by MV Ellis
“Who gives a fuck about the other stuff? Anyone who knows anything about this place knows what goes on here behind the glossy veneer and manicured lawns. Our parents pay a fucking fortune for a glorified babysitting service—not a very good one, even—but as long as what we do doesn’t attract outside attention, nobody cares a damn. I mean, for me, even if the world and his wife found out what we got up to here, I wouldn’t give half a passing fuck. I can’t say the same for Xavier, but screw him. Anyway, none of that matters, because we both know this video isn’t about getting hand jobs during mass. It’s about that night.”
“Yeah, it could be. You’re obviously worried.” Worried is a fucking understatement.
Since I first pressed play on the video, I haven’t been able to think about anything else, and the newspaper cutout style text on the plain black background will forever be etched in my mind.
We know who you are. We know where you were. We know what you did.
“What are you planning on doing?” Tyce’s words bring my mind back into the room.
“What can I do? I don’t know who sent it, or if, like you say, it’s really just about us all cheating on our religion test last week, so there’s really nothing I can do. Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”
“Yeah, obviously no—”
“What the fuck!”
As Tyce is speaking, the door to the dorm slides open, and standing there like a deer in the headlights, is a girl I haven’t seen before. My blood runs cold, and I momentarily do the same thing—stop in my tracks as though frozen in time.
I don’t move, just stare at her, as she seems to do a sweep of the room, slowly appraising it, Tyce, and me, including my naked chest. In fact, I’m pretty sure she lingers on my chest a while before bringing her gaze up to meet my angry stare.
Her eyes. They are... I can’t even think of the word. Intense, I guess is the closest description, but it isn’t quite right, and doesn’t do their beauty justice. On the other hand, there’s something about them that makes me feel like she’s seeing more than just what’s visible on the surface. Like she’s reading right into my soul, and it freaks me the hell out.
The blood rushes through my veins, pumping so hard I can almost hear it, while my breath catches painfully in my lungs like I’ve swallowed barbed wire. I’ve never experienced anything like it.
A long, tense moment ticks by where nobody moves, but the two of us stare each other down, and my heart pounds hard in my chest like a heavy-duty jackhammer, until my brain kicks into gear again, and then my mouth is the only thing running.
“Wrong room, stupid.” My voice cuts through the tension like a hot knife through butter.
“Oh, ugh. I thought... I must have gone to the wrong—” She looks as unsettled as I feel. Good. I’m glad it’s not just me.
“Get your eyes fucking tested next time, or your brain. Whichever one is broken enough for you not to be able to follow simple instructions to get to your own dorm.”
“Shit... I’m new, sorry.”
“Why the hell are you still here? Get the fuck out of here and close the goddamned door behind you, dumbass.”
Those last words seem to kick her into action, and she backs out of the room, looking like a scared mouse about to be eaten by a cat.
“Okay, well I said I’m sorry. There’s no need—”
I cross the room as she backs away, and kick the door closed in her face before she finishes.
“Well that wasn’t a very nice welcome for the new kid.” Tyce’s tone is mocking until he looks back across at me and his face falls.
“Jesus Christ, you look like you’ve seen a fucking gho— Oh. Shit.” His eyes are wide with shock.
I shoot him a whole lot of shade and act like I didn’t hear what he said.
“That’s the new boy? Maybe I’m the one who needs my eyes tested, because that ‘dude’”—I air quote with my fingers—“looked an awful lot like a chick. The new kid in this block is supposed to be Allen something-or-other. At least that’s what the Heels Up twins said, anyway.”
“Well, we know that anything they say is about as reliable as a chocolate condom, but she’s definitely new. I mean, we’d remember if we’d seen her before, wouldn’t we?” He tilts his chin my way, in question. I sure as shit would, and Tyce is right—I definitely haven’t. She’s new for sure. “Maybe her name is Allen.”
“Poor fucker, if so.” I can’t help but smirk.
“Even more so, now that not only does she have a dude’s name, but she’s also lost, and looking for her room, and she’s already had a tongue lashing from Zeph Cross, and school hasn’t even started. She’ll probably end up wandering these halls for all of eternity, not daring to open another door in case she gets chewed out by someone else, the way she just did by you. If she ever does find her room, she’ll probably go pack everything up and leave right away. The poor thing.”
“What the fuck, man? Why are you still talking about her? I’ve already forgotten her. I have more important things to think about in general, let alone today, with this video in the mix. I don’t care if she falls off the face of the Earth, right now. She’s totally irrelevant.” I flick my hand as though shooing away a pesky bug. Sounds about right.
“What’s she ever done to you? Besides, the obvious, which is hardly her fault. If she fell off the face of the Earth, it would be a waste of a hot girl. Because once you got over the shock and came to your senses, you saw that she was hot, right? Is hot, I mean. That face and that body are fire. And those eyes. Jesus. Way too good to waste.” I have a really strong urge to smother him, but instead, say and do nothing, except continue to listen to his drivel.
He doesn’t seem to notice that my mood has soured even more. “I’d much rather have her in her dorm than somewhere in the black abyss under the earth. Actually, I’d rather have her in your dorm, or better still…mine. We could have shown her some of that famous St. Joe’s hospitality—invited her in, made her feel welcome, all that jazz.”
