Trespassing

Trip's POV

My head was buzzing even before I forced my eyelids apart. It was mixed with a heightened fuzziness making me wish I could sleep for ten years—no interruptions. I shifted around, my face rubbed on leather. The headache got worse as my eyes squinted—fuck. What had I done last—oh yeah, I got high. The extremely relaxed feeling in my muscles made sense now.

"Ah…" I slurred peeking at the floor. Turned out my head wasn't buzzing, my phone was—that stopped when I hit the buttons. "Shit," I jumped nearly falling off the couch—couch? Why was I sleeping on my couch?

After a jacket smacked my head I hastened to pull it off—eyes delivering a sharp glare to where it had been thrown from.

"Keep it down, Thomas... some of us are trying to sleep." Gabe's alabaster head fell among my silk, rumpled sheets—there was a lump on the other side, beside him.

"Some of us…?" I whispered rubbing my sore neck.

Gabriel pushed the white sheet so I could see his face, his eyes half-open. At least the drug effect had worn off, they weren't red around the edges.

"Yes…" He hissed. "Me and…" Gabriel twisted his neck to stare at the person—girl—under the covers. "The smoking hot brunette who looks a lot like Sharon—"

"It is me—God you're such a jerk…" I knew that voice just as well as I knew Gabe's. It was Sharon; Gabe knew her longer than I did; I met her back in middle school. I didn't have a bad thing to say about her, she was a great girl. Her and Gabe were Siamese-twins—which sounded weird, considering they hooked up every once in a while. "What time is it?" her dark hair fell above her shoulders; Gabe pushed sheets so she could cover up.

"You had sex in my bed… I sleep there, man." By my groggy attitude I was still out of it. I needed to wash my face.

"So…? It's not like you don't have sex in it—ah, my head is exploding…"

Sharon kept my used up sheets around her torso, her hand patted Gabe's wide shoulder.

"It's not so great when it wears off, is it?" she chuckled as he shifted onto his back, gazing up at her. "Trip, hours?" she requested shoving her medium sized hair behind her ears giving me a nice look at her oval face.

My hand dove for the phone—my eyes grew into saucers.

"It's ten AM!"

"Not so loud, we've talked 'bout this…!" I threw my jacket at Gabriel. "Dude—what is your problem?"

"I'm three hours late for school." My tousled hair fell forward when I leaned down trying to grab my Converse—only to learn I was still wearing them, I was all dressed. "You're laughing?" I scowled—damn the fucking headache. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because…" Gabe's chuckles were cut off by a wince. Serves him right for laughing. "You don't remember last night?"

I took a breather—I was already late, and my phone was packed with texts, I'd see to them in a minute, after a cold shower…? My fingers ravaged through my hair as I closed my lids. Last night, last night… I thought hard, too hard and came up with blanks.

"No…" I looked to Sharon who had her bra on and was about to slip her expansive dress on. "How did you end up here?"

Sharon's eyes twinkled with amusement, "Gabe called me for the private party."

Hum, that explained the empty bottle of Jack next to the couch. That was my favorite beverage. No wonder my head was pounding—I mixed pot and booze.

"What else?"

"Well," Gabe sat up, his back pushing up against the wall. "We had an idea for your dilemma."

"Ava…" I mumbled—were any of those texts from her? My eyes stole a glance at the phone. "The portfolio… crap we wasted a night—"

"Nah, bro you're Mom didn't show up last night." I scratched my neck, she probably slept in the apartment above the office. "So we brain stormed."

Sharon grabbed her bag off the table, taking out a hand mirror and lipstick, applying it—then she covered the bags under her eyes with make-up.

"You decided to skip school today," I frowned at her words. "You'll be out searching for girls who look like your new crush." She gushed brushing her hair with her fingers.

C-crush? Oh, come on!

"I don't have a crush." I muttered dragging my sorry ass to my bathroom. "You're leaving?"

She nodded, "Unlike you two, I can't miss school and I'm already very late—I'm never late." She kissed my cheek wiping the lipstick stain from it— "I think I'll say I overslept because I was planning an upcoming benefit, teachers are always sensitive to that. And I can pull it off, of course." Sharon's good girl reputation was almost as immaculate as Mother Theresa's. Her mother organized several galas, especially for charities, so... "Don't you boys get into too much trouble." That was for Gabe who smirked lazily—he better hop off my bed and soon. "Let me know how your plan turned out, later." She waved her thin fingers before slipping out the door.

