I move to a seat toward the back of class. I’m usually one to sit up front and be involved, but with Richter, there’s not a part of this room he doesn’t animatedly speak to.
After I sit, students start pouring in. One by one, they seat themselves, talking absentmindedly while waiting for class to start.
My gaze returns to Bridger, wondering what silences him, and then I chastise myself for caring.
He didn’t care about me, so why should I still care about him?
When most of the seats are full, our teacher strolls in with shades over his eyes, a coffee cup in hand, and a smile larger than life. I can already feel myself returning the joy, sensing the energy coming off him in waves. It’s addicting seeing a person so passionate about something they speak about in a manner that absorbs into the other person’s mind.
“Class!” he booms, cheerful as ever.
When he removes his shades, a black eye is the first thing I see. Whoa. Wonder whose cereal he pissed in to get a shiner like that. He doesn’t seem like the drunkard and douchey type. Maybe I’ve overestimated his personality.
Some people start whispering around me. Instead of listening to them, I lean back, uncap my pen, and wait for him to start. He smiles at me as if knowing I’m not going to ask questions. It’s not my business, and it takes away from my learning schedule, so it’s of no importance to me. Sending me an appreciative wink, he starts at the whiteboard.
“For those who don’t know me. I’m Richter. Rick-ter,” he enunciates, marking the board with his name. “For those of you who have taken a class of mine before, welcome back. Hope you’re not tired of overexuberance because it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
A brunette up front raises her hand.
“Yes?” He doesn’t even attempt to ask her name. Smart man.
“Why do you have a black eye?”
He lets out a sardonic laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Well, sometimes... adults are stupid. Me, being that adult, I got what was coming to me. But enough about that. Let’s get started on Stalin.”
As he enthusiastically gets into the groove of history, my paper becomes black with all the ink I’ve spilled, recording every important detail. It doesn’t even occur to me when the bell rings because my cap is still in my mouth and my pen is still moving.
“Colton?” Richter sounds out, breaking my reverie.
“What’s up?” I ask, not peering up. I’m still writing down the last section of information he gave.
“You’re always writing more than anyone else.”
“That’s because I’m not too busy ogling your ass,” I bite out.
It’s true. Richter is hot. He’s the youngest staff member at Arcadia Crest. Late twenties, nice athletic body, he even has kind eyes and a bad boy vibe when he smirks.
When he doesn’t respond, I finally glance up at him looming over me. His face is red, and he looks uncomfortable.
“Sorry. Hate stupid questions.” I add that for his benefit since he appears two seconds away from running away.
“I understand,” he responds, his mouth in a tight line. “It’s not news that the females at this school spread rumors.”
“Not rumors, bro,” I try jesting, but then realize I sound illiterate and not funny. “You’re attractive, and chicks can’t keep that kind of thing to themselves. Either way... thanks for always bringing your A-game to the lessons. It really helps me push forward.”
He smiles.
I close my notebook, rising from the seat. “Keep it up.”
Three
I’m not surprised PE is added to my long list of hated classes.
The first day, we didn’t have to do anything big. We weighed ourselves, got told our BMI, where we should be, and goals for the semester. Unlike in a normal high school, we’re forced to be healthy in fitness. It’s a drag.
I’ve always loved my food, but along with my food comes the requirement to exercise. The problem that’s blatantly obvious is that I can’t work out yet. Telling Coach Carter that I’m on restricted training made her roll her eyes. Not because she believed me, but because she didn’t. It wasn’t until she looked at my file, and her annoyance turned to pity. It made me realize how much I hate this class.
Fuck her.
Fuck this school.
Fuck them all.
They offer condolences for a kid they didn’t save. He’s dead because they didn’t do their job. My brother is gone because of their lack of compassion, but still, they offer apologies like they give a single shit.
Truth is, they don’t.
Mom’s paycheck to their annual fund means being nice to the freak who hasn’t coped with her brother’s loss is necessary. So fucking nice.
