The Masks We Wear: High School Bully Romance (Emerald Falls Series Book 1)

by Lee Jacquot

  Stacy’s a junior, and she’s next in line to be captain after we graduate. I always tell myself that’s the reason Amora has it out for her—make Stacy’s skin thicker. But I have noticed Amora’s snark is a little spicier after she found out Blaze has slept with her.

  Stacy scoffs, tossing red hair over her shoulder. Her face flushes pink, but she keeps her voice impressively level. “I’m not rushing you. I was just wondering what to tell the gir—”

  Amora’s mouth pops open, a sarcastic cackle erupting from her throat. “I don’t give a fuck what you tell them. You seem to be the only one that has a problem when we’re two seconds late.”

  I massage my temples, the throb of annoyance slowly creeping in. Standing up, I grab my water and find Stacy’s dim tawny eyes. Taking two steps, I stop right in front of her—my frame enclosing her space, reveling in the way she shivers, unable to look at me. “We’ll be there when you see us.”

  She swallows and moves to the side.

  Amora giggles, and I hear her steps bounce behind me. “Respect, bitch. Every mutt needs to know its place. If not, I can always teach you a new trick.”

  I roll my eyes and walk to my locker. Stuffing my clothes inside, I wait until Stacy has left the locker room. “New trick?”

  Amora saddles up next to me, leaning on the locker. “Yeah. I got a few pictures of her I wouldn’t mind posting around the school. Knock her off that horse she managed to find herself on.”

  My eyebrows draw together. “Pictures?”

  “In some compromising positions, I might add. I think I’ll blur her face out in each one, leaving just a piece of it clear. Let people put the puzzle together. Make it funnier.”

  I huff, turning to put the rest of my things inside the metal box, but my phone rings. It’s that damn unknown number again.

  “Who is it?”

  “No idea. They never leave a message or respond to texts.”

  Amora holds a thin hand out. “Let me answer, tell them to fuck off.”

  Shaking my head, I push the green button and put it on speaker. “Hello?”

  “L-na. I have tr-g t-ch its- y-ue.” Every word is broken up by static and shitty service.

  “I think they know you.” Amora sighs.

  “Maybe.” I hit end and chuck the phone in with the rest of my clothes. “Let’s go.”

  When we get to the field, only Stacy seems huffy that we are forty-five seconds late. And I can’t lie, the majority of the afternoon is spent running the girls in the ground, since the one person I really want to is out of reach... for today.

  It feels good to release some of the frustration. The more the girls fuck up, the tougher I get, and it works out in our favor. By the end, the routines are almost perfect, and a few tears of joy are even shed. We’re close, and my chest swells when I think that in a few short months, we’ll be reigning champs yet again—sealing my deal with Kentucky.

  Almost.

  After practice, I check my phone. Just a few social notifications and another missed call from the unknown number. Right as I begin to slip it into my bag, it buzzes.

  Bulldog: Tomorrow, 3:20. There’s a small door next to the service elevator by the upstairs art room. Don’t be late.

  A soft smile snakes across my face

  Oh, I’ll be late, and he’ll wait.

  I’ll make sure of that.

  FIFTEEN

  It’s 3:47.

  Of course, she’s fucking late. I mean, why wouldn’t she be?

  Annoyance licks my spine, making my nerves dance and my legs shake. I stroke a finger on the side of my phone, debating the best course of action.

  There’s always the option to leave and just ask Remy to help, or I could text Lily and ask where the fuck she is.

  It’s hard to admit—brutal if I’m being honest, but a piece of me didn’t want to ask Remy in the first place because I actually wanted to work with Lily. I think some small, insane part thought that maybe I could get her alone and see what happened to my friend. My once best friend.

  Closure. It’s a hell of a thing. Without it, you keep it on your back, letting it weigh you down, making moving on to new things near impossible. And I want to move on. So, I’ll wait. But only for three more minutes. After that, I’ll bow out and just ask Remy.

