Feuds (14 page)

He opened his eyes then, gazing up at the dazzling beauty of the stars overhead. It was the best spot in the entire city to look at them: free from the blaze of buildings and removed enough from the Slants to feel like he was alone with just the night sky.

“I don't get you, Cole,” Michelle mumbled, nestling her head deeper against his neck. “I don't get what you want.”

“Yeah,” he told her, finding her hand with his, and thinking of Davis's enormous eyes, the way she bit her lip, the smell of her. Like lilacs.
A Prior.
“That makes two of us.”

 

9

DAVIS

Normally on the day of a roofing party, Davis felt a combination of excitement and dread. But this Friday both emotions were in double dose. And it was obvious why.

Cole.

She knew the city was bracing itself for the next round of continued Imp protests, that she was just three days away from receiving the results from the PAs, and that she should be concerned that Emilie had never reappeared at school that week. But all she could worry about during her classes on Friday—and then the long walk home after school (the monorails were still down)—was whether Cole would really show up that night. Even the thought of him standing her up made her stomach drop the emotional equivalent of ten stories.

All of this worrying was making her dizzy, and her stomach felt a little twisty and weird. So when she got home from school, she decided to paint her nails gold—as much to steady her hands and nerves as to beautify. She was missing Sofia, who was away at a birthday party that evening. Every now and then, Fia's hovering annoyed her, but usually she loved having her little sis around to chat with—it had almost become integral to her pre-party routine. Davis's room felt uncustomarily empty without her, despite the music she was blaring.

She dialed Vera on her DirecTalk, hoping for a distraction. Her friend picked up on the third ring.
“Hey,”
Vera said.
“Are you as excited as I am for tonight?”

Davis smiled. They were almost always on the same wavelength.
“I am,”
she said.
“I love roofing.”
She hesitated; she hadn't yet told Vera that Cole was coming.

“What's up?”
Vera asked.
“You're being awfully quiet for one who's purportedly so excited.…”

“I invited Cole. The guy from Emilie's.”
Davis held her breath, unsure how Vera would respond.

“That's good, right?”
Vera said finally.
“Where did you say he went to school again?”

Davis bit back a rush of irritation. Vera had asked the most difficult question, the one she couldn't answer. Okay, there were practically none she
could
answer, but still.
“I'm not sure; he never mentioned it.”

“Okay, well. He was definitely cute.”
Vera's voice was hesitant.

“But?”
Davis braced herself.

“Nothing,”
Vera said.
“Really. I get why you're into him. I just … we don't know anything about this guy. Just be careful.”

“That's the whole reason he's coming roofing,”
Davis told her.
“Because it's a group thing. I didn't want to suggest doing something alone, not so soon.”

“You suggested it? He didn't ask you out?”

Davis felt heat flooding her face. She didn't know why this conversation was making her so uncomfortable. It was never like this with Vera.
“It wasn't like that,”
she said.
“It's fine.”

“What's his last name?”
Vera wanted to know.
“Maybe I can see if anyone can vouch for him.”

“What is this? You can save the interrogation. I can handle it.”
The second the words escaped her lips, Davis regretted them. She'd sounded way more snappish than she'd intended, but the truth was, Vera was just voicing all the concerns she already had.

“I should go,”
Vera told her.

“Vera—”

“I'm not mad. I'm just worried about you.”

“I know. Really. I'm sorry I snapped. I just think we need to give him a chance. Just because we haven't known him all our lives doesn't make him a bad guy.”

“You're right,”
Vera said.
“We'll get to know him as it comes. I'm excited for tonight.”

“Me, too.”
They said their good-byes and Davis commanded her DirectTalk to enter “Do Not Disturb” mode. She needed time to think. No matter how much she reassured herself, repeating the same phrase she'd said to Vera, Vera's questions ran in circles through her head. She
didn't
know much about Cole. He'd opened up a fraction of an inch and it had felt like he was giving her the world. Why was he so secretive? It just wasn't normal. Davis swallowed back her discomfort, but her hand shook.

