When the Night is Over (Blackbird Series Book 1) Read online

  The way he looked at me didn’t flat-out alarm me, but it did set me on edge. He was too close now. So close I could smell the beer on his breath.

  “I’m beat, Wes.”

  “Yeah, you get to bed.” He moved in even closer when he put my earbud back into place and then kissed my forehead. I couldn’t hear him, but as he backed away I watched his mouth form the words: Goodnight, baby.

  Sound travels easily through the paper-thin walls of our ranch house. Above the din of the football game, I heard Wes ask my brother if I was home from work. “Car’s in the driveway, so yeah, I guess she’s here.” My brother’s careless reply doesn’t sting the way it should. I’m used to it. More often than not, I feel like an unwelcome guest in my own home.

  Staring at the ceiling, I listened to them laugh, curse at the television screen and toss insults at one another for hours. I listened for footsteps in the hallway, a tap on my door, the rattling of my newly installed chain lock, but no one came.

  I don’t make a habit of ignoring my intuition, but I suspect my instincts are off when it comes to Wes. I hope they are, anyway.

  “How did everything work out?”

  Deep and raspy—he has the voice of a full-grown man. And I know Simon Wade’s voice even though it wouldn’t take all my fingers and toes to count the number of words he’s directed my way in this lifetime.

  He’s materialized out of nowhere, moving in so close that his breath tickles my scalp when he speaks. My hand shakes as I reach for a bowl of rice pudding and place it on my tray. I’ve never tried rice pudding but I’m pretty sure I hate it.

  “This isn’t your lunch period.”

  “Really? Thanks for clearing that up for me.” He looks away with his lips fixed in a firm line. “The lock?” he asks through clenched teeth.

  “Uh, yeah, it works.”

  “Good. I forgot to tell you that if the door isn’t solid wood, if it’s just hollow plywood or something, then a chain won’t do shit. It’ll give with a hard push or a kick.”

  “Um, it’s solid. It took me a long time to get the screws in.”

  “All right.”

  When I turn back to thank him, he’s gone.

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte

  “Let’s go, girls!” Lined up center court, Sienna scans our group from one end to the other. “Now that football’s over, those cheerleaders are going to be pushing in on our territory. But we have the floor to ourselves during half-time so we need to wow everyone. I wanna make them look like the pathetic pom-pom waggers that they are.”

  We all laugh because Sienna doesn’t mean any of it. Her sister Skylar is the captain of the cheerleading squad, and they’re like peanut butter and jelly. Sometimes I catch myself watching them, each dressed in their own unique but trend-conscious way. They captivate everyone’s attention with the way they laugh, finish one another’s sentences and socialize effortlessly. It almost doesn’t seem fair for one family to have so much beauty and goodness. The boys want the Perillo twins, and girls like me, still awkward and shy in the big world that is high school? We want to be them.

  Looking down at my sequined blue skirt, I notice the strip of midriff visible between it and my red, white and blue sequined tank top. I wouldn’t call it a full-on crop top, but the show of skin is risqué by our small town’s standards. The patriotic theme will probably win over most people, but I’m sure a few old bitties will have something to say about our new dance costumes. Personally, I think they rock.

  Miss Dawson doubles as our English teacher and the director of our dance program. She’s young compared to our other teachers and I’m pretty sure she’s not originally from around here. She dresses in tight tops, long flowy skirts and scarves, and when she wears her hair up, you can see a tattoo at the base of her neck—a blackbird in flight with some numbers underneath. Sienna told me the administration nearly fired her mid-way through her first year because she was so unconventional. Now she walks the line as best she can, but I think she still has a rebellious streak.

