by Bea Paige
“I’ve also met one of his other boys, the same prick who was snorting coke in the kitchen earlier and is now laid out flat because I punched him for making a move on me uninvited.”
Eastern’s eyes darken. “He did what?”
“Asia dealt with him. AJ is going to have a sore head tomorrow,” Camden says from behind me. His voice is level, neither annoyed nor impressed by the fact I knocked out one of his crew.
“So, let me get this straight, you’re not running drugs for Nash…?” I question, only just noticing that the room has cleared apart from a dozen or so people, the music has turned down too and I can actually hear myself think. The rest of the partygoers are heading out into the garden but despite all the space now surrounding us, neither Eastern nor Camden have backed off. That should worry me, but tonight it would seem I’m off my game.
“Nash is a cover, Asia. The figurehead of my crew so to speak. His age gives him respect my youth doesn’t yet command with the big players. But rest assured, I am this crew’s leader and I hold all the fucking strings.”
There’s a warning in that statement that isn’t lost on me. Camden is telling me he’s the puppet master and he owns Eastern. It pisses me off more than I can say.
“Eastern is one of my boys now. Question is, Asia, do you want to be one of my girls?” Camden asks, stepping around me and standing beside Eastern. Shoulder to shoulder they’re a fine-looking pair even though they’re complete opposites in every way. Where Eastern is approachable, warm, good looking in a boy next door kind of way with a slight edge, Camden is aloof, confident, exotic and dangerous. Not that it matters in the slightest because there’s no way in hell I’m going to be a part of his crew. No way.
“I’m not into sharing,” I respond, making sure to look him up and down. “Besides this is the twenty-first century, why should I be one of your girls when I can have boys of my own?”
If Camden is annoyed by what I’ve just said he doesn’t show it. If anything, he looks impressed. Next to him Eastern looks like he’s about to have a stroke.
“The offer will be extended only once,” Camden warns, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for my answer. His thick forearms are corded with muscle and I can see the edges of an intricate tattoo beneath his t-shirt. This guy has no right to be so built at such a young age. It’s indecent. Dragging my gaze away from him and settling on Eastern, I refuse to respond to his offer. I’m nobody’s possession, and I don’t do gangs. End of discussion.
“I can’t believe you’re in a gang, are you insane? What have we always said to each other, Eastern?” I ask.
“I was going to tell you tonight, Asia. You know why I have to do this,” he pleads with me.
“Tell him you’ve changed your mind. There are other ways you can help Braydon.”
“Once in, you can’t get out. They’re the rules, Asia,” Camden says coolly.
“Fuck the rules,” I shout, narrowing my eyes at him. “Give the job to some other fool.”
“No can do,” he snaps back, those beautiful topaz eyes flashing with anger.
“This is bullshit. Who the hell do you think you are, taking advantage of someone who’s desperate?” Around us I hear the murmurs of the remaining group of people who I’m guessing are the rest of Camden’s crew. They’re standing round the edges of the room, giving us space but clearly interested to see where this is going. Beneath the fog of booze and weed, I feel a low level danger rolling off them. One word from Camden and we’re fucked, or rather I am, given Eastern is part of Camden’s crew now.
“You’re feisty, ain’t ya?” Camden laughs, showing off a golden molar I hadn’t noticed before now. But his laugh isn’t warm, it’s full of warning.
“I protect my own,” I retort, not backing down. I know I’m pushing my luck, that I’m facing off with someone who has the power to make my life a living hell should he choose to, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m leaving for Oceanside the day after tomorrow and I won’t be here to protect Eastern or his family. I need to get him out of this mess now. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.
“Give the job to someone else and let Eastern go,” I press.
“No.”
My fingers ball into fists, all common sense well and truly evaporating beneath the storm brewing in my chest. It’s never very far away and I’m going to show this arsehole who he’s messing with. Eastern’s my family and I will do anything to protect him.
Camden’s eyes flash with a darkness that matches my own when he sees the intent in my eyes. “Careful, Asia. You really don’t want to make an enemy of me,” he growls in warning. That low level danger I feel ratchets up a notch.
