by Mj Fields
The Sound also came equipped with a school and social event calendar, and if you’re one of “the chosen” to receive a special invitation code, via the app, which I have not been given, you get to unlock the members-only portion of The Sound, where you can give and receive all the info on last-minute parties, provided by the upper echelon, those who hold the power of the app and the highly coveted code.
My family is wealthy, just as wealthy as everyone else in that … school, but none of us carry a chip on our shoulders, drive Maseratis, or other vehicles with six-figure price tags, sport overpriced designer clothes just because we can, or look down our noses at anyone … undeserving. We don’t act like we are above everyone else. None of my crew were raised to act entitled and would quickly get our asses jacked by our parents, or any other member of the crew, if we started acting in such a way.
As miserable as I have been riding bitch for the past several months to a conniving snatch like Gabrielle Morales-Ortez, the “it” girl whose secret I am still keeping in my pocket in case I ever need to utilize it. Even after all the shit she’s pulled, I’m not capable of stooping so low as to expose her secret just to make myself feel better.
I’ve also since learned that Harrison Reeves is a self-absorbed ass who dates, or just sleeps with, Gabrielle Morales-Ortez yet ogles my ass every time we’re in the same vicinity, even in front of the girl he’s said to be banging.
The dirt I have on Gabrielle Morales-Ortez?
A few months ago, my cousin and best friend since birth, Kiki, was waiting in her little red BMW while I went into a local grocery store to grab snacks. While at the counter, checking out, I noticed the older gentleman clerk eyeing something behind me. Let me be honest here, I was expecting one of two things: a gunman or some hot MILF. Neither were what I saw when I glanced behind me.
What I got was a girl in a hoodie, starting to walk out the door with a loaf of bread and some peanut butter that, due to his reaction, I knew she hadn’t paid for.
“Hey, Karen”—I don’t know why I called her Karen; it was honestly the first name that popped in my head—“he’s gotta ring it up for me.” I looked back at the older man and told him, “She must have forgot.”
I paid for “Karen’s” shit and, as soon as we walked outside, I handed her the almost stolen goods. Instead of a simple thank you, or no words at all, she sneered, “Rot in hell” then took off.
Then, my first day at Seashore Academy, I ended up face-to-face with Gabrielle, who I had also seen on the app and had gotten a sense she was the “it” girl. I also knew she was involved in everything that interested me.
She was wearing a thousand-dollar white Gucci blouse under her navy-blue Seashore Academy blazer, the exact blouse I’d drooled over and Dad legit laughed in my face.
I complimented her on that blouse, and she sneered at me, “Keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll ruin you and the rest of your new-monied bottom feeders.”
I recognized her voice, the voice of “Karen,” but no way could this be the same hot mess in the hoodie lifting bread and peanut butter, right?
I stood, mouth agape, and she took full advantage of my shock and confusion, shoved me against the locker, pinning me as she sneered, “You hear me?”
Before I had a chance to shake the shock and put her on her ass, Justice showed up out of nowhere, jacked her up by her collar, took three long strides away from me, and dropped her to her feet.
When she turned on him, he stepped into her. I couldn’t see her, but she quickly moved until her back was against the locker.
“Touch her again, you’ll have three of our females on you like flies on shit, you feel me?”
Her voice shook a bit as she snapped at him, “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”
“Don’t give a fuck if you are or aren’t. Leave her alone or justice will be served. And trust me, Queenie, you won’t like it.” Then he leaned in and sniffed the air above her, shocking both her and me, before turning around and walking toward me.
“Let’s get to class, T.”
I flipped her off over my shoulder as we walked away and whispered to Justice, “Why the hell did you smell her?”
He lifted a shoulder and answered, “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, or I wouldn’t have asked,” I insisted.
He stopped at the door to our APUSH class. “She either pissed herself a little or was wet.”
“Was wet?” I asked in confusion.
Rolling his eyes, he opened the door. “After you.”
