by Nora Cobb
CHAPTER 13
Troy
I watch Anthony walk out of the student center and toward the art building carrying a slice of pizza. He uses his threadbare jeans for a napkin, and I just don’t get the appeal of being around him. And why is he paying tuition to smoke weed in an abandoned courtyard at Montlake Academy? I saw the list of colleges and universities that the seniors are attending next September. Each one is Ivy League or top-rank. Anthony’s name is on the list for a local engineering college. I suppose it’s good enough, but he could have gotten accepted without showing his face here.
“You promised, Troy.” Arielle stands beside me with her glossy lips squeezed into a pout.
She’s been holding back on the pleasure until I do her bidding. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’m not the water boy for an over-glorified cheerleader. But my parents were elated with greed when I told them who I was dating.
My mother is already planning the wedding even though Arielle’s parents are a bit more aloof. Saunders may have the wealth, but the Blackwaters have the name. Their family came over on the Mayflower while my family stood around on the docks waiting for another ship. It doesn’t matter that my family wasn’t poor back then; hers got here first, and they’ll always look down on us for waiting in line.
“Are you even listening to me?” Arielle steps in front of me, blocking my view of the world.
“Of course I am, sugar.” I reach for Arielle’s slim hips, but she whacks my hand away. It’s not right.
“I mean it, Troy. If you really love me, you’ll get her expelled.”
“I want the same things that you want.” I reach for Arielle’s hand and press it to my lips like a fucking gentleman. “Trashalicious doesn’t belong here with us.”
Arielle smiles and that is happiness. I want her smiling at me because it makes my life easier. My gaze sweeps down her curvy body in her tight red sweater and skintight leggings. I love a blonde in red, and I’m eager to have a bit of what she promises underneath. In silence, we watch as Anthony disappears into the art building.
“Does he ever go to class?”
Arielle shrugs her shoulders. “He’s actually pretty smart. He got an academic scholarship.” She pauses until Anthony disappears into the dimly lit doorway. “He’d be cuter if he had money.”
I scowl. “Nice to know where your loyalties lie.”
“Right here, baby. And I’m not going anywhere.” Standing close, Arielle places her palm on the front of my pants.
Her gaze lowers and then slowly meets my eyes again. Deliberately, her fingers stroke me, making my heat swell. I don’t need a boner in my khakis when I do this, and I step away. Arielle knows how to make me obey her, and if I don’t get my release one way, I’ll get it another. I pound my fist in my hand as I look back at the doorway.
She whispers in my ear, “Make me proud, and I’ll make you happy.”
Like a missile bent on destruction, I head over toward the art building, motioning toward three boys from my team to follow me down the stairs.
***
“Mr. Lange?” Anthony looks up from a paperback book as I approach him. He’s sitting on the low wall with his backpack at his feet. That bag must reek of weed. I’m surprised dogs don’t chase him down the street. Anthony scowls at me, and if looks could kill, he might have a chance. He’s watching me knowing what I did. How I ruined his big and only chance to touch a good-looking woman. Not everyone at Montlake knows about my time with Natalie, but I’m sure he knows now why I pointed him to the other bedroom down the other hall. I tricked his poor ass, fair and square.
Anthony glares at me. “What do you want, Troy?”
“We need to discuss your business strategy.”
He reaches for his worn black backpack that’s slowly turning a faded gray. “What do you want?”
He may hate me, but he needs the money more.
“I don’t want the kindergarten shit.” I scoff at the baggie in his hand. “I want the harder stuff.”
“I don’t sell pharma anymore. You’ll have to check your grandparents’ meds if you want that shit.”
“Funny,” I force out a chuckle. “What about some roofies?”
Ready to go, Anthony stands up fast, but I knock him back down on his ass, toppling him over the short wall.
“I want you to sell me what I want,” I motion to my guys. “Until you do, me and the boys are going to knock seven shades of shit out of you.”
Like a poorly drawn cartoon, his eyes widen as my fist swings out and takes him down again. Anthony grabs his cheek, but despite the blow, he’s on his feet and heading toward me. I’m a little shocked when he takes a swing at me. Boy must have found his balls. He gets me once in the gut, and for a moment, I’m winded. He aims again and punches me again. This time, he makes contact with my jaw.
Wiping my mouth with my hand, I say, “That was a mistake, welfare boy.”
The guys step forward, and for the first time, Anthony notices that he is outnumbered. I laugh, touching the split on my lip with my finger. I see the red blood glistening on my fingertips, and now, he’s going to bleed.
“Did you know?” I smirk as he watches me with wild eyes. “She’s a squirter.”
That set him off and he runs at me, tackling me to the hard ground. The gray stones are covered in moss, but that doesn’t make them softer. Hard granite edges dig into my skin. Playtime is over. Using my weight, I roll Anthony over and pin him to the ground. He’s breathing heavily as he struggles underneath me. Sweat is covering his face. I taste the blood in my mouth and butt my head into his nose. He’s coughing as I get off him.
I nod in his direction as Anthony tries to scramble off the ground.
