Spectacularly Broken (4 page)

“Um.” He stared straight ahead, frowning. “If you lose, you have to attend your dad’s next movie premiere. Including red carpet.”

“Oh, man,” I groaned. “You seriously want me to put myself in front of a bunch of cameras, voluntarily?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re evil.”

“Yeah,” he said and looked very pleased with himself. “Hey. If I’m gonna be you, I’ll need your wallet.”

I couldn’t fault his logic, so I handed it over. He gave me his in return.

“And”—he grinned, looking me quickly up and down—“you’re not gonna last five minutes wearing all these designer brands.”

“No,” I breathed.

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“You are not getting my clothes.”

“Yes, I am.”

“
No
!”

“Yes. Your stuff is mine; my stuff is yours. That’s the whole damn point.”

“I hope you know you’re going to hell.”

Chapter Four

A good two and a half hours later, we arrived at Oak Hill Manor, retreat for troubled teens and those who aspired to be. It was far out in the boonies, surrounded by extensive greenery and something like a thousand miles away from the nearest town. Sure, it was pretty, if you were easily impressed by that kind of thing.

“Great,” Finn sighed as he pulled the keys from the ignition and gave me a good long look in the otherwise deserted parking lot. “Well, I have to say that, so far, being in your company has turned out to be vastly more interesting than I’d expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

Finn messed with his hair again. “How the hell am I going to explain away this car?”

“Just do what I’d do. Say it’s your cousin’s.”

“Oh. Good point.” He handed me the keys. In return, I offered him my Oakleys.

“Cool, fancy shades.”

“Please be careful with my stuff,” I pleaded. “Please.”

“Yeah, no worries. Same goes for my stuff, even if you think it’s all worthless.”

I nodded my agreement and watched as Finn examined himself in the rearview mirror.

“I am now Lysander Shepherd, party animal and—” He abruptly turned to me. “Wait, do I have to be gay? Do people know you’re gay?”

“I should think not. But, honey, with the way my jeans look on you, there might not be much doubt.”

We had switched clothes at a rest stop, not without a multitude of complaints from both of us. I felt awkward in Finn’s baggy pants, and he was absolutely freaked to wear jeans that looked like they’d been painted on him.

“Um.” He squinted. “I am now Lysander Shepherd, metrosexual.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it. So, er, Finn, shall we go?”

“Why, yes, Lysander, we should,” I chirped.

* * * *

It was a decidedly strange feeling to be walking up the steps to the manor in Finn’s ratty clothes and worn-out sneakers. The shoes were a little tight on me—his feet were about half a size smaller than mine—but they were so soft and worn that it wasn’t a problem. I tried to picture myself as I looked now, with the new clothes, the buzzed hair, my face free of my customary touch of makeup. My friends probably wouldn’t even recognize me.

And Finn…well, he looked like Finn, dressed up in my clothes.

“Try to look a little more uncomfortable,” I teased him.

“Shut up.” But he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, leading the way through the huge double doors and into a large foyer. It looked old and regal apart from the elevator off to the right, and there was a table set up in the middle of it. Two women sat behind it, and they were staring.

At Finn.

Wow, this really was weird.

“Hi,” he said, shoving his Oakleys—
my
Oakleys—up into his hair and sauntering over to the table in what I had to admit was a passable impression of me.

“Hello. Welcome,” one of the women greeted him excitedly, a late-twenties redhead with wild curls and freckles dotting her fair skin. “Oh, wow. You must be Lysander. I’m a huge fan of your dad’s.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Finn replied, sounding unimpressed, which he probably was. I imagined he was sick to death of being asked about his famous uncle, and this amounted to the same thing.

“My name is Margaret. I am the retreat coordinator.” The other woman, who looked older and far more composed, shook Finn’s hand. Her dark complexion stood in stark contrast to her cream-colored pantsuit, and her salt-and-pepper hair was twisted into a tight bun. “Welcome to Oak Hill Manor, Lysander. Kelly is going to need your ID to check you in, and then I’d be pleased to give you a tour.”

“Sounds good.” Finn handed her my ID, and as I’d predicted, Kelly did no more than glance at it.

