Fragile Things (Folkestone Sins Book 1)

by Samantha Lovelock

  "Shit! Sorry!" I apologize and rub my nose where it connected solidly with the back of her skull.

  Get it together. What did we say yesterday? Don’t gawk and walk!

  Sunday turns back to me, flipping her angelic hair over her shoulder.

  "Don't worry about it, New Girl. I mean, I do have a rather awe-inspiring ass so I can see why you'd be more interested in staring at it than paying attention to where you're walking."

  For the next ten seconds, I'm not sure whether this girl is for real or not as she stands there, all straight-faced and serious-looking. At my stricken expression, she finally relents and unleashes a belly laugh that's totally at odds with her polished rich-girl exterior.

  "Relax! I'm kidding! I know you're probably completely overwhelmed right now, but it's all good." She reaches out and gives my hand a quick squeeze and then points across the hall to the bank of lockers lining the wall. "That's where we are. Yours is two over from mine." She threads her way nimbly through the other students and glances back over her shoulder when she realizes I haven't moved. "Stella?" she questions. “You coming?”

  "What? Oh, sorry. With that kind of lead-up, I had to check out the goods for myself." I reach up and tap my index finger against my lip thoughtfully. "I'd give it a solid seven," I say decisively as I join her at our lockers. For a split second, her face freezes in shock before she lets out another one of her belly laughs.

  "Oh, hells to the no! This ass is a straight-up ten, bish!" she proudly proclaims, cocking her hip and smacking her butt cheek for emphasis.

  Grinning and waggling my eyebrows at her, I lean my shoulder against the row of cold metal locker doors as she grabs what she needs for class. On the way to our shared homeroom, she points out various helpful landmarks like restrooms, the library, and the cafeteria.

  As we walk, I start to covertly notice the attention Sunday draws and appears to be oblivious to. The guys here stare at her almost predatorily with undisguised lust, while the girls eye her with an odd mixture of wannabe awe and distaste. And all of them move just slightly out of her way as we pass, almost ceremoniously.

  My observations are cut short, however, when Sunday grabs my wrist and detours us toward a group of students crowded around large double doors. Snippets of music and laughter float from the room within.

  "This is The Aud. Home of anything remotely fun that happens at this school. This is where the auditions and rehearsals for the annual senior class Christmas gala are held." My face scrunches in confusion at her mention of Christmas since it’s only the end of September, and she laughs. “Seems excessive, right? I have no idea why, but it always starts in September. Tradition, maybe?” She gives me a wink, moving inside and down the stairs to three students lounging in the plush seats a few rows back from the stage. I follow, mostly because I'm not sure what else to do.

  The room is beautiful and like none I’ve ever been in. About thirty tiered rows, with aisles dividing them into three equal sections, rise gracefully from the elevated stage down at the front of the space. And while the seats still fold down like standard old-school movie theater seats, they’re covered in a velvety deep blue material and are probably more comfortable than my bed back in New York. By the time I reach Sunday and her group, I am once again sure this must be a dream or a mistake. There is no way somebody like me would be allowed into a place like this.

  "Stella, meet Aylie, Payne, and Roxy. Guys, this is Stella Bradleigh." Sunday pats the empty seat next to her, and I flop into it gratefully. I'm saved from having to do anything more than return the friendly smiles of the girls and the nod from the lone guy in the group by the opening cowbell from Marvin Gaye's ‘Got To Give It Up’ booming through The Aud's impressive sound system. A loud collective cheer erupts from the students in the room, none more piercing than the high-pitched screeching generated by three girls standing together in the front row. Leaning over to Sunday, I yell so she can hear me over the racket.

  "If those girls throw their panties on stage, I am so out of here," I threaten with a laugh.

  "Don't joke!" she laughs back. "I'm pretty sure they've tried to do more than throw their panties at them." With that somewhat gross visual, she stands, gives a small salute to the group we are sitting with, and motions for me to follow her through the row to the far exit aisle. The music is loud and infectious, and I find myself bobbing my head and sort of dancing along behind her.

