Fury (10 page)

“Okay,” Em said. He was right, it was better to talk these things out in person. But in the back of her mind, she knew they weren’t just going to talk. As she waited to hear his horn in the driveway, she changed into her new Victoria’s Secret purchases.

Once she was in his car, she felt the same electricity she’d felt the other night. A power that seemed almost out-of-body. It was cold still, and the roads were crunchy with salt from the plows. The moon was big, but the night was cloudy—no stars.

“Get anything good for Christmas?” Zach asked as radio rap offered a staccato background to the drive.

“A few books, yeah,” Em said, a bit relieved to be talking about normal stuff. “And a gift certificate to Anthropologie, which is amazing.” But after that, they lapsed into charged silence.

Inside Zach’s house, Em felt shy. She’d never been here without Gabby—except for one time last year, when Zach had a party but Gabby had strep throat and couldn’t come. His
stepdad, the real-estate guy, had a taste for modern furniture—black, streamlined stuff that was nice but wasn’t very warm. Zach pressed a button to light the fireplace. Em sat on the floor, leaning on a big pillow, watching him move around the room. He poured them each a glass of wine from the bar by the window, then sat down on the plush rug next to her.

Em took a sip, tasting its syrup on her tongue. She wasn’t exactly a wine expert, but this one was distinctly sweet.

“What kind of wine is this?”

Zach threw a glance back over to the bar. “The expensive kind.”

Em smiled, not sure what to say next.

“So, let’s talk. I’m sorry if I seem distracted. It’s the Feast, and just the holidays in general. It’s tough without my dad around.” Zach was avoiding eye contact. Em wanted so badly to see him smile the way he had the other night.

“I understand. I just—I just think we should talk about the whole Gabby thing. How we’re going to . . . handle it.”

Zach nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He looked at her suddenly. “What do you want me to do?”

“What do
I
want you to do? I mean, what do
you
want to do?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. “This.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, brushing his lips against the side of her face. Em shivered.

“Zach,” she said, trying to sound sexy and serious at the same time. “I want that, too. But Gabby is my best friend. And she’s your girlfriend. We can’t just . . . do this. Not if you’re still together.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I know what I need to do. Break up with her. But . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck like it ached.

Em took a deep breath and reached for his hand. She gave voice to her biggest fear, hoping that merely saying it aloud wouldn’t make it come true. “Do you not want to? Do you think this is a mistake?”

He squeezed her fingers. “No. I . . . I don’t know what to do, Em. I feel like I’m being pulled in all these different directions—by you, by Gabby, by my stepdad. . . . Do you know how many times he’s reminded me that my future basically hinges on my admission to Yale?”

Em raised her eyebrows. “He said that?”

“Yeah. And he’s freaking out about the Feast, too. And my math grade—he keeps threatening to pull me out of Ascension and send me to his old prep school if I don’t pass precalculus. He’s always saying I need to get whipped into shape, you know? It’s just, like, exhausting. Like every single thing I do has to be perfect. You don’t get it. Making mistakes is unacceptable.”

She knew he was talking about school stuff and his stepdad, but his clipped tone sent a bigger message: Stop pressuring me.
For a moment they sat in silence. She wanted to say more. But at the same time, she didn’t want to upset Zach. She tried to choke back all of the doubts and fears rising in her throat.

After a long minute, Zach bit his lip and smiled at her. She was relieved; it was as though some of the awful tension had been released.

“You look pretty,” he murmured. And then he was kissing her lower lip, tugging at her hair. They were lying back on the big decorative pillows and she let herself be carried away by the warmth surging through her, by her sudden need. He wanted her so badly. She could feel it. Em forgot about their talk. They grabbed each other’s necks and waists and shirts in the flickering light. She couldn’t believe how romantic it was. His lips moved down her neck and onto her collarbone; then he raised her shirt and started kissing up from her belly button. In one tangled maneuver, her shirt was off.

“Beautiful,” Zach breathed, pulling the straps of the purple bra off her shoulders. And Em
felt
beautiful.

They lay there, knees interlocked. His shirt was off now, her hair was coming undone, and she felt like she was melting into the rug, like she would never be able to move from this spot again. His lips were on her neck, then on her shoulders, on her arms—she was floating, burning.

