by Nora Cobb
Harmon stands up and holds her hands out, ready to push them apart if necessary. But they only glare at one another. The classroom is weighed down with their animosity as if the room is humid after a hard summer rain.
“Go sit down,” Harmon says, “It’s rhetoric class, not group therapy.”
Pierce glares at the back of Justin’s head as he follows him to their desks. They hang out together all the time, but they don’t seem to like one another. Maybe they’re too rich to hang with anyone else. Pierce tried to take down Justin, but Mr. Sensitive has a tongue wrapped in acid. Suddenly I want to know more.
No one loiters in the hallways. And if you need a locker, they’re in the lower level by the bathrooms. Everyone uses a laptop and carries it from class to class. I’m walking to my next class when Justin catches up with me. My hand is on the door leading into the stairwell, but I take it off the handle. We’re not going to be alone. He stands next to me and waits for me to exit.
“You know what?” I smile falsely. “I forgot something, and it’s in the direction where you aren’t going.”
He smiles. “Astrid, I want to talk to you about club business.”
My face tells him too much.
“Investors Club,” he clarifies.
“You can tell me at the next meeting.”
He shakes his head. “Meetings are for club members only. Without an invite.”
“My dues are paid.” I grab the door handle and swing it open, and of course, Justin follows.
“Yes,” he replies, “Bryce can be generous with his time and money.”
On the landing, I spin on my heel, and he collides into me. That was a mistake. His hand lands on my shoulder, and I shake it off. “I received an email from Prof Getz,” I explain heatedly.
“No, you received an invite to join. You didn’t read the fine print.” Justin tugs my hand to make me walk forward, and I let him get away with it as the shock washes over me.
“This is how it works.” He holds onto my hand. “You are invited, and then once you prove you can pay a small fee, you’re considered by the standing members for full membership.”
I stamp my foot on the bottom step. “That’s not right. I paid. I had my own money to pay.”
“Right or wrong,” he explains, “Rules keep the riffraff out.”
My eyes narrow on him. “You can be an asshole.”
He smiles deviously. “You want to debate it?”
“I’m already dealing with snob boy. I don’t need you.” I look Justin up and down in the same way he checks me out. My gaze stops on his black turtleneck. “And what is it with the black clothing? Is emo still a thing?”
“I like your skirt.” He curls his lip. “Did you make it? Can the hem rise any higher?”
I yank my hand out of his. I forgot Justin was still holding it. “Kids like you would have gotten your ass kicked at my old school.”
“Brawn versus beauty.” He leans in. “Fine, you can use your brawn to get into another club.”
“I’m not fucking you,” I hiss.
He sighs dramatically, holding his hand to his chest. “That’s a relief. I like to collect art, not STDs.”
He grabs my wrist before my hand makes contact with his face.
“Tsk, tsk, little tiger,” he replies, “You’re slowing down. That’s what happens when people become pampered. They lose that hunger. That desperation to win.” His breath plays against my ear. “To join the club, you must perform a chosen task. Tonight. Think of it as light hazing. H-A-Z-I-N-G. It means to…” He shuts up when he sees the glare I’m aiming at him. “Never mind. You’ll learn what it means later. Anyhow, everyone has to do a task. It’s how we release excess physical energy at Stonehaven without fist-fighting and copulating like stray cats in the streets.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” I whisper, “You are the dick of the bunch.”
“I like that,” he says, holding the door open for me. “That quote will appear under my yearbook picture. Meet me outside the computer lab, Astrid. You know when, and wear your sexiest panties.”
Chapter 17
Astrid
“Sneaking out again?” Roni lies prone in her bed. Her covers are pulled up to her chin, and a trashy paperback is resting over her face. I thought she was asleep. I didn’t make a sound. Has she been awake every night when I break curfew?
“Again?” I ask her.
She sits up, tossing the comforter off her. “It’s your routine now. I get into bed, you wait an hour, and then you sneak off.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement, calling me out. “You’re not as stealthy as you think.”
I stare back at her judging stare, and my heart sinks as low as it can go. Roni won’t snitch. She’ll never tell, but I kept a secret from her, and we’re supposed to be closer than just roommates. Or at least, we were heading in the direction of tight friends. Sharing secrets builds trust, and I just fucked up.
I shrug my shoulders in a lame attempt to make it a minor thing. “I’m going to go meet my old friends from my old high school.”
Roni shakes her head. She’s caught me in a lie. “That’s not it. The rumors are out there.”
My head snaps in her direction. “What rumors?”
Juicy gossip equals currency at Stonehaven. It will buy more than cash. “The whisper is you and Bryce Shelton are hanging out.” She rolls her eyes when I grimace. “Come on, you can’t hang out with the richest guy in the school and expect people not to notice.”
“It’s nothing special,” I mumble.
Roni lifts her chin. “I didn’t think he would ever be your type. A street girl like you with an entitled boy like him? What do you two even talk about? If you talk about anything.”