“What fucking hospitality? You’re just talking literal shit now. Anyway, if she’s made it this far, you know she’s already suffered through T and D’s crazy happy twinny routine at the gate. She’s probably had about enough peppy welcomes to last her a goddamned lifetime.”
“True. Those two lay it on real thick for the newbs and other strangers, don’t they? No wonder their dad thinks butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking funny when you think about it. Not only are they evil bitches most of the time, but also, butter is pretty much the only thing they wouldn’t put in their mouths—way too much fat and too many calories. They much prefer low calorie, high protein snacks like dick and cum.” I laugh hard at my own joke.
“Oh, dude, when you put it like that, it’s fucking gross.”
“Yet, if one or both of them walked in here right now with their mouths or legs open, you wouldn’t say no.”
“Of course I wouldn’t. I just said it sounds gross, not that it is. There’s a subtle difference. Have you learned nothing in English comp classes?”
“Noted. Now back to the video. We need a game plan.”
Chapter 5
Blake
* * *
As I enter my first class of the day, I can see what’s going to happen before it does, and I roll my eyes internally, because I really am a walking, talking, teen movie cliché. What the actual fuck? Everyone has filed into the room and taken their allocated seat before me, leaving only one space free.
The. Only. Spare. Fucking. Seat. In the entire room belongs to the bronzed asshole who bawled me out the night before, for accidentally barging into his room.
I had literally opened the wrong dorm door by accident, but in my defense, everything on the floor looks the same, so I didn’t realize my mistake until it was too late, and he was biting off my head and shitting down my neck.
I mean, I get it. It was a rook
ie error, but that is exactly what I am, a fucking rookie. I’m new, and I don’t know my way around. It’s hardly a crime to be lost in an unfamiliar place, and, as far as I’m concerned, his response was way out of proportion with what actually happened.
I hate guys like that—the kind who walk around with egos the size of small countries, acting like they own the world, and everyone should bow to them as a result.
The sad thing is, with the guys back home who act that way, it’s pure delusion, as they don’t have any more of a pot to piss in than I do. But in places like St. Joseph’s Academy, it’s a different story. This guy may actually legit own the entire planet for all I know. They’re all richer than God here, and he definitely has the look of confident entitlement that seems to go along with excessive wealth, so stranger things have happened.
I hated him on sight, and clearly the feeling was more than mutual—if the way he “greeted” me the night before was anything to go by. And now, because I’m a walking shit show, I have to spend the next two hours in our double-Geography class sitting next to the exact same asshole who looked at me like he wanted to eradicate me, and spoke to me like I was shit on his shoe. Between him and the quite clearly insane twins, my introduction to St. Joseph’s has been less than stellar so far.
Fuck my life.
Even more annoying is the fact that, though there were two guys in the room last night, my eyes and focus immediately locked in on the one who treated me most hostilely, and I didn’t seem to be able to look away, let alone move. Even if I wasn’t looking at them now, I’d be able to recall that his eyes are as blue as cornflowers on a hot summer day. But I am looking at them. I can’t help it.
When he throws me a slight smirk, something hitches in my chest, but I come to my senses a little when his lips curl with faux charm as the smirk forms into an enticing smile. I know it’s all for show. The way he treated me yesterday hasn’t automatically morphed into friendliness overnight. He’s playing at something, though God knows what.
Still, his rich olive complexion is alluring, especially when contrasted with his dark-blond hair and combined with my memory of his naked torso from the night before.
I know from the picture I’ve stored in my mind like a Polaroid that his entire body is carved and muscular, like a classical statue, and while a big part of me would love to slap the smug smile/sneer from his face, another part is itching to run my hands over the hard curves of his toned chest and biceps.
Of course, I’m not letting any of that show. No way I’m giving a guy like that the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me—either with his looks or his attitude. I stop walking but don’t sit down, hoping against hopes that, if I wait long enough, another place will miraculously become available, or someone will volunteer to sit next to Mr. Ego instead of me.
Nobody moves a hair. In fact, everyone seems to be holding their breath, and all eyes are on me. Shit.
“You must be Ms...” The teacher addresses me, then looks down at the tablet on the desk in front of him, with a slight frown. “Allen? Welcome to St. Joseph’s Academy. I’m Mr. Carlisle, and as you know, I’ll be taking you for Geography this morning. Please take a seat; we need to get started.” He motions to the empty place next to Mr. Ego. I stiffen, not knowing what to say or do, but sure that I don’t want to sit there.
“No.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cross?” So, Mr. Ego has a name, and it’s Cross. Ironic. Seems like a case of Cross by name, asshole by nature.
I file the information away for future reference. Mr. Carlisle looks like he smells something bad. No doubt it is just the stench of privilege and entitlement emanating from Mr. Ego. It’s definitely pungent, and I seem to be standing downwind of it, big time.
“I’m pretty sure you heard me. She’s not sitting here.”