For a second, Em stared over Zach’s broad shoulders into the fire. The flames danced like they were being seduced by
a snake charmer. As Zach brought his lips to hers again, she felt even more light-headed. She had never felt so many emotions swirling together before: giddiness and excitement, fear and sadness. She finally understood why people described love as being “swept away,” because the old Em had been carried off somewhere. And in her place was this other person, this girl who knew what she wanted and didn’t care about anything outside of this one moment.

He started to unbutton her jeans and she arched her back slightly. And then—horribly—she thought of Gabby and how excited her best friend was about V-Squared (her plan to lose her virginity to Zach on Valentine’s Day this year). And it was like the bubble she’d been floating in had burst.

“Not yet, Zach,” she said, gently moving his hand away.

“But we both want it,” he said, touching her face softly. His eyes were lonely. Sad. This was not the Zach McCord Em knew from the basketball court or earth science or late night at Pete’s Pizza. This Zach was ten times more intense—and he wanted
her
.

Em’s brain swam with images of Gabby, Zach, and the pretty girl she’d seen with Zach earlier that day. And just then, they both heard the front door open and a sharp intake of breath.

When Em scrambled to face the foyer, her world came crashing down.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god. No.

Chase.

If he’d been in more of a carefree mood, if he hadn’t been thinking nonstop about Ty and that night below Benson’s, Chase might have laughed. He never would have pegged Emily Winters for a boyfriend stealer.

But he had other things to consider than Emily’s out-of-the-blue choices.

He had come to Zach’s house to try and unwind. He was thinking they could talk football, maybe shoot some pool on Zach’s stepdad’s new table—anything to take his mind off his date with Ty. This morning he’d actually used the number that had been scrawled across his face, and she’d asked him to come pick her up on a bench in the middle of downtown after ten o’clock tonight. He’d been so nervous dialing her number that the cell phone had slipped out of his hand twice. He never
called girls. He texted; he met them at parties; he stopped by their houses after practice. He hadn’t asked a girl out—like for
real
, on a date—since seventh grade. Sasha Bowlder. This was during the phase when she was too cool for him, when he’d tried to get her to speak to him again. And he still cringed when he thought about how that had turned out. He could still remember every detail of the conversation—the blinding sun, the group of Sasha’s friends watching from the picnic tables, giggling behind cupped palms—all the words etched into his memory like glass marked up by razor blades.

“Um . . . so, I like you.”

“Oh.”

“I know we don’t talk much anymore, but I’d like to change that.” His heart drumming in his chest, mouth dry. “Do you want to go out with me?”

She turns to see if her friends are watching.

“Are you kidding? I would never go out with you. We might kiss, and I do not kiss trailer trash. I hear they all taste like garbage.”

The words still made him furious. He was not trailer trash. Ty didn’t think he was trash. He wasn’t going to mess this one up. He wouldn’t let Ty slip through his fingers.

Zach would help him. He’d help Chase relax, and he might offer a few pieces of advice. If nothing else, Zach knew about girls. He knew a lot about girls, in fact.

Zach did a great job of acting like Ascension’s faultless hero,
but Chase knew a slightly different side of him. Namely, Chase knew about Zach’s so-called college tours and the copious sexual knowledge he’d acquired as a result. College girls were a whole other ball game, he’d told Chase.

But Chase could see that now was not the time to be asking Zach for hookup pointers. Emily’s face had transformed like a slow-motion replay from confusion to horror as soon as she’d seen him. She was frantic, covering her bare chest with a pillow while she ransacked the couch, looking for her bra, with the other.

“This isn’t what you think,” she was babbling. “Please don’t say anything. Please don’t. Gabby—Gabby will kill me. Gabby will die. Please don’t—where
is
it?—please don’t say anything. Chase, I—Gabby, I don’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want to—”

“Don’t worry, Em. Chase won’t say anything.” Zach stared at Chase, hard, and Chase didn’t like the expression he saw flickering there. It was not a threat, exactly, but something close to it.

Chase immediately regretted coming over. Not only did he have no interest in being involved in this soap opera, but Zach’s tone was a reminder of one of the less pleasant features of their friendship: the tallying up of who owed who what.

