Dear Ava

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Junior year My hair covers my face and I shove it away, my heart speeding up and pounding as my eyes flare open in the dark. The air is cold, an early winter nipping on the heels of fall. Where am I? Straining to recall, I distinctly remember the road that brought me to these trees, a narrow, rutted lane, can barely even call it a road, really just a path used by tractors, ATV vehicles, and cars with good front-wheel drive.

How did I get here? Twisting my head, I see the embers of a low bonfire glowing several yards away in a mostly open meadow. Images dance in my head—me at the fire, laughing, dancing, drinking— I inhale a sharp breath as another memory pierces, and I kick it down. Just not ready. My hands clench the dirt and damp leaves underneath me. My clothes are dirty. At least I didn’t wear my red and white cheer outfit. No, I had time to change into a mini skirt and a new blue tank top with scalloped lace at the top, “the perfect match for my eyes,” Piper had said even as she told me not to—what? What did she tell me not to do? More pain spirals in my head, and I wince, swallowing convulsively to pull moisture into my dry mouth. I focus on that meadow. Before I was in the woods, there was a party there, the Friday night kegger after the football game. Yes. At one point, people and music and cars encircled this meadow. Guys still in jerseys, some in jeans and preppy shirts, pretty girls decked out in expensive clothes I can’t afford, jewelry and shoes I’ll never have… It’s empty now. I lick dry, chapped lips when my stomach swirls. Bile curls in my gut. I’m not sure how my addled brain knows poison lies somewhere within me, but it does, and my body wants to eject it.

I sit up and prop my back against the tree behind me. A collection of pictures tiptoe through my mind: Jolena and me getting ready for the party at her place and my nervousness at being surrounded by the opulence of her huge mansion, then us arriving at the field party in her black Range Rover. We chugged shots of Fireball before we got out to join everyone. She offered, her ruby lips smiling, and I took it anxiously, needing the bravery for my first kegger. These people weren’t like me, didn’t really know me, except as Chance’s girl. They’re the Sharks at Camden Prep, rich and popular and pretty much assholes except for Chance. They rule the school. They decide who comes to the parties. They decide if you’re good enough.

My fingers press on my forehead. Knox Grayson, QB1 and the leader of the Sharks, was the first person I saw when we walked up to the fire, his arm curled around…Tawny? Yeah. With the golden brown hair like sunlight. She’s not just pretty; she’s beautiful, wrapped in wealth and superiority—ah, crap, forget her. She doesn’t even know my name. It’s an image of him, of Knox, that lingers…the long, ugly scar that runs down from his right temple, through the hollow of his cheek, slicing into his upper lip. The devil. Hades. I call him that in my head sometimes before I shove him out of my thoughts and lock him away tight. My subconscious has always known to flee when I pass him in the hall, to run like the hot winds of hell are at my back. He watched me walk up with Jolena, an intimidating glint in his narrowed gaze. What are you doing here? his face said with a curl of those twisted lips.

His little looks—oh, how can I call them little? They’ve always been big looks, sweeping and brushing over me then dismissive, reducing me down to nothing but the air he breathes, the very dust motes that float around our hallowed school. But…tonight—God, it’s still the same night, right?—I forged ahead, swallowing my misgivings about him because Chance appeared in front of me. Beautiful, sweet Chance. My heart, which feels sluggish and weak, beats a tad quicker. He’s a Shark, in that inner circle, but he likes me. He’s been mine since this summer, little touches and slow kisses. We’re building up to more, so much more. A leftover wisp of joy caresses me as I recall him twirling me around, kissing me on the cheek, and asking me to sing. After much prompting and cajoling and another shot of Fireball,...

With a huge breath, I push myself up more. God, I hurt everywhere. I touch my face, checking for injuries, but there’s no swelling or blood. My arms are fine, goose bumps rising in the chilly air. I rub down my chest, squinting in the darkness. My shirt is shoved up to my throat, exposing my plain white bra, issued to me by the nuns at Sisters of Charity. The cups have been maneuvered down, and I adjust it with careful, slow movements, putting my breasts back inside. I don’t let myself think about how they came to be like that. My legs are jelly but still there, and I huff out a laugh as if expecting fatal injuries. No Zipper death yet. Ha. Wait… I let out a primal sound, as if my body knows, only it’s taking my brain a minute to catch up. My skirt is bunched up around my hips, my pelvic area bare. No plain white underwear from the nuns. Dimly, I process the leaves and twigs from the woods digging into my bottom. My hands flail uselessly over my skin as if the scrap of material might magically appear. Oh, Ava, oh Ava, you know what this is—how could you be this naïve… Craning my neck, I lean forward and take in small, purple-looking bruises on my inner thighs. I touch myself, there, and groan at the pain from the swollen tissue. My heart picks up more, flying inside my chest. Blackness dances in front of my face. “No, no, no…” I say then vomit off to the side, again. Finally, the alcohol is coming up. More memories—are they real?—slam into my mind. Me heading off to the li...

