Trinity High: High School Bully Romance

by Savannah Rose

  Exhaling sharply, I point at the bar. “Mojitos. For free. Go.”

  Giselle looks petrified. Like she’s not sure what the fuck just happened. That makes two of us.

  I speed-walk out into the back garden, where the event organizer has set up a second bar. I can feel Elias’s eyes on me, and I can hear Giselle laughing, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I glance back and spot them farther away from me.

  Some young executive tries to rub himself against me—part of the dance crowd that’s spilling around the pool. I push him away and sneak between the increasingly horny and sweaty bodies, finally reaching the bar. Ordering myself a frozen margarita, I turn around to briefly check the state of things.

  “They’ll be drunk enough for the auction, soon enough,” I mutter.

  “That’s more money for your dad’s charity, right?” Elias’s voice startles me. I didn’t even see him coming. He’s standing next to me by the bar, but there’s no Giselle in sight.

  “What the hell?” I manage. “I thought I made it clear that I don’t want to be anywhere close to you. Where’s Miss Good Enough?”

  Elias smirks, his green gaze penetrating my very soul, even through his carnival mask. There is something dangerously seductive about him, and I’m still not used to these feelings I’ve been having, where he’s concerned. I grew up hating his guts and, at the same time, wondering why we could never be friends—though I’ve always had the answer to the latter. Our dads. Their feud pitted us against one another.

  Besides, he’s with Giselle. Elias has got to be a terrible human being if he finds anything about her appealing enough to display their relationship in public. Or maybe he’s just doing this to piss me off, knowing how much I hate her. Maybe he’s screwing her just to get back at me. Lord knows I’ve done my share of bad things where Elias is concerned. The scoreboard is even, though. He’s anything but a saint.

  “I left her by the mojito bar,” Elias says after a long pause. “Kira, I meant it back there. It’s time we grow up and put this stupid war behind us.”

  The last time we had a decent conversation that didn’t end in a fist fight was six months before his father died. I’m not sure what has happened to Elias since, but I can tell that there are new shades to his palette of twisted greys. Something has changed, though I’m not sure what it is, exactly. He’s got to have an endgame here…

  “Is that why you brought Giselle into my home? Because you want to make peace?” I ask, anger bubbling beneath the surface. My margarita is ready, so I drink it. Fast. Ignoring the subsequent brain freeze as I ask for another one.

  “Come on, you don’t honestly believe she tripped you on purpose last year,” Elias replies, though I can pick up on the sliver of doubt that’s bugging him.

  “You weren’t there,” I say. “She had no business being so close to me, in the first place.”

  “It had to have been a mistake.”

  “Tell me with a straight face that Giselle is the kind of person who makes such… mistakes,” I reply, eagerly waiting for my second drink so I can get away from Elias. The closer he is, the harder it becomes for me to breathe.

  The air between us is intense, supercharged with some kind of electricity. My heart keeps skipping beats, and my stomach twists itself into dully painful knots… and yet I can’t look away. The depth of his green gaze is downright hypnotizing. I can’t help but wonder how he guessed about the whip. Yes, I keep it in a drawer in my nightstand. I’ve not had the chance to use it, just like he said. God, if he figures out I’m a virgin, too, I’m screwed six ways from Sunday…

  Something changes between us. The tension rises. He takes a step forward, leaving only a few inches of space. I can barely breathe, now. Something about it reminds me of the time he kissed me – a memory that the both of us have done every goddamn thing to forget.

  “Are you sure you’re not just blaming her for your own mistake?” Elias asks, and he seems genuine in his inquiry, which just pisses me off.

  “I’ve been a ballerina since I was five years old,” I say calmly. “I’ve done the Nutcracker routine at least thirty times for each of the roles, including the Mouse King. Trust me, Elias. I know Giselle tripped me. There were no cameras in the dance hall, otherwise I would’ve had proof, too.”

  He thinks about it for a while, then exhales sharply as I finally get my second margarita. “You should let go, still, Kira. Especially if you can’t prove it.”

