Game Changing Rules: The Elites Of Weis-Jameson Prep Academy Book 3

by Hart, Rebel

  Part of me wants to melt. The idea is so sweet and tempting, but something about it makes me feel like a big hand is closing around my neck.

  “I know,” I reply half-heartedly. “Listen, I’m exhausted. I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight. I love you.”

  “I love you, Ophelia. So much. Goodnight.”

  I crash down on my bed, laughing at myself. Now I look like some corseted damsel too, fainting across my bed like this. Poking out from under my bed where I stashed it last, Marissa’s diary calls to me. I pick it up and flip through the next few entries. She talks about a feeling of having no say or control over her own life, but all of that fades away when she officially meets Thomas. He’s good-looking, charming, and the kind of guy she would want to be with even if she had a choice.

  It’s frighteningly relatable. Being surrounded by pressure on all sides, everyone telling you what to do and how to do it. Then the charming knight sweeps in and makes you forget you ever wanted anything different.

  10

  Chapter Ten

  I knew it was going to be a bad day when I woke up to the ding from my phone. It’s a special notification that only sounds off when the dreaded Elites app of shame has been used. It’s a special thing they designed and use to torment blacklisted students or anyone else that’s crossed them in some way. I myself have been a victim of the app more than once, which texts every single student at WJ Prep.

  But this morning Emmett is the victim. I open the message to see Emmett’s drooping face looking incredibly sad. There’s a caption that reads: What a poor rich boy looks like when he loses all of his daddy’s money.

  I look at the photo closer and realize it was taken the night that we cornered his mom, sister, and the Hendersons. For weeks, we thought Bernadette was missing, but she had been hiding out at the Hendersons’ manor the entire time. Their mom soon joined her there. It was all a ploy to drive Emmett mad so they could set it up to look like he had lost his mind after his father’s death. Then they held me at gunpoint and forced him to sign all of Jameson Automobiles over to them. His family cut him off and took every penny left to his name.

  The sting of this mass text and the words along with it is, of course, that Emmett wasn’t hurt because he lost all that money. He was hurt by the principle of it. That his mom and sister were so cold, ruthless, and greedy that they would squander his inheritance just because they could. It was a power play. They could have taken the company and left him his trust fund and he would have had enough to live off of. He would have surrendered everything else and let them carry on with their corrupt little business deals while he lived in peace.

  But no. His mom and sister cared so little for him, and even hatefully resented him in a way, that they would rather leave him with absolutely nothing. Completely cut off and cast out from the only family he has simply because Emmett had something they didn’t. Empathy. And an inability to prioritize money and power over human lives.

  For me, it was a good experience. I thought it was better for Emmett to be left to make his own way without any ties to his evil family. It also proved to me that Emmett was different from his family. That he had a heart and the ability to be good.

  I’m thinking it all over as I get ready for school. Even with my own car, Emmett still picks me up some mornings and this is one of those days. I peak anxiously out the window every few minutes to see if he’s pulled up, wondering how he’ll feel about the latest blow from the Elites. Whether it can be seen as good or bad in the long run, that night was when Emmett lost what was left of his family. Even if they weren’t good people, it was hard for him. And now the Elites are using it against him to try and humiliate him. Definitely not a great start to the day.

  Just as I’m sliding into a hoodie and throwing my shoes in a gym bag for practice, I hear the gentle honk of his car as he pulls in to park. Even though Emmett seems like a changed man these days, many parts of me aren’t over the trauma of how he was before. I know he has a temper and I’m not looking forward to seeing how he behaves with the Elites adding insult to injury.

  It’s cold enough outside that I don’t even bother hesitating to read how he’s feeling before I jump right in and begin blowing on my hands, warming them against the heated vents. But within seconds I notice the tight, blank expression on his face. He’s stern and silent as he jerks the car into reverse. He handles turns with a sense of agitation, but he drives slowly down the streets. As if he’s putting off arriving at school as long as possible.

  “So…I guess you saw it?” I ask gently after a long and heavy silence. He nods with nothing but a grunt, obviously not wanting to talk about it. But everything in his expression and body language tells me it’s eating away at him.

  “Fuck them,” I offer with a shrug. “Way worse things have been sent out over that app about me.”

  My comments only make things more tense and awkward. Especially as I am left remembering how it was Emmett who once stole my phone when I was the old Elite’s number one target. I find myself instinctively inching closer to the car door as the memories flood over me. The vile things he sent me, both sexual and predatory all at once. The nude photo they found of me and sent to every single student and teacher in the school.

  I’m lost in all these things I’d rather forget as Emmett puts the car into park at school and waits. I start to unbuckle and grab my things but freeze as I notice him not moving at all.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “No,” he huffs. “I’m going back home today.”

  “Then why did you pick me up? How am I going to get home?” I ask in confusion.

  “I picked you up because I promised I would,” he explains tensely. “And I’ll be here to pick you up after school too, just like I said I would be.”

  The tone of his voice sounds almost condescending and resentful, making me angry. I could have driven myself to school and maybe would have preferred that if I had known he was skipping today.

