by Jaye Cox
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright © 2020 by Jaye Cox & Crystal North
Dedication
Warning
Spotify Playlists
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
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Other books By Crystal North
Stalker Links
Acknowledgements
About the Author
F*ck You
Knox Academy - Term One
By Crystal North & Jaye Cox
Copyright © 2020 by Jaye Cox & Crystal North
ISBN:
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it on a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
Jaye Cox & Crystal North asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
First Edition.
Cover art by Soxational Cover Art
Formatting by Formatting and Design by Jaye.
Editing by CB Editing Services
Dedication
To Baxter Branson, for bringing this story to life.
P.s Baxter is mine (Jaye). I touched him first.
WARNING
THIS BOOK CARRIES AN 18+ WARNING.
F*CK YOU IS A MEDIUM TO FAST BURN DARK ROMANCE. IT CONTAINS HOT GUYS, FOUL LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL SCENES, INCLUDING SOME GRAPHIC PHYSICAL BULLYING, AND SEXUAL ASSAULT TRIGGERS.
I WOULD LOVE FOR YOU TO READ THIS BOOK, BUT PLEASE BE AWARE THAT IT COMES WITH A WARNING.
Spotify Playlists
F*ck You #1
Slate’s CD
Onyx Jogging Mix
Chapter One
Peering out of the tinted windows as we pull up outside the campus, I take a breath and enjoy my last minute of freedom. I could open the door and make a run for it, but for the last half an hour there has been nothing but trees.
The old wrought iron gates open, reminding me of an opening scene from almost all vampire movies. The car pulls forward, cutting through the shadows of the trees dancing across the pebbled driveway.
Anger radiates from my pores, remembering the day my new fate was decided. I’m innocent – I told the judge as much – but with a rap sheet of misdemeanours like mine, the judge said I needed to realise I’m only a child for a few more days, and that it was time to grow up.
Then my mother walked in. Ha, what a joke! The absentee mother that up and left her family in the middle of the night. The woman who used to burn and torture her daughter over the slightest wrongdoing. Who spent days, if not weeks at a time, completely out of it on booze and pills. The woman who didn’t give us a reason, just vanished. You’d think I’d be glad to see the back of her and the abuse, but what eight-year-old understands that she’s better off without a mother like that? After that, she simply became the incubator to me. No familial connection necessary.
And yet, she still managed to influence my life. Here I am, after she managed to persuade the judge that the university her new partner runs for wayward children could help me with my behaviour and transform me into a respectable adult in their four-year program. Four years! Can you believe it? All I allegedly did was plant weed cookies in the teachers’ lounge of my high school, but apparently drugging people is frowned upon. How was I supposed to know Mr Jenkins would eat all the damn cookies? Had he never heard of self-control?
My father – the traitor – also agreed that this could be an opportunity to make something of my life, that adding 15,000 kms between my friends and I should keep me out of trouble. I refused to speak to the incubator, but in the end I told them I’d come willingly, as long as no one knew I was related to her. She’s nothing to me and that’s the way I plan on keeping it.
I’m not stupid. I’ll bide my time until I turn eighteen and then I’ll get myself kicked out. I didn’t really do anything bad enough to warrant jail time, so they’ll send me home, where I can go on with my life and forget the incubator even exists.
Why would she pop up now after all these years and start acting like she cares? More importantly, what’s her ulterior motive? There has to be one.
The driver slows to a stop. The building looks ancient, and moss grows between the sandstone bricks. If this is a school for rich pricks’ wayward children, then why haven’t they invested in an industrial gurney to clean the building up a bit?
The driver opens my door and I hesitate, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the limo. A girl about my age is standing in front of the black double doors with the school’s silver logo embossed on the front. She doesn’t look like a bad kid: Her golden hair is perfectly straight, not a hair out of place, and it’s all held in place by a thin material headband. I give her the once over, trying to find something wrong with her. The school uniform is pristine. The black pleated skirt is the perfect length, not showing off too much leg but short enough that it still looks trendy. Her white blouse is buttoned to the top, a black bow tie tucked between the collar. Even her frilly white ankle socks are perfect. There is no damn way this girl is anything less than an angel. A stunning, tall, slim angel at that too.
I managed to get my incubator’s height, but not much else. My curvy body comes from my Nonna, my breasts too large for my frame, my hips and thighs hold a little weight, just enough to make me look out of proportion for my height. I’m not the kind of girl who gets all hung up on her weight. It’s what I have to work with, and I like the skin I'm in, but damn blondie looks good.
