Page 18 of Under the Influence

“Avie, you’re bleeding.”

I roll my eyes. No shit, Sherlock. Hence, the first aid kit.

His eyes come back to me, a hateful glare, “What happened, Madden!”

I drop the kit to the chair, “What? You think I did this?”

Avery steps in front of me, sensing the tension between us. I don’t have a problem with Carson, but I do if he thinks I would ever hurt Avery.

“Carson, you should go,” her voice breaks. Carson glances back at his truck to Nash, then back at Avery and me.

“If you so much as laid a finger on her,” he warns.

I step to him, my heart beating faster than it ever has when I feel her palm press against my chest. Her eyes beg me not to cause a scene.

I yank away from her to hide my feelings, taking a few steps toward the pool before I hear Carson’s truck pull away. Avery picks up the first aid kit and begins shuffling through it for a band-aid.

“Here, let me.”

Slipping the bandaid from the wrapper, I lift her shirt, placing it over the small cut. It’s tiny but deep and probably needs a stitch. My eyes trail over her skin, where my body screams, bad; hers is delicate. Her hair hangs in waves down her back, long and dark.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Sorry about Carson.”

“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I just, well he’s⁠—”

“Is it worth it?” I interrupt, smoothing her shirt back down. “Being invisible to him just so you aren’t invisible to everyone else?”

She looks down at her feet, “It’s complicated.”

I smile, pulling my cigarettes from my back pocket, lighting one up, a nervous tick. One I’ve had since I was thirteen. “No, It’s simple.”

She yanks the cigarette from my hand, stomping it out on her pool deck, “Those are so bad for you.”

I chuckle sarcastically, “So is pretending to like someone for fame and comments.”

She bangs her shoulder into mine as she pushes past me, stomping away.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t turn around to watch her leave.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

CORI

Saturday mornings are lonely here, and today it’s Saturday, lonely and raining. A deadly combination for an overthinker like me.

Jovie is at cheer practice, Aunt Lauren is at brunch with her book club, and Uncle Trey is outside pretending he is a handyman.

Lauren’s honey-do list never ends, but he doesn’t complain. I think he enjoys it. Maybe even just to stay away from them, who knows?

Uncle Trey and my dad are twins, similar-looking but total opposites. Trey is a calculated—somewhat meticulous—individual, whereas my dad flies by the seat of his pants. Both of my parents are dreamers. My dad played baseball and got drafted straight out of college, and my mom was one of the most incredible dancers in the country. She danced on Broadway for a while and is one of the main contributors to Brooks High— a legend. Cecilia Brooks was my mother’s mentor, and my mom was her prodigy. Sissy, or Cecilia, passed when I was in middle school. She trained me as well, from when I was old enough to walk.

I was a shoo-in at Brooks, whether I could dance or not. It was all about politics, which is why Legacy doesn’t phase or fool me.

I don’t want to sit here all day, but I also don’t want to go anywhere. Not that I have that option. I left my car at home in Chicago. My parents wanted me to bring it, but I just can’t make myself drive it. Maybe not ever again. It’s too hard, and the memories are just too painful. So much to her dismay—I’ll just hitch a ride with Jovie to school or take the bus. It’s whatever.