Olivia Twisted (Entangled Teen) (5 page)

He says something but I can’t hear him over the throbbing beat of the music. I feel a nudge on my arm and twist slightly to see Tyson holding an unopened bottle of water, looking pissed about something. I try to take the bottle but it seems to blur and skip away from me. The blond guy takes it instead and opens it, handing it to me. Tyson glares at him before turning to storm away. I look back to the guy to see his eyes twinkling. Something about those dark hazel irises with flecks of emerald, the pouty smirk…

“Z? Is that you?” I gasp.
What the…?

He leans closer to me and I catch an appealing scent of leather and spice. My knees tremble and I hold the bar to steady myself.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says. “You here with Sam?”

“Um, yeah, Sam. She’s out there on the dance floor somewhere.” I throw my hand in the general direction of the dance floor, not taking my eyes off him. He looks out over the bobbing heads before his gaze wanders back to me. I’m so much more relaxed now, almost dreamy. He’s got an intoxicatingly hot body, propped against the bar like some sexy model, and he’s looking at
me
. And is that the start of a smile? I finger my locket and smile back at him, batting my eyelashes. Flirting like I know what I’m doing.

I have no clue what I’m doing. I can’t help it. I start giggling.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. I’m just not good at this.”

“At what?”

I wave my hand back and forth between us and accidentally pop him in the stomach with the water bottle. “Sorry. See? Point made.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I kind of like that you’re not good at this.”

In my mind, I scream,
What does that mean? What does that mean?
But all I say is, “Where’re your glasses?”

“Contacts.”

“Cool. I like this look.”
Did I really just say that?

He says something but the techno music sounds like it’s been cranked up a few notches. I shake my head and point to my ear. The fact that I can’t hear Z is really funny for some reason. I laugh out loud, then lean over to say something, but the floor seems to shift and I fall forward into his arms. His touch on my skin is burning, like me.

I put a hand on his chest to steady myself. His body is hard and muscular, even covered by the jacket. A sudden and unfamiliar craving grips me and I move closer to him, the only thing steady in a spinning room. I tilt my head and peer up at his surprised face.

“Sooo…Z. Wha’s Z short for, hmm? Zipper?” I yank on the jacket zipper but it doesn’t budge. Stupid zipper. My fingers won’t work. Stupid fingers. I try to shake myself off.

“Are you okay?” the hot leather Z says in my ear.

“Sure.” I giggle. The leather smells so good. I wonder if it tastes good. I lean forward to lick it and accidentally drop the bottle of water on his foot.

He winces. “Whoa, take it easy. Did you drink out of this?” He takes the empty cup next to me and smells it, like maybe he thinks it’s roses or something. He frowns. “This is just Coke. Did you have something else to drink? Alcohol?”

“Nope. That’s it. Coke.” That’s a funny word, Coke.

His eyes tighten. “Did you do any drugs?”

“Drugs, schmugs. I don’t do drugs. Just like on TV.”

“Who gave this to you?” he demands, his face crinkled in anger. Or maybe it’ll be happy if I tilt my head…

“Is your frown turned upside down?”

“Who gave this to you?” He holds the cup in front of my face and shakes it to rattle the ice. I try to concentrate but my eyes keep slipping around to him. Hot guy is hot.

“Liv!” Z peers at me closer like he’s trying to see inside my eyes. “Who gave this to you?”

“Ooh, him. Tyssson. He’s sooo gross. Tries to sit on me on the bus. Or sit on the bus.” I can’t remember what I’m trying to say.

“Did you say Tyson?” Z looks around sharply before shifting his attention back to me.

I know he’s asking me something, but I don’t know or care. I only want to be in his jacket. I giggle again, then fall to my knees.

“I’m getting you out of here.” He tugs my arm to pull me up. “Come on.”

A tiny voice in the back of my mind screams that this is very wrong, but I can’t focus on exactly why. I shake my head to try to clear the fog out of my brain, but all it does is make me dizzier.

“I need to lie down. Right now.” I crawl to the edge of the dance floor and fall down flat, my cheek pressing against the cool, vibrating wood. Through heavy lids I can see the soles of many kinds of shoes sliding near my face. So pretty.

I feel a hundred arms pulling on me, but when they get me up, it’s only Z and Sam.

“Hey, Sam. I don’t feel good.” I can see other people staring at me now. I wonder if they’re sick, too.

