Trinity High: High School Bully Romance

by Savannah Rose

  “How does language even matter at this point?” I ask, my tone clipped. Anger stirs me, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of watching me spin out of control. Not here, not now. “My ankle is broken. I’m not going to be in The Nutcracker. There will be Julliard scouts attending that show. Dancing is my entire life and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to dance again. Pardon my French, daddy dearest, but I am utterly and irrevocably fucked.”

  Dad scoffs, shaking his head in dismay. “Maybe now’s a good time to start considering Wharton. If you’re not going to insist with dancing since, like you said, you can’t dance anymore, you should look into other options. I won’t be around forever to run this business, and I need someone dependable to take over. I’d rather give the reins over to you, honey.” He says it like he thinks he’s just brought me the winning lottery ticket. Like he doesn’t damn well know that I don’t want his business.

  “Seriously?” I shoot back, my eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m merely a day into this fracture, and you already want me to give up on a dream I’ve worked for since I was a little girl? Seriously?!” I know, I’m the one who said it. But what happened to the part of a parent that is supposed to convince their kid that anything is possible; that nothing is broken forever.

  He looks alarmed, as if aware that he screwed the pooch on this one, too. The man can’t get anything right with me, and it’s for lack of trying.

  “I understand from your doctor that there won’t be any dancing for you in the foreseeable future,” dad says, a tinge of satisfaction persisting in his gravelly voice.

  “Six months. No physical effort for six months. Not a lifetime,” I reply. “It will be okay. I’m not giving up. Don’t expect me to slip into a pantsuit and start selling Hampton villas. You’ve got Janelle for that.”

  She’s been interning at the company for a few months now, and she loves it. Then again, Janelle’s father was once half of Fowler & Malone, one of the most prominent real estate and development companies in the county. It’s in her blood—more than in mine, for sure. My dad leads Fowler & Malone now, but he’s taken Janelle in to help with some of his smaller residential projects while he focuses on the northern malls.

  “I wish you were more like Janelle,” dad grumbles, staring out the window.

  Fuck you, dad.

  “Janelle is where she wants to be. She’ll make a fine Fowler for Fowler & Malone when she finishes school, for sure. You just need to get this stupid idea that I’ll be the next Malone out of your head,” I say, pointing an angry finger at him. “And stop bringing Janelle into this.”

  “You mentioned her name!”

  “Stop using her to make me feel like shit!” I snap, my blood boiling. My precarious state is not the right ammo for one of our so-called father-daughter talks. “You know what, dad? Why don’t you just leave? I don’t need anything from you. Go. You’re probably busy. Go piss off some indigenous people for taking over their lands. You’ve done your fatherly duty here.”

  Dad scowls at me, probably wishing he could say more. He’s well aware, by now, that I’m not the type to put up with his bullshit. I’ve got a trust fund waiting when I turn 21, and there’s nothing he can do about it. We’ve had these conversations before. He can’t hold any of my comfort over my head as a bargaining chip. I may be dependent on his wealth for now, but it’s only a few years before that changes.

  And he knows I’m crazy enough to emancipate and figure out my own way through life, if push comes to shove. I’ve threatened him before. Therefore, his scowls and knife-like words only mean to hurt me, not scare me, and I always try my best not to let him think he’s getting to me. William Malone can be a vicious son of a bitch (sorry, Meemah!), but that’s why he’s been so successful in business.

  “How long are they going to keep you here?” he asks.

  “Why do you care?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Kira. Just answer the damn question.”

  Rolling my eyes, I exhale sharply. “A couple more days, just to run some tests and make sure it’s just the ankle I’m dealing with.”

  “I’ll see you when you get home, then.”

  He doesn’t wait for my reply. He just walks out, and I’m alone again.

