I stood up, heedless to the teachers who ordered me to get back in my seat. My fingers flew to the burn on my wrist. All around me, students laughed. Not the nervous titters of before, but cruel, mocking laughter.
My vision narrowed, focusing on three faces. Trey. Quinn. Ayaz. They stared at me with hands behind their heads and angelic, innocent smiles on their faces, while all around them, their Queens and subjects rolled about with laughter.
I balled my hands into fists. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing. It was like standing on the footpath in front of my apartment all over again, watching it burn, hearing my mom screaming inside and not being able to do a thing to save her.
Only this time, it was me who was burning up.
As I shuffled toward the door, Courtney stood. A candy-sweet smile plastered across her face. She came around her table and placed a hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle shove toward the courtyard. “We’re your friends, gutter whore. We care about raising trash like you out of the ghetto. And that starts by getting rid of your ghetto junk.”
My knees locked. My body froze. Inside my mind, flames leaped up from the floor, their heat tearing at my skin.
Courtney gave me another shove. “Go on, Hazel. Go look. Remember to thank us, because we did this for your own good.”
I staggered down the stone steps, their laughter following me. At the foot of the steps, French doors opened out onto the quad. Dusk streaked across the open sky – the spires of the Academy’s towers piercing a band of burnt orange. Fire. Fire blazing in the sky.
Rubbish fluttered across the quad, catching on the columns and tumbling over the steps of the ornate fountain. Mostly rectangular sheets of paper fluttering and skittering between the fallen leaves. Weird. I wouldn’t have thought in a school like this they’d allow all this trash to accumulate.
I stepped onto the path leading across the lawn, up to the fountain in the center. More papers floated inside, the ink turning the water a muddy brown. A paper fluttered against my knee. I picked it up, and even without looking at it, I knew what I’d see. I blinked. Through a haze of unshod tears and imagined flames, the scribbles resolved themselves into familiar shapes. More drawings. Band logos. Tattoo designs. Wild animals leaping off the page.
Dante’s journal.
Pages and pages of his drawings, his thoughts and dreams, his doodles and love letters floated in the fountain. Ink and paper dissolving. Ruined.
Laughter rolled over me like a wave, dragging me under so I drowned in that murky water. I tore my gaze away from the fountain, bent down and grabbed the pages on the ground, chasing them down as they skittered across the cobbles.
Tears burned in the corners of my eyes, desperate to spill over. The name-calling and the insults and the shitty room and the numbers on toast I could handle. But this… they’d destroyed my most cherished possession. And for what? For nothing.
I spun around to face them. Trey stood at the bottom of the stairs, a wicked grin on his face. His dark-haired girlfriend, the beautiful Tillie, glared at me, her arms possessively circling his torso. Trey had his arms around his buddies, Quinn and Ayaz. Quinn looked at me with a hint of pity in his green eyes, but his laugh was loud and boisterous – the loudest of all, rising straight from his belly and echoing off the spires. Under his arm, Courtney chortled, tears streaming down her doll-like face. Only hers were happy tears – happy because she’d taught me this valuable lesson.
Ayaz didn’t laugh, but he smiled a cruel smile that froze the blood in my veins. His eyes swept over me with a look that was part hunger, part venom.
The tears spilled over. I rubbed at my cheek, trying to stop them, but I couldn’t push them back into my ducts. I opened my mouth to shout some witty retort, some one-liner that would bring them all to their knees. But nothing came except more tears.
That was all I had left of Dante, and you took it from me. White-hot rage burned in my veins. The same fire that had consumed my life now burned inside me, and it was desperate for revenge.
Fucking Derleth Kings, I hope you’re ready. Because this is war. And I am going to tear your kingdom down.
Chapter Five
Even after what the Kings had done, I wasn’t allowed to leave the dining hall. A teacher named Dr. Armitage caught me as I fled across the quad and turned me back. When I walked back into the hall, everyone was silent, but I could feel their laughter buzzing in the air, like a swarm of locusts stripping a fertile field. I returned to my seat, stared at my plate of congealed potatoes until Greg whisked it away and handed it to Andre, and left as soon as dessert was served.
