I nodded as she joined me, and we kept walking. “Did you end up finding the cat?”
Quirky Girl gave me a sideways glance, grinning. “Yeah, we did. Turns out she’d been in the garden the whole time, but she only came out when she heard my sister’s voice. They were close.”
“Okay…”
“And I know Pandora will come back if I keep looking.” She nodded to herself. “Because she knows I’ll never stop searching for her.”
I nodded, feeling the fierceness of her statement. It almost sounded like she had something to prove.
"You must’ve been close to Pandora," I acknowledged. I tried to picture myself in the same situation, even though I was an only child. But I couldn’t imagine losing someone I loved, a part of my family. Panic consumed me when I thought of losing my mom. I’d be lost without her. Please, not again. A panic attack was coming, but I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths until I relaxed more. Fuck, if I freaked out this badly, I couldn’t even imagine how messed up this was for her.
"Very. We are only a couple of years apart.” Her eyes went wide as saucers, and she added, “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself."
We stopped in the middle of the asphalt, and she shook my hand. Each of her nails were painted a different metallic color, just like the stars on her cheeks. She was definitely unique, if nothing else.
"Andromeda Amberly. Kind of unforgettable."
"You and your sister both have unique names."
She visibly lit up, and I wondered why. I realized I’d spoken of her sister in present time, and the crushing reality was that she probably got used to talking about Pandora as if she were gone.
“Our parents are historians," she explained with a well-natured shrug. "But you can call me Andie if you want. I’m trying to work on a new nickname, anyway. I don’t much like the one I have here. So, you're a senior?"
I nodded just as we came to a stop in front of the main Wildwood Academy building. My stomach dropped, and I felt another panic attack clawing to get out of me. But once again, I forced it back down.
The campus was elaborate, beautiful. It was a historical building renovated in the twentieth century and kept ultra-modern since then, and the estate stretched over enough land to host five-hundred students. A large, green property surrounded the premises, complete with tall hedges that isolated us from the rest of the city, like we ourselves were as important as the works of art decorating Wildwood’s white-washed walls. This wasn’t a school for the rowdy, restless kids of Wildwood’s rival, the public school Silverside High. This was a place for the elite, or at the very least, those whose parents were famous, loaded, or both.
"You must’ve had quite the summer," Andromeda said in her easy-breezy tone, and I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
She knows my secret, I panicked. Everyone will know. There’s nowhere to run. For the third time, I forced myself to calm down, congratulating Dr. Morton in my mind as I prevented another panic attack from rendering me speechless. Good job training me for that, Doc.
"I didn't mean to freak you out." Her tone was softer like we were friends. It was easy to be lulled into a sense of security when she spoke that way. Or maybe I was just naïve as hell. “It's just you're kind of an urban legend around here. The Tinsley Sullivan. I didn’t recognize you first cause of the hair."
I shook my head with a suppressed groan. "How so?"
"You were supposed to come here before, right?"
"Three years ago.”
"So, what happened?" She cocked her head to the side, studying me.
"I wanted to keep going with the show." It was the truth, but it made me feel like a loser for doing something about my career. The fact was, it wasn’t cool to be worried about the future. Not when you’re almost freaking eighteen and still holding onto your cherry. Not that I’d ever admit that to Andromeda. "I was happy having lecturers on set until…” I didn’t need to finish that sentence. My five minutes of fame were over. I might have been a star once, but now, I was infamous. From America’s sweetheart to the nation’s problem child! I still remembered the headlines.
"The Life and Times of Devin Mooney. Loved it. You were like the best one on that show. I watched it from the start, just stopped when I… you know…”
I laughed when she trailed off. “Until you got too old for it. I get it. It’s why the ratings went down the last three seasons.”
She smiled with relief, asking, “How many were there?”
“Nine. I played Devin for nine years. A long time.” I’d lived and breathed that role. I was Devin Mooney, the fun, bubbly pop star who split her time between her life at home and the stage. Yeah, Hannah Montana, I did it better than you.
