by Angel Lawson
Ah. Ms. Warren. The walls are back up.
“Good night, Mr. Miller.”
With that, I follow the boys back up the stairs to prepare myself for tomorrow.
2
Theo
“Think you may be ready to come all the way in the water with me today?”
Eden sits on the steps, water barely covering her hips, and gives me a skeptical look. “You’re just trying to trick me into going deeper.”
I laugh. “I don’t think it’s a trick, Princess. Our instructions are pretty clear. Dawson told me to teach you how to swim and you can’t do that from the steps.”
She grimaces. “Okay, I’ll get in if you promise to stay over there.”
“I can do that,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure why that would make you feel better.”
She eases in slowly and I pretend not to be completely focused on the way her full-coverage, black school bathing suit still manages to reveals so much skin. Eden has nice skin. Smooth. Soft-looking. Pale. The material is tight but covering—not a hint of anything like cleavage showing at all. For some crazy reason, it’s hotter than if she was in a bikini.
I’m thankful that no matter where I stand in the water it goes up to my waist. Cool or not, I’m pretty sure I’d embarrass the both of us.
“That’s not so bad, right?” I ask as she dips her body beneath the surface.
“I wasn’t always afraid of the water,” she declares, in a soft voice.
“No?” I haven’t been able to put my finger on her fear. Is it just from the hazing night, when Camille dropped her in the pool, bound and gagged? That would be enough to do it, but I get the sense it’s more.
“I was in elementary school the last time I went to the beach with my parents and Hope. I remember the sticky white-gray sand and the dark water. My dad walked in with us, holding each of our hands. We jumped over the waves.”
“That sounds nice. I’ve only been to the ocean a few times, back when things were good with my grandfather.” I tilt my head and look at her. “What happened?”
She skims her finger tips over the surface of the water, making slow ripples that coast across the pool. She shivers but I don’t think it’s because she’s cold. “My dad loved the ocean. We weren’t strong enough swimmers to get in and he left us by the side to go deeper. He’d float with the waves, going under and over as they rolled into the shore. My mom was there—up by the towels, lounging in in a bright blue chair. We had bucket and shovels—all the stuff.” Her voice slips. It trembles, and I frown, wondering where this is going. “We stood there forever—watching as he waved back to us until one minute he was there, and the next he was gone.”
“Where did he go?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
Her eyes shine in the early morning light. “Just gone.”
“He drowned?”
“Sort of. The coroner said he had a heart attack and couldn’t get back to the shore. So yeah, he drowned.”
“That’s…wow, I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been terrible.” I’m shocked to hear what she’s saying and although she’s told me to keep my distance, it’s the exact opposite of what seems right. I move toward her, but her eyes snap to mine, and her expression darkens.
She shrugs. “That’s all it takes for someone to go missing. One blink.”
I fight for something to say—anything—but the anguish on her face is too much. She doesn’t seem to care, moving out of reach and back to the stairs. “You told me your back story. That’s mine. Tit for tat. We’re even.”
I watch stunned as she climbs the steps, water rushing down her limbs. She grabs her towel and wraps it around her waist, heading for the exit.
“Eden,” I call, wondering what’d just happened. She doesn’t turn though, leaving me in the pool alone.
3
Eden
Hawk doesn’t show up for first period.
He’d sat with us at breakfast, leaving early to grab something from his room. It wasn’t unusual. The guys were always forgetting stuff and making a mad dash back to get books, papers, notes. More than once they’ve rushed through the doors just as class was starting, earning harsh looks from Mrs. Blanchard.
But today when class started, Hawk never appeared. My mind runs a mile a minute. Did the administration change their mind about letting him off from the fight? He’d done some serious (but well-deserved) damage to Luke. It’d been days since that happened, though, so it seems unlikely. I worry more that he ran into Trip and lost his temper. His precariously wound temper that’s likely to be set off at any moment. Trip has never been good at keeping his mouth shut.