“Too fucking late,” I snap, pulling my fist back ready to knock Camden out, but it doesn’t smash against his face as I intended. Nope. The next thing I know I’m being thrown over his shoulders, the rest of his crew catcalling and jeering as he carries me out of the house. His grip on me tightens as I struggle against his hold.
“Get out of the fucking way!” he roars at some bystanders milling in the hallway.
“PUT ME DOWN!” I shout, lashing out at Camden and losing all sense of self-preservation. I manage to get some jabs into his ribs and stomach, but he’s so built that it’s like a child swatting at a giant.
“You’re pushing it, Asia,” he growls.
Through my own rage, I’m vaguely aware of Eastern running to catch up with us.
“Camden, man. Put her down,” he shouts.
There’s a wobble in his voice as though he knows he shouldn’t be ordering Camden to do anything but that he’ll risk his own neck to save mine. Halfway down the street and away from prying eyes, Camden does exactly that, dropping me unceremoniously to the ground. I stumble backwards grabbing hold of a low wall to stop me from falling on my arse. Camden stands before me, whilst Eastern reaches for me and hauls me upright, holding me against his side.
“Jesus, Asia, why can’t you leave well enough alone?” he grinds out, a muscle tensing in his jaw.
Camden looks at me with distaste, his gaze lingering far longer than is comfortable. His topaz eyes are like shards of ice, sharp enough to do irrevocable damage.
“Take her home, Eastern. Next time she disrespects me in front of my crew there’ll be consequences, and you know I follow through on all my threats.”
“Fuck you,” I retort, unable to help myself. Eastern stiffens, his fingers digging painfully into my side.
Camden barks out a laugh. “I like your grit, but you’ve drawn a line in the sand, Asia. We’re enemies now. Be prepared.” And with that he strides off, not giving either of us a backward glance.
“Shit!” Eastern exclaims. “Shit, shit, shit!”
But I can barely hear him as the world closes in and bile rises up my throat. The last thing I remember is puking up on the pavement before the ground tips away and I pass out.
6
It takes just under two hours to get to Oceanside, and the whole time I’ve spent it nursing a hangover from the party Saturday night. Normally I’d be over a hangover in a few hours, but this one has lingered for a hell of a lot longer, and I can’t seem to clear my head. I spent all of Sunday in bed, avoiding Eastern’s texts and pretty much hiding from the world. He’d come to my house asking to see me, but I’d refused, ordering Libby, my foster carer, to send him away. In the end he gave up, no doubt running off to Camden and the Hackney Hackers Crew he’s replaced me with. I still can’t believe he would be stupid enough to join a gang. The one thing we’ve always promised each other is to never, ever, get mixed up in a gang. I feel betrayed. Then I remember how, despite the dangerous situation I put us both in standing up to Camden the way I did, he still stuck up for me. He still got me home safe. I was out of my head, and he made sure I was okay. Despite my anger at him still, guilt lacerates my chest.
“Shit,” I curse, feeling like the worst person in the world. I should’ve at least said goodbye. I decide to respond to his texts the moment I get time
alone.
“You alright, Alicia?” my social worker, Annie, asks me as she pulls into a long winding drive. At the end of it, I can just about make out my new home for the next three goddamn years. A white brick building that looks more like a mini Buckingham Palace than a school for kids who are one step away from prison. Other people might be impressed by its grandness, but I know appearances are deceiving. Just because the outside looks pretty, doesn’t mean to say what goes on inside reflects that. My gut tells me that my time at this place isn’t going to be a breeze. More like a bloody storm.
“Alicia, I asked you a question,” Annie states, the tone of her voice irritating me.
Pressing my eyes shut, I bite back my usual sarcastic retort and just nod my head. Even that movement has my stomach roiling.
“Car sick,” I lie. Heartsick more like. I don’t actually think I’m going to puke; I just feel nauseous and have a banging headache.
“We’re here now anyway. No need to throw up in my car,” she responds, eyeing me warily. I’ve half a mind to shove my finger down my throat to make myself sick just to piss her off and ruin the perfect black leather seats. Then again, I’ll probably get most of it on myself and I really don’t want to turn up on my first day smelling of sick. I do have some self-respect.
