by LJ Byrne
Brock’s green eyes grow hard. “Fuck off, Lucas.”
So nice to know they’re not polite friends. “Are you guys doing a staredown? If so, that’s my cue to leave.” Dancing with Brock was okay, but not interesting enough to listen to them bicker. I extricate myself. “Bye.” I don’t bother to smile when I leave.
Katrina’s warm face is puzzled when I reach her. She hooks her arm through mine as Bruce and Charles form a circle. “Be careful. Bruce heard something is going on with the Club.”
“Club?” I repeat, but Bruce’s furrowed brow tells me he’s worried.
“The Dollar Club.” When I continue to look confused, he explains, “There’s a club that some of the Elites – actually all of them – are in. It’s a status thing to join the Dollar Club. You pay a million to join,” Bruce explains. “They make one-dollar bets because they think it’s funny.”
I mouth the amount in shock. How many people could that money feed? How many people would be free of debt? And why name an exclusive club so that it sounds like a discount store?
“The bets aren’t always nice, Elena,” Charles chimes in. “But I heard one of the Inner Circle kids mention you and the Club in the same breath. That’s not good.”
“What kind of bets?” I ask.
“Anything and everything,” Katrina says sourly. “Getting tickets to a concert, sleeping with someone, taking a picture in a forbidden location.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I have entered The Twilight Zone. “Is there anything else I should know?” I wish I’d stayed at school and never come to this dumb party.
“Some of the Elites’ parents are part of the Club. Not all, though. My dad isn’t in it, but he used to be a member,” Katrina says, her pretty face contorted with worry. “Are you okay, Elena?”
“Yeah, just adding it to my memory bank.” I look at my hands and realize I’ve lost my iced tea.
“If you want to go, I’ll take you back,” Charles offers, and I flash him a grateful smile. “But we could stick together and keep an eye out while we’re here. The present company isn’t so bad, is it?”
Katrina claps. “Let’s dance!” Because my arm is still hooked in hers, I’m dragged back out, Chase and Bruce following.
A K-pop song comes on. Bruce and Charles groan, but Katrina and I instantly recognize it. I must’ve watched the video a hundred times. We mimic the moves, Bruce and Charles our willing accomplices, and I’m actually enjoying myself. I catch the Elite boys watching us intermittently, but I try not to think about clubs and stupid bets. When Katrina does the slut drop without flashing or ripping her dress, I’m thoroughly impressed, but Mason looks scandalized.
I fan myself. “I think I need water,” I tell Katrina. Ben Summers and Kiana Shimura are opening beers, so Katrina asks Ben to fetch me water and he hands me a bottle. I down about half the bottle before I realize Mason is standing next to his sister, blue eyes on me. I feel awkward having guzzled all that water in front of him.
“Could you not dance like that, Kat? I’m your brother and I want to bleach my eyes,” Mason says in annoyance.
Katrina sticks her tongue out like a brat before jumping to the next song. “Lil Nas! Let’s go!”
I wave my hands in surrender. “No, no, I need to find a toilet before I burst. You go first.”
Ben points to the back of the house. “There’s a bathroom right down that hallway.”
Mason pauses between his sister, dancing with Charles and Bruce, and me, and there’s a palatable tension between us as if he’s trying to communicate something I need to know. He changes his mind the moment he sees Katrina twerking on Bruce.
The interior of the home is not as well-lit as I would like. I finish my business in the bathroom, but I blink when the world moves uneasily. My late nights and lack of sleep must be messing with me. A wave of vertigo sweeps me as I trip on the carpet. I brace a hand against a wall – I think it’s a wall. I wonder if I’m getting sick.
Blinking, the hallway zooms in and out, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. I feel a hand on my elbow.
“You okay?” Ben asks with a half-smile.
“I feel sick,” I mumble, but I keep moving forward. I think I’m moving forward.
“Stress gets to you at Highbury. Here, let me help,” he says sympathetically.
I pause, feeling uneasy, but I continue to let him guide me. When he opens the door, we’re in a bedroom. A part of me runs a red flag, but there’s a disembodied awareness taking over.
