11 | Iced Coffee

The greatest freedom one would experience in Clevemore was in gym class.

No joke.

Our teacher was this large widowed woman who just let us in the fields and courts whenever we had our classes. As long as you didn't piss her off, didn't ditch her class and wore uniform during the period, you stood a chance in passing the subject. It was part of the reason why while stick-thin, I was not physically fit. Every period of gym, Mitch and I settled ourselves underneath a tall tree in the soccer fields where we chatted and fooled around. Sometimes I snuck in a pack of junk food or two. One time, our teacher tracked one down and damn, did she eat the whole bag right in front of the class.

It might have broken my special record.

Anyway, Mitch and I were here again, underneath our hangout tree. I spread my legs in front of me and tried to reach for my toes but I grunted and panted after a few tries. "Maybe I should join a sport," I thought aloud wistfully as I leaned back on the wood.

"Eating is not a sport," Mitch slightly laughed. In her hand was an iced coffee cup she claimed to have made this morning so it could boost her energy if she drained out. I had told her she was not a phone battery.

"You're right," I sighed sadly. In gym, we were made to wear knee-length shorts and white shirts that could fit the interior of TARDIS in it and it was my favorite getup to wear around school. "Cooking could be a sport. The heat makes you sweat."

"Or standing in front of a mirror," Mitch suggested, "Because that much heat melts some pounds." We chorused a laugh.

Mitch sipped from her cup as we watched the boys kick around a ratty soccer ball. Three fourths of the boys' population in Clevemore couldn't even make the C-list and the remaining fourth had A-list (Jackson-level-of-gorgeousness) boys an endangered species. I could the same for the girls. It was as if Clevemore housed the teenagers in their caterpillars and they only earned the ability to undergo special metamorphosis (or not) once they reached college. Acewell on the other hand – I heard – contained the naturally beautiful and the newborns of plastic surgeries.

That was why my best friend and I had to look for other bases of standards in our boys.

"I should've fed you more at mine. I could have passed out yesterday." Mitch turned her head to me.

I stretched out my hand and wiggled my fingers, silently asking for the coffee. I didn't drink it every day, but a swig or two was enjoyable. I eagerly sipped from the cup and handed it back to Mitch. "I wouldn't have survived either way," my memories shifted back to the recent events, "Jackson was cracking my head open."

"Whoa there," she sat up straighter, "Was it really that bad? The things he said?"

"He accused me of being a thief then he acts like nothing happened this morning," I explained, "Brennan says he's just as confused as me, and I don't know what to believe."

"I think he's deceiving you, Ollie," Mitch said, as Chad Moreno kicked a straight shot and hit the goalie on the crotch.

"You really think so?"

"He's from Acewell. He gets higher grades than you could have in your wildest dreams and he's very clever – manipulating. Any guy can toy with your emotions but this Jackson Dale can mess with your mind. You should be careful."

I watched the same Chad rub the poor goalie's back and kiss him on the cheek. Too cute. "I did suspect he was going to corner me somewhere and murder me," I told Mitch, "I have no idea what he's planning."

"If I were you I'd get the heck out of there – "

" – and meet my Dad's doom – "

" – but hey, you can play his game, too, yes?" Mitch looked at me in the eyes and bit in her bottom lip, her eyes bugging out.

"You, Oliver Ridge-Reynolds, are the wackiest chick I have ever encountered in my life," she pinched both my cheeks, "Don't let him see you break down. If he gets weird, you get weird, too. If he's creepy, do the same."

"And how do I do that?" By the moment, the boys were restarting the game and some have decided to take off their shirts. No set of abs could be sighted. And it honestly felt a little enlightening that we girls didn't possess the hourglass figure, also lacking the implied signs of perfection – ain't nobody got time to earn that.

"That's easy for you!" Mitch was grinning insanely, "Remember during fourth grade, you kept hugging Susie Wing and holding her hand when she hated you? She yelled at you with that scratchy voice, but you kept laughing like an idiot and stroking her hair."

