Chapter Seven: Elks Were the Wimpier Version of Moose

      “Ross!” the distant yelling found its way into my ears. “Olivia, get up!” the same voice called again. I was slowly beginning to stir from the state of slumber I had previously been set in, my mind a blank slate. All I knew was that—regardless of the hour—I didn’t want to be awake. I wanted to keep sleeping. Whoever invented the addictive sensation should’ve been sent to jail for life for creating such a marvelous oblivion. Sleep was wonderful.

      Slowly, I allowed myself to begin sensing the scene around. The side of my body was pressed against a fluffy surface that would be the perfect landing pad if one were to jump from a skyscraper. My head, at the same turned angle as my being, was rested on an even comfier plane, but at a slightly raised height. Layers of softness were positioned on top of me, and my temperature was neither too hot, nor too cold. If I could have stayed like this forever, I would have. It was wonderful.

      “Livy!” the nagging tone screamed again. Well, the individual probably wasn’t actually yelling, but in my dazed cognizance, it was all perceived the same way.

      “What?” I groaned, my words muffled by the lack of movement that my mouth produced.

      “It’s two in the friggin’ afternoon,” stated the now registered sleep-offender as if I had needed to be granted with the useless information.

      “So what?” I managed to grunt out.

      “You can’t sleep the entire day, you know that, right?”

      “I can do whatever the hell I want!” I proclaimed firmly, my senses slowly but surely being awoken. Whoever had invaded my room was about to feel the channeled wrath that came along with waking up Olivia Ross. It didn’t matter the relevance that the person held my life—no, they could range from being my dad to Preston and I would still treat them the same way. They were about to face hell.

      “Sure you can,” the soul I had established to be of the male (and inferior) gender in my mind laughed sarcastically.

      “Leave!” I demanded with an unintimidating yawn.

      “No,” they defied. And then I felt my freaking bed dip down with practically five tons of weight. The idiot had the freaking nerve to get onto my bed. If it was Preston, his balls were about to meet my knee. What type of asshole did something like that? Jerk.

      “Get. Out. Of. My. Freaking. Bed. Now!” I stressed out every essential syllable (and the unrequired ones, too).

      “I don’t think I will, Ross,” a laugh seeped from their mouth. All the puzzle pieces then finally clicked in place, jolting me right up. If figuring out that the human lying down on your bed next to you wasn’t your best friend of sixteen and a half years, but rather a creature new to your immediate world wasn’t enough to get you out of bed, I didn’t know what was.

      “Luke, what the hell are you doing here?” I practically shouted. “How the hell did you get in here?”

      There he was. Luke Daniels. Lying lazily on my bed as if it was a fine thing to do. He was clad in navy jeans with rips by the knees and an even darker T-shirt that was just tight enough to give off the illusion of his torso being relatively toned. Unlike the various other times that I had seen him, his leather jacket was without him. Lacking the article that derived from the skin of a now lifeless animal, it gave the boy a slightly less daunting façade. He appeared more like a normal teen than the poser he was, just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Oh, and his black Converse—a fashion statement that still confused the hell out of me.

      “I snuck in,” Luke replied evenly. Not believing him, I remained silent, waiting for him to reveal the truth. “Okay, fine,” he said once he had presumed that I wasn’t buying his claim, “after opening the door for me and saying that he wouldn’t judge me until after we robbed a bank together, your dad let me in, and warned me that you were sleeping.”

      “My dad let you in?” I gaped. “My dad?”

      “Tall guy with brown hair, brown eyes, and a sweater?” I nodded slowly, the vague description sounding enough like Nick to me. “Yeah, you’re dad. Nice dude.”

      “Once I’m done killing you, he’ll be the next one on my list of people to murder,” I muttered sourly, as I made a dumb movement, causing me to glimpse at myself in a mirror. Bad move. I was caught in the hideous trance that was my morning appearance. Well, more like early afternoon appearance, but it was fundamentally the same thing.

      My hair was tied up in a messily loose ponytail from the night before, my eyes possessed bags bigger than those obtained by Kara and Piper Kent after spending a mere hour in a store, and the rest of my face pretty much looked as dead as a zombie. The previous night, I had put on one of Preston’s old jersey’s that said “KENT” on the back, and was probably still drenched in molecules of perspiration, no matter how many times I had sterilized it. He gave to me as a birthday present one year, claiming that it would be worth good money on eBay in a few years. When he wanted to be, he could really be narcissistic. I was wearing a pair of black sweatpants that had our school logo and name printed in a vertical direction, which was odd, considering how much I detested the place. I had gotten them on one of the times that I broke dress code (and got caught) last year or something.

