Butterfly Effect

By Laikyn Meng

He is begging for redemption, she is aching for revenge.

 

He isn't the answer to my prayers. Even if half the student body on campus believes he is a gift from God and a Greek statue body to make matters worse.

The word enemies doesn't deserve the delicious description for the tension between us. Make no mistake there is

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Orange 9 Publishing Company LLC
• Release date: Nov 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088132241

Book preview

Prologue

Aladden

16 Months Ago

The sight before me is blurry; my eyes are drifting, my head is swirling, and I don’t know which way north could be.

Shit! Shit! Shit! I can still hear the noise of broken glass colliding with metal. My hand punches the roof of the cab. I slap my hands on the steering wheel and grip it.

Adrenaline is usually my favorite weapon, my favorite drug, but right now, it betrays me with fear instead of courage.

I wasn’t thinking; I closed my eyes and thought I was invincible. The windows were open wide, and I let the wind whip against my face to feel freedom.

But then they came out of my left, and I couldn’t stop. My front hit the tip of theirs, and it spun them in circles away from me as I continued straight until I could stop. I touch my chest, trying to regain the balance of my breath, but it doesn’t help because when I look back at them, I see the worst-case scenario.

There should be sirens, but everything is quiet, too quiet. I bump my shoulder against the door, and it opens easily. My truck barely has a scratch on it. Out on these back roads, where I was trying to escape, but now I am faced with a new lie to tell. The car across the street is in the ditch. I know what I have done before I even take a step toward them.

No one screams, and I panic because the endless silence makes me nervous and makes me responsible.

Hello? I call out with pitiful effort.

There is nothing for miles and miles; I spin around to ensure no one is spying on this accident. With a few more beats of my heart and a few more steps toward the wrecked vehicle, I find two more than I hoped I would find.

An older woman with black hair is asleep in the passenger seat; I pull against the door and pry it open. I check her pulse, and there isn’t a flick of life there.

Fuck, I mutter, my eyes jumping all over her body to see if there are any wounds. There is a nasty gash on her forehead, and I wonder if I put it there.

Fuck. But this time, it doesn’t come out of my mouth. My eyes move over to the driver and she reaches for her leg and squeezes it.

It’s behind midnight, the moon in the sky. We are all covered in darkness in more ways than one tonight.

Hey, are you okay? Her body is pinned against the door. The driver’s side of the car is smashed against the side of the ditch.

I—I don’t think she’ll make it. The girl shakes her head. My eyes go back to the passenger, and she is too still to be revived. When the driver’s head falls to the side, I see a familiar face.

Alaska? Confused about what the hell she is doing clear out here and how we collided. But before I can get a response, I think better of it and know I need to call an ambulance. They might get here in time to save her.

I pull out my phone and have to angle away from the car to get a signal. I dial in the three digits and find myself hoping no one picks up. Because there are some explicit things in my system and I don’t know what story to tell tonight.

The operator answers, and I relay the best information my foggy mind can conjure. She keeps talking and I lay the phone on the road and check back on Alaska.

Alaska? Are you with me? I reach out and hold her hand; it’s hot, but I don’t know what from. I am freaking out; I don’t know how to help her, I don’t know what else to do.

She doesn’t stir immediately, and her shoulders seem to shift like she is waking up from a nap.

Only assholes call me that. This makes me laugh. I’ve never seen sweet innocent Alaska talk back, much less curse.

I guess that makes me an asshole, baby. My mouth pulls to a side smile, a little relief for the recent events.

Who are you? It’s a whisper as she fades, wrapping her arms the best she can against her bruised body.

I can hear the sirens start, they are in the distance, but there is still time. My thumb rubs over her fingers, and I want to pretend this affection is normal for us. But we aren't exactly on the same social ladder.

We graduated from high school a few hours ago. There were about two thousand kids in our grade. There were too many faces to remember, but mine always seemed to be in the spotlight. I think we had one class together. I instantly feel guilty because I know nothing about her, and she might die on the side of the road.

I don’t know, Alaska. I don’t know who I am anymore. I have never felt more alone.

The only thing I can imagine is pools in Guatemala. Rich green water against a forest of trees. In Semuc Champey, I escape. I am not tied to Arizona or the mistakes I have made tonight. Underwater, I hold my breath and don’t race to finish first. I think about being in a different country and finding peace against a new current.

It’s a coping mechanism. One I have had since I started competing at age eight. But I doubt the waters miles away will help ease the panic going through me right now.

The police cars show up, and I pull my hand away, removing myself from the area. Giving space to the first responders.

Were you the one that called dispatch about the accident, son? An older officer takes me across the street, and I watch as they lift the passenger out of the car first.