She tucks an arm under my shoulders. She has to shout over the thumping music. “I know. You need to get out of here.” She looks at Z. “Where do you want to take her?” I can’t hear his response.

They’re pushing me out into the cool night air. I want to protest, but I don’t know why. Sam slides away from me and lets me fall across Z as she walks away. I feel his arms close around me as I fade into blackness.

…

Z

The window is stuck. I jiggle it, stick a pin in the lock, try everything to get it open. Judging by this window’s small size, I’m guessing and seriously hoping it doesn’t lead to the master bedroom. I drop the pin and pull out my pocketknife, jamming it underneath the wood. I wish one of the other kids were here, like Cameron. He’d have it open in ten seconds flat. A dog barks, making me almost drop the knife.
Damn it
. I’m glad Sam isn’t watching. She’d give me hell for this.

Finally, I manage to pry the window open and struggle my way through. For such a slender person, Liv is really heavy when she’s passed out.

I lay her down in the bed and pull off her shoes, feeling kind of weird about the whole thing. Rubbing my sore shoulders, I take in the surroundings, lit up by a thick stream of moonlight. It’s kind of blah for a girl’s room, but maybe that’s how she likes it. If this is even her room. Or her house. The last thought makes me laugh. If this isn’t her house, then Sam is definitely slipping.

A small moan draws my eyes back to Liv, but she’s still out. Bad dream, maybe. One thing’s for sure: this chick is toast. I stare at the long brown hair draped over her face. She looked so different tonight—wearing makeup and her hair down around her shoulders. It’s the thought of her in her usual ponytail that tugs at something inside of me, though, not this club look. On strange impulse, I reach down to brush the strands back with my fingers. Even though she’s passed out cold, black liner pooling in the corners of her eyes, it’s hard to ignore that she’s pretty. I bet Tyson was thinking that, too.

Tyson.

I had pushed him to the back of my mind after leaving the club, since I was more focused on getting Liv home without her throwing up in Sam’s car. But the thought of him now makes me want to pound a hole into the wall. I look down again at Liv’s smooth face, a pang shooting through my heart at her innocence. She must be innocent to let herself get drugged at a club. Or just stupid.

I trace her cheek softly with one finger. I’ll go with innocent.

As mad as I am, I feel slightly guilty about what we’re involving her in. I shake it off and move back to the window.

First things first.

Sam takes me back to the club to get my bike. She’s unusually quiet—both of us lost in our own thoughts.

“Who do you think it was?” she asks when we get to the parking lot outside the warehouse. It’s the first time she’s asked this, the first time I realize she has no clue. She turns to me, her face serious. “I didn’t see anyone with her.”

“It was that asshole Tyson,” I tell her.

“Tyson?” Her eyebrows knit. “Oh, yeah. I saw him talking to her at the bar.”

“He was trying to do more than talk.”

She pulls on her earlobe. “Should we do something?”

“Yeah.” I stare at the exit where a few people are leaving. “We should.”

The anger simmering inside of me starts to boil as I recognize the spiky dark hair of the guy now staggering out of the club. He’s waving to a couple girls and yelling something at them.

“Well?” Sam says. “What?”

I ignore her and step out of the car.

“Wait,” she calls to me before I close the door. “Want me to screw around with his records or something?”

“No, I’ll take care of him,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on Tyson. “I’ll see you later.”

I slam the door and hang out for a moment until she pulls away, but I don’t get on my bike. Instead, I pull my jacket close around me and walk across the street, just in time to hear Tyson call out, “Hey, come back!” to the girls who are walking away. Preying on his next target. I start for him at a run, the anger finally bursting inside me like fire.

Tyson glances my way and I catch a look of surprise that turns to fear as I barrel toward him. He turns and runs to the side of the building, near the other parking lot. I’m faster. I tackle him to the ground, into the gravel, and flip him over. His cheek is scratched and bloody from the gravel, but I don’t care. I raise a fist.

“What? What?” he squeals as he tries to push me off him.

“You know what, you asshole. Drugging girls the only way you can get your kicks?” I wrestle with his arms and let my fist fly into his face. The shock reverberates through my hand, but I raise my fist again. Before I can punch him, he grabs at my arms and flips me off of him, then shoves me away with his knee. The son of a bitch is stronger than he looks. He grabs a handful of gravel and chucks it at my face. One of the rocks hits my cheek hard, and I reach up to feel blood. I start after him again.

