I freeze on a picture of Eli, looking damn fine in a pinstripe suit that hugs him in all the right places, one hand on the shoulders of a woman who’d had too much plastic surgery. His mother, I guess – they had the same golden hair, the same piercing blue eyes. Eli’s other hand pushes on a reporter’s chest, his fingers splayed, shoving the man away from his family. Protecting them.
Just like he protected me. Maybe he’s still protecting me now.
The thought makes my chest tight. Because that girl Eli was protecting, that girl he thought I was – she doesn’t exist. Not anymore. He thinks I’m someone I’m not, and nothing I do or say will make him see that. The dragon will always be Mackenzie to him.
I open the window and toss the book at Eli’s head. He catches it in his hands. Damn athletes.
“Your father’s in jail,” I say.
Eli looks up at me, and I read his pain in those ocean-blue eyes. “I went to visit him today.”
“Nice boy like you, I bet you got the full cavity-search treatment.”
Eli winces. “You laugh, but it’s a very real fear of mine. The guards don’t like me much.”
“That’s odd.” I tap the window. “You’re the Stonehurst golden boy. I can’t imagine anyone not liking you.”
Eli stares down at the book in his hands. The silent night stretches between us, but it’s a different silence than what I’m used to. This silence crackles with anticipation.
When Eli lifts his head again, his eyes shine with hope. That too-pretty mouth tugs into a smile so genuine and beautiful it makes my chest ache. “Does this mean you like me again?”
“If you’re going to sit out there all night, you might as well have something to read.” I nod at the book in his hands. “This is one of my favorites.”
He stares at the book. “Since when have you liked reading?”
I shrug. “I’m not the girl you remember, Eli Hart.”
“Nope.” His eyes bore into mine as he clasps the book to his chest. “You’re so much more.”
18
Mackenzie
Ms. Drysdale walks around the history classroom, slapping papers on top of desks. Students groan. My gaze flickers on Noah at the front of the class. He tucks his paper into his bag, but not before I catch the mark scrawled on the top of the page. A perfect score. Dude is crazy smart.
It should be illegal for guys that hot to also be smart. Give some of the brain juice to the rest of us, already.
My mind drifts back to my diary, to that crush I had on Noah all those years ago, before he hated me. And I can see why I fell hard for him, even as a thirteen-year-old. Brooding, clever, assholes were my type.
Ms. Drysdale stops in front of my desk. My stomach twists with a weird kind of half hope, half dread. I worked hard on this paper – an essay on a woman we admire from history. I chose Queen Boudica – the Celtic queen who led an uprising against the Romans in AD60, not the feline who clawed holes in my Alexandra McQueen trench coat.
Ms. Drysdale passes me a paper, facedown, and the expression on her face makes my heart sink.
“See me after class, Mackenzie.”
So, no good, then. I don’t understand. I know the material. My father spent his entire life talking about the history of Rome. He was obsessed, so much so that most of the stories stuck in my head post-coffin, even though nothing else did. What went wrong?
I shove my paper into my binder, but not before I catch a glimpse of the mark on top. F.
Who cares about some stupid test? I don’t need this school.
But the truth is, I do need this school for a hell of a lot, and I have to stay here all year or everything I worked for and everything Antony sacrificed will be for nothing. So at the end of class. I slink up to Ms. Drysdale’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”
“Mackenzie, I know you’ve had—” she pauses, biting her lip. Bad move on her part. She already sees me as the alpha in this scenario. “—a difficult home life. But Stonehurst is a highly competitive school. Students who don’t perform will find they have no place here. And your paper… it’s not up to the standard I expect from a student at your level, especially given your excellent work on the application essay.”
The application essay I hired out to someone on the internet.
“So I’m behind.” I shrug. “I’ll catch up.”
