The woman closed the file, glanced at me, and then shifted direction to my right. “Ah, Mr. Castleton. You’re rarely on time for anything.” She was admonishing with her words, but her tone had shifted to something akin to… loveable. But that wasn’t what stopped me in my tracks. Mister. Castleton. As in Mom and Dad’s new boss? Or as in…green convertible…jerk driver…
I turned slowly in my seat. The knot of anxiety in my stomach was twisting and turning. I suddenly knew what… who… I was going to see sitting near me. The hair of the convertible driver matched. It had to be.
And it was.
The boy with ice blue eyes. The boy with that single, thick golden curl.
The jerk who’d nearly knocked me down outside.
“You?” I stuttered out. “No way.”
“Drake Castleton,” he leaned forward and offered his hand. “So nice to meet you, Tarryn Norma-Jeane Monroe.” And he winked.
He winked at me.
“What… why are you here?” I stood up swiftly, knocking my backpack to the ground and the paperback I’d stuffed into the side mesh pocket flew out from its cage and slid across the floor to land, of course, at Drake Castleton’s stupid feet. He looked down, smiled strangely, and picked it up before standing.
“I’d never have pegged you for an Abbott fan.” He thumbed through the well-loved copy of Flatland. “Windows, there are none in our houses: for the light comes to us alike in our homes and out of them,” he quoted.
“There’s absolutely no way you’ve read this,” I leaned forward and took the book from him roughly. “There’s no way that someone like you has read something like this.” I wouldn’t even consider the possibility that a jerk like Castleton could have read and liked something as profound and… strangely moving as Flatland.
“And it’s entirely possible that you’ve read it too many times.” He pushed his hands into his pockets; the motion was fluid as water. He moved like he was in too much control of his body, like every gesture was the product of pointed, guarded thought. “A person could forget what life is like in a three-dimensional world if they fill themselves up with that nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense.” I said quickly, then clapped my mouth shut as the first bell rang shrilly. When it fell silent again, I opened my mouth for further retort. “You don’t—”
“Ah,” Drake zipped his fingers across his mouth, “squares can’t talk.”
“That’s enough, you two. Get to class. Mr. Castleton, keep her in check and make sure she’s on time. You’re in all the same classes, so it shouldn’t be too hard.” The severe-faced secretary shooed us out of the office as her phone rang.
As soon as we were out in the hallway, Drake took me by the elbow and steered me to the left and down the path that was beginning to suffocate with students racing to lockers and classrooms. With Drake Castleton’s hand on my elbow, we started to attract attention.
Who the hell is she?
Why is Drake touching her?
He screwed me, never called, and now he’s with that bimbo.
Girl, me too. I hate him. But I hate her more.
Looks like Drake’s got his eye on another one. It was the first boy voice to break through the deluge of awful girl-attitude. None of us even stand a chance when there’s fresh meat. He gets them first; we get sloppy damn seconds.
“Could you not.” I yanked my elbow away. “I’m perfectly capable of following you without being literally handheld.”
“I was holding your elbow,” he quipped back with a smile.
“How about you don’t hold any of me,” I snarled.
“I give you two months. You’ll be begging for me to hold all of you.” He reached out to touch me again and I jerked away.
“As freaking if,” I mumbled at his back as he walked through a doorway into a classroom. The man at the front was Einstein-frazzled with a shock of white hair and a face like one of those really wrinkly dogs that need surgery to keep their eyes from being completely obscured by furry skin folds. He was talking to himself as he wrote on a table tablet that transferred to a huge white board at the front of the class. Fancy school. Fancy technology. Old-as-sin teacher. That was an… interesting combo.
“Take a seat, Square,” Drake pointed at a seat at the front. “You seem like a ‘front row, takes a zillion notes’ type.”
“And you seem like a back-row waste of space, Castleton.”
“Pretty words from a pretty mouth,” he leaned down and thrummed his fingers on the desk he wanted me to take. “Enjoy class.” And then he sauntered away.