  “Is this because of the text?” I ask with a sigh, tired of dancing around it.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbles through clenched teeth. I can see his knuckles turning white as he tightly wrings his hand around the steering wheel, causing the leather to creak.

  “Emmett, you can’t let them have that kind of control,” I urge him, speaking from experience. “You know better than anyone…that’s what they want. You have to march right in there with your head held high, so they know they can’t hurt you. Even if they do hurt you, you have to carry on anyway. Otherwise they’ll never lay off.”

  He shakes his head and looks out his window. I can see the torment twisting inside of him. He’s humiliated, but safe hiding here in his car. Walking through those double doors puts him right into the hands of unkind, snickering assholes who will use the text as ammunition. Messages through the Elites app is like an arrow pointing to the person everyone is supposed to give shit to. Anyone who doesn’t make their best effort at pouring salt on Emmett’s wounds could become the next victim.

  “Maybe we should get revenge,” he perks up suddenly. “Find something on Malcolm to put out there and get back at him. I have some old embarrassing photos of him from when we were kids.”

  “It’s just a waste of time,” I insist. “Even if we do manage to strike some kind of nerve with him, it’s only going to make things worse. He’ll retaliate with something much bigger. They’ve already tried to kill me this year, Emmett. I don’t have time to wage a war against them right now. I need to focus on school and getting into college so I can get us the hell out of here.”

  He’s immediately turned off by my refusal to play their games, shaking his head and growing more irritated by the second as I talk. “Well, who says you have to help at all,” he shoots back begrudgingly. “I’m not worried about getting into college right now or anything else really. I’ll go after him myself.”

  That thought scares me even more. Emmett humiliated and desperate, feeling like he has nothing to lo
se, going after Malcolm for revenge. Two entitled, fucked-up high school boys going head to head with millions of dollars and a disregard for human life on the line. It’d be a nightmare. One in which I can’t see everyone surviving.

  “What happened to what you said last night?” I argue, even though it still causes a huge lump to form in my throat. “Partners, remember? Your problems are my problems?” He softens a little but still seems insistent on clinging to all this bubbling rage. “Let’s just walk in there and get through this together. I’ll hold your hand the whole way and march you right up to your first class. Like I said, Emmett. Fuck them. Don’t let them send you running off and hiding.”

  He lets out a long heavy sigh before finally, slowly turning the key in the ignition, shutting down the engine. He’s still a while afterward, gathering up all the energy he has to go through with this. Or maybe he’s just turning himself to stone. Compartmentalizing and shutting down. His upbringing forced him to become very good at detachment.

  But he must still be feeling something because he squeezes my hand tight as we walk inside. When the doors swing open, it’s as if everyone has been waiting for us. They all go completely silent and turn to us with wide eyes as we make our way through. All of the students are divided up against the lockers, leaving plenty of room for us to go right past them down the middle of the hall. But it also puts us in perfect view and we’re all too aware of their growing snickers and whispers as we walk by.

  I can feel the muscles in Emmett’s hands tense the further we go. His heart pounds through his wrist. The further we go, the louder and more blatant the taunting becomes. As they grow bolder in their insults, directing them at Emmett rather than each other now, the crowd seems to be closing in. The students push out from the lockers lining the walls on either side of us and put themselves in our path. We’re forced to zig-zag to dodge them, but as they close in on us, each time we avoid bumping into one of them, another is waiting just behind them.

  Emmett’s hand twists in mine, growing damp and I see beads of sweat forming on his brow. Everyone is shouting at us and cackling, jumping all around like crazy people, not letting us move any further. It’s so loud and suffocating that we can barely make out their words, but every once in a while, an awful jab will stand out among the rest. Terrible things about Emmett and his father. They throw Thomas’s death in his face and blame him for it, all while making fun of him for being poor.

  I’m not immune to the insults, of course. If anything, I give them more ammunition. Vivian coined me as the white trash girl who didn’t belong here and needed to go back where I came from. The fact that we’re a couple only spurs them on more. They mock Emmett for having found a poor, white trash girl just like him to fuck in whatever dirty shack we come from. The worst part is, knowing how these kids live, my little house and his little apartment are like uninhabitable shit holes to them.

  As the shouting worsens and the crowd folds over us, we both begin to duck and shield ourselves with our arms as fruit and opened packets of condiments fly at us. I feel something soggy splash against my cheek just as a packet of ketchup smears across my jacket. They sound like a mob of crazed monkeys on the attack.

  I grip Emmett’s hand tighter and begin fighting our way through, dragging him along. He’s stronger and scarier than me, but I can feel the panic coursing through his veins. He’s never experienced anything like this before. Even I have to admit this is more dramatic than some of the shit the Elites pulled on me.

  Finally, we pierce through the bulk of them enough for me to hear his hyperventilating pants. I shove the remaining stragglers out of the way and pull him into the closest closet, where we can find some peace. His nostrils are flaring in and out as he heaves. I grip his shoulders and try to get him to look at me, but he looks lost. I’ve seen that empty look in his eyes before. It’s from whatever scary place he goes into when he’s put into a position he finds himself unable to handle.