I’d been a child prodigy. Until a few months ago, I looked the part, too, with long, golden hair and a pretty doll face to match. These days, I barely recognized the girl in the mirror. She was not who I used to be. I realized Andromeda was still talking and tuned into her words again.
“But when all the other stuff happened… You know, when that scandal made you—”
I rushed to step in front of her, my hands grabbing her slim wrists. I felt nauseous at the thought of her bringing it up, bile threatened to rise in my stomach. Not again. Please, God, not again. "Don't say anything," I begged. "Don't talk about it. I'm trying— I'm trying to have a fresh start at Wildwood. I don’t think I can handle it right now.”
"Of course." She squeezed my hand, her smile replacing a worried grimace as if it were already forgotten. "Hey, want to eat lunch together today?"
I was surprised by her indifference, how easy it was for her to move on as if nothing had happened. Suddenly grateful, I grinned at her and nodded. "I'd like that."
The school bell sounded, and Andromeda rushed past me, her flyers rustling as she went inside the two-story building. "I'll find you in the cafeteria!" she yelled over her shoulder, and I found myself nodding.
Well, at least I'd made a friend. Better than fucking nothing.
I came to a shaky stop when a body slammed into me from behind. The push was so rough, I stumbled forward, barely avoiding a fall. I glanced up to the sound of nearby laughter, feeling my heart hammering. Holy shit, I could’ve broken a limb. A cute, squarely built guy smirked at me from behind and kept walking, his crew following behind and snickering. I drank him in, remembering every detail from his thousand-dollar sneakers to the hundred-watt smile that was nearly blinding.
Shit list: activated. First victim: found.
Shame blazed on my cheeks from the unprovoked attack. I knew my first day would be a shitshow, but I hadn’t realized I’d stand out quite so much. I’d agonized over my appearance that morning, grateful that I was forced to wear a uniform. I’d customized my navy-and-gold skirt with an embroidered patch of a cartoon cherry and some hearts. The way I tied my shirt above my navel may have been a bit too Britney in the “Hit Me Baby One More Time” era, but I thought I looked cute. Of course, the thing that stood out the most were my studded Givenchy army boots, but on second thought, my lavender-grey hair didn’t exactly make me blend in, either. I’d underestimated the students at Wildwood. They may have been young, but they behaved—and dressed—like royalty. Almost as prissy and just as fancy. Now, the fear that I’d be mocked and ridiculed for a multitude of reasons washed over me again.
I heaved a sigh before walking into the building. I’d underestimated the time it would take me to find my classroom, and by the time I had managed to stumble down the now-empty hallway, I was late. Knocking on the door, I entered with burning, blotchy skin, feeling the shame flame harder than my twisting stomach. The moment my foot stepped over the threshold; the place went deadly quiet.
“I see we have a late student joining us.”
My eyes were glued to the twenty or so students before me. I had to tear my gaze away to find a man standing before the blackboard. He was ridiculously handsome. Jesus Christ, did everyone here look like they should model for Calvin Klein?
&
nbsp; “I’m sorry,” I managed. My eyes danced between his blue eyes and the dark hair. Like a regular Clark Kent. “I got a bit lost… It’s my first day.”
“Ah, you must be Tinsley.” He nodded, giving me a crooked smile. “Why don’t you stand in front of the class and introduce yourself.”
Excuse me? Are we suddenly in a 90s teen movie? I gave him a shaky smile, swallowing the words I wanted to throw in his face. Now, my eyes went to the students that sat before us, and my blood ran as cold as ice water. There were about twenty like I’d estimated before, all of them with picture-perfect nose jobs, expensive hair extensions, and wardrobes models would be jealous of. The pressure is on. I felt like a fraud standing there, never as thankful for the uniform making me seem like I fit in.
Except for the fucking purple hair.
“Well?” The professor grinned at me, motioning to the class. “We’re all waiting, Ms. Sullivan.”
It was then that someone laughed, and my stomach sank even deeper. I followed the sound until my eyes settled on Crispin.