  When we get to the stairs, I can see the stage clearly, so I grab her sleeve, wanting to stop and watch. Three guys are on stage, conga-lining like idiots and singing along to the music. Too foolish to be part of a Christmas gala, it looks more like a highly successful attempt to annoy the plain-looking girl also on stage trying in vain to call the next person up to audition.

  Sunday is dancing beside me, and I forget myself long enough for us to give each other a few disco-flavored hip bumps as we laugh and cheer along with the crowd.

  Even in a group of rowdy teenagers, my new friend stands out, and the guys on stage catch sight of us. Two of them send her huge grins and thumbs ups in approval. The third, though, he looks straight at me, winds his hips, and winks audaciously. Caught up in the music and the moment, I throw my head back and fully laugh for the first time in what feels like forever. My laughter turns to ash in my throat when I look back at the stage. Now openly staring at me, recognition slides over his striking features and sinks into my gut.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  Suddenly extremely uncomfortable, I whirl around and take off up the stairs to the exit, my face flushed, and my heart racing.

  Once back in the hallway, I run straight for the restrooms we passed earlier. Finding an open stall at the far end, I slam the door behind me, locking it and resting my forehead against the dark wood. Squeezing my eyes shut, I silently will myself to disappear. A few minutes pass, my short, sharp breaths the only sounds in the cavernous room before the main door bangs open.

  “New Girl? Are you in here?" Footsteps make their way down the row of stalls, stopping at each door and testing the lock on it until she finally gets to mine. I open my eyes and see the toes of her shoes peeking under the door. Hiding from her at this point is useless, and ignoring her would be incredibly rude, so I step back and flip the lock, allowing the door to swing inward and reveal me in all my freaked-out glory. “What the hell happened back there?" Sunday's face and voice exhibit nothing but worry.

  "I, uh, suffer from a bit of a panic disorder, so sometimes I freak out in big groups.” It’s not a total lie; it just isn’t the whole truth. Shrugging one shoulder and hoping she’ll accept my explanation at face value, I move to make my way past her to the nearest sink. Before I can take more than two steps, her arms wrap around me in a tight hug. Pulling back, but not fully letting go, she stares me straight in the face.

  "You can always tell me what's going on. You need to leave, we leave together. Just grab me and pull. For reals. You aren't alone here, Stell." The sincerity of her words and the ferocity of her hug stuns me into silence. Finding my voice again, I clear my throat and ask the obvious question.

  "What’s in this for you, Sunday? Why do you give a shit? You don't even know me." The words come out more bitchy than intended, but that doesn’t seem to faze her.

  "I knew you the minute we met, silly!" She grins like a fool at me, all perfect teeth and shiny pink lip gloss. "Kindred spirits and all that. Felt it in my gut, and the Easton gut never lies." She sticks her belly out and pats it a few times for emphasis.

  "You're crazy. You know that, right?" I ask, shaking my head and grinning back.

  "Oh probably, but if I am, it's the best kind of crazy!" she promises with a Girl Scout salute.

  “Were you ever actually a Girl Scout?" I question with a healthy amount of skepticism.

  "Not a fucking chance!" she chortles gleefully. With that not so surprising revelation, she drags me out of the restroom and down the hall to homeroom.

  Chapter Five

 
; Sitting through my first class is torture. It’s been so long since I've been in an actual classroom setting that it feels claustrophobic. Being the new girl isn't helping matters either. Usually, I'm reasonably good at tuning out what other people are doing and don’t give a shit what anybody thinks of me.

  Not today.

  Today, these offspring of the high and mighty are making me feel like a discount sweater at a fire sale—something to be examined and then rejected for not meeting their distorted standards. One group of girls, specifically, seem particularly venomous; the poison in their eyes aimed squarely in my direction. They look vaguely familiar, but there have been so many new faces today, I could be imagining it.

  "Sunday," I whisper loudly and lean over to her desk beside mine. "What's with the Bitches of Eastwick over there?" Lowering my head to hide my face from the other students around us, I flick my eyes in the direction of the three very well-accessorized and good-looking girls. Doing a miserable job stifling her hoot of laughter, she knows exactly who I'm talking about without having to look.

