CHAPTER FIVE
[ 5 ]
song: pon de replay by rihanna

Madeline hit the green ball with such force that she felt it surge up through her arm and to her head, a loud grunt falling from her lips.

Her coach hit it back, sending her to the other side of the court. "Down the line." He hollered.

She hit it again, harder this time, louder.

He hit it back, short, up by the net. She ran to catch it before it bounced twice, but overestimated her speed and about collapsed into the net.

She put her hands out, stopping herself before she went toppling over it, before frustratedly dropping her racket with a loud clatter. Her palm against her forehead as she panted.

"As soon as you hit that ball you should be making your way back to the center." Her coach spoke, sternly. He walked over to his side of the net, meeting her in the middle.

"I got it." She responded, breathing her way through it. Sweat dripped off her forehead and onto the blue cement, as she lifted her head up to find her dad in the stands, watching. "Let's go again." She spoke, bending down and picking her racket back up.

They restarted the process. He'd hit her a ball at the far left of the court, then one all the way to the right. She was running back and forth, slamming the ball over the net and trying to keep up with it.

She slid against the concrete, her court shoes burning under her feet as she reached for a ball she was too late on. She had to catch herself with her hands after she hit it to avoid falling over completely.

"You gotta finish through, you're holding that swing back." He yelled out.

She slammed the next ball so hard, it about nailed her coach in the head. He ducked down out of the way, quickly.

Dropping her racket again, Madeline squatted down to the ground, her head between her knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Get some water, Maddy." Her coach said, as he walked over to her father.

She watched as they conversed, oh so clearly talking about her. Her father mimicked her forehand, asking her coach questions about it.

But focusing on whether or not her forehand was in tip-top shape right now wasn't even in her top five of list of priorities. All she could think of was Gossip Girl, and however the hell she found out she'd been in handcuffs before.

It was all over the press. Not only in pop-culture outlets like TheCut or Cosmopolitan, but in the same articles her father usually appears in. Wall Street Journal, The New York Times. All asking the same question: is Madeline Van der Bilt, daughter of congressman Joseph Van der Bilt a drug addict felon?

She was humiliated. Every glance she'd get on the street, she wondered if they saw the post. Her Instagram was flooded with comments all about it. 'Of course your Daddy can pay for a cover up' 'Everyone should face consequences, why are you any different?' 'When your dad was talking about prison reform, I didn't realize it was a personal problem.'

And Daphne. Madeline hadn't spoken to her since last night. She didn't want to see her. Didn't want anything to do with her. But she was glad not to be the only one getting attacked on social media, Daphne's comments were full of claims she was a 'back-stabber' and a 'mean girl'.

Madeline knew Daphne was jealous of her and her family. But she just didn't realize what lengths she go to to take her down.

She watched as her coach and father continued their conversation, water bottle in one hand, sweat towel in the other.

Then her eyes found the other Constance Billard girls who were spending their Saturday training with their respective coaches. They sat at the benches on their courts, grouped together in their little circles, whispering and subtly pointing in her direction.

Kinsley Aparton, a skinny, tall, red-headed girl led the charge. She at least had enough balls to hold Madeline's eye contact as she gossiped.

The girl always had a problem with Madeline. Maybe it was the fact that her family of medical CEO's thrived off of the money that non-accessible healthcare brought in, which was directly what her father was trying to change. Or maybe it was the fact that Kinsley Aperton was a miserable bitch who was plainly obsessed with Madeline ever since she took her spot at state freshman year.

Madeline eyed her coach, still preoccupied, before opening the gate and making her way over to the onlookers.

Some of the girl's scattered. Going to grab their sweat towels, or grabbing a ball like they were eager to start rallying again.

"Hi, Kinsley." Madeline spoke sweetly. "New bag?"

The girl forced a smile, maintaining eye contact as she spoke. "Got it at the Miu Miu Tennis Club event last year." She nodded. "Your serve looked really good earlier."

"Thanks." Madeline got back, straining her voice to a pitch she only used with people like Kinsley. "What are you guys talking about?"

One of Kinsley's friends, a shorter girl with tight blonde coils for hair, shrugged and answered for her. "School."

