by Elena Monroe
I perked up in my seat interested. Nyx and Bolton were whispering like they typically did instead of listening.
It looked like gloating most of the time. Sometimes I’d hear Nyx say Luna, but rarely.
“Nyx, what's the history of Arcadia?”
He twisted back around to face the front of the class and made a lazy attempt to make eye contact with Alba.
I wasn't a suck up, but I couldn't afford to not pay attention in class either. I actually had to study, while guys like these ones simply showed up and the rest worked itself out.
“It's rumored Arcadia is on sacred ground. Witches used to summon the gods, and this was their doorway into the mortal world. But we know that's all bullshit, right, Alba? Fairytales.”
Alba snaked through the aisle of desks, scanning the room for his neck victim. “Why does it have to be a fairytale? Our library has books from the covens, ledgers, all the proof one wants.”
Bolton spoke out of turn, and it made Alba spin towards him on his heel.
“Proof? The Bible isn't even proof that Jesus walked the earth, and you want us to believe this school is special because of some fucked up folklore?”
Alba waved a finger in the air towards him. “The best things are the ones we can't prove, Mr. Cadoc.”
Leo and his boyfriend, Beau, sat on the opposite side of the room, and both giggled to themselves, until a harsh glance from Dr. Alba made them spit it out.
Leo, sounding completely factual, said, “Bolton doesn't believe in anything. Proof or not.”
I looked down at my unopened notebook and wondered why the campus was so big and why half the buildings were closed or off limits. I even wondered for a moment about why we weren't allowed off campus on the weekends or why we never had away games.
It was starting to feel like a sentence, and none of us knew what we were being punished for.
I hadn't realized how caged I felt until I was forced to look at Arcadia more critically.
Austin raised his hand and even waited to be called on before talking. “It's said that a wealthy family, considered royalty, lived here in the 1600’s.”
Dr. Alba nodded, like he was learning something too. “Yes, Austin, good. The Arcadia compound is known for its roots in royalty. Just as any balance would have it, the campus is also known for magic. Since there are so many theories on the history of the campus, let's make this your homework.”
The chalk scratched across the blackboard as he outlined the homework I now had from this class too. I was slowly drowning in homework, upcoming tests, and catching up on the material everyone else already seemed to know.
No one even cracked a book or notebook in class. I was out of my league here.
For the rest of the class, I zoned out, until Bolton hit me with a balled up piece of paper, purely for effect, because he spoke in a hushed tone instead of writing anything down.
“Why did you run out of my room like it was on fire?”
His question tempted my new hatred of him to skip from simmering straight to boiling.
“I told you I don't kiss and share. Kind of awkward when girl number two shows up before you're done with girl one.”
He sat back from leaning over his desk’s edge just to get my attention. His wicked smirk was kerosene on my anger, all cruel and relentless.
I threw the small crumpled up paper back at him before he sat up again.
“Cheyanne? That Cheyanne?” He pointed two desks away at the twisted soul I now called “bitch” in my head, sitting next to her twin brother, who couldn't be more opposite.
He was bright, fresh faced, blonde, and had bright blue eyes that resembled sea foam instead of a true blue. It was hard to hate someone who seemed so approachable.
I settled for not lumping him in with her.
Bolton dragged my staring away from the twins. “It's not like that. Never will be. I don't fuck my friends—hard limit.”
My features felt sharp when his contradicting sentence spewed out. “You told me just friends.”
He sat back in his seat, facing forward, as Dr. Alba shifted, trying to find the whispers in the room. “I’m not boyfriend material. Don't need you being clingy.”
Did he just call me clingy? It’s the equivalent of telling someone to calm down mid rage attack.
Before I was dropped at Arcadia, I was the queen of not unpacking and collector of goodbyes.
“I don't want a boyfriend. How's this for clingy?”
I got up from my desk, gripping my unused supplies to my chest and ambled to the exit. My heart raced from the cocktail of emotions—worried for my dad, pissed off at Bolton, and still slightly jealous that Cheyanne could command his attention while I was on top of him.
Really taking blows all around.
My sense of direction still limited to my routine, I wandered down spare hallways until I found a name plate next to a big oak door labeled “Library.”
Finally, somewhere I could get some peace and quiet.
In every place I've lived, there was always one solace—a quiet place with no interruptions or outside noise. It was my getaway. I pushed open the door, and memories of my last home flooded me, pulled me under water, and kidnapped all the fresh air in my lungs.
My last solace was a man-made dam with a bright “no trespassing” sign on every fence closing it in. It was mine, only mine, until I let him into my depths.
I opened myself up to him, and the result was Arcadia Prep.
He was made up of hope and dreams, while I reveled in hate.
I never even had the chance to confront him after we were put in the back of a cop car and escorted back home from trespassing.
There was one main road to our homes, and the whole town buzzed with seeing his face scorned with regret next to mine in the back seat.
Son of the mayor, handcuffed, and no longer to my heart, with his tarnished reputation.
After that, the school kindly declined having me return, exiled from the only high school in the small town.