He scrambles to his feet, trying to run, but immediately trips on a concrete block, sending him flying to the ground, face-first. He groans in pain and rolls over, his face a gravel-beaten and bloody mess. I stare at the pathetic sight in front of me, the desire to hit him again fading. I point a finger at him. “Try that shit again and you’re screwed.”

I turn and walk back the way I came, slightly sick to my stomach. Nancy would be upset if she knew I was fighting again, but punching that loser felt good. Too good. I run through the events in my head. What would make me lose control like that? All I can come up with is Liv’s face.

Am I buying into Sam’s plan to twist Liv to our side now? That’s got to be it. Makes sense—she’s a foster, a loner, an easy recruit. Another pretty face.

I don’t like picturing her face. All it does is make me want to go beat Tyson again.

No girl is worth losing control.

Chapter Five

“Through all these rapid visions, there ran an undefined, uneasy consciousness of pain, which wearied and tormented him incessantly.”

—Charles Dickens,
Oliver Twist

Liv

I awaken to the feeling of a thousand tiny fists trying to pound their way out of my head. Slowly I open my eyes and let them focus on the blue walls.

Blue?

My heart starts to pound hard as my eyes move about quickly, finally falling on an unfamiliar painting of flowers.
Shit, where am I?

I push myself into a sitting position, my head as tight as an overfilled balloon about to pop. From this angle, I can see a lineup of small roosters along a shelf, and I breathe a little easier. Somehow, I ended up in the spare bedroom. How did I get here? I stumble to the door, leaning against the frame for a moment. The room isn’t spinning like the club did last night, but I’m still unsteady.

Tylenol. Need Tylenol.

Last night—what happened last night? All I remember is Z showing up, looking incredibly hot, which was so surreal and even now makes me tremble. I remember feeling really weird, and Z putting his arms around me. And Sam leaving me with him. Everything else is a blur.

I walk to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and brush my teeth. The reflection in the mirror confirms that I look as good as I feel. I’m still wearing the clothes from last night, minus the shoes. My fingers get stuck raking through my tangled hair, so I tie it into a makeshift bun and trudge to the kitchen to search for medicine.

“I’m telling you, Derrick, we need to call the police. We don’t know what kind of trouble she could have gotten herself into.”

I freeze.

“Take it easy. They don’t consider it a missing persons case until she’s been gone for twenty-four hours.”

“Then what? They’ll find her dead in a gutter, and what kind of people will we be labeled as? And I can’t believe you let her go to some dance with a girl we don’t even know.”

“I was trying to be a cool dad.”

“You’re a moron.”

Crap.
I chew on the inside of my cheek for a few seconds, then realize I have no story to tell, real or made-up. I walk around the corner into their view.

“Olivia! Where have you been?” Derrick rushes over to me and tries to take my hand, his face concerned, but I quickly shove it behind my back.

“I just woke up.”

“Really? We checked your room this morning and you weren’t in it.”

“I know. I was in the spare room.”

“What? Why didn’t you sleep in your own room?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was confused last night.” Seriously confused.

Derrick flicks a quick glance at his wife, who’s glaring with arms crossed. He switches his gaze back to me. “Well, how come you’re wearing the same clothes you had on at dinner last night and smelling like an ashtray?”

I sniff my shirt. Yuck. “I guess I slept in my clothes. But I promise, I woke up this morning in the spare room.”

“Did you sneak in through the window last night?” Denise asks, the tone in her voice telling me that no matter what I say, I’m screwed.

“I…I guess. I don’t remember.”

Denise looks accusingly at Derrick. “Well, obviously she was drunk. This is what comes of letting teenagers out on their own to do who knows what. Never again. If she stays in this house, she abides by
my
rules.”

“I’m right here, you know,” I say, rubbing my temples. Her loud voice is making the throbbing in my head worse. “I didn’t drink anything, but I know you won’t believe me. I think I remember something about—”

Whoops, don’t need to go there. There’s no way I can make her believe anything other than I was smoking crack or something. “Can I have two Tylenol, please?”

Denise sets her shoulders and glares at her husband, the look clearly saying,
See, hangover!
But she does get me a couple tablets.

I return to my room to lie down. Derrick follows me. “Are you really okay, Olivia?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Do you remember anything that could’ve happened to you? At all?”