  “What are you really doing here?” I ask, eager to change the subject and unable to stop myself from stirring at least a small whirlwind of trouble. I know Elias. He can’t resist a little conflict, no matter where we are. “I’m not buying that peaceful angle bullshit. If that were true, you wouldn’t have shown up with Giselle here, to begin with. So, what is this about?”

  Elias throws his head back, laughing. “Oh, Kira…”

  My name sounds strange in the way it rolls off his tongue. For the briefest of moments, I imagine him whispering it in my ear, his hands moving up and down my body—it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fantasized such things, though I would never admit it.

  “You see conspiracies everywhere,” Elias adds, resting an elbow on the bar table. Other guests are piling behind him, refilling their Long Island Iced Teas and double Screwdrivers. They’re terrible at drinking, but much easier to squeeze for donations because of it. No wonder Dad keeps inviting them to his charity events. “My father is gone. There’s no point in continuing this feud when our companies would be stronger through collaboration, not through rivalry.”

  “You see, I’d like to believe that, Elias, but I know you too well. You promised my dad that you’d be the one to bury him.”

  “I was sixteen!”

  “Right. Because it’s in your nature to say things you don’t mean.” It’s my turn to laugh in his face. I raise my drink and walk away, just as Giselle makes her way through the garden crowd in a bid to reach Elias. She looks pissed. Like she’s ready to rip him a new one for being over here with me.

  “Have fun with pink tutu over there,” I say, and flash him a smile. “Just make sure you wear a condom.”

  There is bitterness in my voice, but I can’t control it. I fucking hate her. I hate her and I hate him and I hate this goddamn pain in my ankle. I hate that this is what my life has come to. That enemies can barge my home and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it.

  I down this margarita faster than the first, crushing what’s left of the ice between my teeth. Hopefully, I’ll be numb soon enough. I grab a champagne flute from one of the trays paraded around by our masked waiters and I make myself comfortable in my gazebo. It’s far enough from the party for me to get an inkling of privacy.

  A couple is making out on the bench in front of me, practically soiling the sanctity of my garden gazebo. The guy looks at me and smiles, his lips wet and his cheeks flushed, one hand cupping his date’s full breast through her red dress. “You wanna join us, sweetie?”

  I flip him off. “No, I want you to get the fuck out of my gazebo so I can have a drink in peace.”

  Flustered, the couple scramble to their feet and rejoin the party crowd. I have to admit, there are certain perks to being the host of a party. This is one of them. I watch them mingle and eventually get lost in the plethora of dancing and grinding, my gaze wandering until I find Elias again. Giselle has her arms hooked around his neck, pulling herself closer, her hips swaying as she rubs herself against him.

  He grips her firmly by the ass, and it feels like it’s my fucking heart he has in his hands. I hate her. I hate him. They deserve each other. So why the hell does it bother me so much? Why the hell does seeing them together feel worse than having them torture me individually?

  They kiss and bile rises to the tip of my tongue.

  I need another drink. Luckily for me, I don’t have to wander too far. Someone left half a bottle of champagne on the bench next to me. Thanking the fates, I start downing it, urging myself not to look at Elias and Gis
elle again. My ankle starts to throb.

  “Motherfucker…” I whisper, cringing from the pain. I’m not even wearing my six-inch heels. Where the fuck is this coming from? The doctor keeps telling me my ankle is okay, that there’s barely a trace left of the fracture. I don’t get it…

  Grinding my teeth together, I try with all my might to focus on something different.

  Elias and Giselle are dancing. It’s a semi-slow ballad, perfect for all kinds of preludes. He’s tall, practically towering over her. She’s hot for him. It’s not hard to see why. By all standard definitions, Elias is one hell of a catch. Though still a high school senior, he’s already involved in his father’s business. His backup school is Yale, for Pete’s sake. His trust fund could buy him a couple of third-world countries. He’s smart. He’s strong and determined. Wicked sense of humor. I know for sure he’s got a dark side, too, but that’s what makes him all the more appealing. God, and how pissed would my dad be, if… It almost makes me want to consider the possibility of hooking up with the Dressler, just to see the look on my dad’s face. Just to disappoint him at least a fraction of the way he’s constantly disappointing me. And Giselle… she’d be the icing on the cake.