  Maybe I should feel more where my dad is concerned, but I’m numb. It could be the painkillers. I hope I get a prescription for these babies, because it’s just so nice not to care about what he says… and how he says it. It’s been like this since mom died. I doubt he’s ever just looked at me with genuine love. I think I remind him of her—a little too much. But then again, was their relationship as husband and wife better than what we have as father and child? I’m not sure. Toward the end, I could see in mom’s eyes that most of the love she had for him had vanished. He pulled the same stunts with her while she was at the hospital too – showing up late, not showing up at all, leaving too early.

  At least I don’t feel like crying anymore. He made me so mad, I completely forgot about my own grief, albeit momentarily.

  The door opens again, and Janelle’s smile brightens up the entire room. She’s a petite little thing, with mousy brown hair styled in a pixie cut and big brown eyes. She dresses in tan or grey, and she never wears more than a pair of sensible earrings as jewelry. But her smile… oh, it stands out. It fills my heart with all kinds of good things. Love. Hope. Patience. Kindness. I just can’t understand how she can stomach working with my dad, who’s the complete opposite. Then again, it’s a part-time internship. She probably doesn’t get all the brunt on a daily basis.

  Yeah, wait until he takes you on full time, you poor soul.

  “Gah, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” I murmur.

  Janelle comes in and rushes to my side. Seconds later, her arms are wrapped around me, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad it wasn’t worse,” she says, gently pulling back to measure me carefully from head to toe. Her gaze lingers on my cast, sadness flickering in shades of caramel.

  “I think this is bad enough,” I sigh.

  “You know this break could’ve been a lot more severe,” Janelle says. It’s why I love her so much. She has a tendency to use facts in order to reassure me. I doubt I’m even half as smart as she is, but she always makes me want to be a better version of myself. Either way, I cling to her words as if they’re the only thing separating me from the dark bottom of an abyss that is dying to eat me. “Compound fracture. Permanent damage. No chance of dancing ever again. Not even the friggin’ merengue.”

  “I guess…”

  “You’ll be fine!” Janelle insists, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. We’re polar opposites, physically and personality-wise, and yet we’re like sisters, always in sync, always caring for one another, even if weeks go by and we barely exchange a handful of words. “Six months, and you can go into recovery. I’ve asked your doctor to recommend some top tier specialists… It’s why I’m late.”

  I can’t help but smile. “You’re the only good thing in my life right now.”

  “Well, thank you, but that’s not entirely true. You still have ballet. The two of you are just taking a break,” Janelle replies. I like how she doesn’t let me mope around or feel sorry for myself. I’d be lost without her. “Then there’s your dad—”

  “Oh, don’t go there,” I hiss. “Don’t.”

  She chuckles softly. “All drama aside, you know he cares and that he’s worried about you. I met with him on my way up here!”

  “I’ve been here since yesterday. He just came to visit me now. You were here yesterday, mere hours after I was brought it. I told you, Janelle, don’t go there,” I say. “I get that you have to be nice to him because you’re working at Fowler & Malone, but you don’t have to sell me the idea of William Malone being a good dad. Trust me. He’s not. I just hope he’s a better boss.”

  “He is,” Janelle concedes. “I suppose he’s just not that bright, emotionally speaking. Sure, he gets angry easily…”

  “Let’s just stop there, Jan,” I murmur. “I
really don’t want to talk about him right now.”

  Janelle pauses, her eyes scanning my face. A faint smile flutters across her lips. “He said something to piss you off, didn’t he?”

  “You read me like an open book,” I reply flatly. “He thinks I should start considering Wharton School of Business, now that I’m not gonna be dancing anymore.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Janelle says, almost laughing. “I mean, I get where he’s coming from, but ballet is all you’ve ever wanted to do, and this break isn’t the end!”

  “That’s what I told him, and then he said he wished I were more like you.”

  The color drains from her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what, for existing? Nah. Screw that. I’m not letting my dad drive a wedge between us. I’ve got a broken ankle to deal with…”

  Janelle pulls a chair and sits close to my bed, briefly checking her phone. The case wrapped around it, leather with the F&M logo on the back makes me know that it’s the business phone. “Our school group on Facebook is blowing up,” she mutters. “Conspiracy theories galore about how you fell.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from those self-entitled assholes. Do any of those theories mention Giselle?” I reply, my mind already bouncing back to the incident.