Yes, sir. I nod, but I am watching the whole thing because I need to remember. I have to.

Can you tell me what happened? He is taking notes on his phone while another cop writes down my information on a pad of paper.

Lad? Lad Lorenzo. I thought that was you. Chief, this is that kid who broke those state records all while rescuing those kids from that burning building. The shorter officer claps me on the back and I nod, tight-jawed.

Yes, sir. I hand over my license and they shine a flashlight on it and share a proud grin.

What are you doing clear out here, Lad? The chief waits for my story as his lips massage his mustache.

I was coming from a graduation party. It is the truth.

Have you been drinking, boy? The flashlight is aimed right at my eyeballs, and I squint and shake my head.

No, sir, I would never, I promise, because I haven’t ever before.

Good boy. He nods and says something into his walkie-talkie.

I look over the road once more, and Alaska is out of the car; the hand I was touching has fallen off the stretcher and is swaying in the air.

Is she going to be okay? I point over to her, so young and fragile with the unknown.

Hard to tell at this point. The other woman doesn’t look too good, one officer tells me.

Do you know her, Lad? the other officer asks.

Yes, we went to the same high school. Her name is Alyeska. At least that is her real name, not the nickname everyone at school has called her since we were little.

Is she from the reservation? Officer Mustache asks, but I don’t really know.

I don’t think so; our school is in the city. I scratch my head and wonder.

Do you know her last name or the other woman in the car with her? They keep asking questions, but I keep staring at Alaska, willing her to sit up and walk away from this.

I’m not sure about either of those things. But I take a step toward the ambulance, then stop myself.

Do you want to ride with her to the hospital? One officer asks me; he must assume we are friends since we went to school together, but I don’t even know her last name.

Oh no, I shouldn’t. That would be weird. What if she woke up and freaked out because I was there? What if she told them I pummeled into her car?

As they lift Alyeska into the back of the ambulance, I see her eyes open a little bit, and she barely lifts a finger in my direction, but my heart stops.

Seems like she wants you to join her, son. Officer short-smacks me on the back, and I get moving next to her.

What about my truck? I should call my dad.

We will call him and have him meet you at the hospital. Doesn’t look like their car did much damage to yours. The officer examines the front of my truck a bit.

What? I squint my eyes, confused.

When they hit your truck, they didn’t do much damage, barely a scuff. When he says it, I don’t correct him. I don’t know if I should or even what to say.

Sorry, officer. No, you are wrong, I got high for the first time to celebrate my high school graduation, and I rammed my truck into their car.

I should have stayed at the party and not thought twice. I should have stayed with that chick begging me for a second round, but I can’t even remember her face now. It doesn’t even matter; she doesn’t matter. I want to forget anything that happened before this moment.

Yeah, lucky break, I guess. I shuffle towards the ambulance, and they close the doors after I jump in next to Alaska.

Is she your girlfriend? The EMT is unwrapping something, and I nod and then shake my head. Don’t worry, she’s going to be fine.

The EMT reaches and taps my hand with her latex glove, trying to give me comfort. But I don’t deserve it; I don’t deserve any of this brush with death and ending up lucky.

She has to be. It is a selfish reason, not because I want her for myself. But to keep my conscience clear of any demerits. She has to be.

The EMT gives me a kind smile. I ignore her and watch Alaska’s chest rise and fall. Both my hands clasp around hers, and I don’t let go until we reach the emergency room.

They take her away, and I start to pace back and forth, thinking my scholarship is fucked, my life is fucked. If they test my blood for any drugs, I am beyond screwed. There goes my future as an Olympic swimmer. Any chance of a gold medal will be death with a defamed hero before he ever got to the podium.

I can kiss any sponsors goodbye, my collegiate chance at nationals. Everything is burning from one single stupid moment.

Lad? Are you okay? Dad rushes in and brings me into a hug.

Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little sore. I rub my neck and Dad’s eyes go wide.

Let’s get you checked out. Dad tries to find a doctor and tells them I came in with the other two people involved in the accident. But I zone out, and soon I am ushered into a curtain-closed section where doctors check for bruises. But I tell them I am fine, my shoulder and neck hurt.

Luckily, they don’t check my blood; they examine me and I answer all questions with flying colors.

I am just a little rattled. It’s a good confession as the doctor makes notes.

As any of us would be. I am going to prescribe you some painkillers to help with the pain. It is most likely a side effect of your accident. Don’t take them if you don’t need to; opioid addiction isn’t a joke. Can we trust you to be responsible? The doctor smiles and I notice my dad check out her left hand for a ring.

Of course, you can. I give her my word.

