Fallen Heir

by Erin Watt

  Only one has screwed around with his teacher.

  This time it’s my blazer that feels tight and itchy, as guilt starts pouring through my veins. Dammit. Why’d I ever give in to the temptation of Ms. Mann in the first place? It was stupid. So stupid. And for what? So I could have a five-minute feel-good experience? I’m such an idiot.

  I cross my arms and slide lower in my chair. Over her shoulder, Hartley casts a sympathetic glance, which I avoid by staring at my desk.

  I know what she’s thinking. Easton Royal’s the dumbest ass I know. Why am I even with him?

  But she’s not really with me, is she? She kissed me at the top of the Ferris wheel. What does that even mean? Probably nothing.

  Halfway into my fit of self-pity, I straighten up. Because, screw this. What do I care what Hartley, an outcast that her family doesn’t even talk to, thinks about me? What do I care what anybody here at Astor thinks? I didn’t even bone Ms. Mann. If I’m going to be crucified for having sex with a teacher, I should actually get to have sex with her.

  I give myself a fierce shake and drawl, “What? There’s someone being naughty besides me? Stand up and show yourself. There’s only room for one asshole here at Astor, and I’m currently occupying that slot.”

  A nervous laugh spreads among the gossipy whispers.

  “Actually, I think it’s her locker they’re searching.” Glory awkwardly points to Hartley.

  “Me?” Hartley blurts out.

  “You’re four sixty-five, right?”

  Hartley nods warily.

  “Pretty sure it was yours.”

  The whispers rise to a dull roar as everyone starts speculating what Hartley could’ve done. She’s a mystery to most of the students here, having appeared out of nowhere after three years of absence. She’s not involved in any activities. Her Astor Park-mandated elective is music and she spends her study periods in the private music rooms, away from the rest of the student body.

  Except for the couple of football games she attended where she sat with Ella and Val, Hartley’s been mostly absent from the Astor scene.

  I hear snatches of conversation.

  “…she’s been hanging around Ella. Bet she’s one of her stripper friends.”

  “…didn’t her father have to drop out of the mayor race because of a scandal?”

  “…rumor is she and Royal were having sex in the music room.”

  If I can hear them, Hartley can, too. I reach over and give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She freezes when I touch her and then I feel a tiny flinch, a shrug of sorts, a silent brushoff.

  Stung, I let my hand drop to the desk.

  The door opens again. Everyone’s heads swivel toward it.

  When Ms. Mann enters, I brace myself for another pitiful expression. But her chin is up and she’s surveying all of us as if she’s the queen and we’re her worthless minions. Then she moves aside and Headmaster Beringer appears.

  The entire room falls silent.

  “Ms. Wright,” the headmaster barks, “if you would gather your materials and follow us.” He crooks his hand in Hartley’s direction.

  She doesn’t move immediately.

  Beringer clears his throat.

  With a soft sound of dismay, Hartley pops to her feet, grabs her stuff, and walks to the door, books clutched to her chest, spine as stiff and straight as a steel pole. Beringer holds the door open until Hartley passes him. The two exit, leaving Ms. Mann inside the room.

  “Open your books to chapter four and read The Chain Rule,” she announces. “I want you to do problems one through twenty-two.”

  “Twenty-two?” Owen balks. “It’ll take ten minutes to do one of these equations.”

  “Then you best get started or you’ll get to do fifty problems before tomorrow,” Ms. Mann snaps.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  We all apply ourselves, because clearly Ms. Mann isn’t messing around today.

  I barely get all the problems done before the bell rings. My attention kept straying to the door, wondering when Hartley would return. She never does.

  Pash pounces on me the minute I step into the hall. He’d been waiting outside the classroom. “Dude, Owen just texted and said Hartley Wright got arrested.”

  I sigh. “She didn’t get arrested. Her locker was searched.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  “No clue.” I stalk over to my locker and shove my books in.

  “She doing something illegal?”

