WYATT CHANGED INTO the clothes, stuffing his old ones into the Ziploc which he set right beneath his the window sill. He could’ve changed inside but hadn’t wanted to risk any sudden movements which would alert his dad, and after a hesitant moment he began to trek to the rendezvous point he’d agreed to meet Canyon at.

It stood a block away from his neighborhood.

Running his hands across his arms in an attempt to warm up, he longingly thought of the blue denim jacket he’d decided to forgo which would’ve done a better job of insulating against the chill. Cars drove past and each time he hoped that one of them would have the person he was waiting for behind their wheels, but none stopped and slowly, the realization that Canyon had most likely gotten tired of waiting and driven off without him began to sink in. His eyes prickled, and as he started to consider the walk back home a jeep pulled up beside him.

Canyon wore a white polo shirt, and had an arm resting out of the side of his car window. His black hair was mussed from driving with the windows down, dark tresses moving in tandem with the wind, and as soon as their eyes met a smile broke out on his face.

He motioned towards the passenger seat beside him, and after a moment Wyatt got in.

“Look, I’m so sorry I―”

“Yeah, about that,” Wyatt began, hoping the irritation did not creep into his voice. “What took you so long? And please pull up the windows so I can turn up the heat.”

Canyon arched a brow, amused, but complied with his request.

“Martha made me do all my homework and the dishes before she let me out; and she wouldn’t have let me to begin with, but I told her I was your ride and you’d probably be waiting.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised to hear that.”

The car fell silent and an atmosphere of anticipation grew between the two of them that was only punctuated by the small talk they made.

Shortly after, Wyatt turned the dial on the stereo, cranking the radio up. The silence was replaced with static, and then:

“So you’re telling me that it’s OK for men to sleep around and get praised for it. But when a woman does the same thing she’s a slut?”

It was a woman’s voice, most likely the host of the station he’d stumbled into.

Wyatt settled back into his chair and closed his eyes, interest piqued as the other co-host cut in.

“I’m not saying that, Lisa. I’m saying it’s the way society is, that’s all.”

A pause. “Well I call bullshit.”

“Bullshit on what, life?”

“Yes,” Lisa said without missing a beat. “And the patriarchy.”

Canyon tapped Wyatt and he cracked open his eyes, turning to look at him.

“You look good tonight.” The words came pouring out of him in a rush. “Really good.”

Wyatt let a languid smile creep up his face, noticing how the other boy refused to meet his eyes. Then again he was driving, so it was all for the best.

“Serving looks is what I do, honey,” he teased, before closing his eyes again to focus on the debate, which had started to escalate.

“And why does everything have to be about gender with you? Alright, you’re a feminist, and I’m a men’s rights activist.”

Wyatt could picture the male speaker: straight, white and handsome in a very forgettable way.

“News flash Bob: Being an MRA is not the flex you think it is.” Lisa sounded exasperated, as if she’d tried explaining quantum physics to a two-year-old. “And the fact that you can casually ask me why everything has to be about gender is part to the problem. It speaks not only of your privilege, but of your refusal to acknowledge it.”

“Really intense conversation for a Friday night, don’t you think?” Canyon murmured, reaching over to turn the volume down.

Wyatt shrugged. “I mean, it was just getting good. But yeah, I guess.”

“So,” Canyon said after a few seconds had passed, “You’re a feminist?”

Wyatt shot him an incredulous look. “That’s a trick question, right?”

“No?” Canyon ventured cautiously, fingers flexing on the steering wheel.

A moment of silence stretched between them again, and as the seconds ticked by a disconcerting awareness washed over Wyatt.

“This is going to sound weird but do you ever suddenly feel, like, your heartbeat?”

“Nope.” Canyon looked from the road to him, momentarily, and then back. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He forced a smile. The feeling had faded, but for a moment Wyatt was sure that he’d been aware of his heartbeat racing.

“Good,” Canyon muttered as they pulled up at a pair of iron-wrought gates, “’cus we’ve arrived.”

He leaned out his side of the window to push down a button, and the intercom crackled. A few moments passed, and then a girl’s voice came through.

“It’s a party,” she muttered. “Say your name, and if you weren’t invited then get the fuck out.”

A faint smile played at the corner of Canyon’s mouth as he turned to look at Wyatt, who raised a brow in question.

“Really charming, El,” he said. “No wonder everyone loves you.”

The girl snorted.

“Gomez, my love. Did you bring along a straggler?”

Wyatt swallowed as Canyon cleared his throat, unable to stop the wince.

“If by straggler you mean a plus-one then yeah, sure I did.”

“You know this was on an invite-only thing, send them home and I’ll open the gates.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened as Canyon ducked his head. Hadn’t he been told that they were allowed to bring people? Would he have to trek back home?

“Stop fucking around and just let us in Elina.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” was the only reply they got before the gates parted open slowly.

