Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Amelia

"Hey, I said I was sorry, didn't I? He sounded genuinely interested in knowing more about you and you know he has that look where you can't say no to him." Bianca says as we walk down the hallway to the cafeteria for lunch. 

Of course I know the look. I've been played by the look already. On the bright side, there wasn't so much cash in my wallet and he couldn't access my credit card without my password, thank God he hadn't asked me yesterday when I was under him and he was on top of me and ...

He's seated at our table, two girls perched beside him, taking pictures and giggling. I should've reported the bastard to Emilio so they'd take his internet access and he'd be left with nothing. Explaining how he'd taken the wallet in the first place is the only reason I hadn't done it. 

It's Emilio's fault for trusting me with Miguel's finances in the first place. 

I hate the smile on his face. I hate that girls are not impervious to it. I hate that I'm not impervious to it. I hate that he's gone from sharing space with me at school and at home to occupying my thoughts. 

The two girls disperse on seeing Bianca and I and we sit across from him, Bianca to her credit managing to pin him with a glare. He raises his hands in mock apology and places the purse in front of me. I don't even bother to check the content, grabbing it from him and looking away. 

"Mia."

I hate that he calls me Mia, like there's something intimate between us. 

"No. I don't want to hear it." 

Bianca stands "I'll go get our food" My eyes trail her as she approaches the counter, knowing that Miguel's eyes are fixed on my face. I squash the urge to shift uncomfortably in my seat.  

"Mia." He tries again and when I look at him, he isn't smiling or smirking or wearing one of those nonchalant or carefree expressions that the entire Evergreen High eats up on a daily basis. I don't care. 

At least half of the cafeteria watch us on a daily basis because of him. I don't care that it's a Friday so he has to sit with us asper his arrangement with Bianca. I don't want to see his face. I can't make a scene though and ruin the beautiful sibling relationship that we've created for the public eye and our parents. 

Amelia Rose Hart and Miguel Angel Sanchez. The nerdy sister and her handsome celebrity brother. 

"I just needed a smoke, that's all." 

"So you did all of that" I don't dare mention what he did because remembering it makes my skin hot for all the wrong reasons "Because you wanted a pack of cigarettes?" 

His voice is harsh "Well, you weren't going to buy it for me. Believe me, I asked Bianca to get it for me and she'd refused to bend, knowing you would be furious. And I'm not exactly going to let the rest of the school know that I can't afford shit. Do you know how it feels to not even be able to buy your own smoke? And you know what dad says? He wants me to get a job. I've been bloody earning money since I was in preschool." Mentally thanking Bianca for not totally giving in to his charms, I raise an eyebrow. 

My voice is harsher "Then you shouldn't have gotten yourself into this mess in the first place."

"Are you judging me?" His voice is deathly calm. The look on my face probably tells him all he needs to know about my opinion of him.  "Of course you are. Anyways, that's all I took from the purse. One of the kids helped me buy the smoke since I can't even leave your sight to do that. See you after school, sis." The last word is meant to be mocking and it is. 

By the time Bianca returns with the food, I've lost my appetite.

****************************

It's my turn to follow Miguel to his room as he silently walks in front of me, not acknowledging that he knows that I'm following him. 

He flings the door open, walks to his bed and drops his bunch of keys and phone on the bed. I realize that he doesn't carry any books to school. How does he write? I don't ask because I'm here to apologize, for what, I'm not sure and talking to him about slacking in school work right now seems like a bad idea. Taking solace in the fact that maybe his fanclub of girls have given him books and pens which are maybe stashed in his locker at school and also making a mental note to get books for him, I watch as he pulls his shirt over his head, backing me and that's when my eyes lock on another tattoo on his left shoulder blade. Of an angel. I suck in a breath. 

You've seen shirtless boys before, Amelia. They're all over the internet. Deep breaths. 

He flexes his back and falls on the bed, his navy jeans riding low on his waist as he lies on his stomach and scrolls through his phone, ignoring me totally. 

The only time Miguel doesn't talk to me or try to get a reaction from me is when we are at the dinner table or in front of our parents and even then, the looks he sends my way are enough. 

Maybe that's why I'm perplexed that he has been giving me the silent treatment since our spat at lunch. To be honest, it's the reason I'm standing here, trying to get his attention when I should be celebrating that I have the peace and quiet that I enjoyed before his appearance in my life. 

"Miguel."

No answer. He shoves his earphones into his ears. 

I walk closer to the bed. 

"Miguel." 

Just walk away, Amelia. Your prayers have been answered. Enjoy it while it lasts.

I move to stand beside his legs. 

"Mi–" He drags me down until I'm lying beside him, my back pressed into the bed by the arm he places over my stomach, his other hand holding his phone as he watches a video absentmindedly.