      Basically, if one were to violate the set attire guidelines governed by the institution, you were sent to the nurses office and forced to wear a pair of the school’s crappy sweats and a T-shirt made for a sumo wrestler. Personally, I thought the only dumb part about the outfit was the school label printed in large bold letters of gold and navy (boring school colors, I was fully aware), and the emblem: a freaking elk. One may have thought that having such an obscure mammal as the elk to represent your school was beyond epic, but those who thought that way would sadly be mistaken. Elks were the wimpier version of moose, pretty much. Anyhow, to me, breaking dress code and being “punished” to wear pajamas all day around school (it was a shame thing, so others would know that you had desecrated the “laws”) didn’t exactly seem like a severe retribution. Maybe that was just me, though.

      “No matter how good of a reason you have, murder is never acceptable. Also, it’s very hard to get away with. The cops always end up catching you,” Luke added more unneeded knowledge to my basket of unnecessary wisdom I had accumulated from him thus far.

      “Thank you for that Hallmark life lesson,” I snorted, walking over to my dresser, and grabbing my brush. Though I didn’t particularly care how Luke perceived my exterior, I partially did, and my hair just felt gross, leading me to the brilliant conclusion that combing it would be in my best interests.

      “You’re welcome,” he grinned, watching as I took the black elastic out of my hair and began to run the hair utensil through it.

      “Can you stop looking at me?” I grumbled.

      “No,” he said the word like a defiant four year old who had just learned that challenging his parents was a feasible act.

      “Why are you even here?” the most obvious question of them all decided to pop out.

      “I’m guessing that the hot twin doesn’t play lacrosse?” Luke chose to ask instead, after reading the name on my shirt.

      “No, he does,” I assured him with a smirk.

      “I meant the chick,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

      “Piper?” I laughed, already knowing that she was to whom he had been referring. “Nah. She’s what they call ‘athletically inept.’”

      “Her face and body make up for it,” he mumbled. I merely nodded, not disagreeing, for it was true. Though Piper wasn’t a born Olympian like her brother, she still managed to inherit a nice figure and facial mien. Well, more than nice. Like her brother, she was practically a model.

      I set down my brush, the state my unkempt hair was in slightly more satisfactory, and then walked over to the now open entry, when a voice stopped me. “Where are you going?”

      Instead of choosing to answer, I simply shrugged, exiting my room with the echoing sound of heavy footsteps following behind me. My bare feet collided with the plush rug of muted primary colors—the design weaved in an ornamental one that gave off the ambiance of old, when, in reality, the house and instillations in it were relatively modern. I stumbled through the dimly lit hallway, not daring to peer over at any of the awkward family pictures that lined the walls.

      In my childhood, Elle had gone through a phase where every few months she would force my dad and me to take professional pictures with her in which we dressed in coordinating outfits and tried to appear to be the “perfect” family. Me being me, I always managed to somehow ruin the photograph. One year, every time the flash of the camera went off, I blinked, and simply couldn’t keep both eyes open, resulting in a winking seven year old Olivia Ross. Another time, Elle had insisted that putting my hair in pigtails was the way to go. By the time we got to the location we were taking the portrait at, both sects of hair had fallen out and frizzed due to my compulsive trifling. Along with eluding my two front teeth, getting a chocolate stain in the center of my white shirt, pimples, denying to smile, and insisting that my stuffed animal partake in the familial affair, there were many, many more other examples of how to screw up a Ross Family Picture, Olivia style.

      “I like this picture,” Luke said from behind me, his feet stopping about a yard away from me.

      Quickly swiveling around, my eyes narrowed at the sight to which Luke had been denoting. It was one of the awful portraits trimmed with a gold frame, like all the others. This one, however, was the last one we took before I discovered that refusal was a viable option. I was about twelve or thirteen at the time that it had been taken, and it was one of the most horrifyingly humorous of them all.

      All three of us were wearing the same combo of a pink button down, and white pants. Even Nick. It was taken in the spring and we had gone to this park where the lawns were extra green, and ended up getting grass marks all over our white bottoms. I was photographed laughing uncontrollably at the situation, while Elle had her lips in the rigid grimness of a line to which I was so accustomed. Nick looked to retain about as much interest in the activity as a monkey would attending a vote in congress. Actually, a monkey probably would’ve had a lot of fun with all the politicians, for they possessed quite a few of the same characteristics, but, basically, Nick was bored out of his mind.

      “So do,” I agreed with Luke after a while of silently staring at it, the memory hitting me like a dodge ball to the head.

      “I especially like you’re braces. They really bring out your eyes,” he said with a smirk.

