Manipulation (Shadows) (4 page)

FIVE

Addison

If Dad could see this place, he’d feel really guilty for forgetting to sign my waiver for this ridiculous life skills class. I step out of the car, which really stands out here
,
and walk inside before I’m singled out by…well, anyone.

Once I’m inside the dreary grey brick building, there are hand drawn signs pointing me to my classroom. Up the stairs…to the left…more grey brick… I glance over my shoulder and around me a few times as I take my seat. Why didn’t I think to wear something more appropriate? Something that says—juvenile delinquent? My tall boots and small jacket sort of set me above the dress code of the rest of the students. I don’t bother to take more than a peek, but most look like they rolled out of bed and put on the first thing their feet touched. Whatever. At least it’s only a few classes. And it gets me out of the house.

I try to look busy with my phone, but part of me doesn’t even want to text Deborah to tell her about this place. I might seem like the tough girl for getting arrested, but hanging out in a dilapidated building with layer after layer of pale grey paint peeling off the brick, might say something else.

I wonder if there’s a way to just sign in and disappear. The door closes behind the teacher with a loud thud. Guess not. She’s an older African American lady, with graying hair and a figure that looks like she spends a lot of time in the kitchen.

“Welcome to Life Skills,” she begins. “I’m good with names, so don’t try to pull anything.”

She chuckles.

I tune out.

I glance to my right. Not a bad looking guy, even if he needs a good scrub down. He uses a finger to scratch a tanned arm. His nearly black hair could use a cut but longer and unkempt seems to suit him. He looks up at the teacher once through long, thick lashes. Why is it always boys who get those? Completely unfair.

On my left is a guy with stringy blond hair who can’t sit still. His left leg shakes and shakes, and then his right leg. I wonder how many hours he’s spent in a tattoo parlor—there’s barely any pink skin left.

There are three girls easily within my sight, but I dismiss them quickly—too short, too fat, and too scary-looking. I even know as I think this that I sound like a spoiled brat, but seriously, what guy wants to kiss a girl with a ring through her lip? Actually… I might know a few.

I raise my hand at my name during roll, and take in the bleakness that is this classroom. Why, oh why, do all public buildings feel the need to use fluorescent lighting?

As I shift in my seat, I start to have jail flashbacks, and pull out my hand sanitizer doing a quick rub of my hands. My eyes rest on the desk but it would be a little weird to clean it with sanitizer… Wouldn’t it?

“Today we’re going to partner up for a few minutes. I have a questionnaire for each of you to fill out, but I want your partner to ask you the questions and fill it out for you.” She begins to hand out papers and I drop my sanitizer in my bag. I’ll clean up later.

I hold in the temptation to roll my eyes at the assignment. I’ll just ask my partner to write on theirs, I’ll write on mine and we can turn it in. I let out a contented sigh. Perfect.

“Don’t even think about doing it yourself. I’m very good with handwriting.” She chuckles again. “I’ve been doing this a lot of years.”

Great
.

She hands me a paper and one to the guy with the lashes on my right. “You two can work together.”

I let myself sigh again as I turn my desk to face his. He does the same. Wow, eyes. His eyes are dark, and deep, and brown. I suck in a breath. This is completely unlike me. Boys don’t affect me this way. Ever. He’s sort of model-y looking. Square jaw, straight nose, cheekbones. I glance down to his lips. There’s a faint trace of stubble, and I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, just for fun. He definitely has a different edge than any guy I’ve been with.

Wow. Okay.
Get yourself together.

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Prince.” The words roll off his tongue smoothly. His voice is low but soft.

Wait a minute. “How do you know who I am?”

“We were in court on the same day.” His face is expressionless.

“We were?” He’s hot enough that I definitely would have remembered.

“You don’t remember me?” He smirks.

“Apparently not.” At least he won’t think I’m staring, cause I totally am.

“Let’s just get this over with.” He looks down his sheet. “Addison Prince,” he mumbles as he writes.

“But you obviously remember me.” I’m smug. This is what I’m used to from boys. I can handle him.

“And your daddy’s attorney, yes.” His dark eyes glance up briefly before returning to the page.

How would he know that? I fold my arms.

