered to go off without the slightest glitch. Then, just as we were about to leave we heard the old woman’s voice. Steven instructed us to wait for him in the car; that he would take care of the woman. I don’t know what happened to that old woman, but I noticed bite marks on Steven’s wrist as he drove me home that night.

“I remember waking up the next morning and finding an envelope full of cash on my desk, with a note from Mr. Bennett thanking me for my help on his
latest project
. I donated every cent of the dirty money that I received over the next two years to charity, but it didn’t make me feel any less guilty,” Mr. Miller took another deep breath and stared out of the window for a couple of long moments in silence. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t think of what I could say to ease the torture I was certain he was feeling at reliving these memories. “Chelsea,” he eventually said, “What I want you to know is that the Bennett’s are pure evil. I don’t know Levi. He was only a kid when I was involved with them, but I feel confident in telling you that he is no different. I’m sure he has been raised to be as sadistic and cruel as his brothers. Alistair Bennett is using the Delancey Boys as his own private band of mercenaries. I just want you to know who you are involved with.”

I could tell Mr. Miller was done with his lecture as he looked at me expectantly. I was at a loss for what to say, so I asked a question that I’d been thinking about since he began his story, “How did you get out?”

He sighed, “I went away to college in Wisconsin. I didn’t come home for holidays or summer vacation. Then finally after almost ten years I came back here to start this job. They haven’t contacted me yet, but I’m sure they will, and when they do…” he thought for a moment, “Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do then.”

“
And what about the Delancey Girls?” I asked weakly.

“
I don’t think they are very involved except for when they are needed for some specific reason,” he paused, and looked especially troubled with what he was about to say, “But, they are considered property of the Delancey Boys, and ultimately the Leader.”

A vision of Mr. Bennett flashed in my mind and I visibly shuttered. I slowly got to my feet, my legs feeling wobbly, “Mr. Miller, I’m afraid that I am putting you in danger being here,” I said, my voice cracking slightly, “I’m not sure if they know I’m here. They might. I’ve got to go.”

“
Chelsea. How far into this are you?” he asked looking almost sick.

“
Too far,” I admitted, picking up my artwork and almost running for the door.

34

I am not sure if it was coincidence or not, but as soon as I reached my car in the Montecito parking lot my phone began ringing with a call from Camille. I wondered vaguely, as I flipped open my phone, if she had been sent to find out what business I had with a former Delancey Boy.

“
Chelsea, you bitch. What are you doing?” asked Camille cheerfully. For some reason she liked to use the word
bitch
in as many circumstances as she possibility could, in this particular case, I took it as a term of endearment.

“
I’m at my school picking up some artwork from my teacher,” I said hoping to squelch any insinuation of misdeed that might be relayed to Levi, “What’s up?”

“
You’re coming with me to a Delancey Girl lunch at Acapulco,” she said without the slightest hint of a question in her voice, “They make a margarita that is simply divine, darling.”

“
Sounds intriguing,” I smiled.

“
So. I’m going to roll my soccer-mom carpooling self over to pick up some of the pre-pubes and then I’ll retrieve your little ass,” Camille seemed to be in an especially jovial mood making her dialect almost impossible to translate.

I drove five miles above the speed limit back to my house where I flung out half the contents of my closet before settling on a sea foam green cotton sundress, a pair of gray leggings with snaps on the bottoms and my gray Converse low tops. I had found that very little of my wardrobe was both concealing enough and soft enough to work with my recent back injury.

I heard Camille’s car honking from the front of my house and glanced out the window to see her sitting in the driver’s seat of a white Mercedes convertible. Of course, I thought, she would drive a car that is just as beautiful as she is.

“Back seat,” Camille commanded to a blond haired girl when I got to the car. The Delancey pledge immediately allowed me to take her place in shot gun as she joined two others in the rear of the car, one of which I recognized to be Zoe. I wondered how her boyfriend had fared since his initial beating at the Delancey initiation.

“Thanks,” I mumbled to the blond as I got in.

“Okay sluts, meet your new bestie, Chelsea Mallory, she is Levi Bennett’s one and only. Therefore she is basically more important to you at this moment than your own fucking mother. Comprende?” They all smiled politely and nodded. Camille added, “The blond is Alexa, the one in the middle is Ashley, and the dark one is Zoe.”

I rolled my eyes at Camille’s introductions and turned back to smile at them, “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” I explained.

Camille smiled and shrugged. She reached into her purse and pulled out an orange prescription bottle. Flicking the top off she asked, “Candy anyone?” she held the bottle out to the girls in the backseat who each took one little blue pill without question. Camille held one out to me, “It’s just Aderal Dorothy. Give peace a chance.” I shook my head and she shrugged and tossed the pill into her mouth, “Chelsea is a saving herself for college,” Camille explained to the backseat passengers.