I have heard great things about you, Lad. It’s nice to meet you and your father. Sorry, the circumstances aren’t better. I nod, Dad shakes her hand, their eyes linger a little too long and I cough.

Dad has been single since I was nine. Can’t really blame a guy for playing the field and getting his game on. But maybe in the emergency room isn’t the best flirting tactic.

How are the others? Are they okay? The doctor shifts her eyes to the floor and my gut gets strangled.

Your friend will be okay; her left leg was injured, but nothing major. She is in surgery now. Um, the other woman, her mother, I believe, was DOA. The doctor’s fingernails tap on the clipboard.

DOA? What’s that mean? I shake my head and think of an expanded acronym fitting those letters.

Dead on arrival, son. Dad stands and walks over to me. He rubs my back like I might cry, and I think I might. But not because a woman has lost her life. That is my second thought. My first thought is I killed her. I killed Alaska’s mother on our graduation night.

Alaska had every right to call me an asshole.

Oh, Jesus. And I fall to my knees and clench my stomach so hard I lean over to the garbage and throw up. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dad. She can’t be dead; she can’t be. I am shaking my head, and the smell of vomit makes my head woozy and spin. I lean over the garbage bin again to throw up anything left of my celebratory time at the party.

Hey, son. It’s not your fault; you did the right thing; you tried to help the best you could. The officers told me what happened. Dad is kneeling on the ground next to me.

They did? My eyes are red as I rub away the memories of my truck nearly demolishing theirs.

Yes, and I am so proud of you for doing the right thing. The officers said that after they hit your truck, you got out, helped them, and stayed with them until the ambulance came. That is the kind of man I raised, Lad. Dad has pride in his voice, and I look away into the vile liquid below us. We are so lucky you weren’t hurt; that would be terrible. I am so glad you are okay, son.

I take a long, lasting look into my father’s eyes and see relief. I don’t want to disappoint him; he has been by my side since day one. If I tell him the truth, it will crush him; it will ruin his image of his perfect son. But in my chest, the shame builds and blinds me.

I can hear Dad talking to the officers outside the curtain. But I can’t find the right words, so I say nothing. I get up to the sink wash my face, hands and rinse out my mouth.

Test results came back from the girl. She had alcohol in her system, drunk driving it appears. The other woman appears to have broken bones and other injuries. Who knows their story until the girl wakes up? It is going to be rough waking up to realize your mother is dead and you are being charged with drunk driving. This is the short officer; he and my dad talk like they are buddies.

But I get that sick feeling again. I was so terrified about my life getting ruined; I didn’t realize it was Alaska’s torched in flames next to me.

The doctor comes back with a few pills, and I swallow them and chug the water. I lay back on the bed and ignore the noises and voices. I escaped a public physical death. But now I have been condemned to a moral one in private, mourning the previous version of a guy I used to be.

Alaska is a few rooms away, and I can’t stop rubbing my fingers together, remembering how hot her skin was against mine. Even worse, I want to touch her, cuddle up next to her, and ask her to take away this pain with forgiveness.

Because guilt isn’t my thing, the heavy burden makes it hard to breathe.

Chapter 1

Alyeska

Do you know those pathetic dream boards you make with images you want to come true? Well, in middle school, I had the biggest crush on Aladden Lorenzo. I put his smug ass face on there and was cursed with hearts in my eyes.

Too bad junior high came around and that fucker turned into an epic bastard with a capital B branded on his sweet ass. It was also the first year he ever broke a state record; he was only fifteen at the time, and I was still wearing cartoon t-shirts.

But damn, we hit high school, and the dude had a book deal, a documentary, and had been interviewed on every morning show in the country. When he was seventeen, he saved four kids from a burning classroom at the local elementary school.

To be fair, a garbage can was on fire, and totally contained. Any janitor in the district could have dumped mop water on it and done the same thing. But when the world already thinks you are a hero, any tiny act of goodness gets exploited to the highest degree.

I guess that made people like him lucky, and people like me severally unfortunate.

Sure, I heard after my accident he was the one to save us. Well, save me. My mother was a goner. It was incredible and ridiculous all at the same time. This fucker could do no wrong and I hated him for it. Hated him for seeing the frail shape my mom died in, repulsed the way he got honored from my tragedy.

It made me feel inferior, weak even.

Lad was milking this world for everything they would give him, and they did give him anything he wanted.

A full-ride scholarship to college, national sponsors, free swag from all the major sporting brands, and a bonus of being wanted in all kinds of ways.

I’m not blind, the fucker has looks.

Maybe that’s why I did what I did on graduation night. I don’t remember driving too fast or hitting Lad’s truck. Everything the cops told me made me confused, it didn’t make sense, but there weren’t memories to back up my claims.

So when they agreed to drop the