The Secret Girl

by Stunich, C. M.

  “I see a boy, but no man,” he interjects, and Church's honey gaze swings over to him, his irises so dark they look brown instead of their usual amber color. Mark shuts his trap real quick.

  “Chuck Carson over here, he belongs to the Student Council.” There's a murmuring among the group, and Eugene rolls his poop-colored eyes (sorry, I love brown eyes, but his are just sort of … like dirty toilet water) and pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms.

  “You assholes did the same thing with that jerk, Ross. We're tired of you rescuing dickheads off campus and threatening the rest of us to stay away from him. Ross is a total prick, and so is this kid.”

  “He belongs to the Student Council,” Church repeats, and the twins appear out of nowhere, flanking me on either side. “Anyone has a problem with that, they'll deal with us directly.”

  “Right. One of your cronies, but never you personally, huh? Are you scared to fight Church?”

  “Oh, I really am,” Church says, smiling suddenly, and putting his hands on either side of his face. He shrugs his shoulders loosely, and bites his lower lip for a moment, before a look of terrifying glee takes over his expression. “I'm scared for you, Eugene. If I killed you on accident during the scuffle, I might go to prison.”

  “You think you could take me, Church?” Eugene steps up to the Student Council President, but they're the same height, so there's not much intimidating to be done. I mean, Eugene has almost ridiculously huge muscles, like so big they're not quite sexy anymore. Church is lean and well-built, and honestly I'm pretty sure he'd kick Eugene’s ass in a fight.

  I almost want to see.

  “I know I can,” Church replies airily, reaching out his hand. Micah offers up that iced coffee from earlier. Apparently he was the one holding it. “And I could do it without spilling my drink. Care to test that theory?” Church sucks on his straw, and Eugene sneers, shaking his head. He's got a similar hair color to Spencer, but it's not quite as well done, more like he was trying to copy Spencer but failed. It's a poor imitation. What's that called in the writing world? Mosaic plagiarism? Yep. That's what it looks like.

  “You can go all the way to hell. I'm not getting my ass suspended just so I can kick yours.” He takes off down the hall, Mark and the others following. They kick my tampons and school supplies as they pass by, shattering the spare pair of glasses I had in there.

  Fantastic.

  I bend down and start picking things up, and Tobias joins me. It only takes us a second to stuff it all in the front zipper pouch of my bag. The big section is completely ruined now. I'll have to use the spare that's in my closet back at Dad's house which is fine since I have to go up there anyway.

  “What was that all about?” Micah asks as I rise to my feet and shrug into my backpack again. My hair's starting to grow out, the big flop of curls falling into my face. Tobias reaches out to push them off my forehead, making me flush. I'm pretty sure he didn't even realize he was doing it.

  “Eugene’s getting uppity,” Church says, face closing down again. It really is disturbing to see him go from one extreme to the other. He reminds me of this crazy biker romance I read once, where the dude in charge of killing people—Glacier was his name, ironically—was like happy one second, and cold the next. The main character said he flipped moods like pages in a storybook. That's exactly how I feel about Church. “Let's keep an eye on him, shall we?”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” the twins say in unison, glancing down the hall together. I shiver as Church looks back at me, smiles, and takes another sip of his mocha.

  I would not want to be on that motherfucker's bad side, that's for sure.

  I almost feel sorry for Eugene. Eh, but only almost.

  “Get to class, Chuck,” Micah says, reaching out to ruffle my hair, but in a completely different way than Tobias. His green eyes sparkle as he looks me over. “And stop being such an ass pig.”

  My mouth drops open, and I smack him in the arm.

  I'm going to kill Spencer …

  But I slip into class with a smile on my face anyway.

  Despite Mark and Eugene being dicks, I feel like I'm actually starting to make friends here.

  Even with all the mystery surrounding Jenica's death, it's a good feeling. I won't let Dad send me away.

  No freaking way.