Roni is pushing it, but I don’t respond as I lace up my Converse. I have on wide jeans and a hoodie—not dressed to impress but to blend into the shadows. “So, who’s talking about me?”
“Every rich girl who thinks he ought to be dating her,” she replies bluntly.
“We’re not dating,” I snap. “He’s helping me get into the Investors Club.”
Roni flings the book off her covers, and it lands with a thud on her desk. I’m impressed with the aim and about to tell her, but I don’t get a chance. Roni bounces out of bed, glances at the door, and lowers her voice. The seriousness in her eyes alarms me.
“Astrid, whatever he said he’ll do for you.” She touches my shoulder gently. “The price isn’t one you want to pay.”
I take a step back to grab my backpack, and her hand slips away. “I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t,” Roni replies, “because you’ve already underestimated him. You think because the kids here don’t curse and fight that you have the upper hand. This isn’t the streets, honey. They have generations of being on top, and it’s not just good genes. You’re up-front about getting what you want, but they’re sneaky as rats about getting their way.”
My heart pounds at hearing a truth I didn’t want to admit. “I have to go,” I whisper, pulling my hood up over my head. “I’ll be okay.”
“When you’re not,” she says softly, “I’ll be here.” It’s awkward walking out of the room as if Roni hadn’t tried to warn me not to go, but I have no choice but to go.
Curfew starts at ten, but no one is stupid enough to sneak out a minute after. Eleven is when people take off, and it isn’t strange bumping into someone also slipping out of the basement. That’s where I run straight into ever-so-perfect Charlotte.
I have my head down as I approach the basement door out. And I walk straight into her back. At first, we giggle in embarrassment and mutter apologies until our vision focuses on who we’re talking to. Charlotte is dressed up like she’s going out on a date. Her tube skirt is tighter and shorter than anything I’ve ever owned, and I like the bitch’s red leather cropped jacket.
Instead of showing approval, I curl my lips at her like she’s stinking up my air.
“Excuse you.” She lifts her nose, trying to look do
wn on me. We’re almost the same height, so that isn’t going to work.
“Whatever,” I reply, brushing past her out the door.
Charlotte mutters something under her stank breath, probably hoping I’ll lash out. She can think what she wants to. No matter what I do or say, she’ll think it anyway, so I leave Charlotte alone. I shove my hands into my pockets and keep going.
Stonehaven campus is over six hundred acres—about the size of a small town, packed with red-brick buildings all donated by wealthy parents. The computer lab is located across campus in the Vanderbilt Science Hall. The front of one of the few contemporary buildings on campus is well-lit with floodlights that imitate high noon. Sneaking along the hedges, I head to the back while looking for a door.
A rock on the ground almost trips me up. I grab it in my hand and reconsider tossing it away. I don’t trust Justin. He stares at my chest like he has X-ray vision, so I slip the rock in my pocket.
“Hey,” he whispers in the dark. I see Justin’s silhouette approaching from the trail toward the side of the building. His feet slide and slip down the embankment. Who the fuck wears loafers to break into a building? Justin hasn’t bothered to change his school clothes, except he took off his blazer. Doesn’t matter—he likes wearing black, so he’ll blend in. He tugs on my backpack, and we hurry toward the door.
“Where’s security?” I whisper, “Aren’t they worried someone will break in?”
Justin shakes his head while inspecting the inside of my bag. It’s empty as instructed. “Only before finals,” he replies, “when people try to change their grades.”
“So, what are you up to?” I ask him flatly, “Are you trying to delete your online porn stash?”
He frowns. “I want to expunge something, but it’s nothing illegal or illicit.”
“Then why do it in the middle of the night?” I whisper as we approach a concrete stairwell that leads to a back door. I feel him glaring in the dark and decide to shut up, watch, and learn. Now isn’t the time for scathing comebacks.
He pulls a metal key out of his pant pocket and opens the door. I look at the dark windows of the building behind us and wonder if anyone is filming. I shiver at the thought of being spied on. It disturbs me more than being confronted.
“Follow me, and do it quietly,” he hisses.
I want to get in there, get out, and into their club. Safety lights illuminate the stairwell as we sneak upstairs, past weirdly lit shadows. The sound of the climate control running is muted behind the gray fire doors. I can’t help but jump a little when something bangs and then echoes in the distance. Justin snatches my arm to still me, and we wait, but no one shows up.
Single-file, we exit the stairwell on the third floor and head toward a room with glass interior walls. Inside, the computer lab is visible with rows of individual study cubes, each with a laptop secured to the desk.
“Why do rich kids need to come here when everyone has a laptop?” I whisper.
“Our internet in the dorms is restricted,” he replies, “These laptops aren’t.”