My aunt also decided it was best if I found a new foster home while my dad fought for this country. Guess that's how he landed on a boarding school.
I threaded through the aisles of books in the pure, unsoiled, silence. I found desks off the rows of books and larger desks in eye shot of the librarian. I settled for a large table by the large windows, light pouring through and warming the wood. I dropped my stuff down without thinking about being quiet until I heard a harsh “shhh” in the distance.
She was slumped down in the chair, almost hiding, and I stomped my way towards the Librarian's desk in the center of the library.
She was the woman who showed me to my room on my first day. Tall, slender, pasty pale skin, like she never saw the sunlight directly, and she moved like gravity and air had no effect on her. Her bun was piled so tightly on her head it looked like it hurt, as I got closer.
“Excuse me? I need to find books on the school’s history for a project.”
She didn't look up or even try to make eye contact with me, instead she pointed to where I came from and scribbled down a number associated to my request.
I took the paper sighing extra loud for effect, annoyed everyone has the social skills of goldfish. They were all scared of interaction, manners, social cues we all learned in kindergarten.
I got lost in books with spines all resembling each other—thick, old, fragile things. I was scared to touch them. Even my gaze seemed to paramount.
Each spine had a date range, and I chose a random book, before making my way back to the desk where I had dropped my stuff.
Bolton was sitting at the head of the table with the chair backwards, thumbing through my notebook when I coughed, subtly, letting him know I could see him.
“Guess who you're stuck with for this project.”
I rolled my eyes, taking a seat in front of my stuff and trying my best to ignore his presence.
“That book isn't going to teach you anything about Arcadia.”
<
br /> Slamming the book shut, another loud noise eliciting another “shhh” my direction. “And what will? You? Because you're just so helpful and nice?”
“Ouch. That almost hurt... if I had feelings. I know more about this school than those damn books.”
Slanted eyes, still full of hate, peered at him with so much judgment I felt like Cheyanne for a moment. “I don't need a partner. Go choose someone else.”
He sat back, eyes on his phone. “Alba’s rules not mine. Besides, you said it yourself every king needs a queen.”
If I kept rolling my eyes with this much conviction, they might actually get stuck the wrong way.
He was using my own words against me now. What a plagiarist.
“I take it back, okay? You're just an asshole in an aluminum crown.”
A quick chuckle turned into a cough, and it seemed unexpected even to himself. I smirked in the glory of catching him off guard. That had to be a record.
“Asshole or not, I'm still your partner for the project. Get used to me.”
He was hard to get rid of, just like a king.
Without slaughtering him, we were all forced under his reign.
I refused to acknowledge him the rest of the time I was in the library, jotting down notes and trying to find enough information on one topic to be able to write a paper.
Bolton sat there quietly, with his fingers laced around his phone, perfectly ignoring me too. All of me seethed with hate for him, except for my lips, which wanted to collide with his again.
I could easily feel the rush of a quick spark still lingering on my lips even a day later. Hating him, while my body craved him, was going to be the best challenge I ever took on.
Bolton
She made hating her the hardest thing I'd ever done. She was the only girl to say every unfiltered insult, not afraid to ignore me, and she certainly had parts of me reacting that normally preferred the comfort of a warm mouth not a cold blooded bitch.
I had to keep my eyes glued on my phone, just to keep myself focused on why I was supposed to be interested in her: the circle and whatever Cheyanne was doing with her hair.
She was keeping us in the dark, even though I handed over my hoodie mid make out session.
It reminded me to find her at lunch and demand some answers.
I left the library without a word to Arianna before I did, and I headed straight to the dining hall to find the twins.
If you spotted one, then the other wasn't ever far; they were inseparable.
When my mind would escape its routined cage, I would think about how that must be a type of true love. Being forced together, so opposite, yet having an unbreakable connection.
It was my only idea of love I had, and it had to do. I had no plans to sacrifice my heart, or my crown, to anyone.
The dining hall buzzed with chatter I sliced through; when I walked by, it was hard to ignore the gawking and chatter coming to a silence. I never knew it was because I was king or because of my constant miserable grimace that I wore proudly. I gave up wondering.
I used to shout, act out, let the misery feed off their gossip, but their gossip made my throne. It raised me high above the other men around me.
I found the twins sitting with Austin on the stairs we always occupied. I didn't even wait to be an acceptable proximity from her to talk. My deep voice sounded boosted, “When are you gonna give me an update? I've texted you.”
Cheyanne looked up from her phone with a glare that was made to turn people to stone, except me. “Relax, Bolton. I'm working on it. It's not that easy. It takes time.”
Impatiently I asked, “What part takes time? Just do your witch shit and tell me if she's one of us.”
Omari, her twin, who never spoke unless it was gravely necessary, added to our conversation. “Worried she may not be one of us? You know what happens if she isn't Bolton. Be careful what you share with her.”
Her cult vibes disrupted his angel features.
I carefully didn't share anything, not to protect her, but myself. Sharing wasn't a priority. Neither was venting enough to let anyone in our little secret we all shared.
