The Wicked Truth

by Pru Schuyler

  But I didn’t.

  When his lips touched my forehead, I felt safe. Like I could take a deep breath for the first time. Like Austin’s grasp lifted off my soul.

  I’m scared that I want more, so much more.

  Feet padding on the concrete pulls me from my deep thoughts. I look up to find Brooke in a cute Hawaiian sundress, barreling straight for me, her dark locks swaying.

  “Oh my God, oh my God! I missed you!” she practically screams and plows right into me, wrapping me in a tight hug.

  Her vanilla scent takes over, calming my senses. I really did miss her. I’ve never had a best friend like her.

  I pull back first, as always. “How was your trip? You’re literally glowing, by the way.”

  She flaunts a few poses and does a twirl, showing off her sun-kissed skin. “It was amazing! I’m serious though; you have to go with all of us on the next trip. It would have been so much better with you.”

  Besides the close quarters with Cade and constantly having to avoid him, that sounds fun. But by the time they take their next trip, I’ll be off to school.

  But I tell her what she wants to hear, “Okay, deal.”

  Her smile lights up her face. “You’re coming over, right?”

  She looks for my response in my eyes. I can see a hint of nervousness in hers, and it surprises me.

  “Of course. I was on my way over when you ran here.” I give her a reassuring smile, though I have no idea why this girl would ever need reassurance.

  She loops her arm through mine and practically pulls me down my steps. I take one of her bags from her and help her carry them up to her room.

  After we get her luggage unpacked and she gossips about all the hot guys at the beach, we decide to watch a movie while we mentally plan our outfits for the first day. I was really hoping Brighton Prep was going to have a uniform. But they pride themselves on their modernity. Which apparently just means no dress code.

  Speaking through a mouthful of popcorn, she mumbles, “Okay, so I’m thinking that we go with a dress and a cute heel?”

  Absolutely not.

  My anxiety is already going to be through the roof without worrying over being one strong breeze away from flashing everyone.

  As if reading my mind, she suggests, “Or we could do, like, jeans and a cute top, or a jumpsuit or romper? What are you thinking?” She turns her attention away from My Spy and focuses on me.

  Jeans? Yes.

  Cute top? Yes.

  Fully covered body? Yes.

  “Jeans and a top sound good to me. Want to go pick out a top? That way, I know what level of cute top we’re talking about,” I respond.

  She sets her popcorn down, grabs my hand, and leads me to her closet, the one she left closed the last time we were here. We stop outside the double-door entrance.

  “Puh-lease. You know me better than that,” she gloats.

  She slides open the closet doors I’ve never been behind, and my jaw drops.

  This is the biggest closet I’ve ever seen in my life. Nothing compared to the smaller one from the night we met. That closet is a cupboard in comparison.

  This “closet” should classify as its own room. The ceiling is vaulted, for heaven’s sake. Hung high in the center of the ceiling is a delicate crystal chandelier. The walls are painted an opalescent white. Directly underneath the chandelier sit two full white suede couches and a furry white bean bag chair that could fit at least five people.

  Then, there are the clothes. Racks and racks and walls of clothes, most with the tags still on them. There’s a rolling rack behind one of the couches, full of garment bags. Brooke makes her way over to them.

  As I get closer to the rack, I can see each garment bag has a label—happy, sad, angry, sexy, sassy, flirty, and edgy. Each one preset for how she’s feeling that day.

  Holy crap. I have to give the girl credit; she’s organized.

  She flits through the rack until she lands on one that’s unlabeled. “Okay, so this is what I’m planning for my outfit. Thoughts?” Her sweet voice pulls me from my stupor.

  The outfit does not disappoint. The top is a dusty-blue high-neck sweater, paired with ripped white jeans, a little diamond necklace, and all-white tennis shoes.

  Maybe she’ll let me raid her closet for my outfit.

  “Oh my God, Brooke. You’re going to look so cute. Now, help me figure out mine.” I laugh.

