by L V Chase
“God, Cin,” Demi blurts out. “Lighten up. You don’t need to be such a colossal bitch.”
Laughter bursts out of the group. Diana is the only other person who isn’t laughing, but as I catch her eye, she tucks her head down and takes a tentative step back towards Demi, a half-hearted smile cracking across her face. A small, forced giggle slips out as she shakes her head.
“She’s such a prude,” one of the DDDD’s mutter.
Diana is in sync with the laughter this time. The boy I confronted reaches toward me, his hand grasping my backpack’s strap.
In the South Bronx, there’s a code of conduct. One of the rules is that if someone touches you or any of your belongings, the punishment needs to be swift and brutal enough to make sure he never makes the mistake of touching your shit again.
So, I slug him like a true colossal bitch.
5
Grayson
The Circle, as we call it, is a flat portion of brick cobble in the mostly green school campus, just outside wide black doors that serve as the entrance to the school’s offices. A statue of the founder, Sirius Rome, is the color of dark chocolate everywhere except for the area around his crotch that's been rubbed a bright bronze. Grabbing the founder's metal bulge for a selfie is an old tradition, one that the administrators have tried to squash. Legend has it that Rome was a real player and hung like a buffalo. The guys want what he had, and so do the girls.
Not me. I don't need any voodoo shit. Eric and I pissed over Rome our freshman year.
Still, the Circle's our place, our throne room. Eric's currently re-enacting his fling with Kline's wife using the statue. He's jackhammering Rome's metal butt hard enough to send a loud thumping throughout the area. The others are lounging on the marble benches that line the Circle. I've got one to myself.
Aurora points at Eric. "Can he stop now?"
Shana, one of Aurora's friends, snickers, drawing a scowl from Aurora. Shana's Brazilian on one side and Greek on the other. Nice slim waist, round tits, even rounder ass. I haven't fucked her yet because I've been waiting for a day when I really want to piss off Aurora.
She hates it when I screw her friends.
"He's embarrassing us in front of the new kids." Aurora gestures to the other students walking past the Circle as they enter or leave the school.
Ordinarily, I'd let do Eric whatever he wants, but Aurora has a point. The new crop is showing up today, and first impressions count. I don't want them getting the wrong idea about us.
I lift my chin towards Eric. "Chill. You're going to bruise your balls."
"Nah. I can smash all day." Eric reaches around and starts fingering Rome's shiny crotch while keeping up the pumping from behind. "Wish I could have heard her moans. I had to stuff half her dress into her mouth so the guests wouldn't hear."
"Grayson." Aurora scowls, then her eyes widen. "Wait, is he talking about—"
"Eric. Chill."
I only say two words, but he hears the change in my voice. Eric slaps Rome's ass, then jumps off the square base. He leans against the statue casually as if nothing had happened.
A mixed group of boys and girls comes out of the tall gray building behind the Circle. They stop when they see us, whispering to each other, before hastily lowering their eyes and continuing on. They look like freshman, skinny little pricks with dazed, clueless expressions.
More students pass by. Some of them lower their eyes like the freshmen did, others smile brightly, hoping to catch our eyes. A few call out to us.
I ignore them all.
The others enjoy the attention. Eric whistles at the hottest ones and loudly and crassly offers his phone number. Two girls, a blonde and a brunette, take up his offer and whip out their phones eagerly. The blonde looks over at me, but I turn away.
"Yo, Eric, save some from me," says Donnie.
Donnie looks like a dumb jock because he's always smiling, but he knows his place and stays out of trouble most of the time. He's useful, too. He's one of the three that took care of Richter's wife.
The blonde suddenly squeals. "Oh my god. I love your shoes. Are those limited edition..."
I tune out the air-headed babbling. She's kissing up to Aurora now, still sending a glance or two in my direction. The others, Aurora included, soak it all in with pleased smiles. Another girl, a mousy one with freckles, approaches me and mumbles something, but I just stare at her like she's speaking Swahili. I'm not flattered. I'm pissed. It's insulting that she thinks she's worth my time.
