by Rina Kent
“Fucked if I know.”
From what I saw last night? It’s possible. But she’s way too fucking beautiful to have not been a target of every single teenage boy in whatever high school she came from.
Except if she was homeschooled. She kinda looks like the type.
Hmmm.
“Love to pop me another cherry,” Marcus murmurs, but as if to himself.
I let out a low chuckle, but then cut off and frown to myself. “When did you ever fuck a virgin?” I ask through a laugh.
Marcus glances at me as if surprised I’d heard me. “What? Oh.” He laughs, and waves away the question. “Some fugly chick from MU.”
I shake my head at him. We sometimes get students from Mallhaven University in Lavish. Karma Lounge plays the best hard house and trip hop on the weekends, and MU’s students flock to it. Strange that I didn’t know about him taking someone’s v-card, but I guess Marcus isn’t sworn to tell me every fucking ass he pounds.
“Virgo. Virgin.” I pinch my bottom lip. “It’s almost too fucking easy.”
Marcus lets out a low chuckle. “Virgins usually are.”
When I laugh, Dylan and Zak join me.
“Got any ideas?” Dylan asks, stepping up to me and Marcus.
“Plenty,” I say through a grin. “Dylan, make sure that chick of yours knows something is going down in Homeroom today.”
Dylan nods as he slides his phone from his blazer and types out a text to his fuck-buddy, Cindy.
For the first time since I climbed through his bedroom window last night, Marcus’s lips curl into a genuine smile. “This is gonna be fun.”
I nod, having to force my own grin.
He doesn’t know it yet, but if she doesn’t back down then this shit’s going to go way beyond anything considered ‘fun.’
I’m sending Indi Virgo straight back to wherever she came from. She’ll wish she never fucking set foot in my town.
Chapter Six
Indi
Homeroom is on the second floor, and when I walk through the door, the first person I see is Briar. I’m not surprised he got here before me — I had to find my locker first, and then locate this classroom. Textbooks for each of my classes were already inside my locker, and I’d just stared at them for a few moments. I know I can change the combination on my locker, but this doesn’t bode well for my privacy at Lavish Prep.
Luckily, Briar hasn’t noticed me yet. He’s sitting in the far back of the class, busy on his phone.
Some of the other students are busy texting too, others doing last-minute homework or chatting with friends.
I’d hoped Addison was in my homeroom, but a quick glance establishes that’s not the case.
Nope, just me and Prince Briar.
I’d chalk it up to coincidence, but after the morning I’ve had…I’m starting to think this is a conspiracy of global fucking proportions.
“You must be Indigo,” a voice behind me announces.
I cringe at the use of my full name as I glance over my shoulder. A lady stands just outside the class I’m blocking the entrance to, studying me.
This must be Ms. Parsons, my homeroom teacher. She’s dressed in Bohemian-style clothes — a loose, flowing skirt, tasseled vest, and a blouse with full sleeves, all in neutral, earthy tones. Her tortoiseshell glasses are propped on a slim nose and her mousy hair — which there’s a lot of — is gathered in a messy, loose braid.
“Why don’t you go take a seat?” she says, her eyes curving as she smiles and points out the closest empty desk.
I nod and hurry to it, keeping my head down so I don’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone.
Like Briar.
After what happened outside the school this morning, I’m doing my best not to attract unwanted attention. After all, it’s been made pretty damn clear no one’s on my side.
“Morning, class!” Ms. Parsons says as she makes her way to a desk overflowing with books, files, and wilted flowers. “Did we all have amazing weekends?”
A few “Yeah’s,” and “Sure’s,” are thrown back from just about everyone except Briar.
That’s because the Prince of Lavish Prep has suddenly decided to train his attention on me. His gaze is so intent, I feel like I’m melting inside.
“Anyone have anything to share before I start with announcements?”
The general consensus is a mumbled, “No.”
“All right.” The teacher shoves aside a stack of papers and perches on the edge of her desk. “We have a new student to welcome this morning. Can you all give Indigo Virgo a nice—”
“Indi,” I cut in with a grimace.
The teacher’s mouth is still open, but it had to be said. If I don’t nip this in the bud, every Tom, Dick and Jock Idiot will be calling me Indigo. And my new fun surname, Virgin.
“Oh?” Parsons nods her head. “Then let’s all welcome Indi to Lavish Prep.” She begins clapping, but only a handful of students bother to join her.
Every single student in homeroom decided to look at me, though, so there’s that. I thin my lips and raise a hesitant hand, giving them a small wave.
Nobody waves back.
And then the murmurs begin.
That’s the virgin?
Heard she fainted.
Got a thing for Briar.
Fuck.
Briar gives me another of his shark-like grins.
Holy crap. Tough crowd.
Maybe it’s because I was brave enough to stand up to their deviant Briar. I guess that kind of stuff just doesn’t fly around here, especially judging from that French teacher’s response.
“Now, who would like to volunteer to buddy up with Indi for the first week?”
Wait…what?
Too late, I realize I’m gaping at Ms. Parsons. And in that moment, I lose every chance of declaring myself unfit for supervision. I mean, shit, I’m seventeen, not seven.
