Right now, both of those things have reached a level they’ve never reached before. This time is not like all the other times he’s managed to sneak in a ‘hello’. Janelle is my friend. Janelle knows how to keep a secret. Janelle isn’t the kind to go flapping her mouth to my dad about me breaking his stupid rules. Lena, though, she’s different.
“Hey Kira,” Elias says. His voice sounds sadder than I’ve heard it. When I look up at his face, I see that the sadness hasn’t only taken a hold of his voice. It’s in his eyes, too. I want so badly to open my arms and hug him the way mom hugs me when I’m not doing alright. But I know better.
I set my jaw and look at the spot over his head. I don’t have it in me to be mean to him while staring into his eyes.
“What do you want, Dressler?” I hiss, calling him by his last name, like it’s some kind of insult. Just the way dad does.
He pulls his hand to the front and reaches out a piece of paper in my direction. “You remember Sally?” he says, still holding the paper out to me.
His green eyes glisten with unshed tears and I can feel my throat starting to close up. So much so that I don’t even bother to answer him, but I do spot the picture on the paper. It’s of his dog. She looks just as beautiful photographed as she does in person.
“We’re not supposed to talk to you, Elias,” Lena chips in, reminding me even more that what’s happening here has already gone too far.
“I’m not talking to you, Stuart Little,” Elias snaps back.
I know that I should come to her defense, if only for the sake of having her keep her mouth shut when my dad is back. But I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, a laugh will slip out instead of words. The truth is, Elias is spot on with that Stuart little reference.
Elias’ eyes find me again and this time, I don’t look away. “Sally died,” he says, just as Lena starts to moan about how much trouble I’m going to get in for talking to him. I’m in the middle of contemplating whether or not to tell Lena to suck on a lemon and offer Elias the hug that I know he could use right now. But just in that moment, I see my dad’s face, peeking through the glass door. Automatically, the foulest words I’ve ever spoken shoot from between my lips. “I don’t care about your stupid dog, Dressler. Maybe she died because she couldn’t stand being around your disease of a family.” Again, dad’s words. They don’t sound anywhere near as vile as they do when they leave my father’s lips. But I know they affect Elias. Anger replaces the tears in his eyes and his hands shoot out, crashing against my shoulders, sending me sprawling back into Lena and the table behind us.
“When did we start allowing guests to bring their animals to these events.” That’s my dad’s voice. Followed by my dad’s hands as he pulls me from the ground. The grip he has on me hurts more than the shove I received from Elias. Of course, he doesn’t realize that he’s holding me tight enough to snap my arm in two.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I can do nothing to stop them from falling. I’m not crying because I’m hurt, though. I’m crying because I hate the way being mean to Elias makes me feel. I’m crying because I feel sad for him. And I feel sad for Sally, his dog. And for his mom. I saw, at the park, just how much she loved that dog.
“Little shit,” my dad spits at Elias, who’s shooting venom right back at him with his gaze. All of that is expected, of course. But what I didn’t quite expect, as stupid as it is, is for Elias’ eyes to hold the same amount of hate when he glances back at me.
3
Kira
It’s been months since I’ve been away from the dance hall.
My cast has been off for a long time, and the doctor says it’s fully recovered. But the pain persists, and no number of X-rays can pinpoint the problem. Sometimes, it’s so intense, throbbing up my calf, that I can’t even walk. The only thing that makes it go away, albeit for up to six hours, at best, is the Oxycodone.
The prescription expired months ago, but despite not having gone back to school yet, I’ve managed to keep a valuable connection at Trinity High. Jamil is one of the most tenacious and resourceful juniors I’ve ever met. I can’t remember where I got his number from, or how I knew he dabbled in this stuff, but none of that really matters. The boy has a permanent supply of Oxy and other pills for some reasonable prices. Granted, I’m what he calls a “loyal customer,” much to my shame – and so I get a discount. Jamil will be one hell of a businessman someday.