  For example, Miss Dawson was walking a fine line when she choreographed this routine. I’ve seen the movies where cheer and dance squads bump and grind to the thumping bass of whatever hip hop song is topping the charts, but that would never fly here. I mean, not that the student body wouldn’t appreciate it, but the townspeople would stroke out. Probably institute some Footloose-inspired laws banning dancing from this day forward. So Miss Dawson had to get creative. Something Bad About to Happen has the foot-stomping beat we need to shake our hips, but the suggestive lyrics are being belted out by Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood, country music’s version of American sweethearts. I doubt anyone from here, the most redneck county in Pennsylvania, would be complaining—not too loudly anyway.

  Dance Ensemble practice is the best part of my week. Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon I get to spend two hours uninterrupted dancing my ass off, dreaming up routines to my favorite songs, and hanging out with girls who are, in my opinion, the coolest in my school. Miss Dawson sets the tone for the group. There are no bitchy cliques and no barrier to entry. You like to dance, you’re in. Take Daisy for example. In geometry class she’s a star, but in the gym it’s like she can’t remember the steps to even the most basic routine. To be brutally honest, Daisy’s the least coordinated “dancer” I’ve ever known, and I can admit to swapping spots on the line a few times for fear she’d trip me up during a performance. But Miss Dawson loves her enthusiasm, so in turn, the rest of the girls rally around her. And being a part of this group means we have older girls in the school who are like big sisters to us. Sounds silly, but when the junior and senior class girls call my name in the hallway or wave as they pass by, I have to school my expression so that I didn’t look like the fawning, awestruck underclassman that I am.

  After practice, Daisy and I usually go back to her house to do homework together while simultaneously fan-girling over Sienna and the others. Today though, Daisy is the only one in a happy space. I mean, those girls are really nice to us, but we aren’t friends, we don’t pal around with them on a day to day basis. It was out of left field when Sienna hit us with the invitation.

  “Tyler’s having a party after the game. You two should come along. We’re all bringing outfits to change into, so you can get a ride over with me.” When Daisy and I stood there speechless, Sienna widened her eyes and added with a teasing smile, “You know Tyler, my sister’s boyfriend, captain of the basketball team...Ring a bell?”

  Ring a bell? Everyone knows who Tyler is. He’s one half of Ty-Lar, as some have taken to calling the best looking couple in the senior class. Tyler and Skylar. I’d laugh at that ridiculous nickname if they weren’t so damn perfect. So perfect that I’m feeling way out of my comfort zone. Did I even want to be at a senior party? I had no time to mull that over before Daisy decided for me, blurting out, “Absolutely! We’re in!”

  Daisy could barely contain herself. I’d taken to ignoring her by lunch on Friday when the agonizing over what we should wear reached borderline hysteria level. I was planning on wearing jeans, a sweater and boots, and that’s not because I’m one of those badass girls who won’t change to please anyone. It’s just that Daisy was viewing this as her coming out party or something, while I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to even make a cameo at this thing. Aside from the few spiked seltzers Daisy and I snuck from her parents’ cooler last summer, I had no experience with drinking. No experience with anything, really. And from what I’ve heard, Tyler’s parties were known to rage for the better part of the weekend when his parents weren’t around.

  All that noise was out of my head as the lights dimmed at half-time on Friday night, though. Daisy and I were usually second row with the other underclassmen, but at yesterday’s practice Miss Dawson moved me to the front row with the juniors and seniors. I was so pumped that I spent all last night going over the routine in my room. I was so ready.

  And when the lights came back on, I knew we’d kicked ass
. The gym was still loud with hooting, whistles and applause when the basketball team came back out to start shooting around. I don’t think a single one of us could contain a smile as we made our way back to our spot on the sidelines. And when Miss Dawson made her way down the line to tell us how proud she was, she paused in front of me, nodding when she said, “You have talent, Charlotte.”

  “Teacher’s pet,” Daisy teased, poking me in the side. Looking over and waving to her parents, she bent her head my way. “Seriously, Charlotte, you were amazing. I was right behind you, trying to freaking keep up.”

  “C’mon, Daisy, you were great too!”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged me off, smiling. “Ugh, be right back. My parents are acting like lunatics.”

