Awful Curse: A High School Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (The Celestial Bodies Series Book 1)

by Elena Monroe

  Nyx stepped in, speaking before I had the chance, “Come on. She's disrupting the fucking class.”

  I looked up as soon as I heard the word, and I knew he was purposely taking this lick. That's what people did for their sovereign; they kissed the ring, any way they could, if it proved loyalty. Nyx was the most loyal person I had ever come across. His loyalty was fierce and dangerous for others.

  “Detention, Nyx. Windows after classes. Same for you, Arianna. Your student handguide has the uniform standards. Please brush up.” He shook his head in disappointment before standing at the front of the class again. “Page fifty. Greek Mythology.”

  Arianna leaned in towards me. “Would they all jump in front of a bullet if it meant protecting you? Or sometimes, do you fight your own battles?”

  I slammed my book shut, ready to leave class and pay for it later. This might be why he called this class his babysitting duties.

  “Let’s start at the beginning for our new student. We’ll summarize what we've gone over. Bolton, most common myths?”

  He was battling for dominance. Here he was king, even though he had no followers. I had to fold under him. He was our teacher, and that alone labeled him an authority figure.

  “New Girl, better do some reading in her spare time. The myth of Hades and Persephone, the myth of Aphrodite and Adonis, the myth of Pandora's box, the myth of Eros and Psyche, and the myth of Perseus and Medusa.”

  The challenge in his voice was heavy and stern. “Why is mythology relevant today?”

  I was telling her all of the secrets without her knowing. She wasn't even bothering to write any of this down. She was blissfully unaware of this being the only time I would open up to her.

  “It’s all around us. Most people don't notice. Companies, products, motivations… all plucked from mythology and shoving it down their throats.”

  Her fist was pushed into her cheek, holding her up, like this conversation was boring her to death.

  She spoke again almost to herself, murmuring, “Nike is named after the Greek goddess of victory. And Starbucks is a siren, also mythology.”

  Alba asked her to repeat herself louder, clearly impressed, and now certainly in agreement with Austin’s theory that she was, in fact, the one.

  I wasn't convinced. She still wasn't special, and I still wasn't blown over by some sign.

  I felt nothing—certainly not complete.

  Bolton

  Nyx had detention with New Girl.

  She was working her way through the group, stealing private time with each one of them.

  I didn’t bother to text him and see how it went. I didn’t really care. I didn’t care what anyone had to say about her. It was my decision that mattered.

  I would see him tonight for our annual meeting with Alba. Really, it was a festivity of complaints that I was against completing our circle. Nothing productive ever came from the wasted hour of my time.

  A series of complaints I had heard so many times before.

  Asinine.

  Did they think I wanted to be immortally stuck in my senior year? No. It’s what I called my own personal hell.

  Never mind the circle being stuck at Arcadia was throwing the world out of whack. All our gods were dead. There were no gods serving up retribution or pulling the strings anymore.

  Trump was fucking president; people were worshiping the Kardashians; and social media was determining fucking worth. Being here was the last thing I wanted.

  We needed to balance the world by being a part of it—Not by repeating senior year for a 100th time.

  I dipped into the faculty building unseen exactly at seven o’clock. I was always early as our unofficial and unelected leader; it made scolding everyone who was late easier. I liked being first, in control, and god-like above everyone else. I had been like this since I could remember, even on the playground, as a younger, less vile me, I would dominate the monkey bars and charge a hefty fee for the sweet treats their loving moms put in their lunchboxes as payment.

  Both my parents thought it was endearing. I was raised in an environment of ruthlessness, to be unafraid and to not follow but lead.

  The faculty building was never used after four; none of our teachers were dedicated enough to put in extra hours. They already just chalked up the student body, minus four scholarship students yearly, as over-privileged and over-stimulated by our circumstances.

  Alba wasn't like the rest of the staff, he was just like us, waiting on us all to arrive and stuck in a loop just like us. He took a special interest in us and led the charge in our search. Years of the same shit can make someone a dangerous type of motivated.

  He even started the scholarship program to move the search along quicker by integrating new students every year—four to be exact. We had four chances every year.

  I pressed my student ID to the secure pad and waited for the little light to go green before I squeezed the handle to open the door. We were the only students with access.

  I looked at my phone, which I always had on “Do Not Disturb,” overlooking the group chat, and focusing on the time. I had plenty of it to look at her file the way I originally planned to.

  Watching her basic ass behavior wasn't enough. I needed ammo in the war against her infiltration.

  Getting a file out of a locked filing cabinet was easy. I had been picking locks since grade school, once I realized all the best things are the ones you can't have.

  I took what I wanted, no apologies.

  Especially if I was forced to repeat senior year until the one showed up—the only one not drawn to Arcadia or us.

  Adventure kept her away, roaming, and hard to pinpoint. Despite popular belief, magic could only do so much. We weren’t even at our full strength as a broken circle.

  This was our fourteenth time stuck as seniors, never aging or moving on. It was Pandora’s punishment for being separated outside the clouds of Olympus. The gods loved a good sadomasochist torture session.