“I want to see blood, boys.” Laughing, I give instructions on how I want them to fight. “Let everyone know that he got a beating.”
My boys are on him. Theo and Jerry hold Anthony on his feet, while Casey takes a running leap and kicks him in the gut. Anthony doesn’t shout in pain; he just grunts and accepts his beating. I look over as Anthony’s head swings back after Casey lands a punch to his chin. I do admire a man that can take the pain. Maybe I’ll end it sooner than later.
While the boys are working him over, I search his funky backpack. If anyone has dirt on Natalie, Anthony will. They still talk, and knowing how desperate the boy must be, he probably tried to nail her again. I pick up his phone and swipe it open with my thumb.
Fucking amateur. A good dealer ought to keep his phone locked.
I tap the thread from Natalie, and my mouth drops open in shock and amazement. Jackpot. The sounds of Anthony’s pained grunts don’t distract me as I scroll through pictures of her body on his phone. Holy shit. My cock rises as I drink in the curves of her flawless body stretched across a purple bed. Why is she wasting this on a loser like him?
Closing my eyes to gather myself, I say. “I don’t hear him groaning.”
While they keep Anthony distracted, I tap my number into his phone, but it shows up before I finish typing. Of course, I’m in the dealer’s phone. I forward the pictures to my phone, and then I delete both the forwarded text and my number.
“Boys,” I shout. “Time’s up. Puts your pencils down and hand in your assignment.”
Anthony crumples to the ground, his face a bloody mess as he coughs bloody spit onto the gray stones.
I kneel down, so I can get a better look at his battered face. “Is he going to need help?”
“No,” answers Theo. “Fucker’s tougher than he looks.”
I toss Anthony’s phone back in his bag and pull out a baggie of thick joints. I sniff the lush fragrance through the bag. The boy finds quality stuff. Let him think that this is all I wanted from his bag. Standing over him as his bruised eyes flutter open, I reach into my pocket and drop a few bills on his bloody face.
“You got balls, Lange. You should have tried out for the team.”
***
“Holy fuck.” Arielle’s eyes are bigger tha
n golf balls as we sit in the back of my car after school, looking at Natalie’s dirty pictures on my phone.
“She looks wasted in this one.” Arielle’s voice rises in glee. The shot is off-center, and Natalie’s face is almost cropped out of the picture, but you can still recognize her.
“Maybe.” I’m growing hard, and I shift in my seat. “They were probably both smoking, and she couldn’t hold the phone straight.
“Are you going to keep the ones of him?” Arielle asks as her finger rests on a pic of Anthony showing off his heart tattoo. She has a hungry look in her eyes, and I don’t like it.
I snatch the phone away. “No one is interested in seeing dealer dick.”
I delete one of Anthony’s photos, but she takes the phone back and retrieves it. With a few quick moves, she forwards the thread to her phone, and it lights up in her bag.
“I may want to keep those,” she explains.
“Why?” I challenge her as I take my phone back. “You trying to piss me off?”
“I have someone I want to show those photos to.” Her lips curl. “To make a rock-solid point. You did well, sweetie, but now it’s my turn.”
Climbing into my lap, Arielle kisses my lips with soft touches as she unfastens the belt on my pants. My hard bulge is aching against my briefs, and I need the delicious release that she’s been promising all week. I switch the phone back to Natalie’s picture, taking in the curve of her bare breasts. Arielle takes the phone out of my hand and tosses it in the back seat, but as her warm lips trace down my body, I picture Natalie’s mouth opening wide.
CHAPTER 14
Beth
“Beth, we need to talk.” All alone without a line of girls following her, Arielle crosses the length of the cafeteria and stands in front of my table where I always eat lunch with Anthony.
Except for today; Anthony was sent home yesterday, looking like a pulpy mess. He won’t squeal. He never does, but I can guess who. It doesn’t take a detective to figure out that the fucking jocks beat him up again. I thought they had outgrown that shit when they started driving fast and screwing girls.
“No, we don’t,” I reply.
“You’ll want to talk to me.” Arielle sits down, crossing her legs like she’s posing for Vanity Fair. “You’ll want to talk to me,” she repeats. “As much as I want to talk to you.”
I narrow my eyes at her uppity tone, and wait for her to continue. Curiosity sucks the common sense right out of me.
“You should reevaluate who your friends are, Beth. You’ve worked hard to keep us at a distance, but you’ve been here longer than her. That gives you some rights.”
I know who “her” is, but what the fuck is Arielle going on about?
Before I can sass her, Arielle holds her phone up. On the screen is a selfie of some blonde dipping her fingers into her panties. I scoff, thinking it’s just Arielle acting weird. Maybe she’s switching teams. I’m flattered, but then I do a double-take when I recognize Natalie’s purple bedroom.
Without thinking twice, I hold out my hand, and Arielle slips her phone into my grasp. Wide-eyed as if I’ve seen an actual ghost, I scroll through the pictures. My finger freezes when I recognize Anthony’s barbed tattoo in one of the photos. I scroll forward, slowly taking in the image of his partially clothed body. More than I’ve ever seen of him. And he’s sharing it with Natalie. I choke on my breath and start coughing for a minute before I can breathe normally again.
