Shh, I have a secret.
The sinfully gorgeous members of the Student Council—Church, Ranger, Spencer, Micah and Tobias—can't ever find out.
I already get picked on because my father's the headmaster.
I don't need them to know I’m the only girl, too; I’d rather dress like a boy.
Adamson All-Boys Academy now has its only female student, but I'm not about to be their guinea pig.
Not when there's a secret at this school nobody is talking about. Not when the last female student here ended up dead.
Table of Contents Table of Contents
Front Matter Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Signup for my Newsletter
Author's Note
Map of Adamson All-Boys Campus
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Back Matter The Ruthless Boys Cover
Spirited Cover
The Family Spells Cover
Filthy Rich Boys Cover
Filthy Rich Boys Chapter 1
Keep Up With The Fun
More Books By C.M. Stunich
About the Author
The Secret Girl
The Secret Girl © C.M. Stunich 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
The For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.
www.cmstunich.com
Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal
The The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.
this book is dedicated to my niece, Charlotte Farren.
you can read this one when you get a little older, okay?
love you, girl!
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Author's Note
***Possible Spoilers***
The Secret Girl is a reverse harem, high school bully romance. What does that mean exactly? It means our female main character, Charlotte Carson, will end up with at least three love interests by the end of the series. It also means that for a portion of this book, the love interests quite literally bully Charlotte, although if you’ve read my other series Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, this is a much lighter read. This book in no way condones bullying, nor does it romanticize it. The love interests in this story do have reason for their actions, and do attempt to make it up by the end of book one.
Any kissing/sexual scenes featuring Charlotte aka Chuck are consensual. This book might be about high school students, but it is not what I would consider young adult. The characters are quirky, the emotions real, the f-word in prolific use. There’s some underage drinking, sexual situations, mention of a side character’s possible suicide, and other adult scenarios although this remains a fairly lighthearted read.
Charlotte starts off as a bit of a brat, but I hope you hang around for her character growth. ;)
None of the main characters is under the age of sixteen. This series will have a happy ending in the third and final book.
Reading Order:
Adamson All-Boys Academy Series
The Secret Girl
The Ruthless Boys
The Forever Crew
It looks less like a school, and more like a castle.
I stand at the edge of the lawn in front of Adamson's All-Boys Academy, and I try to remember how it feels to breathe. Orange, red, and yellow leaves swirl around the ankles of my slacks as I hitch my bag a little higher up on my shoulder and push on down the curving path toward the employee entrance.
My dad's not far ahead of me, cursing at the random droplets of rain spattering down on our heads. He unlocks the door, gestures me inside, and then closes it behind him.
“Why don't you head down to the cafeteria, find a spot, and get settled?” Dad asks, trying to smile at me. I'm frowning at him. I'm still mad. I'll probably stay mad the rest of the year because …
“My boobs hurt,” I blurt, and he flushes bright red. “And the bandages are pulling on my nipples.”
“Charlotte,” he snaps back, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “May I remind you that this was your idea, not mine. It's day one, and it’s not too late to change your mind.”
“No thank you,” I quip, turning and pushing out of the office and into the hallway. From bright California sunshine, beaches and bikinis, to … this. Frost-nipped air, piles of slimy dead leaves, and an all-boys school looking to experiment on me. I’ve been here two minutes and already I don’t like it. Back in Santa Cruz, I had friends, a boyfriend, and a passion for surfing. Here in … where are we again? Nobody-Gives-a-Crap, Connecticut?
The hallways here are cavernous, with stone arches and brick walls, windows made of delicate stained-glass, and mosaic floors. The teachers are all stuffy and dressed in suits, as opposed to my last school where most of the staff wore shorts and sneakers.
My chest is tight as I pull up the school map on my phone and make my way to the cafeteria. Apparently, Adamson has won all sorts of awards for their school food. It’s all sustainable, and primarily grown in greenhouses in the back. There’s even a chicken coop that all students are required to take a two week shift helping with. Yeah, so not looking forward to that.
Slipping in the big, double wooden doors, I find the room empty save for a single boy in the corner, hunched over a bowl of cream of wheat or oatmeal or something. He glances up as I walk in, adjusts his ear buds, and then looks back down at the open book sitting beside his bowl.
For a moment there, my heart stops, and I freeze just inside the door, holding my backpack and reaching up a hand to touch my newly shorn hair. Back in California, it was long, blond and luxurious. Now, it’s … cut in this nerdy, androgynous sort of way—long in the front and on the top, short on the sides and back. It’s naturally curly, too, so if I don’t straighten it, it flops in ringlets over my forehead and looks even shorter. Paired with my thick-framed black glasses (I usually wear contacts), an oversized blazer, and the athletic tape I wrapped over my breasts, I don’t think anyone will look at me twice.