  The lock almost begged to unhinge, falling apart instantly, as I jammed my key into its mechanism. I pulled the file cabinet open with a yank and a creek like the drawer hadn't been opened in years. I propped my phone up on its socket letting the flashlight beam down on the files as I fingered through them to find her first name.

  I still didn't know her last name, and her first didn't really matter either—she was New Girl. I finally found her file. It was all new and protected between as files as old as someone repeating senior year as many times as we had.

  My resentment for this place behind the gate grew each year I was stuck here. There were only a few holidays when the boundary was lifted and we could sneak out into the real world: Halloween, Harvest Kickoff, and Summer Solstice.

  The hours and days between were a long drawn inhale, and I wasn't breathing until I could exhale outside these grounds.

  I opened the file, only finding one piece of paper with her demographics, like a medical office: height, eye color, address, emergency contact, and nothing else. The lone, thin piece of paper had a Post-it attached.

  Nice try. It’s not that black and white.

  I recognized the handwriting instantly.

  Alba.

  He knew everything, with good reason; he was actually two-hundred years old stuck in the body of a forty-year-old teacher.

  I closed the file as hard as I could and kicked the filing cabinet against the wall in the office I broke into.

  Mad didn't describe how I felt when I didn't get my way.

  It was a poison rushing through my veins, turning every ounce of me into a villain. I was no hero.

  That was an easy label when I could do and say what I wanted. That kind of comfort irritated people so much that it landed me in their hate category. I had played the villain for so long I didn't even know what heroes were anymore.

  Fuck heroes.

  Fuck their golden rules.

  Fuck their self-sacrificing, courage, and humility.

  I was selfish and unafrai
d, and everyone knew it just as much as I did. I wasn't ashamed. I was the essence of Aries, trapped in a teenager, doomed to this repetitive punishment—all because of the one who got lost.

  Again.

  I barely lifted my feet as I padded out of the office, letting them drag against the vintage hardwood as I made my way to the basement. I still had time to kill but at least I could do it in a place of comfort. Nothing was more off putting than this faculty building. All the ancient furniture, paintings of people I never concerned myself with, and the lingering scent of sharpened pencils… it made me choke on the saliva my mouth was producing.

  The basement wasn't your mom’s basement. Our basement was finished, dark, housing so many candles we could have created a forest fire, and looked like it belonged to a cult—the non-religious type, something darker.

  I thumbed through books of our history, waiting for anyone, even Alba, to arrive for our annual meeting. New Girl would be the topic of focus; the new scholarship student always was.

  Alba was the first to arrive, giving me a once over, like my body would convey the secrets of my most recent trouble.

  “You're here early, Bolton.”

  I didn't bother looking up from my comfortable hunched over position at a desk with my feet planted into the ground and a book in my hand. Nothing ever demanded my full attention, so everyone got a small portion instead.

  “Yep. You know me.”

  “Thought you'd be at practice; don't you guys have a big game against Fillmore Prep?”

  “I don't know. I just show up, smile, and wave.”

  I could feel the annoyance seethe from his body, trying to reach me. I was the only one he couldn't control. We played nice for everyone else, to the point of everyone thinking I was his favorite. In private, we were at each other's throats, comfortably.

  “Maybe if you took being stuck here as a blessing in disguise, you could enjoy yourself more… like the others.”

  “You think I wanna enjoy this shit? I don't belong here, Alba. I'm not 18; I'm not a high schooler; and I’m not gonna fucking pretend like we are.”

  He gave me the worst case of side eye he could, while he started lighting his candles in preparation for the others to arrive.

  “She could be the twelfth, but you're determined to be miserable.”

  “She's not. There's no way. She's got goddamn purple hair.”

  He didn't laugh or agree, instead he looked to the door and announced the others before they even reached the basement door. I didn't move one inch as they entered the room as one big group, like they met up before coming here. It didn't bother me, I declined 99% of invites anywhere just for the simple reason: I disliked other people. I was my best company.

  Nyx was my best friend, actually the perfect best friend. He was quiet, loyal, and brooding, just as much as I was. Misery loved her damn company.

  He sauntered over to me, looking more serious than ever. He still wore his workout clothes from football practice. “We have to talk.”

  I looked at him with my eyebrows tense and then dropped them down to my eyelids, searching for a hint as to what about. Nyx was stone cold, and he never revealed any hints.

  I got up slowly and walked out of sight of the group. It was a maze down here, tunnels leading to off campus, to nothing, to other buildings. I had them mapped in my head perfectly. I slithered down a hallway, waiting for Nyx to spill his news, as I leaned against the door frame, expertly blocking the tunnel entrance. Depending on what kind of news this was, we may need more privacy.

  This group had abilities. Like Austin, he could sense power. The rest of them mastered manipulation, enhanced hearing, strength, empathy visions, shadow play, and things I deemed special, simply because I was born without them, like nurturing, timing, and understanding.

  Unlike the rest of them, my only ability was to continue to be an asshole, and my voice boomed with enough authority to demand people listen.

  Nyx pushed his fingers through his long hair, looking (Dare I say it?) stressed out. “We have a problem.”

  Now, I was interested in his detention with New Girl. I waved an impatient hand for him to continue.