There she is. It’s been months since she graced the hallowed halls of Camden with her long, lean legs and big aquamarine eyes. A suffocating feeling grows in my chest. She. Is. Here. My thoughts jumble back to the past. I still remember the day she showed up freshman year, that look of hope on her face, full of optimism that Camden was going to be a new beginning for her. She made me look at her, and I hated it. Even now, I itch to peel the sensation right off my skin. No feelings allowed in this body for her. Not a single one. “She’s back,” Dane says, straightening up from the wall, an enigmatic expression on his face. “Gotta give it to her—she’s got balls.” “Mmmm,” I say, studying her while she isn’t looking. Gone is the long blonde hair, replaced with jet black. She looks harder. Her mouth is frozen in a smirk with bright red, glittery lipstick on her full lips, accentuating the sensual curves there, the paleness of her skin. Small freckles dot over her nose, same as before, but it’s the tense set of her jaw that tells you she’s not the same. Her skirt is a hair too short by the school guidelines, the hem hitting about three inches above her knee instead of the required two. I wonder if scholarship students get the last pick when it comes to uniforms. I guess their clothes are free, like the textbooks. Do they give her just a couple of sets of each one? Two jackets, a few shirts and skirts? I can’t even count the number of uniforms in my closet at home, so many khakis, ...

The teacher puts her elbows on the podium and leans in until our faces are close and there’s no chance anyone will hear. “I’m good with whatever you want. I can put you in the back, but honestly, it’s only going to isolate you from everyone. I don’t want that, and in the end, you may miss some things if you can’t see the overhead. You could take the seat up front with Knox, and if you have any issues at any time, come to me and I’ll take care of it.” Her voice is soft, pity dripping like acid. Pity. Please. I want justice. Not likely. They have money. They own this town. Miss Harris, is it possible you consented to sex? Your behavior at the party was, well… She spreads her hands. “It’s up to you though, Ava. Whichever you want.” Sit in the back or sit next to the head Shark? My throat tightens as I ponder my options, but I already know what I need to do: establish myself as fearless, just like inmates do when they walk into a prison. Swallowing hard, I give her a tight nod, pivot, and walk to Knox’s desk. Someone lets out a gasp—Jolena. Good. Take that. I am stronger than BTN. Knox’s eyes are narrowed as he sits back in his chair, never shifting his gaze as I slide into the seat next to his. He takes me in, cocking an eyebrow as if he’s surprised. He’s a foot away from me, but I swear I can feel the heat from his body looming close. I scoot my chair a few inches farther from his, making a horrid scraping noise on the tile. He huffs out a laugh and slides his away from me u...

“Ava,” he says in acknowledgment, his voice husky, laced with dark undertones. His tone reminds me of the night, steel wrapped in black velvet, hinting at secrets and barely leashed power.

“Yeah, everyone knows you’re high and mighty. Everyone kisses your ass. Guess what—I don’t. I think underneath that exterior is a guy who’s got some real problems. Mommy and Daddy not love you enough as a baby? Is that why Dane is still snorting coke or whatever?” I pause, feeling triumphant at the thunderous expression he now wears. “Oh, yeah, I know what it looks like. Grew up with an alcoholic, drug-addicted mom. See, it’s bad all over, right? No matter the social class we belong to, when it comes down to it, we’re all just humans with the same problems. Mine’s dealing with not remembering what happened that night. Yours is…I don’t know. You’re just a cold sonofabitch.” It was quite a speech and he blinks rapidly, his chest inflating as he flashes a look over my shoulder to glance at Dane. He gazes back at me, eyes hard, but at least there’s heat there, dark and deep and angry. “Leave my brother out of this.” Huh. If there’s a chink of weakness in Knox, it’s his brother. I file that away under the Things That Piss Off Knox dossier.

“All I had that was mine—my body—was taken without my consent, by you or one of your precious teammates. There’s nothing else you can do to me, Cold and Evil. Go tell your little brat pack that today. Something’s going to trigger my memory and when it does, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.” “I’ll kill him with my bare hands.” His eyes flash. My heart drops and I rear back, confusion making me suck in a breath. What? I search for words and end up with, “Why would you say that?”

His face flattens. “And while you’re at it, let it all out. Say everything you’ve obviously been holding back for months. Do it now. Get it over with.” I frown. How has he gotten the upper hand all of a sudden? “Why?” “Don’t you want to? Isn’t this your first time back among us in ten months? Don’t think I don’t see all that rage inside you. Let me have it.” Is this one of his games? I swallow, caught between my need to lash out at a Shark—something I’ve dreamed about for almost a year—and my urge to ask him to explain why he’d kill the person who hurt me. Anger wins. “Fine. I hate you and your friends. You ruined me last year, but I won’t let you take this year from me or shape the person I’m going to be. If you make my life hell, I’ll do the same to you.” His eyes close, his thick dark lashes lowering briefly. “Oh, Tulip. You can’t make my life hell.” “I’d like to see you walk in my shoes.” His gaze goes down to my Converse. ...

“And the truth is, you’ve probably peaked as a quarterback in high school. Someday you’re going to be a lonely, middle-aged man with deep-seated commitment issues. You’ll be in AA, hooked on porn, crying over your Chinese takeout—” His hand scrubs his mouth, and at first I think he’s pissed; then I realize his shoulders are shaking. “What’s so funny?” I snap. His eyes spear mine. “You.” I reach out and ruffle his hair. It’s silky under my fingers, and I flinch back...

what’s next?” I kiss her long and hard, oblivious to the camera flashes and media surrounding us. Except for those away games she couldn’t make, we haven’t spent a night apart since I showed up at Blue’s Bar. She moved from her dorm into my place and we never looked back. She’s the girl I wanted the moment she walked in the doors at Camden, and I know we’re young on the outside, but inside, the heart knows when it sees its forever.