  “I've already told you I'm finished with this conversation,” Dad says as I stand in the door to his study, ready to fight. But he doesn't even want to talk to me. In fact, he's barely looked up from the paperwork on his desk. There's this huge scandal going on where a bunch of students took an award-winning paper, and rewrote it. Like, it's not word for word, but they're all so similar that it's impossible for the administration to ignore it. “How many times do I need to explain this? I have a job to do here, and scandals like this reflect poorly on me.” He gestures at the stack of papers on his desk, and then sits back, removing his glasses and setting them down carefully.

  “I'm telling you: Everly isn't safe. Ranger told me—”

  “Ranger Woodruff, Jenica's younger brother?” Dad clarifies, and I nod as he stares at me like I've completely lost the plot.

  “He says it's not safe for me at Everly either, that Jenica was bullied there so badly that their mom begged for the Adamson school board to let her in here. You should be able to verify that with records—”

  “Charlotte,” Dad says, rising from his feet and coming over to stand beside me. “You know how I feel about conspiracy theories. The issue with Jenica Woodruff was solved and then the records sealed. What happened to that girl ten years ago has nothing to do with what's happening now.”

  “It …” I start, feeling frustrated. “Please don't send me to Everly. I already had to start over once this year, and I don't want to do it again.” I try to let my honest feelings bleed into my words as I look up into my father's face.

  He sighs and rubs a big hand over his thinning hair.

  “I'm worried about you, Charlotte. The accusations you've been bringing to me are staggering.” He drops his hand and looks at me with a much softer expression. “You're all I have, and I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you.”

  “I've got friends here now. Thanks to you, I'm practically a part of the stupid Student Council.” I roll my eyes dramatically, but … I'm actually starting to like being a part of the Culinary Club. “I want to stay here.”

  Dad looks me over again and shakes his head, turning away and heading back toward his desk.

  “I hear what you're saying, Charlotte.” He sits down in his chair again and picks up a tumbler of Scotch. “Maybe it was wrong of me to bring you out here?” He says this more to himself than to me, and I stand there with bated breath. At least we're not having another screaming fight. “Do you want me to call your aunt?” He looks up at me finally. “Or maybe Monica's parents?”

  “Monica and Cody were sleeping together,” I blurt, and Dad's bushy brows go up. “I don't want to go back there. Please, let me stay here.”

  “If your life is in danger—” he starts, but I'm moving forward and putting my palms flat on the desk.

  “Call the police then. Get them out here to start investigating.” Dad meets my eyes, his lips pursing slightly.

  “I did, Charlotte. I've reported the incident with the knife, the … noose, and the notes. There's no evidence of any foul play, so there's nothing the police can do. I've even spoken with a detective.”

  “They're not going to at least question me and Ranger?” I ask, but Dad shakes his head. There's seriously something fishy about that. I call bullshit.

  “No, I'm sorry.” He looks me straight in the face. “I believe you, you know that?” I nod, and he sighs again. “Good. But you can't stay here, you understand that, right?”

  “Where am I supposed to go then?” I whisper, leaning forward. My glasses slide down my nose so that Dad's face gets a little blurry. “Please. We only have three and a half months left in the year. I want to stay.”

&nbs
p; A knock at the door pauses our conversation, and Dad stands up from his chair, moving out of his office, through the kitchen, and over to the front door to open it.

  It's … the entire Student Council, Ross included but Spencer noticeably absent.

  “Mr. Carson,” Church says, nodding briefly. My dad steps back to let him in, and the other boys follow after. Dad looks confused as all get out, but he invites them into the kitchen to sit around the massive island.

  “Can I get you boys anything to drink?” he asks, looking around the room. I think he means, like, soda or water or juice or something.

  “I'll take a cup of coffee, if you don't mind,” Church says, and I roll my eyes as Dad raises his brows. He doesn't believe in teenagers drinking coffee, but he also just lets me do my own thing. Still, whenever he used to see me and Monica waltz in with a pair of Starbucks cups in our hands, we'd get the lecture about caffeine and developing brains and all that shit.

  “I don't normally encourage students to bring academy matters back to the house, but … Chuck's been mentioning … his burgeoning friendship with you boys.”

