Headmistress West.
Oh, shit.
The headmistress had crept up so silently, I hadn’t even known she was there. Now, bloody meat dripped down her face, staining her velvet gown. The entire hallway fell silent. My locker door creaked on its hinges.
I’m dead. I’m fucking dead—
“Ms. Waite,” she spoke in a pleasant voice that turned my heart to ice. “If you would follow me.”
“But Courtney—”
Headmistress West curled one taloned finger over, beckoning me. The tears spilled over as I slammed my foot into my locker door, kicking it shut with a loud BANG. Several hyenas jumped. I glared at them through tear-soaked eyes as I followed the headmistress down the hall to my doom.
As I trudged past him, Trey leaned over, his eyes dancing with glee as he whispered in my ear. “You’re not new meat any longer. You’re dead meat.”
Chapter Eleven
After the locker incident, I was left mostly alone. Apart from snickers and insults that followed me everywhere, no one did anything massively cruel. I wanted to enjoy this lull in the bullying while it lasted, but instead, I walked everywhere with a knot in my stomach, wondering what they’d throw at me next.
It didn’t help that I still wasn’t sleeping. The scritch-scritch-scritch on our walls wouldn’t stop. I went to one of the women in the grey smocks to see if they could lay some traps, but she told me to stop being such a spoiled brat. “It’s an old building. It makes noises. Deal with it.”
She was right. She was ordered around all day by snobby rich kids who thought they were better than her even though they’d never done an honest day’s work in their lives. I hated myself for bothering her. Of course I could deal with the rats in the walls. I’d dealt with far worse in my life.
The only bright spots in my day were rehearsals for the school production with Greg, and watching my name jump up several places on the points board. Despite the headmistress docking me 20 points for the mess in my locker, which she made me clean up myself, two more perfect test scores and the school production had put me over 150 points. It wasn’t anywhere near Trey’s 1305, but I was gaining.
I spent most of Friday dreading the weekend and the new tortures the royal court dreamed up, but actually, it was two of the most pleasant days at Derleth. Trey and Courtney and their friends were off doing their own thing, so they weren’t around to torment us. Loretta and I spent most of Saturday in the library, trying to catch up on assignments. Greg and Andre joined us for some of it, but Greg kept shifting in his seat and fidgeting. The dude could not sit still. After two hours he let out a huge sigh and said, “Let’s go do some archery.”
I’d never even seen an archery set up close before. My school back in Philly didn’t even have a field. We had to use a nearby park for outdoor sports – and you always had to watch out in case you stood on a used needle. Derleth not only had two perfectly manicured lawns to play on, but an entire room filled with expensive sports equipment students were free to use. Greg dragged out two targets and four bows and showed us how to set them up along the west field.
Greg started us all on the thirty-foot line. He showed us how to attach the arm guards, notch the bow and stand with our feet lined up with the target and our bodies rigid. I let loose my first arrow, enjoying the satisfying TWACK as it slammed into the target. A cool breeze rustled my dreads, and I felt badass, like Katniss in the Hunger Games. It was Dante’s favorite film, so I’d seen it a hundred times.
“Where did you learn how to do this?” I asked Greg as I notched another arrow.
“My father taught me. He loved to hunt. I shot my first deer with a bow when I was six years old.” A dark cloud shifted over Greg’s eyes for a moment.
I found it so hard to picture gentle, caring Greg who loved show tunes and wanted to be a fashion designer going hunting with his dad. Not for the first time, I wondered how he lost his parents, but I didn’t want to ask. This school already knew too many of his secrets. He needed to keep his pain for himself, as I did.
We shot all our arrows and went to collect them. Loretta’s arrows had all overshot the target and stuck out of the earth like porcupine quills. We found all but one of them. “It must have gone into the bushes,” Loretta said, reaching toward the row of small shrubs bordering the field. As I looked closer I realized they were rose bushes, with thorns on the branches and a few drooping blood-red flowers remaining on the plants, between large red fruits. The ground around them was littered with red petals and dropped fruits.
Greg grabbed my arm. “Don’t go in there!”
“Why?”
