Bully Me (Willow Heights Prep Academy: The Elite Book 1)

by Selena

  Sure enough, a minute later he hands me his soda and says, “I’m just going to say hello to someone. I’ll be right back.”

  “I thought we were showing up as a family,” I say. I’ve barely seen him since we moved here. That’s no different from life back home, but he promised things would be different here. That he’d have more time for us.

  “We are,” Daddy says. “It’ll just be a minute. This is important.”

  And we’re not?

  I want to ask, but I pinch my lips together and nod.

  “He’ll be back,” Dixie says, patting my knee and giving me a sympathetic smile. It nearly makes me crack. I may not be strong, but I don’t want anyone’s pity. It makes me vulnerable, and I want no part of that. Not in public.

  Daddy’s already halfway down the aisle, obviously not needing my agreement for him to ditch us. Royal scowls after him, then scoots over and slides an arm around my shoulders. “What do you think?”

  “That he’s going to make us sit with the headmaster?” I offer, trying to smile.

  He frowns even more deeply and squeezes me against him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You weren’t talking about him, though, were you?”

  “No.”

  “It’s… Intense,” I admit as the band comes on, and everyone in the stands sings along with the fight song. It’s more like a college game than a high school game. Only the small stadium with the banks of lights at the ends, the scruffy real grass on the field, and the family atmosphere speak of a high school game.

  The cheerleaders cede the field to a row of six majorettes. I spot Dolly among them, not a stitch of pink in sight. She looks one hundred percent bombshell in the fitted black leotard with gold sparkles glinting like stars from the stretchy fabric. Her curves put mine to shame. While I’ve never been unhappy about my “perfect Cs” as Veronica called them, Dolly must wear an F-cup. Her hips are wide and round, too, but she’s not built like a Kardashian. Her belly curves out a bit, too, and her thighs aren’t leaving a gap anytime soon. She’s just a big girl all over—tall, curvy, and thick.

  “I think I just spotted my first wife,” Duke jokes, obviously looking at the same person I am. It’s hard not to look at her. All the majorettes are wearing the same thing, but no one is wearing it quite like Dolly. Her blonde hair is done up in a tall updo, and she’s wearing potent red lipstick and fake lashes so black and long that they don’t even attempt to look real. They have gold glitter in them that catches the light when she moves.

  Royal nudges me, and I follow his nod to see Daddy waving for us to join him. He’s standing beside a tall, thin man with receding salt-and-pepper hair and a sharp nose. Beside him is a blonde of indeterminate age who could just as easily be his daughter as his wife.

  Great. Time to smile and be a good Dolce daughter.

  “Sorry,” I mutter to Dixie. “You don’t have to come with us.”

  She looks between Daddy and us. “Crap on a cracker,” she says, her eyes widening. “That’s my aunt.”

  “The one who just married the mayor?”

  “The one who called me unkempt,” Dixie confirms.

  “I’ll just go say hi,” I say, anxiety flaring inside me at the feeling of being pulled in two directions like I was with Veronica. I want to be a good friend, but I also want to be a good daughter. I want my father to be happy, but I don’t want to violate the rules of friendship—and not just the dorky list Dixie made—by telling him something they wouldn’t want an adult to know.

  “It’s okay,” Dixie says. “We’ll all be happier if we pretend we don’t see each other. I usually sit over there with the other freshmen, anyway. Come sit with us when you get done.”

  Dixie goes off to mingle with some people who are apparently her friends even though she never sits with them at lunch. Maybe it’s something that happens at football games here. It brings everyone together, the whole town cheering. At a game, everyone wearing black and gold is a friend. At a school this small, it’s inevitable that people will fall into the groups where they fit best. Even the outcasts usually get shuffled together. And Dixie’s too chipper to be an outcast. I’m happy for her if she’s making other friends, even if it does awaken my insecurity. Rules of Friendship aside, Dixie’s not the Darling Dog anymore. I am. If she wants to call me toxic and stay away from me, that’s fair. She’s more than fulfilled any obligation to me.

