The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (32 page)

Grandma Pearl barked orders. Erica gushed her thank-you’s. John posed beside her with one arm around her waist, while his dad fumbled with the Canon. Pearl held down the shutter button on her phone and snapped off dozens of shots with a smug expression. Candy watched and tried not to roll her eyes, wishing it would just end. Then her dad shoved Antonio against her and started shooting. Antonio remembered the macho act and let his hands roam. Pearl decided to shoot some video, too. It was miserable.

“All the kids together,” said Mieke. She pulled out a compact camera and corralled the group in front of what she thought was the best background. While the adults argued about lighting and rearranged their subjects according to height and partnerships, Candy found herself smashed into John’s chest. When he rested his hand possessively on her hip, she felt her pilot light flaring with anger, deep within her gut.

“How many roses did you pick up today?” she whispered up into his face, sweetly mocking. “I’m sure Charice Hawkins got hers, too.”

He looked down into her eyes coolly, unsurprised by her jealous challenge. She felt ashamed, even as she had said it. “Nice of you to wonder about that. Thanks for showing up to watch the parade.”

“I’m sure you enjoyed yourself plenty, without me.”

“Riding in a mint condition ‘57 Bel Air Convertible, next to a pretty girl telling me how wonderful I am, was a horrible experience, in fact.” He held her glare as the group was rearranged for more photos.

Candy fumed at the thought of John in the stupid Homecoming Court parade. She imagined him, waggling a pompous, presidential wave at the crowd. The whole town had probably turned out to ogle the beautiful people, riding in the meticulously refurbished and highly buffed classic cars that their owners trotted out every year for Homecoming Week. As Mieke shoved and pulled here and there, to arrange the kids into a new configuration, John sucked in to slip past Candy without touching her. She glanced up to see him gazing fiercely past the camera lenses, willing himself to breath slowly and probably counting to ten in his head.

He was right. She should have gone to see the parade. She did every year with her dad, ever since she was a little kid; the cars were the best part, especially when Dad entered one of his own. When she was a child, she thought the pretty girls were all princesses and their consorts, princes. As she grew older, however, she became better acquainted with the type of people who were usually elected to serve on “the Court”—mindless bobble-headed girls and arrogant, glazed-ham guys. She was as different as could be from those people. Then, her own John had been elected as the junior male representative the night of the Homecoming game. She was nothing short of devastated.

“The parade wasn’t just the Homecoming Court. That was only a small part,” John whispered, as the adults finished up their snapping and everyone began to disperse. “Every club had a float—I know you worked on the Art Club one. I rode on the Drama Club float, too. Louis was there—we did Shakespeare, for crying out loud. Erica was there in the marching band. And you missed it all.”

Candy looked away, begging her chin not to tremble.

“You were
missed
,” he emphasized, pointing his eyes at Erica, who seemed more like her awkward self suddenly. She was letting her mother help tuck in her strapless bra, while juggling her bouquet in her gangly arms. “Erica, let me help you with those. Sorry, what was I thinking?”

“No, I love them.”

Erica’s mom spoke around the safety pin in her mouth, “John, they are lovely. That was very thoughtful. Erica, sweetheart, I’ll take them home and put them in a vase for you.”

“Molly, aren’t you coming to The Kitchen?” asked John’s dad.

“Yeah, a bunch of us parents are having our own little shindig.” Candy’s dad was carefully stowing his Canon in its case. He felt Candy watching him and smiled, “Don’t worry, no more pictures allowed.”

Erica’s mom was unsure, as awkward as her daughtert in social situations. “Well, that sounds lovely, George…”

“Yeah, Mom. Go party down with the old folks. You’d worry a lot less if you did.” Erica shoved her mother towards the group of parents, missing the scowl that transformed Mieke Walsh’s face after the “old folks” comment.

“I’ll watch those roses for ya,” Joe Robinson said, in a pained voice that turned every head. He added, trying for humor, “All I can do these days is watch, I guess.”

Candy’s dad was clueless as ever. “Joe, you should come out, too.”

“Absolutely not, dear,” Pearl snapped. “You are staying right here.”

“I’ll stay, too, then,” said Mieke.

“Mieke, I thought you’re riding with me?”

“Candy, come here.” Antonio grabbed her hand and urged her towards their waiting limousine. “Time to bolt.”