  Leaning back, my eyes drift around the small room. I couldn’t have picked a better space. It used to be a room to keep irate students who needed to blow off some steam or used as a holding cell until cops or parents showed up, but they haven’t needed it in years. What’s left is a six by six room, with one desk and two chairs. The walls were already white, so when I hooked up the LED rope lights, it lit the room with ease.

  Today’s color is blue.

  It’s meant to bring feelings of tranquility, peace, and productivity, but depending on the person’s state, it can also invoke sadness or loneliness.

  I’m tempted to turn it on now, see if it actually calms me down, but I want to stay true to the experiment. An experiment that looks like it’s not even happening today.

  3:50

  Fuck her.

  Giving up, I grab my backpack and swing it over my shoulder. But when I reach for the door handle, it turns, opening to Lily on the other side.

  My heart jolts—fucking jolts, slamming into my chest. Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, leaving her neck exposed, and my thoughts go the wrong damn way. Her black long sleeve dress has a little hole at the top, where a tiny button keeps everything together.

  “Where are you going?” she bites. “I’m only a couple of minutes late.”

  “Thirty minutes late, Lily. I have shit to do.” Rolling my eyes, I back up and let her walk in.

  She sits down where I was, hanging her bag on the back of the chair, and props her elbows on the desk. “Okay, well, I also thought about locking you in here but decided to spare the custodian having to clean up the piss you’d leave in the corner.”

  A metallic taste hits my tongue before I realize I’ve bitten through my cheek. “While I’m happy you decided against it, I have places to go, so—”

  “Ugh, I’m kidding. I got held up. Since you didn’t see me today in class, that means I’m holding up my end of the deal. You need to do the same.”

  Mr. Jones is a strange man, who always seems to have his head glued to his computer, not to mention he’s easy to get one over on, so I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t show. Lucky for her, when he takes attendance, he just asks if anyone is missing.

  Lily tilts her head to the side, examining her nails like she always does when she won’t make eye contact with me.

  “Fine.” I toss a piece of paper across the table and yank my chair out as far away from the desk as possible—which isn’t enough in this small ass room.

  She peers down at the table over her hands but doesn’t move to touch it. Her eyes scan over the lines, and finally, she looks up. “A script? For what?”

  It’s hard to stop my eyes from rolling or the irritation that flutters through me, making my hands twitch. Of course, she doesn’t know shit about the project. She’s never even asked.

  “I’m going to start the timer, and we sit in silence for three minutes, then we read. That’s all you really need to know.”

  Her lips pull into a straight line, and just when I think she’s going to be a smart-ass, she nods.

  I take out the small remote from my backpack, turn the LED lights on to blue, and flip the room’s switch off. When my eyes adjust to the new color, I pull out my script as well as a notepad and pencil.

  3:55

  “Okay, I’m starting the timer now.” I keep my voice calm, trying to eradicate any form of emotion.

  She doesn’t respond, tempting me to steal a glance, but I don’t. Instead, I focus on my phone, watching the numbers tick down.

  The air around us thickens like it always does, and even forcing my breaths to become steady is hard. There’s been some type of shift, a palpable change, and it permeates the air, pul
sing between us. Lily repositions in her seat a few times, letting me know she feels it too.

  After what feels like a fucking eternity, the timer sounds, and my eyes lift to her.

  She’s watching me—observing me as if I’m the fucking experiment. Looking back at the paper, I start the script. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Her voice is low, breathy, and my dick twitches defiantly.

  “How was your day?” I continue reading.

  This question is open-ended. If the person describes a shitty day without getting worked up, the blue is effectively altering how they perceived it. But it could also enhance feelings of sadness, cause them to be more emotional.

  “Busy. Full of catching up on work and filling out college paperwork. How was your day?” Her tone remains impassive, and I bite back the need to veer off track, ask her what college she decided on.

