by E. M. Moore
My tiny outburst is nothing like the shit the other students are giving the uniformed showpieces. You only have to watch the nightly news to know the guards aren’t stopping a lot of the shit happening here. In fact, a few lines over from me, a girl is bitching a guard out because he found a baggie of weed in the front pocket of her book bag. It’s not that he found it, it’s that he’s threatened to flush it. He’s about to stand from his stool when she tears the baggie from his grip and runs through the parking lot until she’s out of view.
No one gives the scene a second glance.
It’s a huge difference for me. Though, I’d die before I show it. My aunt and uncle brought me up in the life of private schools and dinner parties, but I never fit in with their world. I knew what I was getting myself into when I decided to enroll here. I’d do all this and more just as long as I get to do what I came here to do. And trust me, I’ll be doing shit a hell of a lot worse than pulling my bag away from a potential child molester before the year’s out.
While I walk down the graffitied hallway, angry looks follow me everywhere. Trust me, I’ve changed schools before, I know what the normal looks should be. They should be curious. Sizing up, even. Not these. These are straight up nasty from the beginning. Like, how dare I set foot on their turf kind of bullshit.
In Rawley Heights, you’re an enemy before you’re proven worthy. I have a plan to get on their good side, but I have to let this charade play out for what it is.
“Eat a bag of shit and die,” one of the mouthier bitches says, knocking her shoulder into mine as she passes.
I look away, bringing my bag closer. On the outside, it looks like I’m scared to death. Tactically, I’m just making sure no one uses my own bag as a weapon against me. I don’t have time for that shit. It’s barely eight in the morning, and I’m fucking tired. And cranky.
Fuuuuuck. I forgot to eat breakfast. No fucking wonder I’m jittery. Note to self for tomorrow: Breakfast really is the meal of champions.
Another girl walks past me and clips my shoulder with hers. I stumble forward to keep my feet underneath me, but I don’t make eye contact. That would just be asking for trouble.
Behind me, a male voice cuts through the air like he’s the emcee at a party. “New pussy!”
Students around me chitter like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all day. I mean, it may be. Did I mention it’s only fucking eight o’clock in the morning?
The crowd parts, and a guy at the very end of the hall leans back against his locker, one leg quirked with his foot planted on the metal behind him. He’s staring down the hallway like he owns the place before zeroing in on me: New Pussy, apparently.
Holy hot shit. Hopefully I’m as good of an actress as I think I am, otherwise, he’ll see the spark of acknowledgment in my eyes. Private school assholes never did it for me. Guys like this though? Damn. Yes. Just fucking yes.
I reach up to pull my hair around my ears. A gesture I hope looks hesitant. I know who the guy is. I’ve done my research. I just didn’t expect to have this much of a visceral reaction to him.
He quirks an eyebrow, and I wet my lips. He’s tan with dark hair shaved at the sides. The top is longer and slicked back. He has bottomless pits for eyes that should make me think he’s definitely an enemy, but it doesn’t. It makes me wonder how deep his pit actually is. I’d be willing to bet it’s not as deep as mine, but we all have secrets, don’t we? We all have things we’d rather not remember. Memories we hold tight to but wish they would blow away like smoke on the wind.
Just how bad are you, Oscar Drego?
A hand shoves me from behind, and I sprawl toward him. I end up within a couple of feet of his casual stance and look up. I suck in a breath. The energy coming off him sets fire to my nerve endings. He’s wearing a cheap ass Rawley Heights letterman jacket he got for playing football. Quarterback to be exact. Last year, he left to go to Spring Hill, chasing rich girl pussy. When he got back, he paid for that shit. At least, that’s what I hear. He had to make ties with the Heights Crew to stop his ass from being fucked up every day.
Not that you’d know it from the look on his face right now. He looks smug as all shit.
The same person who pushed me forward grabs a hold of my neck, forcing me closer to Oscar. “Say hello to your master, little cunt.”
I grit my teeth, but Oscar just beams at me like he’s won the fucking lottery.