“And we’ll need your car keys, if you drove yourself,” she told him as she handed him a stack of multicolored papers.

“He drove.” Finn jerked his thumb my way, and the two women appeared to notice me for the first time.

“Oh, hello.” Kelly waved me closer. “And your name is?”

I slouched some more and handed her Finn’s ID without saying anything.

“Can you talk?” she demanded to know a little more sharply.

“Yeah.”

“Good, ’cause that silent crap doesn’t fly here. Keys?”

While I dug them out of the pocket of my pants, Finn and Margaret were already walking off. It was a distinctly strange feeling to witness this sort of special treatment when I was not the one experiencing it. I had to admit, I probably would have taken it for granted.

“Okay, here’s your welcome packet.” I was handed a stack of colorful papers as well. “Did you leave your luggage in your car?”

I nodded.

“That’s fine. We’ll bring it in for you later. You’ll just have to pick it up from the foyer. It’s gonna have to be searched first. Cell phone?”

Even after switching clothes, I had kept my phone on me, not even really thinking about it. I still hadn’t charged it, so it wasn’t much use to me at the moment, but I was attached to it.

“It’s Lysander’s,” I informed Kelly as soon as I realized that I couldn’t justify Finn owning this brand-new, customized model. “I was just carrying it for him.”

“You friends with him?” she asked curiously.

“Cousins.”

“Oh wow. That must be pretty cool, huh?”

“I…guess?”

“Well, anyway, this is fine.” She put the phone into a Ziploc bag, the car keys in another, wrote on them in marker, and placed them in a box filled with similar items. “We would have had to take it from Lysander anyway. You don’t have your own phone?”

I shook my head.

“Okay. Your room number should be on the first sheet, so you can go up and get settled if you want. Be down here at two for orientation. Otherwise, have fun.”

No personal tour for me. I nodded and turned. Finn was nowhere to be seen, so I went to check out my room and prayed it didn’t have bunk beds.

* * * *

“I have to sleep in a
bunk bed
,” I hissed at Finn when he took the chair next to mine in the dining hall a good hour later. The horror of it still hadn’t sunk in. My room was tiny to the point of claustrophobic, shabby, dreary, and it smelled weird.

He grinned. “I have a single room.”

“God, I hate you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, the posse he had already managed to acquire settled down around us. He seemed surprised by their presence. So was I, considering that I preferred to think people liked me for my charm and not my famous name. But no, Finn was able to pull this off simply by introducing himself as Lysander. It was maddening.

He seemed a bit unsettled by the curious looks being thrown his way, though. His cheeks were getting progressively redder, and eventually he put my Oakleys back on. In the dining room. And, of course, nobody seemed to find that weird.

There were something like forty teenagers assembled, and we all sat through Margaret’s welcoming monologue. I zoned out while she talked. It was far more pleasant to scan the room for cute guys. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a distinct lack of those at Camp Naughty.

How the hell was I going to go an entire month without getting laid? Worse, without beating off? I had no privacy. I slept in a
bunk bed.

But no. I could do this, I told myself. I could be someone else for a few weeks, no problem. It wasn’t a big deal.

The rustling of paper echoed through the hall and snapped me out of my funk. Everyone around me had grabbed a mint-green sheet out of their welcome packages, and Kelly was distributing pencils.

I pulled out my own mint-green sheet and looked at it.

About Me.

Oh, spectacular.

I spent the next thirty minutes thoroughly reinventing myself. There was a line near the top that demanded to know what name or nickname I preferred to be called. When someone shouted “Finn,” would I even manage to remember that was supposed to be me? I considered the matter for several minutes before I wrote
Haze
. Less chance of a slipup that way.

Then there was a blank where I was supposed to list my hobbies. Sex and partying probably weren’t going to cut it, so I searched my mind for other things I liked doing. There wasn’t much.

Man, my life was kind of pointless if I subtracted the wild lifestyle. The realization was a bit of a downer.

Swimming
, I wrote eventually. It was true enough; I loved being in the pool. What else? I didn’t read, didn’t spend my time doing much of anything except shopping and sleeping.