“A friend of mine showed up and we talked. That’s when I started feeling…sick.”

I suddenly remember feeling something else when Z showed up and hope Derrick doesn’t notice the heat spreading across my face.

“Okay, well, I think you should be home at nights now. No more partying, you got it?”

I nod and he walks away. No worries there. I have no intention of doing any more clubbing in the near future.

Lying back on the bed, I close my eyes and try to sort through the foggy memories. And, oh God, I was with Z, of all people. Touching him. A lot. He must think I’m a complete idiot. So much for my plan to play it cool. And he looked so different. My mind tries to slip around the word
hot
, but it’s hard not to admit it. Strangely, the way he was dressed at the club fits his personality more than his prep-school look during the day.

I don’t know how I’m going to be able to show my face on Monday. But someone had to have drugged that drink.

I jerk up, trying to ignore the stabbing head rush. Of course, Tyson. He gave me the soda and I drank it all; he must’ve slipped something in it. Maybe I should call the police, but I don’t know what they’ll ask. It’s probably too late for that, anyway.

I wander back out to the living room. Denise is nowhere to be found and Derrick is watching TV. I boot up the computer and Google “drugs at club.” The results display information about GHB, ketamine, and a slew of other things. I’ve heard of some of these before, but for some reason, it didn’t click until now that something like this could be what was slipped into my drink. Tyson was trying to put me out so he could…rape me?

My hand falls away from the mouse and I stare at the screen, numb. Why would he do that? He’s a jerk, for sure, but I never thought he would be capable of something like that. In all the many horrors of my life, no one has ever tried to drug me.

“Everything all right?” Derrick speaks up from the couch. I don’t say anything. I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen. If it wasn’t for Z showing up exactly when he did…

“My God, what are you looking at?”

Startled, I try to switch screens, but it’s too late. He’s already gotten a full view.

“Olivia,” Derrick says, his forehead creased. “If something happened, I need to know about this.”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep from crying. “I don’t know. I think someone slipped something in my drink.” I clear my throat to steady the tremors in my voice.

“What? How’d you get home last night, then?”

“Sam gave me a ride. She saw me before I passed out, and I remember her taking me to her car.” I don’t tell him it was Z I ended up with before passing out.

He stares at the screen for a moment. “Do you know who gave you the drink?”

“No,” I lie.

“Okay, well, I want you close to the house from now on, okay? And I’ll be coming home early from work each day to make sure you aren’t here by yourself.”

Crap.
“Um, you don’t need to do that, Mr. Carter.”

“Derrick, please. And I think I do. You don’t want something like this to happen again.”

He moves back to the couch and I shut down the computer. Great. Now I’ll never have a moment alone.

Derrick takes me to school on Monday with the promise that he’ll be waiting for me when I get home. Wonderful. It won’t surprise me if he insists on walking me to work, too. But part of me is glad that I won’t be on the bus with that slimeball Tyson. I don’t think I’d be able to stop from ramming my backpack in his face.

I get to school and approach my locker with no sight of Tyson. My thoughts are so jumbled by the time I get to Computer Science that I’m honestly not sure if I’ll end up screaming, punching him, or ignoring him. Or maybe all three—in that order. At the door, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk in the classroom.

More than half the students are there already, but Tyson is missing. Z is typing and doesn’t make eye contact when I pass in front of him toward my seat. He’s dressed in his usual school attire—Polo shirt, glasses, hair slicked back—but there’s an addition of what looks like a small red scratch etched into the side of his cheek. I sit down and catch him in my peripheral vision. He’s still not paying attention to me, which I’m used to. But after Friday night, I’d hoped for a glance at the very least. Maybe the whole thing was all a drug-induced dream and he wasn’t even at the club.

“Hey, girl, how’re you doing?” Sam asks, slinging her backpack over the chair and sitting down to face me.

“I’m okay, but I’ve got a ton of questions.”

“I’ll bet. I tried calling you a couple times but your foster dad said you were busy.”

“Yeah, apparently I’m three years old all of a sudden. They’re really pissing me off.”

Sam smiles at that. Then her eyes rise above my shoulder and widen in shock. The rest of the class gasps, and I follow the stares to see Tyson walking to his chair. He slumps down, not looking at me. I clamp my mouth shut and face forward as Ms. Walsh starts the class, but I can’t help but peek at Tyson. His face looks like it was pummeled in the boxing ring. The top of one cheek is swollen, an eye is black and blue, and his skin looks like someone took sandpaper to it.

