ARROGANT PLAYBOY (33 page)

WAVERLY

I never thought I’d say this, but Jensen
Mackey isn’t all that bad.

I take back what I said. I
don’t hate him.

He’s arrogant, sure. And
mouthy. He’s opinionated. Brash. Crude.

But he’s also funny and
intelligent. He’s one of the smartest people I know. And the guy can draw like
nobody’s business.

Plus, he hates Claire
Fahnlander. Almost everyone is afraid to hate her, to cross her. But not him.
I’m not sure Jensen is afraid of anything.

We silently agree to pretend
like nothing happened. It’s easier that way.

For all intents and purposes,
we never confessed a thing to one another that night in the hallway his first week
here, and for all intents and purposes, I never threw myself at him, begging
him to kiss me in the dark of his room the night he snuck out.

He’s been here a few weeks now,
and for the last couple of them he’s walked a straight line, and I’ve kept my nose
clean. We graduated from high school, even walking next to one another thanks
to our last names.

The waters have been… oddly
smooth. Not a single ripple in the pond. Which is good, because one rogue event
can destroy my chances of leaving for school this fall.

I just need to keep walking
that straight and narrow path my father has laid out. Demonstrating that I’m
responsible and virtuous is my one-way ticket to freedom.

But I’d be lying if I said I
didn’t think about Jensen still. I think about him all the time. I just don’t
let it show. He can read just about anyone like a book, but I’ve gotten pretty
good at making sure he can’t read me. He’d have a field day if he knew I
thought the world of him.

And we’re friends now.

Weird
.

But it has to stay that way. My
future depends on it.

***

The rumble of his truck outside signals the
six o’clock hour. He’s just finished putting in his time at the garage. His
dark hair is disheveled, his hands greasy. Uncle Rich has been letting him do
oil changes ever since he had a few guys walk out on him a couple weeks ago.

My belly flutters the way it
always does when I see him for the first time each evening after a long day at
school.

Jensen enters through the
garage and heads upstairs to wash up. I set the table, making sure I put his
favorite cobalt blue cup in front of his spot. He hops down the steps, two at a
time, a minute later. His shirt is white and clean, his hands are washed, and
his hair is combed.

He cleans up well, as usual.

The younger kids file in with
Summer and we all settle in, my father saying grace at the head of the table.
It’s just another weeknight dinner, the quiet spots filled by the clinking of
silverware on ceramic.

“Oh, Waverly,” Mom says. “You
got a letter from the University of Utah today.”

My stomach balls into a tight
knot. I swallow my bite of mashed potatoes and wash it down with a drink of ice
water. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for all year.

Shouldn’t
it be a packet and not a letter? Does that mean I didn’t get in? And why so late?
Fall semester starts in three months.

“May I?” I ask.

Mom nods toward the mail center
in the kitchen where I dig through until I find my letter. My heart is
pounding. I open the red envelope with one neat tear and pull out the three
page letter, bracing myself for rejection.

Dear
Waverly Miller,

Please
find enclosed your original acceptance letter, sent to you on the fourth of
March. We have yet to hear back from you, and your response is required by June
30
^th
. Please fill out the attached form with your decision, and
return it in the envelope provided.

I flip to the second page,
heart pounding.

Congratulations!
It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the English Literature
program at the University of Utah. You were selected from an extraordinarily
talented group of applicants, and for that reason, we are also offering you our
Calcott Scholarship which covers approximately 50% of your tuition.

I stop there. I don’t need to
read further.

“What is it?” Mom asks from the
table.

I spin around, grinning big as
if I just won the lottery. “I got in.”

Mom’s eyes snap down to her
plate as she clears her throat. She’s not excited for me. I understand. I’m
still her baby. She doesn’t want me to leave the nest yet. And she doesn’t
think I need to go away to college either. We’ve had the “there are other
options” talk.

She exchanges looks with my
father. Everyone else is silent.

“They said they sent the
original letter months ago.” I clutch the papers against my chest.

“We get a lot of mail, Waverly,”
Dad says. “I’m sure it was thrown out by mistake.”

I don’t care. I’m not letting
anyone ruin this moment for me. I grab a pen and sign my name along the dotted
line before anyone can stop me.

Bellamy shoves the peas around
on her plate. I don’t even think she paid attention to a word of what’s going
on. She’s texting someone under the table, and it makes me mad only because I’m
still not allowed to have a phone. She claims it’s for her job, but that thing
never leaves her side.

Jensen rises from the table and
walks over to me, offering me the world’s cheesiest high-five and a sincere
smile. Out of everyone in my family, he’s the only one who appears to be happy
for me.

