Vik (Shot Callers 2)

It was such a defiant, bold response that I couldn’t help the smile that tipped my lips. The reply was purely Vik, brazen and insolent. My smile stretched wider. He was a fighter. Always had been. It was something that was ingrained in his very being.

A memory came out of nowhere, taking me back to the night that changed everything.

Nastasia

Age 17

The music blared, and every time the bass hit, I felt it everywhere. My heart pounded along to the beat, and I closed my eyes, swaying away to the song, feeling light and breezy. Not surprising, as I was six beers in.

Sounds of laughter, singing, and conversation surrounded us. Teens took up space on the sofa, passing along the one blunt they managed to get their hands on. Girls and guys danced too close to each other, alcohol lowering their every inhibition. Girls sat on the laps of their boyfriends with a sweet smile, as if we all couldn’t see hands sliding under skirts and moving in a way that promised pleasure.

And Anika stood by my side, sipping from her red cup, looking miserable.

She looked miserable a lot lately, but every time I brought it up, she would try her best to convince me she was fine. I left it alone, knowing she would tell me when she was ready.

Look, I was not the type to attend high school house parties, but Anika was a cheerleader, so a handful of times a year, I would make an effort to show my friend that I accepted that side of her and do my best to mingle with her preppy friends, even though they secretly made me want to barf.

Talk about shallow waters. The “like” girls was what I called them, because they, like, spoke like this.

It was only 9:00 p.m., and I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last. The only way to get through these parties was to drink enough to get blitzed, and I was already halfway to fucked up. It was easy to tell, because I was actually having fun.

Lucky for me, Anika actually cared about her mind and body, and she never drank more than a single beer, leaving me free to let loose, knowing she would be watching me closely. She was a good friend.

Anika sighed, scanning the room with a pout. “I’m so bored.”

I was before, but now, I was not. Dancing on the spot to a beat only I seemed to hear, I moved my hips slowly, turning to face her. I hated to see her so glum.

I was going to fix that.

The only reason I offered what I did was because I was happily buzzed. “Let’s dance.”

“Really?” Anika’s face lit up. I did not dance at parties. Ever. She, of course, knew better than to give me a moment to think about it. Putting down her drink so fast it spilled, she took my hand. “Let’s go.”

The blatant change in her demeanor made it worth it though. I smiled as she led me to the center of the crowd, and she moved so fluidly to the music that I quietly understood why Anika did what she did. Dance was simply a part of who she was. An extension of her soul.

When we were five, I was making mud pies and secretly sniffing markers. Anika wanted to be a ballerina. She twirled and stretched and begged her mother to learn how to French braid so she could wear the most intricate of ballet buns. She stood on the tips of her toes, and even at that age, she was committed.

Meanwhile, I had no commitments to anything.

I went to almost every performance of hers, and Anika was amazing. She had the ability to make you feel things with her effortless movement.

I never understood why she quit.

But she always did some type of dance. She moved on to jazz, then contemporary, and when her school workload started to rise, she settled for cheerleading. It wasn’t dance exactly, but she enjoyed it, and that was all that mattered.

Anika’s friends joined us on the dance floor, and I was shocked to find that I actually didn’t mind their company. When the song ended, we retreated back to our corner with the girls in tow.

A brunette with a huge smile who seemed to bounce on the spot when she talked, Carla Martinez, gasped, gripping my arm tight enough to sting. “Oh my God. He’s here.”

Yo. I frowned, gently pulling her vice-like grip off of me. Hands off the merchandise, lady.

The cute blonde standing next to Anika peered over my head to see behind me, then smirked. Faith Lewis made a show, raising a single brow. “Like, I think you know him, Nastasia.”

My heart stuttered, and I spun around quickly, any appearance of cool officially gone.

Oh.

My stomach sank in disappointment. It wasn’t the person I wanted it to be, but when he jerked his chin in my direction, a slow smile tugged at my lips, and I lifted my hand in a demure greeting.