Ricochet (10 page)

I reach out and hold her hand. Rose calms a little. “I can’t
believe she’s doing this after I asked her not to.”
 

“It’ll be okay,” I say, but the words coming from me only
worsen the look on her face.

“Did Connor want to break up?” Poppy wonders.

“I don’t know. When we fight, we both talk about it all the
time…”

I interject. “Yeah, but you two break up in strange ways.
Last month, I heard Connor say something like, ‘Sadie never disagrees with me.’
And you said, ‘If you want a doormat for a girlfriend, then your cat is
perfect. Have a happy life together.’ Then you slammed the door to your
bedroom, and he stormed out of the house,
smiling
.”

It was all really weird, and Rose ended up walking back into
his arms the next day, not admitting defeat exactly, but I think Connor would
count it as a success.

“Is this time different?” Poppy wonders.

Rose blinks in confusion, wracking her brain. “I don’t know.
I guess not. He told me that I was being inane about something. I can’t even
remember what, but we both split at the restaurant. We rode in separate cabs
home, and we haven’t talked since.” Realization hits her, and she collapses
back against the seat. “
God
, what am
I doing? I feel like I’m in prep school when I’m with him sometimes. It drives
me crazy.”

I open my mouth, so tempted to sing the Britney Spears song
again.

Rose shoots me a look. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

I laugh instead, and it takes a long moment for Rose to join
in. She puts the bottle to her lips, swigging one last time just as the limo
rolls to a stop.

Here we go.

{4}

Assigned seating. I curse you.

Fifty tables fill the grand ballroom, and my mother wedged
us near the front under the brightest lamp. Not only do we have to endure our
dates, but we have to do so under the scalding heat of a spotlight. While we
wait for the guys to find us, I play with the glittery napkin ring on my plate
and try not to anxiously scratch my arms.

My mother’s party planner had too much fun with the black
and gold decorations. A black sparkler centerpiece fits in the center of every
gold clothed table. Photos of gold Fizz cans with black carbonation bubbles are
framed along the walls. Diet Fizz is the reverse color scheme with black cans
and gold bubbles.

At least Fizzle’s logo isn’t lime green and puke pink—two
colors that would induce an instant migraine. Still, you think she could have
branched out a little bit. Maybe added a splash of blue or red. But no, those
are Coca-Cola and Pepsi’s colors. No Fizzle-loving person would dare touch
them.

I’m going stir-crazy waiting for our dates, but at least
Rose and Daisy sit next to me, not allowing any room for a guy to settle near
me. I also choose not to glance around for them like Rose, who scans the floor
trying to speculate who the hell our mother invited to be our arm candy.
Anyway, too many people mill about the ballroom for me to play that guessing
game. They congregate by the open bar or eat fancy hors d'oeuvres as servers
pass.

I feel like I’m at a million-dollar wedding reception.

Daisy leans back on the legs of her chair and folds her
cloth napkin into a flower, clearly bored. “How convenient that Maria suddenly
came down with a stomach bug.” Poppy never even made it out of the limo. The
nanny called her as soon as Maria threw up, and she turned around to take her
to the doctor. “I need to have a baby so I can use it as a way to bail.”

Rose clenches a champagne glass firmly in her hand. Her eyes
shoot to our youngest sister. “Let’s not talk about children.”

“Yeah,” I say with a small smile. “The word
baby
gives Rose hives.”

Rose sips her drink, not disagreeing.

And that’s when I feel a hand plant on my shoulder. And by
the force and the size, I know it’s
male
.

“Lily Calloway,” he says with added pleasure. I know that
voice. I just can’t place it. I rarely can.

I slowly crane my neck over my shoulder, and my eyes widen
in horror. I recognize the All-American build, blue eyes, and swept back brown
hair. Even outside of prep school, he looks like a star quarterback—even if his
sport of choice was lacrosse.

I didn’t sleep with Aaron Wells. I didn’t
touch
a hair on his head, and I never
would. Because this douchebag tried to stuff Lo into a locker in ninth grade.
Lo spun out of his grasp and sprinted down the hall, away from Aaron and a pack
of restless bullies. Aaron wasn’t fast enough to catch him.

Lo fights indirectly with people. So I knew he wouldn’t
retaliate with a baseball bat, swinging at Aaron’s head in angry retribution.
There are some things that hurt worse than a punch. I think his father taught
him that. Lo paid a guy to break into the school and alter Aaron’s exam grades,
and his GPA fell. For guys like Aaron, reputation is everything and being on
the bottom of the graduating class can ruin status. He must have realized Lo
was the cause, so one day after school Aaron tried to confront him with fists
bared. He clocked him. Lo escaped. As he always did. Four years passed and
their feud escalated.

