New Girl: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Montlake Prep Book 1)

by Nora Cobb

  “Lu,” she maneuvers her body in between us. “You naughty boy, you didn’t wait for me.”

  Standing next to Lucas, Arielle matches him, and they look like a couple. Like a major athlete with his supermodel squeeze. My skirt has ridden up a little, and I try to smooth it down without being noticed. Arielle’s eyes sweep in my direction as if I’m a roach scampering across the floor. Her stare is frigid and challenging. My hand stops moving. She wants me to say something, so she can take her claws out and bury them in my back. But I won’t because I’m not going to cry because of her.

  If Mom and Dad were still alive, Montlake would have tossed me to the curb by now for mouthing off, but I can’t. I’m still broken, and the meanness is getting to me. Something falls and hits my shoe. I look down, and it’s a cherry-flavored condom lying on my foot.

  “You dropped something,” Arielle smiles, not looking down. She looks at Lucas while she bites the tip of her manicured nail.

  “It’s not mine, but you know that.” My voice cracks, but I hold the tears in.

  “Oh, no?” Over her shoulder, she looks me up and down. “You’re probably right.”

  The warning bell chimes, and maybe that’s a hint I should take. Lucas wraps his arm around Arielle’s waist. “Come on, Ari,” he says. “Let’s see if Ms. Luciano can teach us the language of love.”

  “You are so corny,” she giggles while tossing her hair. Arielle shoots me a parting glance as they glide away. Well, at least the bitch didn’t make me cry.

  CHAPTER 6

  “I was just about to text you.” Beth loops her arm in mine.

  “Absolutely.” I grab her arm like a lifeline. “I’m not eating in there alone.”

  Together, we walk into the cafeteria, and though I notice some side-eye, I ignore it as we joke about the cheer squad tryouts.

  “Arielle got real quiet when she saw you sign up. I think you spoiled the bitch’s day.”

  Laughing, I follow Beth to the pasta station. Each cuisine has its own counter. We place our orders, take a buzzer, and then wait for it to be served to us at our table.

  “Let’s grab our table before some clueless fool does.” Beth grabs our buzzer and moves swiftly toward the last row of tables.

  I hurry to catch up, narrowly missing an anxious freshman looking for a seat. “Are the tables assigned?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “We sit according to the pecking order. And if you don’t know where you belong, you will be taught a harsh lesson.”

  We head towards a table in the back next to an exit door that leads out onto the athletic fields. Through the row of windows next to the door, I see a few guys out there playing, and I wonder who’s out there. They’re too far off to tell. I stop looking when Beth glances over at me and smirks.

  Nodding her head slowly, she says, “The jocks are jerks, but they are fine male specimens.”

  Anthony enters through the exit door. I didn’t know the exit doors opened without setting off an alarm. Next time, that’s the door I’ll use. He’s wearing faded black that looks gray, including a pair of forbidden jeans. I must have been staring a little too long because Beth gives me a sharp look. And I wonder if I’m treading on her property.

  “Down, girl,” she teases. “Your hormones are showing.”

  She laughs at my embarrassed expression, but thankfully, Anthony was too far to hear and doesn’t ask her why she’s laughing.

  “Beth,” he motions to me. “Why do you have her sitting here?”

  “Excuse me,” I say. “But ‘her’ can hear you.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m trying to help. Being seen here is another nail in your social coffin.”

  “I don’t have a social coffin to put a nail in,” I scoff. “Besides, Beth’s my friend.”

  Beth grabs me and presses her cheek to mine. “I have a friend, Anthony. You should try to make one.”

  We have a table for six to ourselves as Anthony walks over to the pizza station to order his lunch. Beth watches him, and I wonder if I missed something. It’s the first time we’re all hanging out together, but they never talk to each other like this.

  “Why is he able to wear jeans?” I ask.

  “Because he’s cool,” Beth smirks. “You get a demerit if you break the dress code. Most kids don’t, and if you’re on a team, you can wear your jersey to school. I think that’s why most kids try out. But Anthony doesn’t mind detention.”

  “Why doesn’t he mind detention?” I watch him point to the slice he wants.

  She doesn’t answer me, and for a moment, I wonder if Beth even heard me. Our lunch is served, and my pasta primavera smells too good. The aroma smells as good as the chic restaurant in the town center. I won’t go hungry here. Oblivious to questions and calories, Beth starts eating her meatballs and fries with extra sauce so I let my question go. The server gives me a startled look when I thank her earnestly.

  Beth giggles. “You are committing a major social faux pas by being courteous, you unentitled rich-girl bitch.”

  “Spin on the middle one. Is that better, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “You’re a brat. But Anthony’s right. You could sit anywhere.”

  “Where would I sit? You’re the only person that’s decent.”

  “Thanks for the compliment. But pretty girls can sit anywhere.”

  I’m a little taken aback by the compliment. I don’t get it, but then again I have other things to do in life than stare at a mirror.

  “At my old school, I was semi-popular,” I sigh. “If I had partied, I would have been very popular. Why aren’t you in the front row?

