Did she just call my mom a middle-aged has-been? I felt both insulted and amused. Who the hell insulted someone by calling them that? Wouldn’t that just mean her parents were middle-aged has-beens, too?
“What is your point?” I asked, cocking a hip and taking an attitude. Kind of hard not to, when this bitch refused to just go away.
“My point is, either way, you don’t belong here. You might be flying high now, but you’re not ready to face Midpark. Trust me, Jazmine, you won’t like what you see. Do us all a favor and drop out—or transfer. I’m sure there are online schools that’ll take you—”
Why the hell was she trying to get me to leave Midpark? I didn’t understand.
I also didn’t understand why she thought it was in her right to tell me all of these things. Bitch overload, thank you very much.
“I don’t know what I ever did to you, but whatever it is, I want to say I’m sorry,” I started, noting the way her expression started to change. “It’s what I want to say, but I’m not going to, because you’re being a bitch.”
The girl blinked, her amber stare narrowed as her lips puckered into a frown. “I’m sure you know exactly what you did. You might play coy and innocent, but no one in Midpark is innocent. I hope I’m there the moment you realize that.” Her frown morphed into a superior grin, and she gave me a wink before sauntering off in her four-inch heels, walking in them like a pro.
I watched her walk away, stunned at the encounter. Where the hell did she think she was coming from? What gave her any right to say those things to me? Insulting, demeaning…the list could go on. Whoever she was, she was not nice, and I hated her instinctively.
If she thought I’d be a good girl and let her bully me out of Midpark High, she had another thing coming.
Chapter Eleven – Jaz
The choir room was empty, the teacher gone. Ms. Haber must trust Bobbi, because we were alone in the room after official school hours, although with how Bobbi was acting, this was normal for her.
She must really love choir, for whatever weird reason.
I actually attempted to sing, too. Bobbi tried to smile at me while I was belting out the melody I had to learn, but I knew I was shit at it. I did hit a few of the higher notes, but when I looked down at the sheet music, it was a freaking puzzle to me. It could be written in an alien language for all I knew.
Bobbi sat beside me—though she made me stand straight, with perfect posture when I was singing—nibbling on the end of a pencil. Today her brown hair was in a messy bun, but she was one of those lucky girls who knew how to actually make their buns look cute. Anytime I put my hair in a bun, I looked like an ogre.
It was as I sat beside her, heaving out a sigh, that Bobbi asked, “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
Oh, God. What wasn’t bothering me today? Archer, Vaughn and his family, everything with Ollie, not to mention that blonde chick and everything she’d said…and then, who could forget my appointment in—I glanced at my phone for the time—forty-five minutes, which meant we’d have to wrap up here soon so I could have enough time to walk to the meeting place. I’d also had to resort to emailing, which was just…so old-school.
Since I couldn’t tell Bobbi about all of my problems, I settled for one. I told her about the confrontation between me and that blonde chick near my locker. I kept out the part about Ollie, though I supposed if the blonde bitch wanted to, she could spread rumor after rumor about me. Who would this school believe: a newcomer, or someone who’d clearly been here her entire life?
After I finished relaying the story to Bobbi, I finished with, “I don’t even know who that girl is, and she’s intent on making my life hell here.” Surely seemed like it, anyway. I did not need any more drama. I already had enough shit on my plate, didn’t I?
Bobbi let out a thoughtful sound as she dug her phone out of her purse and typed in her passcode. “Was this her?” she asked, clicking on something on her phone before turning it to show me. She’d pulled up a picture of a group of girls wearing dresses—maybe their homecoming dance? I saw Bobbi on the end, though she looked just as dolled-up as the rest of them.
The middle girl, I noticed, was indeed the blonde bitch who had it out for me. The other girls in the picture were the two dark-haired ones who hung near her that first day, when she’d accused me of being Ollie’s newest toy.
“Yeah,” I said, pointing to the middle of the picture. “That’s her.”