  “Word is that it was an accident. Madame Olenna said it herself. She mentioned something about Giselle feeling awful about all this, but I wasn’t listening anymore. This was yesterday, and I’d just heard about your accident. You listed me as your next of kin after your dad.”

  I chuckle. “Let me guess. He didn’t pick up when the school called him.”

  “Yeah… I almost missed the call, too. I’m thinking of just switching everything over to the business phone and leaving my personal one behind, so…just in case you can’t reach me on my phone… Anyway, do you think Giselle did it on purpose?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t prove it,” I say, shrugging. “But I know she wasn’t supposed to be that close.”

  “It’s worth talking to the other dancers, right? When you come back to school?”

  I shake my head. “What’s the point? It won’t fix my ankle, will it?” Warmth spreads through me as the medication continues to do its work. “Shit… These are some fine painkillers…”

  “They give you the good stuff here, huh?” Janelle giggles.

  “Yeah. It makes breaking bones not that bad,” I reply, and we laugh. I needed Janelle so much. It’s only now that I realize it, though. Wallowing in self-pity has occupied most of my day, so it’s good that she’s here. Janelle is my beacon, and I’m swimming out at sea, in the middle of a storm. Speaking of perturbations… “Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you! I saw Elias at school yesterday. They were hauling me out of the dance hall.”

  Janelle doesn’t look surprised. I have a feeling she knows more than me, at this point.

  “Don’t tell me Elias fucking Dressler moved to Trinity High. Just don’t,” I say, my tone clipped.

  “I won’t tell you that. But yeah, he did. Brought his file in yesterday.”

  “Fuuuuudge…” I steer clear from another profanity. Janelle isn’t a fan of the F-word.

  Elias Dressler at Trinity High. That means I’ve got hell waiting for me when I come back.

  The feud between us feels as old as time, passed down from our fathers. Martin Dressler and William Malone were sworn enemies, and Elias and I fell right in line, taking over a feud that had nothing to do with us. Now, however, it does exist. And it exists with reason. Both on his part and on mine, because the truth is, we’ve done things to each other…things that are not easy to forgive.

  “Try not to think about it for now,” Janelle says, in a bid to comfort me. “You’ve got your recovery to worry about.”

  Dressler Corp. and Fowler & Malone have been competitors for over two decades. Joe Fowler, Janelle’s dad, wasn’t as harsh or as acid as my dad where the Dressler name was concerned, but he stuck to the business and partnership code, steering clear of any dealings with Elias’s dad.

  One would assume that things would be different, now that Martin Dressler is gone. He died last year. Cancer, the bane of humanity. Despite us not being friends, I wanted to reach out to Elias at the time, but I decided against it. My dad was sipping on champagne, snarling and telling me to “leave that little fucker to cry his heart out, like he deserves.” In his mind, the sins of the father are a perfect excuse to try and torment the son, too. He’d tossed the flowers I’d bought in the trash and ripped the card to shreds before drowning the pieces in his glass of scotch. The look in his eyes when he reminded me that the Dresslers were to be avoided made me remember just what it felt like to be at the wrong end of my father’s rage.

  You could say that my hatred for Elias was mostly a result of how much I feared my father. That wouldn’t be far from the truth. Still, it didn’t discount the fact that Elias had done his own work to make me hate him. As for my father, a part of me thinks that maybe he’s afraid that the son will succeed where the father did not.

  “I don’t get it, though. Why Trinity?” I asked. “Did you talk to him? I know you and Elias are not mortal enemies, like the rest of us.”

  Janelle’s more of a peacemaker. But she shakes her head, leaving my curiosity unquenched. “Sorry, no. I only heard from some of the other students about his transfer. They say it’s got something to do with Trinity’s proximity to Amber Lake, the psychiatry clinic. You know, the private one.”

