Chapter 7 : Westley Mondego Must Die
Dee’s POV
I…I shouldn’t have done that.
Oh man, I should not have done that.
Why did I do that?
I hit Westley Mondego—THE Westley Mondego!
The great-grandson of legendary acting duo Indra "Indy" Lucielle Mondego and her husband Vernon Martim Mondego, as in the “Indy & Vern” Indra and Vernon. They were “I Love Lucy” before “I Love Lucy”.
Fuck, their show had so many seasons that it was still the longest-running sitcom of all time even in the year 2023! They were the first to get color for their show—fucking color! That’s how old and powerful his great-grandparents were. They were practically the equivalent of Hollywood royalty!
And let’s not forget Westley was the son of the global phenomenon, the Goddess of Pop, AND freaking R&B herself, the one and only Evette. Or, maybe I should point you in the direction of his father, leading man and heartthrob to like three generations of women (including my own) Mr. Armond Mondego, from “Remembrance” and the movie “St. Valentine: The True Story of Father Bentley”.
He won so many awards just for those two, dude’s been in like a million films and they’re all pretty well acclaimed by critics.
Or what about his cavalcade of equally as famous cousins? Like fellow singers Cameron (who’s right in front of me) and Alicia Dukes (who’s already nominated for a Grammy). Real-estate mogul Marcus Dukes and his lawyer wife Josefina, who’s his dad’s sister. Or Manuel “Manny” Mondego, lead guitarist/lead singer of a group called ‘Death Cloud 9’, and whom I’ve secretly (not so secretly) harbored a crush on since I was thirteen.
Or what about his other cousin Desmond Smith, who’s the creator of Mmblr, and CEO of the biggest social media app since Twitter? Or his other cousin, DJ Fern from “Brooklyn Beach” on MTV, or Quinta who’s a viola player with the London Philharmonic.
Nicole and Laurel, the twin actresses making a splash on HBO’s new spy thriller hit “Fractal”. Heck, his mom’s sister’s daughter—Lucinda "Lulu" Hawks—is running for congresswoman in the next election.
And then there’s Jacklyn motherfucking Savage who is in a league of her own entirely.
So knowing all of that, why did I do a stupid thing like hit him?
Well, like all boneheaded mistakes, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
And one based entirely on the results of what I will call The Party.
***
“I think this is dumb,” I said looking at Kaitlynn Brown’s elaborate modern art-looking glass door. Where the hell was the handle? “I think I should turn back now, call an Uber, and just binge-watch something on my own. I’ve heard ‘What We Do in the Shadows’ was pretty funny and I already have a massive crush on Kayvan Novak.”
“…Nandor the Relentless?” Gemma looked at me from under a cloud of baby blue bangs. She was always dying her hair a different color every school year. It paired nicely with her royal blue lipstick. “Dee…why?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged my shoulders, already feeling self-conscious because she managed to rope me into wearing something sleeveless and distinctly pants-free. I’d let my hair out to detract from how big I was. I wasn’t the fattest girl at Westbrooke High, but I felt like it. I knew I was definitely the poorest… ”I mean, he’s got really warm eyes—”
“No!” She bopped me on the head, hand straight like a chop. Her phone had stopped buzzing, so I guess everything had worked out. Now it was just the waiting game. “You are super cute and you need to stop lusting after ancient old men.”
“Ancient!? Gemma, he’s not even—”
“Is he over twenty-five? Well?”
“That’s not fair! First I pick a crush that’s too old, then I pick a crush that’s too old looking—”
“—Hozier may have the voice of an angel but he has the face of a man who came on the boats to Ellis Island for a better life—”
“—then you shit on the ONE dude in our grade that could potentially like me back—”
“—Alex Jenkins is not a choice; he is a regret.” Gemma waggled a finger at me. “We don’t make regrets until AFTER grad school.”
“That’s mean! He’s nice!”
“He has a fetish.” Her phone went off again with a string of numbers that Gemma punched in into a hidden keypad underneath one of the…puzzle pieces. Modern art thing. “I know he has a thing about liking feet or something.”
“Gemma!”
“He does!” Gemma waved me away from hitting her and breaking her concentration on the, frankly, ridiculously long password. “Jim Lawrence told me after he broke up with Amy from volleyball.”
“Amazon Amy?” I thought back to the 6’5” giantess and all that entailed. “Really?”
“And Rachel Fairbanks, and Jillian T, and—”
“Okay, okay, so you might have a point—”
“I always have a point.” Gemma snapped the keypad shut and waited. “Listen, Dee, no matter what people say, you are amazing and beautiful and smart as fuck. These troglodytes are just too stupid to know any better, trust me. Once you get out of Westbrooke, you’ll see the world was made for you.”
The door slid open on cue. Oh, so that’s how a door opened with no handle. I should have figured that out sooner.
“Did you plan this on purpose?” I said adjusting my bag. Big breaths here, Dee. It was just a high school party. What could go wrong?
“I really want to lie and say it was all according to plan, but I also just wanna give it up to fate finally showing you to let down your hair. Love it by the way.” Gemma picked up one of my curls and wrapped it around her finger. “So when are we dyeing it purple, Miss Thang?”
“Once we get into the same school,” I said giggling. I stuck my arm out. “Why madame, care to follow me into the rendezvous?”
“Why certainly, Miss Thang,” Gemma dropped into a stereotypical southern drawl. “After you, gorgeous!”