      Not even distinguishing his sarcastic jibe at my orthodontic gear with a reply, I continued on my way, down the carpeted corridor. When I came to the break in the hall—there was another windowless tunnel on the other side but a set of stairs divided the two—I immediately jogged down the stairs even in my hazy condition. I could hear Luke not far behind, his strides lacking all fluidity—not that mine possessed any.

      I reached the bottom of the slightly winding staircase that shared the same flooring as the hallway, unconsciously running my hand along the wooden banister as I had done so many times before. Hopping down from the last step, I met a new, colder ground of tree trunk slices. When I progressed onto the main—and most important—level of the house, there was only one objective on my mind: food.

      When my stomach wanted to be, it could grow to be rather hungry and vocal about its emptiness. In those times, I felt as though I could eat a dinosaur and it still wouldn’t be enough to fill the cavity of nourishment. And other times, like this past Thursday at lunch with Luke, the twins, and one of the twin’s weekly companions, I wasn’t driven to consume. There wasn’t anything particularly good or bad about either situation, for they both truly depended not solely on my organ’s wants, but also on my emotional stability and overall mentality. If I was overly agitated or forlorn, there was no way that eating was even an option. Composed or content, however, brought out my inner competitive food eater.

      Currently, I was about ready to enter a hot dog eating contest, only not for hot dogs, but rather bananas. I had a craving for the yellow fruit of an odd shape that wouldn’t disappear until it was quenched by the produce itself. I needed to eat one now. Or fifty-two of them.

      I came into the kitchen, and Nick was at the island in the middle, tapping away at his phone. Upon hearing my entrance, he glanced up, giving me a light smile, and then his eyes traveled over to Luke. I wasn’t entirely sure of what my dad thought of Luke. I didn’t really care, but I was curious to see how he would interact and react to someone other than Piper or Preston.

      “I see the savage animal has finally woken up,” Nick commented with a laugh. “Glad you finally decided to get out of bed, Livy.”

      “It wasn’t my choice,” I grumbled, shooting a scowl in Luke’s direction. I stalked over to the far counter in the corner, my target in sight. The grouping of yellow crescents was just sitting there, unaware of their cruel fate to come. In a swift motion, I broke one off of the cluster, turning back to face the other two human’s in the room as I began to peel the skin off.

      “Oh?” One of Nick’s eyebrows rose.

      “I woke her up,” Luke piped up less than helpfully.

      “Did you now?” my dad’s voice was saturated in amusement. “And how did that work out for you?”

      “She’s up, isn’t she?” Luke pointed out.

      “Touché,” my dad laughed, putting down his phone as he continued to stare at Luke, still probably trying to assess a firm first impression of him. “So, what do I need to know about you, son?”

      “My name’s Luke Daniels, I go to the same school as Olivia, I’m a senior, I ride a motorcycle, and I’m failing virtually every class except for math and science,” Luke summed up the main aspects of his persona in a single sentence. I hadn’t known of his academic whereabouts, and was surprised to find that he a science-y kid.

      “Ah, so you’re yet another victim of THE Academy, huh?” Nick decided to throw in the ironic name of our less than beloved institute for getting “educated.”

      The name of our school was officially “Theodore Hendricks Elks Academy.” Theodore (or Teddy, as I so fondly referred to the late founder) Hendricks Elks was a philanthropist who had a shit load of money back in his day. In the twenties, he decided to found a private school in Boston. That private school happened to be the one that I unfortunately attended. Since his last name was Elks or whatever, it then became the reasoning behind our sorry excuse for a mascot. The physical school had moved a few times, and the current building we were in was a relatively new one.

      Anyways, his initials amounted to the wonderful article that was “THE.” Thus, the cherished nickname for the institution was “THE Academy.” How elite as crap did that sound? Any time someone asked what school I went to, the answer was always, “THE Academy.” When further asked, “Which academy?” The customary response was, “THE.” Basically, when you told someone that you went to THE Academy, their initial notion of you was that you happened to be this stuck up snotty kid with parents richer than Bill Gates who jetted off to Switzerland every weekend to go skiing. With most students, that was a fairly accurate evaluation. Then there was me.

      I had the parents with money and probably the ability—if I wanted to—to go to the Alps every once and a while. What I didn’t possess was a snobby mien. I wasn’t a snooty person, and, well, was me. The girls who went to THE Academy were more along the lines of Piper’s breed of individuals. They had a certain sense of style that was classical, at times borderline preppy, and expensive, in addition to the aptitude to shop until they physically dropped due to the ache that their stilettos brought to them. Their attitudes usually ranged from supercilious to bitchy. I had been blessed to escape the cookie cutter mold that these girls had evolved from. I was Olivia Ross: Resident “Weird” Girl.

