by J Bree
He'd put laxatives in it.
I could not leave the girls’ dorms for the rest of the day.
I am so angry about the juice that I throw caution so far into the wind, it ends up in fucking Kansas.
I know Harley is on the swim team because it's the only class we don't share, and I've heard Blaise and Avery talking about it in our choir and voice development classes. I also know that being as unbelievably gorgeous as he is, he must be very attached to his looks and, especially, his immaculately coiffed golden-blond hair. You can't be that hot without also being vain.
I have no access to any beauty stores, but I'm an inventive sort of girl. The kitchen staff are very happy to help me out with my science project and armed with two bottles of food-grade dye, I find his shampoo and conditioner and pour an entire bottle in each. I'm not sure Harley is the type to pull off the Smurf look, but good god am I ready to find out.
Being the only two students in the school gives me an extra dose of bravery, like I'm untouchable over the holidays, when really I know that Harley will tell his friends, and then I'll have to face whatever it is they decide to retaliate with. Avery had already proven herself to be an unconscionable bully, and that was without me ever fighting back. It was a sobering thought of what she would do once she finds out. But for now, I'm going to enjoy the sport of beating this gorgeous guy at his own game. It’s nice to be able to mess with him in such a low-level way.
I get to dinner early and sit at the far end of the table in the exact chair that he usually sits. I enjoy ten minutes of silence and steak before showtime. When the door at the far end of the dining hall swings open, I don't look up, and it's a struggle not to smirk. I can hear him filling his plate and then the sound of him walking toward me. I roll my eyes that he would insist on sitting at his chair even in an empty hall, and I prepare to stare him down but then he pulls out the chair across from me and sits. I glance up and snort.
Between the bright blue tones and the tattoo, he looks like he belongs in an eighties punk band. The shocking part is that his eyes are twinkling with laughter rather than the malice I expected.
“Good shower?” I prod at him.
“Great. Just what I needed. How's your bowels?”
“Lovely and cleared, thanks for asking.”
He snorts with laughter and digs into his plate. It's weird to sit with him, but I can't move away without seeming weak or bitchy. Plus, he's just as alluring as the first time I saw him, so hot it hurts to look right at him.
“Which dictator did you pick for history? I'm going to wipe the floor with you.” His eyes are still twinkling, and it makes me feel lightheaded. Is he flirting? He can't be. I clear my throat.
“Avery Beaumont, but Ms. Aurelia said I can't choose someone still in power, so I went with Mao Zedong. Who did you pick?”
He smirks and shows off his perfect teeth.
“Like I'd tell you.” He gives his juice a sniff before shrugging and drinking from it. I regret not messing with it. He sees me watching him and says, “I’m sure you've thought of something worse, but if you have spiked it, I needed some fiber anyway.”
I smile and hope that not knowing drives him a little crazy.
“I bet you've picked Hitler like every other student ever. Predictable. Boring,” I taunt him, but he just smiles. Even his smile is deadly. I can feel it slicing into my soul.
“Have you finished yet? Is it printed out and ready to be handed in?” His voice is soft and sweet, and fuck if it doesn't make me nervous. And a little turned on, but mostly nervous.
“My breakfast, my assignment, or fucking with you?”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.
“I don't expect you to ever stop fucking with me. You came to this school swinging, like we wouldn't swing back. I meant your assignment.”
My eyes narrow. This is a trap. He is far too smug right now.
“It's a shame about the computers,” he says innocently. “Sounds like they'll be out for the whole week.”
Fucking bastard.
“Seriously? That's all you've got?” I say with confidence that I'm not feeling, and I stand up with my tray. I walk out of the hall to the sound of his raucous laughter.
It takes two seconds in the library to discover that he has in fact messed with all the IT systems in the school. My completed assignment is stuck on the little USB stick I’d been forced to buy. There’s a chance the computers will be fixed before classes resume, but I’m not really one for taking chances. It's such a rich kid thing to assume that he's won because I can’t access the computers, and yet the school has a bigger and better stocked library than my home town does, so I pull a dozen books and spend the day rewriting my assignment before he decides to burn the library down instead.
