Page 69 of Jerk
Looking back at my phone, the trail of unanswered texts makes me reach for my mimosa.
Hannah: Where are you?
Hannah: Are we going to talk about what happened?
Hannah: Ryung??
Hannah: Please answer me
Hannah: Are you okay?
Pathetic.
Forty-eight hours since Krystal showed up at Ember’s gallery, and all I get is radio silence.
The Crowns move like the mafia. Discreet. Mysterious. They strike only when it suits them. But I’m not used to being the desperate girl left on read.
It’s like people were too high or too scared to say anything about Krystal showing up like Carrie on prom night. Some say she was bleeding, kink gone too far. Some say they didn’t see anything at all, which sounds more like a threat from the Crowns than reality.
“We asked if you’d be up for shopping tomorrow on Paradise Alley?” Chloe asks, waving her hand in my face. Glancing up, her eyes float to my screen. “Is everything okay? Is it Rye?”
“No!” My response is too loud as I flip my phone over, hiding the screen. We’ve all heard that something happened at the Rowen Mansion. It wouldn’t be The Hill if there weren’t whispers of Andrew Rowen’s absence over the last couple of days. But I’m not ready to face it. “Brunch, then shopping. Got it.”
At first glance, everything looks normal, my posse in a booth with mimosas and charcuterie while other students watch us with envy. For the first time in weeks, it feels like my place in The Hill is restored. Laughter follows me, professors praise my words, and freshmen scatter when I enter the hall. But something’s missing.
Something’sdifferent.
“You want people to wish they could be in your place, and, once again, they do. Don’t act like you don’t relish in this.”
Chloe’s hand falls on my shoulder. “It’s okay that you’re worried, Hannah. It must be tough dating a Crown.”
Dating.
I don’t even know what we’re doing. One minute, he humiliates me in front of our ‘friends.' The next minute, he’s holding me in his arms and telling me how much his family needs me.
I don’t answer him, and I get punished. He doesn’t answer me, and gets away with it.
“I’m fine.” I spit, but the reflection in my champagne glass shows the worry on my face. While Marisol rambles on about her life-changing trip to Greece, I check QuickGram for any signs of life from Rye. As usual, I find no updates. None on Mac’s or Ember’s page either. Even she’s left me to deal with this aftermath alone. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Sliding out of my seat, I call it on this gathering. One last sip of my drink isn’t enough to soften the tightness in my chest or quiet my racing mind. I catch myself in the reflection of the large mirror at the side of the room. My cropped cashmere cardigan and matching pink mini fit the soft pastels of the dining room. My hair as shiny as the gold details. I fit in here. Period.
So why can’t I shake this spin in my gut?
Checking my phone again doesn’t help stop it.
Where the fuck is he?
“Is that Krystal?” Zurie's voice breaks my attention from my screen.
A hammer hits my chest when I look behind me.
Krystal saunters towards us, looking amazing in a black leather skirt and a sheer lace top. Her black beret matches her long black boots. She's a far cry from when I saw her last, zonkedout. Scared. Nervous. This Krystal has confidence. Poise. It's like that party never happened.
A few boys from the hockey team follow behind her. Looking beyond them, my heart pounds as I wait for those dark eyes, that silky hair, that black cigarette.
But I don’t see him.
“Krystal,” I say, approaching her. “Are you okay? Where’s?—”
“Last year’s Chanel?” Krystal speaks with a bored tone, but it’s loud, like her brother when he’s making a statement. They have an art to demanding attention while acting like it doesn’t matter. “How uninspiring.”