"Just like old times." I delivered Gabe a pointed glare. "Alright, I'm getting off the bed, chill bro." Thankfully he was wearing boxers; I didn't feel like having a peek at his junk.

"Are you going to tell me what our fantastic plan is?" I took off my T-shirt flinging it to the table.

"Once I'm sure my head won't explode. Make coffee, and I need water—lots and lots of water."

"Coffee sure, but get your own water." While he grabbed a cup from the cupboard I dashed to the couch, checking the texts. I scanned Ava's text; my finger tingled hovering over the reply button.

Where are u? U alright? Ps: were you successful?

I smiled—just because she was asking about me before asking about her problem. You're so whipped. I gagged at my own thoughts—was my own brain trying to make me believe things that weren't true? Because it wasn't, it couldn't be. I would do the same thing for Gabe if he needed help, that didn't make me whipped about him. Shaking off my drunk thoughts, I texted her back.

Everything's fine. I'm taking care of it, no worries.

I hoped there weren't any worries, I didn't have the slightest idea what our plan was.

"Coffee duty?"

"On it," I sighed tiredly.

Lawrence didn't ask questions when me and Gabe bounded down the stairs—there was a glance when we snuck into my Mother's private office but apart from that we were in the clear. He wouldn't sell us out.

"We're looking for her schedule. She wouldn't let the portfolio's home. They have to be at the office."

"Wait—she doesn't leave the portfolios here but the schedule for the day is lying around?"

"My Mom's neat, contrary to my therapist." Gabe's face scrunched not getting the comparison. I shook my head. "My Mother always knows where her things are, she has everything organized. She has backups for every little case scenario. There are three places where she keeps her schedule I've seen Clarissa uploading it for her. One is on the agenda, the second is on her iPad and third—on her computers." I jerked to the one on top of the magnolia desk. "The computer from the office has the data synchronized with this one."

"Meaning we can access the data in her office from this computer." I smirked, clicking my tongue. "That's well thought of, bro—only one problem."

"What?" I pressed the start button on the PC's screen.

"Wouldn't we need passwords?" Ah. No biggie there.

"I know them," Gabe did a double-take. "Clarissa has one shitty memory, it goes without saying—" I typed in four digits, clicking 'ENTER'—we were in. Gabe's bright face spoke tons about his surprise. "She uses the most common password in America—1,2,3,4."

Gabe clacked, clamping my shoulder.

"Have I ever told you you're a genius? 'Cuz if I haven't, you're a genius." My lips tipped up.

Having logged in, I started looking through the shared files from the office-computer. There had to be the schedule. There were pictures from photo-shoots—I daydreamed what would happen if these leaked out before their release. Gabriel was leaning closer as I surfed through them, enjoying the view as I went. When I locked eyes with a folder named 'Office shared' I clicked it—bingo!

"Yikes," Gabe filled the silence gap. "No wonder she had a meltdown." He squared his shoulders when I eyed him over my own.

"Can we not talk about it or the past for that matter?" Gabe's sigh told me he dropped it. I fastened my eyes on my Mom's schedule. It was a scary, scary thing. The only break she had was the one hour Clarissa marked for lunch—even then it was probably a business-lunch. "We need time to get a girl and a portfolio."

"I've told you, I know a girl who looks like yours. Well, Sharon knows her." A loaf of breath choked in my airways.

"Ava's not my girl—she's a friend."

"Who's also a girl?" I was minutes away from jabbing his spleen.

"Whatever. How are you so sure the girl you have in mind looks like Ava?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because of the detailed description you made of her? I feel like I already know her." He smirked putting me in an arm-lock. "Especially her legs, are they really long—like highway long?" he hoofed after my elbow smacked under his lungs. "Shit, man… I was kidding." He strained a breath stumbling a step rubbing the spot.

"Less smartass comments, more work. My Mom is flying to LA to check out some textiles, she's going to take the jet. She leaves at five and doesn't come back before eight—knowing my Mother she'll probably have dinner with another big-shot or something." I logged off having gotten everything we needed. "That's enough time, I hope."

"It is. Trust me," his loop-side grin came back strongly. "When have I ever let you down?"

"Fine," I sighed. "Where can we meet this look-alike?"

"She's a dancer—" my eyes widened as I closed the study-room door. "Not that kind of dancer, she's attending a dance academy with Sharon. So, you know, ballet." He mused lastly. "We'll drive there and wait for her break, I'll text her once she's out." I had my doubts about this, it was risky—risky in a what-if-she-doesn't-get-on-board-with-the-plan kind of way.

