Her Shame: A Dark Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 1)

by Eden Beck

  He makes a little snorting sound out of his nose. “Hardly,” he snaps back.

  “What, no love for Warren’s sister?”

  He hesitates a moment. “I mean, you’ve met her,” he says, evasively.

  I lean a little closer. “So, is it true then, did Bridget really get fat in high school?” As soon as I ask the question, I feel my heartbeat quicken a pace.

  Chase gives me a second look at that. “That’s a weird question to ask.”

  “Is it though?” I ask, scrambling for a moment. “You heard the kind of rumors she’s been spreading about me.”

  I prepare to hold my breath, but there’s no need. Chase lets out a little whistle of a laugh.

  “Touché,” he says, before leaning back to focus on the far wall for a second while he speaks, as if trying to focus on a memory. “Come to think of it, I mean, yeah, a little. She came back from her grandma’s house at the beginning of senior year and she looked rough. She tightened things up quick though.”

  “Why was she at her grandma’s house?”

  Chase shoots me a look. “Why would you—”

  I shrug. “Better to know your enemy, and all that.”

  That makes Chase laugh, and for one second, I swear I see a hint of the old Chase within. He sits back and considers my question.

  “No idea, she left right before the end of junior year ‘cause her grandma was sick or something, no one really said,” Chase says with a shrug. “That’s all I know. Why do you care?”

  “I dunno, just curious,” I say. “Maybe imagining her with cankles just brightens my day.”

  This time, Chase has to bury his face in his arms to keep from everyone hearing his snorts of laughter.

  It’s strange, as awful as Chase can be, he has a strange … kindness underneath it. He’s softer than he’d like to let on. Of all the boys, his bullying feels more like teasing than actual maliciousness, even now.

  I’m reminded of the difference when I run into Warren after class. Warren looks at me with a mocking smile on his face.

  “Oh, hey, Bridget told me she let you know about the party, you understand right? We wouldn’t want anyone feeling disrespected, right?” he says. “Such a shame, since I doubt anyone else will have you now.”

  His insult isn’t lost on me. It’s just what I’d said to him that night so many weeks ago now. The night that started all this.

  “Look, I told her I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Warren fires back. “By the way, I heard you’re helping Mr. Peters out in the office, just can’t stay away from those older men can you Aubrey?”

  I freeze a little for a moment, my eyes searching his face. Does he know? Did Bridget tell him?

  But he makes no motion, and the last thing I’m going to do is admit to anything else. My reputation is in tatters already. This would just …

  I don’t like to think of it.

  Fortunately, I see no sign in Warren’s face that there’s any more meaning behind the insult, so I just wordlessly push past his cruelly grinning face and get out of there as fast as I can.

  To try to block out the noise and chaos, I bury myself in finals studying until I can finally get to the computer room.

  There has to be something to pin on her.

  A girl like Bridget has to have secrets of her own.

  Otherwise, what would she be doing here with the rest of us?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After two more weeks of torture in the form of whispers and snide remarks, the time has finally come.

  My chance to see if there’s some way I can get even with Bridget.

  I’ve spent the last couple weeks trying to get my hands on Bridget’s file now that I’ve been reassigned to working with Ms. Hopkins, and I did actually succeed. To no avail.

  Bridget’s file just said as she had stated—that she was sent here for cheating on her exams.

  I felt so foolish stuffing the file back into its box that I never even told Clark or Alaska.

  But now, tonight, I have to find something. I’m not sure I can face them if I don’t. Not when they’ve been having to deal with the song “Maneater” playing nonstop from some device just out of eyesight practically everywhere the three of us goes.

  So, it’s no wonder that I already have a pit of anxiety in my stomach when I sign in to the computer room and sit down at my assigned station. It’s a small cubicle with privacy walls three-quarters of the way around it to help students focus. I enter my login information and the computer lights up.

  First, I pull up a study guide from one of my classes just in case the monitor walks by. Then, I dive in online.

  It’s strange how foreign it feels to be online after so many months away. No wonder there’s a bullying problem here at Ridgecrest.

  It’s probably because we’re all so bored without this.

  I make a mental note to book as many future slots as are allowed just to make sure I stay connected to the world outside of Ridgecrest … and then I dive right in.

  First, I pull up Bridget’s Instagram. I immediately want to vomit. It’s perfectly curated shots of her on various vacations, brunches, and out shopping at luxury boutiques. Every picture has the same warm, golden tint to it.

  Somehow, of course, she’s managed to keep some sort of auto-post on that makes it look like she’s spending a luxury gap-year abroad rather than holed up here with the rest of us at Ridgecrest.

  I scroll back in her feed, which takes forever. She must post five times a day.

  How does one post perfection that often?

  I feel suddenly self-conscious about my own account. A measly two hundred followers show a mild interest in me posting pictures of my cat, my first day of school, me and my old “friends” at the mall.

  As if I could ever really call them that.

  Either way, it looks nothing like this picture-perfect life that Bridget seems to be leading.

  It would take a well-trained eye to notice the signs that her newest photos might have been taken some time ago—or, as it is in my case, a very suspicious one. But Bridget isn’t perfect, as much as her account would like to let her followers believe.