  I looked their way, and Daisy was sort of right. They were waving her over, arms flailing, beaming like the two proudest people on the planet.

  Daisy’s parents are fairytale perfect. They’re supportive, loving and have big plans for their child. The two of them are like Daisy’s very own personal cheerleading team. And as their daughter’s friend, I've always been welcome in their sickeningly happy home. If I was normal I would lap it up, take what they so kindly offer. But for some reason, being in their home is more painful than comforting.

  I’m not jealous. I’ve never begrudged Daisy anything and I usually don’t conduct play by play comparisons between my life and hers. For instance, when her father announces that he’s heading out to the store to get ice cream, calling out, “Mocha chip, right?” without waiting for an answer, I don’t stew over the fact that my dad never does anything remotely like that. In fact, because I’ve been left to fend for myself for so long, I find their brand of loving care to be oppressive, suffocating even. Daisy’s parents have a tracker on her phone to keep her safe, they text back and forth all day long just to catch up with one another, and they keep one night a week sacred as Game Night—I kid you not. They are a unit, a team. Once or twice I asked Daisy about it, hinting around at whether or not she finds them overbearing, but it’s clear that she’s on board.

  I don’t know what they think of me. I’m at their house often enough. Always looking to escape my own house, I spend a good part of my summers hanging around with Daisy in their backyard. I eat dinner with them at least once a week, but that’s only because her mother will do everything short of barricading the door if I attempt to decline an invitation. But I’ve never been truly comfortable there and I’m sure they sense that.

  Daisy’s parents ask a lot of questions, and I’m just not the sharing kind.

  Simon

  She’s holding her friend’s hair back as the girl pukes into the bushes.

  It’s late, today’s been a total mind fuck, and I’m about an hour past being ready to call it a night.

  I’m still angry thinking back to this morning. She’s the first person I see when I exit my truck, and damn if I can’t look away. Long hair, pink cheeks and chocolate brown eyes. She’s wearing jeans and just a hoodie, hugging herself and rubbing her arms to keep warm. She’s quiet, taking it all in while the older girls flirt and compete for attention. One of them is braiding her hair. I shake my head, seeing as she’s taken on the role of little mascot in yet another circle.

  “Si-mon.” Sienna always drags it out, making my name sound like two separate words. And she kind of sighs when she says the first syllable—don’t know if that’s her idea of a joke or something. “Please tell me you’re coming to the game tonight.”

  My instinct is to walk straight into school, breeze right past little Miss Mason so fast she feels the arctic chill I’m giving off, but screw that. These are my friends. Not changing my routine on account of her. Instead, I drag my eyes over the length of Sienna’s body. “I’m considering it, but I, uh, might need some persuading.”

  Sienna pushes off the wall and walks up to me, leaving less than a foot of space between us. I glance over at Charlotte. Eyes fixed on me, she’s reaching her hand up absently, a silent request for the girl to stop braiding her hair.

  Like what you see, sweetheart? I’ve caught her checking me out once or twice. All doe-eyed and eager—she’s no different from the rest. The cold look I always shoot back is meant to tell her: Not if you were the last girl on earth. And now I’ve got her where I want her: front row center, watching my performance. The cold-hearted side of me is getting off on it, on hurting her, but I’m the one who’s left damn near aching.

  I haven’t been able to get this girl out of my head all week. Something’s wrong there. I’m at war with myself, furious with the part of me that’s even curious as to why she needed to buy that lock, for caring even the slightest bit.

  I followed her into the lunchroom on Monday without giving my body permission to move in that direction. And when I cut the line, shooting the boy behind me a warning look, I stood so close to Charlotte that I could practically feel the heat radiating off her. She jumped when I spoke to her, stammered her words a little bit. I was rude to her, same as always, when I had no right to be.

  And here I stand, having thought about her every damn day this week. Knowing they’ll be no reprieve once school breaks for the weekend because I’ll be watching her from across the street, staring into that diner. She’s turning me into something weak and pathetic.