It hit me then what he meant, and I scrunched up my face at him. “Ew …”
He shrugged. “You asked.”
Ever since that day, Gabrielle and I have passed each other alone in the hall, sat in some of the same classes together, and shared a stage—she played Katherine, the lead, and I played Specs, a member of the ensemble, with no lines and no featured dances—and we uttered not one word to one another.
I’ve yet to find confirmation of my suspicions as to who runs the app. I’m pretty damn sure my initial suspicion, that it’s one of the four boys gracing the first page of the app, would probably be wrong. It’s more likely the sticky-fingered queen bee, Gabrielle Morales-Ortez, runs the whole damn thing.
Why?
Our first day here, Kiki was hit on by none other than Harrison Reeves and ridiculed by his recent ex-girlfriend, who he’s rumored to still be fucking, Gabrielle Morales-Ortez. From day one, Kiki’s name was mud on The Sound … She was said to be a wannabe and so much worse.
Kiki didn’t give a damn. She was dealing with her own issues—being pregnant at eighteen and carrying the child of her lifelong crush, who happens to be the biggest country singer on the damn planet. So, yeah, her plate was full.
Until she and Brand got married, all these assholes legit laughed in her face and thought she was making it up. If there was anything to find amusing about that, it was the fact that she never confirmed they were a couple or posted a damn thing on her social media about them. He was no trophy; he was the boy she had always loved, and he loved her, too.
It was Brand who finally posted about them. And if there was one good thing that I have enjoyed about Seashore Academy, it was seeing them all squirm when she walked in after the cat was out of the bag.
After that, when she was asked if Brandon Falcon was truly her man, it was she who laughed at them then walked away without an answer, like the badass she is.
Then the whispers about her being pregnant at eighteen started. Pissed me off, but not her. She didn’t care one bit.
I wish I could be more like her and ignore the slander, but truth matters, and everything they post or whisper in the hallowed halls of Seashore Academy makes my blood boil.
I need to get over it. The rest of my crew is doing just fine here. Not one of them miss attending our private Catholic school, and even though I despised it and the nasty nuns who taught us, I’m not sure that I like this hell hole much better.
So, here I sit, being bitter, while there’s a party going on around me, with people laughing, drinking, and having fun around the blazing fire, like a butt-puckered, pouting asshole.
Fuck this, I think as I push myself up off the blanket that I’m sitting on.
Brisa looks back at me and smiles. “You gonna drink?”
Wiping the sand off my hands as I walk toward her, I shake my head. “Promised I’d stay sober.”
“It’s actually Justice’s turn.”
She’s right; we do have a rotation, and it is his turn, but he’s not here.
“He left with Tags and Bella after the show.”
“First, I’m stoked your dad and mom let him go with them. Second, it’s not like I can’t drive.”
“Well, legally, you can’t.” I shake my head.
“And legally, you can’t drink, but whatevs. It’s a mile away.”
I pull my phone from my Forever Steel hoodie to check the time and see notifications from The Sound.
Brisa jacks my phone from me.
“Nope, not tonight. Say it with me.”
“Say what?” I ask, a bit annoyed.
“Fuck them.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on; say it with me. Fuck. Them.”
“Just pisses me off, you know. Who the fuck do they think they are, talking shit about Kiki and …” I stop.
She finishes for me, “And you.”
“Yeah, and me,” I huff as I kick some sand.
“You gotta find the good in all this and focus on it. Do you think it doesn’t piss me off?”
“Gotta be honest, Brisa, you haven’t been targeted, so—”
“I haven’t allowed them to target me. And I gotta be honest with you, I may be a little offended that you think them targeting you and Kiki doesn’t make me want to cunt punch a bitch, because it does. But”—she holds up my phone—“I ignore this shit. And if I didn’t think you’d get in trouble, or Uncle Cyrus would show up because he tracks your ass on this thing, I’d chuck this in the Atlantic right now.”
