Page 8 of Butterfly

“Mason,” his father called.

“Going to the rink,” Mason said. “Need ice time.”

Ice time? My stepbrother was a hockey player? As much as I hated him, I found a little bit of respect for him—he wasn’t just some spoiled rich boy, he had to have some amount of determination and drive to be an athlete, after all. I should’ve realized as much based on his physique, but then I was hit with images of Mason in his skates and nothing else?—

“What’s gotten into him?” my mother asked, perturbed. She’d be even more perturbed if she realized where my head had gone. She opened her arms to hug me, then froze, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “And why is there a branzino on the kitchen counter? Honey, I hope you weren’t planning on making that. It smells off.”

I bit my lips to keep from giggling. Or screaming. I wasn’t sure which; Mason made me feel so many things.

Too many things.

All the things.

I really fucking hated it, as much, if not more, than I hated him.

Paul watched me, his blue eyes—so much like his son’s—working. It worried me, what he was figuring out. Would he kick me out if he knew I’d put a dead fish in the car he’d bought his son? Would he kick hissonout, if he knew what Mason had done to my toe shoes? I shouldn’t care what happened to Mason, but part of me did—the same part who had stared at him with longing that first moment when we’d met. Plus, I didn’t know what that kind of family fracture would do to his relationship with my mom, and her happiness.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I was just planning on tossing it. Maybe we can get pizza?”

3

LESLIE

After that, things went from bad to worse. Two days later, I showed up at the dance studio to giggles and weird looks from the two girls at the front desk.

“Um, Leslie…” one said, before bursting in laughter again.

My stomach sank. “What’s wrong?”

The other held out a pair of underwear.

My underwear.

“We received a package of a number of these yesterday, with a note.”

Rage made my body go stiff and still. I didn’t have to look in a mirror to see how red my face was. I also didn’t need to see the note to know who the culprit was, but when the woman handed it over to me, I took it.

With shaking fingers, I opened the folded, embossed note with the initials MC.

These are for Leslie Berger, so if she has an “accident,” she has extras.

She’s prone to them.

Thanks,

Mason

“Wow, Mason Calloway must really hate you,” the other girl remarked, tossing her hair. “What did you do to him?”

“He’s my stepbrother,” I said through gritted teeth. “And I’m going to kill him.”

The first girl shrugged. “I wouldn’t take Mason on, if I were you. They don’t call him Ice Man for nothing—and it’s not just because he’s anincrediblecenter.”

“He’ll destroy you, Leslie. Take the L,” the other girl advised.

But even though there was some sympathy in her voice, neither of them were on my side. No, they weren’t going to go up against the titan of their little wealthy town. I was on my own—and I’d never felt more alienated in my life.

I texted Bea.

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