by Rachel Jonas
This blight had been the fuel that lit the fire, which eventually led to the fight that nearly cost me my chance of admission here. The wrong girl said the wrong thing about this situation, and I lost it.
Completely.
My consolation prize for beating her bloody was a fractured knuckle and a late-term expulsion.
No one knows better than me that my family is screwed up, but that doesn’t give people the right to point that shit out.
Or … create an entire exposé, for the express purpose of humiliating me today.
I’m nearly to him now, and I have every intention to wipe that smug grin clean off him, but a familiar face pokes her head out of the counselling office, creating a barrier between West and me.
“Ms. Riley? My office, please.” Her timing is impeccable, but then I wonder if that isn’t the point. Perhaps Dr. Pryor is trying to save me from myself.
I halt, taking longer to do as she’s asked, but I remind myself why I’m here, why I’m letting this pissant get away with this crap.
If doing it for yourself isn’t enough, do it for Scar.
“Ms. Riley?” Dr. Pryor steps out of the doorframe completely, volleying a look between me and the guys, then stares me down as she crosses both arms over her chest. The glare she shoots me next is stern, and I know she isn’t playing.
Casting West a look that could kill, I brush by Dr. Pryor rougher than I mean to, and pass through the small waiting area before dropping down in the seat across from her desk. She rounds the corner of it, still giving me a look, and then takes her seat, too.
She pushes the length of dark dreadlocks over the shoulder of her gray blazer. She’s always super stern, but has also made more than one exception for me, so I like her well enough.
Rage burns through my veins at warp speed, which is precisely the reason my knee is bouncing like crazy. More than anything, I want to tear West’s eyes right out of the sockets. That’s about the only thing that will settle me.
“Mind telling me what this is all about?”
“Short version?” I snap. “That prick, W—”
I can’t get his name out. Not because I care about protecting him, but because of what I suspect about the way things run around here. If West or his family have enough pull, whatever I say will only make things worse.
Dr. Pryor’s brow quirks. “It looked like you were ready to pounce on West Golden a moment ago. Do I need to have him step in here to get some answers?”
Despite wanting to snitch on that tool more than I want my next breath, I suppress it all.
“No, ma’am,” I mumble under my breath.
The way Dr. Pryor purses her lips tightly suggests she’s unamused, but I’m not forced to say more than that.
“I’ve reviewed the surveillance content from earlier this morning. Looks like a group of ten slipped in wearing dark hoodies and plastered their paraphernalia all over the place. They were a little on the small side, so my guess is that the culprits are either a group of girls, or perhaps just underclassmen.”
That bastard is smart. He and his boys are larger than life, which means anyone who saw the footage would immediately know who was behind this. So, he used his status here to his advantage, coaxing others into doing his dirty work.
“A small crew from the custodial team are on their way to clean up the … artwork in the hallway. And since you seem determined not to share what you know, now seems like as good a time as any to discuss another pressing issue.”
When she folds her hands on her desk, my heart sinks. No good conversation ever starts that way.
“With the incident that took place before you left South Cypress, it’s made the job of helping you secure your future a bit more difficult, but it’s not a lost cause.”
I flex my once-fractured knuckle with the reminder, then stare as Dr. Pryor reaches for a file with my first and last name printed on the tab. She begins to pour through the stack of documents inside, while I sit wondering what this is about.
“I know this must have come up before now, but I don’t have anything on file regarding your plans to pay for college. You were accepted to Cypress Valley University, which is a great school, but I see nothing about covering expenses beyond what you’ll be able to acquire with financial aid. Am I missing something?”
Her question deserves an answer; I simply don’t have one.
When the stretch of silence between us grows, Dr. Pryor sighs and eventually closes the folder.
“Listen, Ms. Riley. I’m aware you’ve had a rough go at life, but I know a little more about that than you might think,” she shares. “Branch Street, born and raised.”
My eyes flash toward hers curiously. “That’s only a few blocks from my house. You lived there?”
She nods, and that stern look softens a little. “I was the first in my family to attend college, and I swore that once I finished I’d find some way to make a difference in that community, give kids from the south side a chance no one else is willing to offer. It’s the whole reason I started this program.”
Before this, I knew she was invested, but had no clue she was the founder of the program itself.
“So, while you might feel a little like a fish out of water here, know you’re not in this alone. I’m doing everything in my power to help you, but you have to meet me halfway.”
Another dim smile brightens her face, and it’s then that I realize she’s actually beautiful. Not at all the wicked witch I assumed she’d be, based solely on the fact that I naturally conclude such things about authority figures.
“I see here you played basketball all three previous years.”
Nodding, I agree. “That’s right.”
“I’m guessing you’ll be trying out while attending Cypress Prep as well?”
My lips part, but I choke on my words. In truth, I don’t want to spend the extra time out of the house, away from Scar. Last season, Mom and Hunter were still around, so that made a slight difference. However, now that they’re gone and I work whenever possible, joining the team will mean my schedule becomes even fuller.
“Actually, I thought I’d sit it out this year,” I begin, but I never get to finish.