As I enter the gym two days later, she’s already gathering students. Class doesn’t start for another five minutes, though.
If my parents weren’t called with every single class I missed, I’d definitely avoid this one and get high. That’s one less burden for me. Too bad I can’t. Luckily, I live in my dorm alone and can light up every time I damn well please.
Being a founder’s kid has its perks, like having an entire dorm to myself. It also has its faults, like being forced to be involved, make good grades, and not be overly emotional. The perks don’t outweigh the faults.
When I finally reach her and the surrounding circle, I notice the one thing I wish I could avoid or, rather, the one person. Lennox DeLeon. Student Government President.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
He’s towering over Coach with his arm around her shoulder like they’re best fucking friends. Maybe they are. Doesn’t make him any less than the bane of my existence. Regardless of what his appearance says, he’s not a good guy.
As much as Ten and Bridger have hurt me, Lennox is on a level of his own with assholery.
Always dressed to the nines in his school uniform, tie, blazer, and all, he’s the worst human. He doesn’t see me as I watch him eagerly talk to the class. His words don’t connect with me, but the way his pillow lips move does. Someone this rude shouldn’t be this hot. It’s unnatural and unfair in every way.
His hair is longer. It’s dirty blond and messy but only when he’s not in the halls. Usually, he’s all done up—brushed slick hair and fashionable, like a Ken doll that will fuck you but tell everyone he’s waiting for marriage. He’s a bad boy in a good boy suit dawning this nice persona to get into every Arcadia girl’s skirt.
And he wins every fucking time.
“Lennox is going to be my student aide,” Coach announces.
I’m practically asking God to strike me down and end it all here. Smite me, I beg of you. How can there be Student Gov members in every class I have? Why do they have to infiltrate my life?
They couldn’t just let me be alone in the divorce.
I try not to let loose the unladylike groan that wants to escape, but I don’t have to. Lennox—Lux, as his friends call him—looks directly at me. A smirk tilts at his face. Cocksure and snarky. Good to know nothing has changed.
“Lennox will be assigning lockers to the boys while I do the same for the girls.”
He mouths something at me, but I ignore him, giving my attention to Coach. She explains the mandatory uniform dress code, and by no means would the females be allowed to dress otherwise. The guys are lucky. Their uniforms are long black basketball shorts and a heather gray shirt. The females had black tennis skirts—gag me—and heather gray fitted tees, the school’s emblem on both.
Luckily for me, I don’t care about regulations given by the school. I’m not even dressed in the daily uniform. Most Arcadia kids follow the rules, especially if they’re Lux and have a reputation to uphold. My rep ended up fucked when I got so tanked I made out with half the party-goers and that loser recorded me.
People like me who have zero morals don’t have a reputation to sully. We don’t care. Plus, when your parents are alumni with big wallets, paying out of their ass for special tr
eatment, that’s exactly what you get. Special treatment.
We’re separated, and as the boys leave, the girls are led to the locker rooms. These aren’t communal like the school showers. They’re assigned each year. We’re required to keep a locker and bring our own locks. They don’t have the built-in kind. It’s to give us more privacy. Same drill, different school year.
Coach leaves us to change. I wait until the girls are gone to get into my own clothing. Once they’ve all left, I sneak into a stall and switch my clothes. Picking up my black sports bra from my bag, I switch it for the lacy one. Slipping into my joggers, not wanting to show my tattooed upper thighs that are painted with scars, my skin feels covered enough. Even the ink can’t hide all the damage inflicted to myself. No one gets to see those. My final touch is a long-sleeved crop top that covers my scars there too. A mask within a mask.
After finishing, I put my hair in a ponytail, and with a quick snap of the door, all my shit is locked up. We don’t get to have phones during classes. It’s literally a rule, but they never said we couldn’t have our iPods. I stuff mine in my bra and put my wireless AirPods in, leaving the room as soon as I’m ready.
“We’re doing the timed mile,” Coach explains when everyone’s back in the gym.
