Page 57 of Break You

“Jesus.” Her mom made my parents seem like saints.

“—yeah. I had nothing, just what could fit into a plastic bag I grabbed on the way out. Most of my clothes were too small and dirty, so I might as well not have bothered. Anyway, on Christmas morning, they take all the kids downstairs for breakfast, and it’s just like a regular day in one of those places, except each kid has a gift for Christmas. Charities do this thing where they collect toys, clothes, and stationery and things, then kids in need get a generic, age and sex appropriate present.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I opened mine up, and I couldn’t, and still can’t, remember a time I’d been happier.”

“Why?”

“My present was a pair of pink and purple roller skates. I’d never owned anything as precious or ‘fancy.’ I just couldn’t believe my luck—if you could call spending Christmas at a halfway house for abandoned kids lucky. They were a couple of sizes too big, which turned out to be a blessing, as they were to be my prized possession for the next few years. If I had nothing else, I always had those skates. Even once they were technically too small, I still crammed my feet into them. I taught myself to skate, then a whole bunch of skills from videos my older brother showed me on YouTube.”

“Wait, so where was your brother when all of this was happening?” And why the fuck didn’t he protect his little sister?

“He wasn’t living at home at the time. He would have been maybe twelve or thirteen, and Mom would throw him out often—especially when there was a new guy on the scene. God knows where he went at those times, and what he did to survive, but thinking about it as an adult, I know it can’t have been good. The prospects for a kid on the streets where we grew up were grim. The options available to stay alive were even grimmer.”

I almost felt sorry for the young Pixie. Almost.

“But the part about the whole thing that was life-changing wasn’t the skates—though obviously skating is still a big part of my life, even today—it was something placed inside the box that really had a lasting effect. It was a photo of a little boy close to my age. A few years older, maybe. He had on a pair of almost-identical skates, but they were green and blue, instead of pink and purple. He was beaming from ear-to-ear, just like I had been when I’d opened my present—and on the back of the happy snap it said, ‘Somebody loves you. XO’.”

Holy shit.

Her voice hitched as she carried on.

“Those three words changed my life. I mean, I knew Pete—my brother—loved me... and I guess my mom did deep down or had done at some point, but I didn’t feel loved at that moment. But to see it there in black and white, just kind of spoke to my soul, you know?” I knew, but I stayed silent. “When I’d been taken into the group home that time, the day before Christmas, it was a low point in my life. That night I’d lain in bed plotting ways I could end it. End… me.”

Motherfucker.

“I was just so tired and disheartened. I was nothing but a burden to my mom, and Pete had his own worries. I really just thought I had nothing to live for. But then that morning, I was given a reason to live—to want to live. Ever since then, whenever I was down, or upset, or felt alone, I used to repeat those words to myself, over and over. Then I’d take a deep breath, put one foot in front of the other, and carry the fuck on.” I blinked myopically at her, not sure what to think.

“I have the tattoo there to remind me every day that I’m a different person now, from that scared and lonely little girl, and that I can do this. I’ve got this.”

It was rare for me to find myself lost for words, but this was one of those times.

Rocky

The look on Xavier’s face reminded me of the reality of where I was, and what I was doing, and it was like someone had woken me up by throwing a bucket of ice water in my face.

“Anyway, as much as this pillow talk is great, I need to roll. Figuratively and literally.”

“What?” He looked at me as though I was insane. And maybe I was. Because instead of going home and reporting my shit stolen, and myself probably being stalked by a literal card-carrying psycho, I was lying on the floor of the most upscale apartment I’d ever set foot in, with a dude who irritated the hell out of me 90 percent of the time, while the other 10 percent he drove me wild in a completely different way. “It’s still dark. It makes no more sense for you to leave now than it did for you to make your way home from the bar alone. You’ll stay until first light, then I’ll drop you at a subway station or something.” He was bossy as fuck, but he also kind of had a point.

“Okay, but no more D&Ms, okay? This is not The Notebook.”

* * *

On the subway on the way home, a thought started to niggle at me. Apart from the fact that I’d borrowed Xavier’s four-sizes-too-big slides, so that I didn’t have to do the roll of shame all the way home, something about what he’d said, when we were lying on the floor together, gnawed at my consciousness.

By the time I was back at my apartment, the thought had crystalized in my mind, and I hurried past Erykah, ignoring her raised eyebrow, presumably about both my attire, and my late/early return from work the night before. In my room, I rifled through my desk drawers—making a mental note that I really needed to have a clear-out—until I found what I was looking for. I flicked quickly through a brochure I’d been handed at some point during Orientation Week the year before. I wasn’t even sure why I’d bothered to keep it—it was basically a shit ton of advertising disguised as useful information. In any case, I was glad I had, when I reached the page I was looking for. It was a light-hearted look at the facts, myths, and legends associated with Heathcote University.

I scanned down the page, quickly finding what I wanted.

“One of the biggest legends associated with the college is that of Cygnus Dei, Heathcote’s rumored and hallowed secret society. Rumored, because secret societies have been outlawed here since the early twentieth century.

“If it still exists, Cygnus, as it’s often referred to for short, has all the hallmarks of the quintessential Ivy League secret society—practicing wild initiation rituals, carrying out elaborate pranks, and employing strict selection criteria—metaphorical velvet ropes—to ensure that only the cream of the crop of the college’s student population make the grade.

“This elitist attitude is reflected in the society’s motto—Cygnus Inter Anates—Swan Among Ducks.

“Like all secret societies, Cygnus Dei is shrouded in mystery (natch), rumor and misinformation—little of real substance is known about the society’s current membership, selection and initiation processes, or what goes on behind closed doors. All of which seems to ensure its enduring appeal and interest with the college’s general population.

“Perhaps the biggest secret of all is the identity of the Alpha Cygni—the head of the society. Some say it’s a position held by birthright, others say the place is bought, while yet others claim it is fought for.

“According to folklore, each year on ‘Tap Day’, ten new prospective members in their sophomore year, called cygnets, reportedly receive a knock at their doors with an invitation from the board of the society—the Northern Cross—to join. Being of the old-school secret-society variety, the members are all men. The ten are then, supposedly, put through a series of initiation trials, before being fully sworn in during their junior year.

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