by Erin Watt
After chugging down a cup of coffee, I meet Durand outside the house two hours before school starts. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me.”
He merely gives a dip of his head.
I have him drop me off at a bakery that’s just minutes away from the prep school, and the moment I step inside, I’m greeted by the most heavenly smell. Behind the counter is a woman about my mom’s age, with wheat-blond hair swept up in a tight, ballet-style bun.
“Hi there, sweetie, what can I get for you?” she asks with her hands poised over the register.
“I’m Ella Harper and I’d like to apply for the assistant job. The ad said there were school friendly hours? I go to Astor Park.”
“Hmm, a scholarship student?” I don’t correct her because it’s mostly true. I’m a Callum Royal scholarship beneficiary. I hold my breath as she inspects me. “Do you have any experience baking?”
“None,” I admit, “But I’m a quick learner and I’ll work harder than anyone else you’ve ever hired. I don’t mind long days or early mornings or late nights.”
She purses her lips. “I’m not a fan of hiring high school students. But…we could give it a try. Say a week. You’ll have to serve your peers. Will that be a problem?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Some of those Astor Park kids can be a real handful.”
Translation: the school is full of assholes.
“Again, the clientele is not a problem for me.”
She sighs. “All right. I really do need another hand. If you show up for the next six days on time and work all your scheduled hours, the job is yours.” I flash her a smile, and she slaps a hand to her heart. “Honey, you should have smiled before. It completely transforms your face. In fact, the more you smile, the more tips you’ll get. Remember that.”
Smiling is not my natural state. In fact, it kind of hurts. My face is so unused to it but I keep smiling because I want this nice lady to like me.
“I start baking at four but I won’t expect you until five-thirty. I’ll need you every morning during the week—you’ll work until classes start. And on Thursdays and Fridays you’ll need to come back after school and work until close, which is eight p.m. Will that interfere with any after-school activities?”
“Nope.”
“Not even Friday?”
“I’m more interested in this job than anything the school has going on Friday nights.”
She gives me another smile. “All right. Pick out a scone then and I’ll make you up a coffee. My name’s Lucy, by the way. And the rush starts in about an hour. You might change your mind after you see what a madhouse this can be.”
* * *
Lucy is right—the bakery is jam-packed, but I don’t mind the rush. Bustling behind the counter and serving baked goods for two hours distracts me from worrying about what will happen when I get to school.
I feel weird wearing a uniform, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon. I notice the other girls at school have found ways to sexy up their attire. Like Savannah said, skirt lengths have been altered, and a lot of the girls leave nearly half their shirt buttons undone so you can see the lacy tops of their bras. I’m not interested in drawing attention to myself, so my hem stays at my knee and my shirt stays buttoned almost to the collar.
I have precalc, Entrepreneurial Studies, and English in the morning. Valerie isn’t in any of those classes, but Savannah is in all three, and Easton is in the English class, but he sits in the back of the room with his buddies and doesn’t say a word to me. I don’t care. I kind of hope he ignores me all semester.
Being ignored seems to be the theme of the day. Nobody says a word to me except my teachers, and after making several attempts at smiling at kids in the hallway and getting no response, I eventually give up and pretend they don’t exist either.
It isn’t until lunch that I finally see a familiar face. “Harper! Get your butt over here.” Valerie waves me over from the salad bar in the cafeteria.
Actually, cafeteria might not be the right word to describe this cavernous room. The walls are wood paneled, the chairs are leather upholstered, and the food area looks like the buffet setup of a luxury hotel. At the far edge of the room are endless sets of French doors, all open and spilling onto an outdoor eating area for students who want to sit outside when the weather’s nice. It’s not even the end of September, so the sun is shining and I suppose we could sit outside, but I spot Jordan Carrington and her friends out there, as well as Reed and Easton, and opt to stay inside.
Valerie and I load our trays with food and find an empty table in the corner of the room. I glance around, realizing that all the students look older. “No freshmen?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Their lunch is an hour earlier.”
“Gotcha.” I stick my fork in my pasta and keep looking around. Nobody meets my eyes. It’s like Valerie and I don’t exist.
“Get used to your cloak of invisibility,” Valerie says knowingly. “Actually, you should wear it like a badge of honor. That just means the rich bitches don’t care enough to torment you.”
“What’s their idea of torment?”
“The usual. Spray-painting rude shit on your locker, tripping you in the hall, trashing you online. Jordan and her minions aren’t very creative.”
“So she’s the female-equivalent of Reed, huh?”
“Yeppers. And if it were up to her, she’d be on his arm every day and screwing him every night, but alas, my poor cousin can’t seem to land her man.”
I snicker. “How is it you know everything about everyone?”
Valerie shrugs. “I watch. I listen. I remember.”
“All right. Then tell me more about the Royals.” I feel awkward asking, but after all my run-ins with the Royal brothers, I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to arm myself with ammo against them.
My new friend groans. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for one of them already.”
“Ew. Never.” I force myself not to think about the way my heart pounds whenever Reed Royal enters a room. I’m not crushing on the guy, dammit. He’s an asshole and I want nothing to do with him. “I just want to know what I’m up against.”