“You should’ve said earlier. I would’ve got you a bag or something,” she continues, reprimanding me before rolling down my window from the control on her side of the car. A flush of fresh air hits my face, and I breath in deeply, cracking one eye open.
“Well, here we are, Alicia,” she singsongs, slamming her foot on the break and throwing me forward before my seatbelt saves me. I’m pretty sure she did that on purpose, and I have a very sudden need to punch her in the face.
“Time for a fresh start,” she smiles, grinning inanely. She looks as pleased as punch with herself. I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s done me a solid getting the judge to send me here rather than juvie.
“Fresh start?” I spit, unable to hide the sarcasm from my voice.
“That’s right, Alicia. You have a chance to set things straight.”
Is she actually okay in the head? The only reason I’m doing this is so I don’t get thrown in jail for eighteen months and miss out on seeing my kid brothers for all that time. At least this way I’ll get to visit them regularly, even if it is every three months or so.
“Come on, let’s get you checked in,” she says.
The minute she unlocks the car door, I fling it open and stride to the trunk to grab my bag. That’s all I have, one threadbare rucksack filled with all my earthly possessions; a few clothes, a couple of photos, my sketchpad and pencils, and my mobile phone. Not much for almost seventeen years of life. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I briefly flick my phone on and can see another load of messages from Eastern. Without reading any of them, I send him a quick message.
Will respond L8R.
“Let’s get you inside. Mr Carmichael, the principal, is waiting to meet you in his office,” Annie says.
I shove my phone in my pocket, grunting in response as I follow her reluctantly up the front steps and past some girl who glares at me from beneath a pair of Ray Ban’s. Her long red hair falls over her shoulders in pretty waves and matches the colour of her lips, which are pulled up in an ugly snarl. I might not be able to see her eyes, but her resting bitch face tells me all I need to know about the kind of person she is.
“Eww,” she says, wafting her hand under her nose, confirming my thoughts.
Bitch. Class bully. One to watch. That pretty much sums her up.
“Watch it,” I snarl, stepping towards her.
Annie grabs me by the arm, pushing me none too gently through the door. “Let’s not get yourself expelled on the first day now, Alicia,” she reprimands me.
The girl just laughs.
“Well, that pretty much sums this term up. Any questions, Alicia?” Mr Carmichael, my new principal, asks me.
I look up from the wad of papers he’s handed to me and narrow my eyes at him.
“Yeah, where’s my room? I need to fucking lie down. I’ve got a banging headache.”
He smirks, looking at me from over the rim of his glasses, a flop of salt and pepper hair falling into his eyes. Pretty sure he’s trying to figure me out, just like I’m doing the same to him. Either that or he’s a perv.
Thing is, he might think he knows who I am because of the way I choose to present myself, but he’ll never get to know the real me. That privilege is reserved for those closest to me.
But I’ve already worked him out. He’s so easy to read.
Mid-forties, fit for a silver fox, though way too old for me. Psychology degree, I suspect. Probably some doctorate in fucked-up kids like me. Thinks he knows his shit but really, he hasn’t got a fucking clue. All his knowledge comes from the pages of a book and not from personal experience. He’s a pencil pusher, the handsome Cambridge University student with a doctorate in juvenile delinquents. Made it to principal of this academy before the age of forty. But this dude hasn’t lived a life on the streets, he hasn’t lost a mother to heroin or his best friend to some street gang and he certainly hasn’t lived a life in care. He reeks of middle class privilege and it fucking stinks.
He steeples his fingers, pressing them beneath his chin and just looks at me. Even Annie is getting twitchy sitting next to me, so I must be on the money. Need to watch this one.
“Something you want to say?” I bark, sitting up in my chair as I fold my arms across my chest.
“Yes, the clothes, the make-up, the tattoos and piercings. They’re… interesting.”
I snort out a laugh. “What were you expecting, some prissy little princess with a knee length skirt, ballet pumps and a fucking twinset? Jesus Christ, what kind of kids do you have here?”
