by Nora Cobb
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
New Girl copyright @ 2019 by Nora Cobb and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
NEW GIRL
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
EPILOGUE
OUTCAST: Montlake Prep Book 2
NEW GIRL
CHAPTER 1
“But everyone who’s going to an Ivy League has already been accepted.” My voice rises into a yelp as my uncle Phillip covers his ears.
“All you need to worry about is getting good grades, Natalie,” he states firmly, “and I’ll take care of the rest of it.”
I want to run out of the living room, but I can’t be that brat. I slump down on the couch and stare blindly at some dumb finance show on TV, willing myself not to start crying again.
Three months ago, Uncle Phillip took me in after my parents were killed while on vacation. They skipped out on their honeymoon when they originally got married, and after twenty years together, they could finally afford to go away. In a freak accident, a storm capsized their boat, and just like that, they were gone. I had the summer to deal with their disappearance, but I’ll never get over it. And now, I have to deal with my shit while I start senior year at a new school.
“Natalie.” Uncle Phillip gives me a hard stare. “Montlake is not a prison. It’s a good school.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and he sighs deeply. My uncle’s a wealthy tech mogul, and a determined bachelor with no kids. It’s not his fault that I hate life right now.
Walking into his mansion in Montlake, New Jersey, was like entering a modern art museum. I’m not into sleek and matte, but from the first glance, I knew that everything here cost money. It’s decorated in black, gray, and silver except for my new pink and purple bedroom upstairs. It’s what a grown man must think a seventeen-year-old girl wants. I hate to admit that it’s pretty damn close.
“Natalie, why don’t you take a dip in the pool, and just forget it for an hour?” he says, looking at me over his glasses.
“Which way is it again?” The words barely leave my sulky mouth.
I must look miserable because Uncle Phillip puts down his phone and sits next to me on the couch. His eyes are the same turquoise blue as my dad’s. Mine are soft brown like my mom’s. And I can’t help but think about my parents again as my uncle hugs me and rocks me in his arms. Just like a baby, I start bawling so loud it echoes throughout the house.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasp between sobs. “I know I’m being a pain in your ass.”
He presses a kiss on the top of my head. “A pain in the neck, maybe. But never a pain in the ass, Natalie.”
I smile softly. “But you lived here alone in a mansion without kids.” I push away from him and look into those blue eyes. “Mom said you hate them. I mean, look at you. You don’t own a pet, or even a plant. You’ve got no baggage in life.”
Uncle Phillip laughs. “Nat, you are my niece, and I’d do anything for my big brother. You always manage to make me laugh with that unfiltered mouth of yours. It’s good to have you here, though I wish the circumstances had been better.”
I lean back into Uncle Phillip’s arm and hold him tight. I can smell the fresh cotton of his shirt, and I hope I haven’t ruined it with my snotty tears. I don’t want to cry every waking minute. He really has taken care of everything, including searching for my parents and later, paying for their funerals.
“I love you, Uncle Phillip,” I hiccup, and he winces.
“Nat, do me a favor?” His expression is serious. “Don’t make me feel so old. Uncle Phil or just Phil.”
That’s understandable. My uncle is ten years younger than my dad. At thirty-eight, Phil’s kept himself lean and fit with a routine that would put any influencer to shame. His reality actually matches his profile picture.
I’m happy to call him Phil. That’s easy enough. But I don’t want to go to Montlake Academy on top of the hill. I want to go back to my old shitty public high school for senior year. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I want just one thing in life to stay the same. Everything is too new. Every time I think about my parents’ death, I just want to crawl in a corner and sleep until the pain goes away. I want to find them in my dreams and never wake up again.
In the morning, I do wake up, and today’s the day I’ve got to go to Montlake. My eyes are shining, but I don’t dare cry. I can’t be late today. I missed two weeks of school after the funeral. If I lose any more time, I’ll have to start senior year next fall.
“I’ll drive you to school.” Phil’s seated on a stool by the center island reading his phone as I walk into the kitchen dressed in my uniform.
Standing, I swallow down some orange juice from a carton left on the counter. Frowning, Phil watches me, but I can’t think what I could be doing wrong this time. I finally bathed without being asked, and I haven’t cried yet today. No point in trying to read his mind.
“What’s the matter?” I stand facing him with my arms outstretched. “What am I doing wrong now?”
“Nothing,” he replies, shaking his head. “Sometimes you really do look like your mother with all that blonde hair.”
A low sigh escapes my lips. I forget that I’m not the only one who’s grieving. I wrap my arms around Phil’s neck, feeling the sharpness of his short hair against my cheek. He pats my arm, and I let go.
