by E. M. Snow
This is what happens to big-mouthed sluts.
In choir, two boys from the tenor section spend the entire class theorizing whether I’m bush, landing strip, or bare. Miss Olsen can’t hear what they’re saying, but everyone around them can, and it’s obviously the funniest thing in the world to them. When they move on to guessing the shade of my nipples, I can’t take it anymore.
My hand shoots up, and Miss Olsen stops in the middle of explaining diction and raises her eyebrow at me. “Yes, Miss Luna?”
“I … I’m sorry. Bathroom,” I mutter, grabbing my books and the ruined sweater that I took off before class. I don’t even wait for her to excuse me. I rush for the door, grateful for the drumming in my ears because it drowns out whatever else they’re whispering about me. Just before I leave, I catch Gideon’s sea-blue gaze. His jawline is tense as he gives me the tiniest shake of his head.
I shake mine back.
On top of all that, Margaret will barely talk to me. We run into each other between second and third block and before I can say anything, she snaps, “Do you still have my Government notes? I need them for next block?” After I give them to her, she leaves without another word.
It’s disheartening and makes me feel so shitty that by lunch time I’m tempted to just skip the rest of the day and go home. Except home isn’t home anymore. Home is now a prison disguised by luxury and guarded by cold-hearted jailors.
My nerves are ragged, and my patience is thin as I make my way through the cafeteria in search of a spot to sit. I don’t have an appetite, which might not be such a horrible thing, since no open seats look all that welcoming. Dejected, I pass by a group of girls at a round table. I recognize a few of them from various classes. They’re giggling and shooting looks my way, and it’s too much.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“The things some sluts will do for money,” one girl remarks, crinkling her nose. “Being poor must blow—just like you.”
My God, these girls have got some balls on them, I’ll give them that. They clearly don’t give a damn that they’re insulting me to my face, and it’s disarming—just like the rest of this trash day. I gape at them like an idiot.
“Nothing else to say?” another girl taunts. “Mouth too tired?”
“You know, I’m getting really tired of saving you,” a familiar voice mutters in my ear. I gasp and jerk to the side when Reina appears next to me, a giant sketch pad in her hands. She lays a dismissive stare on the group. “Listen up, bitches. Unless you want me to start announcing whose parents are swinging and which one of you currently has crabs, I would seriously consider—”
“Girls!” I cringe when a deep male voice booms behind us, and Reina’s eyes squeeze shut. We pivot around almost at the same time to face Mr. Sutton, one of the gym teachers as well as the assistant football coach. He looks sort of like a blond version of the guy that plays Uhthred on the show Margaret always teases me about watching.
My best friend had talked about Mr. Sutton half the summer—until she set her sights on Phoenix, that is.
“Everything okay, ladies?” he asks, his brow knitting as he glances between Reina and me.
She gives a tight smile. “If you’re asking if I’m causing trouble, the answer is 42.”
I decide I like Reina even more for her reference to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
Clutching her sketch pad tightly against her chest, she leans into him. His jaw spasms, like he’s scared to be too close to her. “Just so you know, Karen Rodgers has a bet with her friends that she’ll be the first girl here that’ll fuck you. Don’t fall for the loose-lipped Jezebel. She has the pubic lice, and she’ll definitely ask to speak to the headmaster if you underperform.”
Although she drops that revelation just low enough that the girls behind us couldn’t possibly have heard her, my mouth tumbles open. Did she really just say that? Please tell me she didn’t say that.
Mr. Sutton’s spine stiffens, a deep flush clawing up his neck. “Detention, Miss Hartley,” he clips out.
I let out a strangled sound when she excitedly claps her hands. Does this girl enjoy pushing people? “My favie. See you at 3:45,” she deadpans, then crooks a finger at me. “Come on, Josslyn.”
Dismissed, Mr. Sutton stalks off to join the other teacher on lunch duty.
I walk beside Reina in stunned silence. The girls at the table glare us down, likely hoping the roof will tumble down on top of us, but Reina just laughs and shrugs them off.