  I can feel my eyes growing wide. “Oh, right. His mom’s a patient there…”

  “Yeah, they had her committed a few years ago?”

  I nod slowly. That was another time I wanted to reach out to Elias and extend an olive branch along with my sympathies. Again, my dad specifically forbade it. I mean, the man can hate with the fire of a thousand suns…

  “Either way, I’m in trouble,” I say after a while. “It’s bad enough I’ve got Giselle basically sabotaging me, now Elias is there, too?”

  “Kira. Don’t worry about him. Focus on yourself,” Janelle replies. “If you want to dance again, you can’t let anyone or anything get in the way. Especially some old family feud that Mr. Malone dragged us all into…”

  I know she’s right, but the irregular rhythm of my heart tells me there’s great danger ahead. Elias is not just a regular disruption. He’s a tornado, mercilessly tearing into my life whenever he gets a chance. Sure, I never shy away from hitting back, but in the end, I’m the one walking away with deep wounds.

  Elias knows how to hurt me, and I feel so vulnerable right now.

  I’m a bird without wings, and I fear he will not hesitate to cripple me further. He’s handsome, yes, and charming, and smart as a whip… a concentrated mass of self-confidence and sex-appeal. But he’s also cruel.

  He broke me more than once. I don’t want him to break me again.

  WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER

  None of the kids want to be here. Quite frankly, the adults don’t want us to be here either – if the fact that they stuck us in a room with a babysitter is anything to go by. But when your richness means you throw Galas way too often, you’ve got to keep up pretenses. And we, the offspring, get roped right into that.

  Tonight, I’m wearing the most pretentious dress I’ve ever worn. It’s a Vera Wang piece – the same lady who made mom’s wedding dress. I’m guessing that’s why I look nothing like a child and everything like one of those toddler in tiara not-at-all-adults. The lace on my arms itches like a thousand fire ants, but I know better than to scratch my skin in public. Instead, the same fake smile my mom wears, is the same fake smile I’ve adapted. Soon enough, I’m sure, it too will slip.

  But the dress and the bougie wougie everything aside, the thing that bothers me the most is that Janelle isn’t here. Father found someone else to stick on my tail tonight. Even though he hasn’t caught me uttering a word to the Dressler kid since that day in the park, he’s still extra careful. Still likes to keep more than just his ey
es on me. Maybe he can read my mind. Maybe he knows that out of all the kids in this room, he’s the only one I wouldn’t mind hanging out with. The only one who forces me to steal more than just one glance at him. Just like all the other times I’ve seen him, he’s dressed to perfection. His hair freshly cut, his green eyes pop like emeralds in the sun.

  “The both of you stay away from the Dressler kid,” dad warns for the umpteenth time. His voice is saccharine sweet. So much so that you’d never guess that he’s the type to make an enemy out of a kid. I’m not stupid enough to miss the warning in his tone, however. Neither do I miss the way mom rolls her eyes. Not that she has any say in the matter. When it comes to the Dresslers, dad pulls all the strings. Hell, over the years it’s become more and more obviously evident that she doesn’t have much of a say in anything, or any strings to pull.

  Lena, the kid dad has paired me with, nods her head at my father’s words. She looks a bit like a rat, her face protruding from the nose down. I bet she squeals just like a rat too.

  Our parents leave our sides and move into the main room. As soon as the door clicks shut, Elias is by my side. He does this a lot when we’re around each other – waits for our parents to leave in order to make his move. He’s brave like that. Unruly, disobedient, deceptive – all of it. Still, he never lingers for very long. Usually his words don’t make it past ‘hello’ and neither do mine. But rooted in that single word is so much more. Ever since the day I met him in the park, I couldn’t get him out of my head.

  I’m sure it’s not natural for a girl my age to think about a boy as much as I think about Elias. It isn’t healthy either – the way my heart quickens. The way my palms sweat.