  Sienna’s finger, now wedged between my pursed lips, brings me back to the present. “I said, I’m very persuasive when I need to be.”

  I put my hand over hers, drawing her finger away gently. “I know that.”

  Sienna’s eyes are searching mine, looking for something I don’t have to give her. Once upon a time, I was into her. Sienna’s a good person, kind to others as far as I can tell, she’s pretty and she’s got a brain in her head. Back at the start of the school year we hooked up a few times, nothing too serious. One night we were making out, stopping when it got to that point where she needed to stop. After, we stretched out in the flatbed of my truck, looking up at the moon, passing a joint back and forth as we talked about nothing and everything. Once Sienna shared her hopes and dreams with me, her version of happily ever after, any desire I felt for her shriveled up and died.

  I’m leaving here.

  I have it all planned out.

  So anyone who thinks happiness resides in this little backwoods corner of Pennsylvania, white picket fence, two kids, chairing the freaking PTA and running bake sales? Not for me. And given that a whopping sixteen percent of people in this county hold a bachelor’s degree—true, I looked it up—there’s always the chance a girl like Sienna would be fixing to start in on those plans sooner rather than later.

  No thank you.

  “I’m sure I’ll run into you at some point. Garth and I are responsible for getting the kegs over to the party later on.” I mention my friend’s name on purpose. Garth has a thing for Sienna, so anything I can do to turn her head in his direction, I’m happy to oblige.

  “You and Garth should come to the game first, though.”

  Upon hearing his name, he saunters over. “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”

  Sienna looks to Garth and flashes him a smile. “I want you boys to come see our half-time show tonight.”

  “Think I’d miss you dancing around in that cute little outfit?” He pushes me back square in the chest, knocking me a step off balance. “I don’t know about this faggot, but I’ll be there.”

  Garth doesn’t mean to be a dick—not all the time, anyway. He’s just a clumsy giant who doesn’t know his own strength. And I choose to let the gay thing slide as well. Sienna is still smiling his way, meaning there’s a chance she might be off my back for good, and I’ve recently decided that correcting someone for a gay slur in this ass backwards corner of the world generally isn’t worth the effort.

  I did go to the basketball game. Knew I was going even before Sienna brought it up. I heard the girls talking about it yesterday, razzing each other about whose performance was going to kill it, cheerleaders versus dance team. I talk a good game, even wh
en I’m just talking to myself in my own head, but I knew I’d be there. The chance to see Charlotte was a draw in and of itself, but to see Charlotte dancing? Yeah, wild horses and all that.

  Not that I know anything about dancing, but she was the best one out there. I was by the exit, tucked off to the side. I had a clear view of her, but she couldn’t have seen me. Out there she looked confident, like she was born to move to the music that way. God, she was so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  So I was a frustrated, broody bastard by the time everyone started crowding into Tyler’s place later that night, convinced I should have just stayed home. Unlike most of these clowns, I need to be up bright and early. I was having my two beers and then bailing. But then she walked in with Sienna and Skylar. She’d washed off her makeup and changed out of the little outfit she was sporting during their show, but the sight of her still made me sweat. I could feel her eyes on me throughout the night, too. It made me self-conscious. I was relieved when I looked around at one point and didn’t see her. I wanted her home, safe, out of reach from the one or two untrustworthy boys here who wouldn’t hesitate to look upon her as easy prey.

  I’m thankful for the blast of cold air that hits my face when I leave the cramped trailer. I nearly trip over Charlotte, who’s holding her friend’s hair away from her face, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words as her friend dry heaves. She’s being nothing but kind and generous, but I can’t help myself. I’m angry. This girl is taking hold of me and I do not welcome the feeling.

  “Let me guess, first party and you drank yourselves senseless. Not very original.”

  Charlotte fixes me with a glare and hisses, “Do you mind?” Then she gestures with her chin, dismissing me. “Keep walking.”