by E. M. Snow
I turn back to Alondra. “Why’re they such a big deal?”
Besides the obvious. They’re outrageously hot but then, just about everyone at this school seems to be.
She seems a little surprised by my question, but quickly launches into a thorough explanation. “For starters, they’re only the most egotistical, rude bastards you’ll ever have the displeasure of meeting.”
“Oh.”
She waits until a couple of girls sashay past our table to continue, “Basically, their families have been coming here since the 1800s and they don’t let anyone forget that shit. There are three of them, but like I said before, those two”—she gives a shallow nod toward the redhead and the dark-haired boy—"are just Satan’s minions. Gabriel Carlson and William Halloway. Gabe’s dad is Bud Carlson and Liam’s family owns Halloway Motors, not to mention his mom’s family are like the Waltons of South Africa.”
My gaze lights on Gabe, who has his arm wrapped around a waifish, big-boobed brunette with over-plumped, shimmery lips. He’s whispering in her ear, and she’s positively giddy over whatever he’s telling her. “Bud Carlson, the televangelist?” I ask, suddenly recognizing the name from my late-night channel surfing expeditions. Loni nods, and I shake my head in disbelief. “Gabe’s the son of a televangelist?”
“Yup. You should see the new Porsche the Lord has blessed Gabe with for this school year. The boy’s even got his own set of commandments—thou shalt bang all the bitches being at the top of the list.”
I snort and turn back to her. “So, where’s the other guy?”
“Who knows? Probably opening the Chamber of Secrets or getting a blow job from Laurel somewhere.”
“They’re together?”
“Not technically. He dumped her last year, but she’ll still run to him when he calls like a pathetic little puppy. She’s convinced they’re made for each other and she’s saving her real virginity for him.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Ass and mouth not included, of course.”
“That’s kind of … sad.” I’ve been in her shoes and can almost feel sorry for Laurel.
Almost.
“Don’t bother feeling a damn thing for those two except grateful that he’s not here. Remember how I said those three guys ruin lives? It’s mostly because of Saint Angelle.”
I tilt my head, certain I’ve misheard her. “Wait … this school is religious?”
Alondra drops her hand onto her fist, rests her chin on them, and blinks at me like I’m adorable. “That’s his name.” At the face I make, a big smile cracks her features. “Extra as hell, isn’t it? His family founded this place and his dad is one of the richest shitheads in the country. He co-founded NightOwl.”
Wow.
“I used to have a profile on there,” I murmur, my stomach tightening as I remember how I’d scrubbed all my information from the social media site after the accident.
“Take my advice, Mallory. Steer clear of Saint if you can help it. This is his world. We’re all just living in it.”
4
By the time the first day of class rolls around on Monday morning, I’ve nearly forgotten Alondra’s warning. I can’t think of much beyond getting to class on time. I’m nervous, and when I get nervous, I tend to over-plan things. In this case, I’ve ironed all my uniforms until they practically stood up on their own, mapped out my entire route to each of my classes and typed up an hour-to-hour schedule for myself that I saved on my phone. It’s going to be hard enough fitting in at this school, but I’ll be damned if anyone accuses me of slacking in my studies.
Since I can’t sleep, I crawl out of bed early, and once I’m showered and dressed for the day—every inch of my appearance checked twice, from my black knee socks to my starched uniform to the neat French braid resting against my back—I head toward the dining hall to grab breakfast, as dictated by my schedule. My nerves begin to morph into excitement. I had worked hard with the guidance counselor to make my class schedule perfect and fit in as many advanced classes as I could to begin beefing up my transcript before I start applying to colleges. My workload will be brutal, but ultimately worth it once I make something of my life.
As I near the dining hall, the sound of angry voices pauses me in my tracks. Two other students, a girl with frizzy chestnut brown hair and a tall guy, are standing just outside the doors to the d-hall arguing about something. Assuming it’s just a couple fighting, I make my way closer as quietly as I can. I don’t want to get involved or be noticed, but I have to walk right past them to get food. Ducking my head until I’m staring at the toes of my cheap black flats, I move to dash by, smoothing my hands over my navy and forest green plaid skirt.