I shake my head and try my best not to smile at her. “When did you start becoming a badass?”
She grins. “When I saw that you stepped up when Kiki was down. I’m just following suit.”
I nod and smile at her. “Gotcha.”
“Now, come on and have a drink. We’re celebrating finally being done with that bullshit show.”
“You did great, Brisa,” I say as I follow her toward the cooler.
“Learned from the best. Been watching you dance all my life.” She opens the cooler and grabs a beer.
I shake my head. “Gross.”
“How about a White Claw?”
“Fine, but just one.”
Brisa paws through the cooler, asking, “Black cherry, raspberry, lime, mango, or—”
“Hit me with a mango.”
She tosses one to me, and I snap the tab and hold up the can. “Fuck them.”
Four mango Claws down, and I’m actually enjoying myself; somewhat because of the slight buzz, partly due to the fact that Brisa has yet to give me back my phone, which is clearly a trigger for my foul mood, and partially because we’ve been dancing.
It’s been a while since I let go, got lost in the music, the beat, and not worried about who saw me—judged me. Even on stage, I held back. It’s been that way for about a year now. The only time I haven’t had to hold back is around my family and crew. This is definitely the first time I’ve had fun with anyone at Seashore. Hell, I never even had fun at rehearsals for all those seemingly wasted months.
With Gabrielle and her crew running the show, and being completely on edge at choreography rehearsals, never knowing when the assistant choreographer, one Harrison Reeves, would show up and sit in the auditorium, tapping out notes on his phone that he’d message to the actual choreographer before leaving abruptly, never staying to give us the notes himself.
To think, I had a crush on him due to his bio and good looks. Okay, I still do a ’lil bit, but there’s no way in hell I’m acting on it.
There’s a big difference in confidence and arrogance, and it is all too clear that he’s the latter.
“Get out of your head, T. Steel.” Brisa nudges me with her hip. “Let’s dance!”
I look around and notice the little party has dwindled in size. I guess I didn’t realize it until now, but it’s just Baker, Abhi, James, Alexa, Bris, and me still here.
“You think we should head home?” I ask Brisa as I toss the can in the bag of empties.
“Hell no,” she says as she grabs Baker’s phone that’s hooked up to the Bluetooth, hip checks him, laughing, and then turns on “Seize the Day” from Newsies.
Handing it back to him, she points at me. “I, Brisa Steel, challenge the best dancer at Seashore Academy to the “Seize the Day” challenge.”
I start to shake my head, and they all boo at me. I can’t help smiling as I shake my head, looking down.
“Do it, do it, do it!” they all begin to chant.
“Fine!” I point at Brisa. “You’re next.”
“Let’s do this!” She throws a fist in the air.
Every one of us does the challenge, and yes, it’s fun as hell, even in the sand.
When it starts to rain, Baker suggests we go inside.
“Where?” I ask, looking around.
He points across the road to a small beach house.
“This your place?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah. This is Easton’s. He rents it out during the summer and for occasions like this.”
“Easton, as in the president of the student government?” I ask, following behind him.
“Yeah.”
We all follow Baker across the two-lane street, partially covered in sand.
I look around at the neighboring houses, all similar. “Does he own it?” I ask.
Nodding, Baker looks at his phone as he punches in the door lock code then opens the door. Then he waves his hand in front of him. “After you.”
Chapter Two
Idiom
Never judge a book by its cover.
Truth
It’s what’s inside that matters.
Walking in, I notice that the interior doesn’t match the exterior at all. It’s more modern than one would assume, and from what I could see of the outside under the dim lighting, I certainly didn’t expect to see this. Reason number one: it’s clean, damn near sterile, scantily furnished, and very modern. Reason number two: Tobias Easton, the boy with the perma scowl, the one who held his head up and yet never gave anyone eye contact, the boy whose style was envied by boys, unlike my cousins or brother, who gave a shit less about labels, couldn’t possibly live like this. But, as Baker said, it was apparently a rental.
