FicWad

With Friday comes freedom, which is something I’m desperately craving by the end of this hellish week. Not only is that damn note making me super paranoid--the slightest noise, the smallest movement, frightens me, and I’m always looking over my shoulder. I’m even brushing up on my karate chops and taking daily runs--but Ray’s been acting suspicious. Okay, I have to admit, seeing her being mysteriously accepted onto the cheerleading squad was one thing--I mean, isn’t their competition in a few weeks?--but whenever she looks at me she was this smirk on her face.

Don’t even get me started on how she acts around Sebastian.

Apparently her plan is to sleaze up around every guy in the school whose single when she’s around Sebastian, and then act like a little damsel in distress in the process. Like one time, when Sebastian and I were at our lockers before English, and she pretended this guy was coming on way too strong, but you could totally tell she was the one doing most of the work. So, of course, we finished up at out lockers really fast and walked away with raised eyebrows. I loved Sebastian’s reaction: “Just because I have the accent doesn’t mean I’m a bloody prince to every damn girl in this school!”

That was Tuesday.

Much to my relief, I haven’t gotten another note. Maybe it was just a hoax. Maybe I can relax.

Shit, what kind of ignorant girl am I turning into?



“So we’re going to park in the grocery store parking lot and then take the tour on foot. We’ll start in Tourist Town, as I like to call it, and browse the shops. Then we’ll get to Local Limited, or in other words, the real Jenson. I’m thinking we’ll end it with a quick trip to Flathead Lake.” My feet are propped up against Sebastian’s dashboard, much to his dismay, and I’m ticking off my town agenda.

When he eyes my Converse sadly on his dash for the umpteenth time, I suppress a giggle and wave my foot around a little. “My poor car,” he whimpers. “My poor, poor car.”

“Be a man,” I encourage him, closing my eyes. “Don’t let the shoes kick your ass.”

When we reach a stoplight he wrestles my feet under his arm, so I’m sitting sideways by the time the light changes to green. “Melodramatic Brit,” I chide.

“Insensitive Yank,” he counters.

“Hey, you’re in my country now, boy. Sooner or later, you’re going to turn into one of us.”

He shudders. “Wouldn’t that be the worst.”



Sebastian doesn’t have many encouraging words for Tourist Town. “We’re looking at boutiques and souvenir shops for Flathead.” He shoots me a dangerous look. “Men don’t go ‘window shopping’--which is what we’re doing, mind you--we go in, grab our size, pay, and run out. None of this staring longingly crap. I can only pray our tour gets better.”

I was so caught up in laughing that I didn’t notice the store we had stopped in front of: Party Chic. Stepmother’s store.

Grabbing Sebastian’s arm, I begin to pull him away from the pink exterior. “Let’s go to Local Limited now. You’re right, screw Tourist Town, it sucks and is not important.”

But he pauses, peering into the extravagant pink fluff and overdose of sequins that awaits him inside. And then he does the stupidest thing.

Opening the door.

“No!” I whisper-yell at him. Hiding from the view of the window, I urge him wildly to close the door and come with me.

“Don’t you ever want to come in here and make fun of its…its…frou-frou?” His grin is larger than life, and a dimple springs up on his right cheek.

Stop staring at him and run you idiot! “Sebastian! No!” What the hell, might as well tell him. “That’s my step--”

“Well hell­-oh, handsome. What can I get for you today?” Leslie is drooling over him, even stepping out to the curb to get a closer look at Sebastian’s flawless face. I cringe when she sees me.

“Leslie, we were just leaving. So sorry to bug--”

“Veronica,” she drawls, eyes back to Sebastian, raking up and down his godly body. “Who’s your friend? I don’t believe I’ve seen him around before.”

Finally, it seems a light bulb has lit up in Sebastian’s mind, and his mouth forms a small o. “This is my friend Sebastian, from school, and he needs to get home, so I’m just going to help him find his way there and we’re going to leave and you’re going to get back to work and we’ll keep on ignoring each other as per usual okay?” My lungs ache from lack of proper sentence usage, but I grab Sebastian and manage to drag him away without Leslie chasing after us like a pathetic puppy dog.

Once I deem us far enough away, Sebastian sputters, “Was that--?”

“Yes.”

“Is she always so--?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody hell; that woman should be locked up.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”

“I’m sorry you have to live with that.”

“So am I.”

“Are you always this curt when it comes to your stepmother?”

“Damn right.”

He nods as if this was the expected answer. “Understandable. Shall we continue with my tour, then?”

“That depends. Are you planning on running into any more of my whacked out family?”

“I’m sure you have at least one sane person in relation to you.”

I smile. “I wouldn’t call her sane, but she’s sure as hell more tame than the rest of them.”

“Who?”

Looping my arm through his, I say, “I think it’s about time I show you the library.”

“The library? Now, Veronica, what did I say about stereotyping all of us Brits as tea sipping, book reading, proper people?”

I’m checking every corner before we turn it for Ray. So far, we’ve been pretty lucky. This time, instead of checking, I face Sebastian and roll my eyes. “Please. This is so not for your sake. I want you to meet the librarian.”

This was a good corner to ignore. It’s empty. Sebastian raises his eyebrows. “Why must I meet your town librarian?”

I bite back a smile as I drag him up the crumbly stairs. I swear I hear him mumble something like “bloody broken leg waiting to happen.”

I push open the doors and call out, “Aunt Aubrey? I brought company!”

Crashing commences and profuse swearing follows. “Veronica? Is that you? I’m in the back underneath a, um, pile of books. Care to help?”