She was willing her insides to simper down and Antonio’s strange mixt of dated American slang and sexy Italian accent helped. She grinned and let him tow her along. He climbed in first and gave her a hand up into the spacious cabin, spilling back with her onto the luxurious, wrap-around leather couches. The first thing she noticed was an arrangement of wildflowers, exploding with orange mums, red daisies, yellow sunflowers, purple berries, blue eucalyptus, and more textures and vibrant autumn colors that she could name or count. The whole car was flooded with their delectable fragrance. The flowers sat securely in a vase set into the central table; her flowers would be the Hummer’s crowning glory throughout their evening festivities. All for her. Beaming, Candy sprung into Antonio’s arms. “I love them, thank you! They’re absolutely perfect, Antonio.”

“So this is how I win Candy’s heart? I see.”

“I’ve been trying to solve that mystery for over ten years, man. Forget it.” John climbed in and slid onto the seat across from them. He reached over and patted her knee, as if comforting a small child, “All better, now?”

She openly admired her flowers, kicking off her heels on the fluffy carpet. “Yes.”

“Brat,” John murmured.

She was about to retort, but then she saw her rose tucked into his front pocket. She forgot it inside, but he went back for it.
Oh no. And he just watched me rave over Antonio’s flowers—I’m such a jerk.
But when she found John’s eyes, they were smiling. He plucked the rose from his tuxedo and handed it to her.

Erica popped her head in. “Whoa, those are gorgeous,” she grunted, struggling into the cabin in her snug, ankle-length dress. John stepped out to help her inside, and ended up supporting most of her weight while she snaked in sideways and he tried to keep his hands away from delicate areas. She finally achieved a seat, flushed with the effort. “Let’s get out of here fast, before I rip something.”

“Dancing is next, I can’t wait.” Candy ignored Erica’s groan and clapped her hands, her mood considerably brightened. She loved to dance and all the bad stuff was over.

chapter thirty-nine

“
Blech
, that’s nasty.” Lindsay gagged, but held the syrupy beverage down. “What’s sloe gin, anyway? It tastes like cough medicine.”

“It’s good for you, insurance for a healthy party tonight.” Amanda took another sip from the stainless steel flask and tried to hand it back. Lindsay shook her head and made a puking motion, so she screwed the top back on and stashed the booze in her sequined handbag.

“Where’s Jessica? Wasn’t this her idea?”

Amanda held a finger up to her lips, listening for noises outside in the main washroom, then unhooked the latch and stepped out cautiously. “We already came in here before I got you. It would be too suspicious for us all to huddle in a bathroom stall at once.” She walked past each stall, checking under their doors, before calling to Lindsay in a normal voice, “Alright, it’s still clear.”

Lindsay ran over to the mirror and spun around to check her figure in her beaded dress once again. “Whoo-hoo, that stuff does hit the spot pretty fast, huh?”

“Told ya.”

The girls brought out their compacts and lipsticks to perfect their faces.

“So, are you gonna make your move on Antonio tonight, or what?”

“Amanda, he’s here with Candy Vale.”

“Antonio told me himself that they’re only friends, Lindsay. I told you she’s a lesbian. I don’t know why you can’t see this is just a cover-up.”

“I don’t know…John Robinson is actually much cuter.”

“John Robinson is mine,” Amanda said flatly. Lindsay’s eyes snapped to hers in the mirror, defiant, but she remained mute. Amanda held the gaze until Lindsay dropped it and started digging around in her purse for something.

She brought out a new gloss, which she studiously applied, before finally giving in. “Well, when did you talk to Antonio?”

“Just now, right before I found you to come in here. God, you should have seen how gaga he was over you in that dress.” Amanda gave Lindsay’s hindquarters a lascivious look; she knew how proud her she was of her tight derriere.

“Really? What else did he—”

The bathroom exploded into a chorus of gabbing underclassmen. They saw the contemptuous looks of the two sophomore girls and scampered into stalls. Amanda smiled at Lindsay’s reflection and they recommenced primping, letting an uncomfortable silence settle in the room and grunting with derision at the delicate tinkling sound the younger girls were unable to stifle. They pressed together to block access to the sink as the freshman rushed out of the bathroom one by one.

“Look, Lindsay. Antonio is totally into you, trust me.”

“He actually said that?”