The two boys locked gazes, and after a moment Canyon drove them into a mansion far bigger than he’d anticipated.

“What the fuck?” Wyatt let out a heavy breath of awe at the grandeur of everything his eyes touched.

They were travelling over gravel path, lined on both sides with shrubbery and statues, and as they rounded a corner he noticed water from the fountain (which was a collection of marble cherubs frolicking) spurt up in delicate arcs.

Everything looked like something that belonged in scene cuts from the Rich Teens of Beverly Hills.

“Wyatt Carter,” Canyon started once he had parked.  “Do you have a middle name?”

“Reginald.” Wyatt blinked, hoping his jaw still remained attached to the rest of his face. “Miguel.”

“Reginald-Miguel? That’s… interesting.”

“Take it up with my parents.” He turned to meet Canyon’s eyes. “I know I’ve tried.”

Canyon gave an easy laugh. “You have my condolences, but in the meantime: Welcome to the Petrova mansion.”

The Petrova’s were not a family, they were a dynasty. It was one of those facts you remained ignorant of only if you were living under a rock to not know who they were, since they’d appeared on everything from the New York Times to Vogue. Everyone and their mother had heard of them.

At the top of the food chain sat Vladimir Petrova, a Russian immigrant who had first touched the shores of America in the late sixties. The son of a displaced baron at the time, he’d used the last of his illustrious family’s wealth wisely and now owned one of the world’s largest privately-owned shipping fleets.

Now a widower in his seventies, he had four children: Artemy, Roman, Harlan, and Elina.

And here Wyatt stood, about to walk into their palace of a house.

“Why didn’t you tell me we were attending a party at the Petrova mansion?” he asked, eyes going frantically from his outfit to Canyon’s understated but elegant Polo shirt over denim pants combination, matched over a pair of well-worn converses.

He was overdressed, and that coupled with knowledge that he was about to breathe in the same air as modern day royalty was enough to make Wyatt want to turn around, scale the gate and sprint back home. A pit of nervousness had opened up in his stomach.

“To see the look on your face,” Canyon teased, and then he laughed. “It’s totally worth it in case you were wondering.”

He remembered Tobi’s words about Canyon. His parents are super loaded. You should look them up.

Well, he’d gravely underestimated him. His aunt was the school nurse and made him do the dishes!

“Take me home.” Wyatt swallowed, and the smile on Canyon’s lips slipped away as his brows furrowed in concern,

“What?”

“Take me home right now,” he repeated as a sudden wave of anxiety washed over him.

Wyatt had never been good at meeting new people or social interaction in general. He found that he was always reserved, sometimes intimidated as his mind flittered from thoughts of what he was supposed to do with his arms and if he needed to stop slouching.

In fact, at that very moment he was beginning to feel lightheaded, and breathing had become somewhat difficult.

“Hey, hey.” Canyon took hold of his shoulders and turned so they were facing each other. “Slow down for me, okay?”

Delicately, he took hold of Wyatt’s face in both hands and tilted his head up so their gazes were level.

“You’re okay,” he continued, licking his lips, and after a moment his words took effect. “Feeling better?”

He nodded mutely, and after a moment Canyon stepped away, letting his hands fall to his sides. It was like he feared that if he didn’t create as much space between them, the temptation to do something stupid would become too overwhelming, though in all honesty he wanted stupid things done to him.

Wyatt felt stripped naked, and a little vulnerable, but other than that everything else looked to be in place.

“It’s just,” he began, feeling the need to explain himself, “I follow the lives of these people on blogs and magazines, you know, and now I’m here and it’s all so surreal.”

“If it helps you can think of yourself as… Lady Gaga?” Canyon offered.

“I can’t even put myself in her shoes. Where do I begin?”

They laughed.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Wyatt murmured after a moment. “I know what you mean.”

For the second time that night he was struck with an unsettling awareness of his steadily pounding heart, and he wondered if it meant that he was coming down with something. But if something was the boy in front of him then he was ill. Terminally so, in fact.

The doors to the mansion opened, and the sound of heels clicking announced the arrival of Elina Petrova, who stepped out wearing a resplendent tight black dress. She’d styled her cornflower blonde hair styled in an up do, and as she drew closer she started to clap, stopping only when she stood above them at the top of the flight of stairs.

Even in moonlight―or because of it―she looked like a goddess.

“You and your boyfriend are so cute, Gomez,” she announced. “Can’t you see? I’m tearing up.”

She wasn’t, but she mimed as if she was and immediately Wyatt decided that he liked her.

“Haha, El,” Canyon said drily, taking a further step away from him.

“You might want to drop the YA bullshit and come inside. You know, where the actual party is at.” Canyon held up a middle finger at her and Elina rolled her eyes. After a moment she let her gaze fix on Wyatt, and her lips twisted faintly. “Not you, though. You’re poor. Run along now.”