After six hours of intensive work, Harley shows up with a smug look that only falters on his face for a second when he spots me in my fortress of books. I give him my own smug look and finish off my attempts at perfect penmanship, though I can never completely disguise my scratchings successfully.
“I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you were so out of touch from the library that you wouldn't know where to find it.”
He grins wolfishly at me, and my breath catches. Goddamn it, why is he so hot!
“I know the library well.” He pulls a chair out across from me and straddles it. “I've fucked quite a few girls in the stacks.”
A shiver runs up my spine. I should feel disgusted, like I had at every other boy who's said that kind of thing to me, but all I can think is how much I want him to take me into the stacks. How sick is that?
Maybe foster care messed me up more than I thought.
A slow grin spread across his face.
“Don't worry, Mounty, I don't want to fuck you. There's at least three guys in this school who don't want you.”
Himself, Ash and Blaise. My stomach drops, and I want to scream at myself. Why the hell do I want them so much, when they are the ones torturing me? Some secret part of my brain whispers to me that the last few days hadn't felt like torture. They’ve been the most fun I'd had since I'd come to this pretentious school.
“What a relief. I suppose none of you need the money.”
His eyes tighten like he's taken a hit. I open my mouth to ask him why, but he cuts me off.
“Not enough to fuck trash, no.”
I would have given anything to be able to stop myself from blushing, but I couldn't. I tell myself it’s a flush of anger, but its shame burning in my gut.
“You might want to bury your nerves a bit deeper, Mounty. Putting them on display like that just gives us all a target.”
He winks at me, fucking winks, and then leaves me.
I tell myself I'm not gutted.
But I am.
The students all arrive back Sunday night.
By Monday morning, Harley's head is shaved, and he looks at me like I'm nothing again.
Chapter Seventeen
Miss Umber is late to my choir assessment by twenty minutes, which is coincidentally just long enough for me to start sweating bullets at the thought of singing for her. The choir room looks so much bigger without the other students milling about. I’m glad she agreed to do it here, and not at the chapel. Standing on the stage there, where I’d heard my 911 call, I would’ve lost my mind. And my lunch.
“Right. You. Yes, of course. Which song did you pick?” Miss Umber sounds flustered as she drops her bag onto the tiny desk. She’s far too old to be a Miss, she should have at least switched out to be a Ms. by now. Her startlingly white hair is chopped off into a severe-looking bob with bangs, and her glasses are too large for her face. On a teeny runway model, it would have looked fashionable, but on the aging teacher it looks unflattering. I’d much rather sit here and pick apart her appearance than start my assessment. When Miss Umber turns to give me a look, I snap to it.
“Pompeii. By Bastille,” I croak. Not a good sign of my vocal abilities for the day.
> “Good choice! Do you need music, or are you going to play an instrument?”
I hold up my phone to show her the instrumental song I have prepared. I had learned a handful of songs on guitar, this one included, but I didn’t want to tempt fate by putting too much pressure on myself. I run through the warm-ups under her watchful eye, and I realize this is the most amount of attention she’s ever given me. This is definitely the first time she’s ever heard my voice, because I always hide among the other students in class.
Once I have the phone set up and the music starts, I slip my noise-cancelling headphones in, and then I sing.
My eyes slip shut and I forget Miss Umber is even in the room. For the first time I can focus on the feeling of singing, the rush of my body working hard at something that isn’t entirely physical, and I lose myself in it. I sway and swing my arms for emphasis, the way I’ve watched Blaise do a thousand times before. I can hear myself, but the headphones tone it down just enough that I can immerse myself fully into the act of singing rather than the sound.
It’s incredible.