“Come on, it’s obvious.” Amanda scrutinized her friend’s reaction. Full of giddy expectation, just as she hoped. Every girl at Jackson wanted to be the Italian Stallion’s object of desire, no matter if she desired
him
or not. Such novelty was a dream for the bovine masses. “We have to get him to my house tonight, at all costs. My parents have left the whole place to us—when else are we going to have this kind of freedom?”

“My mom said Tristan’s in charge, though. That’s the only reason she thinks it’s okay for me to spend the night at your place, with your mom gone.”

“Yeah, Tristan’s in charge,” Amanda snorted, “of making sure we don’t bother him in the master bedroom.”

“What?”

“Are you kidding? All he cares about is getting off. Well, that and football. Why do you think he invited Meg Shannon to the dance? At least he won’t have to worry about her fighting him off, like Ashley Davis did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, why do you think Ashley broke up with him?”

“I just always figured
he
dumped
her
,” Lindsay shrugged. “Tristan’s the hottest guy in school, why would she break up with him?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be in a parked car, alone in an empty field, with my brother.”

“Are you saying, he actually…”

“I’m not going to say the word, Lindsay. He
is
my brother, read between the lines.”

Lindsay looked at her, aghast.

“I mean, I don’t know if there was actually penetration—”

“Penetration? Gross, Amanda.”

Lindsay plugged her ears and clamped her eyes shut.

“Oh, don’t like that word?” Amanda pinched her friend on the belly, and then on the rump, when she twisted away laughing. “I won’t say ‘penetration’ again, don’t worry your delicate little ears.”

More girls trouped into the lavatory en masse and Amanda declared it was time to rejoin the party. Out on the main gymnasium floor, a live band was playing a version of The Beatles’s “Twist and Shout,” the emcee encouraging more students to get out on the dance floor and “Shake it up, baby!” Friends and dates were grabbing hands and either running onto the dance floor or running off of it, most of them shouting in riotous delirium within the fractured, spinning light of the crystal ball overhead.

“But, yes,” Amanda hollered into Lindsay’s ear over the cacophony. “He actually said he likes you.”

“Really?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” Lindsay laughed.

Amanda’s face lost all traces of humor, and she stepped back to reproach Lindsay, showing her wounds. “That’s not funny. That really hurts my feelings.”

“I’m sorry.” Lindsay tried to take her hand, but Amanda yanked it back.

“You know you’re not just my cousin, you’re my best friend, too. I would never lie to you, never.”

“Oh, Amanda. Come on, I was just teasing.”

“No, I know how you and Jessica like to joke around, tossing insults back and forth, but I’m not into that. Sometimes I think you two are really serious when you say mean stuff to each other. But, I don’t insult my friends.” Amanda turned to walk away, but she let Lindsay pull her back that time.

“Look, I really am sorry. I trust you.” Lindsay moved her face around in front of Amanda’s when she looked away. “Come on. Okay?”

“Okay,” Amanda accepted her friend’s hug.
Lindsay is so easy.

“Let’s just forget about it, and have fun.” The whine in her cousin’s voice was palpable. Begging. “We’ll make this night one we won’t forget. I promise, Amanda.”

Amanda finally relented, allowing a shy smile to spread across her features. The two grasped hands and bounded towards the dance floor, fully primped and buzzing with both sloe gin and the promise of thrills awaiting.

“We’ll burn this night to the ground.”

“What?” Lindsay turned around in question, but Amanda shook her ahead.
Nothin’.

They wove through gyrating bodies to find a good spot. Amanda squeezed Lindsay’s arm when she located her prize. “Lookie there,” she nodded across the room where Antonio was dancing in a crowd of other Bobcatts. Candy Vale was there, too, dancing close to John Robinson.
How predictable.

“Here comes the She-Devil,” John shouted to Candy, motioning towards Amanda Jameson’s approaching form in the undulating light.

“Huh?”

“Nothin’,” he shook his head and urged her farther into a knot of people, closer to Antonio and Erica. They were doubled over in merriment and grabbing their aching sides from attempting to keep up with the twisting dance the emcee was demonstrating onstage. The song was coming to a close, with a distinctly different beat fading in. It was the old house classic, “Jump Around.”

“Who is this guy?” Candy hollered to John over the whistling tempo and thudding base. “First, ‘The Electric Slide,’ then ‘Twist and Shout,’ and now this?”

“Weird mix, but good for a dance party.”