“You better get moving, Nat. You don’t want to be late to that place.” He sighs deeply, and I stare at him suspiciously.
Swinging my leather backpack over my arm, I announce proudly, “I’m leaving for school extra early, so I don’t fuck up today.”
Phil shoots me a look, and I cover my mouth with both hands. I must be feeling a little better, but I have to watch the language in my uncle’s fancy house.
“Let’s make a deal.” Phil stands up from the counter and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “I’ll give you a cash bonus not to swear like the Jersey girl you are.”
“So if I swear, I’m broke?” I smile sweetly, but charm’s not something that comes easily to me. Not as easy as cussing.
“You have a credit card for emergencies. But if you don’t fuck up, you’ll also get a hundred cash each week on top of that.”
“Great,” I laugh as he grins. And with that, I’m practically running to the car to go to school. I won’t lie. I’m not excited about Montlake, but Phil refused to listen to my rea
son for returning to West Lake. I argued that it was my senior year and that I only had one year left. He turned it around and explained that I only had one year left to get accepted into an Ivy League university. In twenty minutes, he gets his way as we drive through the main gates of the school.
“We’re here,” Phil announces brightly.
The school building is perched on a grassy incline that looks miles away from the busy main road. Phil drives his black Audi along the circular drive and stops in front of the stone stairs that lead up to the main doors of a massive red-brick building with massive white columns.
A few other cars are idling, and I suddenly notice that the students being dropped off are younger than me. Phil switches off the ignition, and I’d rather fall off the earth than have him walk me inside. Quickly, I leap out onto the sidewalk.
“Thanks,” I yell inside the car before I slam the door shut. Waving, Phil takes the hint and pulls off.
Looking up at the building from the pavement, I can barely hear my thoughts over my racing heart. Slowly, I walk toward the steps, but then I notice that none of the other students are entering the building through the front doors. I follow behind two older boys to an archway on the side of the building. My eyes widen, and my feet stop on the path. Dumb me. I thought the one building was the school, but there’s a whole campus behind it.
I’m jostled from behind by a younger kid who’s trying to get around me, and I start moving again. There are three more brick buildings as impressive as the first, forming a quad with a grassy courtyard in the center. To the far right of the driveway is a parking deck, and older kids are walking from it to the nearest building. The kids that were dropped off barely looked sixteen, but these kids look like they’re on steroids. You know those stock photos of happy teenagers with blemish-free skin, slim athletic bodies, and perfect hair? That’s what these kids look like.
Immediately, I look down at my khaki school skirt. It stops at my knees, and it’s already wrinkled from the car ride. My polo shirt is boxy, and I look like I’ve escaped from a purity commune.
I’m fucked.
According to the handbook, Montlake has a strict dress code. We have a choice of collared shirts with the school logo plus khaki trousers for boys and khaki skirts for girls. Jeans are strictly forbidden. All clothes must be in the school colors of red and gray, and outside clothing must be approved by the academy first. The school has a strict dress code, but I already notice some poetic license.
I’m thankful they don’t make us wear pleated skirts, but khakis are cruel. They add five pounds to each hip and make me look like I could never be excited physically. None of the older girls walking by are wearing clothes that look approved.
The roar of a sports car attracts everyone’s attention, and I’m surprised that a school that dictates fashion would allow that loud, obnoxious noise. I’m totally occupied with a Camaro as it swerves into the parking deck and narrowly misses a straggling underclassman. Shaking my head, I watch as the car ascends the ramp at top speed. Someone’s going to get killed—my thought freezes me in place. I cannot think about that today.
Looking nerdy has made me invisible as the other students walk past me toward the building on the north side of the campus. Moving over to a bench, I take out my schedule, and yes, I also belong over there. My first class is calculus in North Hall. Checking my phone, I see I have thirty minutes before class, and I debate going to the admin’s office first to let them know I finally made it here. The principal probably doesn’t even care since I’m paid up, so I decide to head to my locker. I have my locker assignment and a few books, so I’m good to go. Walking into a class late was not a big deal at my old school in West Lake, but here, I don’t want that kind of attention. I just want to blend in and graduate.
Heaving my bag onto my shoulder, I walk across the quad behind two tall girls that look like legit models, not students. The one on the left is slim, and of course, blonde. I’m blonde too, but this girl looks like she spends money to be blonde with super-straight hair that falls down her back. Her friend is a dark brunette with shoulder-length hair that swings in a bob. Their tanned legs look even longer in short skirts which stop an inch past their butts. I’m trying not to stare, but the trashy length is like a tractor beam leading me into the building.
“He’s such a beast, Lexi,” the blonde said. “I had to cover my neck with concealer where Lucas nipped me.”
