Castles On The Sand Part 11

In his arms, with his mouth pressed hungrily to my skin, I start to believe I'm beautiful, that my body is desirable. The thought of letting go with him is both terrifying and fascinating. I sense how he reacts to me running my hands over his back and he really wants to take his s.h.i.+rt off so that I touch his skin. I've got a power here that I never knew I had.

I shut my eyes and just let myself be in this moment. School, Mom, my brother, all my stress dissolves under JP's touch. I forget that my face is black and blue.

We don't use the condoms tonight, but at the rate things go, it's just a matter of time. Even after we cool down from kissing, he lays next to me and runs his hands over me, fitting them to my curves.

"You've got such a great body," he tells me.

"I'm kinda fat."

"You're not that bad, really."

I know I should argue, but I don't. We share a smile instead, and after he leaves, I feel both better and worse. He does like me, I think to myself. He does think I'm pretty. Underneath all that, though, is the creeping sense that he's using me. Stopping by because I make him feel good about himself.

The following day, there's another email from John.

Hi Madison, Okay, took me a while to get pictures, but now I have them. Like I said, you've got three brothers, me, and then Lance and Logan are identical twins who just turned twenty-three. Lance is married to a woman named Cynthia whom I don't know very well yet. They got married while I was on my mission. Logan is a senior at UVU, where he's getting a teaching degree.

As for our dad, I don't have any pictures of him handy. I know this is awful of me, but we do not get along. I need to forgive him, and I'm working on that. I don't understand why he could let you go and would never help me look for you. If things didn't work out with him and Mom, fine, they're adults, but I never understood how he could know you were out there and not want to know how you are. Even if you weren't his, that wouldn't be your fault. I didn't even go see him when I got home from my mission. I haven't told him I found you.

I'm working for a cellphone company for the rest of this year and I'll start again at BYU in the fall. I'm not sure what major I want to have. I'm really into psych but I also love fine art. I'm a photographer and a sculptor. Mom's genes, I guess. Psych is probably the more sensible major.

And that's the family. Anything else you want to know, just ask.

Love always, John Attached is a picture of a guy with white blond hair, like mine, holding a pretty redhead in his arms. Her engagement ring is on prominent display, so my guess is that this picture went with a wedding invitation. They both look so young.

The other picture is of the same guy, only upon closer examination I realize it is not the same guy. This guy's got a mole on his left temple, rather than his right, and he's a little bit heavier. Given he isn't pictured with a woman, I a.s.sume this one's Logan.

They both look a lot like me. Same coloring. It's so weird.

"Are men sending you pictures now?" says Siraj.

My face flushes with shame. "These are more brothers," I say, defensively.

"Ah. All right. I'll stop teasing you. Listen, I may be a few minutes late to work on Sat.u.r.day, so can you handle things here if I am?"

"Yeah, I think I can prevent any raves or drunken orgies."

"Really? They have those in American high schools? Your life is exciting."

"I guess so."

I can sense he knows something's not quite right because he peers at me over his gla.s.ses. "Your nose is healing up very nice. The bruise is fading."

"Still sore."

"I would imagine so, yes. No more cage fighting for you. That is what I've been telling people. It makes me rebellious by a.s.sociation. They say, 'Do you have a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey?' and I say, 'She's a cage fighter, you know. You should have seen the other guy.'"

"I'll have to remember that one."

"Did your brother do something to upset you? In that email or yesterday?"

"He's fine."

"All right. I won't pry, then."

I turn back to the computer and click open the reply box to his email.

Dear John, Thanks for the pictures. I really appreciate it. Hope you had a safe trip home.

Madison Five minutes later there's a reply.

Hi Madison, Any time, and if you ever need anything, let me know. I'll try to find some more pictures of our grandparents and people like that. Can you send me a picture of you? I'm still trying to think of the best way to break this to Lance and Logan. We talk, but they're way closer to Dad than I am, so we don't talk often. It feels wrong to hide you, so I'm still figuring all that out. When I do tell them, I want them to be able to see your beautiful face.

Love you, John John, You really don't need to do the flattery stuff, okay? Here's a link to my Picasa alb.u.m of pics from a camping trip I went on with my friend Kailie and some of her cousins.

Madison Hi Madison, It's not flattery. It's the truth. You're gorgeous, and now I have the pictures to prove it.

Love, John I click open a chat window.

Madison: Just stop it, okay.

John: Stop what?

Madison: All the stupid stuff about me being beautiful. I'm tired of it.

John: I didn't mean to offend you. What's wrong with me saying you're pretty?

Madison: It's a lie.

John: It is not a lie. Why would you say that?