I turned from that stupid desk, and took the one next to it as if it was some grand rebellion against the jerk of a guy with his jerk hair and jerk smile. I sat two feet away from where he’d wanted, and I felt like Joan of Freaking Arc.
When Mr. Paulson started teaching, I realized, as if I hadn’t already, that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Paulson was a retired chemist who’d done work at NIH, the National Institute of Health. Though he had the personality of a turtle with narcolepsy, I was excited to learn from him. I sat mesmerized for a short while, as Mr. Paulson swooped letters across his tablet, and then I got out one of my comp notebooks, four colored pens, and voraciously wrote down everything he said. It wasn’t lost on me that I was absolutely proving that I was a ‘front row, takes a zillion notes’ type. I was too fascinated to care though.
At the end of class, I was still consumed with writing a few end thoughts in my notebook. It was the best first class I’d ever had. I adored the syllabus he’d handed out and this wasn’t even an AP class. Everyone had nearly filed out of the room already—even Mr. Paulson carrying a periodic table coffee mug—when a shadow fell over my desk and stayed there. I looked up slowly, knowing who I’d find looming over me.
“See,” he tapped his forehead like he was feigning psychic abilities. “Front of the class, grade-A square.” He leaned down and touched my notebook, flipping back a page to see the quartet of colors swimming line-by-line in a coded chaos that only made sense to me. “It’s day one, Norma-Jeane. If you’re not careful, you’ll be the new Bethany of the school. And she doesn’t take kindly to Valedictorian wannabes.”
“Are you just going to give me shit all day?” I slammed my notebook closed, stuffed it into my backpack and stood up so quickly that my head swam. Despite best efforts, I swooned slightly and had to grab for the back of the chair to steady myself.
“Hey, are you okay?” Drake Castleton actually sounded concerned when he spoke, and both of his hands came up to hover at my sides like I might fall all the way.
“I’m fine,” I pushed past him, even as my vision blurred. I fought it back. I’d been here before; I knew how to control things when I got like this. I just needed sugar, and fast. I’d been so nervous this morning that I hadn’t been able to eat much. I made it almost to the door before I lost it. I could feel my legs give way and I was heading to the ground, when arms caught me and halted the fall. I titled my head back, steadying myself against the firm body behind me. It was Drake. I knew it was Drake, but I was in no condition to put up a protest.
“See, I told you you’d change your mind about me holding you.” His voice was strained, but also kind—like he was trying to make me feel better with humor.
“Shut up,” I mumbled, letting my backpack thud to the floor.
2.
T A R R Y N
“What do you need? What can I do?” Drake helped me over to the nearest desk. I sat down, feeling weak all over. “Shit, you’re pale as a ghost.”
“I just need something to drink or eat,” I murmured, swiping a hand across my forehead and feeling embarrassed over how clammy I was. As if my day hadn’t already been shitty enough. “Something with sugar—an apple or some juice maybe,” I clarified.
Drake nodded. “Two seconds.” He walked over to Mr. Paulson’s desk and started rummaging through drawers.
“Um…” He was trying to help me, so I didn’t feel like I could berate him a
bout his actions, but meddling with a teacher’s desk didn’t seem… kosher. “Should you be messing with his desk?”
Drake shrugged and kept moving things around. “Ta-da!” He announced triumphantly, standing up and waving a candy bar in the air. “Mr. Paulson confiscates all Halloween candy every single year and then hoards it in his desk. I swear he doesn’t even buy groceries; he just lives off our stolen candy bars all year.”
“So you’re given me a nearly year-old Payday that you’ve just stolen from a teacher?” I quirked an eyebrow, wondering if it was really stealing if it was originally stolen. A candy bar wasn’t the best thing to eat when I was like this, but it was a source of fast-acting carbs.
Seeming to read my mind, Drake smiled—it was a half-cocked boyish expression. “Can you really steal something that was stolen in the first place?”
