My fingers curled around the edge of the table. Across from me, Loretta froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. Greg and Andre looked down at their meals. The entire dining hall lapsed into silence, waiting to see what the King would do next.
“If you can’t afford to pay your own school fees, then you shouldn’t be eating our food. But don’t worry, I’ve got your breakfast right here,” Ayaz rasped. Before I could figure out what he was talking about, he dumped something on top of my plate and backed away.
My heart hammered in my chest. I peered down at my plate. A pile of brown sludge now sat on top of my bacon, emitting a fecal smell. Tiny white things crawled from inside it and over my bacon, rolling off the side of my plate and wriggling across the table.
Across the table, Loretta shoved her chair back and stumbled away.
Bile rose in my throat as I stared down at the heaving, wriggling mess. My ears rang. I knew everyone in the dining hall was laughing at me, but I couldn’t hear them over the roar of my own heart.
All I could do was watch, frozen and helpless, as a pile of maggots crawled from stinking shit to devour my breakfast.
Chapter Seven
“Fuck. Fuck!” Greg grabbed my arm and yanked me back from the table. “We’re leaving. Now.”
I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ears, the pounding of my heart in my chest. I tore my eyes away from the pile on my plate, but the maggots remained etched in my mind. Wriggling, squirming, twisting…
I let Greg drag me toward the exit. The ringing dulled, and the laughter rolled over me, shaking me inside and out. Students pounded their spoons against the tables. A chant started up, “You don’t belong, gutter whore. You don’t belong!”
In the corner, two teachers on duty had their heads bent together. They didn’t seem to have noticed the horror. As Greg yanked me out of the dining hall, my eyes fell on Ayaz. He was back sitting with the other monarchs, basking in the aftermath of this latest assault. His mouth was set in a cruel line, but his eyes…
He looked sad. Tragically, impossibly sad.
My whole body stiffened. I couldn’t understand it. What would a guy like that have to be sad about? And why would he have that look after he pulled off such a successful humiliation?
And worse, why do I care? Why do I want to know about the secrets behind those dark eyes? Why do I want to hear that silky voice tearing through my veins again, or yield to the temptation of that intoxicating scent…
“Fuck.” Greg jumped on the cobbles, frantically dusting off his jeans. “Can you see any on me?”
I shook my head, although I didn’t really look. Greg wiped down the front of my skirt and blazer, wincing the entire time.
“I think we’re both de-maggoted,” he said, his shoulders relaxing.
“Did you see him?” I whispered.
“Ayaz? Yes, I saw him dump a whole bowl of shit and maggots over your breakfast—”
“No, I mean, did you see his face? He looked upset.”
“He probably got a maggot on his shoe. Bastard!” Greg kicked the edge of the path. “That was sick. The monarchs haven’t done anything like this to me or Loretta or Andre. You must’ve really pissed them off. What did you do?”
A laugh escaped my throat. It rumbled in my stomach until it became a wild cackle. I doubled over, aware that I must look nuts, but I couldn’t stop. “What did I do? Fuck, I don’t know. I exist?”
“Are you… are you okay?” Greg looked at me with concern.
I gripped his shoulder as I finished my laugh with a gasp. I wiped tears from my eyes. “Oh, it’s been a while since I laughed like that. You should go into comedy, Greg. To answer you, I have no idea what I did. For all I know, Courtney’s put them all up to this because I ate Trey’s toast in front of her and she’s on some gluten-free diet and has a hard-on for anyone eating carbs in front of her. People like that don’t need a reason to torment people like us.”
“Agreed. But you’ve gotta find a way to get them off your ass,” Greg looked pained. “Because I can’t stand to see good bacon wasted.”
“Me neither.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and returned the hug he’d given me before breakfast. “I promise, the monarchs are going to regret the day they ruined my breakfast.”
Greg’s smile wobbled a little. “It’s when you say things like that, I start to worry.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like you could do some serious damage to them. And the monarchs aren’t the kind of people to take retaliation lying down.”
“Good.” I linked arms with his and dragged him away from the dining hall. “Bring it the fuck on.”