“Do you want to lie down? You seem unwell?” Who’s talking? Oh, right, Ben.
“Um, no, actually, I should find Katrina,” I say, but I’m not sure if I’m speaking normally at all.
Ben ignores me, urging me further into the bedroom. A part of my brain screams Wake up. The world is disjointed and confusing.
He tries to get me to lie down, but I start pushing at him. I can’t get my muscles to work properly so my actions are as effective as a Nerf baseball bat. “No,” I manage to say as his hands slide under my skirt. I know I’m in trouble, but the fear rises in slow motion.
In the background, I hear a commotion. I’m pushed down onto the bed, but at the same time, Ben is pulled away by the back of his head. I’m sprawled on the coverlet, feeling like I’m trapped in honey. I adjust my head and I distinctly see Lucas slamming his fist several times into something I can’t see. Katrina, brown eyes wide in horror, squeezes past Brock by the door. It occurs to me that someone is helping me sit up. Why is Mason helping me sit up? I feebly slap his hands away. “No,” I say again.
Then Katrina is there, grabbing me around the waist, snarling like a lioness. When we reach the main area, Bruce and Charles are shouting at Oliver, but Vanessa and Kiana look at me and laugh. Mason edges past us and confronts his sister. “I’ll take you both back to school,” he says, and Katrina shouts an obscenity.
Then Lucas is there, his face brutally cold. “I brought her here, I‘ll take her back,” he says, using that tone that brooks no argument.
Katrina shrieks at him, accusing him of something. “She is not going to be part of your game!” she finally screams.
“This isn’t a game,” Lucas snaps. “We need to get her out of here.”
After a prolonged shouting match, during which my knees buckle completely, Mason ends up holding me up. Katrina relents, letting Mason settle me in the back of his car. It’s not very roomy back there, but Katrina manages to wedge herself beneath my head.
I don’t remember the drive back to school or how I get back to my room. When I open my eyes next, Katrina is beside me with a cup of water. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. You need a little water, though,” she says soothingly.
I eye the cup suspiciously, but my mouth is parched. I sip the water in tiny increments. “What happened?” I ask, remembering fragments of being dizzy and Ben Summers feeling under my skirt. I shudder.
“I think something was in your water.” Katrina’s bitter voice makes me sit up. “There must have been a bet because I saw Vanessa give Oliver a dollar.”
My stomach churns. “A bet? To see if they could drug me?” Highbury Academy is filled with psychopaths and narcissists. An inner-city school might be safer.
“Here, the bets are often related to sex, drugs, or money.” Katrina nibbles her lower lip. “When I couldn’t find you, Charles and I badgered Mason to help find you. Brock told us that he saw Ben helping you and everything clicked. Ben’s an asshole and he’s Vanessa’s lackey.” She tosses her glossy brown curls over her shoulder. “I told Mason I’d rather be out of the Inner Circle.”
I realize that Lucas may have invited me to win some bet. It would explain him and Mason being less asinine towards me for the past twenty-four hours. I don’t exactly understand why they bothered to intervene with Ben, but maybe it was simply to see how dumb I was. I curse my stupidity. Why the hell do the Elites think they can take a life and make it a game? If my father had ever acknowledged me, if he had brought me into his life, I
would be among the Elites right now. I would not be Elena Kano. I would be Elena Spark, a rich brat playing with people’s lives. I count my lucky stars that I never became a monster.
When I cover myself with my blanket, I find that no matter what I do, I can’t get warm.
CHAPTER 6
The Elite boys never mention the events of the party. Watching Ben Summers and Vanessa Valentino saunter into the dining room infuriates me. I want to squish their arrogant heads together so badly. But what could I ever possibly do to them?
I tinker in the reserved room after classes are over. I’m on a Taylor Swift kick and have been listening to “Mean” from one of her albums. I put my mask on and tie my hair back. I make placards with the following messages on them:
LUCIFER WAS ONCE AN ANGEL
BULLIES CAN LOOK BEAUTIFUL
WORDS CAN CUT LIKE KNIVES
BUT PICKING ON THE WEAK
DOESN’T MAKE YOU STRONG
I then record my version of “Mean” by Taylor Swift. I don’t have the right twang in my voice, so I play the song slower, softer. My voice hitches a few times, but I hold every note. “Someday I’ll be big enough,” I whisper.
