“Eternal Blossom.”
Justin nodded. “Cool. Maybe I should call you Pretty Flower or Princess Blossom.”
No. She wanted a white name, like Tiffany or Brittany or Madison. Dad had chosen stupid Native American names for her and her sister.
“I’m not a princess. My dad isn’t a chief. I’m nothing.”
Justin smiled and popped the tab on another beer. After drinking a bunch, he set the can aside and wrapped his arm across her shoulders then curled his fingers around the back of her neck, gently urging her head forward. “You’re not nothing. You’re my girlfriend. You’re pretty.”
She knew that wasn’t true, but oh, it felt good that Justin thought she was.
He kissed her and his lips were gentle and sweet even if they did taste like beer. She liked his kiss, but wished he didn’t make it so hard so fast. When he put his tongue in her mouth, the taste of yeasty alcohol overpowered her and it was awful. He pushed his tongue in farther.
His hand touched her breast. It was nice. Sort of. He squeezed and moved his fingers over her nipple. She felt a pull in her belly and lower, excitement and itchiness.
Following the path of that itch, his hand rested on her there, the heel of his palm rubbing her and his fingers pressing the seam of her jeans into her.
He was moving too fast, not giving her time to catch up. Her pulse pounded inside her head. His fingers were at the button of her jeans and pulling down her zipper.
How? What? Wait!
His hand was on her belly inside her underwear. She grasped his wrist, but he kept moving.
His fingers were in her curls, touching her dampness. Stop.
She yanked her head away from his beery kiss.
“Justin, no.” She sounded breathless. Her chest heaved up and down and her breasts kept hitting his body. She put her hands between them and pushed, but he was strong.
Fear became a real thing bouncing around the tent.
“Hey, babe,” Justin said. “We’re just having fun.” He kissed the side of her face, and his hot breath whooshed past her ear.
She grabbed his wrist again, tried to pull his hand out of her pants, but his fingers were inside her.
“Stop!” she cried, her heartbeat as loud as a train engine in her ears.
“What?” Justin sounded frustrated.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“Can’t you feel what you do to me, Princess?” Something hard jutted against her thigh.
“Don’t call me princess.” Her voice shook. “I don’t want you touching me there.”
“You said you wanted to be my girlfriend.”
“I do.”
“This is what girlfriends do, Aiyana.”
“It’s too soon.”
“Grow up.” He pulled his hand out of her pants with a hard flick. It hurt and she winced.
“I can’t believe how ungrateful you are.” He downed the rest of the beer. How many beers made a boy drunk? She didn’t know. She wanted to get out of here, away from him.
“I went to a lot of trouble to make this place for us.” Justin adjusted himself inside his pants. His place didn’t feel safe, not to her, but more like a black hole in the dark woods.
“I want to go home.” Her fingers trembled when she pulled up her zipper, but they shook too much to do up her button. She yanked her jacket down over it. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” she begged. “I don’t want people to think I’m easy.”
He thrust his fingers through his hair. Even messed up it looked good. What she could see of it. There was hardly any light left in the tent.
“Easy,” he scoffed. “That’s a laugh. Find your own damn way home.” With that, he bolted.
Aiyana sat stunned. How could Justin do this? He’d seemed so nice. As though waking from a bad dream, she crawled out. The woods were almost completely dark and foreign. Hostile. Every rattling tree branch, every bush, was a monster coming to get her. Justin must have run up the hill because she couldn’t see or hear him. He’d left her alone in the ravine at nighttime. What kind of person did that? Terrified, she ran up the hill.
The rain started when she was only halfway up, scrambling in the darkness toward the patches of light from the streetlamps flickering through the trees. Something rustled the bushes beside her and she cried out, scrabbling to catch branches to help her up the steep incline.
Her feet slipped and slid in the muck.
Rain streamed down her face, ruining the makeup she’d put on to look good for Justin. At least the rain hid her tears.
She ran home, past their meeting place, and rushed into the house, careful to close the door quietly, even though she ached to throw and break things.
Grandpa was still sleeping. Thank goodness. If he’d woken up and seen her, all hell would have broken loose. She needed to get to her room, where she wanted to hide forever.
She was only halfway up the stairs when Gramps let out his “wakeup” snort and said, “What?” She stopped and tried to calm her runaway heart. He smacked his lips, part of his waking-up routine. She knew he’d be stretching his skinny body every which way to come awake. His spine would make popping sounds.
The sound of the TV turning on followed her up the rest of the stairs. She tiptoed along the hallway and into her room. Closing her bedroom door, she leaned against it and let her tears flow.
Justin hadn’t really wanted her. He’d just wanted an easy lay.
What made him think she would be? She didn’t go out with boys. She was quiet at school. Was it because of her heritage?
In her mirror, she saw the reflection of a girl with dark raccoon eyes because of her ruined mascara. She swiped it with tissues until it was all gone.
Her hair, usually shiny and straight, hung in wet strings. With the broad cheekbones she’d inherited from her dad, there was no mistaking her heritage.
Native American. Ute.
She hated her face and she hated her name.
Would Justin have attacked her if her name had been Brittany? Or Madison? If she were white, would he have tried to make her drink beer and have sex?
She grasped the corners of the heavy blankets decorated with the symbols of her heritage and hauled them from the bed, wadding them into a ball and tossing them into the corner.
It took forever to get out of her wet clothes, to tug the wet denim down her legs and to put on her long nightshirt. She crammed her jeans into her laundry basket. Dad would be mad that she hadn’t hung them to dry. So what? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
She curled into a ball on her plain white bedsheets and shivered.
* * *
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Salem asked, slowing the Jeep because they were near the turn onto her father’s property.
“I’ve hit rock bottom. I’m as low as I can go. I need a place to rest.”
He didn’t know what to say. He’d told her to leave him alone, but she hadn’t. She’d come to him sick. While he felt used, he also felt an odd sort of honor. In her father’s house, there would have been a dozen people willing to take care of her. She’d chosen him.
Or had she? He thought of her muddy hands.
“I’m dropping you off at your dad’s, right?”