Bad Boy Blues Page 2

  Tonight was about tit for tat. It was about the adventure, the rush of it all. Tonight was about feeling alive.

  “You know, you don’t have to do this. This job. You could pack up right now and leave this town. Just like you planned. Just get in your car. The blue car that you love so much.” She smiles. “Take a road trip. Send me postcards. No one’s going to blame you, Cleo.”

  Okay, first of all: I can’t just get in my car. I can’t.

  I won’t.

  My blue car that I used to love so much, the car that I spray-painted myself with my dad, scares me now. I can’t touch it. I won’t touch it. Because every time I do, I can’t sleep for days. I get nightmares. Sometimes I throw up, get dizzy, claustrophobic.

  But I can’t tell her that. Because she’ll say the same thing that she’s been saying for the past year.

  You need to see someone, Cleo. Talk to someone.

  “I can’t,” I whisper, threading my fingers together. “I need this job. I need to get my house back.”

  My old house. The house I grew up in.

  The bank took it away last year because of my dad’s debts. After a lot of pleading, they gave me a second chance, along with a time limit to come up with the money. I only have about four more months to gather it and I need this job to get me there.

  “Your parents wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

  “Well they’re not here, are they?”

  I was trying to be snappish. But I guess, I sounded more… forlorn, like the orphan that I am.

  Sighing, Maggie sits back. “Fine. I can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do.”

  My chest feels heavy but I still manage a trembling smile.

  “But,” Maggie says, sternly. “I don’t want you inside the mansion after your shift’s over. Do you understand?”

  I straighten my spine. “Yes.”

  “No matter what happens. No matter how tempting it is to take revenge. You’re not a vigilante.”

  “You mean like Wonder Woman?” I grin.

  “It’s not funny.”

  I shake my head seriously. “It’s not.”

  Maggie nods in approval. “You will not set your foot inside this place if you’re not working. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if someone else had found you loitering around instead of me. So no more nightly excursions.”

  “Got it.”

  Maggie looks me over. My navy blue lipstick, my blue hair and my black attire.

  I’m used to such looks from people. Back on the south side, no one cared. But here, on the other side of town, people look at me with judgement. My blue, wavy, messy hair is the first indication that I’m not sophisticated enough. My navy blue lipstick means I don’t know a thing about fashion.

  But coming from Maggie, it kind of hurts. It makes me self-conscious.

  “It’s not a secret that you don’t follow the rules and Nora doesn’t like you very much for it.”

  Nora is Mrs. Stewart aka Mrs. S and yup, she hates me.

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “It is. You can still quit and leave this town but since you don’t want to, let’s not flaunt how much we don’t care about the rules in her face. Let’s not try to get fired.”

  “I wasn’t trying to –”

  “Save it.”

  I go quiet and tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear as Maggie continues, “Now, empty your pockets and give me whatever you had in there.”

  Looking at her for a few seconds, I decide to just hand her all my goods. I fish out the pack of itch powder and the key and put them on the table.

  Shaking her head, Maggie takes them into her possession. “Cleo. Cleo. Cleo.” She sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Love me, maybe?”

  Maggie chuckles. “Finish your pie and go home.”

  Twenty minutes later and a lot of turning around to see if I’m still being followed, I’m in my cottage.

  Servants’ cottages are located a little farther away from the main house. There are about five or six cottages in total, arranged in a semi-circle with woods at our backs.

  I live in the smallest one with my best friend, Tina.

  We’ve been BFFs ever since we were kids. A few guys stole her pink bike and I punched them to get it back.

  Like me, Tina’s on the cleaning staff. College wasn’t for her either but unlike me, she always planned to come work at The Pleiades.

  My room has a twin bed, a small dresser and an even smaller closet. The walls are white in color, which I’m not such a fan of.

  When I first moved in, I thought I’d paint it blue with my dad’s paintbrushes; I saved a couple of his brushes among other things from my old house. But then I realized, I didn’t want to make it blue.

  This isn’t home.

  The north side, The Pleiades, they are not home. They are not my safe place. These are not my people.

  My people – the people I can really call mine – are dead.

  They’ve been dead for a year and I wonder how long it takes for the grief to go away and an orphan to not feel like one.

  I put on my mom’s nightie, made of cotton and lace, and blue. My mom was a huge fan of the color blue. In fact, she had blue hair like me.

  I’m just getting under the covers when something flashes in my peripheral vision.

  It’s a falling star.

  I scramble up on the bed and clutch the bars on the window. When I was little, my mom and I would always make it a point to wish upon a shooting star, if we saw one together. It was just one of the things we did.

  And like always, I close my eyes and make a wish.

  Please let me get my house back.

  When I open my lids, the star’s gone like it wasn’t even there. Strangely, it makes me sad.

  But then, a second later, I don’t have the time to be sad.

  Everything inside me comes to a screeching halt when I notice something else in my peripheral vision.

  It comes and goes so quickly. Quicker even than a shooting star, that I could’ve imagined it.

  But no. I saw it.