  “Not that I know of.” When a few papers spill out, I bend down to pick them up. They’re my calc notes, I realize.

  The toe of a navy-blue pump presses down on the papers.

  “What are these, Mr. Royal?”

  I peer up at Ms. Mann. “Notes.”

  “They look like notes to my class. In fact, they look like answers to my last two pop quizzes.” She extends her hand, palm up.

  I shuffle the papers together, rise, and stick them back into my locker. “First, they aren’t answers to your pop quizzes, and second, even if they were, what would it matter? Those quizzes are over.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because it’s the truth.” I slam my locker shut.

  “Did you share these notes with Ms. Wright?”

  A big red light goes off in my head. I can’t lie, not with Hartley possibly being in trouble, but I can’t tell the truth, because I don’t know how it will affect her.

  “First, I get Cs, so a student using me to cheat off would be dumb. Second, I didn’t realize sharing notes from class was inappropriate. Good to know.” I signal for Pash. “Ready to spot me? I want to work on my guns today.”

  He flicks a glance toward Ms. Mann and then back to me. “It’s leg day for me,” he says promptly.

  “Isn’t it too cold for shorts, Mr. Bhara?” Ms. Mann snipes. Technically, we’re only allowed to wear shorts when it’s warm out. Warm is a relative term in Pash’s mind. He wears shorts and Timbs year ’round. Doesn’t matter if it’s forty degrees out. He’s sporting shorts.

  “No, ma’am. Sky’s out, thighs out.” He thrusts a leg out, model-style, toward our teacher.

  “It’s too bad the administration doesn’t do something about kids who break school rules,” a sickly sweet voice says.

  I whirl around to find Felicity sauntering up to us. Great.

  Glaring at Pash, she adds, “Our reputation as the best in the country is being ruined and no one seems to care. Shameful.”

  Ms. Mann nods regally. “I agree, Miss Worthington. It is shameful.”

  Instead of giving Felicity the trashy response she deserves, I hustle Pash down the hall.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, a little bewildered.

  “Thanks for having my back.”

  “Always.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I think Hartley might be in real trouble.”

  “What?”

  “Dunno. Like I said, her locker was searched, and Beringer came to get her before class started.” I give him a sideways glance. “You didn’t say anything about Ms. Mann and me, did you?”

  He frowns. “’Course not. Why would I?”

  “Right.” I stop just short of the Admin office. “It’s out there, though.”

  “You weren’t very discreet about it,” he points out.

  “I know.” I rub my forehead. I’m starting to feel a dull ache at my temples, but before I can start banging my head against the wall, the office door opens and Hartley appears.

  “What happened?”

  “I…” She has a dazed look on her face. “I can’t even…”

  I immediately take her arm and direct her toward the back exit. Pash hurries after us, but Hartley doesn’t seem to notice him. She keeps shaking her head in astonishment.

  “I’m being suspended for the rest of the week, and a letter is being put in my permanent record.”

  Behind us, Pash whistles.

  “For what?” I demand.

  She gulps.
“For cheating. I got a really good score on the last quiz because I used your notes to study. I didn’t realize that was cheating.”

  “It’s not cheating. Is that what they accused you of?” I say angrily. “That’s bullshit. My dad will take care of this.” I whip out my phone and start one-hand texting.

  “No,” Hartley protests. “Please don’t do that.”

  Reluctantly, I slide the phone back in my pocket. My jaw remains tense as I ask, “What exactly did Beringer say?”

  “That my scores were statistically so much better than how I performed before that it must be because of some type of outside help. He asked if I had tutoring. I said no. He asked if someone helped me. I said no. I forgot about your notes, because when they asked if someone helped me, I imagined someone sitting beside me, like a tutor, you know?”

  Pash and I both nod.

  “Easy mistake,” Pash says gently.

  “But then my guidance counselor—he was there, too—pulled out an answer sheet.”

  “To the quiz?” I ask.