Madeline nodded, eyeing each of them. "I know you guys aren't relevant enough to get posted on Gossip Girl, but don't take it out on me." She suggested kindly, exhausted from the drama.

"Oh, please." Kinsley scoffed. "Go ahead and give Daphne our regards."

Though Madeline was good at hiding her true feelings on her face, the comment stung. To know that the whole of Manhattan knew of her and Daphne's falling out made it that much more devastating.

"Mhm." Madeline nodded. "I'll see you guys on Monday."

She'd walked her way back over to her court, watching her dad and coach look at her and talk about her like she wasn't right there. She felt like a zoo animal in a cage, her own personal one. Even ten foot banners of her face hung off the fence, photos from her Alo tennis campaign. Everywhere she looked, she felt she was being picked apart.

Until she spotted Dillon making his way past the doors of the country club, looking around each court.

She did a double take, wondering if the hot sun was making her delirious. He hadn't noticed her yet, but he was there, and not dressed to partake in any sort of tennis, which only confused her more.

She wasn't sure what to do. To call his name was to bring more unwanted attention in her direction, but to act as if she didn't see him just wasn't her style.

"I'll be right back." She said, putting her stuff down at the bench beside her before she walked past her coach and climbed her way up the bleachers to the top level of the club where Dillon wandered.

At the top of the bleachers, Madeline leaned over the fence. "Dillon?" she spoke, causing him to turn around at the sound of his name.

He smiled, like he was relieved, before walking in her direction. "Owen said I'd find you here."

She titled her head to the side, a curious smile on her lips. "What are you doing?" She asks.

He meets her on the other side of the fence, his hands leaned forward on either side of hers as he looked down to meet her eyes. "I told you I'd take you out." He spoke, shrugging like that was obvious.

She shook her head, amused but confused. "Right now?"

Dillon shook his head and looked around. "Whenever you're done." He said curiously. "This is pretty intense."

She followed his gaze to all the girls, each of them covered in sweat, each of their every moves being watched like hawks by their coaches.

"Is that you?!" He then asked excitedly, walking over to one of the Alo banners.

Madeline's cheeks flushed, glancing down at her father to ensure he wasn't watching before she quickly followed after Dillon. "Yeah, that's—" She scoffed, embarrassed. "I was fifteen and had just won state."

"Shit." He scoffs.

Madeline looks at him, examining the way he examined the poster. Was he impressed? Was it too much? She couldn't tell. But she knew she liked the way the small silver hoop in his ear caught the sunlight.

"Could I meet you twenty? For your sake I should probably shower." Madeline laughed.

"What about practice?" He asked, gesturing at her coach.

She followed his gaze down to them, waving it off. "I've been here since seven, he can manage."

As she turned to face him again, Dillon's eyes were still focused down at the court, at the conversation happening, and more specifically her father.

Confused, she turned back around. "Does that work?" She asks.

Dillon returns his attention back to her. "Yeah, for sure." He nods. "I'll head there now and see you in a bit."

Madeline smiles happily. "Okay."

—

Daphne, adorned in a pink silk robe, sat on the couch with her head in her mother's lap, who combed through her blonde hair with her fingers.

"We could go to Nobu?" Her mother, Sandra, suggests. Sandra was an older woman, she had Daphne's older sisters fairly late in life and Daphne even later. And though the gap in age played a part in the way they each viewed the world, Daphne and her mother couldn't be any closer.

Daphne shakes her head and pours. "I don't want to be in public." She takes a piece of chocolate from the box on her lap. "I just want to sit here and rot." She says, as she drops it into her mouth.

"This is very unlike you." Her mother sighs.

Daphne sits up frustratedly. "Yeah, well— when your personal information gets leaked on the internet and your best friend hates you because of it, my personality might go through some changes."

Sandra frowns. "It could have been a lot worse."

Daphne let out a loud groan. "What? What could have been worse than this?"

Her mother gave her a look. The same look she gave her when 'that' topic was somehow being insinuated in a conversation, but no one was comfortable enough to speak it out loud.

Daphne's eyes found her lap, where she fidgeted with her fingers. "I haven't told anyone. Not even Madeline. So I don't know how Gossip Girl could even get that information."

Her mother shrugs, moving the chocolate from Daphne's lap and onto the table beside them. "All I know is that the daughter I raised wouldn't cower in fear the seconds things go wrong."

