Even The Weak Can Be Wicked (PLAYBOOK #2)

CHAPTER 1: The Art of getting by

JESSICA

I cried for a week after my father left.

Thank heavens for Odessa Vecker because she made sure I got to stay in Oakwood University and kept me going before summer ended.

She also helped me apply for student aid and a scholarship that covered 30% of my tuition. I have to make the rest somehow and luckily for me, I was smart enough to start saving for a car and had been a cheapo since arriving in Massachusetts.

Being a pretty redhead over the years also helped because people (okay, men) are a sucker for a British accent and long legs.

Sadly, even with the saving, student aid and scholarship, it still didn’t make a dent because private University is freaking expensive and theatre fees like wardrobe and trips are excluded from the already ridiculous tuition.

I had to make a plan and I did. I sold some of my things on EBay, put the rest in Vecker’s storage and got another job. I babysat over the years for extra money for summer break trips but I needed more this time.

Fortunately, the babysitting led to another job, one that consumed my entire summer and was kind to my wallet.

That’s right, I spend my junior year summer at a private acting camp for preteens and teenagers as a camp counselor. It covered, housing, food and the pay guaranteed I wouldn’t be homeless or couch surfing for my first semester.

Yesterday was the last day which means all the campers are back home and tonight is the Staff Leaver’s Party which is just an excuse to drink since most have us have been sober all summer.

And senior year starts in 3weeks but I am far from ready. I have two jobs, one as a weekend dog walker and I will still babysit but I need a 3rd job with better pay and flexible hours.

“What do you think?” Jade, the counselor I was sharing a house with steps out in a Harley Quinn assemble.

“Perfect,” I assure and she beams light a Christmas tree.

Did I mention the party was costume themed? I love the arts but whoever came up with the idea was not cool.

And I am the bigger loser because I am dressed as Pamela Anderson from Barb Wire since I had a faux leather set laying around but it’s cold as a mother today.

“I told you the blonde wig would suit you,” Jade swings her bat when I pick at the wig. “We look hot, definitely keeping our reputation at the Playboy house.”

“Agreed,” I slip on my oval retro glasses.

The Playboy house is the nickname our house got because Jade and I were the youngest camp counsellors and apparently looked like Hefner’s bunnies. I didn’t mind since we got the house to ourselves because of it but she ate it up and wouldn’t stop talking about it.

One hot girl was normal but two hot girls living together was the talk of the camp for a few weeks. I didn’t get it because we wore our hair in ponytails, khaki shorts and golf tees for the entire program.

Sunscreen was our makeup and depression with a side of grief was my constant blanket, only my weekly calls with Vecker helped because she was just as miserable and it loved company.

We obviously had to PG the costumes because our bosses will be there but I admit, she is right, our reputation is cemented. I haven’t worn makeup all summer because I’m still in my Jess-Ann rump but it does feel good to be sexy Jessica again.

She has been clawing to come out since the confrontation with my father but I am still not ready yet. So I’m letting her breath a little tonight.

“Mind taking a picture for my friend Vecker?” I give her my phone, “Pamela Anderson was her idea because of the boobs.”

I am double C but on my slender body, my rack looks amazing. What? They haven’t been out all summer, it’s good for them to be seen because they cost me a car.

And a father.

“You better buy her a meal because…” she takes a few pictures. “Sponsors are going to be solvating when they see you and me.”

We smile at each other.

“Sponsors?” I send Vecker 3 and she responds immediately with gifs and fire emoji’s.

“You are working at a private camp that pays quadruple minimum wage, didn’t that tip you off that rich sons of bitches were the owners?” I shake my head. “Really not even the fancy costume leaver’s party?”

Fancy?

“I assumed all this was normal,” I never attended away camps growing up.

How am I supposed to know normal camps didn’t have houses instead of cabins, state of the art equipment and makeup and hair studios?

“Bless your naïve heart,” Jade leads the way out.

Like I assumed, the wrap party is full of adults 7years+ older than us dressed in Jane Austen and Marvel costumes meant for comic con but I also have to admit Jade was right, the party is fancy.

Private Chef, sushi bar, open bar and a live band? Rich sons of bitches did not spare costs because there’s even acrobats’ performances.

“I need a drink.” I whisper after we finish dancing with some of other counselors who are in The Greatest Showman assembles.

“Don’t drink water,” Jade sways her hips and I can’t help but laugh.

