Boys Club by Selena
twenty-two
Harper Apple
I spend the next week cursing everything. My mother for letting the electricity get shot off again, Willow Heights for being closed, and even the shitty weather, as it rains so much our basement floods, and I can’t even go take out my fury on the punching bag. What kind of school needs two weeks of spring break, anyway? Two weeks for kids to suffer at home. At least the lack of electricity means no internet, which means I can’t masochistically stalk the Dolces online and see them having fun with the Waltons as if I never existed.
I go on to cursing Royal for not returning my backpack like he said he would, for breaking up with me, for making me fall for him in the first place. I hate myself for caring, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry into a bowl of ice cream like a little bitch who got her ass dumped. Hey, I’m only human. Sometimes, a girl’s gotta wallow before moving on. I’m mostly pissed at myself, anyway. I already regret what I did, making the decision in haste, not thinking through the consequences.
A week into break, I wake up to my mother standing over me, screaming at me about hiding money from her. My heart nearly stops. I scramble upright in bed, sure she’s discovered my stash. But she’s not holding my hard-earned cash. She’s waving a piece of paper in my face, demanding where I got that kind of money.
“I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I grumble, throwing off the blanket and stalking out of the room. I stumble into the bathroom, leaving the door open for light.
To prove her point, Mom storms into the bathroom and shoves a paper in my face before flouncing off, hollering about how I could afford to think of someone else for a change. I rub my temple and glance over the bill. No, not a bill. A receipt.
Someone paid the electric—a thousand dollars of it. Fuck. I stare at it, my mind balking at the number, rereading it over and over, as if there’s been some kind of mistake. That will cover months of bills. A whole summer of air conditioning.
I didn’t pay it, and obviously Mom didn’t, so who did?
Who even knows our electric is out?
When I’m fully awake and dressed, I boot up the desktop computer and sit down. Mom’s on the phone with the electric company trying to convince them she overpaid by mistake so she can get the money off our account and probably spend it on crank. I open Gloria’s social media first because I want to know who’s accounted for, who’s in Park City with her, oblivious to my lack of electricity.
As soon as I see the pictures, I wish I hadn’t. But it answers that question. All the Faulkner Dolces are there. The Waltons, the Roses, and the Montgomerys are also there, along with the mayor and his family.
I close out of stalker mode, find a couple heels of bread in a bag, and make toast while I think. Is the bill a bribe from Mr. D to get me to continue spying? An apology? A thank you for giving him what he needs at last, the information to take down his enemies?
I know it takes time, but I wonder when he’s going to strike, when he’ll come forward. And what will happen to me when he does? It hits me then, the full weight of what I’ve done.
I probably cost myself my scholarship either way. Mr. D will pull it if he’s pissed that I cut him off. And even if he doesn’t…. I’m not just fucking with Royal. I’m fucking with their family, the one that destroyed one of the founding families of this town—three generations of them, including the elder and seven sons and all their kids. Royal all but admitted they have mafia ties. And I just put a huge target on my back. It’s not the boys in their fancy ski resort I need to worry about. It’s the fucking mafia itself.
*
“Some weirdo was here looking for you a minute ago,” Blue says as I step over the puddle in the hole in our walkway. “You just missed him.”
I just got back from running by Willow Heights to get my bike and see if Royal’s car was still there so I could get my bag. The car was gone, so I’m still without a phone, but at least I got my bike.
“Who was it?” I ask, glancing around, still feeling jumpy even though nothing has happened since I told Mr. D. Was it him? First he won’t meet, and now he’s showing up at my house? I already know he has no problem looking like a fucking stalker. Maybe he wants to convince me not to give up on Willow Heights, to keep my scholarship and keep being his snitch.
Or maybe it was some mafia hitman…
Blue’s scooping water out of Olive’s sandbox with a coffee mug while Olive kneels on the muddy ground beside the lawn chairs, lining up her Hot Wheels cars and humming a Brody Villines song to herself.
“I don’t know,” Blue says, pushing her lank hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist and sitting back on her heels. “He asked if we knew you, and if that’s where you lived, and then he went around back, like, looking at your house or something. It was super sketch, so I took Olive inside until he left.”
“He didn’t take my cars, though,” Olive volunteers. “Blue made me leave them out here, but they were still right where I left them when we came out.” She beams up at me like I should be impressed that the creep didn’t steal from a child.
I cross my arms over my chest, a shiver running through me. Who the fuck is looking in my house?
The Dolces are still in Park City. I know because my masochistic side couldn’t stay with the total internet blackout, and I’ve checked Gloria’s social media every day since we got electricity back. I wish I could stop. They look so happy—all of them. It breaks my heart. They don’t know what’s waiting for them when they get back.
“Have you seen him before?” I ask Blue, shaking my head to dislodge the pictures burned into my brain, pictures of the Walton girls on the laps of the Dolce boys in the hot tub, in the ski lift, at a restaurant. Smiling with their arms around each other on the slopes, like rich kids without a care in the world, who have never known pain. I know better now, but it still hurts. “What’d he look like?”
“That’s the really creepy part,” Blue starts.
“He had on a mask,” Olive cuts in. “Like it’s Halloween! But it’s not Halloween, so Mom said that means he’s crazy.”
“What kind of mask?” I ask. “Like, a ski mask? Or a gorilla mask?”
“More like a masquerade mask,” Blue says, going back to scooping water from the edges of the sand. “Fancy. And he had a fancy truck.”
I turn to Olive. “Do you know what kind?”
She gives me a look like, bitch please. “An Escalade EXT,” she says. “That’s by Cadillac, if you didn’t know.”