Sleeping
, I jotted down, feeling pathetic. I needed to start doing something interesting, stat.

I glanced over at Finn, who seemed to find this as difficult as I did.
Acting
, he’d written. Oh hell. Well, it was his funeral.

Favorite color? Black. One word: Slimming. Favorite book? I crossed that one out decisively. Favorite movie? Probably
Philadelphia
, even though it was depressing as fuck. If Finn wrote down one of my dad’s movies for this one, I would kill him.

By the time Kelly collected the questionnaires, I was drained and ready to take it all back. Being someone else was tricky.

There was more talking. I half listened as Margaret shouted directions.

“Blue group! That corner. Purple group! This corner. White group! Out on the front steps. Yellow group! Lobby.”

“What group am I?” I asked Finn distractedly when everyone else started moving all at once.

“Dude, I don’t know. It’s in your package.” He pointed, rolling his eyes. Someone laughed.

Someone
laughed
. At
me.

Fuck that. I turned and glared, and the girl who seemed to find my question so damn hilarious shut up and blushed. It was comforting to know that my glare still worked. I found my group color—green—and tried to figure out where I needed to go.

Nobody offered their help. Damn, people here were jerks. Back home I’d have had a hot guy or two hanging from my arm by this point, ready to be at my service.

This was stupid. Why wasn’t there signage or something?

By the time I finally joined the green group in a hallway, I’d missed half of the meeting. The young blonde woman who was talking gave me a dirty look and handed me yet another piece of paper.

“So glad you could join us,” she said snippily. With her icy eyes and her severe ponytail, she looked very no-nonsense, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t be tolerant of anyone here acting out.

I shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. “I got lost.”

“Wow, you must be special,” said a dark-haired guy who was leaning against the wall. “I’m guessing directions aren’t your thing.”

The entire group stared at me. My face warmed, which angered me. What the hell? Why was he giving me attitude? I didn’t even know this jackass. I narrowed my eyes at the guy and realized he was both taller than me and had better hair than me—which, to be fair, wasn’t difficult when I sported a buzz cut. He also had several piercings—a lip and a nose ring, plus gauges in his ears. To top it all off, he exuded an air of undeniable superiority, the look in his dark eyes pure arrogance.

In summary, I despised him at first sight.

“I
am
special, and fuck you too,” I replied flippantly.

“No swearing, guys. Be nice. I need that.” Blonde chick had grasped the edge of my mint-green
About Me
sheet and was pulling it out of the pile I clutched. She looked it over with a critical eye. “Haze, is it? My name is Angie. I’m your group leader. We have group sessions twice a day, and as I was just telling everyone, they are mandatory. Try to be supportive of each other, okay?”

She paused, apparently expecting an answer.

“Okay,” said a short blond kid. He looked to be something like fourteen or fifteen and was bouncing on his toes incessantly, his wiry body telling of an abundance of energy. He chewed gum like it was going out of style. He was also by far the only one in our small group who looked excited to be there. Aside from Angie, there was only one girl, who was wearing a baggy sweater and seemed to be trying to hide behind her curtain of mousy brown hair. She was cute in a freckled sort of way but looked nervous and uncomfortable.

A husky guy around my age did nothing but stare at the ground. His thick glasses were incredibly unflattering, and I itched to stick some nice colored contacts into his eyes instead, then buy him a new wardrobe while I was at it. Then there was the dark-haired smart-ass, who was still glaring at the rest of us with thinly veiled disgust. He had on a spiked chain bracelet to match the attitude and was wearing all black, including eyeliner, which was all the evidence I needed to file him under “douche-bag poser.”

Also, I was pissed I’d had to wash off my own face and couldn’t show him just how much better I could pull off makeup.

“Okay, so why don’t you all introduce yourselves?” Angie nodded at the small hyperactive kid.

“Nicky Bennett,” he said on her prompt. “I’m fifteen and from Nebraska. Uh…anything else?”

“No, that’s good for right now.” Angie smiled. “Lexa?”

The mousy girl raised her hand for a nanosecond but did not appear to want to add anything. We waited, shuffling uncomfortably, until Smart-ass finally ended the moment with a put-upon sigh.