“We’re not done until I say we are.”
It’s not the guy’s words that draw my attention back to them, it’s his voice. Low and lethal. Suddenly, he pins the girl up against the wall, and I freeze, terrified that he’s going to hurt her.
“You make things right, or I swear to God, you won’t last a week this year,” he hisses. I’m close enough that I can see his profile clearly when I dare peek up at him. My heart hammers furiously in my chest as recognition sets in.
It’s the hot blond I literally ran into on my first day here, the one with the cold eyes. Then, he’d seemed cocky, but intriguing. Now, his muscular body is tense, his broad shoulders straining against the expensive navy-blue fabric of his uniform blazer, and his smokey eyes are burning with a fury that makes my blood run cold. I think he might actually be capable of violence in this moment.
If the girl’s tears are any indication, she thinks that, too.
“Please, I’m sorry! But … but I could lose my scholarship! I had to tell them what I saw that night.”
“You think I give a shit about your scholarship?” The laughter that spills from his lips is dark. Dark and cruel and taunting. “You think your worthless, white-trash ass means a thing to me? To anybody here?”
The girl is sobbing softly, and my temperature spikes. She’s just like me. I study her more closely, and I can see that her uniform is clean but worn, and a surge of protectiveness overwhelms me, along with rage. Does this rich prick think he can harass that girl just because she’s not wealthy? Because her parents aren’t business moguls, international superstars, or old money royalty?
The injustice of the situation makes my teeth clench and my hands ball into tight fists that leave my palms stinging from the impact of my fingernails.
My anger gives me courage, and I march right up to the pair without a second thought. “Hey, shithead! Let her go!”
The girl lets out a startled gasp and stares at me over the blond guy’s broad shoulder, her eyes wide and alarmed. I pretend she doesn’t look more frightened now instead of relieved at my intrusion. A stillness settles over us as I wait for the guy to respond. I can see his shoulders are tense, but he’s quiet. So, so quiet.
It reminds me of the calm before a storm.
That moment of unnatural silence before a predator strikes out at its prey.
And I think—no screw that, I know—I made a mistake.
Slowly, he drops his hands from the girl’s shoulders and turns to face me. I gulp and a small fissure of fear shoots up my spine at the ice behind his gaze. His eyes are fascinating, like smoke and blue flame, burning hotter than a regular fire, and when he stares at me, I feel like he’s scorching my soul.
I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders, refusing to let him see how scared I truly am. That would only feed him, I know. That’s what bullies like him thrive on. Fear and submission and I refused to give this bastard either.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he asks at last, his voice still alarmingly soft, his words slicing into me like daggers. “This is none of your business.”
“I can’t just walk by when I see some entitled dick picking on someone just because they’re poor,” I snap back. “You’re disgusting.”
He tilts his head, and honestly, he looks a little crazy. A little wild.
A little unstable.
“You think I’m picking on this bitch because she’s poor?” He grins, as though he finds the idea amusing. “I don’t give a shit about her. I don’t care about her in the least.”
“Then why are you harassing her?” I demand to know. “Let me guess, she hurt your wittle ego?” I hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart and make a point to shift my gaze toward the crotch of his black slacks.
He steps closer to me, and I realize that he’s at least a foot taller than me. I want to back away, but I don’t. I stay very still as he shoves his face so close to mine that we share the same breath. “Because she’s a fucking liar, and I hate liars,” he spits.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl scurry away, disappearing into the dining hall without a backwards glance toward me. Fuck. Now I’m stuck dealing with the consequences of my big mouth, all alone with this psychopath.
“Well, whatever you think she lied about, she didn’t deserve your shit,” I retort.
He’s staring at me like he wants to tear me apart, piece by tiny piece, and I decide I’m not going to give him the chance. With the girl gone, there’s no reason for me to stay and put up with his venom either. Turning my back to him, I make my way over to the dining hall doors.