It hurts.

“Dad, isn’t this great?” I
search my father’s face for an ounce of joy, something that tells me he’s
proud. He promised. He said if I could land at least a partial scholarship, I
could go away for school.

“Good work, kid.” He takes a
sip from his iced tea goblet, his eyes averted. That hurts, too.

Where’s the praise? Where’s the
fanfare?

I smile through tears that
threaten to fall, my eyes stinging when I blink. I don’t want them to see me
cry. I don’t want Jensen to see me cry, either.

I don’t care what anyone says,
I’m going to Utah. I’m getting my degree. Marriage and babies will be there
when I’m done.

“Oh, Jensen and Waverly,” Kath
says. “I signed you both up for Camp Zion.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Camp
Zion?”

“It’s an LDS summer camp, of
sorts,” Mark says, clearing his throat. “Morning devotions, faith-building
classes. Just remember, you mustn’t let on that we’re not LDS, but this is a
great program. Might open your eyes a bit to a more… righteous path?”

“It runs for about eight weeks
at Whispering Hills Community College,” Summer says, salting her dinner and
smiling. “Monday through Friday, eight to three. Just like school. Honor,
Justice, and True will be attending the half-day session.”

“Do I have an option?” Jensen’s
face pinches. “Like, did anyone think to ask me if I wanted to attend?”

“Jensen.” Kath tilts her head
at him, her voice a light slap on the wrist.

“No, Jensen. You do not have an
option.” My father’s voice is staccato and gruffness mixed together. “Teenagers
need structure in the summer. Idle minds are dangerous minds.”

I throw him a look, silently
warning him not to argue. Dad will never change his mind about this. Plus it’s
my last hurdle, my last chance to prove I’m worthy of going out on my own for a
few years. If I can get through Camp Zion and make him happy, I’ll have nothing
more to prove.

“Camp starts Monday.” Mark
forks his food.

Jensen’s biting his tongue, I
can tell.

“It’s not so bad,” I whisper
across the table. “I’ve gone every summer. It gets us out of the house, at
least.”

“Camp?”
Jensen
arches his brows, saying the word like it’s got as much appeal as swallowing a
mouthful or razorblades.

“Just eight weeks of camp and
then we’ll be shopping for mini-fridges and extra-long sheets,” I say, steering
the conversation back toward college in the fall.

Dad chews his mouthful of food.
“We’ll see how the summer goes.”

His words pack a punch. I’ve
done everything he’s asked of me thus far. I’ve helped put the kids to bed,
I’ve carted them around to various lessons and events, I’ve done more than my
fair share in the kitchen, and last week I weeded the garden and helped Summer
plant flowers.

I pull in a deep breath and
excuse myself from the table. No need stick around and get myself all worked up
over nothing.

I’ve got this. I know I do. At
this point, I don’t see how my father could say no.

JENSEN

This whole family’s fucking bizarre.

I mean, I knew they weren’t
normal, but that stunt they pulled with Waverly? Beyond shitty. She might be a
prissy little overachiever, but she worked hard to get into college.

I’ve never been one to make a
big deal about school and the whole follow-the-herd-mentality, but watching the
excitement on her face get washed away by the silent reception her loved ones
gave her damn near broke my heart.

We finish eating, her empty
chair soaking up the hush in the room.

I make a mental note to go up
and talk to her after the rest of the house is asleep tonight. Kian’s band is
playing downtown and Liberty said she could get me in. I doubt she’ll go, but
it’s worth a shot.

“Jensen, can you play Connect
Four with me?” It’s Gretchen. She’s standing there twirling a strand of
white-blonde hair around her finger and digging her toe into the wood floor. I
figure it’s kind of my duty now to forge some kind of bond with those two,
because someday they might need to turn to someone with half a rational thought
process.

“Of course, G.” I ruffle her
soft, baby hair. We head to the family room where Honor and True are quietly
reading. The T.V. is off, Gideon is assembling a dinosaur puzzle, and I’m not
sure where Justice is.

Mark’s voice trails in from the
next room over—his den. The main house is so big and open that every
sound carries, at least downstairs. The upstairs is all closed off and
compartmentalized, like shoe boxes stacked side by side.

“You’re going to have to tell her,”
I hear a woman say. It sounds like Jane. “Soon.”

“I know,” Mark says.

“Did you see the look on her
face?” Jane says, her tone reminiscent of depressing guitar chords. “She’s
going to be crushed.”

“She’s a big girl. She’ll get
over it. She’ll just have to accept that this is the way it’s going to be.” His
voice fades in and out. I’m straining to eavesdrop, but all I hear are the
plastic clicks of the Connect Four coins as Gretchen drops in three in a row
when she thinks I’m not looking. “As her father, I know what’s best for her
future. Her fate is sealed.”