“I saw you get into your car.” He’s still writing on the paper.

I raise a brow. This is definitely what I’m used to. “So you were watching?”

“You’re hot. I watched.” His face is even as he rests his hand on the desk and looks at me. It somehow
doesn’t feel like a compliment.

I narrow my eyes, a bit unnerved but trying not to show it.

“So, why are you here?” he asks.

“None of your business.” I
tighten my arms across my chest
and sit back.

“Actually, it’s on the questionnaire we were just given.” A corner of his mouth pulls up.

“Because the judge ordered me here.” I widen my eyes, daring him to contradict me, and besides, it seems like something we shouldn’t be asking each other in a class that’s supposedly aimed at “rehabilitation.”

“For forging train tickets,” he mumbles again as he writes. “Probably to somewhere really obnoxious like up to the Hamptons.” The same corner of his mouth pulls up as he writes.

I narrow my eyes further, hating that he’s right.

“Or to see a boyfriend…” His head bobs back and forth as if weighing his options. He’s way too relaxed for these kinds of accusations.

“Excuse me!” I hiss as I lean forward in my seat and set my arms on the desk. “That’s
not
what I said.”

“So, both then?” One of his brows goes up.

“No.” Even though he completely hit it on the head. That really sucks.

“Well, since I’m writing this for you…”

“Fine.” I look down at my paper. He’s right. It’s the second question, just after name. “What are you in for?”

“Judges orders.” His smile spreads wide.

Ha. I’ll show him. I rest my foot against his.
Tell me what you’re here for.
I send the thought straight to him.

“They won’t tell me which foster family my brother’s in, and I want to know, so I broke into their offices and…” He stops, his forehead pulling down.

Crap, it usually works a little longer than that. But now I don’t know what to say. He’s separated from his brother? The thought of being separated from Ellie gives me a crushing feeling in my chest. She’s my salvation from Dad’s exhausting schedule and Mom’s complete lack of presence. I don’t want to feel sympathy for this guy.

We stare at one another in silence over our desks, which seem to be shrinking, bringing us closer together.

“Thanks.” I smile brightly, pushing all that weird introspection away, and fill in the blanks. “Now I need your name.” I’m recovering well.

He is not. Recovering well, that is. His jaw is set and he scoots his desk away to face forward.

“Hey.” I lean toward him. “I don’t want to get in trouble just because you don’t feel like doing this, okay?”

“Dean?” Our teacher looks over at us. “Not a one of you wants to be here. Please help out the young lady sitting next to you.”

He turns toward me again. “Knock off the personal crap.”

I don’t like the look in his brown eyes now. They’re almost black with irritation, and something like fear or uncertainty spikes through me. It’s not a feeling I deal with much.

“I just asked a question from the paper.” I hold it up between us. “What you say or don’t say is completely up to you.” I press my lips together. Even though it
is
my fault he got personal, he doesn’t know that.

He glances down at his desk and something like remorse hits me. I don’t like it at all. It hits that part of my brain that tells me I’m doing something wrong, and then I feel that pang in my chest that is so uncomfortable.

“Fine.” I exhale. “Sorry. Let’s just get through this thing, okay? Your first name’s Dean. What’s your last name?”

“Courser.” The smoothness is gone from his voice.

“Thanks.”

Dean is hard in thought. Is it just that he told me about his brother or is it something else? I know what brooding means now. But he’s not doing it on purpose like I think most people do. He’s carrying a heavy load. Gah. I breathe out. I don’t want to be thinking deep like this. It always takes me to places in my head I don’t want to go.

“It was clever, you know.” His eyes meet mine and my heart jumps again.

I’m officially ridiculous. Though, if I’m just having fun, he could be an interesting guy to have fun with. I look around at the people in the room. Nope. Meeting someone in a life skills for juvenile delinquents really is beneath me. Even just for fun.

“The ticket thing.”

“I know.” It took me a long time to put it all together, to get the paper just right, to figure out what I needed people to say or do for me. People only cooperate with the thoughts I give them for a short amount of time. I’d worked on it for a long time before putting it into action. And for almost two years, it served me well. Traveling under my own name would not have been smart.

He shakes his head, but there’s a small smile pulling on the edges of his mouth.