“I’ll be happy to do her, Ms. Parsons.”
The class roars with laughter.
Ms. Parsons — idiotic flower child she is — doesn’t seem to notice Briar’s Freudian slip.
I do.
My eyes go wide. My chest tightens.
Briar has his hand up real fucking high. He’s wearing a grin that I can tell is both smug and weaselly, but one which Ms. Parsons seems to think is completely innocent.
“Why, Prince,” Ms. Parsons enthuses as she stands, a hand to her chest. “That’s marvelous.” She turns to me, and points between me and Briar as if this is some kind of special school where your IQ has to be in the single digits before you can even apply.
“Indi? Prince will be your Lavish Buddy this week. He’ll show you around and help you find all your classes.”
Briar grimaces at that, and there’s a moment where my utter panic flutters into pure ecstasy.
So I guess his first name’s Prince and — just like me — he despises it to the n’th degree.
But no one’s staring at him. Everyone is staring at me. And the weight of all those expectant eyes compels me to let out a reluctant, “Thanks.”
“Good.” Ms. Parsons claps her hands. “Time for announcements.”
I glare at the back of her head as she turns to get a clipboard from her desk. I bet bluebirds chirp around her head every morning when she wakes up, and she sings them a goddamn song about what a beautiful day it’s going to be.
Mentally, I do my darndest — but her hair simply fails to catch on fire.
“The chess club has had to reschedule this week’s tournament against Mallhaven High. A new date will be set…”
Briar stands up, and Ms. Parson’s voice fades away as my ears begin to buzz in dread anticipation. He weaves through the desks until he gets to the empty one behind me, and lets his bag fall before dropping his ass in the chair with an audible thump.
“Morning, my little virgin.”
I press my eyes closed. But, alas, along with the inability for me to set someone’s hair on fire, I seem to h
ave lost my talent for time travel and teleportation as well.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest and slouching in my chair as Ms. Parsons starts rattling off the names of the students who were accepted into some or other club.
“Hey, I’m your buddy.” The way Briar drawls the word makes my hair stand on end. “I got nothing but good intentions, Angel.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, but somehow he fails to see my scowl.
The cut I gave him last night should have looked horrible, like all puffy and gross and oozing and shit.
Nope. All it does is give his face a roguish charm it doesn’t need.
“Admiring your work?” His full lips curve up as he lifts a hand to finger the cut. He winces dramatically and inhales a hiss. “Buddies shouldn’t cut each other.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t need your help. I have a fucking map.”
“A map?” Briar lets out a low chuckle. “You don’t need a map. You need me.”
He sits forward, lacing his fingers and sliding his elbows over his desk.
“Else how you gonna navigate the valleys and peaks of social class?”
Valleys and peaks? What a douchebag.
“Easy,” I say through a grimace. “If they’re friends with you, then they’re losers and I stay away from them.”
There’s the tiniest tic of a facial muscle near his jaw. He sits back, shaking his head.
“This lack of respect won’t do, my little virgin.” He shows me his teeth, but it’s far from a smile. “It just won’t do at all.”
I bolt out of homeroom as soon as the bell rings. Briar’s still sitting in his chair, looking smug as the Cheshire Cat, by the time I hit the hall and risk a glance back.
Letting out a stale breath, I peek at my schedule.
AP Computer Science.
AP Psychology.
Calculus.
Guess whoever set the schedule must have thought it would be easier to tackle these classes when the brain’s still fresh.
My first class is on the third floor, but first I make a stop at the restroom in a pathetic attempt to get a fucking grip.
As soon as I step inside, my legs lock in astonishment.
Holy crap.
Despite Lavish Prep looking like a prison, everything I’ve seen up to this point has been sheer luxury. Padded school seats, perfectly varnished wooden desks with electrical outlets for laptops or cellphones. I overheard one of my classmates asking for the school’s wi-fi password.
The bathrooms? They look like something out of a five-star hotel. Orchids in planters decorate end tables. The fixtures are all black marble and gold, as if to match the school uniform. Spotlights line the outside of the vanity mirrors, as if to fool the girls standing there that they are in fact supermodels, not kids.
The face above those Hollywood starlet mirrors must belong to someone else though, because I’ve never looked this wretched in my life.
I splash water on my face, and blot it dry with a fluffy hand towel that smells of fabric softener. But even then, the face in the mirror still looks like shit.
So I slap it.
Hard.
The world goes white. I rock on my heels as I wait for my eyes to start focusing again. There’s a big red handprint on my cheek, and as I wait for it to fade, I summon up every shred of dignity I still have and force my spine straight.
Fuck you, Lavish Prep.
Fuck you, Prince Briar.
I survived the death of my mother.
This?
This is a fucking cakewalk.
Bring it on, bitch.
Chapter Seven
Indi
My Computer Science class goes off without a hitch. Lavish is on the same timetable as my old school, so I’m only a week behind. But even so, after the teacher introduces me to the class, I barely register that I’m learning concepts a week into the future.