Greg pointed at the fruits on the ground. “You mean aside from the fact that you’re walking into thorn rose bushes? These are rose hips. They contain prickly hairs that are the main ingredient in itching powder. If you got those on your skin, you’ll be in agony. Just leave the arrow, no one will notice.”
As we went back to the line and I lifted the bow, I noticed movement on the field beside us. A lacrosse game was getting underway. Guys ran up and down the field, swinging their silly stick things. Trey, of course, took up position in the mid-field, calling instructions to the other guys. Courtney and her friends stood on the sidelines, jumping up and down in tiny skirts.
“Courtney’s legs must be freezing,” Greg said, pulling the collar of his jacket up against the icy wind. “They’re turning blue.”
“Maybe that’s why she’s doing all that jumping,” I said. “Trying to stay warm.”
“Nah, she’s just imagining herself jiggling up and down on Trey’s cock,” Greg piped up. Andre and I cracked up.
I grinned. “Shall we cause some trouble?”
Loretta stared at me in concern. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m just going to cheer on my fellow students, in the spirit of school camaraderie.” I set down the bow. “You guys coming?”
Loretta shook her head. “I’m going back to the library,” she muttered, sprinting across the lawn before I had a chance to reply.
“Ignore her,” Greg said. “She’s afraid. People are being worse to her because she’s your roommate.”
I didn’t know that. I only had one class with Loretta, and she never sat with me. I wondered if that was the reason. “That makes me so angry. Why would they pick on someone who can’t defend herself? What are they doing to her?”
“Just the usual, saying lewd things, calling her your lesbian lover. Trey printed out pornographic images and glued her class photograph on them. Loretta’s mom killed herself when Loretta was really young because she was raised in one of those Southern Baptist families and she couldn’t live with the shame of being gay. So Loretta takes it kind of personal.”
“Wow,” I breathed. Loretta’s mom killed herself? That was some dark, dark shit. No wonder Loretta had closed off when I’d asked about it. “I’m guessing the monarchs know about this?”
“It was in her file,” Greg’s features darkened.
It wasn’t really Greg’s place to tell me Loretta’s story, but he couldn’t help being who he was – a hopeless gossip. As I watched her tiny figure running in the direction of the school buildings, I felt as though I understood her a little better. The way she would stiffen any time someone said something dirty, her fervent wish to stay under the radar, the way she kept worrying about Greg. My chest tightened. What a shit thing to happen, and then to have your tormentors throw it back in your face.
My blood boiled. Loretta had already been through the worst thing to ever happen to a person, and then to have to relive it over and over every time she walked down the halls or went to class. Fuck the monarchs. They deserve to learn that they can’t do this to people and get away with it.
I just wished I had some power to make it all go away for Loretta, and Greg, and all of us, to make Trey and all the other monarchs understand what it was like to walk in our shoes. Sure, Greg and I had taken the leads in the production, but it didn’t feel like enough. It pissed them off
, but it hadn’t made them understand that what they were doing was wrong.
Revenge plans circled in my head as we wandered over to the edge of the field, twenty feet from where Courtney and her friends huddled. Quinn, on the opposite team, intercepted Trey’s pass and tried for a goal, but Ayaz – who was the goalie for Trey’s team – stopped him. The boys yelled insults at each other in a friendly way as they returned to their starting positions.
Quinn had his hair pulled back into a messy bun. Tendrils pulled free and whipped around his face. His muscles rippled under his shirt. I thought about his invitation to the party next weekend and found myself wishing it was real, that he actually wanted to spend time with me as a person.
Why am I such a sucker for guys like that?
As I watched him, it occurred to me that Quinn was the key to any revenge plot – to any hope of stopping the bullying. He wasn’t like Trey and Courtney and the others. He was a bully, but he wasn’t doing it because he felt threatened. He did it because he craved stimulation. I could probably use that.
Plus, when he wasn’t being gross or horrible, his smile made butterflies dance in my chest. And I hadn’t felt that in a long, long time.
“Hey Delacorte,” I yelled as he jogged back to his place. “Looking good!”