I really wanted this to work out. Not just for my sake.

Ava's POV

"Your cell phone is going to catch fire."

Jumping, I let my eyes wonder up to meet a pair of light brown ones. Finn's lanky frame hung beside my table, out in the school's patio.

"Excuse me?" My fingers dragged the phone toward me on impulse, not wanting to miss any texts.

"You've been glaring at your cell phone like it committed a heinous crime." His hand shifted on the stone table. "Can I sit?" that I hadn't been expecting. Me and Finn weren't buddies—Trip and him were. As I saw his eyes survey the patio, his confidence—that wasn't much to start with—wavered. "I get it if you don't want me to… to you know, be seen with me."

"No," the word shot from my mouth. "I don't mind. You can sit with me, sure." I smiled faintly. The shark-trinity wasn't on patrol, so we were safe. I didn't want to send the guy away. He was nice and I could see it had taken him lots of courage to talk to me. I respected that.

Finn sat down his expression reminded me of a happy puppy being given a bone. Cute, I held a giggle. What he did next had me feeling sorry for the guy.

"I… hum…" he covered his mouth coughing into it, the cough was forced, he was using this old method to cover up the nervous edge. It wasn't enough to cover his tense jaw line, the waviness in his eyebrows gave him away right off. "I was wondering if you heard from Trip."

Ah, that made sense. Me and Finn had one only subject in common—Thomas Harrington.

"I haven't." So maybe I was being mean for lying, but what was I going to tell him? Your friend is skipping class so he can bail me out of a sticky situation? Didn't seem like a good way to go, I wanted people off my back. Not thinking me and Thomas had a fling going on. "Maybe he partied too hard last night?"

Finn's head tipped to the side as he considered it, "Yeah, maybe." He didn't sound too convinced when he said it.

"Did you want to talk to him about something serious?" I could text Trip if that was the case. I didn't want Finn left hanging because Thomas couldn't be reached—because of me.

"Nah, just worried, I guess. He hasn't missed a single class, not since the day he delivered that epic punch to Ernie's nose." I snorted a laugh while he smirked in a soft, non-malicious way. "No offense. I know you're friends with them—"

"I'm not." Maybe opening up to Thomas was doing me more harm than good, couldn't I keep my lips sealed? Finn didn't need to know the friends I had here were some of the people I loathed. "Not with him or guys like him—I mean, I only really talk to the trio."

"Gotcha," he nodded. "But you're talking to me? What's up with that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed I'm unspeakably unpopular. I'd find it a little weird that Valerie or the tag-along's haven't warned you to stray clear from me—not even look my way." Yes, I'd been warned. Not only about him but about people who were on the low popularity chain. Finn, according to my besty, was in the low.

"Thomas talks to you." I pointed out. Along the days, I noticed Finn didn't fraternize with anyone else—not that I saw. Then again, I wasn't spending my free time spying on him. "I'd say he's given you his stamp of approval."

With a lazy scratch of his relatively short hair, he grinned sheepishly.

"Trip's a nice guy," my eyebrow perked at the word 'nice' and 'Trip' in the same sentence. "Once you get around the rocky exterior he's an okay-guy."

I didn't need more words from Finn to know he thought of Thomas as an upstanding bud. I couldn't argue against that.

I looked down. I'd been waiting for the frigging phone to buzz ever since Thomas' text. My anxiety wasn't getting the best of me, I had no idea how, but I was keeping it gagged—concealed. The question was: how much longer could I wait?

Finn was still here. I caught him glancing down with an awkward stare.

"Yes?" I bit down my child-like amusement.

Carefully his eyes met mine, "Can I ask you something—before you say anything I'm going ahead and warn you: it's an intimate question—personal."

Okay… threading into unholy territory, wasn't he?

"How personal…?"

"Thomas-related," huh, that summed it up.

"Shoot," I shrugged.

"What's going on between you and him?"

I suspected that was what this was about, at the same time I wondered why he felt the need to ask since he was Thomas' friend and all. Shouldn't he know that me and Trip were friends?

Friends, wow. Thomas and me were… friends? I guess we… were. Weren't we?

"Nothing, we're just friends."

"Just friends?" I nodded.

My ears hurt with the shrilling bell going off above our heads. Couldn't they make that thing into a siren? I didn't think it was loud enough.

Finn snatched his books from the table, he was hurrying into the hall, going for the next class as I was—it was the last of the day.