  She nods miserably. “They found it in my locker folded and taped into the back of All About the Girl,” she mumbles, referring to the book we’re reading in Feminist Thought.

  My mind’s whirling. The pieces are starting to fall into place. Ms. Mann looking smug instead of scared. Felicity blabbering on about Astor’s declining reputation.

  Oh hell no.

  “Let’s go,” I growl, taking Hartley’s wrist.

  “Where?” she squeaks.

  “Yeah, where?” Pash echoes.

  “To clear Hartley’s name.”

  It’s easy to find Felicity. She hasn’t moved from her locker—it’s as if she was waiting for me. A couple of frenemies flank either side of her. One of them happens to be Claire.

  I raise my eyebrows and Claire responds by jutting her chin. Is this show of defiance something I should care about? Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I dismiss her and turn to Felicity.

  “Felicity.” I bare my teeth in a cheerless smile.

  “Easton.” Her smile is equally icy.

  “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but you need to stop.”

  “Why should I?” she says.

  I’m momentarily stunned into silence. I thought for sure she’d deny that she did anything wrong.

  “Wait a minute.” Hartley shoves me out of the way, as if it’s just dawned on her why I made a beeline for Felicity. “You planted those notes in my locker?” Her head swivels to me. “She planted the notes?”

  I nod grimly. Felicity smiles again.

  Shock and anger flood Hartley’s gray eyes, darkening them to metallic silver. “Why!” she growls at Felicity. “Why the hell would you do that! I could’ve been kicked out of school!”

  “So?”

  Hartley lunges forward, and it takes both me and Pash to yank her away from Felicity. Catfights are hot as hell, but not when Felicity Worthington is one of the fighters. And not when Hartley is so obviously close to tears.

  “Enough!” I jab a finger in front of Felicity. “You’re gonna pay for this, you hear me? You can’t just go around destroying people’s reputations—”

  Felicity interrupts with a loud, genuinely amused laugh. “Oh my God! You are such a hypocrite!” Her continued laughter makes my blood boil. “You and Reed destroyed Ella’s reputation before she even got to Astor! And you tried to destroy mine with that stunt you pulled at my party!”

  Fuck, that drunken mistake is going to haunt me forever. I am never allowed to drink again. Ever.

  “So, no, I couldn’t care less if you”—Felicity sneers at Hartley—“get kicked out of school. Actually, I’m disappointed Beringer went so easy on you.” She pushes away from the lockers and brushes by us. Over her shoulder she says, “By the way, I’m just getting started.”

  Her friends follow, including Claire, who smirks as she passes Hartley. “Your ass looks huge in that picture,” she snarks. “You might want to look into a gym membership.”

  Claire flounces off before Hartley can respond. She joins up with Felicity and the other girls, and their laughter echoes through the hall. I can still hear it even as they all turn the corner.

  Chapter 26

  Hartley’s face is beet red. Pash, meanwhile, gapes in the direction where Felicity and her posse headed off. “What is wrong with her?” he marvels.

  I let out a ragged breath. “No clue.”

  “She probably needs a good—”

  I sense more than see Hartley about to explode and so I slap a hand over Pash’s mouth before he gets us both in trouble.

  “Don’t say it,” I warn.

  “What?” he mumbles and shoves me off. “I was going to say she needs a good kick in the ass.”

  I give him a sure you did look before straightening my jacket. He responds by pulling his phone from his pocket, and starts swiping.

  “You humiliated her,” Hartley says finally. “Or we did. She said she was dating you and you kept denying it. Then you told her she could break up with you but instead you went to her house, her party, and embarrassed her in front of all her friends.”

  “And I guess this was the icing on the cake,” Pash remarks.

  We look over at him for clarification. He holds up his phone.

  Dammit. The picture that girl took at the pier last night stares back at me. She used the Astor hashtag, and although she posted the picture just this morning, there are already tons of likes. More than a thousand people have enjoyed the sight of Hartley and me staring moodily into each other’s eyes with the Ferris wheel in the background.