"Miguel." I squeak.

"Hmmm?" He removes his earphones. 

"Can we talk?"

"About?"

"There's a football game tomorrow night. Do you want to go with me?

Am I possessed? Why am I even offering this?

Remember mum said to be good to him. 

"No."

"Do you want to go?"

"Yes."

"But not with me."

"Not with you. I'm sure I could call one of those girls at school to come pick me up. But we all know how that will turn out once everyone realizes I'm trying to leave the house without my babysitter." He finally looks at me and I forget the sarcastic comeback that is on the tip of my tongue. Chocolate eyes. 

"I'm not your babysitter." I mutter weakly and he drops his phone altogether, his undivided attention on me. I'm beginning to realize that I much prefer the Miguel that teased up a storm to this person that is staring at me. 

"You're not my sister either." He whispers, eyes searching mine intensely and I nod, an involuntary gasp leaving my lips when his arm that is stretched over me moves lower to my exposed stomach where my shirt has ridden up, his hand tracing lazy circles as if there is all the time in the world. As if this is totally normal. My body winds up tighter than a bowstring. 

I close my eyes and try to think of anything. Flying pigs, quantum physics, Albert Einstein. Anything but the fact that I'm completely frozen again under my stepbrother's intent gaze. 

"This isn't appropriate." I manage to say and when I open my eyes, the moment is over.

Shifting away from me almost immediately, he walks away towards the balcony, muttering words in Spanish that are too fast for me to decipher. A heartbeat later, he places a cigarette in his mouth and puffs out smoke. 

My eyes scan his room as I take in deep breaths to steady myself. Like mine, it's spotless. Nothing out of place. 

For someone who has a track record of being reckless, it comes as a surprise.

I don't let myself think about the fact that his walls are painted in the same shade as my hair and walk out to meet him on the balcony. 

I can see the words he'd written on his collarbone. 

They are in Spanish, but thanks to those Sunday classes —a secret I'd begged mum and Emilio to never tell Miguel about because it'd be another thing on his list that he'd use to torment me (we'd claimed it was a book club when he asked at dinner the last Sunday we went)– I can translate easily. 

Know this, you are loved. 

I hate that I'm intrigued. 

"You'll die of lung cancer if you don't stop smoking." I say and he shrugs.

"We'll all die someday." He finishes his cigarette, his gaze moving from the view to me. 

"Why exactly are you here? I don't think you care for our verbal sparring so much." 

"To apologize." 

His eyes widen incredulously like I've grown a second head "Why? You weren't exactly wrong. I am reaping the consequences of my actions."

"True." He raises his eyebrows as if 'Is that an apology' and I clear my throat. 

"What I mean is, I might have judged you too harshly." 

"Go on."

I glare at him. "It's just you didn't exactly have a great reputation before coming and well after that night at the engagement party_" I wince, shutting down the memory  "I guess what I'm trying to say is that when you came to live with us, I was prepared for you to continue to act like that."

"Like what?"

"Wanton." He looks genuinely bewildered, like he hasn't ever heard the word before. "Wanton?"

"You know, undisciplined, unruly, luxurious, reckless, immoral." 

His shoulders are shaking with silent laughter now. "Immoral huh?"

"That's all you got from the entire conversation? Yes, Immoral. I mean, the first night we met, you–"

"Fucked an older woman and you watched. I don't remember you complaining then." My nose flares and my cheeks flush but I refuse to back down. I'm not going to admit in a thousand years that for some twisted reason, I don't dislike exchanging words with Miguel. 

"Well, yes, wanton. So what I'm trying to say is that, because you did all of that, it didn't mean I should've forgotten that you were a person too. I'm in no place to judge you.  And that for what it's worth, you've never lived without money, even though the first thing you thought to buy the first minute you got your hand on money was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter." 

He tilts my chin with his right hand and smiles and my eyes move to where his lip ring glitters, like a moth drawn to a flame. 

"I've always had the lighter. A gift from one of my female friends." My mouth forms an oh when he says the 'friend' sensually. Of course, he's experienced in sex and I'm way out of my league for once in my life. 

He leans close until I can smell the cigarette in his breath and closes his eyes for a moment, before stepping away and putting distance between us, whispering words that he'd said yesterday and every other day since we started our back and forth. 

"Our parents are married." 

My breath catches, my mind registering the words and refusing to read too much into why he keeps saying it. 

"I'll go to the game with you, if we can go to the after-party." 

"I don't do parties, Miguel."

"You do now, Mia." 

I roll my eyes and walked towards the door, stopping to see him staring at me. 

"Next time, if you need to buy something, ask." 

He smiles that sinful smile. 

"Even if it's a pack of condoms?"

I slam the door with enough force to rattle the walls. His laugh is the only thing I hear as I retreat to my room.