  Beth is rocking a black and red plaid shirt with rolled sleeves that makes her khaki mini look so hot that it’s cool.

  “I’m not pretty enough,” she sighs. “Plus I won’t lose ten pounds or get a nose job. When did you get yours?” she winks.

  “Stop, you’re gonna make me sick. Give me one of your disgusting fries.” I pluck one off her plate with plenty of sauce.

  Anthony sits down with his slice in his hands. He didn’t wait to be served, or for a plate.

  “Anthony, my friend doesn’t like to party.” Beth laughs like it’s the funniest joke. “You’re sitting at the wrong table if you don’t party,” declares Beth. “And you’re going to have a lame-ass senior year.”

  “Who do you party with?” I ask her.

  “Everybody,” Beth tosses her head. “Believe me, when you’re holding weed, no one gives a shit where you sit.”

  The sharp look Anthony shoots her is noticeable, and Beth shoves a fry into her mouth to keep it busy.

  “So what’s the pecking order around here?” I poke at the fresh peas in my pasta. “I think this is a cool table, but I guess since it’s in the back we’re on the bottom rung?”

  Beth finishes chewing her food then takes a sip of her water. That’s a cue that this is going to be a long answer.

  “It’s like a supermarket, okay,” she starts. “Not that any of them go food shopping, but if you’re along the perimeter, you’re okay.”

  Rolling his eyes, Anthony throws down his slice on his napkin. The tables are spotless, so he doesn’t have to worry about not having a plate.

  “It’s more like a wedding.” He points toward the first row of tables with the jocks and the seriously rich kids. “The tables closest to the entrance are the top tables. That group holds court and would never venture farther in than they have to. The tables along the sides are like their invited guests. You know, the friends you want here, but don’t talk too much. That includes kids on the teams, the smart kids that share test answers, and kids who spend money on liquor and bring it to school. And in the far back, where we are, is where you put your distant relatives and other guests you have to invite out of courtesy.”

  We laugh at Anthony’s lesson in the pecking order as a guy from the hockey team stares a little too hard at our table. My body tenses. Sucking her teeth, Beth notices him also, and she watches him hard because he’s h
eading over here. The guy laughs and gestures at our table. His eyes are locked on me as he strolls past and yells, “Spread ’em.” At least he doesn’t throw a condom.

  “Mancuso,” shouts Anthony, “Shut the fuck up.”

  The boy named Mancuso circles around our table, and Beth and I lower our gaze as if avoiding eye contact will protect us. Mancuso shoves the back of Anthony’s chair roughly. Anthony lurches forward, and in a split second, he’s on his feet. Unlike with Jacob, Anthony is a match for Mancuso, and he looks ready to take him down.

  Anthony glares at Mancuso. “I guess you don’t need anything this week?”

  But it’s not a question, and Mancuso starts to backpedal fast.

  “Come on, Anthony. It’s a joke.” He points at me. “She knows it’s a joke.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny.” He won’t look at Mancuso, and the boy looks nervous. Anthony sits back down and takes a bite of his pizza.

  “Look, I said it was a joke,” he argues with the back of Anthony’s head. “She knows I’m kidding. What do you expect? An apology?”

  Anthony doesn’t respond. He continues to eat as if the kid no longer exists. I can’t figure out what’s going on with him and these jocks.

  “Hey, new girl, you know I’m joking?” His voice ends in a whine, and he looks at me for solidarity. I scowl at the dumbass if he thinks I’ll help him.

  “Hey, Anthony. Nicholas. What’s going on?” Lucas is standing behind my chair. And now, the entire room is looking at our table, including the other captains in the first row. A pissed Arielle is standing with her hands on her hips watching Lucas while the brunette and the redhead giggle and smirk. The three girls are wearing cheer-squad uniforms.

  “I asked: what’s going on?” Lucas’ voice is calm and cool like a negotiator.

  “Mancuso was apologizing to Natalie,” replies Anthony.

  This is bad, and my cheeks burn. Until today, the teasing has been under the radar, but there’s a definite shift. The tension in the room rises, and I become the center of it as my humiliation becomes public knowledge. Anthony and Lucas give Mancuso a sharp eye. The boy doesn’t look happy as his face flushes. Mancuso tugs a hand through his dark curly hair and sweat shines on his forehead. He obviously thought we were easy targets, but we must have some clout sitting at a back table. Nobody tolerates their relatives being picked on, not even the ones they don’t like.

  “I’m sorry. Jesus.” His sarcasm is thick on his tongue. Mancuso grimaces at the other two guys and mutters something under his breath as he heads toward the exit door.

  Before he can escape, Anthony calls him back, “Mancuso, where’s the party this weekend?”

  Mancuso looks at Lucas and waits to answer Anthony. Lucas nods his head once, and Mancuso speaks. “It’s at Troy’s.”

  “Am I on the list?” asks Anthony.

  Mancuso looks to Lucas again, and there’s another slight nod.

  Sneering, Mancuso replies, “Yeah. Yeah, you are.” He slams the exit door open with a loud bang and walks out trying to look unfazed, and it’s over.