I slide my feet back underneath me on the floor and I swear Dean cringes. Bizarre. I glance down at his feet. Adidas, of course. Soft soles, wear forever.

I slide my feet again and Dean shifts his head uncomfortably, running his fingers over his ears, but just briefly. Funny. I’ll file that away for later—his apparent aversion to scraping noises.

“Five more minutes to finish up,” the teacher says. I really should have paid attention when she introduced herself.

I want out of here now.
I think it and direct it toward her. I’ve never had any luck without touching someone, but it could start now.
Class is over. Thank you. See you next week.

She pauses in front of her desk for a moment. “Thank you. Set the papers on my desk. We’ll finish up next week.”

Wow. Did I do that? Did
I
do that? Dean is smiling almost as widely as I am. Both Dean and I jump out of our chairs. I know it might not last long. She could laugh and change her mind. We’re supposed to be here for another hour. He sets his paper down. I rest mine on top and follow him out of the room.

We almost look one another in the eye. No heels with him. I stifle a giggle. What on earth would Dean and I ever do together? Nothing. That’s the simple answer.

“So, that was weird, huh?” I say as we reach the door to outside.

“Yeah, but kinda nice.” He nods at me, turns right out of the doorway and jogs to the bus stop.

I stand still, watching him and almost ask if he needs a ride, but that’s so not a good idea. He seems…real. Way too scary. And I’m with Chase anyway.

I see the front of Dad’s car and Jimmy parked just off the corner. That’s miraculous. The poor guy can rarely park. He generally has to circle like a vulture until we need him again.

I look toward Dean as I walk. He sits on the back of the bench, resting his feet on the seat. He’s completely at home, at the bus stop. I’ve never waited for a public bus my whole life. Those seats would definitely ruin an outfit and I probably wouldn’t hesitate bathing them in sanitizer.

SIX

Dean

Wow. Without touching her and here I am, free, on a bus headed for home.

I. Am. Awesome.

I’m once again standing and leaning against the post
in the aisle
. It’s commuting time and the buses are packed.

I wonder how Addison got stuck in that class? My guess is her daddy has more than enough money to do some sort of private classes or therapy or something. Maybe they’re masochists and think it would be good for her. I dismiss that thought because she dresses too nice and because I saw the car she got into. Okay, wait. Why am I thinking about this girl? It makes no sense. And will get me nowhere but frustrated.

But she’s hot. It really couldn’t do me any damage to just picture her, could it? She’d be a lot prettier if she wasn’t wearing a perpetual scowl. I still can’t believe I told her about Jeremy. Crazy. It adds weight to my passing thought that she can do the same thing as me. I know I’m just being paranoid. Still…it might be worth thinking about.

* * *

“Wow, Dean!” Jeannette throws her arms around me as I walk in the door. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Even with two headbands and a ponytail holder, her frizzy brown hair sticks out around her face.

“It’s because you haven’t.” I give her a side squeeze. “You’re at rehearsals when I’m home and sleeping when I get up for school.”

“Well.” She widens her eyes at me. “It’s because you have to get up so freaking early!” She pats my shoulder and wanders into the kitchen. She’s still in her leotard and legwarmers. I swear she comes home wearing that stuff just so people will know she’s a dancer. She’s never had a leading role in anything big, but she’s always part of some production or another.

“Is the new guy here?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“Oh, yeah. He’s setting up now. I told him to take the top bunk and the right side of the dresser. That’s what’s you wanted, right?” She’s stirring something on the stove.

“Yep.” I run a hand through my hair, really not looking forward to sharing my space. This is when I feel like they’re just housing me—when people rotate through.

I step into the room and come face to face with a broad black guy who’s definitely over six feet. I’m barely five foot, ten and realize he’ll be sleeping on the old bunk bed above me. “I’m Dean.” I stretch out my hand.

“Ben.” His voice is low and vibrates through my chest. How is this guy under eighteen?

“You’re welcome to the bottom, if you like,” I say.
Please take the bottom.

“Oh man, that’d be great. I don’t like ladders.” He smiles.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” And then I realize I probably sounded like an ass just then.

“Not when I’m sleepy.” He shrugs.