The rest of the day, I barely heard a word of my classes. My eyes kept flicking to Ayaz, trying to glimpse that penetrating sadness I’d seen at breakfast, trying to understand what was going on in his head. But he gave me no glimpse behind the cruel mask he wore. The memory of his scent itched at the back of my throat, and I had the stupid urge to walk past him and inhale deeply. That was insane, so of course, I didn’t. But I wanted to, and I hated that I wanted to.
Tuesday was a non-elective day, which meant that after our final class students were required to spend time on extracurricular activities before dinner. It was when clubs and societies met and sports teams practiced on the fields. Greg and I had booked one of the music suites to practice our song for the audition. As soon as we shut and locked the door, I slumped onto the piano stool, kicked off my shoes and wiggled my toes. The run in my stocking now ran all the way up to my knee. Super classy, Hazel. Oh yeah, I definitely fit in here.
“What are you doing?” Greg whispered. “Being seen without full uniform is an automatic 10-point demerit.”
“Look around. No one’s watching. We’re safe in here,” I reminded him. “No teachers. No Kings or Queens or court jesters. No maggots.”
“Hey, yeah.” Greg kicked off his own shoes and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the piano. “So, how are we going to wow them at this audition?”
I tapped on the piano keys. “I was thinking something from Heathers. ‘Dead Girl Walking’ or ‘Seventeen,’ or maybe a medley?”
“How meta. I love it.” Greg gestured to the piano. “Let’s hear your chops.”
Grinning, I pressed my fingers to the keys and let rip with the melody for ‘Dead Girl Walking.’ Even though I’d never been able to afford tickets to see a live show, I loved musicals, especially Heathers. The songs were punchy, rock-infused, dripping with high school angst and dark humor. I opened my mouth and belted out the words from main character Veronica, as she realizes she’s going to be crucified at school the next day, and she goes to bed with the dark, mysterious JD. I close my eyes when I sing, remembering the pages of Dante’s journal floating in the fountain and the flames engulfing my home as my mom screamed from inside, until her screams stopped and I became a dead girl walking. I poured all of my pain into the song, loving the way my voice soared in the bright room. When I finished, I opened my eyes. Greg was standing up, clapping like mad.
“That was brilliant, honey. Where did you learn to sing like that?” he asked.
“My mother taught me,” I said. “She sang like an angel. She used to perform at a jazz club in Philly on Friday and Saturday nights. I’d hide in the dressing room and listen to her entertain the whole room. Men would send her flowers backstage. But stripping paid more so she had to give up singing.”
“And now she’s dead, right? And your dad, too?”
What? My hand flew to my wrist, touching the faded scar. “How did you—”
Greg looked horrified. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I just meant that the other scholarship students are orphans, so I assumed you are, too.”
“All of us?” That could not be a coincidence.
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “I guess that’s one of the criteria for the scholarship. Rich pricks throwing the poor orphans a bone so they can feel good about themselves. Thing is, I never applied for the
scholarship, and when I looked it up online I couldn’t find anything about it.”
“Me too. They said that my school had put me forward for it. I wasn’t in a position to go back and ask.”
“They told Loretta that, too. But she asked her old principal on her last day and he didn’t know anything about it.”
“That’s weird.” Why would the scholarship committee lie about that? It didn’t make sense. The scholarship definitely wasn’t a scam. We were here at Derleth Academy, our books and board and fees paid. And if Trey’s father put up money for it, then it must be a legitimate affair.
“Yep. But what can we do?” Greg shrugged. “This school is a dream come true. Too bad it’s a nightmare.”
“You can say that again.” I leaned over the piano. “Hey, since you know so much about me, what’s your story?”
“Me? Oh, what you see is what you get.” Greg spread his arms wide. “I’m a show tune-loving, fashion-obsessed fabulous gay teen with dead parents. I’m not going to be able to help you climb the social ladder, but I will paint your nails and gossip when we’re both alone on a Saturday night.”