  “They already know,” I whisper, giving Dad a look. He purses his lips and glances back up at the five boys, his attention bouncing from Church to Ranger, and then over to Micah and Tobias who I'm nearly positive he's not able to tell apart. He looks mildly relieved at Ross' presence, like maybe all my new friends aren’t just sexy, straight boys.

  “We wanted to come here and talk to you about your daughter,” Church continues as Ranger's eyes rove the kitchen, taking in every minute detail. I imagine he's been that way for a while, building skills from his hunt for the truth about his sister. “We'd like to petition you to leave her enrolled here at Adamson.”

  “I see,” Archie begins, but it's quite clear he's skeptical as hell right now. “And why's that?”

  Church smiles, and it's one of his pretty ones, no sign of the crazy person hiding underneath. Good for him. He knows how to put a mask on like everyone else. It's a useful skill to have, isn't it?

  “We think she's an asset to the Culinary Club,” Church lies, his voice as smooth as properly creamed butter (Ranger would be proud of the reference if it weren't all in my head). “We might actually have a chance at beating Everly at next year's baking competition.” Right. Because Ranger could win it with his hands tied behind his back. “Besides, we've grown quite fond of Charlotte in the last few months. We'll be sure to keep an eye on her. We're even petitioning the school board to allow for some extra security on campus.”

  “I noticed your petition,” Dad replies, eyes slightly narrowed. Still clearly not fully on-board with this whole thing. “And I'm going to encourage the board to heavily consider it. At this point, all I've heard back from them is a general consensus that they believe the campus is safe and secure enough, and that there's no need. I wouldn't get too excited too quickly.”

  Church nods, like this is the expected response.

  “We just wanted to let you know that we'll be watching out for Chuck; nothing will happen on our watch.”

  Dad looks over at me with a narrowed gaze, like he thinks I put the boys up to this. I hold up my hands in a placating gesture, and give him my best innocent angel look. It should work, you know, since I really didn't know about this whole coup.

  “That's a lovely sentiment, but unfortunately, I can't expect a group of students to be responsible for another’s physical safety—especially not after everything that’s happened. It was nice of you to offer before, but frankly, this whole scenario is getting out of hand. That, and I don't feel comfortable with Charlotte in that dorm room by herself.” We exchange another look, but I really don't want to move back here. I want my own space.

  “Put her in with Spencer,” Church says, looking right at my dad with his best business-like expression. “His roommate just transferred overseas.”

  “You want my daughter to share a room with a boy?” Dad asks dryly. “And the only one who's not present here currently?”

  “He doesn't know,” Church supplies with a shrug. “And it would help keep up the farce. Think about it.” He sets his now empty coffee cup down on the counter, and the room falls silent.

  “I don't know about that,” Archie says, looking beyond exhausted. I actually feel sorry for him. He's only trying to do what he thinks is best for me. “But I suppose we'll play it by ear for a while since Charlotte's been following my rules and keeping an escort. If anything else happens, however, that's the final straw. I mean it: one more note, one more close encounter. I'm not playing games with my daughter's safety.”

  My heart thunders excitedly, but I try not to get my hopes up. I could be living on Aunt Elisa’s couch by the end of the week.

  “If you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.” Dad nods and leaves the room, closing his study door behind him.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I whisper, as the twins flash matching grins.

  “Keeping you at Adamson, that's what,” they say, and then they escort me back to the dorm … but not before dropping a pair gifts in my hands, and making sure I'm safely inside my room.

  One of the gifts … is a hunting knife with a serrated edge. Just looking at it, and imagining hurting someone with it makes me feel sick, so I move quickly onto the other.

  When I open it … I find a dick and balls.

  Like, I'm not even joking.

  It's a big, soft floppy dick with balls attached, like a dildo, but like … flaccid.

  I hit dial on Micah's number because this just screams McCarthy twin BS.

  “Why did you send me a flaccid dick?” I ask, trying to decide if I should laugh or like, flush it down the toilet.

  His chuckle reverberates through the line.