I end the recording and make a few edits, splicing in my words at the end of the video. I’ll finish it later tonight. I check last week’s post. People have left comments, some claiming to be agents or record producers. Someone writes: I’m your prince, be my princess. I’ll save you from your bullies.
After I’m done, I pack up, making sure the mask is carefully stashed in my backpack and wrapped to avoid damage. I remove the sheet covering the glass and step out. Lucas is standing in the hallway and I freeze, looking like I just stole candy from a child.
The room is sound-proofed. He wouldn’t have heard me singing. I’ve checked and you can’t hear anything. Nonetheless, panic and paranoia flood my mind. It’s unlikely he’s on YouTube, it’s unlikely he’ll note the times I upload my videos. I should mix it up and not post at the same time.
“Brock says you play the piano,” he says to me as if we’re capable of having a normal conversation.
I lower my chin in acknowledgment.
“He says you’re talented,” Lucas adds, prodding, strangely curious. My mind idly wonders if I would’ve ended up like Lucas, jaded and mean. I probably wouldn’t have slept with so many people. He must see that I’m lost in my world because his eyes narrow slightly.
I shift my bag and continue my blank stare.
He circles me. “People will always walk over you because you let them. You’re not very effective at fighting back. You’re weak. You just give up.” He stops in front of me. “You need to leave this school. You don’t have what it takes to survive here, Elena.” Oddly enough, Lucas reaches up and tucks my hair behind an ear. “The Elites will completely destroy you if you stay.” He smiles his cruel smile. “I’m trying to help you, you see that, right? It won’t hurt if you leave.”
In poor neighborhoods, there’s a cycle of abuse in many families. People tell you they love you, but they’re the first to hit until you cry.
“Where do you run off to, Elena, when you get that look on your face?” he questions, tilting my head up.
I remain passive, not reacting to his words. Even Lucifer was once a beautiful angel, I remind myself. “In your world, Lucas, the way you help is the same as the way you hurt. You perpetuate this cycle of abuse in every action of yours. Nothing you say changes what you are. You’re an abuser,” I tell him quietly.
His eyes widen. He acts as if I’ve kicked him in the gut when he takes a few steps back, his throat moving as if he’s fighting to control his emotions. There’s a hollow victory when he’s the one who retreats.
In the spirit of building camaraderie each year, there are mandatory “retreats” and team-building activities. On one Friday, the second-year students are hauled off on a hike to develop team spirit. If this sounds like a dumb activity for rich kids, it is. The amount of spirit I see is negligible. We’re split into groups and I get stuck with Vanessa, Ashley, and Thomas Carver. Even Katrina looks alarmed, but Vanessa is coldly civil as we look at the map and plot our route. Each team must use the map and compass to locate a landmark. We take a picture with a digital camera as proof and return. The team leader is given a two-way radio to keep in touch with the staff since we are forced to leave our cell phones at school.
Bruce told me earlier that since this is a common activity, most of the students know their way around the area. Vanessa seems confident about where we’re going. No one talks to me, but they don’t harass me either. I assume they just want to finish as quickly as possible. Our goal is to find an old shed that used to store emergency supplies for hikers. Before the trails were well-developed, there would be times when the snowstorms would trap people. These little huts had a change of warm clothes and emergency blankets as well as a phone.
I’m glad no one talks to me. There’s something sad and trivial in bullying. Bullies may be angry or have some vendetta, but the truth is that their actions often stem from an emptiness that can be soothed only by cruelty. These people haven’t a clue what the real world is like. If they lost all this wealth and privilege, they’d be the first to break.
After twenty minutes or so of walking, we find the little hut and take our obligatory picture. “Damn, I think I hurt my ankle a little,” Vanessa gripes, hobbling faintly. Ashley fusses while I stand back and watch. Thomas is concerned enough that he thinks we should have her sit in the hut and check her ankle.