“That won’t work. You need to try out,” she asserts. “You’ve got to get involved in as much as you can to pad your transcript. I’ve got a few leads on scholarships you might qualify for, but the requirements are strict. Which means we’ve got our work cut out,” she shares. “They’re not huge amounts, but possibly enough to cover your first year‘s overages for tuition and textbooks. So, aside from not getting into any more trouble, I need you to get involved in at least two auxiliaries. Basketball will cover one, but you’ll need another.”
Another thing to add to my plate.
Perfect.
“…Like what?” I ask, trying not to let my frustration show.
She reaches into her drawer and pulls out a flyer. “The school newspaper is short on help this year. I already told Mr. Dansk to expect you to drop in after school to introduce yourself.”
I could practically smell my future boredom. “Isn’t there something else? Something less time consuming? Something less … lame?”
Her brow quirks. “The Mathletes have room. Is trigonometry on weekends any less lame?”
And now I know she’s heavy on the sarcasm when provoked. Duly noted.
“School newspaper it is,” I concede.
The flyer is shoved across her desk for me to take. “Remember, Mr. Dansk after school. Then, basketball tryouts in November. Do you need a form for your physical?”
I shake my head. “Got one during orientation. Out of habit, I guess.”
She nods and then goes back to the mountain of paperwork on her desk. Halfway to the door, I glance back.
“You don’t have to go through all this trouble for me,” I admit. “So … thank you.”
A faint smile curves the corners of her mouth. “Close my door on your way out.”
@QweenPandora: W
hoa! Talk about starting the year off with a bang! Looks like someone’s got it out for NewGirl already. Although, I might think twice about provoking the sibling of a known killer. Pretty sure there are stats that suggest murderous predispositions can pass through DNA. Or … it’s entirely possible I just made that up. Either way, we’ll all have our eyes set on NewGirl. Can never be too safe, right?
Later, Peeps.
—P
Chapter 8
BLUE
“So, YOU’RE the one Pandora’s been going on about? The one KingMidas is into? OMG, Blue, you’re basically famous!”
Rolling my eyes at Scar’s text, I shove the phone down in my pocket. She likely hadn’t made the connection until this morning’s post referencing Hunter. Leave it to my sister to see the silver lining in this fiasco.
Leave it to my sister to think West Golden is a god.
Demon is more like it.
It’s true what they say. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Or, in this case, think of the devil and he shall appear.
I spot him across the courtyard. There’s no denying how good it would feel to rush across the lawn, march right up to their table, and dump that entire can of soda on his head. Instead, with Ms. Pryor’s words from a few hours ago still fresh in my brain, I just stare as he chugs it down. This guy doesn’t have a care in the world.
When he lowers the can from his lips with a smirk, nodding once in my direction, it’s like he’s taunting me. King Midas knows he’s untouchable, knows I’m alone here.
Clutching the edges of my lunch tray so tight I could snap it in half, I double back toward the cafeteria, deciding I’ll eat inside. Beats having to stare at his hateful mug while I eat.
I only grip the handle when my name is called. Well … a version of my name, anyway.
“New Girl.”
Peering up, there’s only one person close enough for me to have heard her voice. A girl propped against a tree, not making eye contact as she discreetly puffs smoke from the side of her mouth.
“Are you … talking to me?” I ask. Maybe I was mistaken, because I have no clue who she is.
“You’re the one Pandora calls New Girl, right? The one from the posters?”
Great. Just how I want to be identified. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
She flicks ashes from the end of the cigarette hidden behind her thigh, out of sight from the teachers and monitors hanging around. Dark, inquisitive eyes look me over as a breeze incites an explosion of long, black curls that frame her face.
“Who’d you manage to piss off so early in the game?” I don’t miss the smile that accompanies the question. It isn’t menacing.
Taking slow steps toward her, still holding my tray, I sigh. “Eh, you know. A little bit of everyone, apparently.” That’s all I’m willing to say, hoping to avoid widening the target on my back even more.
An easy laugh puffs from her mouth before dropping the butt of a cigarette in the grass. The sole of her heavy boot comes down to snuff it out. Then, she eyes me again, with the same scrutiny as before.
“You got a real name?”
“I do,” is the only answer I give, and my response seems to amuse her.
“Just what the world needs. Another smart-ass,” she points out. “Fine. Name’s Lexi Rodriguez. You are?”
Her feigned politeness draws a laugh from me, too. “Wait. Did you not read the posters? Someone made sure everyone knows who I am.”
Her shoulders lift with an indifferent shrug. “I skimmed but stopped when I realized it was just more of the usual toxic bullshit that circulates around here. These robots thrive on grinding each other’s self-esteem to dust.”
Lexi’s perfect description of West has me glancing at him again and, sure enough, he’s watching.
“I’m Blue,” I finally answer. “And, before you ask, that’s not short for anything. It’s just Blue.”
“Wasn’t gonna ask,” she replies.
With how everyone else here seems hyper obsessed with others’ business, her statement comes as a surprise. Then again, there’s a laidback vibe about her that seems genuine.