I feel like a piece of me that I lost years ago has come back. It’s a relief to think that the damage done to me at the hands of the Jackal and the Game could be healed. I can someday be a whole person again. Tears prickle at the back of my eyes, and I know the second I open them, they will fall. If I can stay at this school and survive everything being torn down around me, I can pull myself up and out of the world I was born into. I can make something of myself through sheer will and perseverance alone.
When the last word slips out from my lips, my chest is heaving and my heart pounds wildly in my chest. I give myself a second before I open my eyes, just a moment to collect myself so I don’t fall to my knees and sob like a child. When I pull the earbuds out, I hear clapping and I grin at Miss Umber. She’s looking at me the exact same way she looks at Blaise when he sings, like I’ve exceeded all her expectations and dreams as a teacher.
“Miss Anderson! I’ve never—you are a rare talent!” She grips my hand tightly in hers and tugs me into a hug. I try not to freeze or flail awkwardly, but I’m not hugged often enough to be comfortable. I can't actually remember the last time I was hugged. As she lets me go, I turn and see Avery standing in the doorway, her jaw damn near hitting the ground.
She’s heard me sing.
I feel exposed. Worse than even my 911 call, I feel like she can see inside me. I'd given up singing so long ago that not even Matteo has heard me. Only my dead mom, and she took the memories of my singing to the grave with her.
I break away from her slack-jawed stare and turn back to our teacher, a flush staining my cheeks. I don’t know what to do with myself, and I nod along dumbly as Miss Umber gushes to me.
“I can’t believe I’ve missed your voice so far this year! Your range rivals Mr. Morrison’s. Has he heard you sing?”
Oh, God. There is no way I want him to ever hear me.
“I don’t think so. It’s not… I’m not interested in performing. I’d rather stick to the group sessions.”
Once she’s finished marking my rubric, I take the page and flee the room.
Avery hasn’t moved from the doorway, and I have to brush past her to leave. She doesn’t move to let me pass, and when I look down at her fist, I see the pages I’d slipped under her door crumpled in her hands.
Hannaford prides itself on ‘encouraging’ its students to excel by posting all grades publicly. It’s never bothered me because I’ve always had top spot, or occasionally second spot if Harley beats me. I would feel bad for the other students here who land closer to the bottom if I didn’t already know they were going to be millionaires the moment they turn eighteen and get their trust funds.
The first time I decide I hate this system is when the choir marks are posted. That’s when I learn Blaise has never come second in that class in his life.
I’ve beaten him by a teeny-tiny margin.
I take my usual seat with Lauren, Jessie, and Dahlia, and I try to ignore the eyes that are on me. Lauren leans toward me and then stops dead as Avery and Blaise walk in. I had expected Avery to have told Blaise about my singing, but one look at him tells me she didn’t.
“What. The. Fuck.”
He whips around to look at me, and I glue my eyes to Miss Umber so I can keep blanking him. The students around us start to murmur and gasp, but I don’t let my gaze waver. Miss Umber claims first place in my list of favorite teachers by starting the lesson before Blaise can confront me.
“Mr. Morrison, Miss Beaumont, if you could both take your seats so we can begin! Please start our usual warm-ups, and then we can start discussing what each student can be working on to improve before our next assignments.”
There is no way I want to discuss my singing with the whole class, but short of faking an illness, there is nothing I can do to get out of it. And then Miss Umber tumbles back down to the bottom of the list by ruining my life.
“Miss Anderson, can you please swap groups? I’d like you and Mr. Morrison together, where I can monitor your progress accordingly.”
Every eye in the room is on me.
I flush scarlet and pray that a stroke takes me out. There is no justice in the world, because my heart continues to beat, and I’m forced to collect my bag and move across the room. Miss Umber holds out a seat for me, and then I’m sitting right next to the devil herself. Blaise is still trying to catch my eye, but I will not play his game.
