Rowdy Boy (A High School Bully Romance): Black Mountain Academy

by Clarissa Wild

  The girls pause and stare at me for a moment; almost all of them hanging on my every word.

  My pupils dilate, and I make a shooing motion with my hand. “Scram.”

  Finally, they leave us alone. But it still doesn’t chill the fire blazing in my heart.

  “Really, Cole? Chasing away fans?” Michael says.

  “They’re not fans; they’re groupies,” I growl back, turning my attention toward him. “Don’t ever try to protect me again, got it?”

  He makes a face. “What’s your problem?”

  I don’t want to fight. But the way he behaved makes me want to punch his jaw.

  I’ve never felt this way toward my bandmates, and it terrifies the living shit out of me.

  So much so that I turn around and walk away.

  I don’t know what to do with this turmoil snaking its way through my head. This isn’t me. I never used to care about anything, let alone one silly girl.

  Yet I can’t stop thinking about Monica and the look in her eyes the moment Michael mentioned her running away from her old school. They flickered with a kind of fear I’ve never seen before.

  Something … vicious … and feral.

  As though it would kill her to remember.

  One moment she was feisty and ready to defend herself, but that one question knocked her off her axis. Why?

  And why do I care so much that I want to know the answer?

  Ruminating, I go up to the teacher’s area where there’s a private unisex bathroom that I’m allowed to use to escape the fans. The teachers don’t want me going into the regular bathrooms to prevent a traffic jam from everyone hoping to snap a dirty pick of my visits. It surprised me too that people would really sink that low …

  Not as low as me, though, when I hear sniffles coming from the teacher’s bathroom.

  I pause. Who is in there crying?

  My hand instinctively hovers over the door handle because I’m curious to know who it is.

  Right then, the noise stops, and the door opens right in my face.

  A girl comes full stop right in front of me.

  And not just any girl …

  Monica.

  She has access to the teacher’s bathroom too?

  Interesting.

  Standing in the door opening, she stops mere inches away from me, her body frozen to the floor as though she’s seen a ghost.

  I can’t take my eyes off her, can’t focus on anything else but the sparkle in her reddened eyes, the fleeting happiness that has now been whisked away. I can’t look away. Can’t do anything but stare at her as she stares right back at me for a few seconds, before her fingers reach for her eyes, and she briskly wipes away any trace of her tears.

  “What are you doing?” she asks. “Did you follow me?”

  My lips part, but I don’t know what to say, so I say the first thing that pops up into my head. “I needed to take a leak.”

  She raises a brow. “In the teacher’s bathroom?”

  “Yeah … I have a pass.” I hold it up between two fingers. “To keep the fans at bay.”

  She snorts, and her eyes narrow. “Right. I thought this was a women’s only bathroom.”

  I lean in closer and point at the sign above the door. “Unisex.”

  The moment the word sex leaves my lips, she gulps. Hard.

  It almost makes me want to put my hands against the wall, trap her inside, and kiss her, right then and there. But then I remember what my bandmates did. And what I didn’t do.

  I sigh out loud and rub my lips together. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for Michael. He was out of line.”

  She glares at me, looking unamused. “Really?”

  “Really,” I repeat. “He’s an asshole.”

  “You two perfectly match each other then,” she replies.

  Fuck. I hate this. Even though I’ve behaved like an asshole, I’m not like him. And I hate that she’d compare us.

  “I’m trying to apologize, okay? Don’t make this harder,” I say out of spite.

  “That’s a shitty apology then,” she scoffs.

  “I know I have shitty friends,” I retort. “But you walked into me, not the other way around. Maybe you should watch where you’re walking.”

  “Wow …” she mutters, shaking her head. “You really tried, didn’t you?”

  She tries to push past me, and I know I fucked up again.

  I’m not used to this kind of interaction.

  To apologizing.

  Girls usually throw themselves at my feet. Nothing I do is ever wrong to them, not even when I show them the door.

  But this girl … she genuinely despises me, and I hate that.

  So I grab her arm and make her stop. “Wait. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  She looks at my hand wrapped around her wrist. We both do. And when I realize what I’m doing, I release her. The look in her eyes is murderous. And I get that. I deserve it.

  What I don’t get is that she doesn’t run. “You didn’t mean to what?” she asks.

  I can’t let this get to me. Even if I’m the asshole and my friends are too, I have to distance myself, no matter how hard it is. I can’t get fucking close, not to anyone.

  I step closer, and say, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  She makes a face like she doesn’t believe it’s true.

  Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but when everything was said and done, I still hated seeing the hurt on her face, and that speaks volumes.

  “I didn’t know you were so …”

  “Fragile? Weak?” she fills in the blanks with a twinge of hatred as though it comes easy.

  But the words she chooses surprise me. I wouldn’t paint her as weak or fragile at all. “Complicated,” I say.

  She smiles, and the sight could fill a thousand hearts and light them on fire. And even though I thought my icy heart had been frozen for a long time, it still manages to crack under the weight of her smile.

  Suddenly someone grabs my shoulder, turning me around. “Dude, what are you doing? We don’t have time for girls,” Tristan says.