September has come to the Hamptons with gold and ruby leaves sprinkled through the trees. Sunset is earlier, tracing neon red and orange lines across the sky. It’s colder at night. Sometimes, I forget to close the bedroom window. By morning, my ankle is so stiff and aching that I can’t even touch the ground without tearing up from the pain.
My initial resolve has fizzled away, and I don’t understand what happened. I had high hopes for myself. I was determined to get back to dancing. Hell, I still count the days since they removed the cast. Technically speaking, I’m ready to start recovery. I’ve been ready for three months, now… but the pain keeps me in the same dark void I wake up in every morning. At least the Oxy gives me the numbness I need to get through the day.
I have to admit, it’s made me calmer. Dad and I haven’t fought since the day he came to see me at the hospital. Either something important died between us, or I just stopped giving a shit around the same time he did. He pays for everything, including my physical therapy, but I’ve been skipping the past couple of weeks.
The thought of dancing again is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. The therapist says I move well, that I’ve got full strength in my ankle, but whenever he twists my foot, I cry out in agonizing pain. He suggested it might be psychological, which doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve spent the past month drowning all the demons out with a mixture of pills and Rhett’s single malt whisky, anyway. I’m warm and fuzzy, but I feel wrong. Something is missing, and I know what it is… but I just can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
It would mean accepting that I have a problem.
It’s my first day back at school. My dad, for all his faults, has been generous enough to have teachers come to our house for homeschooling. I don’t want to know how much that cost him, but I am thankful, for he spared me the horror of dealing with Giselle and Lorna… and Elias, on a daily basis. He didn’t say much when he did that, either. He just acknowledged that I needed time away from Trinity High—maybe he hoped it would put the fire out where Giselle, in particular, is concerned. I still feel like breaking both her legs, though. She fucking ruined me.
Janelle has joined the evening school program, since dad’s been giving her more work. That internship at Fowler & Malone is going to land her an executive position, soon enough. I’m sure of it. Fortunately for her, with enough money and strings pulled—many of them courtesy of my dad, Janelle doesn’t have to sacrifice her school activities in anyway. She works with the company during the first part of the day, then heads to class in the afternoon. She’s exhausted, but determined to see this through.
“It’s our last year. Might as well make it epic,” Janelle said to me, not that long ago. Of course, her definition of “epic” belongs to the realm of nerds and overachievers, but that is why I love her.
I stand outside the school building, its reddish brick façade making my stomach tighten, ever so slightly. The morning sun gleams through the French windows, and it carries the faint promise of a better day than yesterday. It’s a beautiful lie, but I’m willing to indulge for as long as I can.
“Holy shit, that’s Kira Malone,” a voice stands out in the river of students flowing through the main entrance. The flocks are headed to class, and I’m supposed to join them, but there’s a ghost ulcer making everything all the more difficult, for some reason. I could’ve stayed another month at home but… as much as I hate to admit it, my dad’s right. I can’t hide in the house forever.
“Yo, she’s back,” another student whispers, a little too close to me.
I ignore the s
tares and the hushed murmurs, and I make my way up the stairs. The Oxy is doing its job, and I’m able to walk like nothing happened. Like there wasn’t any surgery required for my mangled ankle. Like I didn’t cry myself to sleep for ten months straight. I pay good money for this concealer, too, though. I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m done and over with, even though this limbo I’m in feels exactly like that.
If only Janelle were here. We’d go in together, laughing and pretending that everything’s okay. Alas, I’m on my own. I have to do this.
As soon as I reach the central hallway, a mere blip in the crowd of nicely dressed geese, I spot a familiar figure waiting for me, just several yards ahead. Principal Hargreaves. He checks his watch first, a simple but ridiculously expensive Audemars Piguet, courtesy of a bribe from some rich kid’s parents. As soon as he sees me, his greenish eyes light up, the glimmer amplified by the rectangular lenses of his glasses. He’s in his mid-sixties, but the man sure knows how to dress to impress. No wonder most of the teachers are swooning over him—male and female alike.
“Kira! Welcome back!” he says, all smiles. I have to give this guy credit, though. He’s the one who approved the overtime for Trinity teachers to homeschool me. I do reckon it has something to do with a sizeable donation made to his charity, but even so, props to Hargreaves.