"Completely agree, my darling." Her father spoke as he walked past the couch, planting a kiss on the top of her Daphne's head. He looks to his wife. "What are we talking about?"

Sandra rolls her eyes frustratedly at his appearing in a very obvious girls only conversation.

Daphne's eyes were glued to one of the paintings her mother had hung up on the wall opposite her. An eccentric woven tapestry by Christina Forrer. Depicted was a jumbled up mess of several people, mouths open as they scream and yell at each other, smoke blowing from their mouths and ears.

Her mother was an art collector. And the penthouse could be taken for her own private gallery. Hundreds of works, paintings, sculptures, intricate light fixtures. Every square inch was decorated with the most outlandish piece of furniture one may find. Tibetan tiger rugs, lamps and tables sourced from old movie sets, hand-painted yellow wallpaper with white cranes moving gracefully through a pond scene.

Daphne always felt like she lived in an enchanted garden of sorts. Her home being a sanctuary to the bustling streets of Manhattan. But now, as her eyes remained on the tapestry, she found herself in one of the people depicted. A girl shoving in an Id-driven ecosystem. Hatred, fear, jealousy, all synthesizing into a battle of bodies.

"I'll throw a party." Daphne speaks aloud.

Sandra spares her husband an unsure glance, before turning back to face her daughter. "A party?"

Daphne meets her eyes, nodding confidently. "Here. Tonight."

Her mother, though hesitant, nodded along. "Well, let me make some calls—"

"It's gotta be huge. Grand. Classy. Invite everyone you know. Both of you." Daphne goes through her mental checklist. "But when I check the guest-list there better not be a Van der Bilt in sight."

—

Sebastian tapped his foot repeatedly underneath the dining room table. On either side of him sat both of his Moms, like an angel and a devil on his shoulders. Jean, his biological mother had barely spoken to her son today. While Gianna, her wife, had brought Sebastian breakfast in bed and reminded him everything was gonna be okay.

Yet here he sat, across from a private investigator and a cop.

"Well, we had a few of our guys who work with cartel affiliated offenses in Chile give your house in Santiago an examination." The PI spoke, scratching his head as he read down the paper in his hands. "Nothing seems out of the ordinary there besides—" he glances at Sebastian, then to Jean. "A few adult contraptions scattered around. Did you throw any parties over the summer, son?"

Sebastian pursed his lips together to fight the laughter, but to no avail. His mother dropped her face into her hands, rubbing her forehead. "Of course he did, he was by himself all summer." She spoke, like the PI's question was idiotic given the circumstances. "Is my son in danger?!"

He held a gentle hand out, assuring her to stay calm. "We've got a few leads on these guys already. Actually we have the woman your son was— involved with— in custody already."

Sebastian snapped his head up at him. "Sofia?"

He pulls a photo from his folder, and slides it over to Sebastian. "Sofia Canessa." He states. "We're led to believe she's involved with the guy we're after."

He thought of her. Of Sofia. Of the woman he'd spent his summer away with. The same woman who truly listened to him when he spoke. Who was proud to have him at her side, who was gentle, and kind to him.

"No kidding." Jean says, flailing her arms out frustratedly. "Why else would the Chilean cartel be after my son? He slept with a married woman— and her husband's pissed."

Sebastian put up a finger, shaking his head. "No. No she slept with me." He smiled proudly, amused with himself.

"Mr. Vicuña this is serious." The PI says. "You're dealing with a very dangerous group of people."

He shrugs it off. "So arrest them."

The PI sighs. "We're working on it."

"So... what do we do? Just wait here, sitting ducks?" Gianna asks.

"My advice? Lay low." The PI responds. "Try and keep yourself off of social media, that's the best way for them to track you."

Sebastian barks out a laugh. "Sure, that's easy. Tell that to my personal stalker who leaked this information in the first place."

"She wouldn't have had to leak anything if you just told us the real reason you came back to Manhattan." Jean spoke frustratedly, under her breath.

"We'll keep in touch." The PI says. "For now we've got NYPD posted down in your lobby for twenty four hour surveillance."

Sebastian remained at the table as his Moms led the PI and cop out of their apartment and to the elevator. Tapping his fingertips on the glass table as he awaited for whatever lecture came next.