I became a target.

Aaron would try to trap me in the bathrooms, and I
vehemently dodged him. I stayed glued to Lo’s side during every hour of the
day. In those couple months, I remember being really scared to go to school. I
didn’t know what Aaron wanted to do to me, but since their rivalry already
became physical, I didn’t necessarily want to find out. I remember skipping
often and fearing moments in between class. I’d jump even when it was just Lo
who approached, and when he could tell I was becoming psychologically fucked
from Aaron’s threats, he decided to do something more drastic to protect me.

He threatened Aaron’s future. Not just a little drop in his
GPA. He would contact the colleges that planned to scout Aaron and pay them off
so they’d reject him on the spot.

And it happened. Aaron’s dream university denied his
application because Lo reached them first. And with the Hale name and a hefty
donation, they couldn’t refuse Lo’s offer.

So Aaron shut up. He got accepted to his safety school, and
he left us alone.

Until now.

I don’t greet him. I turn back to give him the biggest
coldshoulder. I don’t care if I’m rude. Because if my suspicions are correct,
he’s only here to make my life hell.

“Not going to say hi?” Aaron wonders. I watch him circle the
table and sit across from me. He actually takes the centerpiece and puts it on
the floor so I have a direct view of his smarmy face.

I hear Rose beside me. “How old are you?”

I glance at her, and nearly laugh at her date. He’s a twig,
and his suit is two sizes too big.

“Nineteen,” he tells her, fixing his bowtie, but he makes it
even more lopsided.

Rose raises her glass with a bitter smile. “Wonderful.” My
mother set her up with a guy three years younger than her.

He takes the open seat to her left. “My father is your
father’s lawyer.” He scratches the back of his longish brown hair, his skin a
golden tan, probably half-Italian. “I’m Matthew Collins.”

“Nice to meet you, Matthew,” Rose says, motioning for the
server to bring her another glass of champagne.

Daisy’s date sits to her right. I don’t catch his name, but
he’s too distracted by his phone to even acknowledge my sister. She doesn’t
look like she cares either, refolding her napkin into a rose.

The food starts parading around the room, sea bass and
winter squash making rounds on each circular table.

My appetite is gone. Especially as Aaron leans his forearms
on the table, practically hunched over to force my attention to him.

“What have you been up to, Lily?”

I shrug and then spit out, “Why would you want to even come
here?” It’s almost been three whole years since I’ve seen him.
Why now?

“I heard your boy was out of town. I thought I’d check up on
you, make sure you were safe and doing okay.”

I glare. “I’m fine.”

He nods, his eyes skimming the length of me. Thank God, my
body stops at the edge of the table.

“Did my mother really call you?” I ask tensely.

“She called my friend first. She seemed a little desperate
to get you hooked up, and I told her I was available.” He flashes an ugly
smile. “I have nothing better to do.” And so the truth comes out.

“That’s why you’re here? You’re bored?”

He shrugs. “Now that I’m almost graduated, Loren has nothing
on me. And I think me and you—we have
unfinished business.”

I go cold and look to Rose for backup, but she’s in a heated
discussion with her younger date. Well…she seems to be educating him about the
stock market, as though he said something inane and she has to correct him.

Daisy is watching me carefully, but I don’t have the heart
to explain my history to her. Not now anyway. Plates of sea bass slide onto our
placemats, and I stiffly pick up my fork. I can’t eat, not until I let some
words loose.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I immediately blurt.

His eyebrow quirks and I realize that might not have been
the “unfinished business” he had in mind. And then he says, “We’ll see.” Okay,
maybe it was. Or maybe he’s just planning on cornering me, putting me in some
provocative situation and then snapping a few pictures, taking a video, and
then sending them to Lo.

Oh God.

Daisy butts in. “Hey, back off. She has a boyfriend.”

Aaron snorts and says to Daisy, “Do I look like I give a
shit?”

“I do,” a new voice enters. And this time, I internally
cheer at the sound of Ryke’s deep, threatening tone. He slides into the seat
between Daisy’s date and Aaron, closing the circle. He wears a fitted charcoal
suit with a skinny black tie. His brown hair is styled, but he’s not
clean-shaven. How did he get invited to a Fizzle event? Better yet, why would
he accept it and come here?

I don’t really care. I’m just glad he is.

“Who the fuck are you?” Aaron spits.

Ryke motions to a server and points to his
placemat, silently asking for food.
Then he faces Aaron with narrowed
eyes. If Lo were here, I think he’d appreciate the backup. We’ve never had it
before, and I have to say, it’s kind of nice.

“Loren Hale’s brother,” Ryke tells him.

Aaron chokes on a laugh. “Bullshit. Lo’s an only child.”