It’s a strategic move on my part to pick a seat near the trash cans. Hopefully nobody will sit near me, and I can make it through breakfast without having to put up with awkward conversation. My whole goal here is to convince my mother—who lives in Los Angeles—to let me move in with her. I’ll still be five hours away from my boyfriend, Cody, and my best friend, Monica, but that’s better than a forty-four hour drive like it is now.
Flopping my backpack onto the table, I put my elbows down and then rub my hands over my face. I’
m not wearing any makeup, so it’s not like it matters. Dropping my hands to my lap, I look around the room, taking in the shiny wood tables, the reclaimed wood floors, and the chandeliers made out of … antlers. Mm. Not exactly my aesthetic.
I leave my bag where it is, and head over to the counter, scanning my student ID badge and taking a tray. It might be a cafeteria, but the food looks good. I’m used to cold cereal, packages of oatmeal, and dry muffins for school breakfast. This place has scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and even smoothies. I’ll admit it: I’m mildly impressed.
That feeling only lasts so long as it takes for the cafeteria to fill up with students.
I’m the only girl at this school, the first female student in Adamson’s new integrated curriculum, but I’m not about to be their guinea pig. My dad calls it social progress; I call it an experiment with unknown outcomes. It’s great that the academy wants to have a mixed gender population. I mean, what is it, the sixteen hundreds or something? There’s no room for an all-boys school anymore, especially not when most people recognize gender norms are ridiculous social constructs.
Still, I’m not exactly a pioneer or an activist or anything. I like surfing all day, collapsing on the beach with a book, and then reading until the boardwalk lights come on. My friends and I would stop and get a seventy-five cent corn dog and a dollar soda, and then walk home while making plans for tomorrow. Every day was an event, always something to look forward to.
But here …
There’s a lot of shouting, greetings called across the cavernous room, and a sea of blazers, cardigans, slacks, and ties. I’m drowning in my navy blue jacket, cream colored tie, and white shirt. I asked for my uniforms to be made about two sizes bigger than they should be. With the jacket hanging off my shoulders, my breasts and hips are swallowed by fabric. I’m totally incognito.
“Hello there.”
Two voices surround me at once, and I jump as a pair of boys sits on either side of me.
Looking between the two of them, it becomes immediately obvious: they’re identical twins.
Super tall, super lean, super handsome identical twins. Uh-oh. My cheeks flame red, and my heart starts to pound. Cute boys are my weakness. Like, I’d make the worst main character in a book because I’d just fall in love with everyone. Okay, so I’d lust after everyone. I’m a bit too skeptical to believe in true love or anything. At least, I don’t right now.
“Micah.” One of them says, extending a hand.
“Tobias.” The other one reaches out to shake with me, but I’m not about to accept an invitation from either. Some stupid, silly part of me thinks that if I take their hands, they’ll know, and I’ll have to get used to every guy in the school staring at me. I’ll be the odd one out by default, the outcast, the pariah.
Snatching my bag, I launch up to my feet, hop over the bench and take off.
The twins are right behind me.
“Are you okay?” they ask, still in unison. It’s seriously creepy. They’re both green-eyed, red-haired, and far too interested in me already. Back in California, I was loud and outgoing. Maybe I wasn’t the most popular girl in school, but Monica was. By proxy, I had plenty of attention, invites to parties, casual friends and acquaintances to hang out with. Here, I need to blend into the background, keep my head down, and ride out this nightmare until I can convince Mom to let me move in with her.
I pick up my walking speed, turn the corner, and then come to a grinding halt as the twins slide in front of me, blocking my path. They both look at me like I’ve sprouted tentacles or something. I look at them like they’re beyond gorgeous, but totally impossible. We will never be friends, despite their handsome faces.
“Does the new kid speak English?” they ask, exchanging a look. Their attention swings back to me, and I can feel that scrutiny like a laser burning into my skin. “Buenos dias. Cómo te llamas?”
Great. Now they’re asking me my name in Spanish.
“Excuse me,” I blurt, using my shoulder to push between them. They’re both tall, and clearly very fit beneath their uniforms. As I squeeze by them and take off down the hall, I can feel that they’re still watching me. Fantastic. I’ve barely made it past breakfast, and I’ve managed to fall on the radar of some weird, but stupidly attractive twins.
Junior year just got interesting.