“Reina—”
“Relax, those bitches won’t do anything, and Sutton’ll just have me write lines or something equally as boring and stupid because Aric is his star player, and he wouldn’t dare piss off the precious.” To drive her point home, she pivots toward Alaric and Phoenix’s table and wiggles her fingers at her brother. Alaric responds with flared nostrils and a set jaw.
Phoenix is staring our way, too, his expression so intense that my breath falters. I rip my focus from his, but I can still feel those green eyes on me when I face Reina again.
She’s giving me a funny look, one that makes me shift uncomfortably, as I blurt out, “You really didn’t have to do any of that. Or get yourself in trouble with Mr. Sutton.”
“Well, I did.” Again. She had defended me again. What’s her angle? Why does she keep helping me? She’s related to the Townsends, so she has to have some selfish ulterior motive, right?
She leads me to two empty seats at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria and we sit. I drag my teeth over my bottom lip for a few seconds before I finally whisper, “You don’t really know all that about those girls, do you?”
She rolls her eyes and plucks a fry off my tray. “You learn a lot skipping class in the bathrooms. You should try it sometime.”
I scowl at her as she nibbles my fry and swipes another. “The last time I spent significant time in the bathroom, Kallista doused me in iced coffee.”
“And you should have shoved the cup down her cock-sucking throat, just like you should have beat Bekah’s ass for that Sharpie bullshit.” When my eyebrows shoot straight up, she sighs, “Yes, I know about that. I also know you’re going to need thicker skin if you’re going to do whatever it is you’re doing with Phoenix.”
“I can’t get kicked out,” I say, and her hazel eyes roll dramatically.
“Famous last words, but you also can’t be a punching bag.” She flips her sketch pad open to reveal an intricate pencil drawing of a set of male hands. “The girls at this school will eat you alive because that’s all they know how to do.”
“I—”
She scoots closer and adds on a whisper, “Especially if they know you’re living with us.”
For the first time, it dawns on me that she probably knows more about my situation than I do. She might know what exactly it is that Jasper stole. I mean, just yesterday she was full of questions and now…
“Reina, do you know what’s going on?” I tentatively ask. “Between me and Phoenix, I mean?”
“I know your grandmother’s never worked for my aunt and uncle. I know that there’s something wrong. Something more fucked than usual happening in that house. Why else would…”
I wait for her to finish that sentence, my heart beating faster and my breath racing past my lips. When her gaze whips back to mine, though, she tilts her head slightly.
“I’ve been told to keep my fucking nose out of Phoenix’s business, but I know that whatever this is? It’s a mistake,” she says, her voice low with warning. “You should have stayed far, far away from my family, sweetheart.”
13
The next couple days are hell.
In fact, the only experiences that are worse are when my mom died, when Dad and Jasper abandoned me, and the day of Nina’s seizures.
The first layer of hell is Jasper. Phoenix’s recent revelation that my brother might be a murderer is the stuff that nightmares are made of. Plus, Jasper is the reason I’m in this situation. He had swept back into my li
fe, bringing all his secrets and lies and chaos. He had stolen from the Townsends—not once but twice. And it was Jasper who’d bartered me to a man I’ve never even met in exchange for more time to pay back his debts.
I still don’t know what those debts are. And Jasper’s still yet to respond to me, which is infuriating and painful and mind-blowing.
I also don’t get to see Nina. Our house in South LA was close enough to La Costa Community that I was able to visit her at least every other day. Now that I live in Bel Air with the Townsends, those frequent visits are damn near impossible. No matter how much I call to check in, I feel like it’s not enough. Like I’m betraying her, even though the nurses and staff assure me that she’s fine.
She’s on my mind a lot. When I wake up in the morning. As I toss and turn at night. During school.
Which, of course, leads me to the third layer of hell: Thornwood. Back when we were just Ravenwood, when I was invisible and Phoenix Townsend was nothing but an untouchable legend, I actually enjoyed my classes and took pride in my work and grades. Now, everywhere I go I’m followed by lewd looks and remarks from guys, or cruel taunts from girls like Kallista and Harmony.