"That's different!" I groaned, "I am certainly not touching Jackson. He'll get confident! Do you really think that will keep me from breaking once he finds out?"

"He'd stay away from you that is, if you don't give him a brain tumor right away. Get your weird on now, honey."

I stared out into space, wondering if it was a good idea. Jackson was not someone to be fooled with – that guy was a complete mystery. But maybe if I stripped off my dignity and wear my confidence, it could do something for my advantage. "I'll get wild and weird, alright." Then I added, "Okay, the wild part sounds wrong."

Mitch tossed the cup to me so I could get the last swig. "I admire you, Ollie." We watched in content while Ricky David – proclaimed star kicker of the school – kicked ball after ball at the boys, turning the innocent soccer game into a game of tragic dodge ball.

After gym period, came English Lit – which consisted of me folding up paper airplanes during a group work – and soon lunch. Mitch was busying herself in the library for an urgent research so that left me to eat by myself. The spicy spaghetti and cold milk in front of me looked absolutely appealing. I licked my lips and dug in, but I stopped.

Something wasn't right.

My eyes scanned the room left to right, widening into saucers. People were staring at me, only to pry their eyes away when I caught them looking. Some were whispering amongst their lunch groups, pointing at me. This wasn't good. I knew then that it was my cue to leave when Editor-in-Chief of the school's paper, Rita Scott, snapped a photo of me (the flash was quite blinding).

I grabbed my milk and my bag and then scurried out of the cafeteria.

My legs were carrying me to the hushed library, where I knew I could find Mitch. After successfully hiding my milk carton from the nosy librarian, I slipped in between shelves. Mitch was there, her face absorbed on a thick book. Beside her was a blank notebook, ready for the essay she was planning for.

"Something's wrong," I whispered to her, sitting down and holding my bag to my chest. "Everyone was looking at me in lunch. Rita took a photo. What in the name of chocolate is going on?"

"Minor news," she put the book down and I saw, in between pages, her phone was gleaming. Twitter was on. "But people get a hold of it."

She showed her phone to me, the screen showcasing a news headline. "Grant Reynolds was seen leaving Sweet Moments with your mom two days ago," she summarized, "The media didn't catch the conversation, but they saw something intimate. So this was bringing on the suspicion that you're somehow involved with Mr. Reynolds. The buzzing question: What would be an owner of a sweet shop doing with a musical billionaire late at night?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or get worried. Mom and I apparently were hidden better than I thought – if the school or the media didn't have the knowledge that Raquel Ridge was Grant's ex-wife, then the secrets were deeper than anyone could look through. On the other hand, that would mean crazy rumors and gossip about me would be zipping around faster than light. I could get cornered by the paparazzi.

"This is ridiculous," I said, "But Dad would have probably done something about it, right? You said minor news; it's not going to be a huge blow-up."

"It could grow, you know," Mitch pursed her lips, "If the press could cook up a convincing story with perfect evidence, it can get you in trouble. The news will spread, but we both know Grant is powerful."

Was he powerful enough?

But if my relation to Dad was not common knowledge and was buried with his own secrets, then could Jackson find out? Maira? Walter? This could mean that there was a chance that Dad covered me up good and I could pass as another face in the crowd. Then again, there was the risk of investigators and media doing intense research and mastering the art of stalking.

"You should talk to your mom," Mitch advised.

"I could try." I haven't talked to Mom since last night, and since then, we were having worries on Jackson's suspicions. "Whatever this thing's leading to, we have to stop it."

I glanced at my best friend, "Are you going to finish your research?"

She was back to her phone, cleverly disguised as a book, "Okay, I'll close Twitter for a while. The Wi-Fi's so fast around here."

"Perfect," I fished out my own phone, furiously sipping my milk.