A few coats of mostly-within-the-lines glitter nail polish later, and she'd made her decision. She was going to spend three hours instead of two at practice before the party. She was going to beat those nerves to a pulp. And then she was going to show up fashionably late to the party and have fun like a normal teenager, Cole or no Cole. She deserved a break from the craziness and stress of the past week.

By seven o'clock—after one of the more intense workouts of her life in her building's substandard studio, since the real studio was still closed, maybe indefinitely—she was decked out in her cutest running pants (the spandex dark gray ones with the neon-pink piping) and a sheer, loose-fitting tank top layered over a hot pink sports bra. She felt cute, and a new excitement was buzzing through her.

She was good at roofing. The leaps, the flexibility—it was what a ballerina was made for. She flushed at the thought of how Cole might see her, what he'd think. Davis felt more
alive
at roofing parties than almost anywhere else except the dance floor.

She kissed her mom's Olympiad medal on her way out the door. It hung right next to a picture of her parents from the night they met—her dad was gazing at her mom with the cutest smile on his face while her mom laughed with a friend. It was the only picture of the two of them that remained. “First place, just like you,” Davis whispered at the medal
,
yanking the door open as she said it.

“Watch it!” she cried out, jumping a little. Frank was standing right outside her door in a tight-fitting, tailor-made beige linen suit, his signature red silk cravat tied around his neck and an old-fashioned pocket square completing the look. His blond hair was parted on the side and slicked back with who knows what goop he'd slathered on. Davis shuddered before she could stop herself. It was almost as if he'd been
listening.
Or as if he'd wanted to startle her, one of the two. She'd never trusted Frank—in fact she never trusted
any
man who used hair gel—and he'd been up her butt about her father's election campaign. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to shoulder her way past him. She was never going to get used to all the campaign managers—
intruders
—crowding their house.

“I was just coming to get you,” Frank told her, smiling wide enough to produce dimples in both cheeks. “Terri wants you downstairs—she needs your help getting ready for the fund-raiser. But I see you have other plans.” His gaze moved over Davis's body, lingering a little too long on her chest and legs. She squared her shoulders and stared back at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Are you sure that outfit is … appropriate?” he said. She didn't miss the lewd tone in his voice. “You look more like an Imp than the daughter of the city's next prime minister.”

Davis felt her cheeks burn. Why did Frank assume he had the run of the house? Who did he think he was, coming up to the second floor, where all the bedroom suites were? And why the heck did he think her wardrobe was his business, anyway? Davis gritted her teeth, trying hard to conceal her frustration. She didn't want him to have the satisfaction.

“I'm already late,” she fired back. “I'm not going to change now. And I'm not sure it's
appropriate
for you to be looking.” She pushed past him roughly. Terri emerged from the stairwell just as Davis was about to descend. Terri took one look at Davis's face and put a hand on her shoulder, glancing from Davis to Frank and back again.

“Frank, don't tell me you're giving her trouble again,” Terri said. “What's wrong, sweetie?”

“I was just telling her to reevaluate her wardrobe,” Frank said, his voice stiff. “She doesn't quite fit the image of the daughter of a prime minister candidate, wouldn't you agree?”

“I wouldn't,” Terri informed him. “And we've never been a family that bought into someone else's idea of perfection.” She smiled warmly at Davis, and Davis gave her a grateful look. “Go on,” she told her. “Have fun with your friends.”

Davis gave Terri an awkward peck on the cheek and hurried down the stairs and out the front door. She'd never been more grateful for Terri; sometimes it was like her stepmom had a sixth sense. Fia had some of it, too, an innate empathy that never failed to touch Davis's heart. Times like these, when Terri stood up for her against Frank—she felt like they were a real family, that she didn't need anything else. That there wasn't something missing.