Like Margaret.
She hasn’t said anything, but she doesn’t have to. Whenever I see her in the hallways, she takes off in the other direction, usually with one of the girls from the cheer squad. Gia returns to school on Wednesday, but even that’s terrible. At first, I’m almost confident she’ll shun me, too. Instead, she throws her arms around me the moment she sees me in the hallway.
And then, she starts bawling. Big, ugly tears trickle down her face, and I stand frozen, terrified of what she’s about to say.
“Ugh, this week, Joss…” she manages. My heart breaks in two as she presses the heels of her palms to her eyes and takes a few seconds to catch her breath. “Did you get my text last night?”
I hadn’t until this morning. It must have come through after I went to bed, so I didn’t discover it until I came back from my run. Her message was cryptic as hell—I need to talk to you—so I’d called her on speaker while I dressed for school. She didn’t answer, so I assumed the worst. That she was dropping me as a friend, too. It seems to be the theme of this dumpster fire of a week. I just never imagined Margaret would turn against me so fast without at least giving me a chance to explain myself.
Correction: a chance to make up a lie since Phoenix doesn’t want me blabbing that I’m his hostage.
“Look, Gia,” I start on a heavy breath. “What they’re saying isn’t true. I’m not doing anything with—”
“What?” She drops her hands from her face, confusion mingling with the tears swimming in her dark gaze. A second later, her eyes pop wide, and she clears her throat. “Oh. Ohhh. No, it’s not that. I mean, Margaret texted about it, but she’s so weird about that guy that…”
Her words trail off, giving me plenty of time to wonder how many people Margaret’s trash-talked me to. As if on cue, a group of girls shuffle past my locker and one coughs out, “Hoe Worker.”
So creative and original, these rich girls.
Before Gia can comment, I lift a hand and shake my head. “It doesn’t even matter. What matters is what’s wrong with you.” She releases another shuddering breath before the waterworks start again. Biting my bottom lip, I consider her absences the past couple days and swallow hard. “Y-you’re not pregnant, right?”
Relief pours through me when she laughs. That’s good, isn’t it? That she’s laughing. “You’d have to actually have sex for that to happen, Joss.” She leaves me in suspense for a long pause before she says in a tiny voice, “It’s … my dad.”
The tardy bell rings and everyone starts racing to class, but I don’t move an inch as Gia gives me the CliffsNotes version of what’s going on. Her dad was on duty the night of Phoenix’s party, and he’d busted Daria Howard and a few other girls pre-gaming in the dorms before they headed to Bel Air. While Mr. Cohen had made them throw away the alcohol, he hadn’t reported the incident. In Daria’s parents’ minds, if he had reported the girls, she would have never gone to the party or screwed Phoenix or gotten publicly humiliated by Kallista.
Since Daria’s father is a congressman—which is news to me—who preaches wholesome values and abstinence, he’s being slammed in the media.
And now, thanks to Daria’s father, Gia’s dad has lost his job.
“That’s not fair!” I can’t help but hate Phoenix a little more, even though I know he isn’t responsible for some hypocritical politician’s misplaced blame, but still. Every terrible, fucked-up road always leads back to Phoenix somehow. “Is he going to appeal?”
I already know the answer before Gia opens her mouth, but it still hurts like hell. He’s not going to. And with him jobless and potentially moving back to Tacoma, he doesn’t want her to remain at Thornwood.
Meaning I truly am losing another friend.
A teacher passing by breaks up our conversation and barks at us to get to class.
I go through the rest of the day on autopilot, numb and feeling like my chest is clenching. I run directly into Phoenix on the way into Spanish, and he flashes me his customary smirk when our eyes lock.
“You look like you’ve been crying, Luna,” he muses.
