This Hurt (This Boy Book 2)

by Jenna Scott

  I nod at him. “Okay. Yes. Please. And thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Emmett squeezes my shoulder and then takes his hand off.

  “Ugh, now I might have to go to Stanford too.” Isabel pouts jokingly. “If you both end up there, I don’t want to be all by myself in LA.”

  “You could get into any college, Miss ‘I’m-so-smart-I-have-them-all-offering,’” Emmett says, poking her ribs. “Do it. We could Three Musketeers the place.”

  “But fashion!” Isabel says the word with a breathless sigh and a theatrical gesture. “It calls to me!”

  “You could always get a math degree and pursue fashion as a minor?” I offer. Neither of us wants her to give up on FIDM, but if anyone could pull off a double-major in a highly brainiac field and sew a collection at the same time, it’d be Isabel.

  She blows a lock of hair away from her face. “You two sound like my parents.”

  “They are kinda right,” Emmett says. “You’re brilliant enough to do more than clothes. You could expand your horizons a bit before committing to it as a career?”

  “I’ll think on your case,” she begrudgingly groans. “By the way, Emmie, wanna stay for dinner?”

  “Can’t. Siblings are over, and we’ve been doing family dinners all week. They’re going back tomorrow, so today’s is special. Speaking of which…” Emmett checks his phone for the time. “I gotta get going.”

  Special family dinners must be so nice. Having a family like Emmett’s must be incredible. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing they could adopt me.

  We walk Emmett out to his car, and he hugs both of us goodbye.

  “You know…” Isabel starts on our way back inside, and from the way her words drift as she stares at Emmett’s car driving off, I can tell she’s choosing them carefully. “You and Emmett really vibe.”

  “So do you and him,” I say, unsure of where this is going.

  “That’s cause we’ve been friends for forever.” Isabel shrugs. “It’s different with you, I think.”

  A frown appears in my brow. “Different how?”

  “I mean, Emmett and I are like siblings. But like…I don’t know…have you ever considered dating him?”

  Honestly, I have wondered what it would be like to fall for some quintessential nice guy like Emmett instead of a selfish, straight-up douche like Hunter. But when I think deeper on it, the idea is so ludicrous, I laugh. “Nah. No way.”

  Even though Emmett’s cute, and I like spending time with him, and I know he’d never sabotage my life, I don’t think I’ll ever feel that way about him. With Hunter there was this sort of weird chemical reaction in my brain, like phosphorus when it meets water—it sparked, and burned spectacularly. With Emmett, it’s like mixing water with more water. No reaction at all.

  But Isabel’s not water, and sometimes, I swear she looks at Emmett the same way I looked at Hunter.

  I stare at her. “Would you? Date Emmett, I mean.”

  Isabel laughs the same way I did. “Nah. I meant what I said. It’d be like dating a family member.”

  That surprises me, because honest to God, I thought Emmett was the crush she’s hinted at but never talks about. Have I misread all her interactions with him? Is it all really childhood friendship, which is, in itself, a form of love?

  Has Hunter fucked up my wires so thoroughly I’m projecting onto my best friends?

  “What?” She blinks when she catches me frowning at her.

  “You know you could tell me, right? If you liked someone. Boy, girl, whatever,” I say, gently, and because I don’t want her to think I’m judging her, I add, “But it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, either.”

  “I know.” Isabel smiles, but it’s somewhat tight. “It’s just…” she sighs and looks away. “I’m not ready to admit it to myself, let alone anyone else.”

  So there is someone. I want to poke and prod at her until she comes clean, but the way she’s avoiding my eyes tells me to hold back. It hurts a bit, to think she doesn’t trust me with this, but it hurts a lot more to know she’s not comfortable enough to admit it to herself.

  “Well…” My fingers squeeze hers before releasing. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  Isabel nods, and her features relax. “Thanks, Milla.”

  And although the question lingers in the back of my mind for the rest of the day, and the days after, I don’t push it further.

  Chapter Nine

  Camilla

  When we go back to school, everyone at Oak Academy is talking about how their break went and what all they did, as if they haven’t been on one another’s Instagram feeds every day. Even Isabel and I killed some time scouring them for clues on what happened over the holidays and to see who hooked up with who.