She just stands there awkwardly while I glare. Then, Donnie swoops in and starts chatting her up, sparing me from any further annoyance. Yeah, Donnie's useful. Smart, too. From the looks of the new girl, Donnie's going to get laid later today.
A couple more dare to approach. This time it's a group of five boys. They're wearing preppy white button ups and tan pants, except one who’s in a blue shirt. They glance at me and my crew. Of course, Aurora and her girls are dressed up, but we guys are all wearing tight tees and dark denim. The newcomers loosen their collared necks and roll up their sleeves, trying to pretend that their mommies didn't dress them this morning.
The lead boy, the one in blue, is a slightly taller than the rest. He's got a folded pair of shades hanging from his neck, looking like a douche, but he has the nerve to stop in front of Aurora. I'll give him that.
"Hey," he says.
Aurora grabs the back of her neck with her right hand and leans back, pretending to stretch while showing off her tits. She always acts like that, even with me, god knows why.
She lowers her head, bites her lip, and glances upward at him before pulling a strand of hair to the side of her face. Oh Christ, did the boy just gulp? It's too painful to watch.
Aurora's toying with him. She enjoys it. Her problem is that she thinks the attention of a nobody is worth something, that a dollar is a dollar, no matter who gives it to you. The difference between me and her is that if someone gave me a shit-stained stack of bills, I'd tell him to fuck off, while she'd gladly pocket it.
I idly watch out of the corner of my eye. There's no chance that he gets anywhere with Aurora, unlike Eric. There’s no need for me to step in.
"Um, hey," he repeats. "I'm Terry, so my parents, I mean, I'm throwing a yacht party tonight. You think you'd be interested?"
"Hey." Aurora whips her head to the side. "Shana, you hear that? You want to go?"
Shana looks Terry up and down like a she's eyeing a new dress for defects. She shakes her head. "Pass."
Terry's shoulders slump, but I'm not paying attention to them anymore. A new group of girls walk through the grassy area that surrounds the school, along with one of the teachers, the weird art guy. I haven't seen this group before. The new girls are all leggy blondes in tiny short shorts and thin pastel blouses. The girls are in constant motion, laughing, pointing, their tits bouncing the whole time.
They're loud, trashy, and have bodies that'd be right at home on a stripper's stage. The scholarship girls. That must be them.
I'm not the only one who's noticed the newcomers. Everyone else's head swivels to check them out. All the boys, even Terry, are eye-fucking the blondes. The girls are checking them out, too, but the eye-fucking they do is the kind with knives and blood.
I don't feel sorry for Terry, but giving him a nudge is my way of tweaking Aurora. And I can be generous, when I want to. I don't mind helping another guy get laid, especially someone who had the balls to approach my sister. He's harmless, just needs to know his place. Plus, it's a good way to see what those girls are made of. I've got Dad's job hanging over me, and I might as well get on with it.
"Terry. That your name?" I don't raise my voice, but all eyes in the Circle immediately go back to me. Except for Eric. He's wiggling his tongue at the blondes.
"Yeah...yeah. I'm Terry." His chest puffs out a little more. One of his buddies slaps his shoulder like he just landed an interview with God himself. Which, maybe he did.
"See them?" I nod towards the s
cholarship girls. "You like what you see?"
Terry's face is a scramble of confusion for a desperate second. He thinks I'm about to humiliate him for talking to my sister. I nod in encouragement, and a fake bravado replaces his nervous tics.
"Yeah." Terry checks the blondes out again. He's grinning now. "Yeah, I like them."
He's a typical wannabe. A try-hard who doesn't know the first thing about dominating a woman or being anything other than a desperate dick on two legs. Who says dicks can't be useful, though?
"Show me." I nod again. "Show me that you like them."
He brightens up like a puppy. You would have thought I just offered to give him a handjob.
Meanwhile, Eric hollers, and the blondes, who look like they’re on a tour, all turn towards him. He jumps up to hang from our founder's stony arm with one hand and waves.