♫ ♫ ♫

I didn't know if it was considered good or bad that Mitch and I landed ourselves in detention. To shorten the story, we were caught gulping some more iced coffee she brought with her to keep us awake in History class. We could have gone off with a simple warning, but our old teacher had suspected that the drink was spiked or it had alcohol in it. Why was it that whenever I got into trouble, food was always involved?

Detention wasn't pin-drop quiet, but it wasn't chaotic either. People sat with their friends, talking with each other and doing who knows what. Others would circle around the teacher's table, keeping up a light chat with whomever teacher was in-charge. Completion of homework was optional.

I had sent a quick text to Maira, saying that I could be a bit late without stating the reason why, and she said it was quite alright. For some odd reason, Brennan wasn't contacting me, asking for whatever snack he had a craving for. If he wasn't male, I could have sworn he was pregnant. Assuming he was busy at work, I had to thank whoever was keeping him. I also got a text from Mom, too, and she had warned me not to stay out too late and not to let myself starve.

Mitch and I sat near the window, turning into audience for a light football game – the detention room had a perfect view of the field. Winnie Lester, captain of our team, was barking orders behind that little helmet. Before I had known of her, I hadn't known that such a girl who was below five feet could have that much energy. Boys and girls then scattered across the field, bumping into each other purposely to get hold of that ball.

"Wow," Mitch leaned into the window eagerly, "I wish I had popcorn."

"Nachos would be good," I mused, my hand curling into a fist and having my cheek rest on it. Right here in Clevemore, the sports teams had more drama than our Drama Club. Two players I didn't recognize had tackled each other to the ground, but in a flash, they were intensely making out. Ah, it might be Hayley and Erin, the two hormonal players – sometimes disgusting, sometimes sweeter than my sweet tooth.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Twisting around, I met the eyes of Rita Scott, with her freckled face and bob cut hair. "Rita," I said in surprise, my mind flickering back to the news about my parents, "What a huge surprise."

"Surprise indeed," she nodded, taking out her tablet – the one she wrote juicy stories with, weaved by the most meaningful words.

I cleared my throat and uneasily laid a hand on my notebook. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"In fact, yes," her lips puckered out as she tucked stray hairs behind her ear, "You heard about the news, right? Your mother seen with the famous Grant Reynolds?"

You meant my mother seen with my own father?

"Yeah," I dragged out the vowels.

"I was wondering if you knew something about it . . ." Rita trailed off, "Or had you known about it from the media?"

"I'm not giving you any information about that, sorry. It's just a misunderstanding." I told her firmly. To my left, I felt Mitch leave her chair. Only she did so to come up behind Rita and make hand signals, mouthing the word 'no' over and over again.

"But are you sure?" I knew Rita wouldn't stop pestering me until I gave her something worthwhile. "This could be big news, Clevemore High first to broadcast the truth to the world. Did you know about your mother's secret meetings with him?"

Mitch was then pointing to Rita, and then ran a finger across her neck. The look on her face was so alarming it almost intimidated me. Rita sighed, "Mitchell, would you gladly stop that?"

Mitch walked to my side, "You're not getting anything from Ollie. So scurry off and go ruin someone else's life. Go on – shoo."

Rita scowled at her before turning back to me, "Oliver, please."

I opened my mouth and closed it again. If I told her even a half-truth, it could start a chain of lies that will eventually reach the main press. But if I avoided her, she could stalk me to no end and find out about my current job. "You're not even sure if that was my mother and Grant Reynolds," I said.

"My uncle is close friends with one of the men who took the picture," she swiped at her tablet and practically shoved it at my nose, "There are no doubts these people are them. The one who took the shot was positive." I stared blankly at the two pictures that clearly showed Raquel Ridge and Grant Reynolds.

Taking a deep breath, I said this time, "And you don't even know what they were talking about. He could have been ordering something from her or something else."

Rita arched one eyebrow. "Really, Oliver? They were talking and strolling outside of the shop at nearly eleven at night. I'd hardly call that professional. They're hiding something." And that something was me.

