Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103

by Hartford, Devon

  Mimi and I both catch it.

  “That’s mine!” Mimi blurts.

  He chuckles, “It’s for both of you.”

  Mimi and I look at each other and break into gasping giggles.

  Did I mention Castle Hill Academy just became a dream come true? The dreamy boy kind of dream? I am a smitten kitten. This place is a pretty boy paradise. Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought.

  I raise a mental toast to that feeling lasting forever.

  Chapter 22

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  Ms. Braunschott is holding a slip of paper over the desk in her tiny office. “A voucher for your first stipend check.”

  “My what?”

  “For your work-study work. You receive a voucher every two weeks.”

  “Oh, right.” I examine the paper. It’s printed with official Castle Hill Academy information, then there’s handwriting in fountain pen noting a bunch of things including my name, the pay period, and the amount, and it’s signed in fastidious slashing script which I can barely read.

  Brigid Braunschott.

  The amount?

  Two hundred effing dollars!

  “This is mine?” I ask.

  “Don’t lose it,” she says. “You can redeem it as necessary for cash, or you can keep the amount in your student bank account for the duration of your stay. I suggest you find a safe place for your vouchers and keep them there.”

  “Yeah, totally.” I’ll have to put it in Mimi’s room, or— “Wait, can I, I don’t know, leave this in your office? It’s always locked. That might be safest.”

  “You may.” Ms. Braunschott stands from her desk, whips out a huge key ring, opens a sturdy wooden cabinet with hundreds of tiny drawers. With a separate key, she opens one. “Place your voucher in the drawer.”

  I do. “Thanks. May I go now?”

  “You may.”

  I curtsy on my way out.

  Walking down the narrow corridor toward my room, I do some quick math in my head. Two hundred for forty hours of work is bit less than minimum wage even after taxes, but I can’t complain. If I save it, I’ll walk out of here four years from now with like twenty grand! Plus the money Skill gave me it’s like twenty-two grand. If I’m stuck here summers and I work full time June, July and August, it’ll be even more. Almost twenty-five grand! That’s a fortune, if you ask me.

  This place really is shaping up to be a dream come true.

  An hour later, it’s the opposite.

  <(—)>

  “Jacqueline says Elizabeth told her Kate said Chloe saw you kissing Duke the other day on the terrace!” hisses Vicious Victoria, grabbing my arm from behind and digging in her claws.

  “Ow! Would you let go?” I yank my arm away. I’m totally startled because I just changed into my gym clothes and wasn’t expecting any Fundy girls to surprise attack me here in the slums of the work-study girls locker room. I thought I’d be safe until I walked out. They must’ve snuck in and found me.

  Victoria is glaring at me and my back is to my gym locker. Jackess Jacqueline stands beside Vicious with another Fundy girl I recognize but haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.

  “Chloe saw you with Duke, Chemo!” Vicious snarls. “Kate said!”

  I don’t know why she’s still calling me Chemo. I’m not baby bald anymore. My hair is over a quarter inch long. Not long enough to do anything with, but at least I have hair. Another inch and it might even look chic. Either way, I don’t look chemo at all.

  “Chloe saw you!” Victoria reiterates.

  “Who’s Chloe?” I say. “I don’t know any Chloes.” I glance at the third girl. “Are you her?”

  “I’m Kate, cancer cunt. You should know that by now!”

  “Sorry for asking,” I grouse.

  Victoria barks, “Chloe saw you kissing Duke!”

  “I never kissed Duke!”

  “That’s not what Chloe said,” Vicious scowls. She is ma-a-a-ad.

  “She’s lying,” I say.

  “She saw you with him, Chemo!”

  “Because he cornered me!”

  “To kiss you!”

  “No, all we did was talk! He’s your boyfriend, ask him.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she seethes.

  I groan, “I don’t care what he is. Stop interrogating me and go hassle him. This is your drama, not mine.” I try to leave but Victoria and her henchwomen step in front of me and bang me back against the lockers.

  “It’s your fault we broke up!”