Sebastian lets out a small laugh and I motion for him t follow, much to giddy to drag him along. I really hope Aunt Aubrey likes him.

Sure enough, we reach the back room and there’s a giant pile of books that appears to be breathing. “Aunt Aubrey? What did you do?”

“What the hell does it look like I did?” Her voice is muffled, but I can hear the exasperation. “Can you get me out of here?” She pauses. “Who’s here with you? Is that Ray?”

I shuffle my feet. “Um, no. Ray and I are…um…”

“Ma’am, we’ll explain that to you once we get you out from those books.” Sebastian starts removing books from the pile and stacking them beside him. I follow suit.

“Excuse me? Was that a man I heard, V? Not just any man, but…excuse me, but are you an English man, stranger?” My aunt’s voice is laced with something between confusion and awe.

“Aubrey,” I moan. “Honestly?” I clear the books from her face so I can look her in the eye. She’s smirking. “That’s Sebastian. He’s new here and¾

“Obviously,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “We don’t produce any Englishmen here.”

“And,” I say, ignoring her, “I’ve been showing him around. What’s wrong with you?”

She laughs and stands up, carefully avoiding tripping over any books. “Come one, sweetie. I’m just pulling your leg. Lord help me if I turn into damn Leslie.” Stepping in front of Sebastian, she holds out her hand and announces with a dignified air, “I’m Aubrey Belle, aunt of Veronica Hansen, sister of Annie Hansen, head--and only--librarian of Jenson, Montana. Nice to meet you Sebastian.”

He takes her palm and shakes it. “The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”

Swatting his arm like they’ve been friends forever, Aunt Aubrey says, “None of that, now. Either call me Aunt Aubrey or Aubrey, just like my niece.”

Shaking his head, as if he expected no better from any relative of mine, he says, “Of course, Aubrey.”

Nodding happily to him, Aubrey sits us down in the designated “reading” section of the library--really, it’s only a bunch of over-stuffed armchairs and a couple couches piled together in a cozy little corner; but, of course, I love it--and demands the low-down on Ray. Sebastian gives me a meaningful glance, but I give him a look as if to say this is my aunt and I trust her so just chill. Then I begin the whole story, not cushioning anything, because let me tell you, if you don’t tell Aubrey things straight out she’ll smack you upside the head for it, because she, and I quote, “doesn’t give a damn” and just “wants to hear the fucking news!”

When we’re done telling her everything--save for the note, which I still can’t manage to squeeze out of my head--Aubrey rolls her eyes and stands up dramatically. “I knew no girl could be that damn innocent. I’ve had my eyes on her since the incident last summer, and let me tell you, she’s been changing. Unfortunately, much as I tried to tell myself I was seeing things, I was right. You really don’t need any more stress in that life of yours, and she’s using that to her advantage.” Her gaze narrows slightly as she zones in on Sebastian. “And you, mister. Let me tell you this. V’s life is damn straight hell. If you make it anything worse, I’ll skin your hide and hang your dead carcass on my front door. Got it?”

He nods solemnly, taking her threat seriously--a wise move on his part, I’d say. Then he checks his watch and his eyes kind of do this shocked bugging-out thing. “Shit,” he announces, his pale blue eyes widening when they meet mine. “When did you say you had to be home?”

“Eight o’ clock,” I verify, reaching frantically into my pocket to check the time on my phone: 7:30 pm. “Damn it! I wanted to drive out to Flathead Lake…”

Aubrey pats my shoulder. “It’s a twenty minute drive. I can buy you twenty-five minutes here. I’d hurry if I were you.”

Almost knocking her over with a bear hug, Aubrey shoos us out the door and we sprint to Sebastian’s car. Surprisingly, he drives pretty well when going twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. We make it there in fifteen minutes.

Its way dark outside, but the moon lights up the sky, sending thousands of sparkles off of the surface of the lake, making it just as beautiful as it is in the daytime.

“Now this,” I say, standing in a pool of moonlight gathered at the edge of the water, “is the best thing about Jenson.”

Sebastian puts his arms around my shoulders and I lean against him, noting his spicy smell of cinnamon and pine needles: an odd combination that works beautifully, I have to say.

“Do you visit here often?” He asks; voice a whisper, he fits into the serene scene around us perfectly.

“Not as much anymore,” I clarify, eyes glued to the lapping shoreline. “But it’s a good place to come when you need some calm. Of course, you have to know when,” I ramble softly, eyes flickering to movement down the shore on our left. “During the summer, this place is swarming. It’s really only perfectly serene during the winter, when no one dares a camping trip here.” Across the lake, I can make out a trail of smoke curling into the star-speckled night sky and brilliant orange flames. “Of course, it’s never completely empty.”

We stand there quietly for a few minutes, until another movement to our left--this time louder--sends me into a panic. “Perhaps we should head back?” Sebastian offers, and I accept wholeheartedly, wanting to escape the chill settling into my bones.



When I get home, I order take-out, knowing full well that this will only bother Leslie. Of course, this is my aim. There’s no way I’m forgiving her for earlier that easily.

After another numbing dinner experience with the “family,” I lock myself into my room, thankful for the weekend, and, ultimately, freedom.

I collapse on my bed, exhausted but gleeful from my day with Sebastian, and hear a crinkle, freezing.

Oh no, I think. No. Hell no. Because I know what it is before I carefully stand up and examine the thick envelope with no return address.

A picture falls out when I open the envelope before I can even reach in to look at what this note says. It’s of me hugging my Dad goodbye earlier today. It looks like it was taken outside our window. He’s circled in red marker. The note is much shorter this time.



HE’S NEXT.