Mom, even in her texts, hadn't mentioned anything about the news. It could be that Dad had already calmed the paparazzi, or she didn't want to talk about it. There could also be the chance that she didn't know about it yet.

"Leave her alone, Rita Skeeter," Mitch said as she tore her gaze away from the football game. "Leave, now."

"It's Rita Scott," Rita sneered, "You leave us alone, Mitchell."

Mitch smiled tightly at her, angling her neck, "I know that. I was just mocking you. And it's Mitch."

I had a feeling that I should be the one leaving before this got worse.

"I'm sorry, Rita, I'm not telling you anything," I shook my head in finality.

"So you do know about their affair."

"They're not – "

"The headline is all clear," there was this bothering glint in her eye, "Grant Reynolds cheating on his wife with local shop owner. You could be famous. Mr. Reynolds could divorce his wife and you could be his stepdaughter. Think of that."

I think it was the other way around. What twisted stories this world came up with.

"That's not the case," I raised my voice, "If a dog could understand a simple 'no', I think you can, too. Goodbye, Rita."

"Oh, sizzle, burn!" Mitch made a hissing sound. Rita frowned and instantly left her seat, suddenly absorbed in her tablet.

I sighed in annoyance, "Mitch, I've got more than ninety-nine problems and I think she's already one."

"Be cool," she took hold of both my shoulders and gave a tight squeeze. She turned me so that we faced the field again. The game was still on, but the main scene was Winnie Lester herself, judo flipping Hugh Penn, who was holding the ball. Ouch.

But now, I got to worry about getting caught in my job, balancing that same job with the one I had at the shop and – regrettably – school. There was the confusing and mysterious Jackson, annoying and childish Brennan, and added to that was the nosy Rita Scott. Uncertainty and an unsettling feeling fluttered in my stomach – instead of food.

"You need a ride to work?" Mitch glanced at me.

"No, absolutely not," I replied, "There might be guards and security lined up outside the mansion but that doesn't mean media wouldn't be lurking around. I'll take the bus and get off somewhere near the gates."

"I'm not dragging you into this," I told her.

"Of course you are," she snorted, "It takes more than everything to get rid of me." To ease my fears, I just watched silently as Winnie's boyfriend tried to get her off poor Hugh. But instead he got unlucky and was attacked by Winnie herself instead.

♫ ♫ ♫

"Brennan isn't here," Jackson emerged into the kitchen, "So is Dad. Mom's in the attic, cleaning out stuff." He pulled on a wicked grin that disappeared in a second.

I zipped my lips and leaned against the counter. He simply walked past me and trudged up the stairs, heading to his room. I breathed out a sigh of relief – but I wasn't exactly safe yet. Brennan wasn't here, so no one can protect me from him. I hopped towards the fridge, hoping that maybe making a little snack could serve as a peace offering so he could go easy on me today.

A beef burger and fries should be enough.

My phone rang halfway into making the snacks. I lowered the heat on the stove and grabbed my phone. It wasn't Mom, or Mitch and not even Lawrence – it was Brennan. I was hesitant to answer; he could be asking for an afternoon snack delivered to Reynold Records.

I pressed the green button.

"Hello?" I murmured.

"Oliver!" He exclaimed, "How's the middle finger?"

I glanced at the wrapped up finger, which Mitch took pictures of. It was in memory of 'Ollie's first kitchen accident', according to her. I tucked my hand inside my pocket, not fully over it yet. "It's fine. I want to take the band-aid off sometime."

"Great!" he said, "Want to talk about your day?"

"If this is your little trick to get me in a good mood before you ask me for food, stop it Brennan," I scolded.

"What? No!" he denied, "I just had hotdogs. They were delicious. I'm just bored, so I called you to entertain me."

"If you're going to have me be your jester, besides your cook, I should start charging you for that," I said, slipping the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could continue cooking. "No, I didn't have any entertaining misfortunes today. My day was a level below awful. So hang up."