  "That would be Hali, Laina, and Carrisa. And that is the best description for that gaggle of nasty females I've ever heard. Hali is the ringleader, and the other two are her agents of chaos.” Sunday sits up straight and smiles innocently at our homeroom teacher as he shoots us the universally known face for ‘shut the hell up in my classroom’. As soon as he goes back to reading over his notes, I lean over to her again.

  "Well, what the hell did I do to deserve the death glares they're shooting at me? I've been here for all of three and a half damn minutes!" I huff. I never huff. I never care enough to huff.

  This place is already doing weird things to me.

  "You, my dear New Girl, committed the cardinal sin," she sing-songs quietly. With that, she mimes zipping her lips and leaves me staring at her, my lips pressed together in frustration. Before I can demand she explain her cryptic bullshit comment, the bell rings, and we get up and roll out of the classroom in the wave of students. "Stella, I have to run to the drama room for two minutes. We both have the next period free, so go and grab a spot outside in the courtyard. I'll come find you as soon as I'm done." She steers me in the direction of the doors leading outside and waves as she strides off down the hall.

  Heading outside into the warm September air, I find an empty bench under a sprawling oak. Pulling my phone and earbuds out of my bag, I sit back and indulge in some people watching with Maynard James Keenan's voice singing to me about tiny monsters. Sadly, not two minutes of peace go by before I spot three angry, haughty girls marching toward me. At least as much as anybody can march in three-inch heels, anyway.

  Since I can be what you might call a contrary sort of person if you’re polite, or a shit-disturber if you’re not, I decide to leave my earbuds in and simply cock my head to the side, watching them with a calculated expression of vague disinterest as they approach me. The leader of this little posse, the one Sunday called Hali earlier, plants her hands on her hips and stares me down. Resigning myself to having this conversation, I sigh and pull my earbuds out of my ears.

  "Can I help you?" I ask dryly without standing.

  "Don't you get snotty with me, you trashy bitch," she hisses back at me. "Who do you think you are? There are rules here, and low-class sluts like you follow them, or else."

  Snotty? Me?

  Momentarily taken aback by her hostility, it takes me a few beats to register the rest of her words. Trashy bitch, I can handle. Low-class, well, she's not entirely wrong. But slut?

  Nuh-uh. No way, no day.

  I stand, pulling myself up to my full five feet and eight inches, and get nose-to-nose with Fascist Barbie.

  "Look, princess, I'm sitting over here, minding my own business. What the fuck have I done to offend your delicate sensibilities? Nothing. You don't fucking know me. So. You. Don't. Get. To. Call. Me. A. Slut." I fire each staccato word at her. Though I’m genuinely bewildered by this girl’s unmistakable hatred toward me, I am also seriously pissed off by her shitty attitude. "Back the fuck up, Barbie, and leave me alone. Shoo." Flicking my fingers at her dismissively, I stand my ground, waiting for her and her minions to leave. To my surprise, she leans in even closer, her cloyingly sweet perfume wrapping around me like a candy-scented lasso.

  "That's not how it works here. You don't get to just show up out of the blue and jump the line." She peers spitefully down her clearly after-market nose at me. "There are rules, and just because you're a Bradleigh, don't think they don't apply to you.”

  Because I’m a Bradleigh? What the shit does that mean?

  "You know," I tell her, "shrieking like a toddler having a tantrum is super unbecoming. Is this a rich girl thing? Do you need a time-out?" Her jaw muscles bulge right along with her eyes, and her hands ball into fists at her sides. "Seriously, if I had even a remote understanding of what the fuck you are freaking out about, I might be more concerned." I lean back slightly and give her a thoughtful once over. "Wait, no, that's a lie." I shrug. "There is no situation in which I would give a rat's ass about anything you have to say."

  With that, I turn and grab my bag from the bench behind me and attempt to shove by her. Once again, I underestimate the size of her ego, and her pampered hand clamps onto my wrist, grinding the bones together painfully and stopping me short.

  Damn! The girl has one hell of a grip.

  I’m seconds away from breaking every one of her fingers digging into my arm, starting with the one flashing the huge emerald and rose gold ring when Sunday's voice cuts through the thunderclouds of anger and pain gathering in my brain.

