Beautifully Wicked: A High School Bully Romance (Voclain Academy Book One)

by Jordan Grant

  I would like to think my father knows I enjoy playing the piano, but I doubt it. This is just him showing off by having his name placarded onto the front of it. Regardless, it is perfection incarnate, and I let my fingers glide across the keys without pressing down.

  I don’t want to interrupt, but I desperately need to be a part of this release. She plays as though to stop would mean surrender and she will never admit defeat. There is no question in my mind she finds catharsis in playing. I could use a little catharsis myself.

  I am not sure I remember all the notes, but I will improvise.

  I join her. She’s in the last half of the piece, and her head twitches for a moment, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even turn to look at me. It’s as if the music is a rip tide that has pulled her under and keeps her there.

  I lose myself to the current with her. My fingers find the keys with very little input from my brain. I am drifting, my movements fluid as the song overtakes me. It is beautiful, peaceful ecstasy.

  As the last note falls from my fingers, I look up to find Harlow staring at me. She stands still, her eyes wide and her face ashen. Her knuckles hold her violin so tight they are blanched white. It takes me a moment, but I realize she is crying.

  I stand and walk over to her, my steps slow and cautious. She doesn’t move. She just stares at me like she sees a ghost in my stead. When my loafers kiss her sandals, I raise my hand to brush away her tears.

  “Why are you crying, Stormy?” I ask.

  She looks like an angel, her impossibly blue eyes guileless and her hair like white lightning to her shoulders. I curl my finger around the black lock near her temple.

  She blinks once. “You played beautifully, Ian.”

  She didn’t answer my question, but just as I open my mouth to ask again, she adds, “I haven’t had the piano accompaniment since William.”

  With those words, she bursts into tears, sobs wracking her delicate frame. I don’t know who William is, but I tug her into my arms, and she doesn’t fight it. As I hold her, I realize it was always a matter of time before we were here, with her in my arms. This is how it was always meant to be, providence in its purest form.

  She quivers against me, weeping. I kiss the top of her head and let my head stay there, breathing in something floral from her shampoo.

  She doesn’t hug me in return, but that’s okay. In one hand, she cradles the violin and in her other, the bow.

  “Shh,” I say, holding her. “It’s all right.”

  She sniffles loudly. I can feel her tears wetting my chest through my shirt.

  “It will never be all right again,” she manages, her words edged with brutality.

  “Let me help you, Harlow,” I plead, separating us just enough to look down at her.

  Disbelief and then horror flash across her face. She steps back from me suddenly, and I am lost at sea, the tide mowing me over.

  “You think this is about you?” she shouts. Tears run in rivulets down her cheeks. Her hair is wild and a little frizzy.

  “No.” I shake my head. When she recoils further, I clench my fists at my sides and plant my feet to the stage, willing myself to stay there. “Fuck, Harlow. I want to help you. Tell me about William. Tell me why you are crying. Talk to me!”

  I know she can see it, that I am on the verge of tears now too. It’s weird how she brings out things in me I didn’t even know existed. Every time she looks my way, she unlocks another door to my soul. And here I thought I didn’t have one.

  “Please.” I close my eyes with the word.

  “Why are you confusing me?”

  My eyes pop open with her question. I can see it now. She doesn’t want me to see her like this. She thinks she looks weak. She doesn’t. She looks fiercely beautiful.

  She steps forward, ire igniting her gaze. She stabs me with her index finger, still holding her violin. “Stop this, Ian. You can’t be sexy and funny one minute and then mean the next. I don’t know if this is a game or…”

  “No.” The word slices through the air. “You are not a game. This isn’t a game.” I reach a hand out, holding her finger where it stabs at the center of my chest. “You’re the only thing real anymore, the only thing that matters.”

  As the words tumble from my mouth, I know they are true. She looks at me, her eyes wide. Can I blame her? I am even more capricious than normal lately.

  “Why do you keep saying things like that?” she breathes, taking a step away from me. “You don’t get to say beautiful things like that to me. It’s not fair, Ian.”