Crispin Dalton. Lacrosse god of Wildwood High and the heartthrob of every teenage girl in the country. Six-feet-five, about as ripped as Noah Centineo—excuse me, yum—and offering the world the knowledge that eight-packs do exist. And let’s not forget, he also had a face modeling agencies fought over, and a slew of talents that would ensure he'd have any career he wanted. Be it professional sports, model, actor, or musician, Crispin would have an amazing life no matter what. And somehow, my own mess-up had only made things easier for him.
His light brown hair was just a tad too long, falling into his gaze in that adorable, puppy-dog way that made girls’ knees weak. I’d seen it enough times before Wildwood to know I wasn’t the only one he drove crazy. And his soulful-gray eyes made insides melt. With permanently tanned skin that looked good enough to bite into, like a caramel popsicle, Crispin made me want to lick him all over.
And I wasn't the only one who thought so. I shared my opinion with his nine-million closest friends—his Insta followers. Because after what I did to him, Crispin Dalton was Insta-famous. He would never forgive me for what had happened. How could he? I’d ruined so many lives. I didn't stand a chance. But worse than any worry of what people thought of me after the scandal, was knowing that Crispin Dalton officially hated my guts. In fact, he’d made it his mission to ensure my life at Wildwood was miserable. He’d made that plenty clear when I walked into that classroom, and he greeted me with a patronizing laugh.
Worry and doubt made my heart pound harder, and I wondered how the hell I was supposed to stay cool when he had already turned my knees to jelly. “Hello,” I managed to get out, my eyes quickly skimming over a certain Dalton and settling on a girl in the front row. Good, I can focus on her. “I’m Tinsley Sullivan. I’m new.”
“Is that it?” The professor dug deeper, making me shoot him an annoyed look. Um, hello? Have you heard of the fear of speaking to a large audience, Professor Douchebag?
“Tell us something unique about yourself, Ms. Sullivan. This school prides itself on creating capable public speakers. The sooner you realize you’ll be doing this a lot, the better.”
“Well…” I swallowed, his comment rendering me speechless. Thanks for that, Prof. The girl in the front row offered me an encouraging grin, and I gave her a timid one in return. “I know some of you may remember me from…stuff. But I want to start over. I need a new beginning.”
“Let’s hope you get one and that your public speaking is not something you consider a talent,” the professor responded dryly before sending me to an empty desk in the middle of the classroom. “I’m Professor Mulroney. Now that you’ve finally graced us with your presence, Ms. Sullivan, perhaps you can tune into today’s lesson.”
I took my seat, feeling my cheeks burn again. I’d somehow managed to score the worst seat in the classroom—one where Mulroney could see everything I did with zero privacy from the other students. And worst of all, the seat was right in front of Crispin Dalton.
I sank down into the chair without giving him a shred of my attention, even though my heart pounded because of him. Pulling out my books, I stacked them on the desk next to my colorful gel pens and arranged it all in perfect order. There. That felt better. Now, freaking breathe. Once I was done, I opened the notebook at the perfect angle to my right hand and pressed ink to paper.
I could do this. I reassured myself. I could totally do this. I just had to get through this one lesson. And then I could get away from him.
I really thought I’d go uninterrupted for the whole hour, but I should’ve known better. Crispin was going to try to break me. He always did, after all. The class had ten minutes left when I heard his voice.
“Yo, Devin Mooney.”
The skin on the back of my neck prickled. There he was, ruining my concentration, yet again, as if I hadn’t had to put up with it for years on set.
“Or maybe we should call you Tinsley the Homewrecker?”
“Fuck you, Prince goddamn Charming,” I hissed before returning my attention to Mulroney and writing the name of the class, my fingers shaking as I struggled to focus on the task at hand.
The sound of wood scraping against the floor made me bite my bottom lip, trying as hard as I could on the letters. E, and then an N, and then a G…
“I guess you put the ho in homewrecker.”
“I guess you put the douche in douche-canoe.”
“No, but don’t you wish I’d put something else inside you?” he teased in a low, seductive voice that made my skin crawl. “Welcome to Wildwood, Homewrecker. You’re not going to get away with the same shit here, so don’t even think about it.”