Mrs. Blanchard drones on about the proper way to write an essay and Gray shifts nervously behind me.
The K-Boys don’t do well when separated.
“I’m going to go look for him,” Gray says under his breath once Mrs. Blanchard gives us our assignment.
“He can take care of himself.”
He grumbles behind me and starts tapping his pencil on his desk. The girl on the other side of me shoots him a dirty look and shushes him. He flashes her an apologetic and adorable smile, making her blush.
Now I’m the one that’s irritated. Admittedly this may be misplaced jealousy or the fact I can’t believe I told Theo about my father this morning. Why it came out, I don’t know. Sometimes I think the calm water of the pool eases my nerves. Other times, I think it’s just Theo. He lulls me into a sense of complacency. That story I told him today? I’d been holding it tight for so long. It was the turning moment in my life. The one that put me in Kingston. My mother on her path to rehab, my sister going missing, and ultimately, it’s why I’m here.
That one day at the beach.
My thoughts are interrupted when the classroom door opens and Hawk strides in. His expression gives nothing away about where he’s been, but he takes my breath away, regardless. Tall, cut-jawed, broad-shouldered, and confident. It’s all accentuated by the way he looks in that school uniform. Dressed up but disheveled. Powerful, yet not one of Them.
He hands a note to Mrs. Blanchard and slides to the seat next to Gray. A waft of warm-smelling body spray rolls in my direction.
“Dude, where were you?” Gray asks.
His eyes dart to Gray. “Coach Dawson called me to his office.”
Coach Dawson?
Gray glances up at the teacher. She’s quick to hand out detention for talking in class. “What about?”
I glance at Hawk’s profile, the long line of his jaw and the slant of his nose. His knuckles are still bruised and red from the fight. His head shifts to mine and our eyes lock. Things have never been easy for the two of us. I’d been angry with him for a long time in Kingston and held onto that rage after we started here and established a relationship for the sake of our mission for Dorian. The night of the fight, he’d kissed me and called me his girl. It was all for show, of course, but damn, I think about the way his mouth felt on mine and the way his hands burned my skin. I think about it all the time.
I blink, realizing I’ve gone down the rabbit hole. My skin prickles when his gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth. Is he thinking about that kiss, too?
Gray kicks Hawk’s seat, and we break eye contact. I look down at my notebook.
“He wants me to play football,” he says, quietly. “He said if I could take Luke down like that, then I could have his spot on the team.”
“Seriously?” Gray asks, his tone incredulous. “Football?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you say? No, right?” The K-Boys aren’t jocks. Well, only Theo, and his circumstances were extenuating. He was a swimmer before he was an addict, and an addict before he was a K-Boy. Down at the Park, they rode skateboards, lifted weights, maybe a little parkour so they could get away from the cops faster. Street stuff.
Hawk doesn’t reply right away, and I look up again, curious at the answer.
This time he’s the one staring at his desk, avoiding eye contact. In a low, but f
irm voice, he says, “I said yes.”
4
Eden
At lunch out on the patio, I get an idea of what it was like when we first showed up at Sparrowood. The gossip starts first, whispers and rumors about a new student. We’re the only ones that know Trip is enrolling today, but the first time I hear his name on someone else’s lips, I realize they already know who he is.
Of course, they do.
This place is incestuous. Everyone knows or is related to someone else. Once again, not unlike Kingston Park.
“I actually like Trip,” Rochelle says, popping raisins in her mouth. “Out of all of Luke’s brothers and other cousins, he’s the nicest.”
I give my roommate a long, hard look. Dorian made it clear that Trip was involved in many of the illegal activities going on in the school. One reason they’re letting him in is so that we can bust him, too. Something tells me it won’t be as easy as Hawk beating the shit out of him.
I take a bite out of my apple. “I’m not sure that makes me feel better. Luke set a pretty low bar.”