Echoes of laughter followed me as I slunk through the halls with the scraps of Dante’s drawings clenched in my hand. Courtney passed me in the hallway and hissed in my ear. “I hope you didn’t think you would top Art class with those ghetto scribbles, gutter whore.”
I wanted to tell her that they weren’t mine, that they were done by my best friend, and that he had more talent in his pinkie finger than she had in her entire airhead brain. But a) she wouldn’t care and b) I didn’t know if that was true. Kids at this school tended to be overachievers, so Courtney was probably being hailed as the next Rembrandt.
I escaped to the peace and quiet of my staircase without running into any of the Kings. I slammed the door of my room, enjoying the satisfying crack as the wooden frame trembled. I flopped down on my bed, holding up the salvaged pages to the dim light, running my fingers along the jagged edges, wishing like hell things could be different.
Dante slid the journal across the cafeteria table. “History class was boring as fuck today.”
“What’d you draw me?” I flipped open the book, thumbing past pages of his distinctive scrawls. I found the new image immediately – a sultry snake charmer holding a three-headed snake that coiled lewdly around her body. “That’s so wicked. I’d have that as a tattoo.”
“Yeah?” Dante leaned in, his eyes sparkling. “I could do it for you, if you want. Your first and my first.”
My heart skipped at his words, but of course, I was thinking of a different kind of first. “I don’t know. Drawing sketches on paper is one thing, but I don’t trust you with a needle.”
“I’ve been practicing,” he protested, his nostrils flaring. Dante dreamed of being a tattoo artist ever since he got his first ink at age eleven. His thick arms were already covered in tats, and he’d recently scored an after-school and weekend job cleaning up at a tattoo parlor. The guy who owned the place said Dante could start a full apprenticeship at the end of the school year, so Dante wasn’t even planning to return to school to finish senior year. He was leaving me alone, but it was for a good cause, so I couldn’t blame him. But that didn’t mean I wanted to be his guinea pig. He’d be dying to get his hands on my virgin, ink-free skin for years.
I wished there was another reason he wanted my virgin body, but every time I thought we might get close, or felt a spark light up between us, he’d pull away or make a joke and the moment would pass. He was giving me serious blue bean syndrome.
“You’ve been practicing on oranges,” I shot back, stabbing at my lumpy macaroni and cheese with more force than I’d intended. “Not the same thing. Sorry man, you know I love you, but I don’t want your first wobbly tattoo permanently etched on my skin.”
We were sitting on the steps outside the cafeteria. It was bitter cold, and we had to balance our trays on our knees, but it was easier than choosing a table inside. Kids at our school tended to stick to their own kind – Puerto Ricans in one corner, blacks in another, Dominicans in the middle, skinheads at the back, Irish mob smoking behind the school. Wherever Dante and I sat, one of us was the outcast. So we’d both be outcasts together.
Two white cheerleaders walked past, one sporting a leather jacket covered in gang patches. “Coon lover,” she hissed at me. Dante and I pretended we didn’t hear—
“At least they didn’t hurt you like they hurt Greg.”
Loretta’s voice snapped me out of
my memory. She sat on the corner of her bed, her body rigid, ready to leap away if I made any sudden movement.
“If I’d had the choice, I’d rather have my head shoved through a wall,” I said, tracing a line across the page with the tip of my finger.
“They do this to all of us, all the scholarship kids.”
“How many of us are there?”
“Only the four of us – you, me, Greg, Andre. They only offer scholarships for the senior year.”
Four torture victims.
Or three allies in my plot for revenge.
We lapsed into silence. Above my head, the now-familiar noise scuttled through the walls. Scritch-scritch. Scritch-scritch.
“Loretta?”
“Yeah?” She’d sat herself down at the desk, bending over her books. She’d already forgotten about me.
“What’s that sound?”
“Oh.” She paused, her pen dancing in midair. We both listened to the scritch-scritch-scritch move across the ceiling and down the wall beside her bed. “I don’t know. Rats, I guess? Or maybe old ducting? I hear it most nights. I don’t really think about it that much.”