There was no way Chase would ask for advice now.

Em was still frantically searching the couch cushions.

“Looking for this?” Chase spied the purple bra, which
had somehow landed below the coffee table. He bent over and scooped it up, holding it between two fingers.

“Oh god. Chase—please—I didn’t mean—Zach and I just—it wasn’t supposed to happen.” She stayed where she was, covering herself up, the fireplace creating strange shadows on all their faces.

Chase rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should have thought about all that before taking this off,” he said, tossing the bra in her direction. She grabbed for it, and turned to the corner to get dressed. Emily was acting as though Chase had never seen a half-naked girl before. He stood there watching the scene with a combination of amusement and confusion. Zach stood up and pulled on his shirt.

“What’s up, dude? Did we have plans?” Zach tried to adopt a casual tone. He might have been speaking a little louder than usual—trying to drown out Em’s sniffles.

“No, I, uh . . . I thought you might want to hang out or something. Didn’t realize you had company.”

“Chase,” Emily said, fully dressed and staring at him. She was pale. Chase had never seen her look so shaken. “Please.”

She turned and walked out of the room without saying another word to either of them. Chase watched her go—and watched Zach let her go.

“Em, wait!” Zach made to follow her but stopped when he heard the front door slam. He turned to Chase. “Listen, I know
I don’t even need to say this, but you’ve got my back, right? I just, I really don’t want . . . you know. For Gabby’s sake. This can’t get out.”

Even though nothing about this whole scenario could surprise Chase, the look on Zach’s face right now—halfway to being already over it—made Chase feel sick to his stomach. This kind of thing never used to bother him. But now all he could do was nod in response.

“Hey,” Zach said again. “I’d love to hang out, but I’ve got to take her home. She doesn’t have a ride.” He pushed past Chase on his way to the door. “We good?”

Suddenly, all Chase wanted was
out
. He was sick of always being the accomplice, the one who kept quiet. He knew he owed Zach everything. He would have nothing at AHS if it weren’t for him. And yet, it was starting to feel like a debt he could no longer afford to keep paying.

“I’ll take her home,” Chase suddenly said, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. “I’m sure you have more important stuff to do.”

The first few minutes of the car ride were silent. Chase heard Emily sniffle some more, but he didn’t think she was crying—come to think of it, the only time he’d ever seen Winters cry was in ninth grade English, when they’d been discussing
All Quiet on the Western Front
and she’d started talking about
soldiers being resigned to sadness. Chase had to hand it to her—Em really knew what she was talking about, when it came to words at least.

Emily turned her face toward Chase and he could see that her cheeks were wet with tears. Her long hair hung in messy sections around her face, and she was curled into herself with one boot propped up on the dashboard.

“So. You okay and everything?” Chase asked.

Em sniffed and wiped her nose. “I just—I just need some time to figure out what to do about it. About . . . everything.”

“I’m sure you will. Figure it out, I mean.” Chase fidgeted, his seat belt feeling too tight. He didn’t want to just ditch Em and run, but he still had to prepare for his date with Ty.

“So you’re not going to tell anyone? About me and Zach and . . .” Em trailed off, staring at him with hope and confusion and embarrassment mingled on her face.

Chase sighed. “Yeah. Whatever. You’re fine by me.”

Em let out a huge sigh and slumped a little more in her seat. “Thank you, Chase. That’s really . . . Thanks. I seriously owe you.” Her head bobbed with determination. “Anything you need, I’ll do it. Homework help, whatever.”

“I don’t think you can really give me the kind of help I need,” Chase said, staring ahead through the windshield.

“Why? What do you mean?” Em asked. Now she was wiping off her face, trying to pull herself together.

Without intending to, Chase blurted out, “There’s this girl.”

“Someone I know?” Em was watching him, eyes wide.

He shook his head. Now that he had started talking, he might as well keep talking. Maybe Winters would have a feminine perspective or something. “She doesn’t go to Ascension. She’s . . . different. And I’m into her. A lot. But she’s a little bit impossible. I don’t—I can’t really tell if she’s into me.” Chase tapped the wheel with his palm. He couldn’t believe he was spilling his guts to Emily Winters, whose bra he’d been holding not twenty minutes ago.