Bobbi shook her head slightly. “That’s Brittany Pots. For whatever reason, she’s the queen bee around here.” She put away her phone.
“Are you friends with her?” I didn’t want to call Brittany any names or say something I’d later regret.
“No.” Bobbi shook her head. “And the only reason I have that picture is because Brittany and her friends ran a poll on her Facebook profile to see who had the ugliest dress.” Her shoulders rose and fell once, mostly hidden beneath a sweater that was a few sizes too big. “Spoiler alert, it was me. I’m still pissed about it, all these months later.”
I personally thought they all looked beautiful at the time of the picture, but that was neither here nor there. It seemed Brittany was able to do whatever she wanted when she wanted; the principal’s stance on bullying sure didn’t seem to affect her at all.
“So,” I said, lowering my voice even though we were alone and the choir room’s doors were shut, “she’s kind of a bitch.”
Bobbi let out a laugh. “Forget the kind of part. Still, somehow everyone loves her. The teachers, the underclassmen, the boys—especially the boys, but I hear that’s because she…” Her cheeks flushed, and she had to break eye contact.
“She what?”
“Let’s just say, her skills with her tongue are pretty much legendary.”
Oh.
Oh.
Well of course the boys are going to love her, then. That didn’t surprise me. And knowing she was a good two-faced liar with her teachers and the other faculty here was also unsurprising. Brittany got away with everything she did and said because she was up their asses and fake to them. Ugh.
Brittany Pots. Well, at least I had a name to the face now. At least I knew who I was dealing with—the queen bitch of the school everyone worshipped.
“Has anyone ever stood up to her before?” I asked.
“Not really. Most everyone who’s not in her inner circle either wants to be, so they put up with her shit, or they want to hook up with her.” Bobbi sighed. “It’s just not worth it. I ignore her when I can, because I know if I ever brought anything up to a teacher, they’d just take her side automatically.”
“That sucks.”
“I feel like that’s how it is in every school,” Bobbi said. “Not like I’ve been to a bunch of schools, but it’s what I like to assume.”
“You’re probably right,” I said quietly. In my old school there were the popular kids—mostly jocks and the kids who were funny enough to earn their friendship—and then everyone else. The bandos, the nerds, the outcasts. Every school had cliques.
I checked the time again.
Bobbi was about to say something else—and as much as I’d love to stick around and hear all the gossip involving Brittany, maybe prepare myself for what she had in store for me—I said, “Sorry, I have to go. I have another meeting I can’t miss.” I stood, went to grab my bag and my jacket—both of which were on the chair on my other side.
“Oh, okay.” Bobbi gave me a smile, but her smile looked…well, a bit sad. She set down the sheet music on her chair as she stood up with me, watching as I shrugged on my coat and hauled the straps over my shoulders. “I think you should stay in choir. You still need some practice, but you catch on fast.”
I laughed at that. Her compliment sounded genuine, but I really didn’t think me and choir were good fits. Still, they’d probably force me to take something else, and I had no idea what else I would enjoy, so maybe I should just suck it up. After all, it was only one semester, and then I’d be grad
uating and only seeing Midpark in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks,” I said, grinning, “I’ll keep that in mind.” I gave her a short wave before exiting the choir room, heading down halls that were jam-packed during the day. Now, they were eerily empty, my footsteps echoing the only sound I heard. I zipped up my coat and headed out, into the brisk January.
It was nicer weather for a winter month than the weather I was used to—we always got more snow, not to mention wind chills that made you regret ever coming outside. And leaving your bed, for that matter. Midpark rested in a more southern state. It might be chilly here, but they had it good.
I didn’t tell my mom where I was going, which was probably stupid, but if I told her exactly who I was meeting, well, she’d probably freak out. I didn’t want to worry her needlessly; I wanted…well, I literally just wanted to make sure we were safe.