I have. Even though I held it together during lunch, I couldn’t stop the tears that fell on the way to my final class of the day. “And you look like a piece of shit who gets off on ruining people,” I mutter, pushing past him.
I barely make it five steps when something snags my feet. I fall. My belongings scatter everywhere. And everyone laughs, a roar that thunders around me and pounds at my eardrums.
“It doesn’t have quite the same sound effect as it would’ve a few years ago, but it does the trick,” a voice taunts, and every inch of my body is on fire as I blink up at Harmony. This is the same girl who would have flunked chemistry last year if I hadn’t been her partner. Sitting at her desk with her hands clasped primly together and her golden mane of wavy hair falling over one shoulder, she’s obviously forgotten all that now.
“I…” I start, but my voice shakes. I puff out a breath before I continue. “Why would you—”
“Did I tell you to do that?” Phoenix’s cold voice abruptly cuts in, and I slant a shocked look from Harmony to him. He’s standing above me, his spine rigid and his jaw set in an angry line as he glares down at Harmony. From down here, he looks impossibly taller and more terrifying.
“It’s a shame you don’t put as much effort into…” he pauses for effect, casting a look around at our classmates who’ve all grown silent. His lips quirk, but his smile doesn’t fool me. Fury still rolls off his broad shoulders in waves. “Well, I’m sure half the motherfuckers in this class know what I’m talking about.”
That draws several chuckles.
Harmony stutters through an apology, but he waves it off with a flick of his wrist. He takes his insult to her a step further by extending his hand toward me.
I just gape at it. Why is he helping me? Isn’t this what he wants?
“Get up, Luna,” he grinds out, his hand jerking slightly.
I swallow hard and nod, reaching out to gather my belongings. I hear Phoenix suck in a sharp breath, and I glance back to find the boy I saw him arguing with last week—Easton Madigan—bent over, mere inches from my legs. He grabs my notebook from the floor, lets his eyes linger on my exposed thighs for a few beats, then gives me a half-smile as he passes me my book.
Ignoring Phoenix’s outstretched fingers, I scramble to my feet, wiping the dust off my ass. “Thanks,” I breathe.
Phoenix makes a noise deep in the back of his throat, but Easton just grins. “You should—” he begins, but Mrs. De León enters the class and starts clapping for everyone to sit down and focus.
On the way to our seats, Phoenix’s breath heats the shell of my ear. My core tightens in response. “What?” I whisper.
“I bet you liked that shit, didn’t you, Luna?” he husks, and I
shiver at the vibration of his mouth against my skin.
I pick up my pace, putting more space between us and slam into my desk. He pauses next to me, his dark brows raised. “Why wouldn’t I like getting assaulted by your many conquests?” I snark because I doubt that he’ll leave me alone until I respond with something.
His full lips curl, but he doesn’t answer me right away. He waits until we’re in the middle of a pop quiz, to lean forward. “We both know I’m not talking about Harmony. She’s irrelevant, Luna, and only wants attention. If it’s male attention you want, all you have to do is say the word.”
“Señor Townsend,” Mrs. De León warns, and I hear him chuckle behind me.
The sarcasm rolls off him in waves when he responds, “Lo siento, Señora De León.”
Anyone else and she would kick him out for cheating.
Anyone else, and I might be able to concentrate on my work. Instead, I probably flunk my quiz because I spend all my time wondering what he would have said next.
I don’t get a chance to ask him.
As soon as the final bell rings, he snaps, “Ride home with Gideon, I have conditioning,” and storms from the classroom behind Easton.
14
What’s truly surprising, among the torment and bullying, is who keeps stepping up to my defense. Not just Reina, but Gideon Townsend. Reina I can understand because it’s clear she hates her cousins, and so it’s the whole “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” deal. Gideon is a different story, however, because he has no reason to help me.
Except he does.
Like on the way to his car right after Phoenix leaves me for what I assume is wrestling conditioning. Some sophomore wanting to impress his friends asks if I’m willing to post videos of me waxing the Townsend brothers’ candlesticks on OnlyFans.