“Then don’t believe me. I don’t really fucking care. But you
start messing with his girlfriend, and then I will care.” A server places his
plate in front of him, and Ryke digs into the mashed potatoes, not giving Aaron
any more attention.

Aaron looks back to me, and his eyebrows jump up, but he
mouths,
later.
No, I don’t like
later. He even
winks
.

Shivers run down my arms.

Daisy squints at Ryke. “Why are you here?” she asks over her
oblivious date, still texting. “Did my mom call you?”

Ryke cuts into his fish. “Nope. My father did.”

I frown. “What?” That makes no sense. Jonathan Hale
basically blamed Ryke for Lo’s decision to go to rehab, leaving him with an empty
house. Why would he want to invite him?

“Yep,” Ryke says. “He called me up, spewing some shit about
how we should put the past behind us.
 
But he’s an awful fucking liar.” He swigs his water. “He wants
information about Lo, but like hell I’m giving it to him.”

I try not to acknowledge Aaron, but I don’t like the way
he’s listening so intently, digesting our families’ secrets and filing them for
later.
I sip my own water to clear my
throat. “So why come?”

Ryke points at me with a knife. “Knew you’d be here. Knew Lo
wouldn’t.”

Ah, yes, he doesn’t trust me. “What confidence.” I love Lo
enough to restrain myself.

I glance at Aaron, who stares a little too forcefully.

But without Lo to hide behind, my only defense against Aaron
is to run. And I’m not as fast as Loren Hale. Not even close.

Daisy keeps leaning on the legs of her chair. “I’m
confused,” she says, tossing her rose-shaped napkin on the table.

“Eat,” I tell her.

She sighs and picks at the fish.

Thankfully, the lights begin to dim so we’re not the main
focus in the room. Aaron turns around, back facing me, so that helps ease the
tension in my shoulders. The stage brightens, and I try to relax in my chair
and concentrate on my father.

He walks onto the stage and mans the glass podium. The ballroom
quiets, except for the sound of silverware hitting dishes. He looks rich. How
else do you describe a man worth billions? Even in his fifties, his gray hairs
are masked by brown dye. He always has a genial smile, the kind that makes him
seem approachable, even if he’s usually too busy to greet. I love him for what
he’s given me, and I think he’d buy us the world just for the chance to see us
smile.

“Friends, family,” he says, “I’m so glad to have you all
here today to celebrate this special occasion. I founded Fizzle in 1970 with an
extremely ambitious—and somewhat naïve—plan to create the next best soda that
could rival the likes of Coke and subsequently Pepsi. With the help of angel investors
and some faith, Fizzle became a household name in just three short years.”
Everyone claps. I join in, admiring my father for his drive and passion. I
can’t imagine coming out of college and starting my own business with such
fortitude and strength. I’m not him. Or Rose. Or my mother.

I’m just so very lost.

He holds up a hand to shush us, and the noise settles to
silence. “Almost fifty years later, Fizzle products are sold in more than
two-hundred countries. Just in the United States, we’ve taken away the title of
the northern soda of choice from Pepsi. By next year, we plan to steal southern
hearts with our brand new soda. We believe the taste and contents of this drink
are unlike any Coca-Cola product and we’ll have diehards choosing…
Fizz Life
.”

He steps back from the podium and a screen behind him shows
an animated graphic of a Fizzle commercial, a gold background with dark colored
bubbles rising up. A silver can spins in the center with gold writing that
reads FIZZ LIFE, white bubbles decaled at the bottom. No black on the can at
all.

“Fizz Life is zero calories, aspartame-free. It’s naturally
sweetened with a recipe blended by our food scientists.” Servers with
gold-plated trays begin to walk around the room with cans of Fizz Life, passing
them to the tables. Our waiter sets down a can in front of my plate. Hundreds
of people begin popping the tabs, air expelling and carbonation bubbling, the
noise so very true to the soda company’s name. “This is not only the healthiest
soda on the market, but it’s also the drink of the future.”

The tagline:
Fizz
Life, Better Life
flashes across the screen. Underneath sits my father’s
exact words:
the drink of the future
.
Maybe it is.

Daisy holds out her drink to me. “Cheers.” I clink her can
with mine, and she turns to her date to do the same, but he’s scrolling through
his Facebook app. Ryke already has his open, sipping the new soda.

When he notices her date and her chagrin, he says, “He’s a
winner.”

The guy doesn’t even realize he’s being talked about.

“First place, pure bred,” Daisy agrees, raising her soda
before throwing her head back, taking a very large swig.

I sip mine a little. The flavor tastes different than Diet
Fizz and Fizz Lite. Not sweeter or bitter. Just…different. Good different, I
think. I could most definitely grow to like this one more than Diet Fizz.