“No!” The words explodes from me as I stand up, knocking my fork to the floor, bits of food scattering everywhere. “Why? I already told you that I don't want to go back there. Didn't you hear what I said about Monica and Cody—”
“Please, Charlotte, stop for a moment and listen to me.”
“I don't want to listen. I told you that I want to stay here. Are you doing this on purpose to torture me?” The thought of going back to California now, after getting Spencer back. After … you know, with Spencer. It's too much. And then there are the keys, and Mr. Murphy’s pen, and Eugene, and the mystery Adam sending me notes …
“I'm doing this because I love you,” Dad says, and my cheeks flame. We're not very open with each other, and we rarely hug or use the L-word. I think I'm developing serious intimacy issues. “But, believe it or not, I do also understand what it's like to be a teenager, and I don't want to pressure you into a situation where you'll be miserable.”
“No matter what options you give me, if it involves me leaving Adamson, I will be miserable.” My hands curl into fists on the surface of the table as I stare Dad down. Now it all makes sense, him being nice all week. Figures.
“Your mother is out of rehab and doing well. She even managed to get a job, and an apartment.”
“She's out, and she didn't call me?” I ask, frowning hard. A shard of ice stabs through my heart, but I push the feeling aside. Why should I be surprised about that? My mom and I haven't been close in … well, ever.
“She's been working on getting a life together, so she had something to call you about,” Dad continues, always taking her side. It's beyond frustrating, but at this point, I'm used to it. “I've already spoken with her, and she wants you to move in. You can tour a few schools we’ve picked out, and select the one that seems the best fit.”
My mouth is pursed so tight it hurts, and I'm shaking.
“Or?” I ask, because I can see that I'm being given 'options' here.
“You can move in with your Aunt Elisa, and go back to Santa Cruz High.”
“Great.” I slump back into my chair, closing my eyes against the overwhelming fury and frustration. How ironic is this, getting what I asked for all along, but only when I no longer want it? Life’s a bitch. “Los Angeles with a Mom that doesn't care enough to call, or Santa Cruz with my cheating ex, and the best friend that was sleeping with him. Wonderful options.”
“Charlotte, sarcasm isn't going to help your situation. I'm giving you another week to say your goodbyes, and make your choice. Try to act like an adult, and really think this over.”
“I don't need time to think; I'm staying here.”
“Unfortunately, no, you're not.” Dad levels his gaze on me, mouth in a flat line, glasses catching the light of the flickering flames of the candelabra. “Now, please sit down and eat the nice meal I made you.”
“Sorry, but I have adult choices to make,” I spit, storming over to the front door and grabbing my jacket. Dad follows after me, but even his commands to come back don't stop me from taking off down the path by myself.
Fortunately, the astronomy club happens to be outside in the field, gazing up at the stars. If I screamed, they'd hear me. So, luckily for me, I make it back to the boys' dormitory alive this time—and without being chased by a guy with a knife. Lucky.
I text Dad a pic of the sign depicting the dormitory rules with the words alive, no worries. And then I head up the stairs to Spencer's room, lifting my fist to knock. Nobody answers, and I frown, moving over to the twins' room instead.
Nothing.
“They're not here,” Church says, appearing in the doorway to what's supposed to be Spencer's room. He smiles at me and then moves back inside, clearly waiting for me to follow. I do, and find myself in a room much like the others, but with more homey touches than I would've guessed. He has ridiculous signs everywhere, the kind that housewives and authors are obsessed with that say shit like It’s Coffee O’clock and But First … Coffee. The dude seriously has a problem.
“Where are they?” I ask as Church gestures to the extra bed, and I take a seat on it. Everything is meticulous in here, crisp and clean, and well-organized. There's an entire shelf of fantasy novels and manga, and a whole wall covered in pictures of faraway places.
Church sits down on his own bed and crosses his long legs. It's easy to see why they put his face on all the brochures. He really is quite pretty to look at, with that shiny honey hair paired with bright, amber eyes, and a smile that turns serious wattage.