“I don't share shit. We all know that.”
Cheyanne sat back, enjoying the exchange. She enjoyed anything with an edge enough to cut, and our words were vicious.
Omari was suddenly a talker. “I see how you look at her, Bolton. It's trouble. If she is one of us, good luck convincing her you aren't crazy, and if she's not, then you know what happens. We can't stop the ritual; you know that.”
Annoyed, I looked away from him and the truth I avoided at all costs.
I always avoided the reality of how many times we had been wrong in the past, how many people we buried in the woods behind the school, and how many lies we came up with to protect our asses from questions. I could even name every person that wasn't the one.
Raven.
Darren.
Harold.
Francesca.
Samantha.
Tom.
Lucille.
Norman.
Scott.
Brittany.
Simone.
Anthony.
And last year, Ryan.
We were all so sure about him until we arrived at the altar and the way it all felt wrong. It was pure bile swimming in my stomach threatening my lunch to come up, because I couldn't bear to put any dinner down my throat.
The real person wrecked was Cheyanne, who fell for Ryan’s charm as soon as he stepped foot on campus.
She tried to protect him, but at that point, we were so desperate to get out of our own hell that anyone attracted to us became the center of a witch hunt.
Cheyanne may seem cold on the outside, but her insides were as warm as anyone’s. Her first love had been ripped from her arms in the hopes he’d set us free.
Boy, were we wrong.
After sending Cheyanne into a full personality change, we put a lot more caution into the ritual that we did before.
She used to be normal, piercing-free, even nice .
Now she was this hard shell that terrified even me sometimes. There was no more guilt, shame, or even fear of the repercussions; she was unapologetically looking for an escape, no matter what it cost.
She stared up at me, like she resented how much I saw her as broken now. Really, I just saw how much I was about to be her if Arianna wasn't in fact the one.
“You let me know when you're done doing your little magic show and have some fucking answers,” I practically growled at her, before I stormed out of the dining hall, more pissed off than ever.
My mind was still stuck on Arianna, the ritual, and all the trouble she was creating in my life. On the way out, I crashed into her like my thoughts conjured her up right in front of me.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Arianna. Watch where you're going!”
I stepped away from all her books, papers, and phone, which clearly cracked when it fell. I wasn't about to help, so the least I could do was move out of the way.
She kneeled down, looking up at me. “You don't have to be such an asshole. Are you shooting for some kind of award?”
I stood above her, exactly where I liked to be, above everyone, looking down at her only to prove a point.
She can sit on me like a throne, but I will always be king.
“I have my reasons. What are yours for being so clumsy?”
I didn't expect her to answer me. I was being more asshole than normal.
“Well, you don't have to keep being an asshole to me.”
She actually thought she was different, held some meaning, all because I took her back to my room. That didn't win her any brownie points. I leaned down, eye level, while she picked up her stuff defeatedly.
“Prove it, and I'll stop being an asshole.”
I made sure she looked at me when I said it before I got up and ambled down the hallway away from her, the mess, as the pain in my chest filled with doubt that she wasn't the one.
Anyone on t
he football team was excused from our last two classes on days we had games.
It wasn't really a luxury if you knew our coach.
He was permanently dressed in Arcadia pride, all navy and maroon, all the time. He was a cliché if we were being honest. He blew his knee out a few months into going pro, and it never healed right for him to get a second shot at his dream.
Coaching a private school’s team? Probably wasn't even Plan B for this guy.
I changed into my under armor, leaving my pads alone until actual game time. On game days, we didn't actually run plays or get to hit anyone until the other team stepped onto the field. No, instead we did cardio, which normally meant laps until someone either threw up or passed out. I had seen both happen, even in the shadow of Seattle.
I arrived on the field, pushing myself between Austin and Nyx, trying to find what their gaze was stuck on. On the other side of the field was the team we would play in two hours and their cheerleaders in smaller outfits than our own wore.
They were early, by hours, and I was aware they didn't come from that far. Our coach came up next to us, arms folded against his chest, eyes squinting in their direction.
“Their field is under construction, and they needed a place to practice. I never told them we'd be welcoming. You're welcome, boys.”
Nyx reached over me to slap Austin’s hand in excitement, completely ignoring me and going right for my runner up. I watched a brunette cheerleader smile and look down when our eyes met out of embarrassment of getting caught.
“Still mad at me?”
Nyx bulldozed into me when he walked around me and onto the field, clearly making a point. Yep, still mad.
I followed him, throwing my hands out in a clear defeat.
“Everyone knows you two like each other. It was a bad joke, okay?”
He turned around, rushing towards me, until his face was an alarming distance from mine. “It wasn't yours to joke about. You're just mad, because no one is ever gonna love an asshole like you. You wanted to be king? Now you are. Lonely, huh?”
I wanted to fight back. I wanted to push him out of my space. I wanted to do a lot of things that would make him my enemy, but I didn't.
Instead, I shouted right into his good looks: “I didn't want any of this, and I didn't ask to be anything. I stepped up because no one else was.”