She approaches me with a smile. “Hi, I’m Elsie, your student guide.” She holds out her hand. I look down at it and back to her. She retracts her hand but doesn’t seem offended.
“Amelie.” I at least offer her my name – it’s not like it’s her fault I’m stuck here.
“Come, I will show you around, and help to get you settled.” She turns and walks back up the stairs to t
he front doors, pushing one side wide open. I run to catch up. She is significantly taller than I am, and my short legs struggle to keep up with her.
It’s boring as fuck. As I traipse around after her, she spouts a load of shit about architecture and history. Seriously, what teenager gives a damn about buttresses and bargeboards? If the kids who go here are as anal about this crap as she is, I know I’ll never fit in. Not that I plan on staying long, anyway.
After the tour, Elsie leaves me to settle into my room, and we agree to meet in the dining hall for dinner. With a parting, “Make sure you read the rulebook on your desk”, she disappears off down the hall. We’re not allowed mobile phones here, they have to be earned as a privilege, but Elsie informed me that very few people manage it. Apparently, we can call home once a week on a Sunday using the landline in our rooms. Didn't they rip those out in the 90s? I bet the calls are monitored. I cross the room and try to dial out. Nothing.
The small handheld tablet that is waiting for me on my desk is used to load our timetables and has a school-based email system to contact our teachers. We can also access a school map that works the exact same way as google maps. Just, no actual internet access on it. God forbid we contact the big bad world from this prison disguised as a learning establishment.
I flick through the rules booklet. A breach in rules is a serious offense here. I figure it really can’t be that different to any other school. One rule does catch my eye though: All students must be in full school uniform between the hours of 8am and 5pm, the only exception is for your chosen sport. Are they serious? We have to do some kind of sport! I have the coordination of a toddler; tripping over my own feet happens at least once a day. I’m no psychic, but these square heeled leather school shoes they expect me to wear are a certain death trap.
I flick open my one suitcase which contains hoodies, yoga pants, sneakers and hats. I have a couple of pairs of ripped jeans and some tops, nothing fancy. We didn’t have much back home anyway, and because I come from a tropical climate, I was just told to pack my winter clothes and leave the rest. Ha, this is as good as it gets! I managed to steal the hoodies from my brother, Aadi, and our best friend, Smalls. He got his nickname because the guy is huge. I know it seems stupid, but it’s the only name I have ever known him by. My brother was cool with our friendship when he realised Smalls and I would only ever be friends, despite us both wanting more. He’s my wingman. Or so I keep telling myself.
I shove everything into the drawers provided for me, not bothering to fold them, knowing damn well they will end up all over the floor by tomorrow. I hate order and thrive on chaos. A clean room gives me hives.
Someone taps on the door and I shout for them to come in. I scowl when I notice it’s my incubator.
“What are you doing here?” I snap. She looks like a damn Stepford wife, the polar opposite to the mother I remember; one who wore her pyjamas most of the day, sporting a messy bun.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” Her new English accent grates on me. She doesn’t even sound like my mother. But then again, it’s been close to a decade, so I guess we’ve both changed. Closing the door, she takes a step closer to me. I stand against the far wall, my hands defensively crossed against my chest.
“And what tone should I take with the woman who abandoned me and decided almost ten years later that she would drag me halfway across the damn world and cut me off from my family and friends?” Her face shows no signs of emotion. Must be the Botox.
“With respect, I saved your ass and you know it. I was hoping that we could build some kind of relationship. I know you will never see me as your mother, and I have come to terms with that. I do expect you to be at dinner every Sunday night. Our house is off the school property slightly.”
“No.”
“This is non-negotiable, but I figured you would say no, so I have a deal for you. If you come to our house for dinner on Sundays, as well as Tuesday for your birthday...” I scoff, surprised that she actually remembers my birthday. “While you are there, you can have access to this.” She holds up a brand new iPhone. “You can call your friends, your father, your brother. I’m pretty sure, with it being his birthday today, you’ll want to speak to him and catch up. But under no circumstances can it leave the house. You are free to use it anytime you come to visit. I have a room set up for you there. All the boys also have rooms.”
“Boys?” What damn boys? No one mentioned anything about that.
“Monty’s sons. You will be introduced on Sunday. They are good boys, and I hope they can be a good influence on you.”
I huff out my frustration. Great, I have almost step-brothers and they are damn nerds. At least it should be easy to get myself kicked out. I give her a smile.
“Fine, what time is dinner?”
“Seven. I will send a driver to pick you up, since you don’t have a car.”
