Read Online Flicker & Burn: A Cold Fury Novel by T.M. Goeglein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T.M. Goeglein
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know you better than any person in the world, and in others, there’s so much about you I don’t. It’s cool that we still have so much to learn about each other.”
“Yeah. So much . . .”
“Just promise me one thing while I’m gone, okay?”
I turned to him, resting my head on my knee. “What?”
“Have a really boring summer.” He grinned, placing a hand gently on my face and kissing me.
And now he was kissing me again, holding me tightly as kids streamed past on their way to first period, when a deep voice said, “Break it up, Romeo and Juliet. Get to class, now.” We turned to a large, stone-faced security guard, smiled weakly, and walked away holding hands. With cameras and metal detectors at every entrance, Fep Prep is run like a scholarly penitentiary. It was a Chicago thing, a big-city, urban thing after guns began popping up in lockers in the 1990s in even the best schools. The threat of random violence was regarded as inevitable, even if nothing ever happened, and at Fep Prep it hadn’t. Still, that didn’t affect the security rhythm of the school, which was basically locked down at all times. Beginning today, for almost a whole year, I’d be sheltered, watched, and protected seven hours a day.
Even better, Max and I would be together in that bubble of safety every day.
For the entire first week of school, I was the supportive, affectionate girlfriend he deserved. We met each morning at Bump ‘N’ Grind for espresso, ate lunch together, and hung out after class, and I even managed to have dinner with him in Greektown without looking over my shoulder every five seconds.
Most of all, I listened.
I’d been consumed by my secret life before he left for California, but now I gave him undivided attention. That’s how I learned his summer was spent splashing around a pool with his dad’s new stepsons (ten-year-old twins), and that after a couple of weeks he was thoroughly depressed. He’d left me behind to reconnect with his dad, but instead became a de facto babysitter. His dad left early for work each day and then, at around ten a.m., his stepmom slid on huge sunglasses and asked Max if he minded watching the boys. All he could say was okay, and she waved as she backed out in a Mercedes convertible and didn’t return for hours. She and his dad were good together; in fact, his father seemed so happy in a new life with a new family that Max felt like an interloper, and wondered what the hell he was doing there. Max being Max, he asked his dad using those very same words.
To his surprise, his dad apologized profusely.
It turned out that he and his wife hoped that time alone would help Max bond with his stepbrothers, and that she was actually a little intimidated by him. She’d stayed away each day longer than intended, nervous about being compared to his mom. In fact, she and the twins liked Max a lot, and he liked them, and once it was all out in the open they came together as a patchwork family. Max had important, overdue talks with his dad about the divorce, about his dad’s abrupt departure from Chicago, and about feeling deserted by him. As Max told me, they still had a few miles to go before things were okay, but by the time summer ended, it was actually tough for him to leave.
“Then I thought of you,” Max said, squeezing my hand, “and it was easy.”
I smiled, unable to repress a twinge of jealousy at Max having two families, or at least one and a half, while I had none. And then he asked me what I’d done all summer. At first I bobbed and weaved around the question like the boxer I am, explaining how the details would bore him, and that all I wanted was to spend time together. During that first week of school, I’d enjoyed healthy doses of peace and affection, and even the creatures receded (which should’ve set off alarm bells). I was lulled into thinking that maybe I could enjoy a semi-normal existence. So when Max asked again what I’d been up to while he was
“Yeah. So much . . .”
“Just promise me one thing while I’m gone, okay?”
I turned to him, resting my head on my knee. “What?”
“Have a really boring summer.” He grinned, placing a hand gently on my face and kissing me.
And now he was kissing me again, holding me tightly as kids streamed past on their way to first period, when a deep voice said, “Break it up, Romeo and Juliet. Get to class, now.” We turned to a large, stone-faced security guard, smiled weakly, and walked away holding hands. With cameras and metal detectors at every entrance, Fep Prep is run like a scholarly penitentiary. It was a Chicago thing, a big-city, urban thing after guns began popping up in lockers in the 1990s in even the best schools. The threat of random violence was regarded as inevitable, even if nothing ever happened, and at Fep Prep it hadn’t. Still, that didn’t affect the security rhythm of the school, which was basically locked down at all times. Beginning today, for almost a whole year, I’d be sheltered, watched, and protected seven hours a day.
Even better, Max and I would be together in that bubble of safety every day.
For the entire first week of school, I was the supportive, affectionate girlfriend he deserved. We met each morning at Bump ‘N’ Grind for espresso, ate lunch together, and hung out after class, and I even managed to have dinner with him in Greektown without looking over my shoulder every five seconds.
Most of all, I listened.
I’d been consumed by my secret life before he left for California, but now I gave him undivided attention. That’s how I learned his summer was spent splashing around a pool with his dad’s new stepsons (ten-year-old twins), and that after a couple of weeks he was thoroughly depressed. He’d left me behind to reconnect with his dad, but instead became a de facto babysitter. His dad left early for work each day and then, at around ten a.m., his stepmom slid on huge sunglasses and asked Max if he minded watching the boys. All he could say was okay, and she waved as she backed out in a Mercedes convertible and didn’t return for hours. She and his dad were good together; in fact, his father seemed so happy in a new life with a new family that Max felt like an interloper, and wondered what the hell he was doing there. Max being Max, he asked his dad using those very same words.
To his surprise, his dad apologized profusely.
It turned out that he and his wife hoped that time alone would help Max bond with his stepbrothers, and that she was actually a little intimidated by him. She’d stayed away each day longer than intended, nervous about being compared to his mom. In fact, she and the twins liked Max a lot, and he liked them, and once it was all out in the open they came together as a patchwork family. Max had important, overdue talks with his dad about the divorce, about his dad’s abrupt departure from Chicago, and about feeling deserted by him. As Max told me, they still had a few miles to go before things were okay, but by the time summer ended, it was actually tough for him to leave.
“Then I thought of you,” Max said, squeezing my hand, “and it was easy.”
I smiled, unable to repress a twinge of jealousy at Max having two families, or at least one and a half, while I had none. And then he asked me what I’d done all summer. At first I bobbed and weaved around the question like the boxer I am, explaining how the details would bore him, and that all I wanted was to spend time together. During that first week of school, I’d enjoyed healthy doses of peace and affection, and even the creatures receded (which should’ve set off alarm bells). I was lulled into thinking that maybe I could enjoy a semi-normal existence. So when Max asked again what I’d been up to while he was
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