It’s quiet. I strain, cocking
my head and leaning my ear toward the den. The conversation seems to have
ended. From what I gather, Mark doesn’t want Waverly going off to college and
Jane isn’t going to try to change his mind.

Talk about fucked up. They all
know how much this means to her.

I return to my game with
Gretchen, playing several rounds until Kath calls the kids back to her house
for bed.

“Thank you, Jensen,” Kath says.
“They really enjoy spending time with you.”

I get up off the floor and
stretch. Gideon is putting his puzzle pieces back in the box, and Summer’s kids
have left the room.

“Hey, what was that about at
dinner tonight?” As Kath’s son, I see no reason why she couldn’t perhaps confide
in me.

She shifts her weight, her eyes
darting to the ground and then toward Gideon. “It’s not for us to discuss.”

“Mark said she could go to
college if she got a partial scholarship.”

Kath tucks her hair behind her
ears. I’m making her nervous. Maybe it’s because I’m arguing with the wrong
person. Maybe it’s because right now I remind her of Josiah. I’m a dog with a
bone, and I refuse to let it go.

“She can still go, right?” I
press on.

“I believe there’s been a
change of plans.”

“He can’t do that. He gave her
his word.”

She licks her lips and smiles
gently, still not looking me in the eye. “That’s between Mark and Waverly. I’m
sure they’ll reach an agreement.”

“Agree on what? It seems like
Mark’s mind is made up. What he says goes. None of you ever question any
decision he makes, and let’s face it, some of them are a little questionable.”

More
like most of them.

Okay.
All of them.

Kath trembles, tucking her hair
behind her ear. “Come on, kids. Time for bed.”

She’s not going to engage in
this discussion with me.

“You know something, don’t you,
Mom?
” I want to remind her
we
are family. She and I. Flesh and
blood. That ought to count for something. We should be able to communicate
openly without holding things back or else what’s the point?

Her posture straightens and she
turns toward me, our eyes locking. The fidgeting and nervousness seem to
subside for a second. “Jensen, you will
not
speak about Mark this way in his house. Do you understand?”

“We have a problem here?” Mark
stands in the middle of the only exit out of the family room, his hands slid
deep into his pockets. His mouth his straight, his eyes narrowing in my
direction. “Kath, everything okay?”

“Yes, of course, dear,” she
says sweetly.

Keep
sweet.

That’s the phrase I’ve heard
Mark say to all the girls. They’re not allowed to have opinions or show
emotions. They’re to let him make all the decisions. That’s why Jane didn’t
stick up for Waverly and that’s why Kath pretends everything is fine just now.

He’s morphed them into timid,
spineless shells of women. They wear blankness on their faces and keep quiet,
working in tandem to raise a herd of Millers, taking cues and directives from
the man who keeps their beds warm every third night.

My abhorrence of Mark, the one
I’ve tried to ignore since the moment I first met him, reignites with a fury.

“Are you staying at our house
tonight, Daddy?” Gretchen asks as she runs up into his arms.

“Sure am, sugar plum.” He
scoops her up into his arms like he’s some kind of T.V. dad. It still blows my
fucking mind that this is all normal to them.

I wait for Mark to disappear
into the backyard, making his way to Kath’s house with Kath, Gideon, and
Gretchen in tow under the veil of a sunless sky. The house is dark. I assume
Jane and Bellamy have retired for the night. I trek up the stairs, knocking on
Waverly’s door softly enough that she can hear it without me waking up the
other ladies.

She doesn’t answer.

There’s light under her door,
so I know she’s up.

I rap again.

Nothing.

I twist her doorknob, showing
myself in. She’s lying on her bed, headphones in her ears. Her eyes are shut.
My finger traces across her arm softly. I’m not sure if she’s sleeping or not,
but I don’t want to startle her.

Her eyes flutter. She jumps
slightly, inching back with her hands and sitting up. She glances at the clock
on her nightstand.

“It’s not that late,” I
whisper.

“What are you doing?” She rubs
her nose, crinkling it like an adorable little bunny rabbit. She’s so fucking
cute it kills me.

“Get ready,” I say. “I’m taking
you out tonight.”

“It’s a week night,” she
protests.

I’m not going to argue with
her. I’m not going to force her to go. I’ll just leave her with three words and
let her decide her fate. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

Tonight, Waverly believes she’s
going to college this fall, and she deserves to celebrate. She deserves to be
happy, and to have someone be happy for her, even if it’s her jackass
stepbrother.