Page 3 of The Catalyst

Rebellious sounds right up my alley. This is my year of change, my year to be a brand-new Bethany Mercer. I’m not going to sit at home and get lost in classic literature. No, that won’t be me anymore.

I need to leave everything about that Bethany in the past, where she belongs. My dad, my friends, and even Shawn need to stay there, or all of the memories will kill me.

“What kind of rebelliousness?” I ask, sending her the best mischievous smile I can muster, but hers isn’t fake.

“The kind your mom would ground you over and put bars on your windows.”

Perfection.

“Then why are we still hanging around here? I could use a little trouble,” I tease, but Judy gets it instantly.

CHAPTER 2

BETH

Ihave a bucket list. Teigan, Delaney and I cultivated it right after my dad died. We came up with the most outlandish, crazy things in our highly sheltered brains. The things my friends added to it were either things they heard about or that they did themselves. They didn’t add stupid items. Just ideas they thought would push me out of my comfort zone.

Things like Item #1. Go to a party, find the hottest guy in attendance, fuck him, and leave without ever finding out his name.

It should be easy enough. As far as my experience goes, high school boys prefer to keep their attention on school, sports, and sex. I’m not looking for anything more than that anyway. And that’s if we’re going to a party.

I wave to my mom as Judy and I slip out the front door and start down the street. I expected to hop in her car, but Judy insisted that we walk the distance.

At first I didn’t understand, but after a few streets, I start to hear the echo in the distance of laughter and music booming. It starts slow, but the closer we get, the clearer it becomes.

It’s the symphony of a party and a big one, too. Cars line both sides of the street and people are spilling out of the only house with bonfires in the yard.

I’m so transfixed by everything that I run right into a hard chest and barely manage to apologize before I look up into the most beautiful pair of icy blue eyes I’ve ever seen, so light they’re nearly white, surrounded by black locks that go past his ears.

“Watch where you’re going, princess,” he mutters, his voice so level and calm that he comes across as unbothered by the interaction. However, interest grows in his eyes.

“Sorry, Oliver,” Judy jumps in before I can say anything.

There goes the possibility of him being my bucket list item. It’s a shame, too. He’s smoking hot with those muscles and tattoos. He even has one that looks like a skeleton’s hands are wrapped around his throat. Heck, the man towers over me by enough that there's no way he isn't packing some major heat in his jeans.

“It’s no skin off my back, Gunderson,” he responds quickly. “Who’s your friend?”

My mouth is barely open to introduce myself when Judy pulls me along. “Sorry. We gotta find Shanti.”

Who the hell is Shanti and why is Judy running like her ass is on fire?

“What is the hurry?” I hiss at her.

“Stay away from that guy. Oliver Doyle is bad news, a real crazy. They call him the town psychopath for a reason.”

Well, that was a close call. I’m not one to give into small-town gossip, but if he has that kind of tagline attached to him, he must be bad news, right?

She pulls me along closer to the fires blazing. The bonfires are set around the slate gray house with boarded-up windows.

“Does anyone live there?” I ask, since there were plenty of people in the poor part of Hempstead who lived in houses with broken windows. We just lived in a different section.

“Just the Bastards,” she responds quickly, a big smile across her face.

“The Bastards? Please, don’t tell me someone’s mom was so evil to give her whole family the last name of Bastard.” It’s laughable, but I doubt anyone is that kind of morbid.

Judy cackles as she shakes her head, gripping her stomach from laughing so hard. “No, that’s what everyone in Grove Hill calls them. They’re the founding families. Walsh, Doyle?—“

As in, the guy we just met? Should we even be here?

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