Right. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m supposed to meet a friend.”
The Great Gatsby
is on my dresser and needs to be read for English. I slide it in my pocket.

“Later.” He’s pulling clothes out of a backpack and that’s all he has. One backpack.

It kind of hollows me out and makes me feel a little bad for being sorta pissed that he’s here.

“I’m headed to Starbucks,” I tell Jeannette.

“Dean, dinner’s almost ready.” Jeannette smiles from the stove.

In three years I haven’t gotten used to the weird crap they eat. Eggplant should not be consumed. Not by people. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I ate on my way home.”

“Okay. I’ll save some in the fridge if you get hungry later.” She licks some red sauce off her fingers.

“Great.” I half jump out the door feeling a little guilty I didn’t warn Ben about the food.

* * *

Starbucks is quiet tonight. This is perfect. I have ten bucks. I order an Americano, sit down at a table, and pull out my book. I’m on chapter four, and have no idea where it’s going. I like that. Books don’t surprise me often.

I kick my feet onto the chair across from me, lean back, take a drink and continue reading. All I know is there’s no way for this story to end well. Snobby rich girls ruin everything. Ha. Addison. Okay—I should not be thinking about Addison.

“Hey, Dean.” Familiar hands touch my shoulders and creep down my chest.

“Hey, Sam.” I tense up. Sam is one of the girls who will always remember how I screwed up since I was her first. The problem is she wants more, and I have no intention of going there again.

“What’s up?” Her lips slide against my ear.

I move away. “I don’t want to be rude, Sam, so knock it off.” I try to sound bored. Anything else will piss her off.

“Oh, now you’re worried about being rude?” Her tiny pink mouth pulls down at the corners.

“If you’re still mad at me, why are you here?” I rest my book on the table and look up at her. Crap, but she’s hot. The curve of her chest is easy to see at the top of her low shirt, and it reminds me of what she looks like with no shirt… Nope. Really, really, can’t go there. Sam’s a disaster. A fake platinum-blond
e
disaster.

“I’m sad, Dean. You used to always be up for some fun.” She pushes her lower lip out in something she thinks is cute and pouty. It’s really just a reminder of what cute and pouty has gotten me in the past—a pissed off ex-girlfriend.

“Uh…no. Not after you said you wanted fun but really wanted more.” I press my lips together.

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be making out with Katy on our off days.” She sits down on the chair opposite me, ignoring my feet.

“Sam.” I rub my eyes with my free hand. “I really don’t need this. Katy and I kissed once. After you said you didn’t want a relationship—just fun.”

“Which I said after you told me we were too serious.”

“Right. Which led me to believe you felt the same way.” Why do girls think guys are smart about girls? It freaked me out being as close as we were. I was sixteen! What kind of guy wants a forever relationship at
sixteen
? She was picking out colleges we could go to together and neighborhoods and kids’ names.

“Then we shouldn’t have kept having sex!” She leans toward me over the table.

I glance around. Fortunately, most people seem to continue to be into their own conversations, not mine. “It was your idea, Sam. Yours.”

“Well, it was a bad one.”

“Sorry.” I lean back and pick my book back off the table.

“Are you really going to brush me off like this?”
She arches an eyebrow.

What does she want?
Hey Dean, brilliant. Just ask.
“What do you want from me?” I try to keep my voice calm, nice.

She licks her lips slowly, and I’m sure I’m staring. Sam was an amazing kisser. “I just thought maybe we could hook-up? You know, just for fun?”

I can’t lie. There’s a part of me right now that really wants to follow her out of here. But crap, it’ll just put me back in that situation and I’m really trying to be better than that. And she was just pissed at me. Definitely mental.
I used to think it was hot that she looked like Gwen Stefani until I realized how hard it was to stroke the ego of a girl who spent her days trying to be Gwen Stefani.
“That’s not what you want. Not really. And I don’t need the drama.” I shake my head.

“I knew you were an asshole.” Her eyes narrow and her brows pull down.

“Are you crazy? Why are you here?” How is any guy supposed to know what to do with girls, ever?

“Whatever, Dean.” She stands up and walks away.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I take another drink and dive back into my book. That’s what I’m going to do with that. Drink caffeine and read. Random. Weird. Girls.