The Other Brother

Chapter One- Six Years Ago


ALLEGRA

Everybody has a story. Isn’t that what that old song says? A story that could break your heart.

I don’t know how interesting my story is—at least, to someone who isn’t me. But the heartbreak?

Oh, yeah. I have that in spades. And as always, the pain starts with Seth.

It’s morning—early morning, way too early for any normal human to be awake. Okay. Or maybe it’s a little bit before noon. The sun shines through the wide panes of my window, blinding me as I squint and try to open my eyes. Rolling over onto my side, I pull the fluffy blanket up over my head.

It’s going to take a natural disaster of epic proportions to get my ass out of this bed. I mutter a quick prayer to whoever’s up there as thanks that it’s not a school day. Not that I’d be the only one walking the halls of Beachside High with the mother of all hangovers, but sharing in the misery wouldn’t make me feel any better.

The vein in my head pulses with repressed pain and my mouth tastes like death. I was at a party last night. I don’t normally drink—I don’t like the loss of control. But despite two shots of tequila, I remember exactly why I wound up drinking.

Seth. My normally inscrutable stepbrother Seth, the guy who never pays me any attention at all.

He’d been there, watching me with those wraithlike grey eyes of his. And I’d wanted to hold his attention. So I’d done two shots of cheap tequila, licking the alcohol from my lips as I stared into his eyes.

And then he’d gone back to the party.

Asshole. Why do I even care? He hasn’t paid a whit of attention to me since he moved in, and he likely never will. My life is just fine that way. So why the hell do I care?

Groaning, I flop to my back, my sweaty sheets tangling around my legs. A buzzing from beneath my pillow alerts me to a text. Snaking my hand beneath the soft cushion, I grab the device and bring it up in front of my face.

Camilla: Did u hear about Ashley?

Me: Ashley... is she the Kristen Stewart with dreads?

Camilla: Have I told u lately how weird it is that u do that?

Me: Whatever, Hannah Montana. Now spill.

Camilla: I look nothing like Miley Cyrus.

Me: U do, in fact. And that’s your celebrity lookalike. No changesies. Now spit it out.



Camilla: Ashley hooked up with Seth @ the party last night.

Whaaatttt?

Emotion roaring through my veins, I sit up ramrod straight. I’m completely awake now.

Me: Are you fucking with me?

Camilla: Nope. She told me aaaaaaaaaaaaalllll about it. In great detail. Like... I now know the size of your stephunk’s cock. AKA huge.



I pause for a moment, contemplating that.





Me: Gross.

Camilla: Mmmm, not so gross. Lol. Maybe I should have gone for him instead of Tristan.



Feeling more than a bit sick to my stomach, I set my phone down back on the table, a little bit harder than is probably necessary. I don’t want to text about this anymore. I don’t even want to think about it.

She told me aaaaaaaaaaaaalllll about it.

Yeah, that I don’t doubt. Camilla and I are best friends, but we couldn’t be more different. She’s a party girl, and her reputation around the school is as... well, as a slut. I don’t think of her that way though—she likes sex, and she has as much of it as she wants. Just like most guys I know. But because she’s a girl, she gets labeled.

My point is... she has friends that I don’t share, friends like Ashley the Zoe Kravitz lookalike, who party together and hook up with whoever they want. So if Camilla says that Ashley hooked up with Seth...

Well, then my stepbrother most likely fucked Camilla’s friend Ashley last night. And if I let Camilla know I’d rather she just didn’t tell me shit like that, she’ll want to know why, and my secret will be out.

Not that it’s a secret, really. It’s not even a fully formed thing. That’s why the fact that I’m angry is ridiculous. What should it matter who my stepbrother does? It’s no business of mine. He’s made that perfectly clear over the past few months he’s been living here.

My dad married Seth’s mom Dinah a few years ago. Seth wasn’t at the wedding, so my brother Theo and I never got to meet him. No, that little meet and greet happened when he showed up on our doorstep a few months ago, after Seth’s dad remarried and Seth was kicked out of the house—I guess the new wifey had three little kids, and didn’t much like having a teen with anger management issues around them. So he packed one bag that had really seen better days and took the bus from Boston all the way down to Galveston.

I can’t even imagine the culture shock he must have gone through, from a big city to an island where people identify themselves one of two ways—BOI, or born on the island, or IBC, islander by choice.