Yet…McKenna’s right about one thing. The urge to get myself off to the memory of that slimy, overconfident cock-tool is there and it’s strong. What is it about that douche that makes me go wild? Is it because I’m so safe that rebellion turns me on?
Okay, that’s too much psychoanalyzing for this early in the morning.
I tumble out of bed and brush my teeth, not bothering to change or brush my hair. Sunday’s are for messy buns and pj’s.
“Whoa, why didn’t you save that outfit for tomorrow instead of using it to impress me?” I flip my roommate off because who gives a shit if my head is more rat’s nest than hair and my Disney pajamas are tattered and holy.
“Some of us actually move around in our sleep. Your coffin just doesn’t offer that option.”
She knows I’m kidding and her laugh proves it. “Well, aren’t you in a good mood this morning? Have some hot hate sex with your enemy in your dreams?” She sips her java out of her favorite mug which has the molecular model of coffee. McKenna’s a science geek, though you’d never assume it from meeting her.
“I’d rather set my eyeballs on fire than see that man naked.”
“Oh, come on. Hate sex is incredible. Plus, even if you don’t want to admit it, Lucas is fucking hot.” She shrugs and takes her coffee back into her bedroom.
I pour myself a large mug of joe and sit at our breakfast nook. I’ll give myself until I finish this cup to think about Luke, then I’m erasing him from my mind forever.
The first time I met him was when the feud began. Our child development professor took a different turn on traditional icebreakers on the first day of class. The desks were arranged in a circle and on first glance alone we had to say our first impression of the person sitting beside us—nice things only, of course.
Because the world has a sick way of working out, Lucas was sitting on my right. When it was his turn, he turned and stared at me, studying me for an uncomfortable amount of time.
His hair was messy, but at that point, it seemed he still cared and put some effort into his appearance. His jeans were fitted and a simple black t-shirt stretched across his toned torso. His brown eyes shined and were devious. He looked fun, like the class clown.
He smiled his signature smirk, always overconfident, before uttering a single word that set up my reputation. “Pure.”
At first, I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t even consider it an insult. It’s better than being called a slut or a whore.
But it didn’t stop there. The Virgin Mary jokes came swiftly, like the rumor spread through campus faster than the latest case of chlamydia. Everyone thought I was a prude and gave me shit for it without knowing the facts. Some guys tried harder to claim ‘the virgin,’ while others assumed I wasn’t worth the trouble.
Jackson was the first guy who seemed genuine, but I was always suspicious of him too. How could I not be? The entire campus knew I was the pure girl.
All because of Lucas.
He made my life a living hell from day one, and that was tame compared to shit he put me through after that.
So why did I kiss him back? Why did I enjoy it so fucking much when seeing his face fills me with rage and disdain? Kissing Lucas was different than kissing Jackson. The two aren’t even in the same realm.
When Jackson kissed me, it was nice and comfortable. He was just another safe option I chose to keep me from being alone. I wanted a normal life and a normal college experience and that includes sex and dating. It also includes being cheated on, apparently.
On the other hand, when Lucas touched me, my skin was on fire and every nerve in my body was alive. I felt his simmering touch everywhere, igniting a flame in my heart, causing my stomach to quiver and my thighs to clench. I wanted him on a molecular level.
I look down in my mug, seeing one swallow of coffee left and one more thought I have to expel from the depths of my heart before the cup is empty.
I want to kiss him again. In all honesty, I want to do more than kiss him. His cocky attitude wets my panties and I desire his fearless attitude like I desire my next breath.
But I’d sooner die than admit that to him or anyone else. And as I gulp down my last sip of coffee, I swear to never even admit that fact to myself ever again.
The day passes in a frantic blur. With each minute that passes I think of something new I have to do before tomorrow comes. Kenna is cool as chilled wine, which also happens to be what she’s drinking at the moment.
I, on the other hand, refuse any and all alcohol despite the fact that I’m sure I could use a tub of it right now to calm down. I’m worse than a chicken with no head. I haven’t stopped running around since the coffee kicked in this morning.
“I’m making spaghetti for dinner.” My roommate calls from the kitchen. I’m in the middle of combing through my lesson plans one more time and when I don’t answer, she comes knocking.
“Oh good, you’re alive. I thought you’d be buried under a scholastic mess at this rate.”
“Ha ha. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I’ve heard that before. Let me help. What do you need?”
“Another day before tomorrow comes?” If only that were possible.
“put down the highlighter and listen to me. You’re going to be fine and you are going to kick ass. You’re way more prepared than anyone else, likely in the entire profession. Take a chill pill.”
“That’s the same thing Lucas said to me last night.” I give her a pointed glare.
“And for once I have to agree with him. Put everything away and come with me.” I shake my head. She offers me her hand and I ignore it. “I swear to God, if you don’t come with me right now I will light all of your lesson plans on fire. Let’s go.”
With a groan I push off the floor and follow her to the kitchen. She grabs a second wine glass and pours me some sauvignon blanc.
“Ken, I told you I wasn’t drinking.”
“We’re cheers-ing and it’s rude if you don’t drink when you cheers.” She hands me the glass and I grab the stem with reluctance. “To us getting jobs and moving on up in the world. We’re one step away from changing the world.”
