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

by Clarissa Wild

  “I know it was you. Admit it,” I growl.

  “I’m not admitting to shit. I didn’t do anything,” he growls. “You just fucking hate me, don’t you? And now you wanna pin me for something I didn’t do.”

  “Then who was it, huh? No one else had access to my phone,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.

  “You?” he retorts.

  I get up in his face. “Like I’d ever do that to her. Stop fucking lying.”

  His eyes glimmer with hatred. “You care a lot about that stupid girl, don’t you?”

  I punch him. Hard. Right in the face. And some of the people standing around us have it on tape. But I don’t fucking care anymore.

  No one, and I mean no one, calls Monica a stupid girl.

  “Fucking hell!” He groans out in pain. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

  “You, that’s what’s wrong,” I retort. “Now tell me what the fuck you did with that picture or I swear to God …”

  “You’ll what?” he spits back. “Kick me out of the band? Too fucking late.”

  We stare each other down for a few seconds.

  “Wanna hit me again, tough boy?” he taunts, blood dripping from his nose, which he quickly wipes away with the back of his hand.

  I blow off some steam and release him from my grip. “You’re not worth my fucking time.”

  “That’s it. Walk away, pretty boy,” Michael yells after me. “Go run to your stupid little girlfriend who can’t even fucking have some fun.”

  That’s it.

  Without thinking, I rush back to him and bulldoze him straight back into the lockers, punching him in the gut. He buckles over and takes another blow to the face. A muffled sound leaves his mouth like a bag of chips, releasing its air, and he sinks down against the metal doors.

  “Fuck you,” he groans.

  “Don’t you ever fucking talk about her ever again,” I bark at him, pointing my finger at his face. “You fuckin’ hear me?”

  “You two deserve each other,” he says, a tepid smile appearing on his face. “You just hit an innocent guy.”

  “Innocent, my fucking ass.” I spit on the floor beside him. “You’re the worst bandmate anyone could ever wish for.”

  “Lucky I’m not a band member anymore then,” he retorts.

  “You’d better hope I find the person who did this,” I say as I step away. “And that Monica is lenient on you when she decides she’s going to tell the truth…”

  The look in his eyes flashes, as though he’s suddenly seeing red. “What truth?”

  My nostrils flare as I stand tall above him. “You and your fucking buddies know what you did.”

  “Yeah, well … where’s the proof?” He scoffs, cocking his head at me.

  Even though he’s still on the ground, I kick him in the nuts just for looking at me.

  “Waste of fucking space,” I growl, and I turn around and walk off, cameras flashing all around.

  I don’t care anymore.

  Let them watch.

  I’m not the bad guy here.

  Not anymore.

  I walk into the practice room and march back and forth to release the adrenaline built up in my body. I look down at the floor and count the steps I take until all the rage has ebbed out, and I blow out a breath.

  “Fucking Michael,” I murmur to myself.

  I sit down on a seat at the front and stare up at the stage where I first saw Monica as she walked past the door. And I take my guitar case off my back and place it on the table in front of me. It’s a beautiful guitar … shame it’ll probably go to waste.

  Suddenly, the door opens, and I turn my head.

  Tristan glares at me for a few seconds.

  I know what he’s thinking.

  He’s probably heard about the fight, either from social media or through rumors. He knows what went down, but he doesn’t know the full story. I don’t even have all the answers.

  “So … Talk.” Tristan throws his bag onto the table at the end of the room and stares me down.

  Benjamin pops in too and doesn’t seem too pleased to see me even though he knew I was gonna be here.

  They asked for this meeting, not me.

  I already know what’s gonna happen.

  “I take it you saw what happened between Michael and me?” I ask.

  “Oh, yeah.” He rubs his lips, clearly annoyed. “It’s all over social media. Wanna explain why you threw yourself at him?” Tristan asks, folding his arms. “Why you attacked him, accused him of sending pictures? Kicked him from the fucking band?”

  “I can’t,” I say, frowning as I look away. If I tell them about Monica’s picture, word will spread, and I don’t want to do that to her. “I would if I could, but I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  “Give me one good reason,” Tristan replies.

  I wish I could answer his question, but it’s not my place to tell them what Michael and his buddies did to Monica. That’s her story.

  “He did something that’s unforgivable,” I say.

  “And it involves some pictures?” Tristan asks. “Show me then.”

  Like hell, I will. “No.”

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “They’re private,” I reply.

  The look on his face tells me that’s not enough for him.

  “What, that’s it?” Benji asks. “Pictures? That’s why he got kicked out?”

  “There’s more.” I eye him down. “If I could say it, I would’ve done it already.”

  “Bullshit, you were just looking for an excuse to kick him out, and now you make one up,” Tristan barks.

  My nostrils flare. “I’m not making shit up. You know as well as I do he was a loose cannon from day one.”

  “That’s not enough reason to kick someone out of this band, Cole. And you’re not the one to decide that on your own.”

  “Did you forget the drugs? The bingeing? How he treated the girls?” I retort, stepping closer.