"Then let me listen!" Brennan pressed, "I'm a good listener."

I found it hard to believe those words.

"Have you heard the news?" I sighed ever so softly, "Mom and Dad seen outside of Sweets late at night? Tell me you've seen it and Dad had done something about it!"

"Montana told me about it, actually. Grant was having a fit and he was contacting every person who could stop a ruckus caused by those simple evidences. Hopefully the rumors will be cleared." Brennan explained what he knew, telling me how Dad was adding extra security and backup.

"Hopefully then," I said, "There's this girl at my school who wanted to know about the affair. She wanted to publish the big news in the school paper. It's driving me nuts."

"If you're lucky, the media will leave you alone," Brennan paused.

But what if I wasn't lucky?

He continued, "I'm sorry, but if I could do something to help, I would have done it a long time ago. My hands are all tied up at the moment, Ollie."

"And why is that?" I asked, frustrated, "While I was here, all you've done was boss me around and make fun of me. Need I remind you the real reason why I'm here? You said you could only do so much, and why is that? Did he put a leash on you, too?"

"There's a reason I'm not involved in your Dad's plotting against mine," he lowered his voice down a notch, "Did you know Montana and I dated for rebellion? Against the rivalry between them?"

"I might have had the idea." I knew for a fact that Montana wasn't that supportive of Dad's motives – she almost hated him as much as I did. I knew that her and Brennan's relationship revolved around fame, and was an act of defiance.

"When we got together, there was this contract." Oh, another contract. "We made Grant sign it so it could be reassured that he wouldn't meddle into the relationship."

"And he signed it?"

"There might or might not be a bit of blackmail involved, but yes," answered he, "He wouldn't be able to touch the both of us. But there's more."

I listened intently.

"The contract guarantees that neither I nor Montana would be involved in any plan against my father. We made sure of that so Grant can't use me. We included little Mony in it so she wouldn't be affected, too. This is why I can't tell your Dad about anything and vice versa. This is why he has to use you to get to Dad."

My blood boiled for Montana. The contract was clever, yes, but . . . "And my dear sister couldn't have included me in there?"

"Well, I suggested it but she didn't want to," he said in a small voice, "I'm so sorry Oliver."

I kept my lips silent.

"Montana and I promised we wouldn't be in anyone's side. We wouldn't part of this fight. So when the time comes, she could have Reynold Records and I claim the Dale Studios, we could help each other out – even merge the two companies."

I didn't want to part of anything, either. But Dad had to play with Mom and I, and I was used for his little games.

"You just made things worse, then." Then, I hung up. If Dad could find a way around that contract, maybe, I could also do in the one he made me sign.

I put the phone down. Hollywood was tricky business; it was either you play or you get played. When Mom chose to keep me, I thought I couldn't part of any drama, but lo and behold Dad came and threw me into the mess. I wished I could escape and go live somewhere else with a lifetime supply of chocolate. I wished I had ordinary problems, not this muddled mess that is my life.

Glancing around, I almost died when I saw Jackson standing at the bottom of the staircase, a conceited smile plastered on his face like a lion that had found its prey (or like me when I found cake).

I backed away slowly as he made his way towards me.

"You," I took a quick breath, "You heard all that?"

He shrugged, "Listening to that alone won't help me at all." He took out his phone which made my heart skip faster than our internet connection. "Good thing I did some research myself."

He read from his phone, "Oliver Ridge-Reynolds, daughter to Raquel Ridge and Grant Reynolds, eighteen years old, with a special ability of eating cake in a minute tops." Each word felt like a shock passing through me.

"Wow," Jackson smirked, "Lots of information about you here, sweets."

"Where – where did you get that?" My voice quivered, "Jackson, where did you find that?"

Not even media or the sneaky Rita Scott could get hold of precious information about me. But for some reason, Jackson Dale could and he was going to use it against me. He might even reveal it to the whole world, consequently ruining my life. I've never felt as helpless in my life as he stood right in front of me, reading about my whole life.

