I’m flabbergasted, actually.
On the plus side, after two laps my nose isn’t bleeding. I guess it wasn’t that bad.
Later, I don’t know how many laps I’ve walked when the boys on the field jog back to the locker rooms, but I follow. A shrill whistle stops me in my tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Perkins asks. “That was only eight laps.”
“But I have to shower or I’ll be late for second period,” I protest.
“You should’ve thought of that when you were walking instead of jogging.” He checks his wristwatch, “If you run, you won’t be late. You can do a six minute mile, can’t you?”
I gawk at him. One more tardy and I’ll get kicked out of Castle Hill permanently.
“Don’t just stand there, young lady! Move!” He’s like an effing drill sergeant all of a sudden. “I said MOVE!”
I shake my head in disbelief and start running. Not jogging. I go as fast as I can. Did I mention I hate running? Walking is fine. But running? I’d rather clean truck-stop toilets with my tongue than run. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I’m sweating my ass off and breathing my last breath when I make it around the final lap and cross the finish line dying for air.
Mr. Perkins is standing there smiling and holding an old-school silver stopwatch in his hand. He clicks it off with a smile. “Five minutes, fifty-seven seconds. Not bad, Miss— What was your name again?”
“Mary! Gasp! Anger! Gasp! Man! Gasp!” I’m bent over, hands on kneecaps and heaving air while trying not to heave my guts up. I’ve never run that fast in my entire life for that long. They do say motivation is key, and honestly, I’m more afraid of getting kicked out of Castle Hill Academy than I ever was of Emily Calhoun back at Roosevelt High.
“Maybe you should try out for track come spring, young lady.”
“No! Gasp! Thanks! Gasp! Can I! Gasp! Shower! Gasp! Now? Gasp!”
“Go right ahead,” Mr. Perkins smiles. “Don’t take too long a shower. You wouldn’t want to be late for period two.”
I want to flip him off so bad it hurts, but the knife in my side hurts worse.
<(—)>
I throw up my breakfast when I get to the communal showers.
The water from the shower spout washes it down the drain.
Thankfully, no one is here to see because I’m so late and the work-study girls have left the locker room to get to second period. Lucky for me I don’t have any hair to wash. I soap myself up and rinse off as quickly as possible, turning the knob off with a squeak. Water drips for minute, then it’s eerily quiet with everyone gone from the locker room, which means I don’t have to worry about having my very own “Plug it up!” Carrie moment, and because I know what a tampon is.
The downer about not having a “Plug it up” moment is I don’t get to go telekinetic badass on the Fundy bitches. If I had powers like Carrie’s, I wouldn’t kill the Fundies. I’m not that vengeful. But I would lock Vicious and Jackess and their friends in the gym with like a thousand volleyballs and hurl them at the girls with my telekinesis until I got bored. Imagine all the bruises and bruised egos. That they deserve.
I’ve heard the Fundy girls’ exclusive locker room is complete with private showers instead of a big communal one like ours, which is really old, by the way. Like 1950s plumbing or something. They say for the Fundies it’s like a modern day spa, everything sparkling and super chic. Of course they get the brand new building and we get the old one. I’d check for myself just to see, but you need an electronic key card to get in and the Fundy girls are protective about that door.
I walk out of the shower in a towel and flip flops which Mrs. Gillespie forces us to wear to cut down on athlete’s foot. As you can guess, the Fundy girls say it’s because we all have it.
When I get to my locker, it’s open and empty.
My gray work-study uniform is gone.
Is this the wrong locker?
It has to be. I’d never leave my locker open like this. I must’ve walked into the wrong row.
I check the others.
Crap.
That was my locker.
Those bitches stole my clothes.
My chest caves in with an overwhelming sense of invasion that presses in around me from every direction and my body gets hot.
It’s the adrenalin, I can tell.
It’s bad enough they bashed my nose with a volleyball, bad enough I’m late for class and I threw up in the shower after running those laps. But this is worse. They’re gaslighting me again! I can’t decide if they’re trying to get me thrown out of school on purpose, or if they’re just tormenting me with no concern for the consequences. No, I can decide. They don’t care. They only care about screwing with me however they want because they can. They know they can get away with anything so they do.
You know what?
Screw them.
I’ve dealt with way—
((((pitch black))))
((((pain))))
((((it hurts!))))
((((please not again!))))
—worse than this.
This is nothing.
I walk to class in a towel.
It’s warm enough.
The only thing I can’t figure out is how they got into my locker. No one knows the combo. I memorized it from the paper they gave me, and that paper is in my room in the Convent, I mean Mimi’s room, where I left it tucked safely inside my copy of The Voyage Out by Virginia—
Azzie!
I mean Eliza-bitch!
It had to be her!
That gaslighting goodie two-shoes!
Two can play at that game.
Chapter 23
Walking discretely around campus in a towel and flip-flops is easier said than done. Each step brings me one step closer to a panic attack. I keep expecting someone to tear my towel off and leave me naked with everyone laughing. Except, there’s no one around. It’s already past tardy. The church bell in the tower rang two minutes ago. That doesn’t stop me from clutching my towel closed with both hands while I hurry to AP Physics. I don’t even have my book bag. It’s in my regular locker. Unless Azzie broke into that too.