The fingers tighten around my neck. “I said…say hello. Or are you too much of a princess for us?”
I swallow down the bile rising up my throat. I want to tell both of these assholes to get fucked, but that won’t bode well for me here. I can’t make enemies. I need to sneak in the backdoor, not come in guns blazing. Not yet anyway. “H-hello,” I say.
My voice makes Oscar tilt his head. “Hello what?” His eyes almost twinkle. I swear he’s getting off on this.
The richness in his voice makes me squeeze my legs together. For fuck’s sake. I need to get a hold of myself. I’m getting off on this shit. “Um, excuse me?”
Oscar snickers and kicks off the locker before stepping forward. Whoever has my neck in a vise loosens his hold and backs away until it’s just Oscar and I face-to-face.
I smile tentatively. “I’m Kyla.”
His lips turn up. “You think I give a fuck?” He moves around me, staring me up and down while walking around me in a wide circle. We’ve attracted a crowd now. As much as I’d love to demolish these guys, I keep my mouth shut and my arms pinned to my sides. When he moves around to face me again, he shakes his head. “You’re not giving us anything, are you?” His stare drags down my oversized t-shirt, which is cleverly hiding my body away from everyone. I’m pretty much dressed the exact opposite of every other female in this school. On purpose.
I pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. The truth is, if I came in here dressed like everyone else, I’d be on their radar for the wrong reasons. I’m going to be on their radar, sure, but by my doing.
I try to walk away, but the same guy from before grips my neck again, forcing me to stay in place. My face reddens, and I let the heat crawl all over me until my skin is hot and itchy.
A throaty laugh rips from Oscar. “I give her two days.”
The guy behind me, most likely someone trying to get into the Heights Crew since he’s acting like Oscar’s little bitch instead of standing next to him, roars. Somehow, the sound is more infuriating than Oscar’s guess at how long I’ll last here in the Heights.
“We’ll let the girls deal with her,” Oscar says, nodding at me. “She’s not worth our time.”
The grip on my neck loosens for a fraction of a second before I’m pushed to the side. I stumble, catching myself on the intersecting hallway wall. I look over my shoulder at the douche who keeps manhandling me, solidifying his face in my memory, so I can kick his ass when I get the chance. Hmm. He has a lip ring. That could be fun.
And no, not to kiss. To tear it the fuck out. Men don’t need to be handling women that way, especially to pretend like they’re fucking cool.
Afterward, I focus on Oscar. He’s eyeing me still, but nothing in his face gives away what he’s thinking. I guess we’re both good like that. From what I’ve already gathered about Oscar, he’ll pretty much do whatever it takes to make his life better. Including succumbing to the whims of the Heights Crew for protection.
Throughout the day, the insults get worse. It hasn’t taken long for word to spread that it’s open season on me. Guys sit back, watching the girls try to tear me to shreds on my very first day. Some get physical. Some just use their words. The only respite I get is while I’m in class, but even then, it depends on the teacher. Some teachers don’t have control of their classrooms at all. It’s anarchy in English. People come and go as they want, and not one time in any of my classes do any of the teachers ask who I am.
I’m getting the impression no one gives a shit about these guys, not even themselves.
At the end of the
day, I try my locker again. I haven’t been able to get the fucking thing open all day, which isn’t going to work for me. I need some place to store my shit, maybe hide something contraband in case I need it. After the fifth time trying to open it, I groan. Fuck me. I look around, only to find Oscar walking down the intersecting hallway. He’s got one of the other Crew members next to him: Brawler.
I blink at him. He’s bigger up close. With a name like Brawler, he had to be chiseled and muscled in all the right places, but within twenty yards, he’s a sight to behold. I won’t ever deny what fighter’s physiques do to me. I’ve spent my fair time in gyms across this state, and I’ve seen some banging bodies. This guy? He’s right up there at the top.