Stepping into the private room that had been reserved for the Delancey Girl’s lunch was like arriving in my own personal hell. Every girl in the room looked like she had been featured in a recent episode of
Gossip Girl
. I wondered how they had achieved the impression of being airbrushed. Every part of them, hair, make-up, clothes,
everything
was perfect. This collaborative flawlessness had the effect of making me feel like the prototypical nerdy girl present in nearly every teenage movie. All I was missing was a pair of awkwardly sized glasses and an uncomfortable stutter. Surprisingly, I was received like I was one of them, more than just one of them actually, like their queen. Girls I hardly recognized hugged me and complimented my outfit. One slightly anorexic looking sophomore even praised my unpolished stubs passing for fingernails, “That is so totally fierce; to go all natural,” she said admiringly, “I mean, going green is all the rage, right?”

“Exactly,” I agreed trying not to sound like I was mocking her, which I was, completely.

I found myself sitting between Camille and another senior named Elle. Elle had clearly been selected by the Delancey Girls based on her looks alone. Her brainpower left a lot to be desired. I’m not overstating it to say she was borderline retarded.

A waitress arrived with a tray full of margaritas and announced that Alistair Bennett would be treating us all to lunch as a way of welcoming the new Delancey Girls. The mention of his name sent the story Mr. Miller had just told me stomping to the forefront of my mind. I forced myself not to focus on it. What could I do with the information anyway, I reasoned, I was helpless. I took a sip of the florescent green margarita that had been set in front of me and found that, inexplicably, it was heavy on the tequila. How a restaurant got away with serving a room full of girls, none older than seventeen, alcohol, was beyond me. Apparently, the Bennett’s were outside of the law everywhere in Santa Juanita.

After trying to keep up with about a dozen different conversations all involving the antics of kids from St. Jacobs, whom I didn’t even know, I excused myself to the bathroom.

I took my time washing my hands, rubbing the pink soap into a thick foamy lather and pushing it through my fingers so it oozed out like little white erupting volcanoes.

The door opened and Zoe entered the tiny bathroom, bringing me back from my moment of escape, “Hi Chelsea,” she said sounding nervous.

“
Oh hey Zoe,” I replied, not fully registering that I was the focus of her anxiety. I turned on the faucet to rinse my soapy hands.

“
I wanted to apologize to you…” she began.

“
For what?” I interrupted, confused.

“
The other night. What I said about Levi. I didn’t mean any disrespect,” her face was flushed, and her voice sounded small and timid.

“
Oh. You mean when you asked how I could be with him?” I clarified.

She nodded, and looked down, like a child who was about to be scolded by her teacher.

“
Zoe, don’t even worry about it for a second. That was a completely legitimate question,” I paused to lower my voice, “I mean, he had just bashed in your boyfriend’s face.”

An expression of relief spread across Zoe’s face, “Thanks, Chelsea.”

“
Listen, I don’t know how this whole Delancey Girl thing works, but I am not like them. I would never get you in trouble or whatever. You don’t have to be scared of me, okay?” She nodded and then I asked, “How
is
your boyfriend?”

Zoe shrugged looking resigned, “He’s okay,” she thought about it for a moment and added, “Kinda different though. He won’t talk to me about anything, but he seems really… Scared.” I could see she was about to cry, so, as if acting instinctually I hugged her. I felt like a mother hen pulling my little chickadee under my wing for protection from the fox circling the hen house. My showing of concern had the effect of sending Zoe into huge, heaving sobs.

I knew all too well how it feels to have someone show even the slightest concern for your well being when you’ve been suffering so completely all on your own. It was evident that isolation was a cornerstone of the Delancey code. How strange that an organization that was based on creating a group could simultaneously work to make you feel so utterly alone. I supposed that was part of its power.

Later that night Levi joined me and Camille, and the three of us drove over to Bryce’s house. Levi said he wanted to check on how Bryce was doing since Toby’s death. I thought he would have been a better friend had he not let the death happen in the first place, but who am I to point this out? I was more than a little hesitant to see Bryce after his reaction to me at Toby’s memorial. I was certain that I was pretty low on his list of people who would cheer him up.

Bryce was one of those kids who had aged before my eyes. In the seventh grade we were in the same first period gym class. Mr. Robiglio always assigned us to the same team for sports. Bryce was just as short as I was, if even a hair shorter. By the time school started the next year though, Bryce had grown six solid inches. It was as if he had been zapped by a magic wand containing growth hormones. His growth spurt continued over the next several years, propelling him to the position of tallest kid in our class.

As he pulled the door open that night, it seemed that he had grown once again. He towered over Levi. This did not, however, have the effect of making Levi look small, the opposite actually. Although Bryce had grown at least a foot, if not more, since I’d known him, I doubted he’d gained a single ounce of weight, in fat or muscle mass. He looked almost comical, like a cartoon drawing of somebody who’d been literally stretched like a rubber band.

We followed Bryce into the large family room where he and Levi began playing a video game. Bryce did his best to keep his eyes fixed on the television screen, intent on avoiding eye contact with me at all costs. Camille pulled her trusty silver flask from her purse and took a big swig and then offered it to me.