Scattered laughter from around the corner of the next building sends me scrambling for cover, only there isn’t any cover here on the stone canal walkway. Yes, there’s a canal running through this part of campus with walkways on both sides between buildings, and little arched bridges here and there. It’s made to look like Venice, Italy. Even the stones look historical and old. It’s actually romantic when you’re not late for class and wearing only a towel.
I dash up the narrow arched bridge heading toward the other side of the canal. That’s a mistake because two Fundy boys turn the corner between buildings on the other side and walk onto the opposite end of the bridge heading straight for me. I don’t recognize them, but I know they’re Fundy from their uniforms.
“Look! It’s Chemo!” Everyone recognizes me, with or without my uniform.
I’d turn around but I need to go forward to get to class. My plan is to push past these two on the narrow bridge.
“Not so fast, Chemo.” The tall kid says and grabs me by the waist.
“What’s under the towel?” the shorter kid asks and paws for it.
“Let go!” I twist and rip it out of his hand and spin away from the tall kid. Again, they stand between me and the way I need to go. I fight back the impending panic attack.
“This should be good,” a deep voice says behind me.
I glance over my shoulder at Prince.
He’s leaning one hip against the Greek-style bridge railing, arms folded across his chest, looking sexy as hell in his royal uniform. As always, he’s surfer hot, his blue eyes amused. “Whoever gets the towel first can sit at my dinner table tonight in the palace.”
Evil grins peel across the mouths of the two little gibbering grabbers.
“No!” I shout. “No one is taking my towel! Stop t
hem, Prince!”
“What’s to stop? They aren’t doing anything.” Prince stands there like moving is not on his agenda for the year.
The two grabbers are giggling like goblins.
Now that I look at them, they’re young. No more than freshman. Fourteen at the most, both of them skinny and geeky. Emily Calhoun and Kaitlyn Sharp back at Roosevelt are bigger than these two. These two I can handle.
I glare at them, “Out of my way, jerks, or I’m pushing you into the canal.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” I growl and run at them.
Wrestling two boys, no matter how small, is nearly impossible while holding onto your towel.
“I got it, I got it!” the short one squeals.
“No, I got it!” the tall one squeaks.
They’re pulling on my twisted towel like a tug of war.
Me?
I’m naked down to my flip-flops. “Give that back!”
Now it’s a three way tug of war.
“Stop,” Prince says half-heartedly because he’s obviously enjoying the show. “Stop already,” he sighs, still leaning against the wall.
They don’t. We’re fighting for the towel in a frenzy.
“Stop!” he hollers in exasperation, wading into the fray and tossing the two goblins on their asses and taking the towel. He’s about to hand it to me when—
“What the fuck are you doing, Prince?!” someone screams. Everyone turns to look at Elizabeth Morgan-Hearst. “Are you… Are you three raping her?” I’m too embarrassed to respond, and too busy covering myself with both hands. Backing into the bridge railing doesn’t hide anything. Prince wraps the towel around me. Elizabeth snorts, “Because if you are, don’t let me stop you.”
I’m stunned. “You think this is funny?”
“Yes,” she titters.
Prince glares at her.
I snarl at Prince, “Oh, you’re the good guy now?”
His face burns red underneath his tan, “I didn’t think they’d actually—”
“Actually take my towel, you ass-tampon?! You told them to!”
He runs his fingers through his golden hair and mutters, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize to her!” Elizabeth snaps. “She’s a gutter slut! We do not ever apologize to back-talking trash like her.”
Prince starts to say something then stops himself with a pained sigh.
I glare at Elizabeth, “Mind your own business, Azzie.”
“Don’t call me that.” She frowns at me down her surgically sculpted nose, which is as beautiful as I remember and exactly the same as Azzie’s. Exactly.
I clutch the towel around myself and get right in her face. “Why not, Azzie? You said it was your name.”
“Are you insane?” she laughs.
“No, but you are.” I realize I didn’t see Azzie in PE class after she ran away in the locker room. That means she had more than enough time to change clothes, do her hair, put in her nose ring and tongue stud, and put on the makeup she’s wearing now. Unlike “Elizabeth,” “Azzie” wears no makeup and pulls her hair back in a ponytail. I’m sure she’s got the transformation in either direction down to a science. “You’ve been gaslighting me since I got here, haven’t you, Elizazzie?”
Elizabeth frowns at Prince, “What is she talking about?”
He shrugs.
“Don’t deny it,” I say irately, glaring at Elizabeth.
“Deny what, gutter slut? That you need Lasik?”
“My vision’s fine! You’re Azzie!” I scoff. “Everybody can tell! It’s so obvious!”
She snorts, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
None of the other three seem to know either. See? They’re gaslighting me again! “You know what? Screw all of you! I’m late for class!” I barge past them.
<(—)>
When I get off the bridge and turn a bunch of corners and go down to another terrace level, I check over my shoulder to make sure none of them followed me.
“Mary, wait!” Prince is jogging to catch up.
