Vivid Vows

Chapter 3

East End High School in Ashton was severely underfunded, with one of the lowest college acceptance rates in the entire city—an epitome of what "school district" is not supposed to mean.

Located in an old industrial district surrounded by blue-collar neighborhoods, the school served a diverse and often troubled student body. There were students here who hoped education would be their ticket out of poverty, others who were just passing time until graduation, and a few who treated school as nothing more than a social venue.

With Vivian’s former academic record, she could’ve easily been admitted to one of the city’s top art schools or even the magnet high school. But two years ago, after her family’s upheaval, her grades plummeted. After failing her entrance exam, and given her uncle’s financial situation, she ended up at East End High.

Her father’s relatives had distanced themselves, their former warmth nothing but a distant illusion. At sixteen, Vivian already had a deep understanding of the coldness of the world.

In contrast, it was her long-estranged uncle who took her in.

Her mother had once said that her uncle had issues with her father. He thought her father, a well-educated man, was too ambitious. By forty, he’d become a city councilman, with guests constantly at their home. Her uncle, probably unwilling to ride the coattails of her father’s success, had drifted away after her mother passed.

Vivian would never forget that afternoon when Mr. Stevenson from the city council administration office came to their house. Stevenson had a habitual, tight smile that made his round face look almost cartoonish, like one of those angels you see in church statues. He often came over, bringing gifts, and Vivian had received limited-edition sneakers from him more than once. That day, his smile seemed especially warm, but after entering, he surveyed the house, then asked, “Vivian, where are the adults?”

Vivian froze, her eyes wide with fear. Her father’s funeral arrangements were being handled by his office, and his relatives had barely stayed long enough to exchange a few hollow words of sympathy before rushing out, eager to avoid any association with her family’s bad luck.

“Don’t worry, if you need help, just ask. The council will make sure to take care of you,” Stevenson said, his smile now more of a grin. “But housing assistance is tight. A lot of long-time employees are still waiting. The council’s position is—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve looked into it. While your father was involved in misappropriating campaign funds, you’re still just a child. How about you move into low-income housing for now? You’ll get living assistance until you turn eighteen. But this place…” He ran his hands over the furniture, eyeing everything. “We need to prioritize the housing of other employees.”

Vivian understood immediately—it was a polite way of pushing her out. She lowered her head, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.

“And are you?”

She looked up and saw the familiar yet strange figure at the door. Her heart caught in her throat. It was Uncle Mike.

“I’m Mr. Stevenson from the city council office.”

“I’m Mike Morris. Vivian’s uncle.”

Stevenson visibly relaxed, grateful for the appearance of an adult. It was difficult to kick out a kid, especially when there had been some history between the families. He quickly explained his purpose, and Uncle Mike nodded, saying they’d move out in a few days.

So, Vivian moved in with her uncle, back to the home her mother had lived in before she married.

The past two years had been a world away from her old life. But the lack of material wealth and the demands of daily chores strangely brought a sense of healing. She became eager to help, spending time with her uncle in the kitchen, fussing over a good pot of soup or a hearty dinner. While she sometimes worried about the business and making ends meet, these things made her feel alive—she wasn’t a helpless orphan; she was contributing to her new family.

After six months, she had begun to settle in, her eyes regaining their spark. Her mid-term exams in her first year had shocked her teachers, though the complicated relationships she had outside of school still gave them headaches.

All because of Jimmy.

Teachers who had worked at East End High for some time knew all about the Santos brothers. The older one had been a notorious gang leader in East End a few years ago, running the school with his gang of rowdy teens. After he was imprisoned for manslaughter, the younger brother, Jimmy, took over the territory and operations. Jimmy had been relatively calm while attending school, but after dropping out, he had changed, and the homeroom teacher could only shake his head in regret. The older brother was reckless, while the younger one was more calculated. Both were ruthless. The Santos brothers' influence in East End only continued to grow.

To the teachers, Vivian’s excellent grades and composed personality meant she shouldn’t be connected to someone like Jimmy, a known gang member. But the reality was, ever since she entered high school, Jimmy had made it clear: Vivian was under his protection. Anyone who knew what was good for them kept their distance from her.

After school, Vivian packed up her things and headed to the sophomore classrooms. The boys who had been fighting earlier in the morning were still there, and as soon as they saw her, they lowered their heads and tried to sneak out through the back door. One of them, who had a limp, knocked over a couple of desks. Vivian snickered under her breath and let them leave. She asked another student and found out that Jason had already snuck off, afraid she’d get angry.