“Fine, I’ll drink to that.” I clink my glass against hers and drink the chilled wine.
She starts dinner and I talk her ear off about my plan for tomorrow and the rest of the year. Talking about it calms my nerves as I let every possible situation out into the world, airing my fears and hopes out.
By ten I’m back in bed, praying for sleep before tomorrow comes.
Seven
Olivia
“How’d you sleep?” McKenna hands me a thermos that I promptly fill up with coffee.
“About as good as a newborn on cocaine.”
My roommate looks very put-together and professional. She has a white blouse on under a navy-colored blazer paired with skin-tight red pants and nude heels. She looks trendy and also patriotic.
I’m wearing a black top with petal sleeves and high-waisted, olive green trousers cinched with a bow and a black heel. I’m praying I at least appear chic and smart and worthy of this job even though I feel anything but.
“Good luck today.” She gives me a look that says, you got this! I hope she’s right.
“Right back at you.”
We leave the apartment at the same time. I want to get to school early to settle in and prepare to meet my students.
The morning speeds by and before I’m ready the bell for homeroom rings and students pile into my room.
“Good morning. I’m Ms. Hart and I hope to see each of you in history. I have to take roll call, so if I butcher your name, please tell me and if you prefer a nickname, let me know. Okay, Alexander Aarons?” A boy with glasses and a Star Wars Trapper Keeper sitting in the front row raises his hand. It’s going to be a rough couple of years for that kid.
I go through the list and each subsequent period starts the same way. After roll call in my classes, I go through the syllabus, hoping I can instill the s
mallest bit of excitement for history in these students.
It’s not until fifth period that my day goes to shit. A jock named Caden wearing his varsity jacket takes a seat in the back row surrounded by his teammates in matching jackets. He’s disruptive and rude and says some inappropriate things to both me and other students.
The best part? His name is Caden Powell, the son of the fucking principal. He walks around with arrogance, knowing he’s untouchable thanks to his surname.
I have my lunch period next and I intend to ask the other teachers how they deal with the insufferable teen. When I walk into the teachers’ lounge, I sit beside Sharon, a woman who’s close to retiring yet still eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Hi, I’m Olivia Hart. I’m the new history teacher. It’s nice to meet you.”
She answers me between bites, offering me one of her fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies which I accept.
“I’m sorry, did you say your name was Olivia Hart?” A man comes over to me, sitting down in the chair beside me and popping a grape in his mouth. He’s a tall drink of water with blond hair and hazel eyes and a physique most people would kill for. A whistle hangs around his neck, which I assume means he’s the gym teacher.
“Yes, I did.” I cock my head, taking a swig of my Fiji water and watch the corner of his mouth pull up in a crooked, conniving grin.
“I’m the gym teacher, Mike Jenkins. I’ve heard a lot about you, Olivia, but I thought your name was Mary. My friend Lucas Fletcher couldn’t shut up about you.”
I think my lower jaw has detached from the rest of my face. Lucas fucking Fletcher continues to butt in and ruin my life at every opportunity. Does he know everyone everywhere? Is his sole purpose on this Earth to make my life as difficult as possible?
“How do you know Lucas?” The question is more grit than words. I’m convinced I’ll have to move across the pond to get away from Lucas, and still, that might not be far enough. Maybe I can teach English to kids in Hong Kong or something.
“We played club soccer together our whole lives.” Of course you did. “Speaking of which, we’re looking for a new girls’ soccer coach this spring. I can’t coach this season and Fletch had mentioned you played. Are you interested?”
It’s not that I’m not interested in the job, but I wasn’t planning on taking on another commitment right off the bat. I may have been on my high school soccer team, but coaching it is another thing entirely.
How the hell did Lucas even know that anyway? I shudder. There are some things I just don’t want to know.
“Before you answer, I should let you know that our school rivals Wilmington Academy. It’s our first game of the season and we almost always meet up with them in post-season. Lucas is coaching Wilmington’s team.” He smirks, already knowing he’s backed me into a corner despite only meeting me five minutes ago.
There’s no way I can say no to him if Lucas is the rival coach. I know that and he seems to know it too.
“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”
“Not really. I already sent your name to Powell.” He laughs and leans back into his chair. He may be as sneaky as his friend Pucas, but at least he’s honest.
“Hey, while I have you both here, can I ask you something?” Mike and Sharon look at me and though their expressions are vastly different, they let me proceed. “Do either of you have Caden Powell as a student?” My voice drops below a whisper. Mike laughs while Sharon rolls her eyes.
“I’m not surprised he’s giving you trouble. You’re new and young and he can smell your fear.” Mike shrugs and pops another grape. It’s then that I notice the ring on his finger. Thank God. I was hoping he wouldn’t become a problem, especially being under Lucas’ wing. Although if he wasn’t married, maybe I could’ve started dating him and gotten under Lucas’ skin that way. Something tells me he wouldn’t be too keen on me dating one of his friends.
“He’s a pain in the ass, but he graduates this year, so we’ve got that going for us.” Listening to Sharon trash talk students is everything I didn’t know I needed. I really am back in high school again.