Quinn flashed me a dazzling smile. Courtney’s head whipped around so fast she broke the sound barrier. She stalked toward us, claws sharpened, feline body coiled, ready to pounce. Beside me, Greg stiffened.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, honey?” he muttered.
Courtney stopped a few feet from me, her hands on her hips. Two of her fellow Queens, Amber and Tillie, stood on either side of her. Courtney’s voice dripped with false sweetness. “Poor little gutter whore, thinking Quinn’s interested in you. He’s my boyfriend, and he only asked you to the party as a joke. You’re so pathetic, of course you’d think it was real.”
“He told me you’re not even dating,” I said. “I’m not the one who’s acting pathetic, hanging on to a guy who obviously doesn’t want me.”
Courtney’s eyes flashed. “And you think Quinn wants you? Oh, gutter whore, you are so deluded. Quinn doesn’t give a fuck. He’s a poor little rich boy trying to stick it to his parents by slumming it with you.”
“Is that what he’s been doing with you, slumming it with the new money?” I yawned as if the whole thing was totally boring. Which it kind of was. “I don’t really care what you and your not-boyfriend get up to, Courtney.”
“Why. Too busy being a fag-hag?” Courtney glared at Greg, who shrunk from her gaze. Behind us, Andre remained bone-still, not saying anything but not giving her any ground, either. That guy is a total rock.
“Is that really all you got?” I growled, sensing the anger flaring inside me, tearing through my veins like a flame, consuming everything in its path. “You’re going to stand there giving basic bitch homophobia and you think that intimidates us?”
“Of course it does.” She smiled, and her smile was so certain and so satisfied that my fingers itched to punch it off her face. “Gutter trash like you and your friends."
“Hey, Courts,” Trey called from the field. Courtney’s head whipped around. To my surprise, the guys had stopped play, and were standing in their positions, watching our stand-off with interest. “Back off. They’re just watching the game.”
What? I searched Trey’s face for some trick, some sign that he was building me up for an epic fall. He frowned at Courtney, his body angled toward her in a power stance, staring her down. King versus Queen. Some understanding flickered between them – a silent battle for power that had nothing to do with me or the other scholarship students.
Tension crackled in the air as Courtney directed her glare at Trey. “You’re not the boss of me,” she hissed like a cat, her shoulders squaring off and her chest thrust out. There was a threat in her voice that sent a chill down my spine.
Trey shrugged, his eyes never leaving Courtney’s face. “Suit yourself. Personally, if Hazel and her friends want to watch me, I’m not gonna complain.”
Damn you, Trey Bloomberg.
His teammates laughed, some of them cruelly. Quinn’s infectious laugh rose over them all. At the sound of it, Courtney bristled. I tried to imagine the two of them together, lips locked, skin on skin, Quinn’s hands sweeping her sharp angles and touching her feline face. But it just… didn’t work. Did Courtney even like Quinn? In class, she always sighed when he made jokes, and she never joked back. Did she see him, or did she just see a fast-track to legitimizing her family in the eyes of the elite?
As if answering my question, Quinn’s eyes fell on me. I winked at him and he laughed even harder. He wasn’t the only one watching me. In the goal, Ayaz had removed his helmet, running his hand through his dark hair while two dark pools swept over my body, burning into my soul. When Ayaz looked at you, he peeled away layers; he saw more than just the mask I wore for Courtney. If his eyes had been kind, I might have thrown myself at him, laid my deepest fears and my darkest secrets bare. But since he was a vicious, maggot-wielding bastard, he could go to hell.
In the center of it all, Trey’s gaze narrowed on me. But before I could get a read on him, he’d turned back to the game, running off down the field with the ball, his muscled legs pumping as he slammed through the distracted midfield defense. My chest fluttered as he ducked under Quinn’s stick, his broad shoulders stretching and straining to make the pass to his teammate. As he lifted his arm, I caught a glimpse of something on his wrist. It was fast, but I thought it was a twin to the rune tattoo I’d seen on Quinn earlier. Did the two of them get friendship tattoos? That was kind of… cute. Adorably cute, actually.