“Crispin. Fuck. The fuck. Off,” I demanded. “In fact—”
“Miss Sullivan!” Mulroney now stood in front of my table, glaring down at me with his hands resting on my open notebook where the name of the subject remained unfinished. “I would advise you against causing trouble on the first day,” he scolded. “You don’t want to end up in the headmaster’s office, do you?”
“I’d prefer to stay here uninterrupted,” I hissed, glancing at Crispin in plain view of the teacher who followed my gaze, seemingly realizing what had happened, but just as easily, a smile replaced his frown.
“Yes, Miss Sullivan, we don’t want you to interrupt anyone,” the professor replied icily. “Now, please focus on the task at hand, and open your book to page one-hundred-and-two. And Miss Sullivan? Make an accusation like that one more time and I won’t need another excuse to send you to Headmaster Hawke. Things may have worked differently in La-La Land, but this is Wildwood. You’d better get used to it.”
I nodded, dumbfounded by the way he’d disregarded me. He finally left my desk, launching into an explanation of something that went in one ear and out through the other. I couldn’t focus. I kept thinking of the bully breathing down my neck. And the fact that even the goddamn teacher worshipped the ground that prick walked on.
“Oh, am I interrupting, Tinsley?” His whisper crept along my neck, “Just you wait and see what the others have in store. I’m going the fucking easiest on you, you can trust me on that.”
His breath was cold, and now I felt it on my shoulders. He was so close. Close enough to brush his lips against my skin. And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to move back or come closer. At the same time, I was painfully aware of the truth in his words. I remembered the boy who’d pushed me outside. He was fucking right. They were going to eat me up alive here.
I didn’t answer, pressing my pen onto the paper with such force it tore.
“I’m going to make fucking sure you’re protected,” he went on. “But Tinsley, if you don’t let me do that, I’m going to make your life hell. Do you understand why? Because here… The teachers, the students, and the parents listen to one person only. And that person is me. I’m not going to risk losing that because of a piece of ass.”
Biting my bottom lip, I glared ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. It was
then that I felt fingers wrap around the French braid my mom had helped plait in my hair. I hated myself for responding to his cruelty. Like a moth to a fucking flame. Long, strong fingers pulled hard. I gasped; the sound barely audible.
“Now, Tinsley,” Crispin went on calmly. “Will you listen and be a good girl? I’m not asking for much here. Just your complete obedience.”
In the split second it took me to answer, two options flashed before me: saying no, and being ridiculed, the eternal outcast. Mocked, singled out, alone. Or saying yes to him but betraying myself, and worst of all, the people involved in the scandal that made Crispin hate me, to begin with.
“No,” I got out through gritted teeth.
“Are you fucking sure, kid? I can protect you. Just work with me on this.”
“Fuck you for thinking I can’t protect myself,” I hissed back.
“Your funeral,” Crispin grunted, pulling on my braid, hard.
I went tumbling down.
The class went quiet before students started to snicker and outright laugh. Professor Mulroney came to stand by me, and I stared up at him, half-expecting him to stick up for me. But there was nothing in his eyes but pity. Should’ve seen that one coming.
Just then, the school bell sounded.
“Well, well, well,” Mulroney muttered. “Saved by the bell, Miss Sullivan. Class dismissed.”
I practically ran out of there, not even making sure I’d grabbed everything before stuffing it all in my bag and walking into the black Italian marble bathroom on the ground floor. I placed my shaky hands on the elaborate sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face was ghostly pale, my bottom lip jutting out. My hair had come undone from Crispin’s harsh pull. I unbraided it, letting the lilac tresses fall down my back in messy, wavy tendrils. My blue eyes stared back as empty as I felt. I couldn’t bear to see myself anymore, so I forced myself to pull away from the sink. Fuck my life. I heard approaching voices. Locking myself in one of the toilets, I listened to the melodic sound of someone’s laughter.
A Hurt So Sweet Volume Two: A Dark High School Bully Romance Page 17