  A tightness builds inside me as we gather our things. I imagine mingling with the crowd, saying hi to random people from school, not worrying about anything but the outcome of the game. But I already know I can’t escape who I am. Who we are. Where my father goes, we all go. When Daddy says jump, we jump. When he says we’re going to be the primo family in this town, we make it happen for him.

  As we arrive beside him, Daddy gives the twins a stern look, a silent warning that they’d better behave. My brothers aren’t exactly model citizens.

  Daddy introduces his new friends as Mayor and Mrs. Beckett.

  “It’s wonderful to see some fresh faces at Willow Heights.” Mayor Beckett grips my hand a little too long, examining my chest a little too long. Ew. I tug my hand away, making sure my face doesn’t betray my disgust. I’ve dealt with plenty of Daddy’s slimy business associates in my life. I’m supposed to be the little angel, too innocent to even notice when they leer at my body and “accidentally” brush my ass when I walk by. At least they’re all smart enough not to make a real move. If Daddy didn’t have them killed for that, my brothers would make it happen.

  “You and the mayor sit in the crowd for football games,” I say to Mrs. Beckett as we take our seats. “Let’s just say that never happened at our private school in New York.”

  I expect at least a chuckle, but Mrs. Beckett only raises her brows and picks an invisible speck of lint from her black pantsuit. “My husband thinks it’s important to look like one of the people.”

  “And he’s absolutely right,” Daddy says. “You have to know what’s going on in your town if you want people to trust you enough to come to you with important issues.”

  He’s too busy kissing the mayor’s ass to notice he just pissed off his wife, who obviously wants to be sitting in the one box up by the announcer. Or more likely, to be at home having a cocktail and watching the game on TV.

  “Do you guys come to all the games?” I ask Mrs. Beckett. “Or just the one that’s your entire town?”

  “Most of them,” she says, casting a withering look at her husband, who’s busy chatting with Daddy about new businesses coming to town and how it helps the economy.

  “Do you always sit on our side?” I ask, giving her my best conspiratorial smile. “Or do you have to sit with Faulkner High fans every other year?”

  “Well, we’re here as mayor, but his daughter also cheers.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, perking up. This is definitely pertinent information if I’m going to woo the cheer squad into letting me—and her step-niece—join partway through the season. I wonder why Dixie never mentioned it. “Which one is she?”

  “Dolly Beckett,” the mayor’s wife says.

  “Oh,” I say, quickly masking my surprise. “I should have known. She looks just like you.”

  Majorettes don’t cheer. Her mother should know that.

  Mrs. Beckett sniffs. “She’s my stepdaughter.”

  “Oh, right! I’m sorry.” I’m too flustered to say more. Apparently, I’m not good at schmoozing in Arkansas, either.

  “Of course she is,” King says, swooping in to save me. “I would have thought she was your sister.”

  Thank fuck for my brothers. I shove a Twizzler into my mouth before I can put my foot in there again. I’m happy to let King flirt and charm Mrs. Beckett while I watch the cheerleaders do a quick routine and then move to the sidelines. The bleachers begin to shake as everyone in the stands pounds their feet in unison, faster and faster, drumming excitement into the air as the announcer comes on. His voice booms out over the field.

  �
�Let’s make some noise for the Faulkner High Wampus Cats!”

  The other side goes crazy, throwing popcorn into the air, stomping the bleachers, and screaming.

  “What the fuck is a wampus cat?” Duke asks.

  “It’s a six-legged wildcat,” Baron says. “Haven’t you ever read Harry Potter?”

  “No,” Duke shoots back. “Haven’t you ever gotten laid?”

  “Tonight’s matchup is one of legend,” the announcer goes on. “Let’s welcome our hometown rivals, Devlin Darling and the Knights!”

  I stiffen in my seat, shock knifing through me. Surely they didn’t let him back on the team already. There’s video of him assaulting my brother while he’s clearly passed out on the ground.