“Suits me.” I smiled. Greg was the opposite of Dante in so many ways, and yet, he reminded me of my old best friend. Something in the way I felt instantly comfortable around him, like we’d been friends for years instead of less than twenty-four hours. I knew Greg had my back, and I had his – and that started with taking down every miserable rich snob who called him a faggot, starting with Ayaz Demir.
“I’ve been thinking,” I twirled a dreadlock around my fingers. “I want to get revenge on the Kings for the maggots and the journal. And for putting your head through that wall. And mostly, for taking away your ability to come out in your own time.”
“No. No no no.” Greg held up his hands. “I’m with Loretta on this one. The Kings are untouchable. The only thing we should do is stay low and hope the monarchs get bored of tormenting you.”
Yeah, but what if I’m broken by then?
“Going to this audition isn’t lying low,” I pointed out.
“Agreed. Taking the leads in the production from Courtney and Trey will be revenge enough. Let’s focus on perfecting our song, and we’ll wow them with our talent.” He smiled at me, but the smile was filled with fear. The monarchs had everyone in this school too terrified to stand against them, but they hadn’t counted on Hazel Waite.
“Fine,” I agreed, but my mind whirred with plots. Revenge is a dish best served with a side of maggots.
Chapter Eight
Another day, another terrible sleep in the dungeon suite at Derleth Academy. The rats performed their circuit of the room, competing in some kind of rat triathlon between the walls. I imagined little rats with numbered bibs churning their tiny legs while their friends waved flags at the finish line.
“Where are you going?” Loretta asked as I rolled out of bed at 5AM and pulled on my uniform.
“Greg and I booked the practice room before breakfast. We’re going to run over our Heathers medley until it’s perfect.”
“It’s a bad idea, Hazel. Even if you do win, you’re going to incur Courtney’s wrath. As horrible as the Kings are, she’s a hundred times worse. It’s not worth it.”
“Why are you so against this?” I demanded. “They’re mean to you, too. I thought you’d appreciate watching Courtney squirm.”
“I’m against it because you seem determined to bring the wrath of the monarchs down on yourself, and Greg’s the one who’s going to get hurt,” she frowned. “He’s been through enough already.”
I wondered what she meant by that. Was it about Ayaz putting his head through the wall, or something else? “I know you’re scared, Loretta, but nothing is going to change at this school if we don’t change it.”
Loretta rolled over and shoved her pillow over her head.
Guess the conversation’s over, then. I stared at Loretta’s sleeping figure, wondering if I should say something, but not sure what it would be. I sighed and went out to meet Greg.
Our practice went great, and apart from some sniggers at breakfast time, the monarchy didn’t bother us. Unfortunately, I was too on edge to enjoy the reprieve. Every time I looked down at my breakfast burrito, I saw maggots wriggling and crawling all over it. I passed it to Andre, and he demolished it in three bites.
My first class of the day was physics. Despite being three weeks behind and Quinn interrupting the teacher every few minutes by shouting physics-themed pick-up lines at various girls around the room (“Hey Amber, I’m hung like a Foucault pendulum!”), the class was surprisingly interesting. I’d always been good at math, but what Professor Atwood talked about hardly seemed like math at all. I scribbled a ton of notes and was actually looking forward to researching my assignment on gravity and black holes.
“Hey, Meat,” Quinn yelled as I packed up my books. “That skirt would look even better accelerating towards my bedroom floor at 9.8 meters per second.”
“No thanks. Physics nerds can’t please a woman. Friction alone won’t get the job done,” I shot back. Quinn burst out laughing. If looks could kill, Courtney would have had me in a body-bag.
After physics was geology. Quinn was also in this class, although Trey and Ayaz weren’t. Yesterday he sat in the front with Courtney and Tillie and another monarch girl named Madison. I took a seat in the back row beside Greg. When Quinn entered the classroom, he sauntered straight up to Greg, leaned over his desk, and go right up in his face. “Beat it, faggot. I want to sit here.”
Greg’s back stiffened. Wordlessly, he collected his bag and went to stand up for Quinn, but I held out an arm to block him.