  She hastily hangs the outfit back up and turns to me, hands clasped with a smile so big that it should hurt. “Yes, please!” she cheers.

  She immediately takes off, bouncing between racks of blouses, T-shirts, sweaters, and jeans. By the time she makes it back over to me, her arms are full. She lays it all out on the couch, setting the outfits up so I can get the full effect.

  She points to the first one and breaks into a full sales speech. “Okay, so this one is a little more flirty. Kind of fun and girlie. What do you think?” She picked out a long-sleeved deep-magenta V-neck wrap blouse and paired it with black ripped jeans.

  I do like it. But there’s no way I’m wearing that on the first day, when everyone is going to be looking at me. My chest tends to draw attention when I wear low-cut things like that. Add a school full of hormonal boys to it, and I will be dealing with panic and anxiety attacks all day.

  No, thanks.

  She doesn’t wait for my response. “Okay, obviously not loving it. No hurt feelings, promise. What about the second one?”

  The second outfit is an all-white crewneck sweater, accessorized with a pearl necklace, paired with no-rip dark-indigo jeans.

  Too preppy.

  I shake my head and respond kindly, “Not loving this one either, B. I’m sorry.”

  She shoos my apology away with her hand. “It’s you who has to wear it, not me. Do you hate the last one too?” she asks genuinely.

  I look at the third outfit, and I get a little giddy. I love the top. It’s this cream high-neck sweater that looks like it would hit about my pants line. She paired black leggings and cute little black combat boots with it.

  Now we’re talking.

  Instead of responding, I grab the outfit and head to the changing room, which is just two oversize white curtains in the corner. Brooke squeals behind me, proud that I picked one she’d designed. After sliding the sweater on and shimmying into the leggings, I step out to show her. Her mouth drops open slightly when she takes in my appearance. She gives me two thumbs-up, apparently speechless, which is a first.

  I turn to the mirror and am caught off guard a little. I usually avoid looking in the mirror too much. It pulls out all my insecurities, which in turn brings out Austin; it’s a spiral. But I feel pretty, and I feel cute. In the short time I’ve known Brooke, she’s been able to help me see myself again—twice.

  “Perfect,” I breathe out.

  She remains quiet as she rushes over and pulls me into a hug. It never fails that I get at least two Brooke hugs every time I see her. She’s quite the hugger. But no matter how many I get, the feeling of peace and comfort takes over every time.

  NINE

  I can’t believe it’s actually my first day at Brighton Prep. Since I woke up, my heart has been racing a little too fast. I knew I was going to be anxious, but just thinking about having to face all of the new kids and all the guys has my heart pounding out of my chest.

  To calm myself down, I start my day with my song. But I can tell I might have to do that a few times today based on how this morning is going. I loosely curl my hair and put on a little concealer, blush, and mascara. After getting dressed, I decide to take one look to see how it all came together.

  I walk across my room and stop in front of my mirror. I look nice. I look—

  My chest tightens. My mind immediately swarms with a thousand thoughts. My breaths shorten and increase with speed.

  I should just skip today. What if my sweater’s too tight? I’ll feel constricted, suffocated. What if my leggings draw too much attention?

  Wha
t-ifs fill my head until my breaths are huffing in and out like bullets.

  Breathe, Stella. You’re okay.

  I grab my phone once more and play my song. The calming notes of “River Flows in You” take over my thoughts, drowning out my inner voice.

  I don’t know how much time passes before I get up off my floor. I check my phone—7:49 a.m. I’m meeting Brooke outside at eight. She’s driving us to school.

  After I grab a quick bite to eat, I head outside to meet her.

  She’s already in her white Audi A6. She rolls down the window and shouts, “First day! Let’s go! Hustle, hustle!”

  I laugh. How this girl has this level of energy at eight in the morning, I will never know.

  I slide in the passenger seat and pick up notes of Hannah Montana’s “Nobody’s Perfect.”

  I turn it up, and we sing every word to the song. We continue to jam out to other Hannah throwbacks during the short drive.