Girls groan, and guys whoop. I stare at the field, feeling anything but happy. My moms won’t let me work out, but you’ll be damned to see me listen.
She sets us up with partners, and I’m surprised to see I’m alone.
“Miss Hudson,” she calls while everyone is already dispersing to the track, “since you’re not allowed to exert yourself, you’ll be partnered with my assistant, Lennox.”
Lennox. Lennox. Lennox. Please no.
Anything but that.
I’ll sprint the entire mile. Take track. Donate blood. An organ. I’ll go on the black market and sell my soul.
Anything but putting me with the biggest asshole in this school.
“Coach—”
“Uh, uh, uh. I’ve spoken to your mother. Until your body is well and ready to go any faster than a brisk walk, Lennox will be your partner and assistant.”
“I don’t think—”
She waves a hand, stopping my argument. “Lennox!” she yells.
Mr. President himself dotes on her with a big grin. Behind that big grin, I know what resonates, and it’s anything but pleasant. He’s not what he shows the world. Everyone sees him as this innocent honor roll student. He’s honor roll, all right. Just not innocent. He’s cruel and callous, and his tastes are fucking with and torturing me.
His gait is confident as he makes his way to us. After he hands Coach the clipboard, she fills in me and Lux as partners. This is so fucked. He’s going to terrorize me until I die, and even then, he’ll make sure to stab my corpse a few hundred times for good measure.
I’m so fucked.
“Miss Hudson is to be monitored. She’s not allowed to overdo it.”
He raises a tentative eyebrow, giving away the fact that he didn’t know something he wasn’t meant to be privy to.
“You will time her, and when she’s better, you’ll do a solo run with her and time her again to show progress when she’s been approved for normal activity.” She flips the pages on her clipboard and nods silently while Lux’s gaze digs into the side of my skull. I don’t waver. He can stare all he wants. In no way does that make me responsible to give him any recourse.
“She’s healthy with a four percent BMI. A little low for her age. Must be the—”
“Coach, that’s none of his business. If you want to hear from my lawyers, I’ll be sure to pass this little tidbit along,” I bark.
He isn’t allowed to know that much. Not that I had ketoacidosis, that I can’t eat forcefully, and that I’m below my normal weight because of it.
“You’re right,” she grouses and flattens her lips. She almost divulged information that’s illegal to just toss out there.
Lux’s stare feels more intense on me. My face is hot and sweaty, and I no longer believe he won’t bother me. This will be an astronomical error, and with my luck, I’ll have to beg for a class transfer.
“Off you go,” she barks at us, not looking up from the chart.
Her whistle rings in my ear, making me cringe.
Heading toward the bigger group of students, she yells loudly, “Start your timers and go!” Everyone rushes off, besides me and Lux. We walk to the starting point. My stomach feels empty, and it’s not from the lack of food. It’s empty because he decided to march into this class and squeeze it to death with his hazel eyes.
“What was that whole lawyer bit about, Corpse?”
Corpse.
How Tim Burton of you.
“Put a can in it, dick.”
He throws his hands up, and it’s the first time he hasn’t shoved himself into something that didn’t pertain to him. Lux always pushes his agenda, always gets his way, and certainly puts himself into everyone’s business.
But not this time.
What's your angle, Lux?
He pulls out a stopwatch, not looking at me more than a specimen to study. For some reason, that’s worse than when he pays too much attention to me.
“Go,” he commands numbly.
Then I’m jogging.
“No jogging!” he reprimands from the side of me. “You may not believe this, but I take classes seriously, so you’ll listen or I’ll fucking make you listen.”
My eyes meet his and see the warning written in his expression. He’s not joking, which only makes me want to laugh.
I pull to a soft stroll and roll my eyes at him.
It takes fourteen minutes for me to walk the mile. The entire time, Lux doesn’t say a single word. This is how it should be.
When we’re finally done, my body aches, and I hate the fact that I feel as exhausted as I do. My body will take time to adapt, but it would be nice if it figured out its shit.