  “Jesus Christ, Kira,” I mutter to myself and chug more of the champagne.

  Just when my thoughts calm down, the pain in my ankle amplifies, regardless of how much alcohol I put into my body. I need to do something before I start crying. It always escalates. It gets so sharp, so intense and so unbearable, that I end up screaming without my pills. Fumbling through my bejeweled clutch, I find the precious silver box and pop two Oxys, washing them down with champagne.

  I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to drink while taking these, but the more I try to tough it out, the more it hurts. I need to numb myself and get through the night. Dad’s busy entertaining the guests and pretending he knows where I am. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.

  WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER

  KIRA

  The last time I saw Elias Dressler was three months ago. Three months and nine days, if I’m trying to be exact about it. Tonight, I’ll see him again. Tonight, I’ll be able to apologize for how much of an ass I was the last time I saw him. It doesn’t matter that Janelle thinks he’s the one who needs to apologize for pushing me. If someone was as mean to something that I loved as I was to his dog, I’d want to push them too.

  I’m sitting in my mother’s dressing room, waiting for her makeup team to finish dolling her up. She doesn’t need makeup. She’s absolutely gorgeous just the way it is. But she likes the art of it, just like I do. The vibrancy of cherry red lips and the way pink blushed cheeks help your cheekbones to stand out.

  “You’re looking at me with those eyes, Kira.” Mom smiles at me and stands up even though her team isn’t quite done with her yet. She pinches my cheeks and presses her forehead against mine. “You’re growing up way too fast, Kira girl,” she says, shaking her head. It almost looks like she’s about to cry. Happy tears, of course. But then, she tilts her head back and sucks in a deep breath. “If I ruin my mascara, they’ll have to start right from scratch.”

  The team of ladies behind her chuckles. My mother sets her gaze back on me before turning around to her makeup table and pulling away a makeup brush and a jar of blush. Carefully, she moves the brush in the brush palette, then gently, sweeps it across my cheeks.

  “Don’t tell your dad,” she warns. Another secret to keep from dad. I love it.

  I hold my pinkie out to her. “Pinkie promise,” I say and kiss her finger when she links it with mine.

  “Do you have all your stuff together?” I nod and look over to my ballet bag sitting at the foot of the chair I’m seated in. “Nervous?” mom asks.

  I shake my head. I know that I’m young. And I know that at this age, it would be normal for me to be terrified of the crowds of people who’ll be watching me. But dance comes to me naturally. As soon as I have my ballet shoes on, it’s like I’m the only one in the world. Just me and the music and the ability to defy gravity, if only for a few little seconds.

  “I’m so proud of you,” mom says. “You have no idea. At your age….whew.” She blows out a breath, “I wasn’t even half as good.”

  That’s not exactly true. I’ve seen videos of my mom dancing. She was as close to perfection as perfection gets. But I like the fact that she’s nice to my ego. It’s one of the starkest contrasts between her and my dad.

  “Mrs. Malone,” one of the ladies from her makeup team interrupts us. “We’re getting close to the time you should be leaving.”

  Mom pinches my cheeks again before rushing back to her chair. The entire time she sits there, she has her eyes on me. In them, I see pride. In them, I see love. It’s crazy just how different she is from my dad. Not that he doesn’t love me. I’m sure he does. He just…well, he just isn’t very good at showing it sometimes.

  ***

  Less than an hour later, we’re stepping outside of the Limo. We picked Janelle up on the way here, so I’ve got my favorite person by my side. And dad… Well, dad’s not here yet, he and Janelle’s dad had to work a little bit later. I’m perfectly fine with that, especially since I’ve already spotted Elias.

  “Sweetie,” mom says, and pulls me closer to her side before bending down to whisper in my ear. “I see the way that you’re looking at him.”

  “I was really mean to him last time, mom,” I confess. She’s not as cruel as dad when it comes to Elias. Of course, she doesn’t want me talking to him, but I don’t get the feeling that she’ll give me up for adoption if I disobey her.

