Page 99 of Vicious Saint
“They’re from our mom’s side…and share many of her traits. Even though my father refuses to see it because Lance’s parents go to the same church.”
Well, shit.
I’d be stupid to believe Saint was looking out for my wellbeing, but I am slightly relieved about the pariah thing.
“Can we talk about…the lights?”
Her eyes flutter closed before squeezing, then blink open as she says, “Let’s just enjoy the warm weather, yeah?”
Here we go.
“How long will you guys expect me to ignore what I saw?”
“And what exactly did yousee, Hendrix?”
There’s a sharp bite to Theory’s tone, a familiar one. Reminding me with whom she shares blood.
“We both know exactly what I saw. Don’t play dumb, I know you’re not.”
“He gets some mood swings. Can we please leave it at that?”
I should refuse. Get up to demand the answers I stuck around to get. But I can’t. Not with how Theory is becoming sad and dejected while she looks down at her drink.
“For now.”
“Really?” She perks up.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you so much. You know…for everything.”
A.K.A. not calling the cops on her maniac brother.
“Stupidityisanother side effect of being human.”
Theory snickers, holding out her glass for me to clank. “Well, then here’s to being human.”
I hold out mine, too, tapping it against hers. “To being human.”
Hours later, in between lighter chats, water gun fights, even a couple rounds of blinking contests with Carlo…Theory and I have done everything possible to shake the awkwardness and make the best of our time together.
The peak heat of the day has way passed, and now, here we are, two girls sipping their third Piña Coladas, staring out into the setting sun over the Manhattan skyline.
“So, guess what he did?” Theory rambles on with another childhood story about her and Saint. “He stole our dad’s Amex and bought out every single Barbie in the store. Online too. Then had Stanley drop them off in front of her house. Shit was hilarious. Saint even went as far as taking pictures with his phone and plastering them all over the school.”
A fair punishment for Madison, the evil little second grader, who told Theory only losers play with Barbies.
I nod along with her as she continues, trying to comprehend how a guy she describes as the most loving older brother, can be as cruel and cold and brutal as he is.
“So…you have a lot of run-ins like this with your peers?” I ask in an attempt to stay on track. “I know you mentioned girls were bitches overseas, but was it that bad when you attended school in the states?”
Theory chews at the corner of her lip. “I’d say from like third grade on…each grade worse and worse.”
“They didn’t cause that, did they?” My gaze lowers to her jaw.
“My scar?” Theory shrugs. “Nah…broke my jaw falling down a flight of steps as a kid.”
Damn.