  I frown and chew my lip. He’s right, even though I wish he wasn’t right now. I don’t want to jeopardize my band with another girl, not again, not with my reputation.

  I avert my eyes, and without looking at her, without even saying another word or taking that leak I needed, I walk off.

  Chapter 9

  Cole

  Days later

  I haven’t seen Monica since she ran into us. I don’t know if we’re both purposely avoiding each other, or if she just happened to disappear. Maybe the reaction of my bandmates really did scare her off.

  Some days, I feel guilty for not intervening sooner, but if I had, they’d accused me of being on her side instead of theirs. And that would get in the way of the band.

  Anything for the band.

  With my spoon, I twirl it in my dessert, but I’m not remotely hungry, so I stop, pick up my tray, and waltz to the bin next to the cafeteria door to throw it all out. Fuck this shit. I don’t even know why I’m eating here when we could be practicing … away from all these eyes that are on me every second of the day.

  Just one glance over my shoulder, and they’re all swooning with smiles, waving at me like they’re waiting for me to wave back. I like fans when I sing, but I don’t like the pressure it brings in daily life.

  Gotta get used to it, I suppose. One day, we’re gonna be even more famous than we are now, and then photographers and tabloids will be talking shit about us too. Right now, it’s just people on social media that are hyped about us, but apparently it’s enough to get people to recognize you on the streets and beg for an autograph or a kiss.

  “Hey.”

  The sound of Ariane’s shrill voice is like the strings on a guitar snapping in two.

  “What are you doing here?” I bark over my shoulder.

  “Wow. I’m allowed to be in the cafeteria, asshole,” she says, folding her arms. “Is that the way
you greet people nowadays?”

  “Not people,” I say, putting my tray away, “but definitely you.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Ha-ha, always the funny one.”

  “I don’t joke around,” I reply stoically, and I turn around, but she keeps tagging along behind me.

  “Look, I just wanted to tell you that I think you did great.”

  “What, my show?” I mutter. “I don’t care about your opinion, Ariane. Not anymore.”

  “I meant with the situation in the hallways. You know, with Monica.”

  I come to a full stop, and she bumps into my back. She wasn’t there, I’m positive, as I looked everywhere to see if she was watching. “Who told you about that?”

  “Dude, everyone saw …”

  I turn around and corner her. “I don’t appreciate your girlfriends keeping tabs on me, Ariane.”

  She raises a brow. “And I don’t like not knowing what’s going on when it’s the talk of the day.”

  My eyes twitch. “You never stopped being a gossip girl …”

  “And you never stopped being a manipulative bastard,” she retorts. But then she puts her arm around my neck, and says, “But I’m proud of you.”

  I throw her arm off my neck. “Don’t.”

  “What? You managed to stay away from her and actually chased her off. Well done.”

  Chased her off? Fuck no.

  I shove her against the wall and point at her. “I don’t need your fucking approval, and I sure as hell didn’t do it for you,” I growl. “Now back the fuck off.”

  She holds up her hands. “It’s cool. I don’t care that you don’t do it for me. I just need you to stay away from her. That’s all.”

  “Why do you care so much?” I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s so special about her?”

  Her pupils dilate, and her body stance grows rigid. “Nothing. Absolute nothing, that’s exactly my point.” She steps forward and throws her hands around my neck again, twirling my hair. “Not as interesting as I am anyway …”

  I frown. Now my interest is piqued. But I don’t want Ariane’s arms anywhere near me, so I shake her off, and growl, “I don’t need you or your bullshit. Just leave.”

  She shrugs and licks her lips. “Suit yourself. I gave you a choice.”

  “Bullshit,” I spit. “And you know it.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though,” she adds.

  “What did you say?” I growl, cocking my head.

  She looks away. “You heard me.”

  “Or what? Are you threatening me?” I put a hand up against the wall to block her exit. “You’re gonna spread more rumors?”

  “If you don’t want me …” She lifts her eyes to meet mine in an infuriatingly seductive manner. “Then you can go fuck yourself.”

  She pushes me off her and walks off with bouncy hips, flaunting her middle finger as though it’s her single most powerful weapon.

  Well, fuck her.

  I don’t like being threatened, especially not by the likes of her and especially not with more reputation-destroying gossip.

  She’s already gotten to me one too many times.

  Maybe it’s about time I stopped listening to anything she says and started listening to the devil in my heart. I thought I was doing the right thing by protecting Monica from the boys and me by steering clear to focus on the band.

  But fuck that noise.

  Because if Ariane wants me to stay away from her …

  I’m going to do my very fucking best to get closer than close.

  So close, the whole school will be talking about us.

  Just out of spite.

  Monica

  Music class would normally be something fun and enjoyable, but not when you’ve got dozens of girls stacked up against the door to peek through the window at the two band members of TRIGGER sharing this class.

  “This isn’t even the biggest group I’ve seen,” Mel whispers in my ear. “One time, there were about triple this number waiting at the door. It’s normal insanity.”

  I snigger. “Do they follow them everywhere?”