  “Like you didn’t do shit with girls,” Tristan says, snorting. “You were just as bad.”

  “If not worse,” Benji adds.

  “Thanks, Benji.” I throw him a look and shake my head. “Wow.” Can’t believe he’s comparing me to that shithead now.

  “Just saying.” He shrugs. “Not judging, but you’re judging Michael too now.”

  “I was there! Okay, I was fucking there!” I say, adrenaline still pumping through my veins. “He did something that was really fucked up. And then he shared a goddamn picture too.”

  “A picture? And we’re supposed to believe you based on what evidence?” Tristan asks.

  “I saw it myself,” I say, swallowing.

  “Do you even know for sure it was him that sent that picture then?”

  I don’t know for sure, but who else could it have been? He’s the only one who had a vendetta against Monica. He probably blames her for the fact that I kicked him from the band.

  “I … don’t know …” I sigh. “But he’s the only one with a motive.”

  “What motive?” Benji asks, frowning.

  “I kicked him out of the band after he did some fucked-up shit at the party,” I reply.

  “But I was at the party. Nothing happened,” Benji says. “We all were.”

  I look up at them both. “Yes, it did.”

  “Wait …” His brows furrow. “Are you talking about Monica? That drunk chick you carried inside?”

  I eye him down, tilting my head. “She wasn’t drunk, and she’s not just a chick … but yes.”

  His nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath. The air is thick with unspoken words.

  “Then why won’t you fucking tell us what went down?” Tristan snarls. “If it’s that bad, don’t you think we should know?”

  I sigh out loud. “I can’t … It’s not up to me.” I look him straight in the eyes because I can’t give him what he wants.

  Instead, I shake my head and look away.

  He snorts and rolls his eyes. “I
knew it. Course this would happen.”

  “Don’t,” I say. “Don’t put this all on me.”

  “Why not? You were the one to make the call,” he retorts. “You kicked him out. Now we’re out of a guitarist, and we’re supposed to be playing an audition next week!” He’s enraged. I’ve never seen him like this before, and it hurts knowing it’s because of me, and I can’t do anything to stop it.

  “I know,” I reply. “I’ll fucking find someone, okay? I can fix this.”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Yeah, you do that.” He starts walking backward and taps Benji on the arm. “C’mon.”

  “What are you gonna do?” I ask. “Leave?”

  “Yeah, Cole.” The disappointment in his face is unrelenting. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

  “What about practice? The band? The audition,” I say, adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

  “There is no band without our guitarist,” he replies, strain in his voice. “And no band without a drummer, either.”

  He turns around and storms out without saying another word. Benji stands there and stares at me, making me feel guilty.

  “Go,” I growl at him.

  I know he wants to.

  He makes a face at me and then shakes his head too. “I’m sorry, Cole.” And he clutches his bag and turns to leave.

  Rage boils up inside me, and I pick up a nearby empty coffee cup that was left on a table and throw it at the wall while I roar out loud.

  Fuck Michael, fuck this audition, and fuck this band.

  Everything is ruined.

  Everything I worked so hard for.

  Everything I put my reputation on the line for.

  Gone.

  Just like that.

  As if it never meant a thing.

  I sit down on the stage and stare at the new guitar my parents bought me as a thank-you for watching the house and hiring a cleaner. It was earned with the drug money I hate so much, but I accepted it so I could salvage whatever we had left of our band.

  And now it’s all gone to shit.

  Chapter 31

  Monica

  Minutes ago

  I wasn’t sure I was actually going to school today. After what happened at Cole’s party, I figured the entire school would know within minutes what had transpired. That I was almost used by Michael and his gang and that Cole had been in a fight to save me, only to bring me back inside and shut down the party. People were upset.

  But none as much as me when I discovered he also shared that goddamn picture of me without my permission. I never asked Cole to take it in the first place. He did it to make me shut up about the drugs Michael did … and now he shared it anyway.

  Who knows where else that picture ended up and who else got to see it.

  That picture is out there in the world now, thanks to Cole, and what was the reason? Just to punish me for getting close? For daring to like him?

  I cannot fucking get over it, no matter how much I ruminate on it while walking through the hallways. But I’m pulled from my thoughts by a ruckus going on up ahead.

  Somewhere in the hallways, people are fighting, but I can’t tell who as the hallways are crowded with people taking pictures and videotaping it. What’s going on?

  I push myself through the people huddled together, only to find Cole punching Michael in the face.

  “Don’t you ever fucking talk about her ever again,” Cole barks at Michael, who is lying on the ground against the lockers. “You fuckin’ hear me?”

  “You two deserve each other,” Michael replies with a half-smile that reminds me of the night in the woods. “You just hit an innocent guy.”

  Innocent? Far from it. But no one else besides Cole and I know the truth, and it shows. Everyone’s in shock that Cole just punched him and that they’re yelling at each other. But Cole doesn’t even seem to care anymore.

  “Innocent, my fucking ass,” Cole says. “You’re the worst bandmate anyone could ever wish for.”

  “Lucky I’m not a band member anymore then,” Michael responds.