And just like that everything was fine.
***
Everything was not fine, nothing could be less fine.
“You’re drunk,” I whispered, more of a squeal than anything proper. “You’re freaking wasted!”
“Guilty as charged, Officer Rayburn.” Gemma lifted up her wrists, tilting to the side and almost knocking over the punch, which was more vodka than punch. “Lock me up and throw away the key!”
“You drove, dumbass! How are we supposed to get home now!?”
“Oops?” Her crooked smile said she was anything but. “Noooo, don’t be mad, Dee. We can crash with Kaitlynn. It’s fine. Ain’t that right, Kaitlynn!?”
“Keep your voice—” I yanked her into an alcove when some people turned around, “—down! Others can hear you!”
Well, it would have to be fine. Great, a sleepover with nothing to change into at a person’s house I didn’t know. I was really hitting the jackpot here.
“So?” Gemma pressed her cheek to mine making a popping sound. “Holy fuck, dude. How is your skin so soft? You’ve never had a zit in your life! Bitch!”
“Gemma please…” But it was too late, Gemma was already rubbing her face on me like a cat in heat, smearing blue on both of us. Great, just great. I rifled through my bag, finding a napkin, and tried to rub the crude off both of us so we wouldn’t look like we tried to blow Papa Smurf. “Oh my fucking God, why won’t this shit come off.”
“Colorpop?”
“It’s like a permanent marker, ugh, do you know where the bathroom is?”
“Somewhere, thataway!” Which told me nothing at all, but did show me. “IS THAT WE—”
I clamped my hand over her mouth.
“Yes, that’s him. Shut up.” More tormentor. The Devil in Gucci. “Ew, don’t lick my hand.”
“Then don’t be a bitch.” Gemma rose on wobbling legs, face determined or at least trying to look like such. Really, she kind of looked like a constipated bluebird. “I’m going to suck his dick. Wish me luck.”
“No, bad idea.” I grabbed her hand. “Confessing to your crush sounds like a mistake, and you said we’re not making any mistakes until after grad school, remember?”
“It won’t be a mistake if it’s a miracle.” I think she was trying to wink, but it came out wrong. Too much of a delay in opening them back up again. “HEY WES!”
“Abort mission! Abort mission!” But Gemma was slippery. Literally. She had slicked herself up with body glitter and that combined with my naturally clammy hands made holding on to her a shit show. “GEMMA NO!”
“GEMMA YES!” she shouted back before she serpentines to Wes. The stupid jock actually seemed surprised amidst his little lackey’s on the basketball team. “You, boy!”
“Do I,” Westley’s voice had deepened into a nice velvet after puberty—a trait of most of the Mondego men, “know you?”
Gemma pointed at herself, triumphant.
“Well, don’t you think it’s a little strange to not recognize your future wife?”
The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
It wasn’t until Wes laughed that the others had the nerve to follow.
“Holy fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He put his cup down, and walked around Gemma, circling like a shark did to chum. “Why the hell would I want some little dweeb like you? What are your parents anyway? Doctors?”
“Veterinarians,” Gemma’s voice sank with her confidence. “They specialize in farm animals.”
“I guess they would, seeing what a cow they raised.”
“Hey!” What a piece of—Now, Wes didn’t know about Gemma’s issues with being dysmorphic. He hadn’t been there when she struggled with bulimia. Her weight gain was a good thing. She was a healthy normal size for her height!
Gemma shivered on the spot, tears making her mascara run.
Oh, fuck Westley Mondego. I pushed past the crowd the only way I knew how, using all my years of being shoved and my weight to my advantage. “Hey, asshole!”
“Oh shit, here comes Moby Dick.” The laughter bounced off me. “Come to save your fellow sea cow?”
“You’re one to talk!” I hollered. “Anyone with eyes can see the tits you’re developing!”
“Pecs!” Oh, I’d hit a sore spot. “I’m getting pecs. My body is weird with the new protein coach has me on, it’ll work out.”
“I don’t know.” I poked his chest as Gemma disappeared into the bathroom. Ah, so there it was. “If these things get any bigger, you might have to start wearing MY bra.”
“Ha!” Cameron snorted, only to look down when Wes glared at him. “Sorry, you have to admit, that one was kind of funny.”
“No, what’s funny—” Brace yourself, Dee, “—was seeing her dad get dragged out in handcuffs on the news.”
“You—” Don’t cry, do not fucking cry, “—shithead!”
“And you are just a gutter trash fatso with zero friends to match your zero Daddy. Or do you still stupidly think he had nothing to do with killing that kid?”
“He didn’t! I have proof—”
“Where?” Wes spread his arms out. “Where is your proof? Where’s the proof that your Daddy doesn’t kill little kids? I bet you he diddled them too. Is that why you want your Daddy out? Huh, Dee? Are you craving Daddy’s touch? Well?”
***
I couldn’t hit Wes back then, but times were different now. I was different. After The Party, I dedicated myself to getting in shape. Getting even. Training every day so I could have a moment like this.
I spit on Westley Mondego, damning the consequence.
“My dad didn’t kill those kids,” I said, picking up my backpack, and pushing Cameron out of my way. “And he didn’t touch me either.”
And I’d prove it too.
Curly black hair and cinnamon eyed—
—And maybe with the last name M to match the gold on the gate.