"Hey—wait!" I whispered catching up easily navigating my body through the ocean of heads. "Why did you ask?"

"I think it's a little obvious." He had a slow going smile on.

Was it? Not to me.

"What is?" I asked feeling dumbfounded and confused at myself.

Finn stopped near a less crowded wall, spinning to me.

"I… don't think it's my place to say." The smile turned crooked, my nerves neared explosion.

"Listen, there is nothing going on with me and Thomas."

"Okay," he shrugged—my cheeks burned. Why were they burning? I was denying every little bit of evidence that there was anything between us. Why did that make me blush? Unless… "I'll take your word for it." Unless what was making my body's temperature sky-rocket was his grin! Like he knew something I didn't.

"What… what is that supposed to mean…?" I whispered to no one once Finn disappeared into the class room across the hall.

Calculus sucked. I'd gotten used to Thomas' lingering presence, right behind me, today the seat was empty, void, a nice representation of my life. It was bare of anything I liked aside from blogging and… I busied my lip chewing it for dear life. Down on my notebook, where I should be solving one of the problems written on the black board, was a drawing. Not a person, not a sketchy doll and definitely not a cool manga hero. No, it was something much simpler, something I always thought girls were stupid for doing. A name; not just any name—a six lettered name. I painted the inside of the bulky, well designed 'H' with a striking blue marker. I'd chose this one because the color of his eyes, it didn't do those priceless gems justice. The hue of his irises left me marveled every time, even when I first met him at the waiting room that had really absorbed me. His eyes were a wonder I'd pay good money to see.

Thomas' name was written in big, elegant letters. Sweet baby Jesus… I felt a total lamo for doing this. The worst part was that I hadn't noticed I was doing it until I reached the 'A'. Nice, I was obsessed. My parents already pegged me for a disturbed young woman, what was wrong with harboring obsessive feelings?

With a long exhale, I lifted my head spying at my class mates. They seemed to be focused on either resolving the problem or talking lowly enough not to be heard. I bit the cap of my pen—Thomas, I thought glancing over the slim curve that made my shoulder. It was the only vacant seat. Dear God, what was wrong with me? I hoped I wasn't beginning to go bonkers over him, I didn't want him to be scared away… because… because I liked to have him, liked to be with him. My hands coiled, fingers tracing over his name. Thomas was addictive… I was addicted to him almost as much as I was to cherries. Hmm, cherries, my stomachs voice piped.

I tried to move on from my Trip-thoughts by flipping the page and scribbling the problem onto my notebook. Five minutes after staring at the limits of functions I was exhausted. Mainly because every single damn time I got a break thought on how to solve it—my brain whirled Thomas at me. Thomas' chest was a constant image, like those pop-up windows that showed you very disturbing things, things you shouldn't see until you were an adult—darn, I sounded like a total prude. It didn't matter what I did, it was imprinted in my memory. When he took off his clothes in my room I forced my body to spin around, look the other way, but I'd caught glimpses after… and man oh man, that was one appetizing piece. They were lean, non-fat muscles—the six-pack from heaven, or hell, depending on how you chose to view them. On one hand, they were a gift to admire, touch, feel up—on the other, they were a temptation worse than chocolates. My mouth was watering; yep this was a total inconvenient thing to think about while in class.

"Ms. Wellington, I presume you've finished the problem?" My eyes snapped to attention, heads turned my way.

This didn't put me in a pinch, I was already used to attention no matter how I hated it.

"No, sir, I haven't." I said with a polite, even tone.

"Well then, I suggest you do less spacing out and more work." I blinked at my teacher's words, nodding my head numbly.

The chuckles and snickers went ignored as I lowered my eyes to the paper, obviously brainstorming over Thomas' and me, not the calculus exercise.

Friends… I told Finn me and Trip were friends but… we weren't. I couldn't fool myself, I shouldn't. Because thinking back to that night he'd slept in my room brought more than his chest to light. I recalled how his touches made me ache for more contact, took away my breath and ability to think correctly and his voice… I better not get started on that, I decided.

I liked spending time with this guy, a guy I hated; liked how he understood me, how he persisted, liked the games he made up—the lengths he went through to get me comfortable around him. We were friends, but we weren't just that trivial, not for me. I never had these symptoms, but Lindsey had and other girls who I'd been friends with had, too, at some point—even Mia. My face twisted into a frowny face as I realized I was crushing on Thomas Harrington and while my lips curved down, my stomach exploded into a commotion of fireworks.

Oh boy.