  “Um, it's called a packer. It's meant to be put in your pants, so you can pass the grab test.” I seriously facepalm in that moment. Hard. But since I'm holding the, um, packer in my hand, I actually facepalm straight into a flaccid dick and balls.

  If only Archie knew the shenanigans these boys were putting me up to.

  “Fine, I'll bite. What's the grab test?” I ask, trying not to laugh. Micah's still chuckling, like he just can't help himself.

  “In a gay bar, it's not all that uncommon for a dude to grab another dude's junk. You know, to like get a sample on what he's packing.”

  “This is the dumbest shit I've ever heard,” I say, dangling the fake pecker in front of my face. It flops around like one of those little bobble heads you put on the dash in your car. “How do you even know that? Do you spend a lot of time in gay bars?”

  “Ross does,” he says, and even though I can't see him, I swear I can feel him grinning from two floors down. “A lot of transgender dudes use them, too. They're totally legit. We just thought you might like it. You know, to keep the secret and all.”

  “Uh-huh, sure,” I say with a roll of my eyes. Although … I may or may not be slightly curious about the damn thing. I like being a girl, but … what if I just tried it for a second? Just to see what it's like? “I feel like this is just another spider jar incident.”

  “If you don't want it, give it to Ross. He likes to wear them to enhance his tiny dick. Have fun, Charlotte, and if you do wear it, we won't tell.” Micah hangs up on me, and then immediately texts me some inappropriate gifs that I ignore.

  I set my phone aside and bite my lower lip.

  “Okay, fuck it, I'm alone.” I stand up and shimmy out of my slacks, tossing them aside, taking a deep breath, and then putting the stupid floppy thing in my panties. “Huh.” I turn to the side and admire my new bulge. It's pretty realistic looking. Well, not that I have a ton of experience with dicks, but still. “Not bad, Chuck.” I give myself an appreciative little squeeze as my phone buzzes, and I grab it off the floor.

  It's just Tobias, adding yet more cock gifs to my phone.

  “Condom face,” I grumble, chucking the phone on my bed. It hits at just the right angle that it bounces off and behind the he
adboard. With a sigh, I climb up after it, my blazer hanging loosely from my shoulders, my ass up in the air as I scramble around for the phone. My stupid tie falls over my mouth and nose, choking me, so I bite it to get it out of the way, one hand on the bed for balance, the other digging behind the headboard.

  There's a sound from behind me, like the doorknob's being jiggled, and I glance back, a spark of fear shooting through me as I wonder if my attackers are back.

  But then it's kicked open and there's Spencer.

  There. Is. Spencer.

  His turquoise eyes go so wide, I swear to god, they look like they're about to pop right out. Since I'm glancing back at him, I can see my reflection in the mirror beside my door. There I am, bent over with the tie in my mouth, my blue and white striped panties showing, and a big juicy bulge where there shouldn't be one.

  “H-h-holy shit,” he murmurs, stepping inside, and slamming his back against the door to close it. He studies me with this intense hunger that just paralyzes me even further. I swear, I can barely move. “Chuck, holy shit.” Spencer reaches down, like he's trying to cover up his own growing bulge.

  I spit the tie out of my mouth and turn around, grabbing a handful of blankets and yanking them over my lap.

  “What are you doing breaking into my room?!” I scream, shaking with adrenaline. I mean, I'm glad it's Spencer and not some crazy murderer, but still. He has no right.

  “Oh, Chuck,” he says again, his voice this low purr. “I was seriously starting to question myself again, but … you're so goddamn beautiful. At this point, I don't care if I'm gay or bi or just a confused straight asshole, but … I want you.”

  “Are you kidding me?!” I can barely breathe as he moves into the room, climbing on the edge of my bed, his weight indenting the mattress and our drawing our bodies closer together. “Get out of my room.” My voice is a bare whisper as Spencer leans in close to me.

  “I was just trying to make sure your door was pick-proof. It's not, by the way.” He leans in just a bit closer, and I smell his cedar and hyssop scent, sending shivers across my arms and legs. “I could fix that for you …”