Very Bad Things (Briarcrest Academy)
Page 1
by
Very Bad Things
Book One
A Briarcrest Academy Novel
Copyright © 2013 by Ilsa Madden-Mills
Cover Photography by Toski Covey Photography
Cover Design by Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creative
Cover Model Mariah Jane
Editing by Kristin Anders of The Romantic Editor
Formatting by JT Formatting
ISBN: 978-0989780704
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
For Lina and Tabatha
who have secrets and scars they keep hidden from the world.
Thank you, my lovelies, for all your sweet laughter and late night texts.
Most of all, thank you for sharing your stories and friendship with me.
We are three souls who get each other, without reservations,
without judgment.
For my husband, the best beta reader a girl could have.
You’re my Viking, for reals, babe.
I love you.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
A Preview of Seduce by Missy Johnson
A Preview of Thursday Nights by Lisa N. Paul
A Preview of Anywhere with You by Kaylee Ryan
A Preview of Don’t Let Go by Michelle Lynn
A Preview of Forbidden Forever by Christy Dilg
A Preview of Hidden by Selena Laurence
A Preview of Precious Consequences by Tamsyn Bester
“A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are they crazy?”
–Albert Einstein
WEISSNICHTWO.
Yeah, that’s not an easy word to say. Yet these often mispronounced staccato syllables have been ticking in my brain like the click of my piano teacher’s metronome for the past fifteen minutes . . . weiss-nicht-wo, weiss-nicht-wo, weiss-nicht-wo. I tapped my fingers to the beat.
This obscure word was coined by Thomas Carlyle in his satirical work Sartor Resartus, so it’s not surprising the organizers selected it for the Belltone National Spelling Bee. Even the best speller might be thrown off by it, maybe because the /w/ is pronounced as a Germanic /v/ or maybe they make the rookie mistake of forgetting to capitalize the beginning.
But four years ago, I’d made no mistake at that renowned spelling bee. I’d been perfect, since screwing up was not allowed in my family. In my last year to compete and at the age of fourteen, I’d nailed Weissnichtwo, beating out the pimply, homeschooled kid from Rhode Island in round six.
My IQ tested at 162 and most considered that genius level. Yet, I still had to work my ass off for the spelling bee, studying the two-hundred-page word list and thirty thousand flash cards for two hours a day, four days a week. For an entire year. In those days, I was quick to remind people that Einstein was a proven horrible speller.
My mother snapped her fingers in my face. “Nora Grace, please stop slumping and sit up. Good posture improves your overall attractiveness. You know this.”
I straightened my back.
“Mr. Cairn’s about to call you to the podium,” she said. “Don’t let me down.”
I nodded.
She twisted her lips as she scanned over my new dress and brown sandals. “That yellow dress was a very bad idea. It completely washes you out, and I’m surprised my assistant picked it out. She usually has better taste. Please don’t wear that—” she gestured at my outfit, “terrible ensemble again.” She sighed. “At least you didn’t wear those disgusting cowboy boots.”
I gripped the edges of my chair, refusing to acknowledge her last remark. Did she think I was stupid? I’d known to not wear my boots in front of her, not when I’d be wearing her handprint on my cheek later for the infraction. I pushed her from my mind and stared down at my note cards, concentrating on remembering everything my speech coach had taught me.
She continued her lecture as she focused her attention back on the headmaster of Briarcrest Academy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you shop for an appropriate outfit. Now that Geoffrey has resigned, the station is in chaos, so I’ll be working more hours and staying at the apartment in the city. It can’t be helped,” she said, shrugging her impeccably suited shoulders. “I do worry about you though. Princeton is only a few months away, and you’ll never make it past freshman year if you don’t stop daydreaming. We expect big things from you, Nora.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She checked me out again, this time directing her critical gaze to my waistline. “Mona mentioned you haven’t been weighing yourself each day, and I’m concerned. You must never forget how fat you were.”
I peered down at my size five dress and sucked in. Mona, our housekeeper, reported everything I did. She probably kept a log that told Mother when I peed.
“Oh, and I do have some exciting news I’ve been meaning to tell you. Finn’s moving back to the house after Christmas,” she said with a smile. “Houston isn’t working out for him like he thought, so he’s going to work downtown with your father’s law firm.”
I swallowed down bile at what she’d said. Everything was always about Finn, my half-brother. Why didn’t she give a shit about me?
I glanced around her to peek at my dad, but he wasn’t even listening to Mr. Cairn or to us. He had his phone out, texting. He didn’t want to be here.