“What happened to you?” Kelly, the girl on his other side, asks. He glances at me, then back to her. “Nothing,” he mumbles.

I turn to catch Z’s eyes on me—probably the only eyes in the room that aren’t on Tyson. His head is tilted slightly as he considers me with pursed lips, then his focus shifts back to the monitor.

What the hell?

Z beat up Tyson. I saw it in his eyes. How did he know? I kind of remember saying something about Tyson giving me the drink.

Damn it.
Or good? I’m not sure what to think.

Tyson spends the entire hour not talking or looking anywhere but at his computer screen. Even Ms. Walsh seems stunned. She doesn’t call on him at all. When the bell rings, he’s the first one out the door.

“Z?” I say quietly as he walks by, but he doesn’t stop.

I nudge Sam. “Did Z do that?”

Her eyes follow him, seeming genuinely unsure. “I’d say the less we know about that, the better.”

I should be happy, but the whole thing doesn’t seem right. Okay, so maybe I pictured it over the weekend, someone whipping the crap out of him, but I didn’t think it would actually happen. It seems so…odd for Z to do that. He never even gives me the time of day.

Z completely ignores me in English Lit, showing up right as the bell rings and looking especially interested in whatever the teacher is saying. I stretch my arms out and glance at him, but he keeps his eyes focused on the front. I even resort to the childish move of dropping a pencil near his feet. He picks it up and places it back on my desk without looking at me. I’ll have to corner him at lunch.

On the way to the cafeteria, Tyson intercepts me. He waits until a couple other kids pass by before cornering me next to the water fountain. I grab my backpack in my hands, planning to shove it at him should he even think to touch me.

“Why’d you send that guy to beat me up?” His voice sounds warped through his puffy lips.

I hold my glare. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on. He was talking to you at the bar.”

At the bar? He has no idea Z is the one who beat him up. Z did look very different that night.

“I don’t really know him. Not really.” Boy, that’s the truth. “But why the hell did you try to drug me? I’m not stupid. I know what that drug is for.”

Tyson stares at me for a moment, his eyes wide. “Wait, you really think I did that?”

I take a breath to steady my anger. I don’t want to lose it in the middle of the hall at school. “You gave me the drink, you drugged it. It’s not that hard to figure out. You’re lucky I didn’t call the cops.”

His mouth drops open. “I didn’t. All I did was hand you the drink like the guy asked me to.”

“What guy?”

“He said he was a friend of yours. I was kinda drunk, so I don’t know. Actually, come to think of it, I’m pretty sure it was the same one you were all over at the bar.”

“The same…?”

“The same guy who gave me the drink. Yeah, that was him.”

His casual observation cuts through me like cold steel. The same guy? Why would Z beat Tyson up if he were the one who gave me the drink? And why would I believe Tyson, anyway?

“Trust me, I didn’t do it,” Tyson says again. “I wouldn’t do something like that.”

Trust him? I almost laugh at the stupidity of it. “
If
that’s true, which I don’t know if I believe, you were an asshole to pass me a drink someone else gave you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He backs away to join his friends.

I take a deep breath and push the doors open to the cafeteria.

…

Z

Sam starts her bitching before she even sits down. “Z, you’re an idiot. Why did you have to go beat up that dumbass?”

I sigh. Nothing I can say will make Sam happy. The worst part is I’m still not sure why I did it myself. Maybe because Liv’s wide-eyed innocence played heavy on my mind the whole night. If I hadn’t been there to rescue her from that jerk… Even now, looking at his battered face, I feel strangely vindicated. Maybe that’s why I don’t tell her the gravel did most of the work on him, not me.

“I thought you liked Liv,” is all I say. “The guy drugged her.”

Sam rubs at her temples. “I do like her, and you know that’s not the point. You’re risking all of us, you know? What if he figures it out and presses charges? They’d come after you, and then we’d all be screwed. You should’ve let me handle it.”

“They won’t come after us. And maybe she’ll like us more. We did save her from a major f—”

Sam pokes me as her eyes lift over my shoulder. “Hi, Liv!”

I turn to see Liv staring at me, frowning. Sam pulls a chair out for her but she doesn’t move.

“So, I was thinking about going to the mall after school today. Want to come?” Sam asks, acting like she doesn’t notice that Liv’s still standing.