  I have to admit, I’m glad Hunter doesn’t have Instagram, or any other form of social media. He despises the whole thing because of his stepmom and her influencer career. Her Instagram I’ve been low-key stalking, just to see if Harrison shows up. And he does, a couple times throughout the family vacation to Cozumel, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—the smile he puts on when it’s just for the camera.

  Guilt at abandoning him boils in my stomach.

  The only thing that makes up for it just a little is that I don’t see Hunter at all on Monday, which I count as a blessing. Maybe he’s still getting trashed every day and simply lost track of when school opened back up. Despite our breakup, I sincerely hope that isn’t the case. I’m worried about him. Even if he’s not my problem anymore.

  After class, Isabel and I go to the student council room over in the west wing of the building. The spring formal committee meets there on Mondays, half an hour after the last period has ended. Since I’m not babysitting Harry anymore, I don’t have any scheduling conflicts. Which gives me a sinking feeling as we step into the room.

  A sinking feeling that’s only compounded when every head in the room swivels toward us, gazes sweeping past Isabel and lingering on me. Basically the entire school knows me as the poor girl who dated Hunter, and now that we’re broken up, people stare at me with one of three things: curiosity, pity, or hostility.

  What I’m getting right now is a mix of all of the above, and I freeze under the attention until Isabel tugs me along to sit beside her at the end of the conference table.

  I see some people I already know—Lucy and Amanda from Algebra, Sarah from World History, Johanna from AP Bio. There are a couple boys too, but I only recognize Matt Mason, of Kink Closet fame, aka Hunter’s dudebro. The other one introduces himself as Michael, and from the conversation, I gather that he has Spanish with Isabel.

  “Who dragged the two of you here?” Isabel asks the guys.

  “Lucy threatened to break up with me unless I provided some muscle,” Michael answers with a pout.

  “We do need muscle, though! And someone tall, which, you are,” Lucy says. “Last year they had zero dudes and Cecilia Delaney almost fell off a ladder trying to hang the decorations.”

  “I need the extra credit,” Matt admits, leaning back in his chair and then doing the unthinkable: turning to me and asking, “How’ve you been, Camilla?”

  “Fine,” I make myself answer, wondering why he’s being nice. Maybe growing up with parents who are famous for their Kink Closet taught Matt the unpleasant experience of having people mock you for something your parents do. “And you?”

  He half shrugs. “I’m decent. Miami was fun.”

  Neither of us says anything else, and Isabel takes the chance to ask the room, “Where’s Jenn?”

  “Went to get more markers for the whiteboard.” Amanda blows a bubble gum bubble and pops it. “The ones in here are all dead.”

  The door opens once more, and a familiar trio of voices bursts into the room. Everyone else looks at them to see who it is; I don’t need to. The chill up my spine is enough, and the evil chatter seals the deal.

  Beside me, Isabel’s pursing her lips, t
hen muttering an, “Of course.”

  “Ugh. Who invited the lesbos?” Hillary groans, jerking her head toward Isabel and me. Emma and Isla laugh next to her, and they take the last seats at the far end of the table.

  I stiffen, already questioning my decision to sign up for this. I can’t believe I let Isabel convince me it was a good idea, and I want nothing more than to turn around and leave. But Isabel has been nothing but a great friend to me, and she really wants to do this. It’d be pretty shitty of me to abandon her to this pit of snakes, and I figure she needs me here just as much as I need her everywhere else post-Hunter.

  “Oh wow, lesbos, such a creative insult.” Isabel slow claps and rolls her eyes.

  “Yeah,” I add, straightening my shoulders. “Like straight out of ancient Greece.”

  Hillary’s cold gray eyes fall on me, and a cruel smile spreads her lips. “And yet, you’re the one wearing shoes that are a hundred years old.”

  “All right, all of you, quit it,” a girl with glasses and her black hair done in a ponytail interrupts, hands full of whiteboard pens. She’s Isabel’s friend Jenn, who asked her to join. “We’re here to plan a ball, not be nasty to each other.”