  I step forward. I want to hug her, hold her, kiss her. “I never said I played fair, Stormy, and I’d do anything, give anything, to have you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I feel like I’ve known you my entire life, like my soul has been searching for yours.”

  God, when did I become such a pussy? She shakes her head, sending her blonde locks swaying.

  “Stay away from me, Ian.” It sounds like she is begging. “Please. This will only cause us both pain.”

  She runs offstage and slams the exit door behind her as she leaves. I don’t know how I will survive because she just ran away with my heart.

  11

  Harlow

  I leave the library as the dusk of evening bleeds amber light across the argyle carpet. I am headed to my dorm, doing my best to not think about whatever happened between Ian and me the night before. This morning, he shoved one book—just a single book—off my desk, as though he could barely be bothered to comply with his stupid Rules or look at me. Like a freak, I miss the contact.

  Him playing the piano? Well, he’s full of surprises, only I don’t want to be surprised. I want to hate him. It would be so much easier if I just hated him.

  Maybe it was stupid and juvenile to run away, but being near Ian, the real Ian, scares me, and it’s not because I see darkness there. It’s because I see light, and that light calls to me. I can relate to it. It draws me in and blinds me with its brightness.

  “Harlow,” Archie calls, dragging me from my thoughts, “hold up.”

  Molly continues ahead of me as I wait for my lab partner.

  “Are you here to tell me a good time to meet up for the assignment?” I ask, my lips drawn together in a tight line. He’s been putting it off all week. Today’s Friday, and it’s due on Monday.

  Archie shakes his head, and I start away down the hall. He reaches out a hand and gently grabs my forearm, stopping me. I raise an eyebrow at him.

  “Come to my game tonight,” he says, “and I’ll meet you at the lab first thing tomorrow.”

  “Seriously?” I cross my arms over my chest, which draws his attention down to my breasts. I uncross them quickly. “You want me to go to your football game?”

  Archie nods, giving me a brilliant smile that thaws my frozen heart a little. I have declined his invitations to hang out after school, including when he promised me a trip to Paris for the weekend. That one, I admit, was difficult to pass up. I am constantly building barriers between me and him, trying to shield Molly with my walls, but he just set off a block of C-4 and obliterated freakin’ everything.

  I admire his effort.

  “And you’ll do the lab?” I ask. “I have your word you will do the lab?”

  Archie laughs, holding up his hands in innocence like he hasn’t been the one avoiding our mandatory assignment for days. “I promise, Harlow. I will do the lab if you come to the game and you cheer for me.”

  I roll my eyes, though my lips twitch upward. He is so ridiculous sometimes.

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll go to the game, but you better be at the lab tomorrow morning, 7 o’clock sharp.”

  I point my index finger at him to stress my point.

  “You’ll disturb my beauty sleep,” he bemoans, kicking the heel of his loafer back and forth across the floor, before he snaps his head and grins at me. “Okay, offer accepted.”

  I hold out my hand to shake on it as though it will
make our arrangement legally binding or something.

  He stares at my outstretched hand and pinches his eyebrows together. “No,” he scoffs, “none of that.”

  He grabs my outstretched hand and tugs me toward him. I stumble forward, a laugh falling from my parted lips. Are we about to hug it out in the middle of the hall?

  Archie stares down at me, grinning like he is absolutely up to no good. His hot breath fans my face in quick bursts. He tugs me forward one more time, only there’s nowhere to fall, except against him.

  I land against the heat of his hard chest. I inhale the smell of him, salt water and sand. I can almost taste the sweetness of a virgin strawberry daiquiri, my mom’s treat on our yearly beach vacation, though I doubt Archie does anything virgin-related.

  I look up at him, confusion slowing my movements. He leans down to seal the deal with a kiss. Oh…no?

  I freeze, my eyes going wide, before turning my head just in time so that his mouth meets my cheek, his lips warm against my cool flesh. A shiver sparks low inside me. Archie laughs, wrapping his arms around me in a fierce hug and squeezing me tight.