  It helps lift my mood and demeanor. But when we pull into her spot at school, my stomach starts to tighten again. I know this is a bigger school than I’m used to, but the amount of students outside is overwhelming, to say the least.

  My old school was small. My entire high school was only about six hundred students. But here, the senior class alone has three hundred.

  Brooke gets out of her side first and walks around to mine. She opens the door for me.

  How chivalrous.

  I take one last deep breath and step out into the pouring sunshine.

  You got this.

  Brooke loops her arm through mine, and we turn to face everyone. My stomach is in my throat. I feel a thousand eyes on me. Whether or not they’re really staring is a different thing altogether. Brooke grabs my class schedule out of my hands.

  Her sweet voice chimes in, “Okay, so your first class is with me—Advanced Lit with Morano. So, don’t worry; I won’t be leaving your side anytime soon.”

  Thank God.

  We step into the wave of students squeezing through the doors when a familiar woodsy scent fills my senses.

  Cade.

  I was wondering when I would bump into him this morning. His car was gone by the time we left. Hot breath hits my ear and sends tingles all down my neck.

  His deep voice whispers, “Good morning, beautiful. Ready for your first day?”

  I feel his fingers graze my lower back, guiding me through the sea of students, which apparently parts for him.

  “Good morning, Cade. I’m here too, you know,” Brooke banters.

  He pulls his hand away, and at the absence of his touch, a coldness spreads through me.

  “How could I forget when you’re always there to remind me?” he challenges back.

  Brooke tugs me with her arm, grabbing my attention. “Do you want to stop at your locker first or just head straight to class?” she asks.

  “I don’t want to be late or lost, so we can just head there. I’ll find my locker at lunch or something,” I reply.

  There’s no way I’m risking walking into class late and facing every new student head-on by myself. Embarrassing.

  “What’s your locker number?” Cade’s hand finds its way to my back once again.

  I can’t help the smile that tilts my lips up.

  I grab my schedule from Brooke. “Locker 264.”

  A big grin takes over his face, lighting his forest-green eyes up. “Well, it just so happens that I know exactly where that is. My locker is 265.”

  Of course it is.

  He focuses on my schedule for a second before saying, “Now, are you sure you don’t want to stop by it? It’s on the way to Morano’s room.”

  Brooke stops mid-stride, yanking me back with her, and the tidal wave of students behind us parts as they pass. “There is no way you’re in Morano’s Advanced Lit.”

  Cade’s lips kick up into a smirk. “Damn straight, sis.”

  “How? You suck at school.” Brooke squints her eyes.

  “On the contrary, B. I suck at completing homework. As for the actual school part, I’m quite the genius.”

  We make our way through the rest of the hall, up the stairs, and around the corner to Morano’s room when two huge guys catch my attention. They are stomping down the hall, right toward us. The left one’s sharp gaze is locked straight on Cade.

  Twenty feet away.

  My overanalyzing kicks into gear. I immediately check their body language—shoulders pushed back, chests puffed out, their faces set in a scowl.

  Ten feet.

  They don’t look too happy. The one on the left has messy, short brown hair, like he’s never seen a brush. The guy on the right has dirty-blond hair that is blowing around from the speed they’re approaching us with.

  Five feet.

  I pull my arm away from Brooke’s and step in front of Cade, stopping him in place, facing him to put a barrier between him and whatever is about to happen.

  “Um, Cade.” My voice breaks.

  His deep green eyes look down, pouring into me. “Yes, gorgeous?”

  Ugh. My heart kicks up for all the wrong reasons right now.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those guys are heading our way, and they don’t look too happy,” I speak low to try to keep it between us.

  His gaze tears away from mine, and he looks up. Arrogance and challenge fill his eyes, his full lips twisting into a wicked grin.

  Crap.

  He slides his hand down my side and sweeps me slightly behind him.

  Big crap.

  I look at Brooke, but she’s long gone. Probably already in class, where I should be.

  One foot.

  “Carver!” the big brunette brute snaps.