  I look up at Lucas, and he smiles at me. His body blocks me from Arielle’s view, and his fingers brush lightly against my hair. I turn around, ready to laugh the whole episode off with Beth and Anthony, but can’t. Anthony is shooting daggers at the back of Lucas’ head as Lucas walks back to his table. My gaze drifts back to the jocks’ table. Arielle is sitting on it by Lucas, pressing her hand against his arm. I turn back to my lunch. I want to go to that party.

  “So what do you two do for fun?” I ask innocently while picking at my food.

  They burst out laughing and make me feel like the queen dork. Anthony inhales the last of his slice as Beth grabs her bag and stands up. I quickly follow them as they head out the exit door, and we walk toward the fieldhouse at the far end of the athletic field. Behind it, we sit by the chain-link fence that stops trespassers from walking around the reservoir. Thoughtfully, we sit in silence, smoking while three geese glide across the smooth water.

  ***

  After lunch, there’s a strip of three condoms taped to my locker with masking tape. This time, they’re ribbed for pleasure. I yank it off quickly as Ms. Petrenko rounds the corner and calls my name. In a flash, I open the locker door and toss the condoms on top of the budding pile on the bottom.

  “Ms. Page?”

  Slowly, I turn, unsure if she saw anything. Mr. Yeats still avoids looking me in the eye. I will forever be the class slut to him. I don’t care what he thinks, but I like Ms. Petrenko.

  “Yes?” I quickly slam the door shut.

  “Please come to my classroom.”

  She takes a step back and points down the hall. My stomach drops as if I’m in trouble, and a nerdy-looking boy makes a catcall as I walk by. I’d hit him if I had the time. I guess I’ve picked up a reputation by now. Just my luck.

  Entering her classroom, I wonder if I should take my assigned seat, but Ms. Petrenko has pulled a chair up to her desk and motions for me to sit down. I stumble a little into the chair, and my face starts to glow as if I’m about to sweat. Why do I have a guilty conscience?

  “Ms. Page.” She has a concerned smile on her face, as if I’m crazy to be upset. “I just want to talk about class.”

  Well, that doesn’t help. Math is my best subject. My stomach does a roller-coaster bomb dive into my gut. “What, about my grade?”

  “Natalie. May I call you Natalie?”

  I nod my head. It’s so odd how everyone is called by their last name. Ms. Petrenko has that best-friend vibe going on. I’m not okay with that. The last thing I need right now is to be a teacher’s pet. I don’t want to be in trouble, but I don’t want to be friends. All I want is a low profile until I can graduate and get out of trifling Montlake. I’ll make friends in the real world.

  “Natalie, even though you missed assignments, you aced the last pop quiz. I checked your placement scores, and they were the highest in the class. Do you like math?”

  It amazes me when people ask questions like that. I would think it would be obvious that I like math. But sarcasm is not a winning quality, so I tamp it down. I may need an adult ally at school, whether I want one or not.

  “Yes, I like math.”

  “Good. Have you thought of it as a career?”

  “You mean like a teacher?” That comes out of my mouth a little too loud, but Ms. Petrenko laughs it off.

  “Sorry, I’m just looking forward to graduation.” I backpedal.

  “No need to apologize. I understand,” she laughs. “I could never be a teacher at the school I attended.”

  Oh no, she needs to lower her enthusiasm.

  “But you may enjoy teaching. In fact, I’d like you to be a math tutor.”

  “Do I get extra credit for it?”

  “Yes, and it appears on your college transcript. Plus I won’t make you complete the assignments you’ve missed.”

  I wouldn’t have minded doing the missing homework. But I’d rather spend my time doing other things.

  “Okay. Who do I gotta tutor?” I ask.

  “Jacob Fleming.”

  Oh fuck, I swear my head just shuts down. Like my head starts to immediately go blank, and the room goes white-noise silent. I can’t believe this shit. I want to shout. I want to call her a crazy, clueless bitch. Hasn’t she noticed what goes on in the back of the classroom? Does she think I like psycho-boy drumming my chair with his ape feet? Oh, fuck no.

  “Okay,” I say in a whisper. God, I’m such a wimp.

  “Great.” Ms. Petrenko claps her hands with a look of relief. “You should probably sign up for more extracurricular activities if you’re applying to college. And you should have started by now.”

  I didn’t plan on going. When my parents were alive, we couldn’t afford it. My grades are good, but not scholarship good. I planned on getting a coding certificate and then a job. But Phil has since offered to pay all my expenses. The trouble is I have nothing extra on my transcrip
t for a good college, and I need to fill in the blanks.

  “Actually, I’m trying out for cheer squad.” I cheered for a semester at my old school and took dance classes. Sometimes when I’m alone, I lock myself in my bedroom and dance like a superstar in that pink and purple bedroom like I’m everything to everybody—acting nuts for an hour to keep myself sane.

  “That’s great. I’m the squad advisor.” Ms. Petrenko stands up. “Come on. Let’s walk over to tryouts together.”