“What’s he gonna play next, the ‘Chicken Dance’?” Erica cheered, exultant with the fun despite herself.

As the song neared its chorus, Erica sliced a hand across her throat towards her date, communicating, “no way,” and John seized Candy by the waist instead. He hoisted her from behind, into the air with the
Jump! Jump!
chant of the song. Several nearby able-bodied fellows followed his cue to assist the closest fun-loving girl, whether date, friend or acquaintance. The bulk of the less hardy crowd sang along, clapping and hooting. Candy felt like she was flying, as small as she was in relation to John’s normally larger frame, beefed up from all his recent football training. He propelled her up higher, with the momentum of her own jump, and each time she left his grip for a split second and had spectacular view of a joyous crowd, roaring approval. She was laughing so hard that she could hardly breathe, and before long she was limp in John’s arms, trying in vain to express, “stop, stop,” even though stopping was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.

John gaped at her legs; her dress had been rucked up so far the tops of her thigh-highs were visible. He tugged her hemline down, “My god, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” she said and smothered him in a hug. She felt sweat trickling off of his hair onto her neck, and pulled back making a face. “Am I that heavy?”

“Are you crazy? You’re light as a feather.” He clapped a hand on his chest in mock surprise. “Oh that’s right—Fair Feather.”

“You’re so strong.” She squeezed one of his biceps in jest, but when he flexed with a grin, she pulled her hand back like she’d touched a hot stove. She hadn’t realized how muscular his arms had gotten, and it made her body notice his body. Too much. “Well, anyway. You made me feel weightless.”

He watched her, bemused, and she looked away. She felt him chuckle next to her and she cast around for Erica or Antonio, something to help her feel normal again.

“Something’s happening,” John murmured.

“What do you mean?”

When she stared at him, he smiled and nodded towards the stage.

He was right, the music was dying down. She felt her hair self-consciously, not used to maintaining gel and hairspray through physical exertion, and John tucked an errant strand behind her ear. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you, Candy-cane.” He wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, then he took her hand and held it between them. They watched the stage together.

“Alright, alright everybody. We have more music from DJ Doubletake in the funnel, kids. But we have a few announcements first, y’all.” Principal Warren had taken the stage and was brandishing both hands towards his audience in a dampening gesture. “First of all, we need the Homecoming Court to assemble by the equipment lockers for formal photographs.”

Candy felt like she had been slapped. She missed the rest of their headmaster’s speech—muted as it was in her buzzing skull—but she tried to appear calm. When was all this “Court” crap going to end? They already announced Queen Ashley and King Tristan like it was their wedding day. Mr. Davis had stopped patrolling and checking the punch for signs of spiking for a few minutes to admire his beautiful princess of a daughter while she performed the first dance. Ashley and Tristan simply shifted weight from one foot to the other, spinning in slow circles. “That’s not dancing,” Candy had smirked, remembering how the real thing felt in Sam’s hands.

And again, more accolades. On and on. Why can’t this night belong to everyone, instead of the select few? The damn beautiful people.
She felt one of the beautiful people monitoring her from the corner of his eye. “Well, I’ll just hang out with Erica. Come find us when you’re done with the pictures. Make sure you smile, I want one of those.” At least her friend had come to stand with her, in her hour of need.

“Er…” Erica fumbled, imploring John with her eyes. “They asked that the dates be present for photos, as well.”

John gestured for Erica to head to the assigned location. As Erica squeezed her shoulder in passing and John pressed Candy’s fingers harder, his face full of burdened concern, Candy had to restrain herself from whacking them both.

“You know what? It’s really hot in here.” Candy freed herself from John’s grip and fanned her neck with both hands. “I just feel like getting outside for a minute, I need some fresh air.”

“Look Candy, if you don’t want me to—”

“I’m fine, really. I just need to cool off.”

John held her gaze with agonizing sympathy, before finally releasing her, “Okay, I’ll find you in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“This shouldn’t take long.”

“I’m fine,” Candy insisted, punctuating her lie with a kiss on his cheek.

She kept her pace steady and her stride stately until she reached the perpendicular hallway leading outside and out of view. Then she stomped her high-heels in a rage and let out her best un-ladylike roar, before ripping the bra-stuffers out of her bust line and flinging them against the wall. She would have lobbed her princess slippers across the parking lot as she stalked away from the gymnasium, but she had neglected to pack flip-flops into her sparkling little bitch-bag.