  Mom shakes her head at me. “Be careful, Kira. You know your father. If he even thinks that you catch a whiff of Elias Dressler…” She doesn’t finish her statement. She doesn’t have to.

  “I’ll just apologize. That’s it,” I say.

  She doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t shake her head either. Probable deniability, I guess. I’m not quite sure what the word means, but she’s said it to me quite a few times. Always when she doesn’t quite allow me to do something but doesn’t stop me from doing it either. Just at that moment a few other adults storm toward her, pulling her away from our conversation.

  “You girls be good,” she yells back at me and Janelle. “And Kira, don’t forget…in an hour you need to start getting ready. I’ll come find you, just in case you need some help.”

  Janelle and I practically sprint around back and into the garden. This event is a little different from most of the ones my family attends. For starters, it’s not just some big fancy building. We’re in an actual house, with an actual garden. It’s a lot freer here and I like it a lot better already.

  A quick stroll through the garden and then I’m inside my house, looking for the room that has my name taped onto the door. It’s where I’m supposed to get changed when I’m ready to dance. Janelle spots the room first and drags me along, giddily pushing the door open. Both our mouths drop wide as we feast our eyes upon the room. It’s absolutely stunning. And a heck of a lot better than the bathrooms I’m used to changing in in events like this.

  I drop my bag on the small, grey, velvety sofa in the corner of the room and then we’re tearing through the place like we’re trying to set an Olympic record.

  “Okay, so, if you want to talk to him, now’s your chance.” Janelle yanks on my arm. I look up and lo and behold he’s there, a group of friends around him, and a don’t-mess-with-me look set sharp in his jaw.

  I can feel my palms sweating. Maybe if I strap on my ballet shoes, I’ll feel less nervous about talking to Elias. Of course, that’s not going to happen, so I’ll just have to work up the courage some other way.

  “Come on, Kira. You don’t have all day.”

  “Okay, okay,” I whisper back.

  One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. Four.

  I try to steady a smile on my face as I walk toward Elias. The fact that he’s watching me walk toward him and his friends doesn’t help my nervousness.

&nbs
p; “You mind if I talk to you for a second?” I ask. I’ve got my hands clasped tightly in front of me, which is probably the only reason I’m not shaking like a damn leaf right now.

  “You’re already talking,” Elias says. His words sting. But I try my best not to show just how much.

  One of his friends, a bushy eyebrowed kid with chestnut hair, laughs. Elias shoots him a gaze that could double freeze fire and that laughter stops within a heartbeat. There’s no questioning who the head of the pack is here.

  “Okay. Yeah. I guess you have a point,” I say. “Well. About Sally. I just wanted to apologize for-“

  “No worries. Don’t sweat it. Not a problem at all.” Three ways of saying the same damn thing. None of them effective because:

  1. I am worrying.

  2. I’m sweating profusely.

  3. I kinda feel like it was a problem.

  “Okay. Well, yeah. I mean, I just…It’s just that…I didn’t mean what I said that day, okay. I liked Sally and I’m sorry that she’s no longer around.”

  “I said don’t sweat it, Kira.” I don’t like the tone of his voice, but I can’t exactly blame him for it.

  “All’s forgiven?” I ask.

  He laughs a little at that. “Something like that,” he says, then snaps his fingers and gestures for his ‘boys’ to trot behind him…

  For the rest of the night, I barely see Elias. I don’t think anything of it. There are a crap load of kids at this event. Plus, we’ve already said our pieces to each other. I’m not happy about the way things went, but I can’t change them either. After all, I can’t continue to run after him just to barely mutter a couple of words.

  I head to the room I’ve been assigned, excited to escape reality for a moment. I already feel a heck of a lot better as I peel my backpack open. And then, reaching inside, my stomach drops. I search around for my water bottle, but it’s not there. Which is just what I expect. So why the hell is my bag wet? And why the hell are my ballet shoes drenched? I pull them out, and that’s when I catch a whiff of something pungent. Piss. There’s no way it’s anything else.