“You’re not getting away that easily,” he growls at me.
I hear him follow me, but I ignore him, even though I feel his breath heating the back of my head and neck.
“You get off sticking your nose into shit you know nothing about?” His voice is low and taunting as he hounds me through the doors. “Huh? You nosy bitch?”
I swallow and walk into the dining hall as if I haven’t heard him. It’s already packed inside, and as we make our way through the breakfast crowd, curious eyes turn toward us, and I see people whispering to each other with expressions of shock and fear.
Who the hell is this guy?
And why’d I have to go open my big mouth and piss him off?
He’s unrelenting in his goading of me, barely leaving an inch between our bodies as we walk. “You’re just like her, huh?” he demands cruelly. “That why you couldn’t mind your own fucking business, right? All you trailer park sluts sticking together?”
His words irritate me, but they don’t stab as brutally as I’m sure he’s intending. I’ve heard worse in my life. Been called worse and sometimes by my own mother. I’ve got a thicker skin than he’s probably used to in his victims, and so I continue walking, as if nothing is wrong.
“You can ignore me all you want,” he says. “But that’s not going to save you. Nothing will save you now, cunt.”
When he calls me the c-word, my stomach twists and knots with hatred. I want to hurt him. Make him feel as low as he made that girl feel. As he’s trying to make me feel.
Entitled pieces of shit like this guy get away with everything, and it’s not fair. He deserves punishment. He deserves humiliation.
He deserves pain.
“Fuck, you’re not worth my time,” he snaps before I can hurl an insult back at him, and I feel him turn away from me. He’s given up. Is leaving me alone.
I should let him go.
I know that I should let him walk away and put this whole thing behind me.
But I can’t.
I just fucking can’t.
There’s an apple on the table next to me. I pick it up, and without thinking my actions through, turn on my heel and launch it at the back of his head. He lurches forward a step at the impact, and the apple falls to the tile floor with a bruising thump.
The entire hall falls deathly silent.
All eyes bounce between me and him. In that moment, I realize who he was heading toward when he gave me the verbal middle finger.
Gabe Carlson and William Halloway.
They’re both glaring at me as though they want to attack me, too, and my heart thumps madly as the reality of my situation sets in. Dread unfurls in my belly as I put two-and-one together in my head.
I’ve just fucked up in a major way, and I don’t know if I can dig myself out of this deep of shit.
Slowly, the blond boy twists around to stare at me, wrath and disbelief staining his gaze. Gabe and Liam flank him, all three setting their sights on me as if preparing to unleash holy hell.
I know who the blond guy is without anyone needing to tell me.
The third “god” that Alondra mentioned.
Satan himself.
Saint-Fucking-Angelle.
5
The rest of my day is a nightmare.
News of what I’ve done to Saint spreads through the school like wildfire, and by fourth period, I’ve gone from a nobody to public enemy number one. Everyone I pass or interact with either ignores me or glares at me like I’ve committed some unforgivable sin. I’ve gotten on the wrong side of Angelview’s “gods”, and my divine punishment is being turned into a social pariah. Alondra is the only person who doesn’t act like I’ve just spent my morning kicking puppies across the academy’s courtyard.
She had found me after I left the dining hall. Or, rather, fled the dining hall, but in such a way that it wasn’t obvious I was running away.
“Mallory!” she cried, catching me before I walked into the building for my first period English class. “Hold up!”
I stopped, hauled in a massive breath, and turned to her. She ran up to me, her ponytail flapping behind her, and a concerned expression twisting her features. A guy was with her that I hadn’t seen yet. He was handsome—go figure since this school seemed to be full of Hollister models—with light brown hair and amber eyes.
She quickly introduced him as Henry Reynolds, one of her best friends, before she demanded, “Holy shit, Mallory, what did you do?”