“Arielle, you have to tell him not to do that, girl,” the brunette giggles, “You can’t post love marks on your feed. Remember, your mom spies.”
Mentally, I gag, but on the outside, I keep a straight face. Somehow, they’re able to get up the front stairs without flashing everyone behind them. I have to stop the catty inner thoughts if I want to make friends, but I doubt I’ll be friends with these two.
Walking along the gleaming hallways, I search in vain for my locker until I stop a random kid and ask. He tells me that lockers are on the second, third, and fourth floors in alphabetical order. I guess having them on the first floor would ruin the pseudo-collegiate décor, so I haul ass up to the third floor and look for it. The first number starts with three hundred, and mine is three hundred and fifty-five. I didn’t realize there were so many kids in this school. I’m not complaining. My plan to lay low will be a success because of the ridiculous number of people attending this place.
As I walk down the hall, I hear hollow banging as if someone is pounding his or her fist against an empty locker. Maybe someone else is pissed to have a locker in the depths of this building. Turning the corner, I see a slender biker guy being pushed against a locker by a huge preppy one. I look up at the numbered metal tags as I continue to walk gradually toward them, and with a sinking stomach, I realize that they’re in front of my locker.
The larger guy, a picture-perfect jock if I’ve ever seen one, pushes the slender guy into my locker again, causing him to wince in pain. The biker guy doesn’t look weak; he might be only a few inches shorter than the jock, but the jock is red-faced and furious, and that counts for a lot. Bullies grate on my nerves, and for a moment, I consider carrying my backpack around like a Sherpa.
“What are you staring at?” The jock glares at me with a pair of baleful eyes.
His sweaty face is twisted into a scowl, and my voice is caught in my throat. I want to tell him to back off, but that look on his face is slowing me down. His eyes are piercing black, and his dark hair is sweaty across his forehead. To make it worse, he’s movie-star handsome, even though he’s acting like a jerk. The other guy looks relieved that the jock is no longer paying attention to him.
“You’re in front of my locker.” Dammit, why does my voice have to squeak like a dog’s chew toy today of all days? “And you need to move.” Squeak. Squeak.
The jock just stares at me like I’m certifiable and I have the paperwork to prove it. But the other guy’s eyes light up, and I notice that when the skinny guy isn’t terrified, he’s also attractive. The jock lets go of him, and the skinny guy holds his chest and gasps for air. Crap, this isn’t the way I wanted to be noticed by a cute guy. When am I going to get a break with no strings attached? Plus, they’re both still in front of my locker.
“And who the fuck are you?” demands Jock-boy, turning to face me. Number 22 is printed on the chest of his large football jersey, and his broad shoulders fill it out. He’s actually waiting for my answer.
Well, bye-bye to that cash allowance. “I’m the girl who’s telling you to fuckin’ back off before you fuckin’ kill someone. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Maybe I went too far because not only do Jock-boy’s eyes widen, but so do skinny guy’s. In fact, they look toward each other, then, in amazement, Jock-boy points at me in disbelief. Oh, it gets better. I hadn’t noticed before, but we have a small audience. I want to check if anyone is filming my public freak-out, but I don’t dare turn my back on this guy. Oh, this sucks. Why does it suck? Because I won’t back down when I’m right. So long,
anonymity.
“Is that how you get cheap thrills? Picking on people who you can beat?” I whisper “sorry” to the skinny guy, but Jock-boy puts himself between us. He’s got some serious muscle on him.
Jock-boy points his finger in my face, and I hop back a step as a few more students stop to watch. To his credit, the skinny guy steps up as if he’ll pull Jock-boy off me if things skid downhill fast. I can feel the intense energy rolling off Jock-boy’s body, and I catch my breath. I’m starting to sweat because the tension is exciting. My trembling body is reacting to fear and anxiety, and I’ve only felt numbness since my parents died. Suddenly, I feel like I care what happens to me again.
Jock-boy ignores target one and takes a menacing step into my personal space. His hard gaze sweeps down my body for a moment before his eyes sweep back up again. Wait. Did he just try staring down my shirt?
“Watch yourself, new girl,” he says in a low rumble, “You cross me again, and I’ll put you back in your place.”
Jock-boy leans away from my tensed-up body as I release my breath. But it’s not over yet. I can sense the heaviness in the air. There’s that weird weight that happens when emotions build to a peak and everyone is frozen inside of it right before it breaks. Abruptly, the skinny guy goes flying as Jock-boy uses his left shoulder to push him into me. My large bag falls to the floor as I reach to steady myself on the closest locker. And skinny guy catches himself before he hits the ground.