“Good morning, sir,” I reply. There’s not enough strength for me to offer a smile in return, but I hope my eyes say enough. “Nice to be back.”
“How are you feeling?” Hargreaves asks, as students move past us. “I understand you’ve made a full recovery.”
“For the most part,” I say. He motions for us to step to the side, lest we find ourselves trampled under the thickening current of people looking for their lockers and their classrooms. “It’s a slow journey…”
“Do you think you’ll be able to audition for The Nutcracker again in November? Madame Olenna has moved the audition dates in hopes of having you join them.”
My heart swells a little. I owe that woman so much. I’m a prolific ballerina thanks to her poking and prodding and obsession for perfection. Was. I was a prolific ballerina. Maybe I will be again.
“That’s very kind of her,” I murmur.
Principal Hargreaves seems tense, his smile straining with every second that goes by. There’s something else he wants to tell me, but I have a feeling he’s still working up the courage. “You should give it a shot, Kira. We all believe in you.”
I don’t know whom he’s referring to when he says ‘we,’ but I take it as an encouragement, nonetheless. “Thank you, sir. I’ll see what my therapist says, first.”
“Good. Please, don’t give up. You’re our star dancer,” Hargreaves replies, his expression stiffening further. “In the meantime, I have to ask you for a favor. I know that what happened with your ankle was an unfortunate accident—”
“If you want to call it that, sure,” I grumble, lowering my gaze for a moment. I emailed him a few months back, asking about the investigation results, since the school has its own investigative bodies for incidents such as mine. Hargreaves promised to get back to me, but I’ve not heard from him on this topic since. I could have asked my father to give him a little prod, of course. But I didn’t want the disappointment of hearing my own father remind me that he’d much prefer it if I gave up on my dream.
“There is no definitive proof that Giselle might have done it on purpose,” he says. “I am sorry we couldn’t be more conclusive about this. Which is why I hope you will not be seeking any kind of retribution against her. You are both students of Trinity, and I doubt I will be able to protect you, should you choose to consider exacting a personal vendetta.”
I stare at him for half a minute, wondering whether I should torch his ass for asking me this or just let it slide, since he’s got the school’s best interest at heart. Nobody wants to pay big bucks to a school where students like me go all out and break the legs of bitches who ruined their future careers.
“Sir, I am not interested in any form of conflict,” I say, almost mechanically. “I just want to go back to dancing.” He seems to relax upon hearing this. There’s even another smile coming but it fades quickly as I continue with the rest of my statement. “However, should Giselle or Lorna or anyone else associated with them decide to harass or attack me in any way, I cannot guarantee that I will not hit back, twice as hard. You should know me well enough by now to understand that I’m not the kind of person who just takes shit from people, especially frustrated and talentless scabs like Giselle Brooks.”
“Talentless or not, she is the prima ballerina of Trinity High, for the time being,” Hargreaves replies dryly. “It has resulted in generous donations to the school’s arts fund from her parents.” Only heavens knows how many cocks her mother had to suck to muster up the cash. Giselle might be able to afford the tuition here, but she’s not exactly the definition of RICH.
I scoff. “Then I should definitely break her legs. Madame Olenna would have no choice but to make Lorna the prima ballerina in my absence. At least she’s got talent.”
“Kira—”
“I’m kidding, sir,” I chuckle softly. Deep down, maiming Giselle is still an option on the table, but he doesn’t need to know about it. “Rest assured, I will not initiate any kind of trouble here.”
Only half-assured, Principal Hargreaves nods once. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, I’ll let you get to class. You don’t want to be late on your first day back.”
I give him a faint smile, a dull ache settling in my ankle. Fumbling through my jacket pocket, my fingers find and clasp the silver pillbox I always carry with me. It’s there if I need it. I should take one now…
It’s too early. I took one a couple of hours ago. My mind shoots the thought back at me. Abandoning that idea, I leave Principal Hargreaves behind, too, and head to my locker, at the far end of the central hallway. My first class is a couple of doors back from it, but I need to drop my bag first and check that no one messed with my locker while I was gone. I wouldn’t put anything past Giselle at this point.