  “No, it’s your fault.” Now I’m mad but staying calm. “You were kissing Skill. None of this is my problem.” I shouldn’t have to deal with this, but Duke did threaten to kick me out of here if I didn’t fix things. You know what? I can get revenge on him and Vicious by getting them back together. Talk about just desserts.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. This is entirely your problem.”

  Since I’m literally backed into a corner, I should say something. Where to start? I smirk, “Have you tried apologizing to Duke?”

  “For what?” Victoria scowls.

  “For cheating on him! Duh!”

  “I wasn’t cheating!”

  “Hello! I saw you! A hundred other people saw you! Jacqueline saw you too! Tell her! You were both kissing Skill!”

  Jacqueline blushes and titters, “The only kissing I remember is kissing Skill’s luscious lips.”

  Why does that make me jealous? So annoying.

  “Shut up,” Victoria glares at Jacqueline.

  She snips, “You shut up.”

  Obviously, they’re jealous of each other over Skill. I groan. Why do I feel like I’m talking to toddlers? Because I am. “Victoria, listen to me. Apologize to Duke. Tell him you’ll never do it again. You can do that, right?”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she insists.

  “She didn’t,” Jacqueline says. “It was only kissing. It’s not like they fucked.”

  “Are you hearing yourselves?” I shake my head in disbelief. I’m not talking to toddlers, I’m talking to insane people. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Victoria. It matters what Duke thinks. He thinks you cheated on him! No wonder he broke up with you!”

  Victoria gasps, “No he didn’t! I broke up with him!”

  “What?!” I laugh. “I thought—”

  “You thought wrong, stupid chemo cunt!”

  I almost lose it, but manage to keep myself semi-calm. “Then why do you care if I was talking to the boyfriend you dumped?”

  “Because he’s my ex-boyfriend!”

  I have nothing to say to that.

  “You fucked everything up, cancer cunt! I am going to make you pay so hard for this, you have no idea. NO IDEA!” She whirls and the other two follow her out of the work-study locker room.

  How did I get myself in this mess?

  A better question is, can I just go back to jail so I don’t have to deal with these Fundy freaks?

  “They’re so mean,” a demure voice says. Azzie. She peeks out from around a row of lockers.

  “What’re you doing here?” I blurt. “You don’t have PE first period.” After three weeks, I would’ve seen her by now.

  “I got permission from Ms. Skelter to rearrange my schedule.”

  “Why?”

  Azzie bites her lower lip, “I, I don’t know. I just—” She shrugs shyly and blushes. Her anime mannerisms are frighteningly precise.

  Is she stalking me? And why do I keep seeing Victoria and Jacqueline together, but no Elizabeth Morgan-Hearst? Those three were thick as thieves the day I met them in the parking garage. Now all of a sudden Elizabeth is never with them? But Azzie is always trailing me? It’s bad enough we’re roommates, but she has to have every class I have? It’s too much. She’s gaslighting me. I just know it. I blurt, “You’re Elizabeth, aren’t you?”

  “No,” she whispers, almost embarrassed.

  “You are.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because
it’s true.”

  Her face starts to quiver, her eyes water and two tears dribble down her cheeks. “No it’s not,” she sniffs, covering her nose and mouth with one hand. “We’re sisters.”

  “I don’t believe you. I’ve never once seen you and your sister at the same time. You’re a liar, Azzie. Elizzie. Or whatever your name is.”

  “We’re identical twins,” she says meekly.

  “That’s pure crap, Azzie. I knew some identical twin sisters in grade school. I could tell them apart. But you? You’re the mirror image of Elizabeth because you are Elizabeth. Admit it.”

  Her face crinkles in pain and she sobs, “Why are you so mean?! I’ve never been anything but nice to you! When Ms. Braunschott asked if I’d share my room with you, I said yes because all the other girls said no! None of them wanted the Fundies getting revenge on them for being nice to you!”

  I cringe. Is that true? Since I barely talk to Azzie in our room, and the only other work-study girl I really talk to is Meems, and we never talk about anything other than boys or bitch about Ms. Brawny, I don’t really know.