Somehow that doesn’t sound right, but I don’t question it. Cautiously, he uses a second key to unlock the glass door. There’s a slight chill in the air as we walk inside the flashing and humming room. It’s not that cold, but the chill makes my skin crawl and my shoulders tense up. Justin seems to know what he wants as he stops at a desk with several laptops and immediately unlocks one.
“Where did you get the keys?” I whisper.
“I borrowed them without the other person’s knowledge,” he replies indifferently. “I’ll return them to lost and found in the morning.”
“That’s a fancy way to say you stole them.” I look over his shoulder as he checks the screen. “Why’d you need me?”
“For your backpack,” he replies, “and the penalty for impropriety is lenient compared to the one for theft.” I stare at him in the dim light, and Justin sighs. “For our purposes, impropriety is the state of being inappropriate in an intimate manner with a second person.”
“I know what it means, smartass,” I cut him off, “But why would two people come here to make out and not steal a computer?”
“Because I can afford a computer.” He smirks. “But maybe you can’t.”
“F-you. I have one.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.” He sneers, and then his gaze lowers to my well-concealed chest. “But if you want, we could commit an impropriety just in case we’re caught.”
I shove him hard, and he must not have been expecting it because Justin starts to go backward. I grab for his arm, and we both tumble down onto the tile floor, our shoes squeaking as we fly on top of each other—me landing on him. Justin holds me still, and frozen, we wait to see if someone heard us. After a minute, no one shows up. I pull myself off him slowly, and I’m surprised that he’s solidly built. His tall frame doesn’t look as if it has much muscle on it, but I was wrong. I’m impressed, but I won’t tell him that.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, “I don’t want to wait for them to find us.”
“Here.” He holds the laptop toward me. “This is your task. Put it in your backpack and keep it safe. That’s what is expected of you. Simple, right?”
Chapter 18
Wyatt
After the gym, I crave a long shower and toss my sweaty jacket onto the floor of my room. My muscles ache for a ton of hot water, pounding the soreness out of my limbs. Since training started again, I’m using muscles that I haven’t moved in a year, but fighting at the Pit isn’t as challenging as the dojo in Woodland Heights.
The Pit is a bunch of dumb guys posing and using brute force until Grinder calls it. He makes it clear that the paramedics aren’t coming to the warehouse to save anybody. Bleeding is expected. The hordes chant for blood for their money. They don’t want to see a real fight. Not something that takes skill and expertise. I haven’t had a challenger yet that I couldn’t take down within seconds, but the wild masses aren’t there to see training in motion. Howls of pain and blood splattered all over every surface are what they want. I’ll deliver it as long as it’s not mine.
“Wyatt, I see you’re at home.” Bryce walks into my room like he owns it. Maybe his parents paid for this building too.
“You didn’t see that the door was shut,” I state sarcastically, wiping the sweat off with my shirt.
He shakes his head and flounces down on my bed, lying across the clean bedding as if he’s about to take a nap. Bryce pretending to be bored is dangerous. It’s like petting a napping cat that doesn’t want your hand anywhere near it. He’s gearing up to pounce, and he’s come looking for me this time.
“Watch the shoes,” I scowl, “I don’t care if they are Gucci.”
He smirks. “I’ve noticed you prefer owning old things.”
I look away. “I have other interests, and shopping for sport isn’t one of them.”
Bryce sits up. “I’ve noticed. Not important. This weekend, I have a task for you to do while you’re indulging in your other interest. You’re tasked with throwing the fight.”
My mind can’t comprehend what I’ve just heard. I lower my gaze quickly, so he can’t read my thoughts on my face. I’ve been careful, and Astrid would never tell. True, she’s hanging out with Bryce, but that look in her eyes broadcasts how much she despises him. And I’m sure he’s giving her a hard time to amuse himself.
“I only go to the dojo to practice.” I pick up my clothes and toss them in the hamper. “I’m not in any tournaments until the spring.”
Bryce leans back on my bed, placing his dirty shoes on it as he trails his finger along the wall. “You live like a monk,” he says, watching his finger. “A few family photos, some old sturdy clothes, only a laptop, and not much else. It’s hard to tell that you’ve lived here for four years. How do you survive on so little, Wyatt?”
I glare at him, but he refuses to look at me. “What do you want?”
Bryce sits up on the edge of the bed. “Don’t was
te our time denying that you work for a living. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you? Did you think a corny mask was going to conceal your identity from someone who knows you? You’re the hottest fighter in that pesthole. And with my sponsorship, you’re earning a generous purse.”
In shock, I forget to deny. “You don’t sponsor me.”
Bryce shakes his head, disappointed that I’m out of the loop. “Throw the fight, and you will be compensated. You can buy a poster for your wall or a plant for the window.” He scoffs. “Buy both.”
Bryce walks toward the door, and I’m about to shove him out of it. He turns quickly and faces me again. “I’ll be there to watch, Wyatt. Give them a show. Maybe last for three minutes and then bow out gracefully. A bloody nose should suffice.”