We obediently trudge our way into the old building. It’s actually in good shape. But the moment we’re in, I’m pushed so that I fall as the other three quickly exit, slamming the door shut. Scrambling to my feet, I grab the handle and find that I can’t open the door.
“Vanessa, this isn’t funny!” I shout, slamming my hand on the door. I rattle the knob, but they’ve somehow secured it so it won’t open.
I’m not scared. If I don’t show up, the staff will send someone to backtrack here. I’ll be here for an hour or two at the most. Vanessa’s laughter irritates me. I kick the door in frustration. I start looking around the place, finding an old chest that still has an old wool blanket. I stop. Why do I think I smell smoke?
I turn to the door and see smoke seep in from the outside. This can’t be possible, I think. But the smoke gives way to flames that creep up the door.
“What are you doing?!” I scream, but no one responds. It takes me a few minutes to realize that Vanessa trapped me in here and then set the place on fire. I can’t even begin to comprehend how psychotic that sounds.
The windows of the hut are small. I’m not that big of a person, but the only way I’d fit through the window is if I were a cat. I start rummaging through the cabinets, looking for something – anything – that might help me. The first seems to enjoy the old wood and smoke enters the room faster than I expect. I cough as my eyes water. On your hands and knees, I scold myself.
Kneeling on the ground, I remember that wool is a flame retardant. I pull up the blanket from the old chest and check it over. It’s still in one piece and it’s large. I can easily wrap my body in it.
The fire is spreading – the door is engulfed in flames and the fire is starting to lick the ceiling above me. I need to check how solid that door is. I find a metal canister in the corner – it’s relatively heavy. I look at the door critically. The handle is metal, which means once enough of the wood is devoured, the door should become a weak spot. I simply need to dislodge the lock mechanism and damage the frame. The first time I throw the metal canister, it hits the door and bounces back towards me. But the door gives. The second time I throw it with all my strength and the door gives way, creating a narrow but passable gap wreathed in flames.
I tie my hair back properly and cover myself with the blanket, making a rough hood that will cover my face. I’ll need my feet free to run, but if I can jump through the flames, I might be able to clear the fire with minor injuries.
; The smoke makes it hard to breathe, and I’m starting to see that hot embers are falling from the ceiling. I don’t have much time before I’m either trapped or killed by smoke inhalation. I’m betting on sheer luck that I can make it. I tuck the blanket as well as I can and make a mad dash. When I feel the flames lick my ankles, I jump, trying to tuck and roll. I don’t quite manage a proper roll, but I manage to tumble out away from the burning hut. A rock cuts through my jeans, but I’m free of the burning building. I find just enough strength to crawl a small distance away, choking and coughing.
I don’t know how long I take to suck in the fresh air as I watch the small building burn before me. I continue to cough painfully, eyes watering. I sit in the grass, heedless of the cold and the pain in my leg, coughing. There’s a burn or something on my ankle, but I lack the energy to care.
Bruce finds me first, wrapped partially in the old and blackened wool blanket, sitting on the ground. Katrina and Charles arrive seconds later. They saw the smoke and realized that it wasn’t from a campfire. They don’t need to ask me what happened. Everyone knows I left with Vanessa. Katrina asks me a few questions, but I’ve withdrawn from the world for the time being. Bruce and Charles take turns carrying me while Katrina radios in that we need help.
Mason and Brock meet us midway. I think Brock is shocked, but Mason just has this grim expression. For all I know, they’re surprised I’m still alive. Mason offers to help the twins carry me, but Bruce tells him the Elites have done enough.
Do it for Mom. Even if it kills me?
At base camp, I hear Vanessa and Thomas swearing that I wandered off on my own. Lucas is tense as he listens to them, but his face blanks the moment he realizes I’m there. Vanessa even cries convincingly, pretending joy that I’m still alive. The other Elite boys are as expressionless as I am. Go figure. As for me? I go to sleep. I block everyone out. The staff doesn’t ask me any questions and I volunteer nothing.