  I saw the corner of a shoulder. A flash of an elbow. A long, muscular thigh encased in dark jeans.

  Someone walking down the dirt path that cuts through the woods.

  The feeling of being watched that I’ve been experiencing all night comes back in full force. In fact, it brings on other things.

  Things that I’d forgotten about.

  Mad rush of my heart. The tightness in my chest like my lungs are starving for air. And those… butterflies in my stomach, with sharp, blade-like wings.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper.

  It’s not possible, right? He’s not here. He went away three years ago.

  I mean, I know that shoulder. I’m familiar with that elbow and that thigh. I’ve seen them almost every day ever since I was ten. I’ve watched them grow up and get bigger and stronger with age.

  I could pick them out from a line-up, even if I were sleepwalking.

  I could pick them out even though I haven’t seen them, seen him, in three years.

  Then, I’m jumping out of my bed and dashing to the front door of the cottage. I throw it open and run outside in my bare feet.

  The ground is hot and hard even through the grass that surrounds our front yard. But I don’t care about any of those things.

  I care about what I saw.

  But again, there’s no one as far as the eye can see. The night’s just the same as it was half an hour ago when I walked back to my cottage.

  I look around, up and down, side to side.

  Did I imagine him?

  But why would I imagine him? Why would I imagine the guy I’ve hated for almost a decade?

  Is this what it feels like when you lose your mind?

  Maybe my parents’ death is affecting me in all the wrong ways.

  A few seconds later, I’m back inside, in my bed, under the covers.

  I close my eyes to go to sleep but all I can see is that shoulder and that elbow and him.

  “Blue!”

  There’s only one person on this earth who calls me that.

  Three years ago, his voice used to be rough and low. Grumbling. I’m sure years must’ve matured it even more. Not that I care about it.

  I don’t.

  And neither do I care about what I saw last night. I think I made him up. It was a dream or something. A figment of my imagination.

  Anyway, this voice is high and giggly, kind of cutesy. It belongs to my five-year-old neighbor, Arthur. We all call him Art and he calls me Blue.

  So maybe there are two people who call me by that name.

  I stop and turn around to find him running toward me. He has his backpack on his shoulders and he’s grinning at me.

  I grin back. “Hey, big guy.”

  Panting, he comes to a stop and I get down on my knees. He has blond hair and green eyes, and a perpetual cowlicky thing on the back of his head.

  “Look!” He shows me his fist. “Did I do it right?”

  I’ve been teaching him how to make a fist and, yup, he completely nailed it.

  “It looks perfect.”

  He beams. “Yay!”

  Smiling, I pat at his cowlick. “You’re gonna destroy them.”

  “You think?” he asks.

  Art looks at me with such hope that my heart squeezes.

  “Duh. Just don’t back down, okay? Always remember, we’re the underdogs. But contrary to what people think, underdogs are not weak. We fight back. In fact, we fight the hardest. People underestimate us and you know what, let them. That’s their biggest mistake. And don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, my friend.”

  He smiles and nods enthusiastically. “Okay!”

  Art and I, we were destined to become friends. Like me, he’s an orphan too. Although his parents died when he was only two. Ever since then, he’s lived here on The Pleiades with his grandma, Doris, who’s also on the cleaning staff.

  But other than that, the most important thing that links me to this five-year-old adorable and shy boy is the fact that we’re both the bullied. At least, I once was.

  Art’s a little small for his age, so some kids at his school are giving him trouble for it. They push him around and threaten him, making him cry and turning school generally miserable.

  Fuck them.

  Bullies are cowards. They can’t stand on their own two feet so they hide behind empty threats. All they need to set them straight is a little pushback and I’ve been teaching Art how to do that. Since I have a little experience in that area.

  We fist-pump and I stand. “I love you. I gotta run. But I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  He nods. “Is it pancake night?”

  Since Doris is getting on in age, I help out with Art whenever I can. Tonight I’m babysitting him and since it’s Monday, we’re doing breakfast for dinner.

  “You bet!”

  After saying my goodbye, I’m running toward the main house where our daily meeting is going to start in about ten minutes.

  Like last night, I punch in the code to the service entrance and get inside. Even from the top of the stairs, I can hear the hustle and bustle of the staff.

  There are people coming in and out of the kitchen, the staff room. Women wear gray dresses with white trim on the collars and sleeves like me, and men wear white shirts with black pants. Our uniform here at The Pleiades.

  There’s giggling and talking and even shoving. The entire house is awake and hard at work.

  I climb down the stairs, call out hellos and his, until I reach the staff room. People are already sitting down and Tina, who went in earlier than me because she has no problem waking up early, is saving a seat for me.

  As soon as I sit down, Mrs. S walks in and Tina leans over to whisper, “Right on time. Who would’ve thought?”

  I’m kind of famous or infamous for being late so I just flip her the bird under the table; I’ve been busted before for doing it in plain sight.

  Tina simply giggles.