Maybe I need to hire my internet nerd again. But we didn’t have a lot of money left after we paid the Stonehurst tuition, and Antony says it’s too risky. If my nerd figures out who he’s writing essays for, he could sell the story to the papers and I’m kicked out of Stonehurst, and that’s not going to work for us.
“There’s behind, and then there’s not understanding the basics. Your essay is… well, it reads less like an essay and more as stream-of-consciousness beat poetry performed by drunken dock workers.” Ms. Drysdale dares a smile that brightens her whole face. She’s pretty behind that lank haircut and boxy blazer with the sleeves rolled up. “Honestly, it’s as if you’ve skipped your entire high school education.”
Her comments sting more than I like to admit. I know I’m flunking most classes, but I enjoy history. I know the material. And I like Ms. Drysdale. And as weird as it is for me to admit – I kind of want her to like me. To be impressed by me. I haven’t had teachers in nearly five years. I don’t know how to act around them.
A lump forms in my throat, and I know if I try to say something I might start to cry. So I just nod.
“We have a student mentoring program which I recommend you take advantage of. Noah Marlowe is the coordinator. I can set up a meeting with him if you like—”
Noah. Of course, it’s him. “Don’t bother. I can do it myself.”
“Noah, a word.” I plonk my ass down on the seat next to him.
Noah stiffens.
On the opposite side of the royal table, Gabriel leans forward. Eli, who’d been about to take the seat I now occupy, shoves his tray down next to Noah. I’ve gotten to their table early, while Alec is still in line. No way do I want him to overhear this.
“Fuck off,” Noah growls.
“Look, I’m not some masochist who’s thrilled at the idea of working with a guy who hates me. Ms. Drysdale said I’ve got to pull my grades up or I’ll be out of school. That’s not an option for me. You run the tutoring program, and I need a tutor. This is a business transaction, nothing more.”
“What subjects?” Noah’s hands form fists in his lap, but he doesn’t make any move to hurt me the way he wishes. He just stares at my face, those dark eyes searching mine. I don’t like the intensity of him. I resist the urge to slide away.
“All of them.”
“I’ll tutor you,” Gabriel pipes up. “You know how good I am at chemistry. You’re sodium fine, we could do it on the table periodically.”
“Mackenzie, I can help with geology. You’re obviously made of mica rock, with that perfect cleavage,” another guy down the table pipes up, and they all snigger. All except Noah, who still has me fixed with his death glare.
“Careful, guys,” Cleo smirks as she sets down her tray next to his. “You don’t want her to fuck up your nose.”
“Forget it.” I stand up. “I knew this was a mistake.”
Noah sighs.
“Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“Be in the library during study period today, and I’ll figure out if I can even help you.”
“You’re an angel, you know that? A real saint.” I blow him an air kiss as I stand up to leave, and I swear I see the steam coming out his ears.
Noah and I share a study period. The library isn’t far from the bathroom where I eat my lunch, so I arrive early and spread my books over a table in the corner to save it for us. Not that any other students would consider sitting with me.
I’m reading my battered copy of Caesar’s The Conquest of Gaul when Noah drops into the chair opposite me. He runs fingers through his dark, wavy hair. At first glance, he’s calm, but I sense just und
erneath a storm is brewing.
A dark thrill runs through my veins as he looks me over, and that darkness in his eyes flares to life. Underneath that prep-school facade, Noah Marlowe is dangerous. And Jupiter help me, but I do love the bad boys. It’s in my blood.
“All the other tutors in the program are booked solid,” he growls. “So I’m stuck with you. Don’t waste my time, and don’t try to be cute. I’m here to help you pass, and that’s it.”
“Deal.” I lick my lower lip.
“Show me your last assignments. That’ll give me an idea of what I’m working with.”
I pull my history essay from my folder and hold it out to him. Noah stares at it, letting my hand hang outstretched between us. He can’t even bear to risk our hands touching. I drop it on the table, and he slides it toward him with one finger, as if it’s infected.