East End High was only two subway stops away from Aunt Annie’s house, but on days when she didn’t order takeout, Vivian usually walked home. Today, she spent two dollars on a bus ride. A few girls from school were also on the bus. One of them timidly offered her seat, and Vivian smiled and shook her head, walking to the back. In the rear, a couple was hugging, and the girl, with heavy makeup, nudged the guy next to her. The guy quickly sat up straight and called out, “Big Sis.”

If she had heard that two years ago, she would’ve blushed and cursed Jimmy under her breath. But now, she had grown numb to it. After her protest against Jimmy had fallen on deaf ears, she had stopped caring about the nickname.

Vivian got off the bus and, instead of heading home, walked a few blocks to Saint Anthony’s Church. It was late autumn, and the sycamore leaves outside the church had fallen and covered the path. A breeze blew, and a few dry leaves clung to her pants. She entered through the side door into the church’s backyard, half of which was Jimmy’s “office.”

Though young, Jimmy was deeply superstitious. Before making any big decisions, he always had to pray. Vivian often teased him about watching too many gangster movies, but he never took offense. Instead, he’d explain that it was a tradition in their line of work, even going so far as to recount the history of the Sicilian Mafia. His underlings listened with adoration, dreaming of chaotic times when they could build their own empire. Vivian would roll her eyes in the background.

Jimmy was convinced that Saint Anthony’s Church had spiritual power, that it had protected East End for over a century, so it made sense for him to set up his “office” here. The church’s incense wasn’t strong, and the priest who kept watch over it didn’t mind the “donations” Jimmy made, even if it meant renting half the yard.

As soon as Vivian entered the backyard, she heard the sounds of men shouting and fighting. She pushed open the old wooden door, and a few of Jimmy’s goons grinned at her. José, nicknamed "Six Fingers," rushed to grab a chair. “Big Sis, what wind blew you here today?” Jimmy, sweating as he adjusted the punching bag, gave her a wide grin.

Some of his underlings left quickly, casting knowing glances at Jimmy. He ignored Vivian’s cold expression and continued smiling. “Help me grab a towel,” he said, nodding toward the chair.

“Get it yourself.”

“I’m wearing gloves.” He flashed her a playful smile, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Vivian snorted, grabbing the towel and tossing it at him.

“Wipe it for me,” Jimmy said, lowering his head, only for the towel to land on his face.

“Jimmy, how many times do I have to say it? Stay out of my family’s business.”

“What’s the matter? Getting so worked up?” He pulled the towel off and started removing his gloves.

“Don’t play dumb,” Vivian said, getting even more frustrated when she saw his smug expression.

Seeing she was genuinely angry, Jimmy stopped teasing her, tossing the gloves aside and sitting on the worn-out couch. “It’s not a big deal. Why are you so upset?” He took a sip of the half-finished bottled water on the table but immediately spat it out, realizing it tasted bad. “I didn’t know about this in advance. I only found out when I got back. But Six Fingers’ guy saw someone picking on Jason and stepped in to help. What’s wrong with that?”

“Jason’s my brother. You don’t need to interfere.”

“Your brother’s my brother too.” He tilted his chin up, watching her with a spark in his eyes as the anger flared up in her cheeks. He seemed almost mesmerized. Coming to his senses, he spoke seriously, “I’m only doing this because of your uncle. If it weren’t for him and Aunt Annie helping me and my mom all those years ago, my brother and I would’ve starved on the streets.”

Jimmy’s father had died when he was young, and his mother had struggled to raise them. Vivian’s uncle had helped them, but not as much as Jimmy made it sound. Every time, Jimmy used this as an excuse to insert himself into her life, and all she could do was grit her teeth and endure.

“Anyway, you don’t need to get involved!” she snapped. Jason had just had a fight with a classmate today—boys fight all the time—but Jimmy’s guys had handled it too roughly. If it blew up, how would she explain it to Uncle Mike and Aunt Annie?

“I’m not involved?” Jimmy smirked, his tone dropping. “If I hadn’t been around, you would’ve been dragged into the alley two years ago…” He cut off mid-sentence, letting the words hang in the air.

Two years ago, Vivian had been followed home by two street thugs and dragged into an alley in East End under the pale moonlight. If Jimmy hadn’t happened to be passing by, she might not have made it out. She didn’t understand—being a pretty girl in a place like this felt like a curse. And she was too noticeable. He had intervened to prevent something like that from happening again, but she hadn’t appreciated it. Instead, she resented how he disrupted her life.

“Fine, I’ll stay out of it from now on,” Jimmy sighed, knowing she didn’t like him, hated how uneducated he was. But he had no patience for her, especially when it came to her. “Want to come over for dinner? My mom’s been asking about you.”