I don’t want an audience though, and there are too many students and staff around, playing in the snow, making snow angels and shit.
If I have anything to say about it, our reunion will end with me balls deep inside her as I rock her world into the next dimension. I want to delve between her legs until she finds a way out of that pretty head of hers, until she forgets my transgressions and forgives me.
Selfish, I know, but I’ve never pretended to be anything but a self-centered bastard. Regardless, I don’t want an audience for our reunion, so I wait until she’s a couple of hundred feet away from me again and start off behind her.
I’m wearing my black peacoat over my hoodie. If Archie is to believed, I look, quote, totally emolicious, or at least, I did this morning. I’ve got the collar of my peacoat popped and the hood of my hoodie drawn over my head. If I had to guess, I currently look like I came off an FBI’s Most Wanted poster, but it’s easy to blend in with the crowd. Everyone is bundled up in this weather in their Burberry coats and Louis Vuitton beanies, ready to get off campus until next semester.
Harlow’s not dressed for this weather though. She’s wearing a burgundy sweater dress, and although it looks fantastic on her, where’s her jacket? Her hat? Anything to keep out the cold? I feel guilty just looking at her.
Snowflakes fall into her hair and dust her shoulders. Snow clings to her boots, and she almost trips twice. It takes everything I have to not drag her inside the nearest building and hold her until I know she is warm, but we still have an audience.
A kid waves her over as she passes by a snowman they are building. Can’t the asshole see she needs to get out of this cold? As I draw closer, I make the fucker out. It’s Alexander…Alexander something from the track team. I don’t know him. I only know of him, having seen his face at parties and awards ceremonies. He’s a senior, and he holds the title of Voclain’s number one man-whore, which is saying a lot since Archie has tried his damnedest to claim that title since ninth grade.
Back up!
Even as my fists ball at my sides, my nails biting into my palms, I try to give her distance. She smiles at Mr. Something and gestures at the snowman he’s built with his friends. It’s pitiful, more dirt and grass than snow. She says something, but I’m still too far away. I can’t make it out.
She waves goodbye and starts away. Good girl. I’m close enough now I can tell she’s trying to not shake. She’s cold.
As she walks away, I catch the fucker checking out her ass. Then he looks to his friends and holds his middle finger and index finger up to his lips in the shape of a V. As he tongues his imaginary pussy and his friends cackle like a bunch of rabid hyenas, I make a mental note to kick his ass later.
Harlow’s about twenty feet away from the performing arts building when I hear someone call my name. I freeze in my tracks.
Shit. Morris gives me a mile-wide grin and a wave that uses his whole body. He’s so goofy I feel bad for wanting to avoid the fucker.
“Hey, QB,” Morris says. He calls me that all the time. During the off-season? Check. While I’m in my baseball uniform? Check. When I’m clearly trying to avoid drawing attention to myself? Double freakin’ check.
“Hey, Morris,” I mutter, giving him a tight-lipped smile.
“Where ya headed, bro?”
I’m about to sprout him some drivel about going to the Headmistress’ office, to another final exam, to an enema appointment, to literally anywhere he won’t try to follow me, when he shoves his phone in my face.
Boobs. All I see is boobs.
“Nice rack on her, huh?” He giggles. “Wanna see her pussy?”
I want to smack him upside the head with his phone.
Instead, I mutter, “No thanks, man.”
He doesn’t hear me though. He’s scrolling through his phone intently, talking to himself.
I look past him and watch as Harlow disappears into the building. I step away from Morris to follow her, muttering my goodbye, but what I see chills the blood in my veins.
Aurora joined by Lilith, Arabella, Blythe, and Ivy enter the building behind Harlow, looking shady as shit because:
1. They don’t have their phones out, and they always have their phones out; and
2. Finn is with them, and he’s as red as a cherry tomato and looks like he’s about to explode.
“Fuck,” I say before I take off running.
39
Harlow
I head toward the performing arts building, carrying my violin in one hand, my backpack slung over my shoulder.
I could play in the dorm, but I want the wide open stage, the vaulted ceilings, and the rows of empty seats. I need space and solitude.
I ignore the sidewalks and walk over the snowy ground in a straight line toward the building, my toes growing colder with each step. Alexander stops me on the way and invites me to a party he’s having tonight. He’s a nice guy with a big, toothy smile and green eyes the color of Caribbean waters. I tell him I’ll think about it.
Less than five minutes later, I enter the performing arts center and find, much to my relief, the auditorium completely empty. I may be the only weirdo on campus that comes here in the middle of the day just to play. Not because a professor or a parent demands it either, but because I need the release, the catharsis that settles in my bones with each strum of a cord.
I sit my case on the stage and carefully remove my violin, letting my fingers glide across the polished wood. I have no idea what I’m going to play. Maybe Bach or Bartok or one of