  “Hey!” I bark, trying to snap him out of it as I firmly shake his shoulders. “Hey, Emmett! Look at me!” I try again, but he’s unresponsive. He looks in every direction, doing his best to avoid making eye contact with me, still breathing wildly.

  “Stop it!” I scream again, become afraid. The shrillness of my voice causes something in him to snap and one of his hands rears back above me. I flinch, throwing my hands up and whimpering slightly, convinced that he’s so out of control he’ll actually hit me. But when nothing strikes me, I slowly lower my hands just as he starts coming back to reality.

  His face softens and fills with remorse. His brows wrinkle and he looks like he’s about to start crying. He collapses against my shoulder with a breathless series of gasps. Short, shallow cries with no tears to back them up.

  “I’m sorry,” he groans listlessly, clinging to my body. “I don’t…I don’t know what happened…I just…I couldn’t take…that.”

  I hesitate for a moment, still feeling afraid. But I finally wrap my arms around him and rub his back gently. “Shhhh,” I comfort him softly. “It’s okay.”

  We rock back and forth like that for a few moments. Then all at once, he straightens, pulling back to wipe his nose. He seems like himself again and looks embarrassed for whatever just happened.

  “Sorry,” he says again. “I just kind of lost it for a moment. I couldn’t…I couldn’t breathe.”

  “I think you just had a panic attack,” I suggest with concern, studying the change in his face.

  “Those fuckers,” he sneers, wiping his nose again with a sniffle.

  I let him calm down some more, knowing I can’t process any of this for myself until I’m alone again. Away from his deep, mournful eyes staring back at me with his twisted pink lips that I love and yearn for always, even in fucked-up moments like this.

  We hide out in there for a while until after the bell has rung and we hear the hallways grow silent again. Then I walk Emmett to his class as I promised. As I walk on my own after delivering him to the door, I am horrified to have such a recent reminder of that side of Emmett. The side of him that is so lost and confused, it’s almost inhuman. That used to be the only side of him I saw, and he did awful things to me when that part of him was in the steering wheel. I can’t help but wonder if these new Elites will find a way to crack him, bringing the old demented Emmett out again for good.

  Something else stirs in me after the awful morning. It’s a strange, new way of seeing Emmett. He suddenly doesn’t seem as strong as he used to. Not that breaking down or having a panic attack is anything weak in itself. No, it’s something else. Just as I try to quietly slip into my class, ignoring the teacher who chastises me for being late, I realize I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for Emmett right now. I have walked in his shoes before, only the difference was…he was usually the one tormenting me.

  In a sick way, it’s like the new Elites are exacting revenge on my behalf. Emmett is getting a dose of his own medicine. I wouldn’t say I’m enjoying it, but part of me feels like Emmett is getting what he deserves after all those years of being on the other side of this, doling out punishments to anyone who crossed him or questioned his position. And if that’s how I really feel…should we be together?

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  I bound out of school at the end of the day, eager to get to practice. Emmett usually walks me, but today I rush over to the locker rooms without him. I feel bad leaving him to fend for himself, but there is still some resentful part of me that thinks he should be able to tough it out on his own. I hate feeling that way and it only makes me more impatient to run it all out of my system.

  Once I’m changed, I join the others on the field and try to start warm-ups. But Coach Granger blows his whistle and asks us to huddle together. We groan and form a group around him. It’s freezing cold and the only thing to warm us up is to get moving, but first he says he has an announcement to make.

  “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Jada,” he announces, nodding to the petite, dark-s
kinned woman at his side. She’s nearly half his height, as most people are, with a cute button nose and little black curls pulled into a bun around her bright face. “She’ll be working with you all this semester as my new coaching assistant.”

  I expect Jada to smile with her introduction, but instead, she stands firm with her arms behind her back, practically scowling at all of us. Which is for the best. My favorite coaches have always been mean and stern, more concerned with pushing us to be the best runners we can be rather than pretending to be our friends.

  After Jada is introduced, the other girls and I line up on the track field, waiting for the whistle to blow. I feel like a bull waiting to charge as jets of steam shoot out of my nose and mouth against the cold air. I’m freezing in my thin running gear, but I know soon my skin will be burning hot once I get a good way into the laps. And I am in serious need of the release. I could barely stand to make it through warm-ups. I bounced through the stretches and exercises, impatiently waiting for the chance to take off.

  The whistle shrieks and I start running, leaving the others behind me by a long shot. I break into a fast and even stride, leaving everyone and everything behind me. I’m so desperate to run away from the complexities of my life that I don’t even have to get through the first mile to get that runner’s high. The pumping adrenaline hits me instantly.

  Practice flies by as I slip into a sort of trance. I run through a mindless meditation, basking in the peace and quiet. There is nothing but me and the building pain in my body and chest as I round the final few laps. I notice Jada eyeing me intently as I slow down into the covered bleachers where we always gather at the end of practice.

  Coach makes a few announcements about upcoming competitions but keeps it brief. Now that we’re all motionless and sweaty, the cold quickly sets back in. We’re all dismissed, but Coach asks me to hang back for a moment. Just long enough to spout off some of my times for the day, complimenting me and reminding me of my training commitments to keep it up.