  "Oh, Hali, you silly girl," she clucks her tongue in mocking reproach as she sashays toward us. "You should know better than to grab people who could snap you like a toothpick.” She smiles innocently. “Be a good girl and let go of Stella before she punches you in the face. I'm sure your daddy doesn't want to pay for another new nose." Sunday's soft drawl sounds somewhere between lazy and bored, but the fierce glint in her hazel eyes and the set of her jaw tells me she's anything but.

  Wrenching out of Hali’s grasp, I spin to face her full-on. Clear-headed enough to realize a physical altercation on my first day would probably be a bad idea, I decide to settle for a simple verbal evisceration. I open my mouth, but before a word comes out, her attention focuses on something behind me. Her previously pinched expression instantly morphs into a soft, doe-eyed mask. From my experience, there’s only one thing that can make a person go from zero to Stepford that fast.

  Gross. Fucking predictable females giving the rest of us a bad name.

  Recognizing that anything I say to the basic bitch now will fall on deaf ears, I grit my teeth and start to walk away. Sunday isn’t going to let this go that easily though and rolls her eyes in disgust at the blatant display of desperate adoration, unable to resist a parting shot.

  "Jeez, have some self-respect, Hali. Drool, much?" She sneers loudly with disdain. "You might as well get down on your knees and open your mouth right here. Maybe you'll get lucky, and Poe will finally drop his pants for you."

  I don’t know if the group of guys I notice lounging near the doors to the school heard her, but Hali sure did. Her lips stay frozen in their pretty smile, but the rage flaring in her baby blues promises this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  Sunday and I share most of the same classes, but the last one of the day is mine alone.

  “No triple threat here, missy. I sound like a basset hound being sawed in two when I sing, and I trip over my two left feet on the daily. But, boy, can I act.” She sticks her head inside the music room and waggles her fingers in greeting at the teacher, grinning at his slightly nervous expression when he sees her. “He actually thanked me when I chose drama for last period this year instead of music.” Blowing me an air kiss as she turns down the hall, I shake my head and laugh.

  Mr. Shartun, the balding, bearded music teacher, might be my favorite so far, based solely on his sheer excitement for the subject he teaches. When
I walk into his nearly empty classroom, he starts talking to me right away. He quickly explains the class is small to begin with, and a number of his students are off using the time to audition for the annual senior gala.

  Honestly, after the appearance of my airport stranger on stage in The Aud this morning, and the scene with Hali the Hellion in the courtyard, the lack of bodies present right now is more than welcome.

  When the final bell thankfully signals the end of the school day, I heave a sigh of relief, happy to make my way back to my locker where I spot Sunday waiting for me.

  “Girl, you survived your first day!” She giggles and gives me a one-armed side squish, then turns and starts walking backward down the hall toward the main doors. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “I’m good. Spry’s picking me up.” I had told Sunday the very bare-bones version of my story over lunch, including Cecily’s driver’s new nickname. “Thanks for the offer, though.” Slamming my locker shut, I groan at the weight as I hoist my textbook-filled bag over my shoulder and start walking in her direction.

  “No worries at all. Tell him he doesn’t have to drive you tomorrow. I can pick you up and drop you off after class.” I’m about to tell her she doesn’t need to go out of her way for me when Sunday’s grin widens as she stares down the almost empty hall over my shoulder.

  My feet turn to cement, and a fluttering warmth stirs in my belly. A glance down at my arms shows me all the little hairs standing at attention.

  Sandalwood and sunshine.

  The soft scent winds around me like a whisper and I take a slow, deep breath. An arm brushes mine as the three guys from the stage walk by, laughing and shoving each other on their way outside.

  The tallest of the three, the random hottie from the airport, looks back at me with a knowing smirk as he passes. Almost like he can tell exactly which gutter my dirty little mind dives into at the sight of him. The air crackles with the electricity between us as violet eyes clash with deep blue. He boldly holds my gaze for a few seconds longer before turning back to his friends. Rejoining their laughter, he claps the guy beside him on the back, his tattoo twining up his right arm like a living thing. All three of them offer Sunday a respectful chin lift and big grins as they pass her. The doors slam shut behind them as they leave the building, and the sound echoes around us.