  I scroll back to summer two years ago. There are dozens of bikini photos, Bridget posing on some tropical island somewhere.

  Doesn’t exactly look like grandma’s house.

  I guess this isn’t the first time she’s carefully hidden a part of her life from prying eyes. But given Bridget’s personality … I’d have thought she’d have liked to flaunt the fact that she was being so positively selfless leaving school to help out her grandmother.

  But there’s not a word spoken about it. Not a single self-serving post. Not one bedside photo taken with a perfect pout.

  I scroll back further, through pictures of her laughing and hanging out with Warren and her girlfriends. Then, I scroll past something that makes me stop.

  There’s a picture of her and Sterling, her arm around him, him kissing her on the cheek.

  Wait, did they date? Why didn’t either of them mention it? And if they’re not dating now, why is he still hanging around?

  I scroll further back and I notice something odd. The pictures from the previous summer look exactly the same as the ones from the summer she was at “grandma’s house.” Same beach, same bikini, just different poses.

  This, this is what really makes me pause.

  She’s done this before. She’s doing it now.

  It just looks like two years ago she wasn’t quite as skilled. Even someone who isn’t looking too closely would be able to tell these photos are old, even then.

  So, what was she hiding up with that grandmother of hers?

  I mean, visiting grandma isn’t sexy, but it looks like Bridget went out of her way to make sure that no one knew where she was or what she was doing. Each photo is captioned with something basic like “just really needed to get away” or “Thursdays are for sun and sand.”

  T
here’s also no location tagged in any of the photos, which is also weird. Bridget’s rich, but not private island rich, so why wouldn’t she want to flaunt whatever exotic locale she’s sunning herself on?

  I head to Facebook to see if there’s anything there. As I expected, her Facebook is basically a ghost town, full of redundant Instagram posts and a few inspirational quotes. It doesn’t look like she uses it much, so I start to click away, until I see something.

  Bridget re-posted an inspirational quote during the summer she was at “grandma’s”. It reads:

  “Gifts come in many forms, and often, it’s the unexpected ones that bring us the most joy.”

  Ugh, gag me.

  It’s not the quote that gets my attention though, but one of the pages that liked it. As soon as I click on the name and see the page it leads to, my eyes widen.

  Jackpot.

  I knew she would make a mistake somewhere.

  I just didn’t expect it to be so obviously staring me in the face. Anyone could have found it.

  Anyone who wanted to.

  I guess I’m just the first person who Bridget has pissed off enough to really look. Which, honestly given who she is, is the most surprising part of all.

  Right here, staring at me, is the proof I so desperately need. The real scandal behind the perfect face. I quickly hit “print” and the large printer in the corner roars to life like an ancient beast.

  The page prints out and I hurry over to stuff it in my bag. Just then, I hear a voice behind me that makes me jump.

  “You’re still here?” says the very amused but shocked looking computer room attendant. “It’s six am! Go back to your dorm!”

  Sure enough, as I peek out through the glass doors, I can see the early morning light spilling into the building.

  I must have spent a lot more time looking at those photos than I realized.

  “Oh man, just … lost track of time,” I say, suddenly feeling the weight of my own eyelids.

  “Must have been quite the paper you were working on, lots of research?” she asks.

  “Oh yeah, lots,” I say, stretching my aching muscles before I head out the doors, my sweet, sweet revenge tucked into my bag safely.

  I practically float back to Mason House, the early morning sun splashing across my face a welcome friend instead of my usual enemy.

  I toss my bag into a corner and lay down on my bed, hoping to get a quick nap in before classes. I stare up at the ceiling as I have so often since I’ve been here at Ridgecrest. My eyes are drawn straight to the cracked ceiling.

  My mind is foggy, blurry from staying up all night, and still swimming with images of Bridget’s “perfect” life. How careful she’s been to make sure everyone sees her the way she wants to be seen.

  But nothing’s perfect is it Bridget? Like, what happened with Sterling? And … is it possible that … maybe. I’ll have to keep digging to figure that one out. But I’ve got enough to start.

  Soon, things at Ridgecrest are going to change for me. Hopefully for the better.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I barely have time for a short nap and a swipe of undereye concealer before I have to head to class. I feel jumpy and anxious, but in a good way as I check around the common room for Bridget, but she’s nowhere to be found. I’m tempted to announce what I’ve found to the whole school right in front of her.

  Do to her what she did to me.

  Ruin her.

  As soon as I think it, I know I can’t do that, however.

  I’m not Bridget. Try as I might to get her back for what she’s done to me, I can’t become her. I just can’t.

  Not unless she forces me to.

  No, first I have to make sure I’m right. It wouldn’t do to go accusing her wrongly. That would only cause me more trouble. But once I’m sure, I just have to figure out how to use this information to my advantage.

  As I walk to class, I see what are now becoming the all-too familiar stares. The whispers. But they don’t bother me.

  It’ll all be different soon. Soon, I’ll actually have a way to stop this relentless torment.

  I get to my first class and take my seat next to Alaska and Clark. Alaska’s eyes widen as she sees me.