"I don't think you understand how bad this is, Sebastian." Jean says, walking back in, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

He shrugs, standing up from the table. "They're all talk. I can't be the first guy to go and sleep with this dude's wife. I mean— she throws herself all over the first person to give her a lick of attention."

Gianna watched her wife anxiously, hesitant to speak but wanting to bring some sort of comfort to the conversation.

"Listen. You guys are making a big deal out of nothing. You'll see. She'll run her mouth to the cops and they'll all be locked up before we know it, alright?"

Jean couldn't even look at him.

Sebastian had become so good at putting up this front that even he was beginning to convince himself. But he knew he slept on the couch downstairs last night for no reason other than wanting to keep a watchful eye on the elevator.

And he knew she must be so mortified. He knew what would happen if Sofia were to say anything. But if whatever they had this summer was real, she would confess. If it meant saving him, she would confess.

—

Madeline felt a sort of jittery-excitement that she hadn't felt in a long time. There was something about being with Dillon that felt so pure that it made her wonder if this was how every date was supposed to feel.

They weren't spending her time trying to one-up each other. He wasn't trying to weasel his way into her family's fortune, or score an internship at her father's office. She didn't have to sit there and listen to his Ivy-League college applications, or his investment plans, or how interest rates effect his work, or how his maid forgot to leave a teeny tiny mint on his pillow the night before. Specific comparisons, yes, but all from real experiences. Real first dates.

"So instead of just texting me like a normal person you showed up at my tennis club a week later." Madeline comments, walking alongside Dillon through Central Park. "Why?"

He shrugged, keeping his eyes ahead as the spoke. "Didn't have your number."

"You could've asked Owen." She says.

"Guess I'm just old-fashioned." Dillon responds, glancing down at her.

Madeline meets his gaze, and it felt like there'd been a permanent smile on her lips. She felt so at ease walking with him, like everyone else in the park didn't matter. Their stares, their whispers, and their not-so-subtle attempts at taking photos of her ceased to exist.

Because what were the headlines going to be? Madeline Van der Bilt seen walking with some guy? Let them talk. Let them see her with a guy that her parents hadn't picked for her, someone who wasn't the son of a 'dear friend'.

"But what changed?" Madeline shrugged, brushing her curly hair behind her ear. "I mean— why today?"

He looked at her, unsure as to what she meant.

"I just couldn't stop thinking about you." Dillon responded.

Maybe Madeline had some trust issues. Maybe it was hard for her to believe that sentiment in any world. She stopped walking, thinking for a moment. "Did you see it? Gossip Girl?"

Dillon had taken a step past her before he realized she'd stopped, and he turned back around to look at we, eyebrows stitched together in confusion. "Wh— Gossip Girl?"

She tried to read his expression. But instead she caught herself desperately searching for a flaw, for something to give reason to her sudden unease. But it was all her. It was all her own insecurities. Dillon had no idea what she was talking about, and she felt silly for even thinking a guy like him would know what a stupid gossip account is posting about.

"Never mind." Madeline brushed it off.

Dillon was concerned, but took her shift in energy as a hint to not ask for any further clarification. He took a breath, before walking on again.

It was quiet for a few seconds, the both of them trying to decide on how to revitalize the conversation. Madeline's eyes found the green shrubbery to her left, suddenly acting very enamored with it.

"Have you eaten?" He asks.

Madeline quickly turns and looks at him. "Eaten? No. Have you?"

He shook his head, then gestures to the hot dog stand up ahead. "Should we risk it?"

Madeline squirms. "I've never risked it before."

He looks at her, shocked. "You've never had a Central Park dog?"

She shook her head quickly. "Nope. My mom always said they amount to your carb intake for an entire week, and—" she lets out a small laugh. "I like toast for breakfast, so I pick toast."

He didn't even hesitate. He just walked right up to the stand, ordered two hot dogs, one for her and one for him.

They sat on one of the benches by the Bow Bridge, and Madeline felt suddenly embarrassed by how scared she was of eating a hot dog. How painfully uncool it suddenly just felt to let food rule her life.

"I'm not very hungry." Madeline commented after unwrapping it from the tinfoil.

