Riding home in Axel Lugo's car is not how I envisioned I'd spend my afternoon.

My heart's still beating fast. There are bodyguards on our tail, and I don't want to think about how now they'll know exactly where I live. I've more than stepped into Eris' territory—I've faced her father, and now I know he officially disapproves of me.

Axel's car is even flashier than Eris'. It's a sleek black, sitting low to the ground, and neither of us say anything as he drives. I'm sure any girl at my school would love to be driven home by Axel Lugo—in his four years of high school, he earned the reputation of being quite the player. I still don't understand why so many people are attracted to him. I suppose that on an objective level he has some kind of appeal, with his high cheek bones and dark eyes, but what I always paid attention to was his intellect. The way he juggled AP classes while being the president of the chess club and playing on the boys' basketball team.

And I have to admit—it's not my first time in Axel's car.

"What was that all about?" he asks, breaking the silence. "What's this about a loan Iker gave your father?"

"You don't know?" I ask.

"Why would I know? What's going on?"

I don't know why I never told him. I suppose I didn't want to dwell on our fathers' history while I was with him, even though I always find a chance to hold it against Eris. Eris only knows the full story because I've told her. Because my dad told me everything. Otherwise, Iker probably would've kept it secret from her, too.

Maybe I do owe Axel an explanation. So I tell him. I tell him that it started out fine. Iker Lugo was going to be my father's fine art agent and help him sell his paintings. But Iker came up with a scheme. He would use his art connections to build up hype around my father, who was an unknown artist at that time. He inflated the value of his paintings and had these elaborate art shows where they were bought for absurdly high prices. But little did we know at that time, all of Iker's rich friends who were buying the paintings were actually drug lords looking for ways to invest their dirty money. They started using the paintings as collateral in major cocaine and meth trafficking deals from Tijuana to San Diego to Los Angeles, and those same paintings started turning up in drug busts by the Drug Enforcement Association.

That's when things went downhill fast. By that time, my father had built a reputation in the art world as a talented new artist, whose work showcased historical scenes with a surrealistic touch. And the rumors about where he really made his name began. Somehow, throughout it all, Iker's name stayed clean. From what I know, the man is waist deep in illegal gambling and nightclub businesses that serve as cover for laundering drug profits, but he has enough of a legitimate reputation as an art dealer to insulate him. My dad had nothing—only a few connections back in Canada.

And then came the accusations we were working with the cartels. For a few years we were living comfortably with the earnings from the art sales, but then the authorities started investigating us, and the legal fees for a decent lawyer ate away at most of our money.

Thankfully, we didn't get charged with any crimes, but we ended up having to pay a $50,000 fine—a fine that at that time, we could only pay by taking a loan from the devil himself. A loan I'm now working to pay off because my dad no longer paints.

Axel pulls over on the road, gets out of the car, and lights up a cigarette. I don't know what to do, so I step out and stand next to him.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" he asks.

"Before when?"

"When we were together."

"We were never together, Axel."

"You kissed me."

"You kissed me. I went along with it. It was a mistake. I'm not interested."

Axel stops mid-smoke and looks at me. Really looks at me. As if he's trying to decipher whether or not I'm lying.

But I'm not lying. The last thing I wanted was to be one of his little girlfriends. I think about our long conversations over the phone, me listening to him go on about space and stars and nuclear energy—all his favorite topics. I think about him watching me paint in the art room at school. Our friendship was mostly limited to long texts and phone calls, but he was the only friend I had.

All I ever wanted was to be his friend. To see beyond his mask as picture-perfect student with charming smiles who went a little too hard on weekends.

"I still can't believe you kept that from me," he says.

I cross my arms. "I don't like to mention my family's debt so blatantly."

"And what's this about your uncle investigating what my dad's involved in?"

"My uncle is a journalist," I admit.

"You never told me that either. You've always been so private." He blows out a puff of smoke. "So secretive for no reason. Just like my family. They say the only reason the cartel survives is because nobody knows what they don't need to know. Didn't realize it'd be the same with you."

"Don't you have secrets, Axel?"

His defined jaw tenses. "Sure I do. And one of them is you."

"Me?"

"Nobody knows about... us. Not even Eris."

And I'd like to keep it that way. The last thing I need is Eris knowing that I was semi-involved with her older brother. I mean, Eris and Fitz are friends too, but I'm pretty sure Eris is a lesbian, Fitz is basically asexual, and the chance of anything happening between them is about zero.

"And now you want to do a contest with her," Axel laughs.

"Is it that much of a bad idea?" One born out of sheer desperation to win.

"I've never seen her work with anyone on anything. And don't you two hate each other?"

"That is correct," I say.

He laughs again, puts out the butt of his cigarette, and leaves it on the ground.

"Pick that up," I order. "Don't litter."

He smiles a little at me. "Of course. Sorry about that, princess."

"Don't ever call me that again."

Then he looks at me. Gives me that same intense stare, like he wants something from me.

"I'm in love with you, Persephone."

Um.

"I appreciate the thought," I say. "I enjoyed spending time with you. But I'm not interested."

His face falls. He gets back in the car, and I awkwardly follow him in. "Right," he says bitterly as he starts up the engine—at least his driving is ten times safer than Eris'. "You think you're so much better than everyone else. So mysterious. No one can reach you. But you're just scared to let anyone in."

"I'm not scared of anything. I'm just not interested in having sex with you."

"It doesn't need to be right away," he says.