“Just give me the candy,” I said, reaching out for it and hating the way my hand shook as I tried to keep my arm in the air. I know he saw it; he looked right down at my tremoring fingers. Fuck my life.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?” Drake handed me the sweet and then perched on the desk next to me, sitting on the table top with his feet on the chair, he looked model-perfect. And I sort of wanted to shove him off just to watch him be awkward for a second. Unless he somehow fell gracefully, which probably wouldn’t be all that surprising giving he’s an Adonis incarnate.
“No.” I decided on short and decisive. Just because he stole back a candy bar didn’t mean he was a good guy. In the few hours I’d known him, most evidence pointed to him being a grade F jerk face. He frowned for a second, then bounced back quickly.
I finished the candy, and Drake just sat there watching me like I was some sort of ‘art in motion’ show. He smirked when I swiped at my mouth with my sweatshirt. “Missed a spot,” he leaned forward, thumb poised to touch my lips and I jerked back.
“Look, thank you for finding the candy. That was really… great of you. But we’re not friends. You’re not the kind of guy I want to be BFFs with.” I stood up, grateful that the tremors were whispers now instead of screams. “We should probably get to the next class now. Lead the way, Castleton.”
“As you wish, Square.” This time when he said the nickname that was apparently going to stick around, I didn’t hate it quite so much. But I should have.
The next two classes went on much like the first. Gail Greenwood was a Pulitzer recipient teaching English. Don Shops was a linguist who’d worked in the UN. He spoke four languages fluently and had traveled all over the world. I was fascinated. I almost had a few moments during which I didn’t quite miss Becky and back home.
I dreaded lunch though. And that was after Shops’ French class.
Drake didn’t stop at the entrance to the cafeteria. He walked confidently in like he owned the place, because he… well, he did. And I stood frozen at the entrance getting shoved left and right by students rushing to grab trays and eat the food that looked like it belonged in a high dollar restaurant versus a school lunch room. Just get some food. Find a seat. Sit there. Eat. This isn’t a hard concept, Tarryn.
I steeled myself, ready to find a fairly-empty table after getting whatever food I saw first. Keeping my eyes trained on the marble-like tiles below, I moved swiftly to the ever-growing line of kids waiting for one of the buffet lines. The line moved quickly. I gratefully took the first thing offered to me—which appeared to be some sort of curry tofu over rice—and I worked my way over to a table with only one other occupant. And she was reading a book, so she wouldn’t play twenty questions with the new girl.
I was almost to the table, almost home free, when I heard whispering and giggling nearby. Looking up, I found Drake and the same group of girls who’d laughed at his idiocy outside. The girls were sipping on diet cokes and eating salad. Drake wasn’t eating anything. Too cool for school food maybe. He’d rather save his stomach for fancy maid-cooked food in his big fancy mansion. Because he did live in a mansion, according to the gossipy neighbor Meg. I hadn’t seen her at school yet today, and I was kind of glad. She was a lot to handle. Still though, she would have been a friendly-ish face.
One of the girls pointed at me and they all laughed again. Drake was smirking, looking pleased with himself. I gave them all my best blank stare and I finished walking to the table. I wanted to put my back to them, but I decided facing them was probably a better ‘who cares what you think’ reaction versus hiding.
“Ignore them. They’re a bunch of assholes.”
A shudder from my toes to my shoulders tells me that my body is wanting, really wanting, to cry. I could feel the hitch in my chest and the sting behind my eyes that usually preceded an unstoppable sob fest. But I felt better the instant my gaze fell on the girl with the book. She’d placed it on the table, pages down and spine protesting against being held open so far. That made me cringe, but at least she wasn’t a dog-earing-the-pages monster.