  “Yup, whenever fans have a free hour, they start stalking TRIGGER.” She rolls her eyes. “And every year, it gets worse and worse.”

  “And the teachers and school are all okay with it?” I ask.

  “No, of course not, but there’s not a lot they can do against teenage hormones,” she says, and we both laugh. “They’re probably hoping the boys finish school quickly and don’t come back.”

  “Same,” I add, and we laugh again.

  “Did you know, the lead singer even has his own pass to the teacher’s bathroom?”

  I almost choke on my own words. “Wha …? I … no, that’s weird.”

  “Yeah, apparently Cole can’t even pee without hordes of girls waiting to catch a glimpse.”

  “Yikes,” I respond.

  So he was telling the truth when I almost bumped into him a second time right in the teacher’s bathroom doorway.

  “Attention, please,” the teacher says, clapping his hands so we shut up. “Open your books to page fifteen.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever read about music, but there’s a first for everything. When I took this class, I’d imagined we’d be singing our lungs out, but maybe that part comes after we finish reading the book.

  “This assignment will be in pairs,” the teacher says. Right then, everyone begins to bargain with one another, whispering who’s going to partner with who. But then the teacher speaks up again, “I’ll decide who partners with who.” Then he gazes at me.

  Anyone but Cole.

  Please.

  Anyone but him.

  “Monica, you’ll work together with Cole.”

  My eyes widen.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  Just my fucking luck.

  I don’t even hear what the teacher is saying anymore or who Mel is paired with because all I can think about is Cole, sitting in the corner of the room near the window. I’ve never seen him wear his uniform according to the school’s dress code. Something about him always has to stand out. Today, it’s a leather jacket.

  His head is slightly turned toward me, a half-smirk on the schmuck’s face as though he owns the place. His lips part, and his tongue dives out to wet his lips, and it suddenly becomes hard to breathe.

  Get your act together, Monica. It’s just an assignment, nothing else.

  “Go on then, go find your partners, and we’ll start the assignment,” the teacher says.

  But all I hear is the word “partner” over and over again.

  That isn’t a word I’d ascribe to Cole Travis, ever.

  Nor did I expect to have him look me straight in the eyes again after our last conversation. I thought he was finally apologizing for his friends, and then he vanished as though it meant nothing. Not a single look or word was uttered. Nothing. It was like I didn’t exist anymore, and it confused me.

  So then why is he looking at me with those hungry eyes again like some wolf ready to devour me? And why is it so hot in here all of a sudden?

  I muster the courage and hold my breath while I march toward him and sit down on the empty seat beside him.

  “You sure you wanna sit down there?” he asks with that same husky voice that manages to push all my buttons.

  “Why, what did you do?” I ask, wondering if he placed some kind of booby trap or something.

  “You’re asking the wrong question,” he says, leaning back in his chair with that same casual swagger he always has. “The question is … what am I going to do?”

  I gulp, my body freezing up as he moves closer and places a hand on the back of my seat.

  “You sure got the wrong partner, didn’t you?” he mutters.

  “Can we just start?” I ask, pointing at the book in front of him, which remains untouched.

  “No,” he says, eyes still completely homed in on me. “I’d rather look at you.”


  Jesus Fuck.

  That made my whole body tingle.

  Did he really just say that?

  No, he’s just messing with me, I’m sure of it. He saw me gravitate toward him the moment he started playing music. He noticed the attraction. And now he’s using it against me to play me. To humiliate me.

  “We’re in class, and we’re supposed to learn,” I reiterate, trying to get some sense into him.

  “I already know everything about music. Go ahead, ask.”

  I raise a brow at him, and he does too in such a playful way that it’s hard not to smile.

  He points at me. “See? I knew you could smile.”

  “Cole, really?”

  “What? I’m not here to learn anything,” he replies. “And I don’t think you are either.”

  “I took this class because I like music, that’s it,” I reply, opening my own book.

  He narrows his eyes. “You tell yourself that.”

  “What, you think I picked this school or class because of you?” I snort. “I didn’t even know you went here. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know your band existed at all.”

  His smile disappears, and there’s a twitch right below his eyes. “Didn’t look like it when you were staring at me at practice.”

  “Like I said … I enjoy good music, that’s all,” I say.

  “So, you think I’m good?”

  I sigh, trying not to let his obvious taunts get to me. I open the page to the chapter we’re supposed to be working on. “Can we get to work now?”

  “Not interested,” he replies.

  “Well, then why are you even here?”

  He shrugs. “Easy credits.”

  I snort and roll my eyes. “What a surprise.”

  “What?” he scoffs. I focus my attention on the book instead of him, but within seconds he grabs it off my table and holds it hostage. “You think I’m a bad guy, don’t you?”

  “Don’t start this now, please,” I say, and I look around class to see if I can find the teacher, but he’s busy with another group. Everyone’s working hard except for us, and no one seems to notice. “Give it back.”

  “Tell me the truth.” His voice is darkened, and he looks serious. Not his usual mischievous self. The same way he looked at me in the hallways when he apologized for his friends’ behavior.