Four
The first week goes by without anything more than school and homework. Classes are boring, the regular stuff that drones on and on. It’s nearly peaceful, quiet, almost too calm. I’m not even stressing about the ease of this year. It’s going to be cake, and I’ll be the glutton on its offerings.
PE, Math, English, and Science are my least favorite, while History and Psych are definitely my top two. The rest are inconsequential.
No matter how hard I try to avoid the guys of Student Gov, they seem to be in all my classes. They don’t pay a lot of attention to me, which is fine by me.
It’s different this year. Yang and I were the only females involved last year, but with her gone and me quitting, it’s all guys. Lux, the president. Bridger, the vice president. Ten, the secretary. Ross, the enforcer. There’s no longer a historian or treasurer. No one knows why we weren’t replaced, but it stands as is. If they’re waiting for me to come back or beg me to come back, they’re going to be waiting a long time.
These guys are the same ones who ruined my life, but wait. My gaze lands on a paper pinned to the wall. The Arcadia Emblem is at the top, stamped like a brand of royalty. Looks like there’s a new addition according to the wall announcements.
Welcome Jordan Winthrop, your newest enforcer.
Not sure who he is, but he sounds like a tool.
Maybe I’m being biased, but he’s probably like the rest of them—dickish, self-serving heartbreakers.
My next class should be one of my favorites, knowing the teachings, but it will probably be as bad as gym.
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting in Psych, waiting for class to start when several girls huddle in the middle of the room, chatting conspiratorially. It’s nothing unusual. We’re in high school, after all, but I pay little attention to what goes on around me. It’s less stress and drama for my mental health.
“I heard she kills animals in her spare time,” a chick I don’t know whispers, catching my ear.
It’s obvious who they’re discussing.
“Maybe that’s w
hy she’s in this class. Learning how to hide her psychopathic tendencies,” another joins in.
“Getting away with murder would definitely be on my list of things to learn,” I deadpan, barging in on their conversation, watching them jolt back as if I’m going to hurt them.
I would never touch a fucking animal. These cretins love their rumors. It’s disgusting how much time and hatred people put in for five seconds of fame. I’d say fifteen minutes, but we all know a teen’s attention span ends as soon as it begins.
“Nah, ladies. Miss Hudson only likes drinking the blood of men. Fresh from the tap. You know, since she’s a bloodsucking vampire.” He taps his throat methodically, receiving giggles from the stupid chicks who have nothing better to do than talk shit.
I don’t know when he walked in or how I missed it. He was probably acting as a god, heaven-sent and otherworldly. News flash, that’s inaccurate.
I would know his voice anywhere. If he stood in a lineup, no imagery necessary, his voice would be refined like aged whiskey. It’s too unique, smoky, and promises havoc to everyone around him.
My head tells me not to react, but my heart tells me to make him eat it alive. That’s what my heart wanted all last year, wasn’t it? Him. His stupid blond hair that made my insides tingle and his piercing hazel eyes that couldn’t decide which shade they wanted to be. It’s the way he’s arrogant as hell but doesn’t cower or apologize for it. He’s unapologetically himself; a cruel, rich, and unattainable asshole.
He hasn’t said a single thing since he forced me to walk the mile. Assistant Lux isn’t anything like Lennox DeLeon, President of the dickbags. Shocker.
They may physically be the same person, but Lux is who I know. Lennox is who scares me.
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it last time, Lux. We both know my mouth is your favorite,” I taunt a little too late but still knowing where to push.
Whether he’ll admit it or not, he had feelings for me. So much so that he begged me to pick him. Now, with my eyes staring right at him, I feel power ooze from my pores, and it only increases as his jaw tics. It’s not news that Lennox is the richest kid, besides me, and the most charming guy in school—unless he’s dealing with me. He’s constantly fawned over and eats it up, gorging on the attention like a leech. But, shit, he’s a gorgeous leech.
Here Lives a Corpse: A Dark Bully Academy Romance (Here Lies Book 1) Page 3