“Those girls are going to end up alcoholic housewives and Castleton will be bald and running Daddy’s company into the ground by the ripe old age of thirty.” Her voice was sarcastic and her lipstick was a deep maroon, nearly black. When she smiled, it made her green eyes narrow and her eyebrows rise up just a fraction. The raven-dark hair cut into a sleek bob framed her face so well that you’d think the style was created just for her bone structure. She held out a hand to me that was half-obscured by a black coat sleeve; her fingers were crowned with electric yellow nails that were jarringly cheerful tucked into all the darkness she wore. I reached over and took her offered hand, shaking gently. She was the polar opposite of my best friend back home—Becky was all giant lavender eyes and porcelain doll makeup—but I instantly thought that she was someone I wanted to like me.
“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t—”
“Make you feel any better?” She interrupted.
I nodded. “First day of school and I’m already the butt of jokes. It’s a good time to be alive.”
“If you measure a day’s success by how little attention you get, then you’re going to hate it here.” She laughed and popped a piece of sushi into her mouth. My stomach turned. I’d never been much for raw fish. “You’re the new girl, babe. Fresh meat. Brand new breasts for the pillaging. Untapped vagina potential ripe for the plowing. Lips that have never been kissed by Castleton High boys. I mean, look at you.” She ate another seaweed-wrapped salty monstrosity and then casually motioned up and down, indicating my apparently sinful body.
“Great,” I breathed out. “That’s perfect. And here I was hoping to meet just one great guy. Now I can look forward to a bunch of idiots trying to make first conquest.”
“Basically,” she nodded, her eyes twinkling. “But I’ll tell you a secret.”
“What’s that?”
“If you don’t let Castleton bag you first, you’ll make fucking history.” She picked up her book and simultaneously took a swig of root beer.
“Does he really always get the new girls first?” I thought back to what the guy had said when Drake and I had walked down the hallway to first period.
She nodded. “Always.”
I stared down at my curry, frowning. “Well, get ready to watch history being made,” I said angrily and took a big spoonful of the saffron-yellow food and shoved it into my mouth.
“You’re going to do okay here…” The girl’s voice trailed off and I looked up. She made a funny face and then chuckled. “What the hell’s your name? I’d like to go ahead and graduate you from your future as ‘new girl Castleton screwed already’, seeing as you plan to avoid Drake’s gold-encrusted throbbing man-member.”
I nearly choked on the curry dish trying not to laugh. “I’m Tarryn. And you?”
“Sasha, but everyone calls me Sash.” With that, Sasha started reading again and we fell into comfortable silence eating our food. I could have stayed there the rest of the day. I’d have rather stayed there the rest of the day. But then the stupid bell rang and Drake showed up next t
o the table, tapping his wristwatch and acting like we hadn’t had that nice bonding moment in Mr. Paulson’s class room. So I was right—one good deed from Drake Castleton did not a ‘nice guy’ make.
“I’m coming,” I sighed, gathering up my things. Before I could pick up my tray, Drake grabbed it. “I can clean up my own things.” I know I sounded ungrateful, but now that I knew that everything Drake did was in the sordid service of getting into my pants, I wasn’t going to worry about being even a little polite. Reaching for the tray, I went to say something more, but he turned quickly away and strode over to the trash and tray bin. When he came back, hands shoved in his pants pockets and looking for all the world like a GQ model, he once again tapped his wrist.
And, god, I wanted to punch him.
***
“Well, you made it through the day.” Drake was leaning against the locker next to mine, watching me struggle to key the electronic lock.
“You could help me,” I grumbled.
“I told you how to do it already,” he countered, crossing his arms.
“Could you just stop?” I glare at him and then back at the lock.
“Stop what?” This time there’s teasing in his voice.
Without thinking, I glanced back over and nodded my head up and down indicating… well, all of him.
“I’m not sure what you mean. Care to elaborate.” Drake uncrossed his arms and moved a little closer to me.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then I can’t very well stop, can I?” Leaning in front of me, he reached for the keypad and depressed two of the buttons until a shrill ding sounded. “There, put in whatever four digit number you want.”
Bully: A High School Bully Romance (The King of Castleton High Book 1) Page 2