Noah holds the pages right at the edge, his eyes flicking across the text. That same nervous dance I felt when Ms. Drysdale handed back my paper starts up in my gut again. I want this guy to think I’m smart and clever and interesting, and that’s profoundly fucked up given everything I know and my situation.
When he’s done, Noah tosses the paper back to me. “This is shit.”
“You’re not a very good teacher. Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging me to be all that I can be?” I flash him a fake candy cane smile.
“Why are you here?” he growls.
“Because I know that essay’s shit. But I don’t know why.” I shrug. “Because I need to pass senior year.”
“No, I mean, why are you here at Stonehurst? Did you come here deliberately to fuck with me? Destroying my family wasn’t enough for you? Running away to hide for four years so you didn’t have to face what you did?” Noah’s words drip with venom. He slams his fists on the table. “You had to come to my school and fake being stupid just so I’m forced to tutor you.”
“I’m not faking anything.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Noah spits on my essay. The glob of saliva lands on the large F scrawled at the top, making the letter appear bulbous and wobbly. “That essay is so comically terrible it can only be fake. It reads like you’ve never written an essay in your life. But I’ve been at school with Mackenzie Malloy since I could walk. I know she’s a cold, calculating, clever bitch. And this,” he gestures to the papers, “is just another one of her attempts to manipulate me.”
“That’s not what’s happening here.” I long to tell him the truth, that I haven’t been in school since I was thirteen, that I thought all the books I’ve read would help me muddle through this year, but now I see school isn’t about knowing the information but presenting it in a certain way that’s completely alien to me, and I’m freaking out that my inability to craft an essay is going to be my downfall in a horrible and bloody way.
“My brother is dead. My mother killed herself because of what your family did, and you still think all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and the world will fall down to worship you. That shit may work on Eli and Gabe, but not with me.” Noah stands up. “I don’t need this. We’re done.”
“You haven’t tutored me!”
“If you flunk out, I’ll be doing this school a favor.” Noah’s eyes blaze with triumph. “Goodbye, Mackenzie. Have fun failing. I hope this is the last time I have to endure your presence.”
19
Mackenzie
My days at Stonehurst Prep fade together into a torrent of misery. When I first sent in my faked transcripts and signed the enrollment forms, I prepared myself to be ignored. Years living alone in that house of secrets will do that to you. Hell, I built myself a mega-bitch Ice Queen persona to keep the peons away. But I knew now I couldn’t fade into the background – the whispers, the leering looks from the guys, the notes left on my locker describing cruel sexual acts, the Photoshopped pornography tacked to every noticeboard and saved to every lockscreen is only the beginning. Mackenzie Malloy is made of shadows and secrets. She doesn’t fit. We have to destroy her.
Alec LeMarque’s eyes follow me everywhere, devouring my body in a way that makes me squirm. He’s not finished with me yet.
But not even he is as terrifying as Noah – the dark-haired god whose hatred could carve out my heart and pound it to rubble. Loathing rolls off his body in waves, threatening to sweep me away. Hatred like that can be intoxicating – I know, because I already had a gallon of it surging through my bloodstream.
I’ve only seen George once since we ate our lunch together under the bleachers. She was heading down the hall toward the Art suite. I waved and called out to her, but either she didn’t hear me or the wrathful gaze of Noah and Alec as they headed the other way silenced her. She slammed her locker and ran the other way.
That hurt more than I’ll ever admit. I lost a friend before I even knew what one was.
I wish I was smart so at least the schoolwork could be a distraction, but my F in history is my top grade so far. I wish I had college applications and tests to focus on, so at least my days would have meaning. I struggle through the classes, barely understanding a word my teachers say. It’s like they’re speaking a foreign language. I’ve finally learned what’s come of not setting foot inside a learning institution since I was thirteen. Some days, I debate taking Gabriel up on his offer to tutor me, even though I know he’s barely a better student than I am.