How can you not think about it? But then I remember Ayaz’s cruel smile and Trey’s glittering eyes and Quinn’s belly laugh. There was so much more at this school that would hurt me than a few rats in the walls. Maybe Loretta had the right idea. Keep her head down, work to keep her grades up, and let the name of Derleth Academy on her transcript open doors for her in the future.
Loretta buried her face in her books. I lay back on my bed and held Dante’s drawings to my chest, over my broken heart.
Chapter Six
Buzzzz. Buzzzzzzzzz.
My eyes flew open, my whole body rigid with fright. What’s that? My mind immediately pictured monstrous flying beetles breaking through the walls and dive-bombing my head. I threw my hands up to protect my face.
Loretta groaned. Her bedsprings creaked as she rolled over, picked up the old-school clock on the nightstand, and turned off the alarm. I lowered my arms, sucking in a few deep breaths to calm myself. Of course. It’s just the alarm. I forgot we had to have that stupid clock because we’re not allowed phones at this ridiculous school.
I rubbed my eyes. The room slowly came into focus. The faint square of grey light from our single high window illuminated a patch on the floor. The basic furniture – the bed, a single nightstand, the desk and hard wooden chairs, the old-fashioned wardrobe with a mirror in the door – stretched in long shadows up the walls.
I’d barely slept. All night, the scratching at the walls grew louder and louder until it pounded against my skull. It moved around the room – starting low down beside the door, scritching along past the desk, across the ceiling, and down beside my bed. My imagination flared, thinking back to all the horror films Dante and I had watched where starving rats chewed through wood in order to consume a human whole.
The last time I’d looked at that ancient alarm clock, it read 3:16AM. The weariness in my body must’ve overwhelmed my imagination and allowed me a few hours sleep. As I sat up, a pounding headache flared at my temple.
My first official day at Derleth Academy was off to a winning start.
Loretta was already out of bed, throwing on her Derleth Academy uniform – the knee-length red-and-black tartan skirt, a starched white shirt, a black tailored blazer edged with red piping and sporting the school’s emblem – the crest containing a crooked five-pointed star and a weird eye thing – and a black-and-red striped tie. “We usually walk to breakfast together,” she said, indicating the guys across the hall with a nod of her head. “It’s safer that way.”
“Noted.” I swung myself out of bed and pulled on my own uniform. The itchy wool skirt raised prickles on my skin. As I shoved my foot into the stockings, my toenail tore a hole in the foot. Hooray.
I finished changing, wrapped my dreadlocks in a black bandana on Loretta’s insistence, and shoved the stack of textbooks off the desk into my bookbag. A couple of stapled pages fluttered to the floor.
Loretta bent down and grabbed the paper. She handed it to me. “Don’t lose your schedule.”
“Thanks.” I folded the paper and shoved it into my blazer pocket. Loretta pushed open the door.
Greg and Andre already waited in the hallway. Greg ran his fingers through his white-blond hair and beamed at me. Andre hung back in the shadows, his jaw set in a firm line. He nodded at me by way of greeting.
“Hey, honey,” Greg greeted me. “Love the headscarf. Very Islam-chic.”
“Thanks. That was the look I was aiming for.” I touched the fabric. “The headmistress said I couldn’t show my hair until I got my dreads combed out. I’m not keen on doing it myself, so this is my solution.”
Greg opened his arms and wrapped me in a tight hug. The gesture knocked me off-guard. I’d had far too much physical touching since arriving at Derleth, none of it pleasant. Unless I counted Trey’s arm brushing mine, his hand on my shoulder, his soft lips just scraping my earlobe while fire raced down my spine…
But I didn’t count that, not at all.
It felt good to be hugged, even if it was by a stranger. Greg had one of those smiles that put people instantly at ease. He was flashing it at me now, all white teeth and earnestness. “Today is a new day, and we’re gonna get you through it.”
Behind him, Andre shrugged, sweeping me with wary eyes. I didn’t blame him for being on guard. I guessed all the scholarship students had to be at this school, especially one who couldn’t cry for help. Still, with his enormous frame, he didn’t look like the kind of guy monarchs would want to mess with.