She relaxes. “Okay. Well. I already told you about Easton and Claire. One twin has a girlfriend, the other is a slut like his big brothers. Reed, I’m not sure about. Half the chicks in this school claim to have slept with him, but who knows if that’s true. Only one I know about for sure is Jordan’s friend Abby—trust me, my cousin wasn’t happy about that hookup.”
“What else? Scandals? Rumors?” I feel like a detective questioning a suspect.
“Their dad has a trashy girlfriend. I think that’s been going on for a couple years.”
The memory of Callum and Brooke’s dinner shenanigans flashes in my mind. “I know all about the girlfriend,” I say with a sigh.
“Okay…what else…their mom died a while ago.” Valerie lowers her voice. “From an overdose.”
My breath hitches. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. It was all over the news and in all the papers. I guess she’d been prescribed sleeping pills or something, but it interfered with some other medication she was taking. I don’t really know the details, but I think her doctor was under investigation for screwing up the prescription.”
Despite myself, my heart aches for the Royals. There are pictures of their mom on the fireplace mantel in the living room. She was a pretty brunette with kind-looking eyes. Every time Callum mentions her in passing, grief fills his eyes, which tells me he must have truly loved her.
I wonder if she was close to her sons, and I suddenly feel really bad for Reed and his brothers. Nobody should ever have to lose their mom.
Since I’ve tapped out Valerie’s Royal knowledge, we change the subject and I tell her about my new job. She promises to come by after school twice a week to annoy me, and we spend the rest of the lunch period laughing and getting to know each other more. By the time we drop off our trays, I’
ve decided I’m definitely keeping her as a friend.
“I can’t believe we have zero classes together,” she complains as we leave the cafeteria. “What the hell, girl? Who forced you to sign up for all those math and science and business classes? You should be taking Life Skills with me. We’re learning to apply for credit cards.”
“I chose them. I’m here to learn, not waste time.”
“Nerd.”
“Brat.”
We part ways outside my chemistry class. We already exchanged numbers at lunch, and she promises to text me later, then flounces off.
When I enter the chem lab, the teacher rises from his desk as if he’s been waiting for me. He’s hobbit-sized, with a bushy beard that looks like it’s trying to devour his face. He introduces himself as Mr. Neville.
I try not to look at the other students, but my gaze has already picked out Easton at one of the tables. He’s the only student without anyone sitting beside him. Shit. That’s not good.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ella,” Mr. Neville says. “I peeked at your transcript earlier and was impressed by your previous science grades.”
I shrug. Math and science come easy for me. I know I got my talent for dance from my mother, but since she could barely calculate a tip percentage in her head when we went out to eat, I always wondered if I got my aptitude for numbers from my father. Steve, the Navy SEAL slash pilot slash multi-millionaire.
“Anyway, Mr. Royal contacted the headmaster this weekend and requested we pair you up with Easton this semester.” Neville lowers his voice. “Easton could learn some discipline, and it makes sense for you two to be lab partners. You’ll be able to study together at home.”
Oh joy. I stifle a sigh and head for Easton’s table, where I drop my backpack under the desk and slip into the chair next to his. He doesn’t look happy to see me.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” I mutter back. “This was your father’s idea.”
He stares straight ahead, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Of course it was.”
Unlike my morning classes, chemistry seems to drag on forever, but that’s probably because Easton sits there scowling at me for ninety-nine percent of the time. For the other one percent of it, I get a cocky grin from him as he leans back in his chair and orders me to mix the solution we need to grow the crystals.
The second the bell rings, I’m out of my chair and eager to escape my sulking “brother.”
I race out of the classroom, ready to get to my next class, but then I remember I need to make a quick stop at my locker to grab my textbook. All the courses I’m taking are advanced and come with thousand-page texts. I wasn’t able to fit them all in my backpack.
Fortunately, my locker is nearby and so is the World History classroom.
Unfortunately, Jordan Carrington and her friends round the corner before I can reach my locker.
The four of them stop and smirk when they notice me. None of them say hello. Whatever. I don’t say hello either, and I try not to feel self-conscious as I walk past them. They might be bitches, but they’re beautiful bitches. Every guy in the hallway is checking them out, including Easton, who lazily strides out of chem class and walks over to the girls.
The group stops by the locker bank, and Jordan whispers something in Easton’s ear, her manicured nails resting on his upper arm.
He shrugs, causing his navy-blue blazer to tighten across his broad shoulders. He’s undeniably the hottest guy in a five-mile radius, though the two guys who join him aren’t hard to look at either.
I ignore them all as I reach my locker and spin the combination lock. Two more classes and then school will be over and the stares will stop. I’ll go back to the mansion and do my homework, then go to sleep. Keep myself busy and block out the bullshit. That’s my new motto and I’m sticking to it.
I’m relieved when the lock clicks on the first try. I wasn’t sure I got the combination, but the locker door opens easily and—
A mountain of garbage falls out.
I’m so startled I squeak out loud, then curse myself for it. Laughter rings out behind me, and I close my eyes, willing the heat in my cheeks to subside.
I don’t want them to see me blushing.