“Luke is a deviant,” she replies. “He enjoys hurting people. Trip is an opportunist, an entrepreneur. Is he cut-throat? Yes. Will he be successful one day? Definitely. It’s hard to find fault with that.”
It’s not actually hard to find fault with that, I want to tell her, but don’t. The longer I’m around Rochelle, the more I notice that she seems to be suffering from some delusions about what’s appropriate behavior or not. If Luke hadn’t come in there that night and assaulted her, I’m not sure she ever would have done anything about it. I can’t get over the fact she didn’t press charges.
Honestly, it’s like the girl has been brainwashed.
Although…
When Trip finally pushes through the double doors that lead from the dining hall and the sunlight hits his hair so that it glints like a halo, I get it. I get why people are drawn to that smile and swagger. I get why girls like Denise and Stella flank his sides, wanting a moment to bask in his light.
He’s a goddamned disgraced angel. Fallen straight from heaven. Sparrowood seems like a pitstop on the road to hell.
Adam and Phillip and the other boys that followed Luke around like ass-kissing puppies nearly fall over themselves to greet him, bumping fists and slapping palms. I try my damnedest not to give him attention—to feed his narcissism—but from the steps he zeroes in on me, blue eyes blazing, and I know there’s no hiding.
He’s going to tell the world who I am, who we are.
I brace myself as he walks over, and Rochelle nearly chokes on a raisin. He nods at her, “Long time no see, Ro. How are you?”
“I’m good,” she says, the words coming out in a croak. Why is she so intimidated by these people? She is these people. “So, the rumors are true. You’re at Sparrowood now?”
“Seems like my cousin’s loss is my gain.” His eyes slide to me. “Eden Warren. I’m not going to lie, this is unexpected.”
He holds out his hand. I stare at it. After a beat he lowers it and casually slips it into his pants pocket. A small smirk plays on his lips. “Always the challenge.”
“That’s not something you’re used to, is it?”
Rochelle, Denise, Stella, and everyone else nearby watches this unfold with fascination.
Rochelle frowns. “You know one another?”
I start to answer first—to explain, but Trip jumps in, “We used to hang out in the same circles. Eden’s sister—she was a very good friend.”
It’s not the use of the word “very” that bothers me. It’s the past tense.
I stand and my face only comes to his chest. “Street rules apply in here, Cohen. Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t mess with me. The last person in your blood-line that tried failed tragically.”
I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not the slow grin that spreads across his face. He chuckles and picks the apple off my tray. “I love the way your sass rolls over those plump, fuckable lips. Christ, you make my dick hard, Warren.” He winks like it’s a game. “I’ll win you over, just wait and see.”
His comments make my stomach turn—he never would have said something like that in Kingston. That means, despite my insistence otherwise, the rules are different here. He thinks he can say and do whatever he wants. Before I can respond he’s turned, walking across the patio, followed by his doting audience.
I glance at Rochelle, expecting her to follow, but she just tilts her head and says, “I guess you two have met.”
I watch as Trip sits on a bench, surrounded by followers. My skin recoils at what he said. I force myself to remember why I’d agreed to stay here and go to school with him. Trip may be the only one that knows how to find my sister, and while we’re both in this prison, I’m going to figure out how to force him to tell me where she is.
“So he didn’t out you as being from Kingston?”
“No,” I reply. We’re in the sitting area outside the boys' suites. Theo had asked the question, although otherwise he’s been quiet since our swim lesson with me this morning. I don’t blame him. It was a downer.
“He just kind of flirted with me in that icky way he has.”
Flirt is an understatement, but the last thing I need is these guys going after him right now. Gray’s jaw tenses, and he tosses a ball of paper in the air. “He didn’t really approach us, either. Just a nod and moved on.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want people to know he was hanging out down in the Park. Most of these kids would be horrified,” Hawk suggests.
Gray frowns. “You think? I thought it was a badge of honor to slum it with a bunch of street rats like us, to smoke our weed and fuck our girls.”