I get computers. I understand those basic programs everyone else swears at on a daily basis. Back before everything went to shit, I was the resident IT Girl on the block. Fellow students — even their damn parents — would send me sheepish text messages at all hours of the day asking for help with their issues.
Emails.
Internet browsers.
Blue screens.
I had no training beyond the basics that my school’s computer programming classes gave, but it would never take me longer than a few minutes to figure out what the issue was.
Usually, it was the user.
At first, I was all nice about it. I’d suggest they tried things differently. Perhaps looked up new shit in Google before attempting anything.
But after a few years of being everyone’s favorite IT Girl, that shit got me real jaded.
I went from being ‘Indi the Genius’ to ‘That girl that fixes computers.’
The texts for me to help put a stop to email spam stopped. I was no longer the go-to person for clearing suspicious browser histories.
Instead, I only got called in on the level 3 shit: blue screens, failed updates, and porn pop-ups.
Now, for the first time in a week I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.
For the period of one class, I manage to forget Mom’s dead.
I stride into AP Psychology with a smile on my face and a swagger in my step. There’d been a pop quiz for the last ten minutes of my computer programming class.
I aced it.
Afterward, the teacher called me aside to introduce himself formally. And then told me I had two days to catch up the last week of theory.
Well, damn. Guess I’d better cancel my plans for this evening.
I laugh to myself as I sink into my seat. Around me, the classroom’s filled with a very familiar drone of friends chatting and the sound of chairs scraping back.
For a few, idyllic moments, I lose myself in that noise.
You know what? I got this. Whatever the world has to throw my way, I can handle it. This is a new chapter in my life. The fresh start I was looking for in syringes and rubber hoses. All I need is—
“What up, virgin?”
My thoughts collapse in on themselves like a poorly constructed house of cards.
Briar.
I don’t turn, mostly because I’m frozen but also because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the shock on my face.
AP Psych.
Really?
The fuck does a jock like him need to know about Freud or Jung?
I ignore Briar, but he refuses to ignore me. The teacher starts taking us through the weekend’s homework — of which I, obviously, did nothing.
Something brushes my hair. I jerk, and spin to glare at him over my shoulder. He sits back in his seat, a smug, crooked smile splayed over his mouth. “Jumpy,” he comments.
“That’s what happens when you almost get raped,” I throw back, but in a whisper so as not to draw attention to myself.
Briar’s smile inches up as he sits forward in his desk. He leans his chin on his palm, studying me intently. “I never heard you say no.”
My eyes and mouth both go wide at the same time. I splutter a weak, “What?” before the teacher realizes I’m not paying attention.
“Ms. Virgo, is it?”
My body goes cold, but I spare a heated glare for Briar before I face the front of the class.
The Psych teacher, Mr. Veroza according to my timetable, is a balding eighty-something-year-old with liver spots.
He moves closer to my table and folds his hands at his waist, tipping his head to the side as if he’s studying something pinned to a goddamn corkboard.
“Yes,” I manage, trying to ignore the feel of Briar’s eyes drilling a hole through the back of my skull.
“I’m not sure how things worked at your previous institution, but we don’t talk during class, Ms. Virgo.”
Institution? He makes it sound like I came straight from the fucking loony bin.
Veroza’s gaze skates over m
y entire body, pausing for an uncomfortable length of time on my chest, before returning to my face.
“If you’re uncomfortable sitting so close to Mr. Briar, I can arrange for a different seat.”
Does he have every teacher in his pocket? How about moving Briar, who’s obviously the one making me uncomfortable? But no, somehow even this is my fault.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“I’m good, thanks,” I manage, despite the fact that my heart’s attempting to jackhammer through my chest.
Veroza nods as if this was far from the answer he expected. “No talking in my class, Ms. Virgo. Not unless I ask you a direct question.”
“Hey, little virgin.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I start counting to ten.
But Briar interrupts me with a tap to my shoulder. “Can I let you in on a secret?”
“Shh!” I whisper furiously, without turning. The last thing I want is to draw Veroza’s attention.
“You shouldn’t have run last night,” Briar murmurs.
I know I shouldn’t turn around, but something about the tone in Briar’s voice makes me so curious to see his face that I don’t have a choice.
Briar’s eyes light up when our gazes lock. His smile grows, and for some reason it makes me squirm in my chair.
“Why?” I mutter, casting a quick look to Veroza. But Teach is caught up in one of the student’s questions on the far side of the class; we’re safe for now, Briar and I.
“When you feed an animal, it isn’t hungry anymore.”
It takes me longer than it should have to process those words. I guess Addy’s blunt has something to do with it. I’m not high anymore, but my brain isn’t exactly sparking neutrons at its usual rate.
“Mr. Briar,” Veroza snaps out with surprising harshness for such an old man.
Briar’s smile fades as he faces the teacher. I sit back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest and allowing myself a smug smile.
Guess you’re not this teacher’s pet after all, Briar.
Veroza adjusts his spectacles. “Since you’re already an expert in this subject matter, tell me what kind of psychologist would describe depression as the result of an unconscious process where anger is turned inward as a result of repression?”