I don’t want them to know that this stinking, heaping mess of trash at my feet has affected me in any way.
I kick a stray banana peel and breathe through my mouth so the stench of rotting food doesn’t make my eyes water. The floor is littered with even more disgusting items than the spoiled produce—used napkins, tissues, a bloody tampon…
I will not cry.
The laughter doesn’t die down. I ignore it. I just scoop up the World History textbook from the bottom shelf of my luxury-sized locker. Then I flick away the wad of crumbled newspapers that’s sticking to the latch and slam the door shut.
When I turn around, all eyes are on me. I only seek out one pair—Jordan’s, almond-brown and gleaming evilly. She gives me a regal little wave.
I square my shoulders and tuck my book under my arm. A tall guy with brown curls snickers as I start to walk. Oh my God. There’s a sanitary pad stuck to my shoe. I swallow my embarrassment, kick the pad away, and keep walking.
Easton wears a bored expression as I approach.
I pause in front of Jordan, one eyebrow arched, my own smirk forming on my lips. “Is that all you’ve got, Carrington? I’m trash? Tsk-tsk. I’m disappointed in your lack of creativity.”
Her eyes flash, but I’m already sauntering past her like I have no care in the world.
Another score for the away team. Kind of. Because I’m the only one who knows just how close I am to bursting into tears.
12
I make it through the rest of the day without crying, but part of me wants to go all Carrie on these kids until they look back at trash in the locker as the easiest day of their lives.
Valerie texts me during class. Are U OK? Heard abt locker. Jordan is an ass.
I’m fine, I respond. It was stupid and like u said. No creativity. Trash? Did she steal that from a Disney show?
Ha! Don’t say that tho. She’ll B forced 2 think of something worse
2 late.
I’ll throw flowers on ur grave!
Gee thanks. I tuck the phone away when the teacher glances in my direction. Once the fancy chimes ring to let us know class is over, I shove everything into my pack and hoof it outside, hoping that Durand is waiting and I can escape to the princess bedroom. The pink and white is growing on me.
The parking lot is filled with noise, people, and expensive cars, but no Durand.
“Harper.” Valerie appears over my right shoulder. “Your ride isn’t here?”
“No, I don’t see him.”
She clicks her tongue sympathetically. “I’d offer you a ride but I don’t think you want to get in the same car as Jordan.”
“You’d be right about that.”
“You should go, though. Once school is out, it can get rough.”
“Out here in broad daylight?” That’s alarming.
Valerie’s forehead wrinkles with concern. “Jordan has moments of cunning. Don’t underestimate her.”
I tighten my grip on the backpack and give myself an internal slap for carrying around so much cash. There has to be a place in the Royal pile of bricks where I can hide this.
“Why does she get away with it? Savannah Montgomery told me that everyone here is special. So why is Jordan the leader if everyone has something unique to offer?”
“Connections,” Valerie replies bluntly. “The Carringtons aren’t part of the ten-figure club like the Royals, but they know everyone. They’ve done business with celebs, royalty. Jordan’s aunt on her dad’s side is married to some Italian count. We actually have to refer to her as Lady Perino if she shows up for Christmas.”
“That’s unreal.”
“So Jordan is, by extension—” She breaks off. “Hold on. Here she comes.”
I br
ace myself as Jordan strolls toward us. Like all alphas, she has a pack trailing behind her. They look like a toothpaste commercial—acres of white shining teeth and long straight hair swishing behind them.
“If it makes you feel any better, Jordan’s hair has a lot of wave to it and she has to spend an hour flat-ironing it every morning,” Valerie mutters under her breath.
Doesn’t Valerie have any decent shit on Jordan? Because she spends too much time on her hair really isn’t a great putdown.
“I’m feeling really superior now,” I say dryly.
Valerie gives me a quirky smile and slides her hand around my arm in moral support.
Jordan halts about two feet from me and makes a couple of obvious sniffs with her nose. “You smell,” she informs me. “And it’s not from the trash in your locker. It’s just you.”
“Thanks for the heads up. I guess I’ll start showering twice a day instead of just once,” I say sweetly, but inside I’m worried, because what if I really do smell? That would be about just as bad as toting around a used maxi pad on my shoe.
She sighs and flips her hair over one shoulder. “It’s the type of smell no amount of showering will ever wash away. You see, you’re a casual.”
I look at Valerie with a question. She rolls her eyes in response.
“Okay then,” I reply cheerfully. “Good to know.” Jordan wants me to look stupid, so the best I can do is not get drawn into her game. But my non-reaction doesn’t turn her away. She just keeps shooting her mouth, probably because she likes hearing herself talk.
“Casuals will always reek of desperation.”
Well, she’s got me there. That’s pretty much the perfume of a strip club.
I force myself to shrug. “I don’t know what casual means in Bitch, but I’m assuming it’s bad. What I don’t get is why you think I give a rat’s ass about your opinion of me. The world is really big, Jordan. You throwing trash in my locker or calling me names isn’t going to matter in two years. Hell, it hardly matters today.”
Her mouth drops open and Valerie turns her face into my arm to smother a laugh.