“Honestly, we’ve earned enough credibility here that I’m not sure it matters anymore. Do you really think they’d be surprised we’re not from their rich circles? We’re obviously not Brats. Rochelle definitely has her suspicions, although she hasn’t said anything.” I’m sitting in a blue chair by myself. The boys are sprawled on various pieces of furniture. “Any thoughts on how to handle this?”
“I say we ignore it,” Hawk says. “It’s like we talked about before, if we present a confident, united, front, the others will fall in line. We’re the ones up in the suites. I’m taking Luke’s spot on the football team. Eden not only survived Camille’s hazing but is sleeping in her bed. We take over, control the situation, and find out what Miller needs. If we play our cards right, we can get Cohen out of here sooner rather than later.”
Hawk has a point. The best thing we can do is just go about our business. Classes, extra-curriculars, socializing.
Gray throws the ball of paper across the room, landing it in a trashcan by the door. He shifts his focus to me. “What about Cohen flirting with you? Do we need to reinstate our arrangement from before?”
The fake-dating. Part of me—a big part of me—wants to say yes. But I know that it has nothing to do with the social dynamics at Sparrowood. That’s just a personal desire, an excuse to be close to these guys.
Hawk answers for me. “Eden can take care of herself. Let him flirt, maybe you can get some dirt on him.”
“You want Eden to sell herself out for intel?” Theo asks. His eyes are dark and angry.
“That’s not what I said.” Hawk shakes his head. “Eden’s hot, and Cohen has had a thing for her forever. Maybe he’ll slip.”
Hot?
“I don’t like it,” Theo says, glaring at his friend.
“Me either,” Gray adds. “What if he’s dangerous like his cousin?”
Hawk and I look at one another for a moment, and two things become crystal clear. One is that he has zero interest in me outside of our prior arrangement. The other is that he’s right. The best way to trap a rat is with bait.
And I’m the cheese.
“There’s something else I think you should do,” he says to me.
I raise an eyebrow in question.
“If you really want to gain Trip’s trust, you need to show
him that you’ve changed. That you are the new Camille in school.”
“By what? Letting my boyfriend blackmail and fuck other girls?”
His eyes dart to my tongue when I say the word fuck.
“There’s a long-standing tradition of hazing at Sparrowood. Assert your dominance, Princess. Show them you’re in charge.”
“I’m not going to hurt people.”
“You don’t have to hurt them, just show them you’re in charge. Be clever. Smart.”
I don’t miss what he’s really saying.
Be one of Them.
5
Hawk
I spot the target in front of me, fast and sure-footed. I lunge, moving full-speed, the weight of my body my weapon. We land hard, the turf soft and slick, different, and I slide a foot from where I landed. I’m used to grass. Dirt, really. Either way, the fall hurts like a mother.
“Damn, Hawkins,” number sixteen says, rolling over with a grunt. I glance at him warily and heave myself off the ground. The familiar adrenaline runs through my veins. Rage, mostly. Anger. It’s better suited for the field than anywhere else. Which is probably why Coach Dawson tracked me down.
I know how to play football. My dad started me in the Pee-Wee leagues when I was a kid. But being a team player? Unless it’s my boys, I still have a hard time trusting other people, even if we’re wearing the same color shirt.
“Bring it in,” Coach Dawson says, blowing his whistle. I pull off my helmet and shake out my sweat-drenched hair. The other guys do the same, but there’s an air about them I can’t quite breathe. They’re comfortable. Confident. Cocky. It’s not that I don’t possesses those attributes, but out here I feel like a man on an island.
Coach gives us a rundown. The game coming up is a big one. The guys are amped, and I nod along, trying to feel at ease in this new skin. “Hawkins, hold back,” Coach says when he finally releases everyone to the showers. I wait until the pack leaves and walk up. The man is one of the largest men I’ve ever seen. Muscles piled on muscles.