He’s using it on me now, and it’s working. My mouth twitches.
“Dinner.” Just that one word, said with a flash of cocksure smirk. He’s got the prince of the school act down pat.
“And you didn't want to go with them?”
“I had an inkling you might stop by,” he says, studying me carefully. “Your father approached me today to see if the Culinary Club might be interested in throwing you a going away party.”
My face pales, and I slump back against the wall with a sigh.
“Have you told anyone else yet?” I ask, and Church very gently shakes his head no. “Why not?”
“Isn't that why you're here in the first place?” he asks me, reaching over to grab a blended coffee drink off the nightstand. He sips it while staring at me.
“Yeah, pretty much.” My voice sounds soggy and low. It's depressing to hear. “I don't want to go back to California.”
“You want to stay with Spencer,” Church guesses, but there's no question mark at the end of his sentence. He knows that I do. “And the twins, more than likely.” For a second there, I wonder if he’s going to add something else. He doesn’t. It’s like he’s searching for information and holding back at the same time, I don’t get it.
“Have you ever had a crush on more than one person at a time?” I ask, and Church just smiles at me.
“No.”
There's a long pause before he stands up and moves over to a red mini-fridge that's plugged in at the end of the bed I'm sitting on. It's got a nice, glossy finish, and this vintage look that makes it seem so charming. Church opens it and folds his long body in half to peer inside.
“What would you like to drink? I have coffee, coffee, or coffee.” He lifts his head up to look at me, and flashes a huge, blinding sort of smile. “Mocha? Vanilla latte? A caramel chocolate thing that looks absolutely heart-stopping.”
“What you have is more than an interest, it’s an addiction,” I tell him, but then I smile a little, too. I'll never forget the way he looked in the woods that day, when he thought he'd first lost one friend then the other. There was a depth to the Student Council president that surprised me. He feels emotion on a whole other level. Makes me want to be a better person, to be honest. If I were, would I understand him better? “But I'll take the caramel-chocolate thing.”
“That'd be my choice, too,” Church says, standing up and reaching out to hand me the can. He drops it into my palm, making sure our fingers don't touch. I take note of that.
He sits back down on his own bed as I crack the top on my drink and take a sip.
“Holy shit, that goes down smooth,” I murmur, and Church smirks.
“Is that what you told Spencer?” he asks, and I roll my eyes.
“I didn't suck his dick.”
“Not yet.”
I narrow my eyes on Church Montague, but he just sits there, all casual and sprawled, like he owns the place. Hell, maybe he does? I have no idea. But I'm pretty sure the Montagues are the richest family to have a student at this school.
“Tell me about your parents,” I start, and he shakes his head.
“Tell me what you're going to say to Spencer. He won't be happy about this.”
“He won't be happy?” I ask, leaning forward. “I'm not happy about it. Did you try to argue with Archie?” I'm not sure why I even ask that. It just seems that Church has been arguing on my behalf with my dad for a while. Maybe that's his thing, just what he does as the leader of this little crew?
>
“I asked the headmaster if he couldn't be persuaded otherwise.” Church takes a noisy sip from his straw, eyes leveled on me. The intensity of his stare is unnerving; it makes me squirm. “Even a bribe didn't work. He threatened me with detention. Me. A Montague. Can you believe that?”
“Oh, the audacity,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But really, you tried to bribe him?”
“Works with most people,” Church says, and then sighs. “But then, I'm sure the school board picked your father as headmaster for a reason. It isn't easy to find someone who can control an entire population of rich, spoiled brats without succumbing to a little bribery in the process.”
“So at least you can admit it, that you're a rich, spoiled brat?”
“I didn't mean me,” Church continues, cocking a honeyed brow and setting his drink aside. “I meant everyone else.” He smiles again, like he really expects me to find his joke funny. I stand up and put my hands on my hips.
“You don't think you're a spoiled brat?” I ask, sipping my coffee. It really is heart-stoppingly good. I turn the can around and study the label, discovering that it's a locally produced product from two towns over. Nice.