As usual, classes are beyond boring, and by sitting in the back, I manage to squeak past the rest of the day without being overly examined by anyone else. I haven’t seen the twins since math, and even then, they had so many friends creating a shield around them that I was able to hide in the corner.
After school, I make a beeline for my new dorm room, shove my way into the building and bump into a broad chest. Taking a few steps back, I look up and blink the surprise from my face. Even though I practically ran across the lawns, my backpack bobbing, somebody’s made it here before me.
And not just anybody: Church Montague, the student body president.
I know who he is because his stupid, smiling face is on all the brochures. He’s some sort of, like, golden child or something.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Carson,” he says, putting his hands on his hips and looking me over.
Glancing up from under a flop of curly blonde hair, I study him. Church is blond, too, and tall. Crazy tall. He’s got a handsome, smiling face, and a chipper demeanor that immediately puts me on edge. He’s going to want to be friends, and I’m absolutely not interested in making friends with anyone at this school.
There’s a long, awkward pause as Church waits for me to respond.
When he bends down and peers into my face, I swing my backpack around between us and clutch it like a shield.
“Shy, huh?” he queries, but I’m still not interested in having a conversation with him. What if I start talking and he immediately knows what I’m hiding? Then what? I do not want to be a spectacle here. I don’t want to be anything here, but an easily forgettable shadow in the corner. Then when I get home to California, everything will go back to normal and I can forget all about this. “You are Charlie Carson, the new headmaster’s son, correct?”
A brisk nod from me, and Church straightens back up. I sigh with relief as he wrinkles his brows and cocks his head at me. Back home, had I met this guy and not already been in a relationship, I would’ve swooned. As things stand right now, I just want him to go away, so I can get to my room.
My room in the boys’ dormitory, I think with a prickle of terror. Even Dad was a bit iffy about it. He insisted I stay with him in the headmaster’s house, but the board rejected the idea. They’ve already made an exception about giving me a roommate—for obvious reasons—so I at least have my own space. Promises to finish construction on the half-completed future girls’ dormitory next door have been made, but I don’t plan to stick around long enough to live there.
“Well,” Church continues as the door opens behind me, and boys pour in. The color drains from my face as they surround me in a sea, and the twins appear on either side of him. “We thought you might want a tour of the academy.”
“No.” It’s the only word I can force past my suddenly tight throat, and then I’m rushing forward and skirting around them. This time, I’m stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder, flicking my eyes up to find a guy with the prettiest sapphire blue eyes and dark, razored black hair. He’s glaring at me right now, his full mouth downturned sharply.
“Don’t you have manners? We’re trying to be nice to you.” The guy that’s looking at me right now is terrifying. His dark hair falls forward and covers half of his face, and he’s got this look about him, like he’s not afraid to throw down. Oh my god, Cody would hate you, I think as our eyes meet.
“I … I don't feel well.” I tear away from him, but his grip is like steel. At the last second, he lets go of me with a scowl. Fine, whatever, I don't care if he likes me or not. I'm not here to make people like me. I'm only here because my dad got a good job offer and my mom is … just not herself right now, you know?
I get the feeling though, that if the dark-haired guy had wanted to hold onto me and keep me there, he could have.
My breath is coming in panting gasps by the time I get to the top of the staircase, and I fumble with my keys, letting myself into my new room and slamming the door behind me.
I don't come out until breakfast the next day.
The dorm bathrooms at Adamson All-Boys Academy are communal, but they do have private rooms for the toilets as well as changing rooms connected to the showers. It's mostly just that the sink/counter is open to everyone.
Dad was not okay with me using the bathroom and insisted I come to the headmaster's house to shower, but I'm not about to trudge nearly a mile across campus just to soak myself in some steamy water.
Sorry, but no.
So I wait for everyone to leave for breakfast, knowing I'm not going to get a chance to eat before class, and take my gym bag with my uniform in it to the bathroom down the hall. There's a guy with silver-blond hair brushing his teeth at the sink, but I'm swimming in a baggy hoodie and sweats. Even without the uniform, I'm pretty sure I'm passable.
Besides, nobody at the academy is looking for a girl. If they're not expecting it, they won't see it, no matter how obvious it is.
Well, I mean, so long as they don't get a look at my breasts.
Slinking past the lone applicant in the bathroom, I head for one of the shower stalls, take the key from the hook and unlock it before letting myself into a little antechamber, sort of like a dressing room at a department store.
“Rich assholes,” I grumble as I look around.
Okay, I freaking lied.
This is way nicer than any department store I've ever been in.
The Secret Girl Page 1