  “You’d better hope I find the person who did this,” Cole says.

  The person who did what?

  Send the picture?

  My heart beats in my throat.

  “And that Monica is lenient on you when she decides she’s going to tell the truth,” he adds.

  Michael’s face darkens. “What truth?”

  Cole doesn’t even seem to notice we’re here, watching him. “You and your fucking buddies know what you did.”

  A chill runs across my spine.

  “Yeah, well … where’s the proof?”

  Cole suddenly kicks him in the nuts, and everyone gasps in shock, including me.

  I’ve never seen Cole this filled with hatred … and there’s only one explanation for it.

  One I threw off as impossible the moment I found out that picture had been shared.

  But was I wrong about who sent it?

  “Waste of fucking space,” Cole growls at Michael, and he storms off through the crowd, far away from the scene of the crime, while Michael lies there on the ground like a defeated dog licking its wounds.

  I’m stupefied by what just happened and stay frozen to the ground while others help Michael up and share the photos and videos they took of the incident.

  I don’t know everything that transpired, but I do know one thing … Cole came to my defense when Michael ridiculed me. Even though he had no reason to. Even though he told me to leave, even though he chased me away with his anger, he still tried to protect me when it mattered the most.

  When the world was watching, he didn’t choose his reputation or his band.

  He chose me.

  I have to know what that means.

  I walk into the direction he went, following the thread of fans that pursued him regardless of his actions, just to get a glimpse, a taste. But somehow, even they don’t know where he went, as they’re circling the hallways and checking all the doors.

  Maybe he shook them off.

  I walk into a different hallway, one where I will only find him on practice days.

  The same room where he played his songs on the first day we met.

  The door is locked, and the window shutters have been closed.

  But I know he’s in there.

  I pause and place my ear against the door.

  It’s bad to eavesdrop, but when I heard Cole’s voice, I couldn’t stop myself. Something about Michael and the party and that he did something horrible. I hold my breath and wait for him to tell his friends. After all, they’re the only ones keeping his band together. Without them, he’s alone. Lost.

  And I am the catalyst to it all.

  His band members will believe him if he tells them the truth of exactly what Michael did to me.

  But he doesn’t.

  He refuses, and it twists my heart into knots.

  Someone grasps the door handle, and I quickly move away, clutching my bag close. Tristan and Benjamin march out and stare at me as though I’m the world’s worst vixen. As if I single-handedly destroyed their band.

  Maybe they’re right. What if I did?

  Michael got kicked out now because of what happened to me. And now they can’t play anymore.

  And Cole still chose to protect me instead of saving his band. He’s now carrying the full brunt of the attack because of me.

  I frown and walk toward the room, clutching the door handle.

  Can I? Should I?

  When he told me to leave, I was heartbroken.

  And when I found out about the picture being out there, I was shattered.

  But maybe he was mean for a reason. And maybe he didn’t share that picture at all.

  He kept the fact that Michael tried something on me a secret.

  He didn’t tell his best friends because it was my story to tell, not his.

  Which means he does care about me, no matter how much he tries to deny it. And I won’t let him push me away
anymore. I need to know the truth. So I go inside and lock the door behind me.

  He’s sitting on the stage with a brand-new guitar lying right next to him, untouched. His hands are in his hair as he leans over, desperate to hide from the world … from me. Because I know he saw me come in. I’m standing in the middle of the fucking room, waiting for him to talk. The pause feels eternal.

  “Did you come to see me at my lowest?” he asks.

  Why would he ask that question? Does he really think I hate him that much?

  “You’re in luck,” he scoffs. “I’m down and out. Defeated. Beaten. Take a picture while you’re here and post it. I don’t fucking care anymore.”

  I put my bag down on the floor. “Why would I do that?”

  He looks up at me, his eyes full of hurt. “Because it’s the easier thing to do.”

  I fold my arms as a tiny smile tugs at my lips. “I don’t like easy.”

  He shakes his head and snorts. “I’ve noticed …”

  It’s quiet for some time, and I don’t know what to say to make this all okay again. Even though he treated me like shit, I don’t think he deserved this.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “About your band.”

  He looks up at me with a dark frown on his face. “No. Don’t fucking say that.”

  I shrug. “Why not? It’s my fault you guys fell apart.”

  “Don’t.”

  I raise a brow. “Really? So first you treat me like shit and then you won’t even accept my apology?”

  “You don’t fucking get it, do you?” he growls. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t need your sorry.”

  “Then what do you need?” I ask, opening my arms. “Because I don’t understand anymore. You keep pulling and pushing, wanting me and pushing me away at the same time.”

  “I need something I can’t fucking have,” he retorts, clenching his fist while looking up at me.

  I gulp.

  Does he mean me or his band?

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I say. “I know I ruined things for you.”

  “Stop saying that!” he growls. Getting up from the stage, he marches toward me, stopping a few inches away. “You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing. Michael hurt you. You don’t fucking apologize. He does,” he says through gritted teeth.

  His chest rises and falls with every agitated breath.