  “I’ve just been informed that the Knights’ star players, Devlin and Preston Darling, won’t be playing tonight’s game,” the announcer says after a short pause. “That’ll put a crimp in their style, but I’d say it’s still going to be one heck of a matchup. Let’s show Willow Heights our support!”

  Our side of the stands cheers and shakes their pretty pompoms, but we’re not as loud or wild as the public school fans. Their side looks like they might riot if they lose. Or maybe it’s because they just announced their school like a regular team, and they announced ours like a band fronted by a famous rock star.

  From the first play, the game doesn’t look promising. Faulkner wins the coin toss, and their quarterback makes a series of smart plays, getting them within field goal range before they have to turn it over. Our quarterback, the backup for Devlin, proceeds to make some seriously questionable passes, which leads to a third and long and then an interception.

  I look over at King, and despite Willow Heights’ poor performance, he’s grinning broadly. Of course he is. Devlin might rule the school, but while he’s suspended, our school could definitely use a smart quarterback our brother.

  Faulkner scores another field goal, and then we turn it over. It looks bad until Colt catches an interception and runs all the way in for a touchdown. If I expected Colt to be slow and lazy on the field like he is in class, I’m in for a disappointment. He’s fast—really fast. Again I get that sense that his school persona is all an act, that he’s more than he shows the world.

  We’re behind by two touchdowns at halftime, and I get up to stretch my legs—and to avoid making small talk with the sleazy mayor and his grumpy wife. I’m starting to get nervous that they’re going to blame us for the game’s outcome. After all, my brothers got the Darlings suspended.

  Everyone is milling around, chatting in excited voices about Colt’s touchdown or just hanging out. The buzz of the crowd, and the lights, and the cool October night wash over me, sending a little chill of familiarity through me even as I stand alone in the concession line.

  In front of me stands Dolly Beckett. Great. Now I get to stare at her ass and wonder what’s going on with her and Devlin. Does she know he worried about his game enough to be up at midnight, throwing passes? Or that for the last week, since we wrecked his car and got him thrown off the team, he no longer practices? Would she care?

  After all, she likes to slip out of class and rendezvous with Preston nearly every day. And why do I care whether she’s thinking about Devlin or Preston tonight?

  I shove the thought away. I don’t care.

  “I think he did it on purpose,” Dolly says to her friend, another majorette. “I mean, it’s like he wants to get hurt sometimes.”

  “He wouldn’t get suspended on purpose,” her friend says. “We need him. The team is falling apart without him.”

  Dolly sighs. “I’m just saying. You’ve seen the way he throws himself around out there. It’s like he has no regard for personal safety.”

  I perk up. This is information my brothers will want. So, Devlin’s reckless for a quarterback. Someone like Royal would never make the mistakes his second-string QB is making, and he’s not careless.

  “Do you think he noticed me before the game?” Dolly asks.

  I roll my eyes, thinking there’s no way that any straight man in attendance could have failed to notice her. But then someone behind me repeats her words in a high, mocking voice, and I immediately feel guilty for my own unkind thoughts. Dolly’s face flushes, but she ignores the girl and keeps looking at her friend, who offers her a pitying smile.

  I turn to see Lacey and a couple girls from the cheer squad flipping their ponytails and laughing. They look right through me and keep talking. “They know not to address royalty directly. They’re just a bunch of wanna-be cheerleaders.”

  An absurd urge to defend Dolly rises in me, and even though I know better than to go up against the hierarchy around here, I can’t help myself. After all, she’s not a Doll anymore, which means she’s not as untouchable as she once was.

  “Shouldn’t you be back on the field boring the fans to sleep with more of your unoriginal cheers?” I ask lightly.

  Lacey’s mouth falls open in a huff of disbelief.

  “Stay out of this,” says another cheerleader I recognize as Carmen from my Spanish class. “This is none of your business, little city bitch.”

  I smirk at her and raise an eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do?” I ask. “Even your insults are unoriginal. Oh, and just so you know, I’m a big city bitch.”