“Do you just roll over and take his shit? Have you gone to Powell at all?” I push my lunch away, not hungry after a rough start to the year and this conversation which only appears to be cascading downhill at record speed.
“We all have, at one point or another. He gets a slap on the wrist. It makes her look bad when she doesn’t punish him, but on the flip side, it makes her look bad to the board if her own son continues to get suspended or expelled or what have you. We’ve dealt with his shit for three years now, though I’m sure this year is sure to top the rest.”
He’s a troublemaker who can’t get in trouble and only has one year left before leaving this school. This is a disaster waiting to happen.
Eight
Olivia
“Would it be frowned upon to show up to my second day of work hungover?” I have a bottle of wine tilted, hovering over my glass. Depending on how McKenna answers my questions depends on how heavy my pour will be.
“That bad?” My roommate was all smiles when she got home, an expression vastly different to my look of straight disdain.
“It would be more fun being married to Genghis Kahn than dealing with some of these over-privileged nitwits. Oh, and did I mention Lucas is managing to make my life hell still from all the way across town?” The job itself really isn’t that bad, and even the majority of the students and staff are fine, but there’s something I can sense lingering on the horizon. Something bad.
“You’re sporting that look you always have when you’re being dramatic and irrational.”
I pour myself a small bit of wine despite wanting more and get McKenna a glass too.
“I don’t have a look.”
“Please. Your face gets all pinched together and you start biting on your lower lip in a not-so-sexy way, no offense, and your thoughts get louder than a foghorn shoved up Chanel West Coast’s ass.”
My best friend has such a way with words.
“Thank you for that visual I never wanted. I’m just overwhelmed by it all, but it’s only day one. Once the dust settles it’ll get easier to handle.” I hope, anyway. What I really need is to talk to my Mom.
“What are you going to do about Lucas?”
I take a sip of red, allowing the thought to spread through my veins in the same pattern the wine passes through them. “There’s only one thing I can do.” I shrug and take a large sip of wine, allowing the room to grow thick with tension and suspense. “I have to kill him.”
McKenna does a spit-take of her wine, laughing, and then stops. “You’re not serious, are you? If you are, blink twice. I need to prepare myself for this. We’ll get you an alibi, don’t worry. I got your back.”
“No, I’m not serious, but I appreciate the gesture.” I finish my wine and wash my glass. “I’m turning in. I’m wiped.”
We go our separate ways to our bedrooms and though I’m exhausted, I need a plan.
I need to do something about Caden Powell sooner rather than later. Just because I’m a new, young teacher doesn’t mean I’m going to let him walk all over me. Still, Caden is barely a blip on my radar. My focus is on Lucas.
He has minions from my school already on his side. I’m sure it’s too late to infiltrate the staff at Wilmington because if the man knows how to do anything, it’s how to charm the pants off women. Literally and figuratively.
My arch nemesis isn’t used to me attacking him directly. He’s used to the meek, agreeable girl he met in college. The past four years have taken a toll on me. While I may have kissed him a few short days ago, I’m attributing that to a mental break stemming directly from him.
If I’m going to take Lucas down, I have to go to the source. I can’t skirt around him and befriend the people closest to him—no. That won’t work. I need to face him directly. I need to challenge him and prove I’m not one to back down.
The thought comes so out of le
ft field, I’m wondering who took over my mind and body. I used to be scared to face him because I thought he could ruin me.
But we’re not in college anymore. I can’t be scared.
I have to be fearless.
The next day I get to school early to talk to Principal Powell. While I want to address the topic of her son and prepare to ask her how much of a nightmare he’s going to be, that’s not why I’m here today. We’ll circle back to that topic when necessary.
“Ms. Hart, how can I help you?” Marcia Powell is Monica Geller on crack with a fierce tenacity equivalent to Olivia Pope. She must be in her late forties or fifties, but the woman doesn’t look a day over thirty. She has a sleek brown bob accentuating her heart-shaped face and brown eyes that bore into your soul. Her wardrobe is impeccable, like Blair Waldorf if she were a Principal.
“Since homecoming is approaching next month, I thought we could raise some money for the dance and other activities with a bake sale.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but how is this a groundbreaking idea necessary of a last minute meeting?” No wonder her son is so sweet. He must take after his filter-less mother.
“Because it’s not going to be another ordinary bake sale. The homecoming football game is against our rivals at Wilmington, correct? I thought we could challenge them to see who can raise more money.
“And how will that benefit us? What would be the terms you’re suggesting?”
“The money each school raises will go to the respective schools, of course. But the overall losers will have to perform a halftime show during the game. It will inspire both communities to come out and support the schools and will be all in good fun.” Except for my plot to decimate Lucas Fletcher.
Powell is silent, her fingers in a bridge in front of her face. She’s weighing her options and I’m holding my breath. I could be stepping over a line with my suggestion, considering I’m a new teacher.
After a solid minute of holding my breath, she smiles. “I love it. Community involvement is huge around here, Ms. Hart, and I think this is just the ticket. I’ll call up Ben over at Wilmington right now and arrange it.”
Fearless (A Carolina Coastal Novel Book 2) Page 4