“Is she choking?” asks a girl at the next table. She stands, ready to pound me on the back.
“Mind your business,” Arielle orders.
The girl sits back down but watches until Arielle glares at her. Nervously, the girl takes a bite of her sandwich, not daring to chance another look. Arielle grins arrogantly like she’s in command of us all.
Now, all I can see is red as if someone has thrown a bucket of paint in my face. My vision blurs, but I won’t cry. Not here at Montlake Academy. I’ve made a fool of myself many times in public—skateboard wipeouts, insensitive Halloween costumes, and texting during Easter Mass. But crying in the school cafeteria is forbidden. Hell to the no. I will swallow my hot tears down my scratchy throat first and run out of the building while holding it in.
Arielle yanks her phone out of my hands. It’s a good thing she does it because in another second, I would’ve smashed it against the table in a rage.
“Looks like your so-called friend has been hooking up with your man behind your back,” she says.
“He’s not my man,” I spit. Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes. I take a deep breath.
“But he would’ve been if Natalie knew how to keep her greedy hands off.”
I swallow my anger, forcing a hard lump down my throat. I don’t want to admit that Arielle has a point. But I never told Natalie how hard I’ve fallen, but Anthony knows. Sort of.
To me, Anthony is a rock god with long legs, black leather, and a reckless attitude. We rarely party with the rich kids, but we party in West Lake all year long. He still lives there in the house he grew up in and hangs out with his old friends. He’s a legend for being smart. A year ago at a house party, I followed him around like a mosquito seeking flesh. I lost track of him then found him later. I walked in on him making out with another girl in the bathroom. When will I learn? It’s worse than if he saw me as a friend; I’m like the little sister who tags along.
“Thank you for sharing, Arielle, but I blocked her on all social media.”
Arielle grips the table hard enough to shake it. I jump as she gets in my face. “You can’t,” her voice rises up. “You have to keep an eye on her.”
“You mean spy?”
Arielle stands up, and then sits down beside me tilting her delicate nose into the air. “You know the rule—keep your friends close…”
“… and your enemies closer.” I complete the sentence.
A pageant smile curls Arielle’s lips as she pulls me into her arms. “Good girl.”
We must look like quite the odd pair. She’s in clothing that’s perfectly pressed though half the day is over. While I’m dressed in the grubbiest stuff I could find in my hamper that smelled clean. I want to be a bad girl because I just don’t fit in anywhere else. And this is weird having a good girl’s arms around me. I hold still waiting for her to let go.
“I never really fit with your crowd.” My voice is quiet, but she hears me anyway.
“I never thought you wanted to.” Arielle sighs, and pulls me even closer so that the only things I see are her perfect ten-plus looks. “But I can teach you.”
“The code?” A tear breaks free and slides down my face. “I know it.”
Arielle raises a perfectly manicured finger and wipes it away quickly before anyone can see. “It’s not that hard to use it, Beth.”
“And why would you want to teach me how to use it?”
“Because.” She holds up her phone, sighing as she looks at what’s on screen - a picture of Anthony in repose, looking electrifying with his lean muscles stretched across an unmade bed. “That boy is worth fighting for, and I’ll help you win him back.”
CHAPTER 15
JACOB
School, then practice, and then fuckin’ back home again. That’s my punishment for throwing an after-party while my parents were out of town. I’ve had parties before, but the place was flooded with people I didn’t know. And who I’d never have invited. Scum weaseled their way in, and to show their gratitude, they trashed the place. I thought Dad was going to pack me off to boarding school when Mom found a used condom under her pillow. She screamed so loud, I knew I was screwed.
“Ow. Jeez, Fleming!” Ripley rubs his arm where I hit him with a pass. “Fuck you, you animal.”
Football season is over, but all the teams have general practice throughout the year to keep us from getting fat and lazy on burgers and video games.
“Sorry, dump sack.” I cut my eyes on the scrawny junior punk. Ripley’s gotten more vocal since Troy took over the school.
But it’s hard for me to fight for the top spot when I’ve got a 4:30 curfew. School, practice, eat, sleep, rinse, and repeat.
I toss the football at Ripley’s head on purpose. It connects, and I smile. Bull’s-eye, motherfucker.
“What?” I glare at him, daring him to say anything smart. I just need one lame excuse to go off on somebody today. I’ll pick anybody who wants a fist in the face. Not willing to try me, Ripley turns away and mutters something rude under his breath. Scrawny punk-ass kid. In his red sweats, he looks like fucking Santa.
“Yeah, asshole!” I holler. Ripley ignores my heckling, which proves he’s no dumb jock.
Out of nowhere, a football bounces off the back of my head. Grabbing my neck, I spin around, and Lucas is grinning at me like the turd he is. He smiles at me like he’s flirting with a hot chick or something. Grabbing the football, I get ready to wing it at his jerk face but stop in midair when the coach blows his whistle.