Although…with everything that happened with Vaughn and his brother, I wanted to know stuff about them, too. If Vaughn was even safe to be around. If I was surrounded by liars and killers and kidnappers, or if it was all in my head and that anxious brain of mine.
Really, I wanted the truth, which no one wanted to give me flat-out.
I had my phone in my hands, the directions to the diner where we were meeting on its screen. I kept my head down, glancing both ways before crossing any roads, heading away from the school. It’d take me a long while to walk home, but it wasn’t like I could call my mom and tell her to pick me up. I’d make do.
The man I was meeting was someone named Jacob Hall. He had a background in blue, although he clearly wasn’t working for the police anymore if he was a private investigator. His reviews were mostly good; no outright awful ones. Most said he went above and beyond what they’d expected of him, which seemed like a good thing.
Of course, I had no idea how expensive he was to hire, but one step at a time.
My feet took me across town, to a small diner that looked so out of place in Midpark. Its style screamed fifties, although everything looked updated and well-kept. It was one of those places that tried to look old, but it wasn’t really. A single-story eatery with most of its booths on the outer edges, where the floor-to-ceiling windows were. The kitchen was in the back center, just behind the counter, where leather-covered stools were.
The moment I walked in, I had to pause to take it all in. The checkered tiles on the floor looked freshly-waxed, the red leather on the stools and booths new and clean. The register sitting on the counter looked old, but its steel was shiny and fresh.
Okay, who was I kidding? With the vibe this place gave off—and the jukebox in the corner of the diner—this place was freaking cute. I loved it.
I turned off my phone and slid it in my coat’s pocket, glancing around. The last email he’d sent me told me he’d be waiting in the corner booth, and indeed there was a man sipping coffee in the furthest booth.
Holding my head up high, I hoped, fucking prayed, I looked like a serious potential client and not some silly high schooler who was in way over her head. The latter was true, but still. I didn’t want to be laughed out of the diner.
As I walked to the furthest booth, I shrugged off my backpack, setting it on the floor behind me. It was an odd time, so most of the booths were empty; too early for dinner. Still seemed rather late for coffee, but I knew my mom drank it at all hours of the day. I, myself, couldn’t stand the taste, even with a bunch of added sugar and cream to nullify the bitterness. Also hated the smell, go figure.
I slid myself into the booth across from him, saying, “Jacob Hall?”
The man was slow to set down the coffee mug, his fingers still curled around its white handle. Our eyes met, and I was momentarily stunned.
He was…he was definitely not what I’d been expecting.
I was expecting someone, uh, older. Much older. Like, grizzled cop veteran with scars and an unkempt beard, not to mention an intimidating face that you’d see in your nightmares.
Or maybe I’d just seen too many movies, because the real Jacob Hall was nothing like that.
He was young. Young as in, maybe ten years older than me. Maybe. No way was this guy thirty. His hair was cut short, a light brown color, his clothes fitting snugly over his body…and his muscles. Because he had them.
Lots of them.
A square jaw lined in stubble, with eyes such a pretty hazel I was momentarily awestruck. He leaned back, giving me a good view of his solid chest beneath a button-up grey shirt, finally releasing his hold on the coffee cup.
Jacob Hall was insanely good-looking—who would’ve known? Certainly not me, otherwise I would’ve prepared myself mentally to be in the presence of such a hunky sculpture. It wasn’t often that a man’s looks rendered me speechless, but Jacob’s definitely did.
God, why’d he have to be so cute?
“Marie?” he asked, his voice low as he studied me.
Marie was the name I’d given him in the email, not wanting to use my real name for whatever reason. Again, I’d probably seen too many movies.
“Yeah,” I said. I was seconds from telling him that my real name was Jaz, because he didn’t seem like a serial killer stalker from first glance, but the man stunned me by what he did next.
After reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few singles, he tossed the money on the table, got up, and started walking away.
What in the hell…did I say something wrong?
I grabbed my bag and went after him.
I mean, what else was I supposed to do?