  “Jesus, where were you all night?” she asks. “You look awful. You know that concealer isn’t the right shade for you.”

  But that comment doesn’t so much as phase me. Not today.

  “Computer lab, doing research,” is all I say.

  “Like, school research or like … research research?” she asks. Her eyebrows raise in question, to which I have to stifle a giggle.

  “The second one, and I got something good. Really good.”

  Clark and Alaska’s faces light up.

  “Really, what?” Clark asks.

  “Just wait, I want to give her a chance to stop all the bullying. If she can do that, I’ll keep it to myself,” I tell them.

  “Okay, but like that’s no fun,” Alaska says. “Not even for just the two of us?”

  I shake my head and fold my hands across the top of my desk in a gesture of mock contriteness. “I want to do it this way. I don’t want to stoop down to her level if I don’t have to.”

  Though that would be admittedly much more fun.

  “Fine, I get that,” Alaska sighs, resignedly.

  As much as I would love to ruin Bridget right here, right now, I know I have to wait.

  I have to be sure.

  Even if it means having to put up with the fallout of her little indiscretion for just a little while longer.

  Starting, it seems, with the least likely of the three boys.

  Chase.

  I’d be disappointed in him if I didn’t know better. Past those puppy-dog eyes and nice-boy freckles is just another one of Warren’s lackeys. And in turn, Bridget’s.

  “So, what exactly makes older dudes so appealing?” he asks, not ten minutes into our next class together. “Is it like the life experience or the smell of that old man aftershave that really does it for you?”

  “Honestly, it’s how little they interrupt me when I’m trying to work because they want me to succeed,” I say as I continue writing.

  “Oh, and you think guys like me don’t? Hmm, so that’s it. You think guys your own age are stupid and immature, gotta go for those older men to match your … whatever it is you’re bringing to the table.”

  I look up from my writing to see his crooked grin as he leans on the table, an empty open notebook in front of him.

  “You really want to know what it is Chase?” I ask.

  “Oh, please tell me,” he says.

  My eyes narrow. “They’re not trying to prove to me that they’re tougher than they are, or more clever, or hiding how smart they actually are under a bunch of bullshit bravado. That answer your question?” I snap.

  Chase looks taken aback for a moment. For the first time, he doesn’t respond right away.

  “I still think it’s just a thing for the aftershave,” he mumbles as he starts writing in his notebook.

  I think that one might have actually landed. Well, at least he’ll be quiet for the rest of class.

  The bell rings and we all gather our things and head out. As I leave the classroom and turn to head down the hall, Chase grabs my arm and pulls me into an empty classroom. My heart is pounding as I wrench my arm free.

  “What the fuck, Chase?” I say and I start for the door, but he blocks me from leaving.

  “What the fuck yourself? What did you mean back there?” he demands, looking furious.

  Furious.

  It’s not a good look for him. I prefer the good-intentioned jock with hair falling into his eyes.

  “What do you mean, what did I mean? About what?” I ask, my eyes still darting from his to the door, trying to work out how I’m going to get around him.

  “About how I’m hiding how smart I am …” he says with a growl.

  My eyes snap back to his.

  Hold on, he’s not ac
tually … mad. He’s …

  “What, did I hurt your feelings?”

  “No … just, fucking forget it,” he says, and with that he storms out of the classroom, leaving my head spinning.

  I emerge from the empty classroom to the last thing I want to see. Warren and Sterling.

  Can I really not catch a break?

  “Afternoon Aubrey …” Warren says with a grin. “Just saw Chase take off looking none too happy. Guess practice doesn’t make perfect, huh?”

  “You’re disgusting,” I snap back.

  “Oh, big words for a slut. I’d watch yourself if I were you. You’re running thin on friends these days as far as I can tell,” Warren says.

  “I’m not worried. At least the ones I do have I didn’t have to compensate with my trust fund to keep around.”

  A speckling of giggles echo in the hallway. We have an audience. I stand my ground, but I can feel my cheeks flushing.

  “Aw, see, still some remorse. Say you’re sorry and you won’t feel so bad,” Warren says with a sneer.

  Sterling has remained dead silent, simply watching the back and forth with a carefully trained glare. For a moment, he and I lock eyes. Warren gives him a playful shove.

  “Bet she’ll take you next if you ask nice.”

  A flicker of something flashes across Sterling’s face. He looks at Warren, then back at me.

  “Eh, not even worth it,” he says with a shrug. “Let’s get to class before I have to listen to another fucking lecture about the morals of punctuality.”

  With that, Sterling turns and heads down the hall, reluctantly followed by Warren, who tosses me one last acidic look before they both head off. I can feel my heart pounding out of my chest.

  Did Sterling just stand up to Warren? Or, at the very least, it’s the closest thing to ‘standing up to him’ that I’ve seen yet.

  I can still feel everyone’s eyes boring into me. I need to get away. I head straight for the doors leading outside. I push them open and am immediately blinded by the light of the bright afternoon sun.

  I wander out onto the grass, ambling toward Mason House but going nowhere in particular. I start to catch my breath and gather myself.