From the stage, Mr. Cairn was finishing up his spiel, “. . . to Briarcrest Academy’s Senior Registration and Open House Night. This fall marks our hundredth-year anniversary, and we look forward to celebrating this event all year. And now, to welcome our incoming seniors, last year’s junior class president Nora Blakely will be speaking to you. An asset to our Academy, she was not only the Belltone National Spelling Bee Champion four years ago, but she’s currently the editor of the yearbook, the co-captain of the debate team, and an early recipient of the esteemed James D. Gobble Scholarship to attend the University of Texas. She’s an exemplary role model for all of us here tonight.” Mr. Cairn smiled benignl
y down at us in the front row. “Without further ado, please give a hand for Miss Nora Blakely.”
Polite clapping ensued.
“Go get ’em, sis,” Finn said to me as I rose to walk up the wooden steps to the stage. Shocked to hear his voice, I turned to see that he’d obviously slipped in late and had been sitting right behind me the entire time. I felt myself draw up inside. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not when it was a week day and he lived four hours away. Deep in my gut, I realized Mother had told him to come. And he always did what she said. So did I.
As I looked at him, the shuffling sounds of people sitting in hard chairs swelled in my head and then shrank in the oddest way. Vertigo hit me, making the gymnasium spin around wildly, like I was on a merry-go-round. Freaked out, I gained control by fisting the sides of my dress and biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted the coppery tang of blood.
Seeing him had made me crack even more.
I shuddered in revulsion, taking in his gaunt face and red-rimmed eyes with sagging skin underneath. Cocaine. Someday, it would take away his handsome visage completely and leave it in ruins. His clothes screamed money though, from the tailored suit to his Louis Vuitton watch. Just like me, he was pretty on the outside.
His hands twitched nervously, calling attention to the long, jagged scar on top of his right one. That nasty gash had taken eighty-five stitches at the emergency room, and if he rolled his sleeves up, it would stretch all the way up to his elbow. As I stared, he flushed red and dropped his head to stare at his shoes, like the answer to all life’s questions were lying on the dirty gym floor. They weren’t.
I suddenly wished I was high. At least I wouldn’t remember what I’d done.
I turned my back to him and walked away. He was nothing to me.
Making my way up the steps, I smoothed down my dress and tried to breathe evenly, so I could give my well-prepared speech—all about how freaking wonderful it is to be a student at BA, how super-terrific it is if you study hard and make good grades, and how awesomely fantastic it is to be rich and smart in a crappy little world. Right.
I snorted. If these people only knew the dirty truth about me. How weak I was. How I was dying a little bit every day in small doses. Would they look at me differently? Treat me like a pariah? Yes, my internal voice whispered.
Shake it off and breathe, I ordered myself. I sucked in a long breath through my nose and exhaled through my mouth as I moved forward to Mr. Cairn, whom I’d privately nicknamed Mole, albeit a rather nice mole. With his gray hair and squinty eyes, he looked deceptively unassuming, but he also had keen instincts and even keener intelligence. Nothing much got past Mole. Even now, his beady gaze probed my expression, and I think maybe he could see my cracks. Automatically, my body went into beauty pageant mode, and I sashayed toward him robotically, the new sandals Mother hated clacking against the stage.
It was time for the dog and pony show.
Looking at me warily, Mr. Cairn politely moved aside and took a nearby seat on the stage, along with our second headmaster and various esteemed, contributing alumni who helped make BA one of the top private schools in Texas. I nodded, giving them my practiced fake smile and turned to face the audience. With the glare of the bright spotlight in my face, it was hard to see much past the first row, but I saw my parents and my best friend Mila, along with her parents.
I also made out Drew Mansfield, my once secret crush since seventh grade—may he rot in hell for screwing me and then dumping me last year. He’d shattered my heart, and I dreaded seeing him and his crooked smile at school, day in and day out. In the cafeteria. In class. At debate.
At least Finn was gone, his seat now unsurprisingly empty. It had always been hard for him to face me in the light of day. The night is where he reigned.
The rest of the audience sat in darkness. Waiting.
Watching the perfect girl.
I’ve stood in front of the podium too long because I can see Mother glaring at me, covertly motioning with her hands for me to start. Dad’s lips have thinned, and I can see the impatience settling on his face. He probably had an important meeting at the courthouse to get to. Was that my future? To follow in his footsteps, blindly doing whatever society expected? Or would I turn out like Mother? Clawing my way to the top of the network ladder, reaching for stardom on national television.
Is that what it took to be happy?
The audience began murmuring, becoming antsy. After all, they expected me to deliver a rousing speech about the merits of BA, proving to them that the forty-two thousand dollars a year they paid was worth it. I couldn’t disappoint them, yet my mind went blank as I stared into that dark abyss, that giant hole of emptiness. Maybe I could have stood there all day, refusing to face my future, but it wasn’t permitted.