  When we were kids, there were no other options. We loved Washington and wanted to go to Solace. But I bet grown-up Lily has other plans now. I ignore the heavy weight on my chest and continue. “It was fine. Found out I have a shit ton of tests the rest of this week, so there’s that. How are you feeling?”

  She sighs deeply, and the little button keeping her chest covered nearly gives. I swallow around the memory of her in the treehouse, trying to sneak into my thoughts.

  “Okay. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” I say truthfully. There’s so much shit I’m tired of that it’s hard to keep my eyes open anymore. The same stuff I used to tell Lily, and she would somehow make me a little less tired. She was the shot of espresso that kept me going. “If you could do anything right now, what would you do?”

  Lily tilts her head, and her eyes narrow slightly. Her gaze slips from my face and drops down, slowly as though she’s already telling me with her eyes. When she looks back up, she bites into her lip, letting her words become heady. “You.”

  My jaw clenches as every last drop of blood travels south.

  I wasn’t born yesterday, and I’m not stupid. Liliana used to want to be a psychologist, so what she’s doing right now is pretty fucking obvious. She wants a response. There’s a part of her that needs to know I still care.

  But that’s something she’s not getting. She can take my little standing social status, reputation and even make my dick hard as hell. But she can’t have the power of knowing my heart doesn’t beat the same when she’s not around.

  As fucked as that shit sounds, there’s too much history, too many memories that Lily owns for me to forget—even with her lashing out.

  Still, every time I see Lily, I realize how that girl I loved—the one I was willing to leave my mother in Idaho for, isn’t there anymore, and a piece of my heart returns to me.

  My chest heaves. “I would sleep.”

  Lily grimaces, fiddling with her bun, before looking back down at the paper. The last part of the script instructs us to say anything extra we’re feeling. It’s an optional part but will give me insight if the colors compel us to say anything.

  The room is still, quiet—not even our breaths are audible as I wait. Finally, she looks up. “I don’t have anything else. Do you?”

  “Not a thing.” The words rush out.

  She stands, yanking her purse from the chair, and walks toward the door. She stops when she opens it, turning slightly. “Nothing I’ve done bothers you?”

  Yes. “No.”

  The tip of her smile is barely visible before she disappears, leaving the echo of her heels behind her.

  The rest of my week is jam-packed—so much so that the whispers, stares, and slurs that follow me go completely unnoticed. Remy is the one who points them out the next day at lunch.

  “Are you okay, Spencer?” She’s twirling her spaghetti with one hand and tracing the spine of her newest book with the other. The oversized sweater hangs down around her wrist, and every time I think it’s going to dip into the sauce, she shifts.

  “Great, why?”

  “I mean...” She pauses and turns to look behind her.

  Following her gaze, it’s apparent people are staring at us. A group of football players are gawking the most obvious, and instead of looking away, they laugh, passing elbow jabs.

  “Have you seen Lily’s social?”

  “You know I haven’t.” The response is a little sharper than I mean it to be, but she knows I don’t look at that shit.

  Remy stops swirling her pasta and digs out her phone. After pressing a couple of buttons, she turns her phone toward me, giving me a full view of Lily’s Instagram. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before—the picture of me licking her boot, but it’s the caption that curdles the lunch in my stomach.

  I will be leasing Emerald Fall’s favorite bootlicking bulldog and his services to a closet near you. Stay tuned for details on rates!

  The response from the first time this went around wasn’t so bad. Hell, Remy told me some of the girls even wanted me to lick their pussy like that, but now, Lily’s labeling me nothing more than a piece of property to be loaned out.

  A searing heat washes over me, scalding my skin. I scan the cafeteria for her, and like a fucking magnet, my eyes find her quick. She’s perched on a barstool near the windows, a smirk painted on her face.

  My Liliana is dead. Has been since our seventh grade summer. Whoever this is, is a fucking bitch I wouldn’t even let suck my dick.

  Whatever fucked-up game this is, she can have it. Nothing is worth losing who you are.

  Fine. Lily wins.

  I’m done.