Once the warm-ups are finished, my hands are trembling, and my stomach is a roiling pit. I can’t half-ass it now. I’m stuck under Miss Umber’s eye and Avery is watching my every move. I sit on my hands so she can’t see how badly I’m shaking. The moment Miss Umber starts to write out notes during her explanation of the correct breathing methods we should be using, depending on application, Blaise leans over Avery so far, he’s practically in her lap.
“Since when can you fucking sing?”
I take out my notebook and ignore him. I never take notes in choir, but it’s a good excuse to ignore him. He’s not an easy guy to get away from. “Mounty, how did you get a higher mark than me? Are you fucking the teacher?”
I snort and keep writing. I don’t spare him a glance as I reply. “If anyone is fucking Miss Umber, it’s you. Why would I take choir if I can’t sing? I told you I liked Vanth for your voice. Did you not think I was telling the truth? It was one singer admiring the talent of another, that’s it. Get over it.”
Avery pushes Blaise back into his own seat and off her lap. I’m a little wary that she seems to be helping me, but I know there’ll be an ulterior motive. Blaise is mumbling under his breath and Avery slips her hand into his, and that’s when I know I’m in trouble. I’m about to be tormented by them again. Avery Beaumont is always the calm before the storm. While her brother and his friends get angry and loud about it, Avery is silent as she efficiently makes her moves to destroy me.
I shake my head at her and go back to my notes.
When the class finishes, I leave without looking at Blaise again. Classes are done for the day, and when I round the corner to walk back into the main building, I hear the footsteps right behind me.
They’re both following me.
It’s taco night and I’ve had to miss the last two taco nights because of Beaumont bullshit, so I head straight to the dining hall for an early dinner. I give them both a warning look when they sit across from me at the long table. Neither of them have bothered to grab anything to eat, so we sit in silence as I start to eat my tacos. They're good, but I can't enjoy them with my hostile audience watching my every move.
I break the silence.
“What are you planning on doing to me just because I got a better mark than your little friend?”
Blaise’s eyes narrow at me, and then he hesitantly glances at Avery. She’s staring at me, down her nose like Ash does, and it sends my blood boiling. I’ve grown accustomed to being the poor little foster kid. Even at Mounts Bay I had people looking down a
t me for my drug addict mom, but no one makes me feel more shit about it than the Beaumonts do.
“Did you take the photos of Rory and Harlow together?” she says, completely monotone, like she’s not discussing her cheating boyfriend.
I nod and drink my juice. I’m distracted enough by the conversation that I don’t think twice about it. Blaise is staring at her, his eyes slits of rage, and his cheeks have deep red patches. I’ve assumed this far that they’re all so close they don’t keep secrets, but now I see I was wrong. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and blows out a frustrated breath. I wonder how long it will take before Ash is publicly beating the life out of Rory. Or will it be Harley this time?
“Why didn’t you send them out to everyone? You’re convinced I sent out your nudes. Wouldn’t that be the best revenge for you?”
It’s a trap, but I know no matter what, she’ll hate me. Why not tell the truth? “I believed Ash when he said you didn’t have anything to do with that. It doesn’t matter, though. Even if you did, I wouldn’t have sent them out. I don’t do that shit. If I want revenge, I go straight to the source and do it properly, I’m not good at this social hierarchy stuff. I’m at this school to make a better life for myself. Whatever you guys do to me, it’s nothing compared to what’s waiting for me at Mounts Bay.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. Why does this girl rile me up so badly? I’m giving her answers, and she still wants more. I should tell her to go fuck herself. I should tell her to choke, to jump off a cliff, to go and hide among the beautiful boys she hangs around and leave me the hell alone. I don’t.
“Rory is a fucking scumbag. I’m not one of these brainwashed bimbos who thinks it’s funny when other girls are treated like shit by guys. I think he’s a dick, and I think you deserve to know where he’s sticking his dick. Plus, I didn’t see a condom in use so, you know. He’s probably caught something truly heinous from that bitch, and you should get tested to make sure he hasn’t passed it on to you.”