“Oh, no! You get away from me!” My legs are jelly from all those laps I ran, otherwise I’d run faster.
He quickly catches me and grabs my towel, stopping me.
“Let go of me, Prince!” I struggle, but he’s too strong and I don’t want to lose my towel again. “Let! Go!”
“Would you relax?”
“No! You’re a piece of shit!”
“I’m sorry,” he sighs.
That stops me cold. “What?”
“I said I’m sorry.” He lets go of my towel.
I turn around, “Sorry you tried to get them to sexually assault me?”
“I wouldn’t have let them.”
“Take my towel?”
“Sexually assault you.”
I’m surprised by that but I’m still raging. “Oh, but you would let them take my towel.”
“I didn’t think they’d do it.”
“You’re a liar, Prince Turd.”
He scowls at that.
“I don’t even know you, but I know everyone around here kisses your ass. Especially geeky little goblin boys like those. I see the way people always defer to you like you’re the king. Step out of your way when you’re walking. It’s disgusting. I’m surprised you don’t have them throw roses wherever you go.”
He smirks, “I would, but you would have to clean them up.”
I scowl, “Is that supposed to be funny? That is not even close to funny. It just shows how far up your ass your head is, Prince Turd.”
His blue eyes chill to an icy azure.
“You don’t like that name, do you? You’re as bad as Duke. No one ever calls you names so you don’t know how to deal with it when they do. You’re both a bunch of babies, you know that? Grow a pair already.” I’ve got nothing to lose at this point, because seriously, I changed my mind and this place is no better than jail. And I used to think Roosevelt High was bad. That was nothing. I decide to let Prince have it. “You think just because you have money, you’re better than me?”
“It’s not just the money,” he grins. Is it a cocky grin? Yes. Is it arrogant? Of course. Is it blatantly flirtatious and incredibly sexy? Everything he does is incredibly sexy!
“Go away, turd,” I giggle and mean to start walking away, but I don’t. My legs stopped working. Everything below my waist wants to head toward him, not away. No, everything below my neck. All of me is thrumming with excitement. It’s been a few weeks since stalkery Prince stole me away from Rob and Mr. Ralston and led me to see the birds my first day here. Aside from seeing nearly all of him at that water polo game, I constantly see him on campus in his sexy academy uniform suit, but it’s never for long because I’m rushing from one place to the next, and he’s always surrounded by a huge entourage of Fundy girls in their unbuttoned blouses. Wherever he goes, it’s a festival of boobs. There’s no reason he’d notice me. I’ve pretty much forgotten him (except at night when I dream about him in a Speedo against my will), and forgotten what an ass he is, but my body remembered everything else. “Can I go now, your lowness?”
“Lowness,” he chuckles. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“No you don’t,” I snort. “I mean, you like me the same way little boys like to fry ants with magnifying glasses or pluck the wings off houseflies, little boy. That’s what you are. A turdy little boy. The lowest of the low.”
“You’re quick, strumpet. And you amuse me. Come to my party this weekend.”
“Party? I’m not going to any party you throw unless I’m forced at gunpoint.”
“That can be arranged.”
“Are you serious?” I sneer.
“About you coming at my party.”
“Did you just say at?” I blurt.
“I did,” he grins.
“No! You have a girlfriend!”
“Who?”
“All of them!” I laugh.
He snickers guiltily.
“Why’re you laughing?! It’s true!” I’m laughing too.
“It’s not true. Come to my party,” he says, verging on politeness.
“Is that a command, your lowness?”
His mouth tightens, “No, it’s a request.”
“Why should I? So I can be your girl jester? Do I have to wear a jester costume? Tell riddles and make jokes all night? Or just dance around like a dope and juggle a lot?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Screw you, turd.”
“We can do that.” He leans closer and his sandalwood and cinnamon smell hits me right between the… wherever, and launches an army of angry butterflies in my chest and the rest of me lower down. He tugs on the side of my towel.
I slap his hand away, “Hands off!”
“If you insist.” He turns and walks away, hollering over his shoulder, “Saturday night, strumpet! Don’t be late!”
“I’m not going to your stupid party! I don’t even know where it is!” Why did I say that? I don’t want to know and I certainly won’t go.
“I’ll send word!” he calls.
“Don’t send anything!” I giggle.
“Saturday, strumpet! Don’t be late!”
There is no way I’m going to his party.
<(—)>
“You have to go to his party, Mare Bear!” Mimi squeals. We’re in her dorm room hanging out studying. Just because we can’t room together doesn’t mean we can’t study together. “I don’t know a single work-study kid, boy or girl, who has ever gone to one of Prince’s parties! You have to go!”
“No way!” I laugh. “Prince is a lunatic! He probably doesn’t even have a party. He’s just trying to get me somewhere alone to do… I don’t know what he wants to do.”
“You know,” she says archly.
“Do not!” I pout.
“Do too. And that’s a bad thing?” Mimi giggles.
I roll my eyes and drawl out my words, “Evvvveryone knows how hot Prince is, and evvvveryone wants him to want them. Except me. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“Your denial is paper thin, Mare. You should totally go.”
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103 Page 19