      “I suppose you could say that,” Luke slowly responded to my dad, running a hand through his dark curls that were tousled about his head as if he didn’t had a care in the world. “I feel like victim is too severe of a term, sir. More like privileged casualty of an excellent education.”

      “I like him,” Nick proclaimed, but then quickly added, “so far.”

      “Not that I care,” I said, taking a bite of my banana so that my words were slightly smothered, “but where’s Elle?”

      “Working,” my father said instantly. Of course she was… “There’s this high-profile murder case that she was brought in specifically for, because she knew the deceased’s family really well.”

      “She doesn’t do murder cases,” I blinked, “I thought that she just sits around in an office all day and signs papers having to do with mergers and capitalism?”

      “Normally, yes, she works as a corporate lawyer, but, as I said before, she and the victim’s family were really close,” he said solemnly, as if he too had some connection to her clients.

      “Do I know them?”

      “No,” Nick shook his head, “they’re much before your time. A different story in the series of your mother and I’s life, I suppose.”

      “Oh,” I said simply, continuing to munch on my food.

      “So,” my dad turned to Luke, who had been abnormally quiet as he absorbed our conversation, “why exactly are you here?”

      “With your permission, I plan on taking Olivia on an outing, sir,” Luke answered politely.

      “Well, you certainly have my consent,” Nick sanctioned, glancing longingly over to his brick of communication that was lying lifelessly on the marble countertop.

      “What about my authorization?” I demanded.

      “Sorry, Liv, you don’t really have a say in this,” Nick apologized sarcastically, succumbing to his urges and picking his phone back up.

      “And why not?” I intersected my arms over my chest as I finished off my overly late form of breakfast that now could qualify to be either a tardy lunch or an early snack preceding dinner.

      “Because you chose to sleep until the ungodly hour of two—and probably would’ve kept sleeping the day away, if it wasn’t for Luke, here—which was really unfair because I woke up at seven and couldn’t go back to sleep! Oh, and because I said so. That’s why,” the man explained, not looking up as he began to happily type about on his treasured device.

      “You’d make a crappy lawyer,” I expressed.

      “That’s why I went to med school,” he laughed. “So, where are you two headed?”

      “Out,” Luke responded ambiguously.

      “I take it you’re keeping it a surprise from my insufferable little girl?” Nick analyzed.

      “Yes, sir,” Luke nodded, as I merely rolled my eyes at his courtesy. It was complete bullshit.

      “I finished my banana. If you don’t tell me where we’re going or leave the house with me in the next thirty seconds, I will refuse to go,” I articulated my terms, dropping the yellow casing into an open garbage bin.

      “You’re going to go out like that?” Luke questioned in distaste, gesturing to my less than chic wardrobe choice.

      “Yes,” I affirmed, “do you have an issue with that?”

      “Me? Hell, no!” he shook his head. “Going out in public with girls who look like they just escaped a mental hospital is just another regular day for me!”

      “I’m sure it is,” I muttered. “Bye, Nick.”

      “Bye, Livy!” he called, not looking up from his very important means of messaging. “It was nice meeting you, Luke.”

      “You too, Mr. Ross,” Luke said, as I began to trudge my way out of the room meant to prepare meals.

      “Nick,” my dad corrected, “call me Nick.”

      “Okay, sir,” I heard Luke say, as I came back over to where the staircase was. Directly across from the steps was the front door, and main escape from the human habitat.

      I walked over to the door, and then pulled on a pair of old Converse next to it, not bothering with socks, for I suffered a rigorous case of lethargy (which was just a fancy way of saying that I was L.A.Z.Y). After loosely tying my shoes so that I wouldn’t trip, I twisted the handle of the door open. I then saw Luke appear, and grab a leather jacket—that held a great resemblance to his—off a coat hanger. So that was where it was… Within seconds, I had exited the house, not even bothering to put on a jacket of my own, which, in hindsight, was probably not the most intelligent of my ideas. When my exposed skin hit the windy air of late autumn, I knew that I was in deep shit.

      Suddenly, Luke popped up right beside me, walking at my delayed pace, as I made my way down the slightly curved pathway that led to the expanse of blackness known as the driveway.

      “So, where are we going?” I inquired, as a set of bumps decided to capture my arms, telling the world of my chilled state.

      “Don’t you like surprises?” Luke snorted back.

      “No,” I paused, “I don’t.”

      “Well, I’m not going to tell you,” he proclaimed as we reached his now stationary motorized vehicle with only two wheels. He hopped on the motorcycle, kicking up the stand that was supporting it, so that his legs balanced it.

      “If you don’t tell me, then I’m not getting on that thing,” I threatened.

      And then, with as much abstraction as I had used in telling him on Thursday where we were ditching school to go to, he paralleled my words in finality: “To eat ice cream.”