She excuses herself, dropping a piece of paper with my new mobile number on it on my desk as she goes, gushing that Monty will be finishing work and she plans to surprise him. I also notice that it’s ten minutes until the dining hall starts serving food and I haven’t eaten since my flight.
I quickly change into a fresh pair of leggings and my brother’s favourite 76ers hoodie, along with my All Stars. I brush the tangles out of my long wavy chestnut hair. I look like a mess and I’m sure I’ll have jet lag at some point. I take my tablet and find the maps, typing in the dining hall. The lady’s voice giving directions sounds so sophisticated. I name her Susan and follow her directive. Students glare at me as I pass them. Maybe it’s because I’m the new girl and they don’t know why I’m here, or it could be the fact that I am talking to the device in my hand. I don’t care either way.
It takes me fifteen minutes to find my way, even with directions, because I think we took a wrong turn somewhere in the east wing. I’m positive Susan didn’t like my attitude and re-routed me the long way back.
I spot Elsie waving me over. The dining hall looks equally as old as the rest of the school. God, I hope the food isn’t as bad as the crumbling surroundings. I presume it costs a fortune to send delinquent kids here, so why the hell is the place such a dive?
A hush falls over the room as I weave my way through tables to get to Elsie. She’s sitting by herself. I wonder if she’s got other friends or if she’s a loner. I plop down in front of her. Chatter returns to the room, but I still feel eyes on me. When I glance up, a boy with mousy-looking blond-brown hair is staring at me from under his long, unruly fringe. He smirks when he notices me looking back.
“I have some dinner for you. I picked it up because if you’re late you miss the good stuff. I hope you like Pizza. I made an assumption, I used to have an Australian pen pal; she was always eating pizza.”
“Thanks, I love pizza.” I look over and notice she is eating a salad. “Not a pizza fan?”
“I’m a vegetarian. I have made a complaint that they didn’t have an option for me.”
We make small talk while I pick the green shit off the slice of pizza. Every now and again I look up and the same boy is staring at me intently. His table is full. Mostly guys, but a few girls have planted themselves in the laps of some of them.
“So spill the T, what do I need to know about this place?”
She looks up from her salad and blinks at me. “I’m sorry? Why would I spill tea?” Elsie looks confused.
“No, T, like gossip.”
She blinks at me again, blankly. “Okay. Right, so...it is pretty much like other universities, except we start a year early and miss our last year of high school. It’s more like a bridging year and we have a lot of international students. It’s a way of making sure everyone is on the same level.” I nod as she talks.
“Hold up, I had almost finished my final year of high school in Australia, so why am I a second year and not a first year here? I mean, I didn’t sit my exams yet.”
“I do not know. You would need to ask the headmaster about that. But it means you have
three years here, instead of the standard four.”
“Do people not join late?”
“Never.” She stares pointedly at me. “Hence the attention you are getting.”
“Huh.” Now that I look around the room, I realise that she’s right. The room may no longer be silent, but there’s a lot of whispering and glances being thrown my way.
“We don’t really have cliques here; you will find each group has a good mix of students. Some are more popular than others, and each here for their own reasons. Never ask anyone why they are here. I’m sure you were told it isn’t something we discuss. It is the number one rule. Our slates are wiped clean as soon as we step through the gates.”
Sounds fair enough. Again, I look up and floppy hair is still staring, so I wink at him. His smile is contagious, causing me to smile back. The poor girl in his lap slips when he stands abruptly, heading in my direction. The rest of his table looks our way.
My amber eyes are locked on to his baby blues, neither one breaking contact. Not until he sits beside Elsie and her back straightens at his presence. Hmm, interesting. Why does he make her uncomfortable?
“Hey Vagitarian...new girl.” Ugh. He had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth. He turns to look at me again.
“Is there something you wanted?” I ask with a bored tone.
“I wanted to tell you that I felt a little off today, but then you walked in and you definitely turned me on.” A disbelieving laugh slips from my lips; he cannot be serious right now.
“Do lines like that ever work for you?”
He reaches across the table, but I pull my arm back to avoid contact.
“Touch my arm before I go, so I can tell the lads I was touched by an angel.” I shake my head; this guy thinks he’s so good. He throws his head back and laughs. Getting up, he winks at me and jogs back to his table.
“Have fun with that,” Elsie says. “You’re the shiny new toy and Kalen loves new toys. Give him a few weeks and the novelty will wear off, especially if he doesn’t get his own way.” Normally I would think someone saying that was just bitter and jealous, but she doesn’t sound that way. She’s more matter of fact, no-nonsense. I feel like I should heed her warning. I like her.