There are only two bright spots in my days. Ms. Drysdale teaches history and political science. She’s young – mid-twenties I think, and with her short, trendy haircut and band tee shirts peeking out from beneath mens’ blazers with the sleeves rolled up, she has this punk rock pixie vibe that’s refreshing in this stuck-up school. She looks like someone I’d want to be friends with, in another life, when I could choose my friends.
She has a way of making history come alive. I lean forward on my elbows and listen with rapt attention as she talks about the Founding Fathers, or the Tudor Kings, or the Spanish Inquisition. I find myself nodding along with the familiar stories I’ve read, and devouring the extra reading lists she gives us.
The other bright spot is homeroom and chemistry class with Gabriel. He doesn’t seem to care that everyone else at this school hates me. He makes flirty conversation and fucks up every single assignment. But most importantly, he makes me laugh. I relish it, knowing that with him, at least, my laughter doesn’t come at a price.
After class Gabriel always offers to walk me to my locker, but I know Eli will be there, waiting with his kind smile and intense eyes, and I can’t deal with that remnant of the old Mackenzie, so I fake women’s problems and hide in the bathroom.
Too late, I realize Gabriel’s attention paints a target on my back.
Apart from shooting daggers at me with her eyes every time she sees Gabriel and me together, Cleo hasn’t been actively targeting me. Instead, she keeps her nose in the air whenever she passes me in the halls, as if I’m beneath her notice. Her minions do her bidding instead, stealing my things and spreading rumors about me that make me feel unsafe when I pass guys in the hall.
I believe that’s the best they’ve got, that rich bitches like Cleo are incapable of real cruelty.
I’m wrong.
I have gym last period on a Wednesday, which I surprise myself by enjoying. It might have something to do with sneaking glances at Eli in his tight-as-fuck shorts. Scratch that, it’s definitely because of Eli’s ass. But also it’s fun to run around, kick a soccer ball and pretend it’s Alec LeMarque’s stupid head.
This week we divide into guys and girls for fitness drills – seeing how many push-ups, chin-ups, burpees, and other tortures we can do. I’m surprised that most girls – even the fit ones on the cheerleading team – give up after a few half-assed attempts. I’m the only girl who can do a proper pushup, and I hold a chin-up for longer than anyone else.
“Mackenzie Malloy.” The gym teacher, Mrs. Anderson, waves me over after class. “You impressed me today. You’ll be getting an A on this unit.”
&nbs
p; “Thanks.” An A in fucking gym. I’ll take it.
“Cheerleading tryouts are next week,” she continues. “I expect you to be there.”
“Cheerleading?” I can barely hold back the sneer. The old Mackenzie would’ve bounced around in a short skirt and high ponytails, turning somersaults like it was nothing. But cheerleading is for girls with normal lives, who have boyfriends on the football team and futures worth cheering for. I have none of those things. It’s bad enough I have to go to school with Cleo – I don’t intend to be afflicted with her presence on my own time.
“I saw you out there today – you’re strong. We need someone to replace Candice as base since she broke her leg over the summer. Did you keep up your gymnastics training?”
“Gymnastics? No, I…” I remember all the trophies scattered around my old room. I must’ve been a gymnast before. “I haven’t been keeping up officially, but a lot of it is dance moves, right? I definitely dance.”
If twerking in my ballroom counts.
“Exactly – Cleo and Daphne are our flyers. They execute the more complex stunts.” She looks me up and down. “I remember you from junior prep, and you always had a perfect sense of rhythm. And if you’re interested in pulling up your grades – you just have to shake your booty and you get extra credit.”
Extra credit. Those magic words. I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”
Cheerleading. Antony’s going to laugh his ass off when I tell him, but I have to admit, I’m excited about tryouts. This is a normal thing normal teenage girls do. I want to be part of it.
Besides, if I end up on the team, Cleo’s head will explode, and I want to be there to watch the carnage.
My Stolen Life: a high school bully romance (Stonehurst Prep Book 1) Page 10