  “Pretty sure I lost my appetite, Remy.”

  She nods and pushes her glasses back, gathering up her items.

  “You don’t have to come with me.” Dumping my tray, I turn to walk back to her before stumbling over something.

  My face hits the linoleum with a loud pop, and a sharp pain rings across my face, threatening to rip my eardrums open. A warm fluid drips on the hand I tried to use to catch my fall.

  Everything is out of focus, but I can hear the jeers echoing just fine. A red splotched Nike kicks me to the side, and a vaguely familiar voice rings out. “Ay yo, Lily. Your bitch bled on my fresh ass Nikes. That should be a free service for him to lick it off.”

  I’m on my feet before she can respond, and my fist connects with the blurry figure in front of me. He staggers back, and I thrust forward, a left hook catching his jaw. The crack is audible, but I don’t give a fuck.

  Staying with him as he steps back, I land two more jabs into his soft muscle before three strong arms wrap around me. The more I struggle against the restraint, the tighter they hold, yanking my arms behind me.

  “Mr. Tilman! Back away from Mr. Hanes right this second!” It’s the assistant principal, but her voice is too far away. She won’t make it before he gets a few licks in.

  And fuck does he.

  The first one hits the side of my stomach. My muscles clench just before impact, making the pain worse, letting it radiate across my core. The second one is an uppercut to the direct center, shoving all the contents to the back of my throat and spewing out of my mouth without a fight.

  Whoever was holding me drops me immediately, letting me fall to the ground. A crowd of hazy faces backs away as well, screaming about the stench.

  When the AP reaches me, an all too familiar tightness pulls across my chest. The same one I got every time I was in trouble at school. Every time I knew my mom would come and have to listen to the teacher tell them how utterly disappointing I was—a waste of a good brain.

  Hold fast, hold steady. Don’t let anyone make you forget who you are—my sweet boy.

  Yeah... Lily won alright.

  SIXTEEN

  For the first time in forever, I stay home the entire weekend, confined to the four corners of my room, chugging coffee like it’s water. Deadlines are approaching, and these essays won’t write themselves.

  Unfortunately, cheer is not recognized as a sport, and a full-ride isn’t guaranteed. My GPA is going to help, along with win
ning regionals, but I still need to apply for more scholarships.

  Dad refuses to pay for Kentucky, saying I have a spot waiting at Solace, but I don’t want anything handed to me. When people give you something, they in turn hold power over you—the ability to either take it away on a whim or hold it over your head.

  So instead, I’ve worked my ass off to get it paid for by myself—a big middle finger to the parents who probably won’t even notice. But I’m proud of myself regardless. I may have started cheer for the wrong reasons—cover some bruises, become the hot chick Spencer wouldn’t ignore, and maybe grab some of my mother’s attention. But in the end, it gave me a reason to keep getting up every day. There were girls who needed me, and I couldn’t let them down.

  A flicker of white draws my attention to my window. Pulling my blanket around my shoulders a little tighter, I stand, edging toward the sight.

  Snow.

  The first of the season. Flurries of white dance in the sky on their way down, spinning around one another before breaking off and finding new partners to twirl with. A particularly big one plummets faster than the rest, and when it gets to my eye level, I realize I’m not the only one watching it.

  Spencer.

  He’s leaning against his window frame, hands in his dark wash jeans and a snug black tee stretching across his chest. His glasses were broken in the fight in the cafeteria, which would explain the fresh raw line across his cheek.

  He got off with a warning at school since, technically, he didn’t initiate it and had no prior offenses. I’ve thought about the altercation a few times, remember him lost in the pure fury that shook his body. I was at the edge of my seat, stiletto nails sticking so hard in my palms I still have the marks. Watching him feel something in that moment, something at the hands of my doing was the hottest thing I have ever seen.

  Spencer threads a hand through his dark locks and sighs. He doesn’t notice I’m watching him. At least if he does, he doesn’t seem to mind, and something about that sends a spike of heat through my chest.