Chapter Twelve – Jacob
I needed a job. I had rent to make. It was that simple. It’d been a while since I’d had a job that’d taken me more than two days to do—it was not that hard to follow and catch spouses who were having affairs behind their wives’ or husbands’ backs. Those were the usual jobs I did around here.
Why did I stick around Midpark after the shit hit the fan? I didn’t know. Because this…this was the town I grew up wanting to live in. I didn’t grow up in Midpark, didn’t go to its fancy schools, but I did always watch from one town over, wondering what it was like to live like them. The rich and semi-famous.
I graduated the academy almost right after high school, and I got a job being one of Midpark’s police officers. A few years later, I got fucked. Fucked by some rich sociopaths who thought something inappropriate was going on with me and their younger stepsister.
Nothing inappropriate was going on. I wasn’t like that, but they’d somehow put evidence on my laptop, in my saved drive. They got me fired, and so here I was. Most people didn’t want to touch me, let alone look at me in this town, not after that—because, untrue as they were, some people still believed those rumors.
It annoyed the fuck out of me, which was why I spent most of my time not thinking about it, but the moment the girl walked in, somehow I knew. My stomach sank, and I knew. She was Marie, the one who’d reached out to me. She wanted to become a client. I hadn’t seen her around here before, but that was probably because she still waded in the kiddie pool.
Fuck that.
So when I asked if she was Marie, and she said yeah, I did the only thing I could: I got up and walked away. I wouldn’t do it. I’d tried to find them again—Zane and Thorn and Celeste—because a part of me always regretted letting them go, but I couldn’t. I lost sleep over wondering whether they’d change their minds and come back for me. Kill me.
Because that’s what they were. Killers, even if, allegedly, the person they killed deserved it. I wasn’t a judge or a jury. Hell, I wasn’t even an executioner, but in that restroom years ago, when I’d stared into Celeste’s watery eyes and listened to her plead for me to let her go, she made me, forced me into a role I never wanted.
I was not going to let another pretty young face get to me.
I was out of the diner, reaching for my keys in my pocket when I heard her come rushing after me, calling out, “Wait!” I stood near my car, but I stopped and glanced back at her.
A mi
stake. A mistake because she thought that meant I’d listen to reason and go back in the diner.
“Why are you leaving?” she asked, practically cornering me against my car. She had guts, I’d give her that, but I was not having any of it. She needed to learn to pick up on things like this. “We didn’t even talk about the job yet—” Her cheeks were red, or maybe that was just her natural blush. Her hair, long and black, hung over her shoulders in gentle waves. Her dark, warm eyes were just the type of eyes to lure you in.
She was pretty. Pretty and young, a terrible combination when it came to me.
“I don’t need to hear about the job,” I told her, resisting my urge to unlock my car and hop in, drive off and leave her in the dust. “I don’t work for kids.”
Her full lips formed a frown. “I’m not a kid,” she said, exactly the kind of thing a kid would say.
Yeah. It was best for me to hightail it out of here. My hand reached for the handle, and I was seconds from hitting that unlock button when she spoke again.
“I’m eighteen,” she said, holding her head up high. Her body was slender under her coat, and her face…it was the kind of face that probably got her loads of attention, even when she was little. Smooth, tan skin, not a blemish anywhere to be seen. Big eyes that seemed to stare into your soul and know, in a split-second, what your darkest fears were.
I immediately didn’t like what that gaze made me think of: Celeste, her abuse, and the psycho brothers who took her with them when they left. I had no idea how Oliver Fitzpatrick or his wife could live with what they’d allowed to happen.
“Sorry,” I said, not sorry at all. “The answer is still no.” I hit the button on my keys and climbed into the driver’s seat, about to close the door, but the girl, Marie, blocked it by rushing towards me, standing between the open door and the car.
I could push her out of the way to close it, but that would involve touching her, and I would not touch a barely-legal child—even if it was just to get away.
Feisty: A High School Bully Romance (Midpark High Book 1) Page 9