I commanded myself to smile again and turn on the charm, but my body rebelled. Shit. That had never happened before. And stage fright wasn’t a possibility, not when I’d been in front of people and on display my entire life, just like Mother’s precious china. No, my body’s unwillingness to perform was entirely new. On edge, I tried again, digging deep inside the core of me, searching for the Nora they expected to see, for the girl people claimed was brilliant. Nothing. I licked my sudden dry lips, shocked by my body’s refusal to obey. Where was the girl who could win an Academy Award for her depiction of a well-adjusted person?
I couldn’t let them see the real me, the one that was obscene and gross. They’d hate me; they’d be disgusted by me. As they say here in Texas, they’d ride me out of town on a rail.
Panicked, I fiddled with my note cards, shuffling them around on the podium. I had to give this speech flawlessly, and if it wasn’t dazzling and worthy of the Blakely name, Mother would be mortified. She would punish me.
I tried to smile for the third time but got nothing. Just nothing. Not even a facial tic. I began to wonder if I could move at all. I felt frozen in place, like someone had zapped me with a ray gun.
Is this where it would all end? Was I going to break down and let this audience see my shame? God, please no. I hung my head, remembering my sins. My ruin.
My now sweaty hands gripped the note cards as my heart pounded, so loud that I would swear the people sitting on the front row could hear the blood whooshing through my veins. They were all staring at me like I’d lost it. I had. I’d finally stepped off the razor’s edge I’d been walking for years.
I closed my eyes and thought of Weissnichtwo, rolling the word around in my head, letting the syllables soothe me. My words always made me feel better. Only it didn’t work this time because I’d broken wide open. Like a cake that’s been baked too long, I was done.
Finished.
I released my note cards to the floor and watched as they fluttered down like frightened little birds, escaping at last. I raised my head and faced the audience. Clearing my throat, I leaned over the podium until my lips were right on the microphone and delivered my new opening remarks, “Fuck Briarcrest Academy, and fuck you all.”
Finally, some of the pain and darkness that had been wrapped around my soul fell away.
I smiled for real this time without even trying.
It felt good to be bad.
“I never met a girl I couldn’t say goodbye to.”
–Leo Tate
WHAT THE FUCK just happened?
One thing for sure, Little Miss Buttercup just blew my mind. When she’d first walked up there all prim and proper, looking like she’d just stepped out of a Gap ad, I’d expected to suffer through some boring speech about Briarcrest Academy. But, she’d surprised me by telling us all to fuck off. Amused, I watched the reactions of the country club audience, most with their mouths gaping open, staring at the girl who’d just dissed the elite of BA. Welcome to Highland Park, Texas, an affluent suburb of Dallas and home to conservative past Presidents and white-gloved debutantes.
Nothing like my beloved Los Angeles, where I’d spent most of my life, first as a musician and then as a businessman. Yet
, the move here was a good one. We had relatives in Dallas, a cousin or two. And supposedly, this school was the best and that’s all I wanted for Sebastian, the chances I never had.
I checked out the girl on stage. She wasn’t a classically beautiful girl, or maybe just not the kind of pumped-up pretty I’m used to seeing at Club Vita, yet there was something compelling about her that had gotten my attention. From the moment she’d taken the stage, my eyes had followed her. Probably because she was tall and blonde and wealthy, a prime example of an American princess-type. I bet she was popular and the quarterback’s girlfriend. I bet she had a pet Chihuahua she carried around in her purse. No doubt, her parents gave her anything her heart desired. She was spoiled rotten and didn’t know shit about the real world.
Nora Blakely was everything I avoided when it came to girls. Her kind expected love and commitments, two things I’d run away from a long time ago.
But still I stared at her, now focused on her pouty, sexy mouth as it tilted up in a smile. Fuck. I looked around guiltily, wondering where the hell that thought had sprung from. Bad, Leo. Buttercup was not sexy. A pretty piece of jail bait, definitely. And I wasn’t touching that. Ever.
“Dude, she just said fuck,” my seventeen-year-old brother declared, grinning. “That’s what I call entertainment. Good choice on the new school, bro.”
I smacked the back of his head. “Language, Sebastian.”
He smirked.
We both looked back to the stage-spectacle where Buttercup was still standing. I couldn’t seem to stop my eyes from running over her long-as-hell legs and curvy breasts and—I made myself stop right there. Why was I daydreaming about some school girl anyway? I knew plenty of girls my own age who were available. It was just too damn hot in here, that’s all. You’d think they’d have enough money to pay for better air conditioning, considering the price tag of this place. I picked at my collar and wished I was back at Club Vita. I wanted out of this suit and back in my jeans.