  “Ugh, God, Jennifer,” Hillary groans. “I’m not being nasty. I just don’t like having dirty hos sitting so close to me.”

  “Funny. I wasn’t aware we had a mirror in here,” Isabel spits, coming to my defense without my asking. “‘Cause the only dirty ho I see is you.”

  “Oooh,” a few voices murmur at the diss.

  “That is enough! If you can’t be civil, the door is over there.” Jennifer points at the door with a teacherly scowl and then turns to the whiteboard, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Now, onto actual business. We have to settle on a theme, keeping in mind that we have a budget. Let’s hear some ideas.”

  Obviously, Hillary is the first to speak, as she’s always looking for the chance to dominate whatever conversation she’s having, and inevitably make it all about her.

  “Let’s do ‘Solid Gold.’ It’ll be luxurious and classic, which is perfect since we’re a private academy, charity cases notwithstanding.” Though Hillary doesn’t look at me as she says it, everyone in the room knows that last bit was meant for me.

  Isabel groans. “Gold is tacky as fuck. And it’s been done to death already.” She pushes her idea folder to the center and flips it open. “It’s spring, guys. We should do an Enchanted Forest theme. I’ve already sketched out the plans and layout. I have some other ideas, too, but this one is my favorite.”

  People lean toward the center of the table, oohing and ahhing at the images.

  “I don’t like green,” Hillary complains, pushing Isabel’s folder away.

  “Tough titties,” Isabel snaps, grabbing the folder and flipping to a different page. “Here’s the Excel sheet with the supply list and a rough budget. I went online and tallied up an estimated cost for all the decorations we’d need, plus hiring a deejay and ordering a few light catering options. It’ll probably be less in the end, but I figured it’d be better to overestimate and come in under budget later.” She pauses dramatically. “And I know how we can skirt the No-Alcohol-on-Premises rule.”

  Matt and Michael are nodding, and Lucy’s flipping through some of the decoration sketches with a smile on her face.

  Hillary scoffs. “Alcohol wouldn’t be a problem if we just fly to Europe and hold the spring formal in Paris or whatever. That way only the people who’re worth it will attend.” She gives me a pointed look. “Then again, trash always finds a way to tag along, and you really will do anything to leech off people, won’t you, Camilla. Or should I say, anyone.” She glances pointedly at Isabel and then lifts a brow.

  Everybody goes silent. The air, hostile. And inside me, a fire of sheer fury has ignited. It’s not just the homophobia—it’s that she’s saying I’m trading sex for favors, and that’s always been a sore spot for me. Before, in public school, and now, here.

  I’m done being polite.

  “Do you even understand the concept of friendship, Hillary? Or do you just terrorize people into kissing your ass?” I shoot back.

  She lets out a fake-sounding laugh. “Excuse you. I have friends.”

  “We’re right here!” Emma says in Hillary’s defense.

  Hillary goes on, “And I didn’t have to spread my legs to get them—”

  “Enough!” Jenn says. “Hillary, out.”

  “What?” Hillary sputters. “Camilla’s the one—”

  “Nope.” Jenn’s not having it. “You’re done. Leave. Now.”

  “Did I miss the part where we voted to make you Head of the Committee?” Hillary snarls at Jennifer, who’s now frowning behind her thick glasses.

  Jenn smiles sweetly. “Actually, you did. I am the Head of the Committee. The door’s right there. Bye.”

  With a screech, Hillary shoves her chair back and slings her designer purse over her shoulder. “Come on,” she tells her minions. Then she glares at Jenn. “You haven’t seen the last of me. My mom’s on the school board.”

  “I look forward to speaking with her, then,” Jenn says, unperturbed.

  Not surprisingly, Hillary’s lackeys follow her as she storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

  The whole room is aghast. Michael’s jaw has dropped. Isabel’s trying not to snicker. Matt’s eyebrows are up in his hairline. Jennifer’s facepalming.

  I never thought seeing someone else so red-faced and upset would feel good, but witnessing Hillary losing a fight and being put in her place was damned fine. Still, I’m positive this will be making the gossip rounds tomorrow, with Hillary painted as the innocent victim. Maybe there will even be some new rumors about me and Jenn.