Dillon let out an exasperated laugh. "You just played tennis for almost five hours straight and haven't eaten." When he saw the pity laugh she got out in response, he was hit with a wave of guilt that this wasn't much of a joke to her. "They're kinda gross anyway, so you're not missing out."

Madeline looked at him, at the bite he'd already taken out of his own, and his poor performance in acting like he that was the truth.

And all of a sudden she felt exactly like what she'd been trying so desperately to forget she was. A stuck-up, sheltered rich girl who hadn't ever stepped out of the class-bubble her parents had raised her in.

She took a bite, and Dillon awaited her reaction.

"Good?" He asked.

She thought about it. "Tastes like preservatives." She hums happily, then laughs, covering her mouth.

Dillon smiles. "You got a good one then. Mines a little suspicious."

"Oh, nasty." She still laughed. Wiping her lips with the napkin in her hand, she leaned back against the bench. "Hm." She hummed. "Where are you from, and how'd you end up here? You told me about your mom, but how's your dad, what's he like?"

"We're interviewing now?" Dillon asks.

She nods happily and unashamed. "Mhm."

He eyes her, nodding along. "Well," he starts thinking for a moment, not sure what to say. "I'm not very close with my dad. Actually, I mean— I haven't talked to him in years."

She takes another bite. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, just— I don't know. It's a long story."

Madeline nods along. "Do you have siblings?"

"Yeah, three older brothers."

"And are you—"

"Close? No. I don't talk to them either." He laughs softly. "I don't really talk to a lot of my family. Not since my mom died. I've kinda just been on my own."

Madeline frowns. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head quickly. "Oh, don't be. I was glad to get away." He says. "And I wouldn't have met Ruby and started the band if I hadn't."

She nods. "Right."

"What about you? What's your family like?" He changes the subject.

Madeline eyes him, wondering if he was acting like he didn't know to be polite or make conversation, or if he was really just that removed from the scene. "Uh— intense." She scoffs.

"Yeah, yeah I could've guessed that." Dillon nods. "Your dad, he's—"

"New York's 12th congressional district's democratic representative Joseph Van der Bilt." Madeline huffs out the sentence, like it was a script she rehearsed every day.

Dillon puts his hands up defensively. "Hey, I voted for him."

Madeline laughs. "You did?"

"Yup." He nods. "And Ruby, Sterling and I went to a few of his rallies."

"Oh, wow." Madeline was impressed. "Major brownie points."

She thought about it. About bringing Dillon home someday, watching him meet her parents, shake her dad's hand. She thought about the way her mom would eye his tattoos, and the way her dad would comment on his ear piercing. The way he'd ask him what he does for work, and Madeline would have to hold her breath as Dillon responded 'I'm in a band'.

Her phone rang, and she moved to grab it from her pocket, Sabrina's picture popping up on the screen.

"It's my friend, give me one sec." Madeline says, moving the hot dog and tin foil off her lap so she could stand.

She took a few steps away before putting the phone to her ear. "Every call I've gotten from anyone today is horrifying, I can't lie." Madeline says, after she answers.

"Nope, no new posts." Sabrina says. "But I'm literally so embarrassed and I really don't want to go to Daphne's thing tonight, the thought of small talk right now is—"

"What thing?" Madeline interrupts her.

"I don't know. She just texted me a few hours ago. Some fancy cocktail party at her place?" Sabrina says. "Are you going?"

Madeline felt heat settle in her cheeks as she scoffs. "Wasn't invited."

"Oooh." Sabrina lets out uncomfortably. "Right. I guess— I mean. Maybe it's a small thing? Maybe she only invited me..." Even Sabrina couldn't even convince herself that was the case.

"I think you should go." Madeline says. "Everyone should. It'll be good to get out."

"Are you sure?" Sabrina questions.

"Totally. Yes."

"Hm. Okay. I'll see you at school then?"

"For sure." Madeline pulled the phone from her ear, the quick and sudden urge to let out the most frustrated-maniacal fit of laughter she could muster just simmering in her tongue. 

Daphne was trying to beat Madeline to the punch. To try and get on the high-ground even though it was her own fault she was knocked down.

It was a constant battle to the top with Daphne, and Madeline was sick of it. She turned around, making her way back over to Dillon. "Are you in the mood for a party tonight?"