Terry hoots, and his buddies laugh. "I'd fuck the blond one," Terry calls out, and his little group laughs again.
"Show me your tits!" one of Terry's friends shouts.
"How tight you think she is?" another asks loudly.
They're getting into it, standing taller, acting like they're bigger than they are. One of them starts motioning do his crotch and rocking his pelvis. They're fucking idiots. Eric gives me a weird look, like he can't believe that I'm putting up with this shit, but I shake my head, telling him to stay out of it. Aurora’s frowning, then smirking. I know she can't stand these guys, either, but she loves a good show at someone else's expense.
Terry looks back at me, and I give him a solid nod. I hear Eric murmur a what-the-fuck, but Terry's a dipshit and doesn't understand what's going on. Terry and his buddies approach the blondes. They're a bunch of apes, but what do you know, the scholarship girls are eating it up. The blondes are grinning, sticking out their chests. One of them bends over and lets a guy slap her ass. The teacher’s run off talking on his phone.
There’ more yelling and preening. The scholarship girls are getting into it, too.
Terry's reaching for someone, then, suddenly, he's holding his face and screaming like a pussy. "Fucking fuck! You bitch!"
Terry rears up as if to lunge forward, and then the teacher's suddenly in between him and someone else.
And I see her as she steps out from behind the others.
Her face is burning, not with embarrassment or some bitchy anger, but with absolute fury. Her green eyes are twin embers of rage, her cheeks flushed with flame, her mouth strong and vivid. She’s more of a brunette than blonde like the others, but the tips of her hair are tinged with a lighter shade, like her hair’s crowned by tongues of flame.
She's an angel, not the wimpy kind with fluttering feathery wings, but the kind that kills and ends worlds.
I'm almost hesitant to look further down her body because I don't want to be disappointed. But my eyes creep down her long pale neck, the two full breasts, impossibly thin waist, thick butt, and slim long legs. No, I'm not disappointed. I'm hungry, like I haven't been for as long as I can remember.
There's yelling, more flailing. The teacher's trying to separate that banshee from the sad little fuck who's name I've already forgotten.
I beckon to the others. "Who's that?" I look to Eric, then back to her. "Who's that?"
Eric hops down and comes over to me. He bends over as if taking a better look, his hands resting on his knees. "That there is Ollie. Our fabulous art teacher."
"No, not him. Her."
"Her?" Aurora practically screeches. She makes her way closer. "You talking about a scholarship girl?"
"The fuck is it to you?" I turn to the rest of them. "No one knows?"
They all shake their heads, some of them mumbling apologies.
Aurora scowls. "A fucking charity case they picked up off the streets. She's probably been turning tricks her whole life. Do you realize how fucking used she is? Didn't know you liked sloppy seconds. Or hundreds. God, could you have any more terrible taste—"
"Shut the fuck up, Aurora. Eric." I make a small motion with my head and Eric's at my side instantly.
Eric licks his lips. "She looks like she wants to get tied up—"
"No, she doesn't." That's all it takes for Eric to quiet down.
The teacher, Ollie's giving her a stern lecture. He says something to the other scholarship girls, then escorts her inside the school. I couldn't quite make out what was going on, but I heard the word "principal." Going to Walsh's office, most likely. We've got a zero-tolerance policy here. Of course, that doesn't apply to us, but they've kicked out others for less.
"Go see Walsh. She stays. Got it?" I meet Eric's eyes.
He nods, his face serious.
I give him a small nod back. “Hurry.”
Eric runs down the path, passing Ollie and the girl, to beat them into the building. I keep my eyes on her the entire time so that everyone, even Aurora, gets the message.
She’s mine.
6
Cin
After I hit the boy, the group makes so much noise—the girls squealing and the boys hollering—I don’t hear Ollie until he’s in front of me. He grabs my arm and pushes me back. The boy is helped up to his feet by his friend.
“Terry—” Ollie starts.