  Mrs. S takes her seat at the head of the table and everyone falls silent. There’s coffee and tea and cookies in the middle – courtesy of Maggie and her staff – and together with the long dining table and straight spines and serious faces, this could be a scene from Downton Abbey.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Mrs. S greets us, looking around, her eyes stopping on me. “Very glad to see everyone in here and on time.”

  I smile. Though it might have looked like a grimace.

  “So, today, we have a little change of plans.”

  Mrs. S is smiling and I don’t have a very good feeling about this. If she’s happy, then that means something is wrong. She’s never happy and neither does she let anyone else be happy. Namely, me.

  “Today’s a special day.” She keeps smiling and my frown gets bigger. “To celebrate this unplanned but special occasion, Mr. and Mrs. Prince are having a party. I know that it’s a little short notice but I want most of you in the ballroom. I want every inch of that place clean and polished before the decorators get here. I’ve assigned some of you to work with them and I don’t want any mistakes or complaints, got it?”

  She pins everyone with a glare until we all nod.

  “Tonight has to go smoothly. It’s probably the most important event you’ll ever work on here at The Pleiades. Well, one of the most important ones, at least.”

  Okay, she’s killing us and she knows it. Her eyes are gleeful and filled with joy. I’ve never seen her like this before, all excited and cheerful. And she isn’t even telling us about her so-called special day.

  “Isn’t any of you going to ask me what’s the occasion?”

  “Will you fire us if we do?” I mutter under my breath and Tina snorts.

  Mrs. S glares in our direction but thankfully, Leslie, one of the girls on the staff, asks her about it.

  Mrs. S turns her attention away and smiles. “Today’s the day that I, among some others who have been working here for decades, have been eagerly waiting for.” At this, Maggie and a few other senior staff members beam. “I’m so very pleased to say that tonight’s party is in honor of the Prince who’s returning to The Pleiades after three years. Our very own, Master Zach.”

  Master Zach.

  I can see her mouth moving but I can’t hear her. Her voice seems to be coming out of a tunnel or from somewhere deep down and far away.

  Suddenly, all I can do is feel.

  The racing heart, the savage butterflies in my belly. The tightness in my chest.

  Shakily, I run my eyes around. Everyone is calm and focused. Mrs. S is still talking but all I can hear is his name.

  Zach.

  He’s back.

  It was him, wasn’t it?

  I saw him last night, or rather, caught a glimpse of him before he disappeared. It wasn’t a dream or my imagination.

  I didn’t make him up.

  Oh God.

  “I’m sorry. What’d you just say?” I burst out, loudly and effectively bringing all the eyes in the room to me.

  Mrs. S stares at me. Hard.

  I know she doesn’t like to be interrupted, especially when she’s giving out instructions left and right. But fuck it.

  “How long have you worked here, Cleopatra?” she asks, instead.

  I take a deep breath. It doesn’t help. I’m still as shaken up as I was the moment I heard his name.

  “Listen, I know I’m being rude and everything and you hate being interrupted but you don’t understand.” I clear my throat and slide to the edge of my seat. “Did you just say that Zach is coming back because I think you did. And that’s just impossible, right? Because last I checked, he left. Abruptly. And I thought that he wasn’t coming back. I thought that maybe his parents finally cut all ties with him. You know, because he was just so… out of control. I mean…” I wave my hand in the air and I have a feeling that I’m waving them a little too fast. “I never bought the whole going to Oxford scenario.”

  I air-quote going to Oxford. “I never believed that he went to Oxford. But that’s okay. I don’t care about that. What I care about is…” I thread my fingers together on the table, digging my elbows into the wood and leaning forward. “What did you just say?”

  My legs are jiggling and I hate that just the thought of him returning has reduced me to this.

  This jittery, shaky, mess of a girl.

  Angry and violent.

  A girl who couldn’t decide if she wanted to hide to avoid confrontation and getting sent into detention yet again or punch him in the face like she did when she was ten and he was twelve.

  “Cleopatra, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today. But I’m going to overlook it because you’ve been dealing with a lot. Although I will say this – if you don’t get your erratic behavior under control and see someone…”

  There it is.

  “I’ll have no hesitation in letting you go. Is that clear?”

  Beside me, I feel Tina’s grimace. I can even feel Maggie shaking her head.

  I press my hands together and force my legs to stay still. It’s a good thing my heart is an organ, firmly caged within the ribs. Because if it weren’t, it would be exploding out of my chest and lying a pulpy mess on the floor.

  “Crystal,” I say with difficulty.

  “And Cleopatra?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Mr. Prince to you. Don’t forget your place.”

  I grit my teeth, grind them, smash them.

  “I won’t.”

  ***

  Zachariah Prince.

  I met him when I was ten and he was twelve.

  In fact, I met him my very first day at St. Patrick’s. It’s a posh school for posh kids on the north side of town.

  At the time, I was probably the only one from the south side to go there. My parents were very proud. They wanted the best for me and so, they worked very hard to get me into that school.

  I never had any high hopes of St. Patrick’s, to be honest. I would’ve been happy to just go to my regular school on the south side with Tina and all my other friends.