  Hartley groans. “Oh God, it’s the top post on the feed. If that’s not rubbing salt in Felicity’s wound, I don’t know what is. I’d want revenge, too.”

  “It’s a nice shot,” Pash comments.

  “A nice shot?” I say incredulously.

  “Yeah. Nice shot. Whoever took it used high speed and caught the lights. It looks professional.” He scowls at me. “So it’s the top post because it’s a good photo, not because you two are in it. Sorry to burst your giant ego.”

  I return his glare. “She’s targeting Hartley because of me. That’s not my giant ego talking. That’s the truth.”

  “Can you two stop fighting?” Hartley interrupts. “Does it really matter why the picture is popular?”

  “She’s right,” Pash says. “The question is, how do we get Felicity to calm the eff down?”

  I arch an eyebrow. “We?”

  “Well, sure. I don’t want to see Hart here”— he knocks her lightly on the shoulder—“take the fall for something she didn’t do. So let’s appease Felicity.”

  Hartley musters up a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Why are we appeasing her?” I ask.

  “Because you can’t beat her up.”

  “There are other things.”

  “Like what?” Hartley says suspiciously.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out because I don’t have a clue what to do. The last time a mean girl tried to take my family down, violence was the answer.

  “Remember when Jordan Carrington taped that girl to the side of the school?” I finally say. “Ella beat her up.”

  Pash and Hartley look at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “I think you’ve been hit in the head too many times,” Hartley says. She nudges Pash. “You don’t have to get involved. This is messy. I don’t even want to be involved.”

  He shrugs. “It’s our senior year. I got nothing better to do. Besides, who’s to say I won’t be next? I’m Easton’s second favorite person at Astor.”

  This draws a glimmer of a smile from Hartley. “Yeah? Who’s first?”

  “You are, of course. Then there’s Ella. But me and her are tied. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that between us, though, because she’s got a mean right.” He playfully rubs a hand down his arm.

  “Having been punched by Ella more than once, I can say he’s not wrong,” I volunteer, appr
eciating the lightheartedness that Pash is trying to inject.

  As some of the stress lines in Hartley’s face smooth away, I decide that Pash is going in the right direction. We need more jokes. More laughter. Life’s been a downer lately. What happened to having fun?

  “Let’s throw a party,” I announce.

  Hartley’s jaw drops. “A what?”

  “A party. You know, an ‘I don’t have to go to school anymore’ party.”

  “I’m in.” Pash holds up his hand, and we exchange a high-five.

  Hartley, however, starts walking away.

  “Wait up,” I call, abandoning Pash to run after her. He comes, too. “You don’t like the idea of a party?”

  “I have to work.” Her voice is flat and her expression is shuttered.

  “We can party after you’re done with work.”

  She stops abruptly. “A party? Really, Easton? I just got suspended. That’s nothing to celebrate.”

  Beside me, Pash sobers up. “Are your parents going to kill you? Because mine would kill me,” he admits.

  Hartley turns ghost white.

  Damn.

  “I guess a party is a bad idea,” I mumble, feeling stupid as hell.

  I didn’t consider the ramifications of her suspension, and I don’t think she fully did either until Pash brought up family. First thing the headmaster is going to do is call her parents. And since she’s currently not allowed to see anyone in her family for some mysterious reason, this isn’t going to go over well for her.

  “Want me to talk to your folks?” I offer. “I can explain—”

  “No.” If possible, she grows paler. “Don’t say a word to them. Not one word.” She grabs my blazer, digging her fingers into my arm. “Please.”

  “Okay. I won’t,” I assure her.

  She drops my arm. “I’ve got to go.”

  Before I can blink, she’s hurrying away. When I start to follow, Pash holds me back.

  “Give her some time alone with her family, man.”

  “She doesn’t—” I stop myself before I spill shit I’m not supposed to talk about. But watching Hartley run away isn’t a good idea, either. “I can’t just stand around doing nothing, dude. I need to do something.”