“Alicia! Don’t be rude,” Annie butts in sharply.
“No, it’s a perfectly reasonable question,” Mr Carmichael says, his gaze flicking to Annie. He picks up a pen and writes something on a pad in front of him. “Okay, let me put this another way, Asia,” he says, referring to me by the name I’ve chosen for myself rather than the name I was given. “You dress this way to make a statement, that’s clear for anyone to see, and yet you don’t strike me as a kid who’s looking for attention of any kind. I’m pretty sure you’d much rather your art do the talking. That’s why your tag can be found on almost every available space in Hackney. Am I right?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This dickhead doesn’t know shit. “I happen to like the way I look. Why is everyone so hung up about how I choose to present myself?”
“Not a hang up. Just an observation.”
“Well, I’ll give you an observation or two of my own, Mr Carmichael.”
“Alicia,” Annie warns, but my new principal just waves his hand, shutting her up instantly. Instead he looks at me intently.
“Go on…”
“You’re a man who wants to change the world, but it isn’t because you genuinely want to help, it’s because you seek the glory that comes with it. You want to be respected but you don’t want to dirty your hands to get the kind of respect kids like me would give,” I begin, lifting an eyebrow as he sits back in his seat and looks at me like I’m a piece of bacteria under a microscope. There’s a begrudging respect in his eyes, but that too is calculated.
“What else, Asia?”
“You’d happily fuck Annie here, but would never commit because you’re married to your job. Even your wife knows better than to compete for your attention.” Beside me Annie sucks in a surprised breath.
“Alicia!” she says sharply, but I ignore her and continue on my tirade. Now I’ve started I can’t seem to stop. He asked for it. What’s a girl supposed to do, ignore the bait?
“You want to fix things others think are unfixable and you get really fucking pissed off when you can’t do that. It drives you crazy,” I bark out a laugh. “You grew up in middle class suburbia. Your parents are either teacher
s or accountants, aka fucking boring. Oh, and you’ve got Daddy issues.”
Mr Carmichael nods his head slowly, then folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair, lifting his feet onto the desk. He’s wearing fucking Doc Martens just like mine and they’re paired with drainpipe jeans. It’s like the bottom half of his clothes don’t match the top half. He waits until my gaze lifts, then he cocks his head and rolls up his pinstripe shirt. Both forearms are covered in detailed sleeve tattoos. What the actual fuck?
“I grew up in an estate in Croydon,” he says holding eye contact with me. “My younger brother was murdered by a group of gay bashers in a case of mistaken identity. They were looking for me. I’m married to a man called Anthony. He’s a therapist here at this school actually and whilst you are right about me being a workaholic, I’m not in this job just for the glory… though a little would be nice,” he adds, laughing at that. “My dad was a drunk, my mother a prostitute. I spent twelve years in prison after being convicted for grievous bodily harm.” My mouth pops open and he grins, shrugging. “Yep, I got the arsehole who murdered my brother and put him in a wheelchair for it.”
“Really!” Annie exclaims, but I ignore her, way too fucking intrigued by this man. Not that I’d let on.
“I’ve done my time, Annie, get over it,” he snaps at her. That makes me grin.
“I decided to get a degree in psychology in prison. I worked hard. After my release I got into youth work back on the estate I grew up in. At a charity function a few years ago, I met some men who wanted to do something for kids who grew up on the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ or just had a shit start in life,” he explains. “They heard my story, they grilled me, and then they hired me as principal of this school. Most days I wing it. Fake it until you make it, right?”
“And your point is?” I retort, still not ready to give him my respect for throwing my observations right back at me and crushing them beneath his Doc Martens.
“My point, Asia, is that what we choose to wear can be just as calculated as our actions. People dress a certain way to fit in, to make a political or social point, to rebel, to present themselves as a professional or a misfit…” he says, grinning whilst I scowl. “And some people dress a certain way to hide their true nature, to put others off the scent, so to speak. You made a judgement about me based on what I’m wearing up here,” he says waving to his shirt and tie. “But you failed to look deeper, to see what was hidden.”