A split second of warning is all I get before my head slams into my broken locker. I grunt, bringing my hands up to prevent another go. When I realize it isn’t coming, I turn to find one of the crew cunts smiling at me. Girls aren’t usually let into gangs like the Heights Crew, but I know this type of chick. She hangs on the guys, mostly for protection. She throws her weight around like she means something to them, but she doesn’t, only a lukewarm hole to stick their dick into when they want it. The only chicks who make it into the Crew are either as badass as the guys, legacy, or girls who are going to end up tied to a member for life. Traditionally, we’d call that husband and wife, but for the Crew? It’s more than that. You can’t just divorce the Crew if you want out.
This girl wants in. Bad. She smirks down the hallway at Oscar and Brawler when they stop to look back at us. The flow of the other students moves around them. Now that she has their attention, she returns her stare to me. “I guess you are a princess, huh?”
My jaw locks. I now have a raging fucking headache. I knew I wasn’t going to get out of today unscathed, but fuck. I have to remind myself that it’s all part of my plan. I reach up, feeling the bruised skin that’s already forming a welt above my eyebrow. “What was that for?”
The girl laughs, cocking her head back. She has huge hoop earrings in, which is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. She has to know the second she gets into a fight, someone’s going to rip those out of her fucking ear. She must be under more protection than I thought. “Bat says you won’t last two days.” She steps in closer. “I’m making sure that happens.”
I sneak a peek behind her to find Oscar, a.k.a. Bat, and Brawler openly watching us still. They don’t move to the side of the hallway or try to hide what they’re doing, they just stare. Because they’re looking our way, everyone else does too.
Moving to look back at the desperate girl, I raise my eyebrows at her. I take a quick look, scanning down her body, trying to figure out how much of a problem she’s going to be. With the way she keeps checking over her shoulder, it’s apparent she’s all bark and no bite. She just wants to put on a show.
Well, so do I. I step back against my locker, holding my book bag to myself again. I keep my hand on the lump forming on my forehead. I’ve had far worse injuries, but they don’t need to know that. “This has been the shittiest day,” I groan.
The girl in front of me looks over, eyes gleaming. “It’s only going to get worse from here.”
“Why?” I ask, pretending like I can barely even meet her eyes.
“Because you’re in Rawley Heights now, Princess.” She gives me a dismissive look. “We don’t fuck around.”
2
The first thing I need to do when I sneak my way into the Heights Crew is get rid of the fucking name Princess.
The asshole who thought that up deserves a fucking nut kick.
After the girl who slammed my head into the locker decided it was much more fun to cozy up to Oscar and Brawler than to fuck with me, I walked toward the main office. It’s not my first choice to find myself heading this way on the first day, but I need a lock. Surely, just because this school is filled with gang bangers and miscreants doesn’t mean they don’t have a maintenance department, right? They must have extra locks somewhere.
I shake my head as I walk close to the walls. I can imagine what any of the stuck-up rich assholes I went to school with once upon a time would look like here in Rawley Heights. Comical. Downright hysterical. Yes, please, sir. I don’t seem to be able to utilize my locker. May I get reassigned? The thought is almost enough to make me smile. Almost.
The Rawley Heights High School Office is just a singular, solid door. To the right, a ripped computer paper sign that looks as if it’s been taped a handful of times says, you guessed it: office. It’s not even capitalized. Paint chipping on the side of the door makes me think there used to be a legit sign here once, but who knows how long that’s been gone. I double-check the area to make sure I’m in the right place. It’s unlike any Main Office I’ve ever seen. Usually, they’re encased with windows that look out into the hallway or flanked with school spirit signs. There is none of that here. They’ve basically made it as unwelcoming as possible.
I turn the knob and push the heavy door open. Once inside, I take note of the dirt brown, threadbare carpet and the overall seventies coloring of oranges and green that cover the walls and aesthetics. My gaze traces over a hallway that branches out. It’s dim, as is the entire office itself. Most of the lights are off. The doors are shut. “Hello?”
A musty smell barrages me, like this place doesn’t get used often. I wait for a response, but there isn’t one. I walk farther in. An empty sunburnt-colored desk sits front and center. Piles of paperwork are strewn over it along with several wire baskets filled with more papers.