It was a ten-minute walk from Davis's house to the Lights Zone, the grouping of public high-rises where the roofing was scheduled to start. No monorail required, thankfully. Who knew when they'd be back in operation. Besides, she was starting to like walking around on her own. At night it was especially exciting; she felt a thrill of adrenaline work its way up her spine as she turned another dark corner to pass through a narrow alley.

She was high-energy from her afternoon workout and in a good mood, so she broke into a moderate jog to warm up her muscles. The dark helped push her forward. She emerged from the passages behind her neighborhood and ran ahead onto the limestone surfaces of the downtown area, loving the way her shoes gripped the panels beneath her. She couldn't make out her reflection in the stone anymore, though, given its newfound grimy quality, courtesy of the strikes.

Cole hadn't yet arrived at BKC Tower 2. She swiped her P-card and rode the elevator to the top. There were about thirty or so kids from her school up there already. Davis saw Vera and Oscar gathered on one corner of the roof, along with Max and Desiree, a couple of other third-years from Excelsior.

Vera gave her a hug, but Oscar ignored her, looking irritated. He took a quick gulp from the flask he was holding in his left hand—his parents never noticed when he swiped from their liquor cabinet, despite that he drank more than they did.

“Have you seen him?” she asked Vera quietly, pulling her aside, feeling a sudden flurry of nerves. What if he flaked? What if he stood her up?

“Cole?” Vera asked, a concerned look immediately spreading across her face.

“He said he'd be here,” Davis said, growing more and more concerned that he was bailing.

Vera reached out and hugged her, reassuring Davis, “He wouldn't do that to you,” but she could tell Vera was worried for her.

Davis nodded, trying to smile. But she felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach. What if he didn't show? “Where's Nadya?” she asked Vera, trying to change the subject. Nadya, another ballerina, hadn't been at studio for a couple of days—but that was nothing new. Nadya ditched practice sometimes. Ballet was only one of at least five extracurriculars she did, and her real talent lay in tennis. She was notorious for skipping out on dance. Roofing, however, she did not typically miss.

“I don't know,” Vera said, her forehead wrinkling as she thought. “Maybe she'll show up later. Stop worrying so much.”

Davis nodded, turning her attention to the more pressing issue:
Where was Cole?
She'd never been stood up before. Vera gave her another sympathetic pat on the back. “Only an idiot would miss a chance to hang out with you,” Vera told her. Davis smiled gratefully at her friend. Vera was biased, yes, but Davis still appreciated her words. She turned a full circle, looking for Cole in the crowd. Why was he so unpredictable? It was starting to make her mad—starting to seem more rude than attractive.

“Maybe we should start without him,” Vera whispered, keeping her voice low.

Davis nodded again, her eyes burning. She was wrong to fall for him; Vera had been right. She felt impossibly naïve. She hoped it wasn't obvious to everyone else that she'd been ditched.

And then, with a huge wave of relief and excitement blotting out all her former worries, she spotted him. Moving through the crowd toward her, tall, taller than she'd even remembered. He was smiling. He was beautiful, even though
beautiful
wasn't a word you were supposed to use with guys.

“You're here,” she blurted out, and then regretted it; that made it sound like she'd been worried.

“I am,” he said back, but his own expression was unreadable. Why was he so hard to read? He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and he was wearing dark jeans, slim cut, a bad choice for roofing. Maybe he was just that confident that he wouldn't wipe out on the rough cement. His wardrobe choice was like a dare—or a taunt—to everyone else. Davis admired his confidence. A happy glow filled her up, making her realize for the first time just how worried she'd been that he wasn't going to show. “How's your friend?” he asked, taking a step closer, narrowing the gap between them.

“Emilie?” Davis's heart dropped as she felt worry overcome her at the thought of her friend, but it was sweet of Cole to remember, to ask. “She's okay, I think,” she told him. “I talked to her cousin about it. Well, twice, actually. She's not exactly the most forthcoming…”