I look at him in disgust—this is exactly the reason why I "broke things off" with him in the first place. "It doesn't need to be ever."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm not thinking straight."

"Must be all those pills you take."

Iker made all his kids into talent factories. Each one specializes in something different. But it's clear his job is taking a toll on them. Axel and Eris are similar in that way. Reckless. Drug-using. Partying hard to forget whatever's going on.

Axel doesn't say anything else. The rejection is obvious on his face, his tense posture, even the way he grips the steering wheel. But I don't feel bad.

I wonder if I should write about this in my diary. I had carefully avoided mentioning him before. Admittedly, I was ashamed. I did not want future historians to see that I had stooped to such a low level as actually kissing someone—a gross, humanly thing.

What I did write about was Eris. I couldn't help it. I had to confide in something other than Fitz, who didn't even count given that he skated with her on weekends and could not be trusted. So the diary it was. And I wrote. I wrote about her gold chains and the obnoxious gap between her front teeth. I wrote about the red lines I'd seen once lining her wrists. I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote, and the sixth volume of my diaries essentially became Hating Eris Zepahua Lugo: An Autobiography. In the future, when I go back to edit the diaries for publishing, I'll have to tone down the raw hatred into something more... acceptable. Reasonable. I don't want the academics that will inevitably study my path to glory to think I was obsessed with her.

For a brief moment in time, I might've liked her brother, but Eris Lugo will never be anything but a worm to me.

▴▴▴

"I don't know what to do now," I tell Fitz later after explaining what happened—minus the Axel Lugo driving me home part. "Iker literally told me he doesn't want me near his daughter. As if I'm the problem here."

Fitz puts his arms above his head, shrugging. "That man is just tryna play power games. You gotta talk to Eris. See if you can work something out and if she can convince him. You don't wanna go against him."

"Do you think it's a good idea to work with her in the first place?"

"I don't see why not. I don't see why her dad thinks it's so dangerous. It's just art."

Just art.

Later, over dinner I can't hold back anymore and end up telling my dad and William, "I talked to Iker Lugo."

They both turn to stare at me. It takes a lot to surprise my ever-stoic uncle William, but concern is written all over his dark features.

So I explain everything.

"You went to her house," William says. "What did you see there?"

"Eris has body guards follow her everywhere she goes. I didn't get to see much, though, considering Iker practically kicked me out."

"That girl is directly involved," William says. "Rumors say Iker is raising her to start working in the family business."

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"Some of my contacts are in contact with her."

Could Eris be running drugs? Acting as a spy? What kind of activity is she involved in if she talks to drug lords in her spare time? This is way worse than her just selling my brother weed.

"And why hasn't Iker been exposed to the public yet?"

"He has friends in high places," William says. "He doesn't let a word come out about him. It's strictly monitored."

"Iker is right," my dad says. "Our family shouldn't have contact with each other. You can't be around that girl."

"Believe me, I'd be happy to never see her raccoon face again," I say. "But I'm not stupid. She's the best chance I have to win."

Fitz laughs into his hand. "Raccoon face? Damn."

My dad sighs. "I don't know what to tell you, Persephone. We've gotten burned by them once. I don't want it happening again."

▴▴▴

The next day, Eris approaches me in the library again.

"So," she says. "Let's paint."

I look up from my homework I've been trying to catch up on—yesterday completely threw me off my routine, and I stayed up late researching about the war on drugs and the cartel wars in Mexico, a mess of kingpin names and aliases I won't remember. I even stumbled upon this awful video of men in uniform carrying guns interrogating a man before slicing off his head.

"What about your dad?" I ask.

She sits down in front of me. "He's just worried about his reputation. But I don't think he'll do anything if we work together. He knows he can't control me. Not anymore. I'm tired of his rules and saving face."

"What if he's right? What if it's dangerous for us to work together?"

She scoffs. "Dangerous? We're painters, Ef."

"I don't want to end up on any cartel's radar."

"Listen, they won't even touch your dad. He was never involved enough. He's only an artist to them."

"Yeah, and I'm sure people have gotten killed for less than what he did."

"That's true, but you won't have to worry. Not with me. Listen, I know I hate you and all, but while we're working together, I got your back. I won't let anything happen to you."

"And how do you have the power to do that?"

"I have friends who got my back. You know, I'm basically untouchable."

"Oh, are you?"

"I'm way too important for these motherfuckers to kill me off."

"How about kidnap you for ransom?"

That hits a nerve, because she visibly flinches.

"I have security," she says. "My dad's not stupid. We're up to our ass in security. If we lived in Tijuana—that'd be a different story."

Yesterday she seemed stressed about her predicament. Today she has her chin held high like she's invincible, untouchable.

Money and power must be one hell of a drug.

"So," she says. "You still down to work with me?"

Part of me still wants to. Part of me wants to defy Iker, almost as revenge for what he got my dad involved in. Revenge for the lies and deceit. And an even bigger part of me knows that I need to win this competition. I think of what my dad said. And given that he's not the one paying the bills, I don't think he gets to have a say at all.

And what's in it for her? It's not as if she needs the money for the competition. She wants an ego boost. She wants an excuse to rebel against her dad, and I don't think I mind being the one to give her that.

"We can have a trial," I say. "Let's try to paint for the first round of the competition. If it works, we turn it in to Montoya. Once it's through the judges, we won't be able to turn back."

"Sounds like a plan."

"But this time," I say, "We're going to my house."

▴ ▴ ▴

a/n: this chapter is dedicated to _pinkypromise_x !! thank you for all your comments!! <3