“There are plenty of chairs at the front of the class,” I glared at Quinn. “This one’s taken.”
“I want to sit next to you,” he said.
“Tough. I don’t want to sit next to you, especially not when you’re rude to my friend.”
Quinn shrugged. “Fag boy over here knows the rules. I’m a King. I can have whatever seat I want.”
Greg tried to stand up again. “It’s fine. I’ll move—”
I shoved Greg back into his chair. “Here’s the new rule. How about you stop being such a homophobic dick? Or are you so concerned about Greg’s sex life because you want in on the action?”
Quinn laughed. “You’re the only loser charity case who ever talks back. It’s refreshing, and a little hot. Will you come back to my room and suck me off?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope, but if you talk that way to me again, I will report you for sexual harassment. Even if I did want to be near your dick, which is a hard no, I’m not sure I’d be able to find it. I didn’t get a magnifying glass in my student welcome pack.”
Quinn laughed again. He glanced down at Greg and ruffled his hair like he was a puppy. “Keep an eye on her,” he grinned. “You’ve got your work cut out for you with that one.”
“Quinn,” Courtney waved. “Come sit next to me.”
Quinn stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout and flopped down a row over from me, as far away from Courtney as it was possible to be. He started chatting up a girl named Erika, who Greg had informed me was the daughter of a shipping magnate who Quinn had slept with last year.
Greg looked at me with a mixture of awe and fear. “How’d you do that?” he asked, gripping the edge of his desk as if it was the only thing preventing him from melting into a puddle on the floor.
“At my old school, two kids from rival gangs got into a knife fight in the cafeteria, and one stabbed out the other’s eye.” I hid my trembling hands under my desk so Greg couldn’t deduce the lie that was about to escape my lips. “I’m not afraid of Quinn Delacorte.”
Thanks to a pop quiz in English Lit – which I aced. English was easy – I was up 15 merit points by the end of the day. I stopped in the atrium on the way to meet Greg for practice and studied the charts. I needed to see who to beat.
Loretta had the highest score of all the scholarship students, but Greg
and Andre were only 7 and 11 points behind her. I’d started at -13 because of my hair infraction and talking back to Headmistress West. I was now at 2. Surprisingly, I wasn’t at the bottom of the table. Several rich prep kids were firmly in the minuses, including Quinn Delacorte.
Interesting.
At practice, Greg and I firmed up the musical arrangement of our medley, and he grew confident enough to add a bit of choreography. As we reached the crescendo, I kicked out the piano stool and stood up to belt out the final line.
“Yes, honey!” Greg threw his arms around me when we were done. “That was marvelous, and I’m not just saying that. We’re going to knock their socks off.”
I wanted to knock off more than just socks. I wanted to knock Trey Bloomberg and Courtney Hayes off their pedestals. Winning the audition was only the first step.
The next day, Greg and I rushed to the auditorium as soon as the bell rang, not even stopping to put our books in our lockers. We were the first to arrive, surprising Dr. Halsey as she set up the room.
“You two certainly are enthusiastic,” she smiled as we scribbled our names down on the audition list. “I’m excited to hear you perform. We don’t often have scholarship students audition. Many of our students have come from years of training in top-rated music and drama programs, but don’t let that intimidate you. Today is all about having fun.”
Right. Yes. Not intimidated at all. Thanks for that, lady.
Greg and I took seats in the back of the auditorium and watched the other kids file in. Courtney sprawled out in the front row as though she was Cleopatra reclining on her sofa while her courtiers brought her water and snacks. Trey and Ayaz sauntered in with some of the guys from Trey’s lacrosse team and took seats behind Courtney. As soon as Tillie saw Trey, she rushed to his seat and draped herself over him. They started making out, Trey’s hands sliding under her blazer, his thumb visibly brushing over her breast. He was stroking her nipple, right here in the auditorium where everyone could see. It was gross, but an ache rose up between my legs, and I pressed my knees together.
Shunned: a reverse harem bully romance (Kings of Miskatonic Prep Book 1) Page 6