  “Moving on, should we put it to a vote?” Jenn asks. “So we can get started on the actual party planning?”

  “Yes, let’s.” Lucy gets up and uncaps a marker, writing on the whiteboard. “We have Isabel’s Enchanted Forest, Emma’s Starry Night, and Hillary’s Gold Whatever. Anyone else?”

  Matt raises his hand and Lucy nods. “Um, Football?”

  That gets a few laughs.

  “Sure,” Lucy says. “Really earning that extra credit, are we?”

  Sheepishly, Matt nods.

  The vote is taken by a show of hands. Under the table, Isabel reaches for my hand, her vice-like grip a testament to her nerves. But it’s no contest. Everyone’s on board with Enchanted Forest, which wins with an overwhelming majority.

  “Awesome,” Jenn says, writing Enchanted Forest on the board, and then she draws up a few columns labeled Decoration, Catering, Music, and Drinks. Which, because of Isabel’s thorough research done beforehand, gets filled in with several different options right away, as well as how much they cost.

  “So…about the No-Alcohol rule…” Matt throws out.

  Isabel grins. “I thought you’d never ask. So the hardest part has always been to sneak around the chaperones, and trying to spike the punch is so obvious it’s not even worth the effort.” She flips to a place in her folder marked with a red Post-it. “Which is why we’re gonna hire a desperate Lord of the Rings LARP group as servers.”

  “LARP group?” someone asks.

  “Live Action Role Playing,” Isabel explains. “Essentially, nerds who like to play dress up. They’re going to come dressed as elves, so it’s going to match the décor—and they’re willing to serve us booze out of Elvish drinking vessels, provided we slip the group an extra five-hundred-dollar tip at the end, and I help them make a proper Ent costume.” She gives everyone at the table a very serious look. “You all better be thankful I’m willing to invest my time making a realistic giant tree outfit so we can all drink.”

  “Okay, but…what if they get caught?” asks Lucy.

  “I’ve instructed them to act with plausible deniability regarding the booze. Someone else changed the contents of the vessels, not them.”

  The meeting wraps up, and after everyone else leaves
, Isabel and I hang back with Jenn and walk out to the parking lot together.

  “Thanks for joining, Isa. And I’m sorry Hillary’s made you a target, Camilla,” Jenn sighs. “She’s a nightmare. Like, I’m all for sisterhood, but she makes it. So. Hard. Like, how can you respect someone who doesn’t respect others?”

  “Hillary only joined the committee because it’s the surest way to win Spring Queen,” Isabel mutters. “What else is new?”

  “Worst part is, you know she’s going to win anyway ‘cause she has half the school under her blackmailing thumb.” Jenn brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Can’t wait for this year to be over so I never have to see her face again.”

  We hop into Isabel’s car and head home.

  The second we walk in the door, we’re greeted by Isabel’s parents, who are both home early and waiting for us with fancy sushi for dinner. As we take turns discussing the spring formal committee meeting and Isabel’s theme and our dresses, I’m suddenly hit with the realization that—temporary or not—I finally feel like I have a family.

  Chapter Ten

  Camilla

  On Wednesday, I’m confronted with the decision to skip Debate again or go into battle. Part of me wants to keep hiding, but I have been feeling better lately. Plus, I haven’t seen Hunter at all since school resumed, so I’m assuming he’s been cutting classes himself. Which, on Wednesday, he does. Mostly I’m relieved. Even so, there’s a small pinprick of disappointment that I don’t quite want to acknowledge.

  Thursday is a different story. I’m in my usual seat, reading through a section on logical fallacies in arguments, when something stirs in my chest. I look up, and sure enough there’s Hunter, making his way toward me. This before the second bell has even rung. Before, I’d have marveled at him being on time; now I’m just confused.

  Unease shifts in me when he takes the desk next to mine. Is he going to trash me? Try to appeal to my sense of pity again? Also, his heat. It’s reaching me, and goddamn, why is the urge to be closer to him still there?