  Cade laughs. Like a full, low-belly laugh. Not the reaction I was expecting.

  He laughs once more, and then a deep, mocking tone comes from him. “What’s your problem, Jones? GNC run out of protein powder this morning?”

  I put my hand on his back, more for my own reassurance than his. The blond one notices my small gesture and locks his eyes on me. Cade stiffens under my touch.

  “Who’s this, Cade? Care to introduce your little friend? I would love to get to know her.” His tone sends chills down my spine.

  “No, I’d rather just kick your ass,” Cade spits back.

  The tension in the hallway is building, and students have started gathering around us since the two jerks showed up. Brady steps through the crowd and takes his place next to Cade. The left one, Jones, takes a step forward, obviously challenging them, but they do not back down.

  He takes another step toward us.

  Cade lets a laugh go before barking out, “I would like to see you try right now, Jones.”

  I feel the anger racing through him. I tighten my grip on his back, and he lets me tug him back slightly.

  Jones’s attention shoots down to me, and he tilts his head to the side. “Nice to see Cade’s new toy. Wonder how long you’ll last. Good luck, slut.” He smiles and starts to turn away.

  Annnd that does it.

  Cade pulls from my grasp, and his right hand crashes into Jones’s jaw, making a bloodcurdling pop. He grabs Jones by the collar of his shirt and slams him hard into the lockers.

  Cade’s voice is low and animalistic. “Don’t you ever talk to her like that, or I’ll do more than mess up your jaw. Better yet, if I catch you even looking her way, you’ll end up in the ground.”

  A whistle blows in the hallway, clearing a path for—oh crap—the vice principal. I recognize his picture from Brighton Prep’s website. He adjusts his tie as he steps into the circle that’s formed around us.

  He clears his throat. “Good morning, Cade. A grand entrance, as always. Grab your bag.”

  Cade drops Jones from his grasp. Cade walks over to me and bends down to pick up his bag from my feet. He winks at me and then follows the VP back down the hall.

  If it was just my imagination before, it definitely isn’t now. Every single person in this hallway is staring d
irectly at me. Brady takes off with his bag hanging off his shoulder, anger radiating off him.

  Brooke appears in the doorway of a classroom, and her concerned gaze locks with mine. I plead with my eyes to her. I let her in, past my mask, to see how nervous I am. She doesn’t hesitate for a second. She bolts to my side and loops her arm through mine.

  “Show’s over, folks!” she shouts to the onlooking crowd.

  She leads me to her desk and the seat she saved for me.

  “I leave you alone for five minutes, and my brother punches Callum freaking Jones for you. Amazing.” She laughs.

  The teacher gets started, and I lose myself in the rest of the period, taking notes like my life depends on it. I’m already so mentally drained, and it’s only the first class.

  I just wanted to keep a low profile this year. Small talk here and there with classmates. Sit with Brooke at lunch. Straight home. No mess. No problems.

  That just went right out the window.

  Now, everyone is gossiping about Cade and me and the fight he just picked with, apparently, Callum freaking Jones because of me. I need to learn more about this guy and why the heck everyone is treating him like the big, bad wolf.

  I manage to keep my focus one hundred percent on my schoolwork, rarely looking up from my notebook. As I go class to class, it’s easy for me to avoid people because I stare at my map the whole time. But unfortunately, I can’t shut my ears off. One more period to get through before lunch, and then I can finally be with Brooke again, who has totally become my security guard.

  I turn the last corner before my next classroom and stop abruptly when a girl straight out of Glamour magazine blocks my path. Her perfectly straight honey-blonde hair cascades over her shoulders. I swear, if this is a reverse repeat of this morning, I am going to fully lose it. She’s pissed, definitely not a friend.

  “Sarah, right?” she spits out, purposefully not using my real name. She flips her long hair.

  This seems like it’s going to go well. She probably just wants to get to know me—braid hair, go shopping, et cetera.

  “Actually, I’m Stella.” I try to keep my voice composed.