My gaze flicked back to Trey’s face, and I forgot all about the tattoo. The curl of his lip, the sparkle in his eyes as he jogged after his teammates, reminded me of the way he looked on stage – transformed to another place, another body. His features softened, his icicle eyes focused on the ball and nothing else.
Trey Bloomberg was only happy when he stepped outside of himself, when he could pretend for a minute or an hour that he was someone else. But why? What was so awful in his life that the perfect rich boy was desperate to escape?
“See? I told you she’s been making eyes at Trey, too,” Tillie hissed to Courtney.
Shit. Too late, I snapped my attention back to the girls. They’d seen me looking at Trey. They could read my guilt all over my face.
“You have no shame,” Tillie snarled. “You’re looking at my boyfriend. You’re practically drooling. It’s disgusting. Even if he was single, he’d never be into a pig like you.”
“We’ve been nice to you, gutter whore.” Courtney’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness. “We’ve tried to welcome you to this school and make sure you know what to do if you want to survive. But you haven’t learned your place, so I see we’re going to have to take drastic measures.”
“Oooh, I’m so scared,” I held myself and pretended to shudder.
“You won’t be laughing soon,” Courtney’s eyes flashed. “We’re going to make you wish you’d never been born.”
Chapter Twelve
I figured Courtney would focus her energy on humiliating me at the party, which despite what I’d implied at the lacrosse game I had no intention of attending. She’d be at the venue with a bucket of pig’s blood just waiting for Quinn to lead me to a certain spot. I figured if I stayed in my room and taught Loretta how to play blackjack then I’d avoid the whole thing.
I figured wrong.
On Monday morning, Ayaz shoved his way past me as I walked into homeroom, a cloud of opium and fury. He whipped the black bandana off my head. My dreads tumbled free, flopping down over my eyes.
“Give that back.” I grabbed for the bandana. Ayaz smirked and tossed it to Quinn, who flung it at Courtney, who balled it up and shoved it into her purse.
Snickers erupted from the royal court. Mr. Dexter looked up from his papers and surveyed the class. He zero
ed in on me in the doorway, trying to hold my dreads back from my face. “Ms. Waite, that’s not a regulation haircut.”
Twenty pairs of eyes swiveled toward me. My cheeks burned as a dreadlock fell over my eye. Courtney sniggered behind her hand.
“I know, Mr. Dexter. I’ve already discussed it with Ms. West. I’ll be fixing it as soon as I’ve earned a pass-out to go into Arkham for a haircut. Headmistress West said I could wear a bandana until then.”
“If this is true, where is your bandana?” he demanded.
“It’s… “ I glanced over at Courtney, who had her head buried in her notebook. I knew better than to demand she return the bandana. “I must have left it in my locker.”
“Very well. Make sure you pick it up before your first class, or you’ll be facing the loss of your merit points.” He nodded and returned to his papers.
I slumped down beside Greg. “Do you have a bandana or scarf or oversized novelty handkerchief or something I could borrow? I doubt every teacher is going to be as understanding as Dexter.”
I’d finally crossed 200 merit points and I didn’t want a single one taken away. I reached up and touched my hair, longing for the comfort the weight of my hand usually brought. But there was no comfort to be had – not with judgmental eyes burning into my skin and Mom and Dante dead and buried forever.
I loved my dreads. They reminded me of where I came from, of who I’d been and who I’d loved before the fire that had taken my life away. But looking around the room at the preppy haircuts and perfectly-styled bangs, the blow-waves and the highlights that cost more than a month’s rent, a ball of shame lodged in my throat. I saw what they saw when they looked at me – dirty hair, cheap nail polish… a gutter whore pretending to be royalty.
I don’t belong here.
Never had it been more obvious than with my hair on display. My dreads hadn’t been touched up in months – stuck in the same state they’d been in before the fire, only even though time stopped for me, my hair kept growing, and now they were just ratty and unkempt. I’d waxed them yesterday, rolling them as tight as I could, but the ends were unraveling and the regrowth made the tips lumpy. Scorn rolled over me as I realized I looked like shit, and I cared, I fucking cared, and I hated it.
Shunned: a reverse harem bully romance (Kings of Miskatonic Prep Book 1) Page 8