"It's a secret," his tongue darted out to swipe at his lips, "Have I mentioned I have a knack for this kind of things?"

My hands shook. I didn't feel angry, and I didn't feel like crying either. The only feeling that surged through my veins was extreme vulnerability, like I was stripped off of every mask I had and my pure self was on view. I felt so desperate that I was scanning the room for any means of escape – just to get away from him.

"That's why you knew Brennan so well," he realized, "Because he's your own sister's boyfriend. It's in your mother's shop where you have these family dinners. Your parents are divorced and your mother kept you. That's why you've been so secretive."

And he looked at me directly in the eyes, as if he was seeing through my soul. "And you're here to do something for your father, aren't you?"

Why was he so smart?

I hoped my face didn't give away everything.

But was there a chance that I could still deceive him? Lie my way out of this? Perhaps make everything worse?

Yes, yes, I still had chance.

"You're wrong, Jackson," I stated in the firmest voice I could do, "What do you really want from me? Did I do something wrong to you?"

"I want you to leave this place, and this job," he said it so calmly; "You're just like the others – liars, thieves. I knew it. I want you to leave and to keep your mouth shut like it never happened. You're going to cause trouble around here, sweets."

"I leave," I held my head high, "Or what?"

He shook the phone in his hand, "Or this comes out. How ironic, Raquel Ridge seen with her own ex-husband. What a scandal."

No, he couldn't do this.

"You have no idea what you're saying," I shook my head, "I'm working here to get money and that's it. I have no intention on – on stealing anything, disclosing anything to the public. None."

"Why were you so guarded?"

I massaged my head slowly, "I am Grant Reynolds' daughter. Don't you think if your parents found out, they'll keep me here? Even if Walter doesn't care about my father's plans, he's careful. He'll fire me the second he knows."

Jackson wasn't convinced. "Why here, then? I heard you had a decent job at Sweet Moments."

My heart raced as I poured out lie after lie, "You know Montana and Brennan dated for rebellion? I'm doing the same. I'm not doing anything for my father, to be clear. I hate him. He leaves my mother and me and takes my sisters away – how do you think that makes me feel? I don't want to be part of our fathers' fight or anything involving the music industry so you can shut your mouth about any accusation you want to throw at me." My voice grew thicker as tears began to prick the back of my eyes.

His eyes narrowed into slits, "Really? You think I haven't heard the phone call?"

The call – Brennan, why?

"I know about the contract, sweets," said Jackson, "And I'm very sure you're not included in it. That means your father can use you to get in the way of mine."

There it was. He tore through the last lie, and I lied defenseless in front of him.

"Maybe he is using me right now." I averted my gaze, "But I'll never do it willingly for him. He has me on bribery and blackmail – you wouldn't understand. And even if I did agree to work here for him, I will never do anything to destroy your father's business or reputation."

How could I? Walter and Maira were flawless. I could never do that to them.

Jackson stood rigidly; it seemed like he wasn't swayed by anything. "You should know how it feels like to be trapped like this," I fired my last bullet, "You know how it feels to be stuck in your sibling's shadow with nobody noticing you. Look at Brennan and Montana – they're famous. That's why you try to study hard because someday you want to outshine your brother and make your parents notice you – "

I watched as his expression crumbled into pure rage.

"Now, you should understand that he has everything I need and want on the line. He can ruin my life worse than you could and right now, I have no choice. I have to do this for my mother – for my family. But I swear to everything Jackson, I will not bring yours to harm."

He clenched his jaw, "You're just as bad as your father you agreed to do this."

Tears streamed down my cheeks but I ignored them. "I hate you," I said softly, "I hate you." I took my bag and turned around to leave.

"Your snack's in the counter," I said lowly, "You're welcome, by the way. Tell your Mom there was an emergency."

And with that, I left.

♫ ♫ ♫