“Do you?” Church retorts, and I pause.
He has a point there.
“If I were a spoiled brat, don't you think I'd be able to convince my father not to ship me across the country? He basically tricked me to get me here, and now that I finally want to stay, he's forcing me to leave again?”
“He cares about you,” Church says, with this little hint of understanding in his voice. My brows go up, and I step forward to put my can on the nightstand, tripping on a pair of slippers that are tucked halfway under the bed. I go sprawling, but Church reaches up and catches the can of coffee in one hand, managing to keep it from spilling as I tumble into him.
We end up front to front on his bed, the can held out to one side, our lips precariously close. Not a split-second later, the door opens and there's Spencer with a key in his hand, and wide, wide eyes.
“What in the ever-loving fuck?!” he shouts, storming into the room and snatching the can of coffee from Church's outstretched hand. He sets it aside and tosses the keys on the opposite bed. “Alright, get up, Montague. I'm kicking your ass.”
“Spencer,” I groan, pushing up to my feet and turning to face him. He steps forward suddenly and cups my face in his hands, leaning in and kissing me so deeply that my toes curl and my mind goes completely blank but for him. Where am I? What am I doing? The only thing that seems to matter in that moment is that this boy is touching me, kissing me, making me dream of things I never allowed myself before.
Remember how I said I didn't believe in true love? I mean, we're not there yet, but I could easily see how it could happen. Spencer makes me feel … different, like I’m made of bubbles, fragile but free. I could float anywhere.
He steps back and exhales, giving Church a dark look, one that reminds me of the way he stared at me that first night in the forest, when he pinned me to a tree by my neck. Glad we're way past that now.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Church sits up and grabs his mocha frap-whatever, taking a sip before he bothers to answer.
“Why don't you ask Charlotte? She's the one that tripped and fell.”
“Right.” Spencer rolls his eyes. “She just happened to trip and fall on top of you?”
“You think we'd be doing anything else?” I ask, and that mollifies him a bit. Spencer takes a sip from my coffee and sighs.
“Sorry, it's been a week.” He studies me with his turquoise eyes, and I flush. Looking at him like this, all I can think about is the way he moved above me, inside of me. I bite my lip and glance away.
I'm going to miss him.
I'm sure he'll move on from me.
“What are you doing over here anyway?” Spencer asks, tucking one hand into the pocket of his navy blue slacks. He looks good in the Adamson All-Boys Academy uniform; they all do.
“My dad is sending me back to California at the end of the week,” I whisper, and Spencer's eyes go wide. “I've got until Friday to decide where I want to go: Los Angeles with my mom or Santa Cruz with my aunt.”
“No.” Spencer turns on his heel and storms off. Church and I exchange a quick glance before I take off after him.
“Where do you think you're going?” I ask, grabbing onto the sleeve of his blue blazer, the blue and red stripes on his arm denoting his position in the Student Council, as well as his job as the sergeant-of-arms. How ironic, isn't it, that the student who's supposed to be in charge of policing the academy is actually the one selling weed on campus?
“To talk to the headmaster,” he says, but I keep my grip on his arm and stop him from going down the stairs. The twins and Ranger are on their way up, and they pause beside us, taking in Spencer's angry expression.
“What's going on now?” Ranger asks, studying us both with those sapphire eyes of his, the matching blue streak in his ebon hair catching the light.
“Chuck is going back to California,” Spencer snaps, frowning hard. His breath is coming in, harsh, angry pants. He's clearly upset, and so am I. I'm not stupid; I know how high school relationships work. If I leave, Spencer will move on. I'll never get to see how far this goes or where we might take it.
I just lost my virginity to the guy. Don't I deserve a chance to explore things with him?
“What? Why?” the twins asks in unison, exchanging a look before turning back to me. “You can't go back now.”
“That's what I told the headmaster,” I snap, because my dad's always been just a little bit more teacher than he is father. “But he doesn't seem inclined to listen to me.”