I didn’t know how to answer, so stupidly, I sloughed off a lame shrug. “He’s was being a dick to this girl, and I—”
She grabbed my shoulders and shook me like a rag doll. “What did I tell you? Steer clear of Saint Angelle! He’s beautiful on the outside, but poison on the inside. Everyone will be against you now, babe.”
“He can’t turn the whole school against me.” But even as I said that, panic clenched like a tight fist around my chest.
Loni had simply pressed her fingertips against her shut eyes. “Oh, you sweet summer child. He already has.”
She’d been right. So, so fucking right. I walked into my first class and felt as though I were facing down a firing squad. Everyone glared at me, and to my horror, I found Liam Halloway sitting near the back of the classroom, his expression dark and foreboding. I’d slunk to an empty seat in the back row, careful to avoid his murderous gaze.
Someone coughed into their hand. “Bitch.”
“Fucking trash,” someone else spat, not even trying to cover it up.
My blood began to boil with hot anger. Just before the bell rang, the pale, frizzy-haired girl I’d saved from Saint walked into the room and I felt a small wave of relief wash over me. Surely, she’d be a friendly face?
We met eyes, and to my shock and disgust, she turned her nose up and away from me. Making a point of ignoring me, she strutted to the other side of the room.
A piece of wadded-up notebook paper hit the side of my head. I turned in Liam’s direction to find a girl with red hair flipping me off. Sighing, I picked up the paper and smoothed it out.
In big, bold letters, the note read:
DEAD BITCH WALKING.
I crumpled it back up and flung it away.
The rest of my morning only gets worse from there. Second period I get a modicum of relief as none of the gods are in that class with me, but it’s clear that everyone else would rather I drop dead right then and there than keep on going about my day. Third period brings a fresh wave of grief as I stumble into my government class to find Gabe sneering at me, as though he knew I’d be there. Like Liam, he doesn’t say anything to me, but he doesn’t have to. His rabid fangirls and boys are verbal enough in their taunts and abuse.
By fourth period PE,
I’m exhausted and furious and one sarcastic word away from flipping shit on someone, anyone. I’m dreading this class more than the others, though, because my physical safety will be at risk. It sucks because I usually enjoy PE, but I’m going to have to keep my guard up the entire time, or risk being clobbered with whatever sporting equipment my jerk classmates can get their hands on.
Thankfully, it’s also my last class of the day. My afternoon will be spent in self-study electives the guidance counselor arranged for me, so I won’t have to deal with anyone else until dinner. I step into the locker room to change, intent to just get out there and get the period over with, when a familiar, vicious voice freezes me.
“Well, well, look who it is. Angelview’s newest leper.”
This asshole again?
I take a deep breath before turning to face Laurel. She’s standing at the end of the row of green lockers with arms crossed and her hip cocked, surrounded by a group of girls who are clearly trying to look just like her. It’s such a cliché mean girl scene that I almost laugh out loud.
“What do you want, Laurel?” I ask, exasperated, and she does her best Regina George impersonation, hair flip included.
“Well, I’d say I wanted to warn you to watch your back, but I think it’s too late for that. You’ve got a target on your flat chest that’s so big, the International Space Station can probably see it.” She emphasizes this by spreading her hands wide in front of her, earning snorts of laughter from her lemmings.
I count to ten in my head to keep my temper from exploding. It won’t help my reputation if I beat the living shit out of this queen-bee-wannabe on the first day of class.
“Don’t you people have anything better to do than bother me? Kill some dalmatians? Suck the life out of children? Get landed on by a house?”
She slants her head until the blunt ends of her blond bob brush her bare shoulder. “Little else that’s quite so much fun as ruining a trashy little poser.”
I drop my backpack on the bench between the lockers and face her with clenched teeth. “What do you want from me? Hmm? Wanna try and kick my ass? Hurt my feelings? Sorry to disappoint you, Laurel, but I’ve dealt with nasty bitches like you my whole life. It’s gonna take a lot more than some half-baked insults to fuck me up, got it?”