  Azzie says, “Everybody thinks you’re trouble because the Fundy girls hate you! Nobody wants to room with you! But I do! I thought you were nice! You’re not! You’re no better than Victoria and Jacqueline!” Her face collapses in misery and she turns on the heel of her running shoe and runs into the bowels of the locker room.

  I feel like an ass. “Azzie! Wait!” I start after her then stop because it’s all an act.

  I’m not falling for it.

  No way.

  <(—)>

  Volleyballs bounce off the gymnasium’s immense floor and echo off the tall walls. Slaps and whacks and squeaking shoes echo too. I’m hunched over and waiting for the other team to serve. I watch the girl toss the ball in the air on the far side of the court and whack!

  Something hits me in the back of the head.

  A volleyball goes bouncing.

  “What the hell?” I spin around to see Victoria standing in the next court in the service position.

  “Sor-reeee!” she smirks a not-sorry smile.

  One of the other players runs after the stray ball and tosses it back to her.

  “Don’t do that again,” I warn.

  She does. Three more times. Not right away, and not always while serving. After the fourth time, I grab the ball myself and hold onto it, turning my back to her.

  “Can we have our ball back?” Victoria calls out indignantly.

  I ignore her.

  One of her teammates gets Mrs. Gillespie (the aforementioned Mrs. Boobuster) involved and I turn the ball over without explanation. The fifth time Victoria hits me, I throw the ball at her, aiming for her face. I miss. She and Jacqueline laugh.

  I march over to both of them, my fingers curled into claws. I can’t decide if I’d rather tear out their hair or their eyes first.

  They both stand there casually not moving but looking damn good. Even in their gym clothes, they’re like pinup princesses, which makes this all the more frustrating.

  They won’t be pinup-approved when I’m done with them.

  “Go ahead,” Vicious taunts. “Do something, Chemo. I’m sure Ms. Skelter would be glad to kick you back to jail for fighting.”

  “It’ll be worth it,” I scowl, ready to pounce.

  A shrill whistle stops me short.

  “Ladies!” Mrs. Gillespie calls out from across the gym. “What is going on over there? Why aren’t you playing?!”

  “Tell her, Chemo,” Jacqueline says loudly enough for me to hear but too quiet for Mrs. Gillespie. “We don’t mind. Tell her anything you want and we’ll see who she believes.”

  Now, Kate and the three other girls from Vicious and Jackess’s team are standing behind them both, a united front.

  Kate says, “Stop serving balls at us, Chemo. Keep it in your court.”

  “Yeah,” the other girls echo. “Stop trying to hit us.”

  Mrs. Gillespie glares.

  I look at my work-study team of girls to corroborate my side of things.

  They all shrug.

  Gee thanks. Seriously, what’s the point?

  I turn my back on Vicious and Jackess and go back to ignoring them.

  The next time they try to hit me, they miss because I’m watching them more than my game. I almost stumble over my teammates a hundred times because of it, which is starting to annoy them. You can’t win for trying. The seventh time I never see coming. Right when I’m turning to look over my shoulder, the ball smacks me in the nose. I’m so surprised, I fall on my ass.

  Victoria and Jackess laugh.

  When I stand up, I see blood dripping on the varnished wood floor. My nose is bleeding. That’s it.

  I charge snarling.

  I slam into Victoria with both hands.

  She goes flying into Jacqueline and they both tumble onto the gym floor.

  I rush toward them.

  Mrs. Gillespie’s whistle blows, stopping the fight. This time she’s only one court over and yelling, “Miss Angerman! What do you think you’re doing?!”

  “They hit me with the ball on purpose!” I swipe blood from my nose and hold up bloody fingers. “See?! I’m bleeding! Because they hit me! This is the seventh time!”

  Mrs. Gillespie strolls over, frowning with concern, inspecting my nose.

  I wait for her to tell me to go the nurse’s office or wherever.

  “She’s faking,” Victoria says.

  “I saw her hit herself,” Jacqueline says.

  “I didn’t hit myself!” I protest. “You did!”