  “You are amazing, beautiful,” he says. “Always keeping me on my toes.”

  I laugh because if anything, he is always keeping me on mine.

  Then he’s off, blowing me a kiss before bounding down the hallway. I walk back to my dorm, smiling despite the boy blackmailing me.

  “Hey, Molly,” I say as I open the door to our room and find her surrounded by books tossed across her bed.

  “Hey,” she says, pencil clenched between her teeth as she highlights in a textbook.

  “You want to go the football game with me tonight?” I ask, turning to shut the door behind me and shrugging my backpack off.

  Molly frowns, shaking her head. “Sports really aren’t my thing. Plus, I’m supposed to video chat with my parents and Attie tonight.”

  I nod. Molly would do anything in the world for her little brother.

  “I’ll go with,” Raven offers.

  I jerk toward the sound, clenching my backpack to my chest. Raven gives me a wave.

  “Don’t have a coronary, girl,” Raven says. “I can’t have your demise on my conscience. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

  Vixson, who’s sprawled on my bed like he owns the place, snorts. Where did he come from?! I need a refresher on paying attention to my surroundings.

  Raven finishes separating sour skittles by color on my desk and grabs a pile to chuck into her mouth. “Mmm. Tastes like purple.”

  “You really want to go?” I choke out, my heart rate stuttering its way back to normal.

  Raven nods. “Hell yeah! No way am I going to miss seeing the look on Aurora’s face when Beckett sweeps you off your feet after the game.” She eyes me from head to toe and exchanges a look with Vixson. “Are you wearing that?”

  “Uh...” I look down at my jeans and black blouse.

  “The correct answer is no,” Raven offers, grabbing the green sour skittles and popping the entire pile into her mouth. “You are a goddess. Start acting like it.”

  I look to Molly for help, but she has her earbuds in now and no idea I’m even still in the room.

  “I’m not a goddess,” I say.

  Raven tsks at me while Vixson shakes his head.

  “Tell her,” Raven says, still chewing as she waves a hand at Vixson.

  I look over at him, and for the first time, I really see him. He’s tan with a strong western European forehead and deep-set eyes. Yet, somehow it works for him. He reminds me of Ian with dark hair and high cheekbones.

  “You have the two kings of Voclain Academy, Ian and Archie, battling for you, and literally everybody knows it, except you.” He regards me for one long moment. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

  “See what?” I ask before lowering my voice. I dare a glance at Molly, who’s not paying me the least bit of attention, before I walk over to them both. “They have some bullshit vendetta against Molly. If they wanted to be friends or whatever, they would stop tormenting her.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I have told them both that.”

  Raven whistles and fans herself. “That is so hot. You three could be fuck-enemies. I need a fan, a walk-in freezer, and a portable air conditioning unit.”

  “It’s not hot,” I say, though I’m giggling because she’s using one of my notebooks to fan herself. I lower my voice again. “They are mean to Molly. They are bullies.”

  Raven frowns and cuts her eyes to Molly, who’s still distracted, before she whisper-adds, “It’s complicated, Harlow. Nothing is black and white. There are a lot of guilty parties involved.”

  “Then why won’t someone explain it to me?” I whine.

  She eyes Molly sadly before whispering back, “It’s not our story to tell. It’s hers and hers alone.”

  I frown, but I let it go because maybe Raven is right. People like to share their own secrets, not have them shared for them.

  I walk over to my closet and slide open the door. I stand there for a long moment, eyeing my clothes. What does one wear to a you’re-blackmailing-me-to-be-here not-a-date? Raven stares at me with an “Ooo! Pick me!” bubbly expression, her gaze flicking between the closet and me.

  “Please help,” I say, waving her over.

  The moment the words leave my mouth, Raven launches herself at my closet.

  “Jesus.” Raven eyes a froufrou ivory blouse she pulled out of my closet “Who bought all this crap for you?”

  “My mom and my grandmother,” I say, eyeing the ugly but expensive lacy contraption with puffy sleeves and a balloon-like appearance.

