Undeniable

“DID you know Jackson’s in town?” Blythe asks, adding pink stripes to the red coat she already applied on my nails. My parents dropped me over at Halcyon for a sleepover a few hours ago, glad for an excuse to have a date night, sex on the kitchen table, or whatever they do when I’m not around. I hold my finger steady as Blythe adds a coat of glitter. I’ve already done hers, with red glossy polish and black half-moons at the tips. We’ll clean all the colorful manicures up and go back to our sheer nail polish before we go to sleep, but it’s the experimentation that counts.

“No.” I reply to her question, trying to keep my fingers from trembling as hope flutters in my chest. It’s been a year since I first saw Jackson, but time has not diminished my reaction to him. Instead, my feelings have grown in intensity, so much that just the mention of his name is enough to start a bittersweet flutter in my chest. Even being in the same room with him is almost unbearable, and yet sweet at the same time.

I’m always happy to come over to Halcyon to hang out with Blythe, and to lose myself in the treasure of books in the library. I love to visit Mrs. Shannon, the cook, in the kitchen or the staff apartments at the end of the garden, where she allows Blythe and me to read her gossip magazines, and watch all the trash TV and reality shows we don’t get to watch usually. But Jackson being around raises a visit to Halcyon from merely enjoyable to downright blissfulness.

“Is he home?” I ask, keeping my face and voice cool, “I didn’t see him when I came in.”

“No, he’s out with Lindsay Gorman,” Blythe replies matter-of-factly, unaware that the thought of Jackson with any other girl, especially one like Lindsay Gorman, with her bouncy blonde curls, perfect figure, perfect cars, and perfect clothes is like torture to me.

I swallow, and concentrate on my nails, until the colors Blythe is applying begin to fade into each other. “Is she his girlfriend?” I hear myself ask, knowing that the answer to my question may likely hurt me, but unable to stop myself.

Blythe shrugs, totally bored with the idea of her sibling’s love life. “Maybe. He hangs out with her a lot,” she says, unknowingly driving a knife through my chest. "But Lindsay’s a first class bitch. Sometimes, I just want to wash all the makeup off her face and watch her melt like the wicked witch of the west.”

I try to laugh, but there’s an acute pain in my chest, so I only manage a weak chuckle.

“Her step-brother though… ” Blythe continues, totally oblivious to my pain, “Carter Felton.” She sighs. “I’m so in love with him, Livvie, he’s just so perfect.”

I listen as she tells me all the reasons why she thinks Carter might like her too, but I’m more concerned with what Jackson is doing. I torture myself with images of him with Lindsay Gorman, with the thought that they wouldn’t just kiss and make out. They are both in college, practically adults, so they’ll probably end their date with sex, and just the thought makes me want to cry.

“I’m going to tell him I like him.” Blythe finishes, looking up at me. “I mean… I’m a modern woman, and I shouldn’t wait around for a guy, right?”

“No, you shouldn’t,” I agree, feeling like a big hypocrite, because I know there’s no way I’ll ever have the guts to tell Jackson how I feel.

I wait for my nails to dry as Blythe goes to the mirror and puts on a newly acquired pair of cosmetic contacts. “How do you like my ‘amber eyes’?" she asks, turning around to face me.

I’m prevented from answering by the sound of a car coming up the drive. “That’s Jackson,” Blythe says excitedly, “I’m going to ask him if he saw Carter.” She starts towards the door. “Come on, Livvie.”

As if I need an invitation. Being around Jackson, hearing his voice, and seeing that smile turned towards me turns me to a trembling, dreaming mess, but I wouldn’t miss those feelings for anything else in the world.

I follow Blythe downstairs, descending th

e majestic curving stairs into the foyer, just as Jackson closes the front door behind him.

I take one look at him, and my stomach drops as it always does. He is breathtaking. As usual, my eagerness to see him quickly gives way to the confusion and uncertainty I always feel when he’s actually around. When he looks at me, his gray eyes seem to draw me in, swallowing me. My feet fail me. My words fail me. Everything fails but my eyes, which I can't take off him.

“Did you go to Lindsay’s house?” Blythe asks him, almost jumping up and down in her eagerness, and causing him to look away from me and turn towards her.

He chuckles. The sound is deep and smooth and perfect to my ears. “No, Blythy,” he replies, with a teasing note in his voice, “I didn’t go to Lindsay’s house, I didn’t see Carter, and he didn’t say anything about you."

She folds her arms. “I wasn’t even asking that,” she protests weakly.

He laughs and leans closer to peer at her face. “…and what happened to your eyes, Mystique?” He turns back to me. “Your eyes are lovely Olivia, no matter what Blythe does to hers, don’t change yours.”

Your eyes are lovely. “I won’t,” I manage, ignoring Blythe as she rolls the fake amber eyes. Jackson is smiling at me, igniting a sweet feeling in my belly.

“Good.” He ruffles Blythe’s hair playfully. “Don’t let this little monster corrupt you.” She ducks away with a complaint, but he ignores her. “So what have you been reading, Olivia? Have you discovered any new treasures in our underutilized library?"

I blush. Ever since he first found me in the library poring over a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets, he’s been teasing me about my obsession with books, even though he reads as much, if not more than I do.

“I’ve read a couple of good ones.” I tell him.

“She’s read almost all the books in there,” Blythe injects. “You guys absolutely deserve each other,” she adds, “Nerds United.”

She means it in a teasing way, and Jackson is chuckling at the comment, but I don’t laugh. The embers of hope in my chest burst into a roaring flame. If even Blythe thinks we have a lot in common, then my feelings are not so hopeless, are they?

We’re still standing there when the door to the study opens, and Aunt Constance comes out into the foyer, her fingers limp around the phone she’s holding. The expression of shock and sadness on her usually serene face is a sure sign that something is wrong.

“Livvie...”