Normally I’d snark back at the little smartass, but I’m too weirded out to bother.
“I don’t know anyone who drives that,” I say, running through the Dolce cars in my head. I’ve seen all their cars and Mr. Dolce’s when I went to their house. I’ve also seen the cars all their friends drive, and though I wasn’t paying much attention, I can picture every single one when I try—the Waltons all drive sports cars, and Cotton drives a Jeep. DeShaun drives a truck, but it’s not an Escalade. And every single one of them is in Utah right now.
But there are other rich people in this town. Including one who drove a nice SUV that was wrecked and maybe replaced with a truck, a boy who had his face messed up and might want to cover it if he hasn’t had all his surgeries.
“Did he have blond hair?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“Dunno,” Blue says, tossing water into the muddy grass. “He was wearing a beanie.”
“Did he have neck tats?” I ask. “Or on his hands?”
Blue shrugs. “I didn’t notice, honestly. I don’t think so, but the mask was distracting, and I got a weird vibe and went in the house after he asked about you.”
“Well, thanks,” I say. “If you see him again, text me, okay?”
Not that it matters. I don’t have my phone.
I go around the house, looking at the man’s footprints in the mud. It rained for the first week of break, but it hasn’t rained for the next four days. And there are more than one set of footprints. I crouch down, trying to swallow and not panic. There are two different patterns from the shoes he wore, but they look about the same size. One is new, but the other is older, the mud oozing in to obscure the edges, partly dried.
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to breathe. He’s been here before today. Was I inside the house? Was someone looking in my windows at me? Or casing the place, waiting for me to be home so he can attack?
I head inside, but it’s hard not to feel jumpy when there’s mysterious creepers sniffing around. Is he a mafia guy? What if he planted a spy camera somewhere?
I’m almost freaked out enough to message Mr. D, giving in again. I could use some protection. But then, who’s to say he wasn’t the one here, trying to scare me into doing exactly that? And if he’s in jail, he can’t protect me. I cut him off, anyway. He’s probably pissed and wouldn’t spare more resources for me even if he could.
I check all the blinds and find a couple that are crooked, leaving a spot in one corner that someone could look through. My skin crawls as I open the windows and examine the windowsills for anything strange, like a little bead. I’m not sure what spy cameras actually look like, but I’m not taking any chances. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous and paranoid, but I know better. I’ve crossed some very powerful people in this town, and I don’t expect to walk away without a scratch. The other shoe will drop. The only question is, when?
And who was outside my house?
It wasn’t one of the Dolces… At least, I don’t think so. Gloria could have posted the pictures yesterday but taken them days ago. Or it could have been King, the one from New Yokr. He’s not in any of the spring break pictures. Still, Blue’s seen the Dolce boys before. If it was even someone who resembled them, she would have guessed it was them before anyone else. They could have sent one of their friends, but it’s not like them to be sneaky.
Mr. D could definitely have come around. He knows where I live. I’m not sure why he’d wear a mask, considering he wanted to meet when we first started talking. But then, he did refuse later, when I asked. If he needed to wear a mask, though, that means he’s someone I know, and he didn’t want me to recognize him. That makes me shiver even harder.
The last option is Colt. The mask makes sense in a way, both to hide his bandages or because I would recognize him. If he’s sneaking around, though, that means he’s after me. My heart hurts at the thought that he’s one more person who wants to take me down. We were friends, kindred spirits.
But I can’t blame him for hating me now. I got him beaten almost to death. And worse, I didn’t avenge him for that, the way any halfway decent friend would. Hell, the way any decent human being would. Instead, I fell in love with his attacker, even knowing he was a monster who wasn’t just capable of such a thing but that he would nearly kill my friend right in front of me, not because he had something personal against him but to prove a point to me. Royal’s coldness in that moment chilled me to the bone, but it didn’t stop me from loving him.
Now I’ve got nothing to show for it. I lost them both. Colt’s gone, knowing I’m a traitor of the worst sort. Royal’s gone, thinking I’m a traitor but not knowing how right he is. Gloria’s gone, though she doesn’t know yet that I betrayed her as well.
I have no friends left in this town, not even an anonymous man online. There’s no one I can trust. Even Blue would toss me out of the lifeboat at the first threat to Olive. Hell, for all I know the guy wasn’t wearing a mask at all, she just made that up because he told her not to tell me what he looked like. If he even glanced at Olive, she’d take that as a threat. And she doesn’t owe me shit. Why would she? I’ve proven that the only person I’m loyal to is myself.
Only now do I realize how dangerous that is. I thought I was keeping myself safe, not caring about anyone, not relying on anyone. But now, when I need protection, I’m alone. I’m the prey straying from the herd, and the predators are circling. I’m not just a lone gazelle being eyed by a lion, either. I’m a lone gazelle about to step on a boa constrictor while being circled by a pride of lions, a pack of hyenas, a leopard, and a cheetah.
I’m not being paranoid. And I’m not scared. I’m fucking petrified.
*
Wish You Were Here
Three brothers
With three friends flanking,
Six girls tucked in our arms,
Our chins on top of their heads,
Baring our teeth in smiles that hide snarls
As we line up like an execution
—Ready Aim Fire!—
Try not to flinch at the clicks
As eleven parents brush off eight siblings
On the blinding white slopes
To capture the moment they need
To keep pretending
We have it all.
Three brothers
Standing together,
Alone among friends
They allowed no photographic evidence
As they did the things required of them
To the enemies they were pointed at
—Ready Aim Fire!—
Try not to think about the girls
We could have spared
If stopping were an option
Or the fact that they won’t see
That behind the snow and the smiles and the friends and the girls
We have nothing.