“Fucking bitch sucker-punched me,” the boy spits out, rubbing the side of his face. “Give me two seconds with her, and I’ll show her how to throw a punch.”
“You’re not going to do anything,” Ollie says. For the first time, an edge cuts into his voice. “I’m taking her to Principal Walsh. Y’all stay here.”
He grabs onto my arm again, yanking me towards the tall building ahead of us. His grip pinches my skin.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he says, his tone still harsher than it had been for the last half hour. “Do you know who he is? God. I thought I saw something in you, and you’re just throwing it all away.”
“They were harassing, Diana,” I say, pulling my arm out of his grasp.
His arms fling up into the air. “So, tell someone.”
“Right. That always works so well,” I say. “How many sexual assaults do you think occur on this campus? And how many convictions?”
He grimaces. “It’s not worth throwing your future away for.”
I don’t care who that boy is, and I don’t agree with Ollie’s worldview. But the disappointment strewn across Ollie’s face and the idea that he saw something in me—past tense—makes regret feel like a knife in my side. The possibility that I could have a successful life is turning into a figment of my imagination.
I’m going to end up like my mother, scraping by with nothing to keep me grounded except my regrets.
“Listen,” he says. “It’s Cinnamon, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “How could you tell?”
“I studied the scholarship files before y’all came. I paid special attention to yours, because if you’re an art scholarship, it means you’d be under my guidance.” He takes a deep breath. “Just let me talk once we get to the principal’s office. If I get a chance to vouch for you, you might get away with suspension.”
“You don’t sound too confident.”
“You’re smart enough to know how things work. They have a legitimate reason to kick you out, and it’s highly likely they will, especially considering how rich the Parsons are,” he says. “I can’t imagine a reason why they’d keep you, but we have a small chance. Terry’s bothered some of the other girls. if I can convince Isaac that it’s smarter to kick out Terry before he pisses off the wrong family, you may have a chance.”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “But you don’t think so.”
“Even if Isaac agrees, he’ll probably kick you out and put Terry on suspension.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Just prepare yourself. Come on.”
He grabs my arm again. We approach the tallest building on campus. It’s only eight floors tall, but its octagonal design with massive windows showing the offices inside makes it seem more monumental. The only floor that isn’t visibl
e is the eighth one, where tinted windows reflect the campus garden.
Ollie yanks the door open. The interior of the building reminds me of movie sets for offices—everything screams expensive minimalism, everyone is beautiful, and if anyone is stressed out, it’s not showing. Ollie and I stop in front of the elevator as the doors slide open. A boy steps out. He runs his hand through his dark hair as he flashes me a grin. He winks as he passes by.
Ollie pulls me into the elevator. As the doors slide closed, the boy glances back at me. I flip him off. He laughs.
Ollie releases my arm. The elevator has a screen, showing the floor number. Hell, this school’s office is bigger than my entire district’s.
Floor 1: Mail and Receiving.
Floor 2: Admissions.
Floor 3: Financial.
Floor 4: Registrar.
Floor 5: Dining Services.
Floor 6: IT Services.
Floor 7: Human Resources.
Floor 8: Principal Walsh.
We stop on the eighth floor. Ollie doesn’t grab my arm again, but when he steps forward to the front desk, I follow him.
“Good morning, Hope,” he says to the woman—golden hair and model thin—at the desk. “I need to talk to Principal Walsh.”
She gestures to the door, still typing with her other hand. “Go right in.”
He walks over to the door and knocks. I follow behind him. The placard, Principal Walsh, reflects half of my face.
My future ends on the other side of this door. How simple. How predictable.
“Come in,” a masculine voice calls out.
When I step inside, the room is dimly lit except for the desk on the east side. A man is sitting behind it, but he doesn’t look like what I’d expect from a principal. He looks more like he should be a football coach. His shaved head almost gleams under the glow of his desk lamp and, as he leans back, the full weight of his stocky build makes the chair squeak. He surveys me like I’m a potential threat.