“Oh, I heard you. I was just making sure, as I’m ‘pretty sure’ you’re perfectly well aware that I’m the teacher, and you’re the student. Ergo, you don’t get to tell me what will happen in my classroom.”
“Well, that’s where I see things differently.” Mr. Ego straightens up so that he’s sitting tall in his chair, his attention keenly focused on the teacher, where moments before he was slouching as though he was about to fall asleep. “Considering that gross amounts of my parents’ money pays your salary, and for all the shit in this school, including this classroom, I’d say I’m the one holding all the aces—not you.”
“That’s not how it works. Your parents’ money pays for your education. It doesn’t make me an indentured serf. And for the record, no matter the price, I’m still the adult, and you’re the child. I’m still in charge.”
“That so?” Mr. Ego doesn’t look even the slightest bit concerned that the teacher is clearly getting angrier by the second as their conversation progresses. Mr. Carlisle nods tersely.
“Of course it is, and if you don’t like it, you know where the door is.” He motions toward it anyway. The words are barely out of his mouth before Mr. Ego is re-packing his bag and huffing to his feet. “But if you go, obviously Professor Cox will be informed.”
I guess the threat is supposed to make Mr. Ego reconsider his actions, but in the event, he shoots the teacher a withering look, as though he couldn’t care less what he tells the principal about him. He flings a final death stare in my direction, as he shoves past me on his way toward the door.
Just as he’s about to leave, he turns back to the unfortunate teacher. “Oh, and for the record, I’m eighteen, and my parents own your sorry ass.” With those words, he strolls out of the room like it’s just another day in paradise.
I try my best not to let the fact that he checked my side hard enough to fell a quarterback show on my face or body, even though, in reality, I’m surprised I stay upright throughout, and I can barely contain my wince. I look to Mr. Carlisle and am shocked and outraged when, instead of saying or doing anything, he stares down at his desk, then picks up his stylus and writes something on his tablet.
What the fuck? I feel like I’ve somehow fallen into a parallel dimension and nobody has told me. At my old school, Mr. Ego would have been marched out of the room and to the principal’s office by security at the first sign of trouble.
It’s a tough school in an even tougher part of the city, and Ms. Forrester, the principal, is an ex prison warden, and runs the place the same way I imagine she used to manage the jails she was in charge of—with a lead jackboot. Her word is law, and there is no negotiation, and no surrender on her part. It’s her way, or get the fuck out of there, and suffer the consequences.
She was brought in almost a decade earlier to try to resurrect a school that, at the time, was failing so badly that it was on the verge of closure, and, true to her mission, she turned it around in a few short years. It’s never going to be an award-winning seat of academic excellence, but at least now most kids graduate, and violence involving knives or guns is an exception, not an everyday occurrence like it used to be back in the bad old days.
Still, although the talking back and refusing to take part in classes would have been enough to get him into big trouble, ramming into me like that, or any other kind of physical violence for that matter, would have been cause for instant sanctions—a suspension at a minimum.
Apparently, that isn’t how things work around here, at least not for Billy Big Ego. It’s so weird for me to see him just saunter out of the room without a care in the world, like he owns the place. Weird, and disconcerting. How the fuck can I feel safe in a place where the kids are in charge? Especially when those kids are clearly cashed-up thugs?
Chapter 6
Blake
* * *
I’m learning so much from this one small interaction, and the biggest message that’s coming over loud and clear is that I need to watch my back if I’m going to survive here. Not that the feeling is new to me, but I expected something different from a place like St. Joseph’s. It just goes to show, though, that there are some things money can’t buy,
and you can take the hoods off the streets, but...
As much as I’m not Principal Forrester’s biggest fan—she’s pretty universally hated by the student body—I now appreciate the fact that, though the school is probably more like a correctional facility than a place of learning, at least the pupils are mostly safe within its walls. Given what just happened with Mr. Ego, I’m not sure that’s the case at St. Joseph’s Academy. It seems like the students run the show—or a certain student, anyway, and that thought is scary AF.
Principal Forrester always says something about keeping control of the kids, and not “letting the lunatics run the asylum,” but it seems like at St. Joseph’s they’re doing exactly that. I’m not sure how long I stand slack-jawed and frozen in place, as I try to work out what the hell just happened, but it’s a while, as eventually Mr. Carlisle clears his throat and raises an eyebrow pointedly toward the table Mr. Ego just vacated.
“Is there a problem, Ms. Allen?” The teacher sounds snappy, which pisses me off, given that the person he needs to snap at has already left the fucking room.
“No, no problem.” I shake my head to emphasize my point.
“Then please hurry and take your seat. We’ve wasted too much time today, already.”
What the hell? “We” haven’t wasted anything. At least, I haven’t, anyway. The same cannot be said for Little Lord Ownitall, so why am I the one getting shit for wasting time? All I’ve done is enter the classroom and try to find a seat.
Sure, I was the last person in, but that’s because I was trying to find the class, and none of the stuck-up assholes at the school seemed to want to help me, so I wasted a bunch of time wandering around looking for it like a loser. When I finally found it I realized I’d already walked past it a couple of times, but didn’t even notice it, nestled between two banks of lockers.