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Chapter 1
Lexi
Just another glorious day sitting in my perfect family home, with its perfect crown molding and even more perfect furniture, all wrapped in clear liner. God forbid anything gets dirty from use. Then there are my oh-so-perfect parents–from my perfect mother with not a hair out of place to my dad’s perfectly tailored suit that he only wears to his deacon meetings at church. The only thing off about this picture is, you guessed it, moi. I’m the weird one, the evil spawn, the disobedient hell-raising misfit of a child they can barely stand to look at. It only confirms my position when my mother lifts her eyes from saying grace and pulls something off her lap, setting it on the table and sliding it toward me without a word. She looks over to my father, who turns his disapproving eyes my way before glancing down at what my mother so sweetly set on the table.
“I think this would be the best possibility for you,” he tells me, and that’s when I finally look down.
Pamphlets? You have to be kidding me. Pamphlets to an all-girls, reformed, religious camp for the rebellious teens.
“You’re joking, right?” I ask them, not willing to even touch the paper in front of me.
“Not a joke, child. At first, we thought this was just a phase. Something you were going through to lash out, but it’s been going on long enough, and we have had enough. It’s time someone else tries to change you before you make an unforgivable mistake,” my mother explains.
The ‘phase’ she so snidely mentions is my entire personality. At first, wearing punk clothes, dying the bottom of my naturally white-blonde hair hot pink, and listening to nothing but rock music was all an act and a way to rebel. Then I realized this is exactly who I am, what I love, and who I’m meant to be. Many people have told me I look exactly like Avril Lavigne, and it’s the highest compliment I’ve ever received.
“Can’t you just accept me for who I am? Why are you trying to change me?” I ask them.
“We’re trying to save you. What happened to our sweet little girl?” my mom asks.
“I highly doubt I was ever that perfect in your eyes,” I snap.
“Don’t take that tone with your mother. You will be going to this camp. It’s not up for debate or discussion,” my dad growls.
“No way in HELL,” I growl right back, enunciating the hell in that sentence while standing from the table and rushing out the door. Even school is better than this place.
The saddest part of all this is that I still believe in God. I still share the same religious beliefs as my parents, but I don’t believe in the way they portray that God. I spend the whole ride to school trying to figure out a way to get out of that house. As long as I live under their roof, the closer I get to being forced into that awful camp, to changing everything that I am. Come hell or high water, I refuse to have anything to do with that shit.
I make it to school in a complete daze. I can’t even remember how I got here. I don’t remember walking into the school or down the halls. Hell, I have no clue where the fuck I’m going. My mind is going a million miles a minute with questions.
I’m eighteen years old. Can they really force me to go to this camp?
If I don’t go, will they kick me out of the house?
If they kick me out, where the hell would I go? I can’t go to Rissa’s. Her family has enough problems as it is. Shit, I just need to find somewhere in this fucking school to crash and blare some rock music, dance like a fucking idiot, and forget my parents. I know exactly where I can go, too.
Our school is fucking huge. There is a gym at the back with a second level running along one side. The second level has the concessions stand, which I know for a fact is always kept unlocked. I hide out up there often during the day when I want to get out of class and spend some time sketching.
My art is something I do for me that comes from deep in my soul. It’s a way to remind myself that I love who I am and am not ashamed of myself or my passion. I didn’t start sketching until after I got my first tattoo. The feel of the needle on my skin creating such amazing art pieces had me mesmerized. I knew then and there, that’s what I wanted to do with my life. I want to be a tattoo artist. I know a lot of people thought I would go into something with music which would be fun for a while, but I can’t see myself doing that forever. Tattooing, though, besides dealing with some shitty customers, I think could be my calling. I feel the drive for it down in my gut, and I won’t deny myself an opportunity to make my dream a reality. I’m nowhere near as talented as Rissa, but she’s a different kind of artist. Sketching calms me, stabilizes me. When I’m in the middle of sketching something, that’s the only time I actually feel… peace.
Shaking my head of those thoughts, I walk up the stairs and down a long dark hallway to the concession stand door. Finally, here, I’ll be alone. No one comes up here except when there is a bigger game against a rival that can actually draw a crowd. The rest of the time, this little corner is a forgotten little hidey-hole, perfect for my purposes.
I make the quick decision to skip my classes today. I’ve already got all the credits I need to graduate, and I couldn’t give two fucks if I pass the economics class I’m taking. The art class is the only one I’m hesitant about, the only one that even remotely keeps my interest. Fuck it, I do shit my own way anyway.
Actually, I know I’ll pass the economics class since the perv of a teacher tried to grope me after he kept me after class earlier in the year. He didn’t see the camera in my pocket pointed at him or the knee I shoved right into his dick. Now he steers clear and knows as long as I pass, I won’t say a word. Well, that and as long as he doesn’t try that shit with anyone else. Then, and only then, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Until graduation, that is. The minute I graduate, I’m turning that video over to the administration. No way I’m letting him get away with it next year when I’m gone.
I’m about to open the door and settle in when I hear something coming from back out in the gym. Walking back down the hallway, I stop when I get to the top of the stairs. The last person I want to see, the only person in this god-forsaken place who elicits any sort of real emotions from me, is standing halfway up the stairs, staring back at me.
Joey mother fucking Gordon.
I have no fucking clue what kind of hold this guy has on me, but whatever it is, it’s strong. He makes me laugh harder than anyone with his smartass comments and the way he and his brother fight, but he can also make me so fucking mad when he criticizes my choice in music and clothing. I know he does it just to see me riled up; he thinks it’s cute—his words, not mine. I get a kick out of sparring with him too, but I just can’t today.
The weight of everything that happened with my parents finally crashes over me when our eyes lock, and I finally crack. Joey must notice because I see him open his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he quickly snaps it shut and rushes up the stairs toward me. I feel the tears building in my eyes, and I can’t hold them back any longer.
So what do I do? I turn on my heel and book it straight back to the deserted concession stand. I hear him yelling after me, and I know he’s following, but I can’t let him see me like this. I don’t let anyone see me like this, especially Joey. I make it down the dark hallway and through the unlocked door to my hiding spot before he catches me. Diving into a corner in an effort to hide, I try to stifle my sobs when I hear the door swing open, and his rushed steps enter my secret space.
“Lexi, I know you’re in here. Just… talk to me, please.” I hear the pleading in Joey’s voice, but I can’t get words out of my throat.
A pathetic whimper escapes me unexpectedly, and I know he heard it because the next thing I hear is his big stomping boots coming my way. Realistically I know it’s a foregone conclusion that he will find me, it’s not like I’m hiding all that well, but a part of me still hopes I can melt into the shadows and escape his notice. I have no doubt that once he finds me and sees how hysterical I am, he will turn right back around and run the other way. Instead, with sure, quick steps, he closes the distance between us and drops to his knees without a word, gathering me up in his arms and tucking me against his chest.
