by Mj Fields
Copyright © 2020 by MJ Fields
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Editor: C&D Editing
Proofreading by: Julie Deaton
Photo Credit: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Kaz Vanderwaard
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Contents
Synopsis
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
Epilogue
Next In Steel
Justified Steel
Also by MJ Fields
About the Author
Thank you
Synopsis
I traded my plaid skirt for a navy blazer, my religion for a red Solo cup, and finally my Bible for a bong, just to fit in.
He helped me jeté from outcast to the “it girl.”
In becoming this new, improved version of myself, my truths became laced with lies.
I thought he was my savior, but it turns out that he was really the devil in designer.
Seashore Academy
Chapter One
Idiom
The grass is always greener
on the other side of the fence.
Truth
The grass is greener
where there is rain and sun.
From where I sit now, there is nothing but sand, and sand sucks when it’s too cold to wash it off your body in the ocean. It’s March on the Jersey Shore, so that’s not gonna happen, unless I were to get drunk, something I’ve yet to do in all my seventeen years, like the rest of these fools.
Sure, I’ve drank, but never to the point that I would take a near polar bear plunge like they’re doing. And, okay, not all of them are fools, just the ones stripping down to their skivvies and jumping in the Atlantic in the dark … in March.
I’m surrounded by my fellow ensemble members of Seashore Academy’s spring musical, Newsies. Yep, us lowly members of the ensemble were not invited, via the school’s unofficial app, The Seashore Sound, to attend the also nonofficial cast party, so we created our own.
Right before my family, and my extended family, moved to Mantoloking and we all started school here at Seashore, I discovered the app.
The face of the app had major appeal. It showcased the student government. All four of the officers could also have been on covers of magazines.
Harrison Reeves, vice president of the student body, junior, and captain of the crew team, is absolutely delicious. His bio includes information, such as his SAT scores being 1550. Tall, dark-ish, and extremely handsome. One click on his picture brought me to his IG page, where I saw picture after picture that could land him on the cover of GQ. And if that didn’t solidify him as my future crush, the fact that his family owns the largest collection of Broadway houses certainly did.
Once upon a time, my dream was the ballet, but after last year, I realized I would never fit into the mold of a ballerina, so I turned my passion and focused on the possibility of Broadway.
Why did I change focus? Because my body changed, and I had no choice.
Unlike my twin brother’s, Justice, six-inch vertical spurt that had doctors concerned about his accelerated growth, my shit went horizontal. A year ago, my ass was on a road trip heading to Kardashian-ville. No ass injections here. Just a lovely growth spurt that started at my once B cups—now a large C—and moved to my ass.
My cousins, Brisa and Tris, are practically holding their breath, hoping they’ll be as “blessed” as I am in those two departments. Because their mom, my aunt Bekah, is “thick” in all the right places. But that wasn’t the case for me. So now, knowing I didn’t trait after my mom, except in height, they’re worried.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m a dancer, and not to toot my own horn, but I’m really good. Until my growth spurt, I was always a featured dancer or soloist, and I never had to wear a bra under my dance leotard.
Dad was livid after my end of the year recital that I didn’t tell them that things had drastically changed for me. He was even more angry at the fact that the girls who seemingly took my place were truthfully less talented, less trained, and less disciplined as I always had been than me failing to tell him about the changes.
Cursed by the name I was given, I always spoke my truth. And the truth was that my body didn’t fit the mold anymore. I held back the fact that I would have been blind to it, if not for the snickers and overheard corner conversations of those I thought were my friends at the studio. Even the most honest, loyal, and truthful people want to bury their insecurities.
When—unbeknownst to me—Dad called out Madame Gloria on it, she denied it had anything to do with my body’s changes. She told him that I wasn’t training as hard as I had been, that because of it, I’d lost the confidence it took to fill the roles that she needed me for in the past.
When I began eating less and less, in hopes that my body would change, my parents, who had already nearly begged me to quit the dance school, decided to end my enrollment without my knowledge. I was pissed at first. But then, in staying truthful with myself, I had to eventually admit that it was causing me mental harm, and if it continued, it could cause physical harm, as well.
I was still training, just not at a school. I had a private instructor, Julie, who I met with three days a week for three hours before the move.
Justice was the only person, other than our parents, who knew my ugly truth.
But that’s all in the past, until moments like this when insecurity rears its ugly head again.
Back to The Seashore Sound …
The president of the student body, Tobias Easton, also HAF, but his scowl, even on a screen, was anything but inviting. He’s a senior, plays no sports, and when you click on the picture to get to his IG, you’ll see that it’s private. His profile picture was of him and a girl. I would have assumed it was his girlfriend, if they didn’t look similar.
Treasurer, Miles
Jameson, good-looking. Dark brown hair and eyes, perfectly proportioned facial features—almost too perfect—and extremely preppy. He’s the debate and STEM team captain. His pictures were of family, travel, and food.
The last picture was the student government secretary, Kai Hatt. Tall, dark, handsome and, just like the others, hot. His IG pictures were all with the other boys that make up the student body government.
After getting past the face of the app, and having done enough swiping, I quickly realized that The Seashore Sound … was basically the equivalent of a gossip magazine or column. Nearly all the junior and seniors had a profile that, after reading, could not possibly have been of their own creation. Some were rude, so fucking rude it hurt my heart for the victims of the hate without even knowing them. It was a high-tech news rag. I’m assuming it’s mostly fake news used as the biggest bullying tool at Seashore.
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 bu
tt-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—”