  “Ah,” she nods, shoving it back inside the closet, “that explains it.” She eyes me from head to toe before looking to Vixson. “Cover your ears, Vixsums.”

  He does without hesitation. I wonder how many times a day she asks him to do that.

  “We’re about the same size,” she says. “Size 6, right? 8 after a weekend of chocolate-covered pretzels and wine?”

  I nod, though I’m not sure about the last part.

  “You can stop it now!” she half-shouts at Vixson.

  That gets Molly’s attention, who makes sure no one is getting stabbed or something equally horrendous before resuming her studies.

  Raven rushes to the door, yanking Vixson up with her. “We’ll be right back!”

  I take a seat on my bed and wait. She is quick because five minutes later, they arrive, each carrying an enormous pile of clothes they promptly dump on my bed.

  “I’ll be in my room,” Vixson says to Raven, kissing her on the cheek. “Text me when you want to head to the game.”

  He waves bye as he leaves and closes the door behind him.

  “What do you think?” Raven holds up a black bandage dress to her throat before swapping it with a vintage Led Zeppelin t-shirt cut to have fringe at the midriff and a plunging v-neck.

  “How about this one?” I say, grabbing a sweater.

  “It’s practically summer,” Raven says, shaking her head. “Must have grabbed that one by accident.”

  She pulls a blush pink dress out of a garment bag and tosses it to me. “Let’s see it, girl.”

  Crap. I am in shopping hell, only I can’t leave the store because the store doubles as my bedroom.

  I duck behind the closet door to change, though Raven is already in her underwear, shoving herself into a jean miniskirt and her Led Zeppelin top.

  I shove off my jeans and peel off my shirt. Then I step into the dress.

  “Can you help zip it up?” I ask.

  Raven steps behind the door without hesitation and zips me up. I turn around and she stares at me, her eyes going wide.

  “That’s perfect,” she breathes, her voice uncharacteristically soft. I am dressed the polar opposite of her. She looks like a bohemian rock groupie while I feel like I’m dressed for church.

  “It’s not too formal?” I ask with a frown.

  She shakes her head and digs shamelessly t
hrough my jewelry box until she shoves about a dozen gold bangles on each of my wrists and drapes a quartz necklace on a singular gold chain around my neck. She fluffs my blonde hair and sits me down on my bed atop her clothes.

  “Makeup time!” she squeals, digging through her tote bag until she unearths a smaller bag packed with glosses and blushes, foundation and brightener, and an array of brushes.

  She gets to work as I sit there.

  “We’re going to be late,” I say, laughing as she redoes my lip-gloss for the third time before swiping a line across my mouth.

  “We’ll arrive just in time to give them a show,” she says, backing away from me and beaming. “All done. Go look.”

  I step barefoot toward the mirror hanging on my closet door and stop. I stare at the girl I see there. I look pretty, my makeup understated and not over the top like I feared given how long Raven spent on it.

  The dress isn’t too formal at all. It’s sleeveless and made of breathable cotton in a soft pink color that looks almost white until you look at my white-blonde hair and compare it. With the bangles and the crystal dipping into the sweetheart neckline, I look like I am ready for a day at the beach or at the park.

  “The key,” Raven rests her head against my shoulder and winks at me in the mirror, “is to make them think you really aren’t trying at all.”

  She walks over to my closet and unearths a pair of leather sandals. “The little piggies painted?”

  “Last weekend,” I say.

  She kneels to plop the sandals in front of me. I peel off my socks and slide my feet into the sandals.

  I wave goodbye to Molly as we head out the door.

  12

  Harlow

  Vixson meets us outside the dormitory, his thumb scrolling over his phone lazily. We walk across campus under a cloudless night sky, the grass soft under our feet. Students walk alongside us, laughing and chatting, the stifling pressure of school and mountains of homework forgotten.

  The air is heavy and humid, but night brings a coolness to the heat. I rub my hands over the goosebumps that pepper my bare arms.