Madison: I'm fat. I'm pasty.

John: You are not fat, and you're pale, not pasty. Fair skin, blue eyes, flawless complexion. You're stunning.

Madison: STOP IT, okay?

John: Whoa. What's wrong, Sis?

Madison: I'm tired of guys just saying what they think I want to hear.

John: Look, I may not be the most intuitive person, but I can tell this is not what you want to hear. It clearly makes you mad. I'm still going to say it because it is the actual truth.

Madison: Would you tell me if I was ugly?

John: I would never call my own sister ugly, but I wouldn't lie to you. Listen, you want to call me later? Clearly I've upset you.

Madison: I don't know.

John: Up to you, but you've got my number.

"Dare I ask," says Siraj, "what has you pounding the keyboard so hard?"

"Would you ever tell your sister if she was ugly?"

He blinks a few times. "Two of my littlest sisters have Down's Syndrome. I helped take care of them because our mother died when they were just babies. Other people don't see how beautiful they are. They got teased a lot."

"But did you tell them they're beautiful?"

"They are beautiful. I don't care what anyone else says. They are."

"Would you send them to an audition to become supermodels?"

"That's entirely beside the point."

And I sense, from his quiet, determined tone, that for him it really is beside the point. "Sorry to get all personal, there," I say.

"It's quite all right."

Madison: Okay, fine. I guess it's just a brother thing.

John: We brothers see the truth so much more clearly than anyone else.

Madison: Right. Anyway. I have work.

John: Okay. Talk to you later. Love you.

I stare at those words for a minute.

Madison: Bye.

John: Bye!

Monday morning, when Kailie and I step onto campus, Carson beckons me over to where he stands, by the MAV.

"Something going on with Carson?" asks Kailie.

"I don't know. I mean... he said he's interested in me and-"

"You are such a liar." She turns on her heel and stalks away in the direction of the school.

I look after her, puzzled, and Carson waves to me in my peripheral vision once again. Since I'm not a big fan of being summoned, I let myself scowl as I head over to him. "Yeah?"

The rest of the Mormon herd is still piling out of the MAV through the sliding door, which is on the far side. I hear five sets of shoes. .h.i.t the pavement, and the door slide shut.

"Just wanted to see how you were."

"And now you've seen."

"Listen, rumor has it you're back with Jean-Pierre."

"Well, I don't listen to rumors."

"I hope it's not true."

"Thanks for the advice."

"Promise me something? That the next guy who kisses you will be your boyfriend? He'll acknowledge you in public?"

"Yeah, sure, I promise." Anything, I think, to end this conversation. Why is he back to bossing me around?

"Why do you have to be so short with me?"

"You are still telling me what to do."

"Well, I didn't mean it that way. Give me a chance. Take a break from the selfish, cruel people you surround yourself with all the time and go out with me. One date."

"Insulting my friends isn't the way to get on my good side."

"Okay, well I didn't mean it that way either."

But I've had enough. I turn away, head across the parking lot, and step between two large utility vans that are parked right in front of the school. Someone taps me on the shoulder, and when I turn, whoever it is plants his mouth on mine.

A million thoughts flit through my mind as this mystery person kisses me. It's not a pa.s.sionate kiss; it's an obnoxious one, the person sucking on my mouth in a really annoying way. I squirm and the person lets me go.

I blink and find myself face to face with Alex.

He smirks, as if to say, "Well, it was worth a try." And turns to leave.

But my temper flares and I grab his arm. "What was that?"

No response, just the usual stare.

"You don't do that, jerk. I don't care how hot you are, you are not hot enough to get away with a.s.saulting people." I wonder if it counts as a.s.sault, though. I don't know the legal definition, but I bet he does, which means I'm insane to grab his arm and yell at him.

He looks down at me, pulls his arm out of my grasp, and then glances around, though there isn't much to see besides the blank white sides of the vans we stand between. What's odd is how vulnerable he seems now, even though he's six feet tall at least, and all corded muscle. He shrugs again, as if this is supposed to explain why he planted one on me.

And then it clicks. "That whole promise to Carson, the next guy who kisses me is gonna be my boyfriend? Dream on. Sneak attacks so don't count."

"What if you sneak attack me?"

Really, I think, it's better when he's silent. I unzip my backpack, pull out his jacket, and try to shove it at him, only to discover that he has rock hard abs. I'd thought that was just a saying. It's like punching a brick wall and I wince in pain.

He, however, stares down at his jacket as if I just handed him a brick of gold.

"Why are you even in school today?" I ask. "Why aren't you in jail?"

A sullen glare is the only reply to that one.