  “You never know with these work-study girls,” Kate says.

  “They’re crazy,” another Fundy says.

  “She was picking her nose,” yet another says.

  “She’s always picking her nose,” says a third.

  “That’s why it’s bleeding,” a fourth says.

  Now there’s a dozen Fundy girls and more coming to back up Victoria and Jacqueline while the work-study girls on my team keep their distance.

  I really am being gaslighted by the Fundies, not just Azzie, all of them, only not in a clever way. In the most obvious way possible. It’s pathetic.

  “They’re lying!” I grumble.

  “No, you are.”

  “I wasn’t picking my nose or hitting my own face!”

  “I saw you.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “You’re crazy.”

  I don’t know who’s talking because all the Fundy girls are saying things blaming me. Frustrated beyond belief, I look back to the work-study girls on my team. “Aren’t even one of you going to say something?”

  They’re too scared. Frightened of retribution from the Fundies, no doubt.

  I’m on my own. I turn to Mrs. Gillespie, “They hit me.”

  “Who hit you?” she asks.

  “I didn’t see. I turned around just in time to see the ball slam into my face.”

  Victoria sneers, “You hit yourself. I saw.”

  “Then you came over and attacked us,” Jacqueline adds.

  “Because you’re crazy,” Kate says.

  Mrs. Gillespie says, “Miss Angerman, I did see you push Victoria into Jacqueline.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “because they hit me with the stupid ball seven effing times!”

  “Calm down, Miss Angerman.”

  “She can’t,” a random Fundy says. “She’s off her meds.”

  “I’m not on any meds!” I shout.

  “You should be,” the Fundy titters.

  “Would you shut up!” I growl at her.

  “There’s no need for yelling,” Mrs. Gillespie warns. “Get yourself under control, young lady.”

  I groan, “Can’t you see they’re lying?!”

  “Miss Angerman, the only thing I see is a hysterical child who can’t control her temper.”

  “Meds would help,” the Fundy mutters.

  Ignoring her, I roll my eyes and sniff petulantl
y because of the blood dripping out my nose, not because I’ve lost my temper or need any effing meds.

  Mrs. Gillespie inspects my face, “I don’t know what you did to your nose, Miss Angerman, but it—”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I hiss under my breath.

  “Stop interrupting me, Mary! You’re disrupting the entire class with your need for attention. If you want to be the star of the show, sign up for the school play!”

  “But I—!”

  Mrs. Gillespie blasts me in the face with her whistle.

  It’s so freeping loud I cringe.

  “Outside!” She grabs me by the arm and rushes me toward the doors.

  Behind us, the Fundies laugh.

  Mrs. Gillespie doesn’t seem to notice because the faculty never notices when the Fundies get away with murder. Or framing me for it.

  “I’m going,” I whine, trying to fall into step with Mrs. Gillespie so I don’t trip and fall.

  She doesn’t slow down until we’re outside at the red rubber track. She gives me a push and lets go. “Start running, young lady!”

  “This is—!”

  “Go!”

  I heave a sigh and start walking.

  “I said run, Miss Angerman! That is not running!”

  I start a slow jog. Stupid bitch.

  “Mr. Perkins!” Mrs. Gillespie calls out to the boys’ PE teacher. Mr. Perkins stands at the edge of the field supervising the boys playing flag football. “Keep an eye on Miss Angerman and make sure she finishes eight laps before coming inside.”

  “Eight laps?!” I blurt. “That’s two miles!”

  “How about three?!” Mrs. Gillespie challenges. “Twelve laps, Mr. Perkins! Don’t let her in until she finishes twelve laps!”

  Mr. Perkins nods absently before blowing his own whistle to stop the play on the field.

  When I come around after jogging my first lap, Mrs. Gillespie is gone, so I walk. Mr. Perkins doesn’t care.

  All I can think is, how the hell did that happen? I’ve literally never had anything like that happen before at any school I’ve ever been to, and there have been many. For all the bullying I’ve dealt with, I’ve never had a group of people gang up on me and outright lie that blatantly to a teacher. It’s insane! That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.