She is hell-bent on making sure we make up for our sober summer that honestly did me good because the last time I drank, I lost everything.

Vegas owes me a friend.

“You have to meet her Zander, my kids love her.” Robin Hood is talking to a Mr. Darcy? by the shots self-service point.

“I said no Ash,” Mr. Darcy has a deep voice. “It is bad enough you dragged me to this party, now you want to introduce me to some college brat who is clearly going through a phase.”

Ouch, Mr. Darcy is sticking to character.

“Jessica Beer is a sweetheart and British, so you know she’s well mannered.” Robin Hood corrects and I choke on an olive.

“Or a snob” Mr. Darcy counters.

“Come on, she really turned things around with Ethan and Kylie—” Robin Hood’s point is drowned out but the pounding in my chest.

They are talking about me?

Why in the world are they—wait. I turn and take closer look and to my surprise Robin Hood is the father of the kids I babysit, it’s Mr. Henry.

Ashton Henry is my boss—technically. I watch his children, who are the reason I found out about this camp and his wife, Lori put a good word in for me but I have no idea who the other guy is.

“Fine, where is she?” Mr. Darcy concedes by pouring himself a shot just as I lift my colorful cocktail and thank the barman with a smile.

“I think—” Ashton stretches his neck out. “She is the brat in the Pamela Anderson costume?” I interject and both men turn to their side.

Mr. Darcy is taller but Robin Hood is a little broader, my bangs are overcrowding my eyes so I can’t see past their outlines but I am glaring, hard as I say “Hello, I am Jessica Beer.” I spit out the olive seed I was chewing, “the said college brat.” My eyes are on Mr. Darcy as Ashton smiles gleefully.

This should be fun(not).

ALEKSANDER

I had a stammer when I was younger.

My older brother Ashton was the only one who understood it but my mother was the one who helped me get over it—eventually.

In my 26years of life, I have never once relapsed.

I am very strict with myself due to my social dysfunction disorder so I plan for every outcome and every conversation because there is no room for error with me.

Which should be obvious how I feel about surprises.

But even a good system tends to malfunction sometimes, a prime example is the human heart. A flawless design by the big man himself until its host decides to alter the perfect design and things like heart attacks and strokes occur because of the food we consume and our lack of movement.

Which makes me wonder, am I having a heart attack?

Why is my tongue twisting like I am having a stammer relapse?

I worked out this morning as usual and I have only had 1 drink and 2 shots in the last hour but for some reason, something is happening to my chest and my tongue is knotting.

Oh no, is this an allergic reaction?

A heart attack? Is that what this is? Because my heart is thumping rapidly against my chest and electricity is traveling to every pressure point in my body.

“Jessica Beer,” a leggy blonde in a leather two piece looks up at me and spits something into a napkin. “The said college brat,” her accent is thick.

Heart meet malfunction 1.

We size each other up and I take note of how good her costume is, she actually put effort to do her makeup and hair like Miss Anderson herself and it suits her. I only know because Ashton had her Barb Wire poster on the back of his bedroom door.

“Jessica,” my brother clears his throat. “Did you hear all that?”

I do not know why he looks apologetic when she was the one eavesdropping on a private conversation.

“Only the good parts.” I recognize she is being sarcastic because I was being very indifferent about meeting her.

As one should be when meeting a complete stranger, my brother was clearly trying to set me up with.

“Jess, I am mortified.” Ashton smiles sheepishly, “I don’t even know what to say.”

Jess? I was under the impression her name was Jessica.

Are they so comfortable that my older brother calls this skeletal girl by a pet name? I know Ashton, he loves his wife so I don’t think they are having an affair.

Then again, she looks like the forbidden fruit the serpent would offer even the most perfect and loyal husband and my brother comes very close.

“It’s okay Ashton, I’m sure I got it out of context.” Her body language visibly relaxes and when I asses, I see my brother’s hand on her shoulder.

So she allows physical touch very easily? Or are they that familiar? I want to assess but her cleavage is too visible over her chest and staring too much will make it look like ogling.

“This is—” my alarm beeps around my wrist, interrupting whatever Ashton was going to say.

My two hours are up.

“Yes,” I press snooze and finally relax. “I am going to inform the driver we are ready to leave.” I walk away without addressing my brother’s possible mistress.

I should question him on the way home, maybe his marriage is not going well as I assumed which is odd considering he married Lori.