  Lacey hooks her arm through Carmen’s. “Don’t pay attention to her,” she says. “She’s just mad because she’ll never be a Darling Doll. She’s just Devlin’s little lap dog.”

  “And yet, you got on your knees and ate dogfood when he ordered you to,” I say. “So remind me again what’s the difference between a Darling Dog and a Doll?”

  “She can’t be serious,” Lacey says.

  I shrug and slide my hand along my sleek pony. “I just know I wasn’t the one eating dogfood that day.” I turn to face forward again, noticing that Dolly and her friend are whispering, their heads bent together. If she wants to run and tell Preston, fine. Whatever. I’m not keeping my mouth shut and being anyone’s obedient pet, no matter what they call me.

  By now I know that being a Darling Dog isn’t as bad as it sounds. Sure, I’ve been labeled aa loser, but besides the one humiliating incident and the outburst after we got the Darlings in trouble, it’s pretty mild. They didn’t even condone the dogfood incident, so I can’t count that as a consequence of being labeled. I can handle a lot worse a few snickers and snide comments when I walk by. I deserve a lot worse.

  When I get back to our seats, Baron pats the spot beside him. “Dad’s talked the mayor into going to see the coach with us,” he says. “We’re all going to go talk him, show him what we can bring to the table.”

  “Tonight?” I ask, once again surprised and impressed with how skillfully Daddy manipulates.

  “Yeah,” Duke says with a broad smile. “Right after the game. If they keep getting creamed the entire game, it shouldn’t be hard to make a case for ourselves.”

  “Congratulations,” I say, throwing an arm around each twin. My brothers are good. If they get a tryout, they’re as good as on the team. And with the mayor on our side, how can the coach say no?

  I tell my brothers what I overheard Dolly saying about Devlin being too reckless, but a funny little flicker goes through me when they start discussing it. I don’t owe Devlin or Dolly any loyalty, but for some reason, it feels like a betrayal. What’s the use in spying if you’re not going to use the information, though?

  seventeen

  Tonight, my brothers finish what they started. Tonight, they topple the kings. Tonight is theirs for the taking. Whatever the consequences, we’ll face them as they come. But tonight, we triumph.

  After the game, we start down to the field. I tell my family I’ll meet them outside the locker room, and I run to the restroom. They’ll be with the coach for a while, so I have plenty of time. A line has formed out of the restroom, so I step outside and lean against the wall under a light and finish my blog post before texting Dixie. The Knights lost, so everyone from Willow
Heights is in a foul mood, but I can’t help but smile inside. It would have been a tougher sell to get my brothers on the team after a win against our biggest rival.

  After a loss, the coach will be looking at all the things the team did wrong—and all the things my brothers can do better.

  I text Dixie for a few minutes before a shadow falls over me. I jerk upright just in time to see Devlin Darling towering over me. Before I can move, he snatches the phone from my hand.

  “Hey,” I protest, making a grab for it.

  Devlin smirks down at me, holding the phone out of my reach. His eyes aren’t laughing, though. They’re filled with pure loathing. “What the fuck is your family’s problem?”

  “Right now? You’re our problem.”

  “You’re right about that,” he says, his jaw tense.

  “Give me my phone back,” I say, holding out a hand.

  “You don’t give the orders around here,” he says. “Tell me, little doggy. What’s their game?”

  I cross my arms over my chest, glancing around. There are still dozens of people milling around—a mom with a stroller is struggling to get through the bathroom door, several unattended kids are running in circles screaming, and lots of students stand around talking. I’m not stupid enough to hang out alone, and it comforts me to see all the witnesses if Devlin tries anything. His murderous glare makes every instinct in my brain scream for me to run.

  But oh my god… One whiff of his masculine scent gives my body completely different ideas.

  “Surely you’ve figured it out by now,” I say, raising my chin and refusing to drop his gaze. “Their game is to take your place. And Dolces always get what they want.”

  “Do they?” Devlin asks, his smirk returning as his eyes rake down my body, peeling my clothes off with one stroke.