  “She's not just some girl. Austin felt it… and so did I, man.”

  I rolled my eyes unapologetically. Sure. She was the infamous one. The sarcasm alone felt uncomfortable even silently in my head.

  “Felt what?” I snapped in his direction.

  “The zap, the shock… whatever it is. When you touch her… something in us remembers her, Bolton. You're the only one that remembers shit from before here.”

  “You know I don't remember anything useful. Shit. Now I have to actually touch her just to prove to you guys she’s just some shiny new toy.”

  He leaned against the wall, free of the burden he just unloaded. His eyes closed, and I watched him swallow hard. “She's cute, bro.”

  I rolled my eyes, folding my arms against my chest and leaving him to crush on New Girl alone. I wanted this meeting to be over as quickly as possible. Sitting in a room, whining about our circumstances, wasn't my priority. My priority was acting my age in the privacy of my room.

  Cheyanne had AirPods in, almost always, and was swaying her hips to nothing but silence, before Omari gave her a stern look. They were twins, connected in a way we wouldn't ever understand. In one glance, you could feel a whole conversation surge between them without any real words being said.

  She plucked the AirPods from her ear, finally joining the group sitting in the circle. “Jasper is having a party tonight at the abandoned building.”

  The estate was the abandoned building on the edge of campus, not used anymore. Naturally, it was used for whatever trouble you could conjure up.

  Jasper was notorious for his parties that sprung out of boredom. If I ever showed up, it was out of desperation on my part, and it was only for a half hour. My presence kept the others in line, even in small doses. We were stuck as teenagers, but we weren't getting close to that kind of immaturity. Not on my watch.

  Everyone chatted about the party, and I stayed silent, waiting for the hour to be up so I could leave, regardless of whether or not we made any headway on the topic.

  I wasn’t naïve; they wanted to blow off steam. That’s what football was for me: A place where aggression and fighting was allowed.

  The girls didn’t have the same kind of relief; they were forced to fit in and keep up appearances that we guys didn’t need to. Our standards could be lived down with an irritated grunt, multiple girls in our bed, and bad behavior. However, the women couldn't do the same without being labeled names that were cruel and unusual.

  Arianna

  That was the worst part of Arcadia Prep: There was no escaping. We were all closed in behind a gate, guarded by middle-aged security that I could outrun, but to where? The other side of campus? No thanks.

  It was 7:50, and I was in my room, “behaving.”

  Having trouble being so far from me, I felt lonely.

  My head hung off the edge of the bed as I held up my heavy textbook, trying to soak in whatever ramblings crowded the pages. My eyes floated over the same words more than once as I tossed the book to my side and groaned.

  My roommate came back from wherever she was; she had a busy social life, even as a girl wearing hand-knit sweaters, while I suffered in silence.

  Luna.

  She reminded me of the world’s best helicopter mom, stuck in a state of complete worry over everyone else.

  She immediately asked me what was wrong and simultaneously handed me a Ziplock baggie of grapes, like whatever it was would be cured by her gesture. I popped one in my mouth, unmoving from letting the blood drain to my face, hopefully numbing the parts of me that were on fire with cabin fever.

  “I'm bored, Luna. I'm dying here.”

  She smiled sweetly at my dramatics. “There's a party tonight… Cheer up! Do you wanna come with us?”

  I sat up, ravenous for more information. I pulled my Doc Martens on and
grabbed my hoodie to pull on. She giggled in such an innocent way at my rushed enthusiasm.

  Nothing could be bad about this girl. She didn't know what mean was. I quickly wondered how her easy-target attitude didn't land her in a less than desirable position in the high school hierarchy. Maybe the group was her way of protecting herself.

  “Guess that means you want to come...? I just need to change my shirt.”

  I drew my eyes back from critiquing her demeanor and gave her the privacy I would want. I unlocked my phone, still waiting for any kind of message from my ex-boyfriend. The same boyfriend I got into trouble with and stomped on his heart, all in the same week.

  He didn't try to reach out after everything happened. I didn't expect him to, but my mind kept wandering back to the precious moments we shared—all the casual “I love you’s” we exchanged and how he took my virginity. I may be hard to pin down, full of sass, and operating solely on dangerous adventures, but when it came to love… Well, I was as sappy as the rest of them. I could commit to anything if it meant love.

  Apparently to the wrong people.

  I wasn’t bitter or anything.

  My eyes traveled back to Luna, who was still picking between two different tops she would cover up with her chunky knit sweater anyways. I noticed a tattoo on her shoulder, and all the excitement bubbled to my surface.

  “Is that a tattoo? Omg! I knew you weren't all goody-goody.”

  Her innocently smooth face was overcome with embarrassment, as she quickly turned around and stammered over her own words.

  “It's… it's a birthmark, actually. It's from birth.”

  I stood up and crossed the small room to get a better look at the light mark on her shoulder. “That's where birthmarks do tend to be from: birth. Can I see?”

  She reluctantly turned away from me, displaying it not so proudly.

  I was sure she had never said no to anything, ever.

  I looked at the mark more closely, and it looked like an old scar or a burn. I recognized the shape; it was on the tip of my tongue, teasing me to think harder.