Greg held out his hand. “Schedule. I want to see if we have any classes together.”
I dug out the crumpled paper and handed it to him.
“We’ve got homeroom together, as well as history, geography, and physics. You’ve got gym with Andre, which is good because that class is a special kind of torture. Loretta’s taking English lit with you, as well as Andre… hmmm, according to this, you haven’t chosen your elective yet.”
“Elective?” I craned my head to see the blank space on Thursday afternoon.
“Derleth offers all kinds of interesting courses ‘designed to foster individual interests and well-rounded scholars,’” Greg used air quotes as he recited from the brochure. “All the teachers have their own academic subjects. There are all sorts of different classes you can take. I’m taking textile arts, aka sewing. It’s going to be useful for when I’m a world famous fashion designer. Andre is in anthropology.”
“I take feminist studies,” Loretta said.
Feminist studies? This school is a whole other world. “What are my other options?” I asked.
Greg flipped to the second page in my schedule where several electives were listed. I scanned the classes. Ancient Greek, Political Economy, Folklore, Alchemy…
I snorted. “Some of these are fucking weird. Why do the Sons and Daughters of the American Revolution need to learn alchemy?”
Greg shrugged. We filed one after the other up the narrow staircase, emerging into the dormitory corridor, where the other students gave us a wide berth as we all made our way across the quad to the dining hall. “Honey, one thing you’re gonna learn is that rich people are fucking weird. Wasn’t it Courtney’s dad who demanded the alchemy class?”
Andre nodded as he grabbed plates from the stack and handed them around to us. We joined the end of the line for the breakfast line. Breakfast was buffet style, with a table of silver chafing dishes holding Spanish omelettes, roasted vegetables, grilled tomatoes, and stacks of bacon. My mouth watered just waiting for it.
“Really?” I glanced across the dining hall, where Courtney held court at her table, surrounded by her friends, including Trey, Ayaz, and Quinn.
“I’ve heard he’s a bonafide flat-earther. He believes the moon landing was faked and the twin towers were a conspiracy – that kind of dude,” Greg said in a rush. We moved up a couple of places in the line.
“Apparently, he made his fortune with silicon chips before they were cool and now he practically owns the valley. He’s new money, but Courtney is desperate to be in the same league as the other monarchs. That’s why she puts up with Quinn’s manwhoring – she needs him for legitimacy.”
“This school is nuts.” The line moved up and at last, at last, I was let loose on Mount Bacon.
“Agreed, but at least the food is decent.” Greg was making his own dent in the mountain.
“Amen to that.” I piled my plate with food, and we made our way over to our table in the corner. Greg and Andre chatted about an upcoming chemistry test (Well, Greg chatted and used to basic sign language Andre had taught him. Andre wrote notes). I listened with half an ear, my mind whirring through potential revenge plots, most of which I pulled directly from teen movies and then promptly dismissed.
“I’ve been thinking about our audition song for Thursday,” Greg said. “What about ‘Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’?”
“From Cats?” I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not sure rolling around on stage in a pair of leg warmers is going to improve either of our social positions. I was thinking about—”
“Morning, Meat,” a voice rasped in my ear.
A rich, silky voice caressed my ear, sending a shockwave through my body and an ache pooling between my thighs. I’d never heard a voice that hot before.
As the voice rumbled down my spine, a heady scent wrapped around my body, filling my head with all sorts of images. Rich incense smoking in a pagan temple, spices roasting over an open flame, opium curling from a long pipe, soft lips on mine, fingers like fire curling around my neck…
Ayaz.
My back stiffened. His scent… it was like being kissed by sin itself. I couldn’t describe how it blew up my senses, teasing me with temptations I didn’t even understand. That scent carried forbidden pleasure, but it also bore an edge – a knife blade that would draw blood as surely as it could draw ecstasy. Ayaz hated me. He couldn’t be standing behind me, his body pressed up against me, for any good reason.
Shunned: a reverse harem bully romance (Kings of Miskatonic Prep Book 1) Page 5