“So, he just rents out his place for parties?” Brisa asks.
I notice Baker, Abhi, James, and Alexa all glancing at each other.
“What?” Brisa muses.
Alexa, who’s a bit tipsy, too, giggles. “Like Vegas—what happens at the pounding palace stays at the—”
The pounding palace?
“Lex,” Abhi interrupts her with a warning.
Brisa scowls slightly. “Like we can’t keep a secret. Our cousin Kiki is married to Brandon Falcon and having his baby. We’ve—”
“Brisa,” I interrupt and say the opposite of what I really want to say, because it pisses me off, too. “Fuck. Them.”
She smirks and nods, repeating the words she said to me earlier, “Fuck. Them.”
Baker jumps in, “It’s just, you know, we don’t want any trouble. He’s never rented this place to Abhi and me before.”
James interrupts, “He doesn’t even look at me.”
Same, brother, I think.
Baker continues, “None of our parents are chill enough to rent us a place. We had to have the guest list approved, pay extra because it was a first time and he’s not sure he can trust us yet, and promise to keep—”
When he starts nearly tripping over his words, all my annoyance shifts from those around us to … them. The four fuckers who rule the school with secrecy and some kind of sorcery. I mean, what else could it be but evil magic of some sort that keeps everyone tripping over ourselves in one way or another, including moi?
“Fuck. Them,” I interrupt Baker.
He runs a nervous hand through his blond hair. “Yeah.”
“You know what? I have no idea what crap happened before we rolled into town. Won’t even begin to try to figure out why everyone bows to them. But fuck them. I’m not playing bitch to anyone anymore.”
James chuckles. “Not one of us is playing bitch to any of them. We just wanna be them someday.”
“What’s wrong with being you?” Brisa asks.
“Not a damn thing.” Abhi, who looks like Zayn Malik with a bit darker skin, from Indian descent, answers her while tossing me a White Claw. “Life is good.”
I kind of dig his laid-back vibe, but still, he cautioned Alexa just seconds ago.
As a seeke
r of truth … and the fact that I’m buzzed, I ask, “What do the four horsemen of the freaking apocalypse have that you want?”
“The reins.” James chuckles.
“Har, har,” I say then huff. “I won’t ask anything else, but what the hell does that mean?”
“It means …” Alexa begins.
Abhi quickly cuts her off, “Alexa.”
“Not like a girl will get anything out of being quiet, except maybe an orgasm, so why should I be quiet?”
“You know”—Brisa smirks as she holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers a bit—“you can do that all by yourself.”
“I think I’m in love.” Baker coughs loudly, holding his hand over his chest and batting his eyelashes.
“Oh, aren’t you adorable?” Brisa croons.
“Go to prom with me?” he asks.
Of course she’d get asked.
“I’m all sorts of sorry, Baker, but I’m taken.”
“So, who’s my competition?”
Here we go, I sigh loudly in my head.
Holding up my Claw, I answer for her, “Me.”
“You don’t have a date?” Alexa gasps.
“Hey.” Brisa laughs. “She has me, and I guarantee a good time.”
Abhi chuckles. “Now two of us are in—”
“Stop trying to poach my date.” I laugh.
“Don’t worry; no one could take me away from you.” Brisa grins then jumps and pulls my phone from her pocket and looks at it.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Uncle Cyrus, but your battery is dying,” she says, typing back a message … to my father.
“What did he say?” I ask.
She holds up my phone. “That you need to charge your battery.”
“Jesus.” Alexa laughs. “He runs a tight ship, huh?”
“You have no idea,” I sigh, scanning the room for a charger.
“I’ll get it charged.” Brisa walks toward a closed door.
“Don’t go in there, Bri,” James calls after her.
She holds up my phone. “Trust me; Uncle Cyrus is scarier than the …” She looks back at me. “What did you call them?”
“Four horsemen of the apoc—”