Cold shivers run through me as I spot Elias outside my classroom, leaning against the wall and laughing at something Giselle just said. Of all people, Giselle. Because Trinity isn’t filled with breasts of desperation waiting for him to swirl ecstasy around their nipples. I squint once. And then twice. Just to see if I’m imagining shit. Honestly, this has to be some kind of joke. When my gaze refocuses on them again, I know that I’m not just seeing things.
Lorna’s with them, too, but she’s not the one he’s fucking. No, Elias is doing Giselle—it’s evident from their body language, from the way she basically rubs herself against him. He’s got a hand on her hip, fingers working under the hem of her white shirt, and I dry-swallow hard, resisting the bile rising up to my throat.
This is quickly shaping up to be a worst-case scenario. My worst enemy, Elias, with the queen bitch herself, Giselle. I can only imagine how these two might plot against me. Lorna doesn’t worry me. She won’t do anything without her bestie’s approval, anyway, which is downright pathetic, and she’s also extremely predictable. Giselle, not so much. No, Giselle is dangerous, and Elias is even worse. He knows too much about me.
I can’t let them see me worried about them, so I put on a straight face. It feels like concrete paralyzing my cheeks, but I hold onto the sensation as I walk past them. There are more students around me, moving in the same direction. Hopefully, none of the three assholes noticed me.
“Welcome back, Kira,” Giselle’s soft voice comes through, and my jaw clenches, almost reflexively. Son of a bitch.
I reach my locker, with Elias, Giselle and Lorna just a few feet to my right, now. Turning my head slowly, I find that none of them are smiling—not even in a sarcastic or murderous way. I give them a brief nod and work the combination into my lock, then open the door while holding my breath. There’s nothing in here to cause any alarm. It’s untouched, thank the stars.
Shoving
my bag inside, I retrieve a couple of books, a notepad and a pen before I put the lock back on. I can feel their eyes on me this whole time, burning through my skin and into my flesh.
“I see you’re walking fine,” Giselle adds, obviously looking to stir some kind of trouble. Dammit, it’s my first day. I really don’t want to indulge her this early in the game. But she’s probably dying to rub her prima ballerina position in my face.
“I see you’re still crap with sarcasm,” I mutter, walking towards them. There’s no other way in, unfortunately. I have to interact with these three in order to get to class. The pain in ankle begins to swell, blistering heat working outwards to make my existence miserable, once more. Perfect timing.
Elias cocks his head to the side. “Aren’t you going to welcome me to Trinity High? I’m new here,” he says, a mischievous sparkle in his forest green eyes. He’s cut his hair since I last saw him as they wheeled me out of the dance hall. It looks good on him. Elias is bursting with sex appeal, as usual. Damn him. If he were ugly, it’d be so much easier not to hate him as much as I do. But then again, if he were ugly, he wouldn’t be able to get away with half the shit he does.
“I’m sure the school’s welcoming committee handled that already,” I reply dryly, eager to get into class. Elias moves, putting himself between me and my path.
“Yeah, but I would appreciate a warmer welcome from you, in particular, since we go way back and all that.”
Giselle perks up at that and pushes herself closer to Elias. I’m not sure how much he’s told her about us, but if the way she’s acting is anything to go by, he hasn’t said much. She’s trying to claim her territory – to make it known that he belongs to her and her alone. Good for the both of them.
Rolling my eyes, I take a deep breath and shoot him a cold and flat smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Welcome to Trinity High, Elias. I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you here, but I will do my best to stay away since you’re such a fucking pain in my ass—and not the good kind, either. I hope you’ve got your class schedule already. Stay away from the linguini they occasionally serve here. It’s definitely one of the lesser dishes prepared at Trinity. Oh, and try not to get too involved with the ladies here. Some,” I say, looking at Giselle and Lorna for a moment, “have souls so tiny and black, yet legs so easily spreadable...”
Trinity High: High School Bully Romance Page 28