“Maybe it's best,” Ranger says, pausing with his right hand on the newel post. He looks up to see Spencer gaping at him. “What? Don't look at me like that. I mean, we knew things were dangerous when all that shit happened at the Valentine's Day party, but come on. Someone died. Eugene is dead. Whoever it is that's fucking with us is playing for keeps, and Charlotte is clearly a target. Don't you want her to be safe?”
“You want my dad to send me away?” I choke. I mean, I knew that Ranger and I weren't the closest of friends, but come on! I thought we'd bonded more than that.
“So you don't end up hanging from a tree limb in the woods? Sure.” Ranger takes the last step and pauses next to us on the landing. “Do you want Charlotte to get hurt, Spence?”
“It's Chuck,” I murmur, looking around to make sure none of the other students are on their way out of their rooms.
“Sorry.” Ranger grimaces, looking at me with that dark, scary expression of his. Hard to take him seriously though after seeing him baking shit naked, dressed only in his grandmother's apron. “Chuck.”
“Or Charlie. My grandfather's name was Charlie.” I pause and chew on my lower lip, glancing over to find Micah and Tobias staring at me. “I don't want to go back. I'm not afraid of whoever these assholes are.”
“No, but maybe you should be?” Ranger suggests, moving past us and storming toward his room like he’s pissed all the way off. Church watches him go, leaning in the doorway to his own room.
“Do you want us to talk to the headmaster?” the twins ask as I glance back at them. Tobias is clearly upset; Micah looks resigned but furious. Even though I'm still upset about the whole situation, it's nice to see that they care. “We can be quite persuasive, when we want to be.” They both lift their arms up to the sides in a well-coordinated gesture.
“As much as I appreciate the offer—” I start, and Spencer cuts me off.
“We'll all go talk to him together, plead your case,” he announces, straightening out his blazer and pulling his tie from over his shoulder so that it hangs straight. I've noticed he often tucks it back like that, as if it gets in his way. “I mean, the police ruled Eugene's death a suicide, right? So why still send you away?”
“Unless the headmaster knows something we don't,” Church suggests, still l
ounging in the doorway to his room. He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug, and then smiles. It's enigmatic, that expression, and it makes me wonder if my dad isn't the only one who knows more than he's letting on.
“I've written a letter explaining all the reasons why I shouldn't have to leave Adamson,” I say later that night, presenting the carefully handwritten note to my father. To his credit, he does take it, pull his glasses out of his front pocket, and start reading. Thank fuck I managed to convince the Student Council—Spencer in particular—to stay out of this. If Dad’s already threatened Church with detention for haggling on my behalf, bringing the whole crew in here won’t do me any good.
Archibald Carson is a stubborn son of a bitch.
My heart soars when he looks up and smiles at me. But then I realize that there's a sort of patronizing air to the expression, and I frown.
“I'm really proud of you, Charlotte,” he says, and I cock a brow. There's a 'but' coming, I just know it. There's always a 'but' with my father. I wet my lips and shift my feet. Please don't be an ass widget, I plead with the universe, inventing another new insult. Ass widget. Heh. I should make t-shirts. “In the past, you would've thrown a temper tantrum, or insulted me to try to get your way.”
“Um, thanks?” I ask, thinking that really his compliment is one of those insults-dressed-as-compliments sort of situations. “So, are you going to at least consider letting me stay?”
Dad keeps smiling, but the expression is tight.
Crap.
“As much as I appreciate you taking the time to come up with a cohesive argument, I'm afraid my answer is still the same. You can go back to Santa Cruz and finish the year out with your old friends, or you can start fresh in Los Angeles with your mother.”
“I already started fresh,” I grind out, trying to keep my temper. Maintaining a calm and even keel has never really been my forte. But I'm trying here, I'm really trying. “Because you got your dream job. You gave me no say in the matter. In fact, you lied to me to get me out here. And now I'm here, and I want to stay, and you're hellbent on sending me away?”
The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2) Page 11