I sigh. There’s literally no one around. The bell only rang five minutes ago. Shouldn’t administration be staying later than the students? That only seems logical.
A creaking noise interrupts the stillness. I tilt my head, trying to figure out where the sound came from. It’s then I notice there’s an open door just to the right of the empty desk. I walk forward right before a hissing sound pours out of the room followed by a masculine “Oh, fuck yes.”
I stop. Curiosity burns through me. It can’t be what I think it is. I glance up just as the blinds on the window that look out into this room fly upward.
My heart falters in my chest as I stare into the eyes of Johnny Rocket. My skin turns cold then heats when I read the pleasure in his eyes. My gaze drifts lower, and my stomach clenches. I press my lips together to keep from spewing the empty contents of my stomach everywhere.
Johnny’s sitting on the edge of another sunburnt orange desk. His feet propped up on the open bottom drawers on either side of the desk, he’s tilted back slightly, and a head is going to town on his dick. His eyes gleam. “We’re going to need a minute.”
The woman startles when she realizes he’s talking to someone. She tries to pull away, enough so that the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes are clearly visible, which tells me she’s a lot older than Johnny. She’s also wearing a collared blouse with her hair in an updo that Johnny demolishes when he pulls her mouth back to his cock. I swear he pulls her so hard she had to have gagged, but instead, she moans like she loves being manhandled by this spawn of Satan.
My surroundings burn hazy at the edges. All I can see is him. I don’t register that he’s getting head from a secretary or some other administrator. The darkness in his eyes has captured me in place. The rueful play of his lips have stolen my breath. In my head, I imagine an older version of him, and my blood boils.
“You can watch if you want,” he suggests, his hand still on the back of the woman’s neck while he gives me a slight shrug.
His words are like a douse of reality. In a snap, my vision expands, and I remember where I am and what I’m doing. I turn away from the audacious scene and exit out the nondescript wood door. Leaning against it, I bring my hand to my stomach as if to hold its contents in.
Not exactly the way I wanted to handle meeting the son of my parents’ murderer.
I close my eyes, and the rest of the school disappears. In my head, I singsong, “One Kyle-and-An-na. Two Kyle-and-An-na
. Three Kyle-and-An-na.” When I get to five, I open my eyes again. The picture is clearer. My focus restored. I shift on my heel to walk out of this ridiculous building they call a school. I’ll head to Walmart tonight to grab a fucking lock and maybe even some bolt cutters to get the old lock off my broken locker myself.
I push the image of Johnny Rocket away and store it for another day. Another time to come back to for analysis. I can’t get ahead of myself. Not yet. Not ever.
The empty halls greet me like a barren cave. I have a suspicion the only ones left are students and teachers who actually give a shit about being here day in and day out. Not counting the fucking bitch who’s in there with Rocket for extracurricular activities.
“Crazy first day?”
I jump. Spinning, I glance up to find a girl walking past me in the hall. She has a pair of holey jeans on, a chain looping from her front belt loop to her back belt loop. A tight black shirt rounds out the outfit. I narrow my gaze, but first impressions tell me she won’t be one of the ones trying to mess with me so she can get on the Heights Crew’s good side. “You could say that.”
She walks past me, only giving a cursory glance, but then she stops suddenly. Sighing, she turns toward me like it’s really the last thing she wants to do yet feels compelled to anyway. “Watch out for Nevaeh. She’ll do anything to get into HC.”
I rack my brain. There were so many wannabe gang bitches today who tried to make my life a living hell. I don’t have the foggiest which one Nevaeh is. I lift my shoulders.
The girl sighs again, mumbling something to herself. When she finally responds to me, she’s more clear. “Neveah’s the one who slammed your head into the locker.”
Ohhhh. I file that name away. My head’s still thumping from that bitch move. “You saw that, huh?” Real embarrassment crawls over my skin. I do have some pride after all. I’m just willing to overlook it for the greater good.