My guard lowers just a little, and I drop down to sit in the shadow beneath the thick canopy of branches and leaves. I’m starving, so I immediately start in on the apple and yogurt I grabbed from the lunch line. Being careful, of course, to avoid foods that set off my allergy.
Peering up, I watch as Lexi slides down the tree trunk to sit, too. Seeing she’s currently snacking on nothing but a bag of peanut M&M’s, I hold out the bag of chips I hadn’t touched yet.
“I’m not gonna eat these. You should take them,” I suggest.
Pretty sure she’s not light on lunch because she can’t afford more, but knowing what it’s like to go hungry, I’m still inclined to offer.
That wild, beautiful hair of hers quivers when she shakes her head. “I’m cool,” she answers, but then holds her bag of candy out to me. “Want some?”
“Would, but things go bad for me when nuts are involved.”
When she smiles, I know she’s about to say something crass. Jules always does when I’m not careful of my wording.
“Things always go bad when nuts are involved. Pretty sure it has something to do with the dudes they’re attached to, though.”
My smile widens. “Facts.”
She’s quiet for a second, but then scoffs suddenly. Like there’s a bad taste in her mouth or something. However, when I look up and follow her gaze, she’s eyeing West’s table and I get it.
There, he and his brothers sit front and center, like royalty. Surrounded by their crowd of underlings, each one vying for just a morsel of the trio’s attention. It’s disgusting the way they fall over themselves, just for a chance of being accepted into their world.
Pathetic.
“They’re all just so … fake,” Lexi declares, and I don’t disagree.
“Those are the future leaders of Cypress Pointe,” I say back, adding a lackluster, “Lucky us.”
“Thing is, some of them weren’t always so pretentious. Seems like the moment we got to high school, the girls turned into blithering idiots who only make moves that earn the attention of some guy. Meanwhile, the dudes became pussy-crazed nymphos who think the sun rises and sets on their asses.”
“I think that epidemic is widespread, even beyond Cypress Prep. Unfortunately,” I add. “Boys, in general, suck.”
Nodding, she doesn’t object to the point I’ve just made. “Do you know who everyone is yet?”
I shake my head instead of speaking with my mouth full.
She points and I cast my gaze on West and crew once again.
“Tall Brunette is Parker Holiday—head of the dance squad, head groupie of the Golden boys. West, in particular,” Lexi adds. “Daddy owns a few luxury car dealerships across the state.”
The designer handbag perched on the table in front of Parker suddenly seems fitting, considering the fortune I imagine her father has amassed.
“The two blondes beside her are Ariana and Heidi. Both rich. Both on the dance squad,” Lexi continues. “The other brunette and the red head are also on the squad, but I can’t remember their names, which goes to show how important they are.”
Laughing, I lean back to rest on my palms, balancing the tray on my lap.
“The three seated directly across from the triplets are Austin, Trip, and Ryder—more football Neanderthals. And the chick who’s almost too pretty to look at, the one with the braids sitting next to Dane, is Joss Francois,” she explains.
“Another groupie?”
I expect Lexi to confirm my suspicion, but she doesn’t.
“Far from it. Peep that disinterested, ‘I’d rather be at the beach’ look on her perfectly made-up face,” Lexi answers. “I’m actually willing to bet she’s the only chick at that table who was invited to sit there.”
Admittedly, I’m intrigued. “What’s her story?”
“Well, she’s super smart. As in, our most likely candida
te for valedictorian,” Lexi shares. “Daddy’s in politics and Mom’s Chief of Staff at Cypress Pointe Memorial Hospital. She also has this super loaded uncle who’s top dog at a major marketing firm. As if they don’t already have enough money, her parents are shareholders in a few startups that took off. To summarize, Joss is what I like to call rich, rich,” Lexi jokes.
“Sounds accurate,” I say, eyeing the lineup at that table. Their carefree demeanors, their outward perfection.
“She and her parents spent the entire summer visiting extended family in Haiti and Cuba,” Lexi continues. “And who can forget her sweet-sixteen on their yacht a couple years ago? I wasn’t invited, but Pandora posted all the pics. I’ve even heard rumors that she’s got a solid gold bust of herself showcased in her bedroom, but that’s probably not entirely true,” she mumbles. “But, yeah, she is one of the dancers. However, she’s not like the other girls. At least not in the Golden boys’ eyes. They respect her; therefore, the entire football team respects her, which means so does everyone else because we’re, apparently, all mindless drones when all is said and done.”
Well, at least I have one of my questions answered. I knew the guys were athletes, but it’s now been revealed that football is their sport. Still, I don’t quite understand what it is about Joss that’s earned her such high esteem. I study her during a quiet moment. She’s remarkably gorgeous, yes, but so are all the other girls. Besides, I know for a fact that a girl’s good looks don’t make her an automatic shoo in for respect.
“So, what’s the deal? She dating one of them or something?”
Lexi’s brow arches upward. “Nope, but she and Dane are besties, which is almost the same, I guess. They’ve been tight since, like, early middle school. Everybody knows he’d get on that if the opportunity arose, but it’ll never happen. They’re complete opposites.”
After taking a sip, I lower the water bottle from my lips before speaking. “How so?”