Rich Riot

by Henry, Max

  “Damn.” She pops a cherry tomato in her mouth.

  I ignore the twitch in my pants her lips pursing in such a way causes. “I have insider info that says she’s applying for admission in the city here.”

  Greer’s fork hits the side of the plate. “Here?”

  “Or Portside. Nothing confirmed yet.”

  “Why?” she hisses, leaning in close. “If she was expelled, why would they take her?”

  “Money talks,” I mutter, staring off at a plain-looking redhead opposite our table. “Cash can get you places. You know that.” The girl catches my eye and damn near combusts on the spot when I smile.

  Huh. Still works on the commoners, so how the fuck is Greer still standing?

  “She better not turn up here.” Greer envelops another juicy red orb, her lips surrounding the vegetable.

  I expel a laboured sigh. “If she does, she’ll be a nobody.”

  “You can’t guarantee that.” Greer twists, eyeballing Richard and Ingrid seated beside one another. “Especially if they get hold of her.”

  “They won’t.” I scowl at Christian when he catches my eye.

  “It’s two against four if you include Arthur,” she murmurs. “The odds are against us.” Her fork dives into another cherry tomato. Lord, help me. “Speaking of which, where the hell is Barrett? Where does he fit in when he comes back?”

  “If he comes back.” I blow out a heavy breath, ruffling my overgrown hair.

  “You know something.” Greer narrows her gaze on me. “Spill.”

  “The official word from his parents is that he’s struck down by glandular fever.”

  “But?”

  I reach out and snag my bottle of water. “I have a few nosey-neighbours who seem to think he’s in rehab.”

  She has no words. Greer lifts an eyebrow in question.

  “Opioids,” I explain. “Abusing prescription drugs.”

  “Huh.” She resumes picking her salad apart. “I never would have picked it. Explains why those jerks prefer to keep quiet about it.”

  “That’s why I’m not sure if it’s accurate. Never saw signs of it myself.”

  “How well do we know people, though, right?”

  A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Right.” I lean back and bump her leg under the table. “Can we discuss yesterday?”

  “What of it?” Her expression takes on a scary new level of indifference.

  “Do you expect to pretend nothing happened?”

  Greer’s dark eyes flick to mine. “No, Colt. I intend to acknowledge it happened and that’s why I should never talk about it or think about it again.”

  “How dull your life must be.” I scowl at her. “Pushing away your needs and wants to fulfil what’s expected of you.”

  “Smooth.” She shoves what’s left of the salad away. “You plan to emotionally blackmail me into more, do you?”

  “I intend to exploit your weakness.”

  “Which is?”

  “Me.”

  She stares at me a beat before bursting out a sharp bark of laughter. “Your vanity knows no bounds, Colt.”

  “Confidence,” I correct. “I’m not vain. I just know what I want, and I don’t see the point in dallying about when I can be blunt and get it.”

  “You think you can ‘get’ me?” Greer nods tightly. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “You shouldn’t argue with your friends when you don’t have many.”

  Her eyes darken, the irises gaining tiny flecks of charcoal amongst the rich browns. “You think I sit with you because I have no choice?”

  “Don’t you?” I can’t explain why I’m such an arsehole.

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  Oh, wait. Yes, I can. She wounded my pride—a pet hate of mine.

  Greer rises from her seat, snatches up her bag, and promptly marches that tight little arse over to the rest of the Chosen. I lean back in the chair, legs splayed wide, and watch her attempt at re-joining her old crew.

  She has no interest in their agenda. She went out of anger to prove a point to me. Any second now they’ll throw her out with a healthy dose of ridicule and she’ll slink back over here, tail between her fantastically long legs.

  Christian pulls an empty seat beside him out for her.

  I bite my bottom lip as she plonks her round arse on the cushion and blends right in.

  Mother. Fucker. That girl just snatched the director’s hat off my goddamn head and displayed who really runs the show around here.

  If she thought this would be a great way to put me off then, damn, has little Greer got another thing coming.

  I swear I just fell in love.

  GREER

  This is awkward as hell. But as long as Colt can’t tell, I’ll play along.

  “What do you want, Greer?” Ingrid snaps, still milking the leg.

  “Now, now.” Christian soothes her with a raised hand. “Play nice.” He turns his golden eyes on me. “What is it you need?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap. “I came to see if the news has spread to your filthy corner of the halls yet.”

  I catch Colt’s departure in my peripheral vision.

  “What news could you have that would interest us?” Ingrid asks.

  “Amber has left Arcadia High and rumour has it she’s headed into Riverbourne.”

  “Oh joy,” Richard drawls. “We get another visit, huh? Is that all you had to say?”

  “Not a visit, you idiot.” I roll my eyes. “Expelled. She’s transferring her schooling.”

  “To us?” Ingrid positively spits. “No. She is not coming here.” Her thumbs fly to her phone, and I can guarantee before I have a chance to draw my next breath Libby will know too.

  “Not guaranteed yet. She may attend Portside.” I rise from the seat. “I thought you should know, though.”

  “Why?” Christian asks. “Why do us the favour?”

  I shrug. “Thought you might want to get your affairs in order.” I tap my lips with my pointer finger. “Or was that cover up your affairs? Ugh. Whatever it is, just thought you should know.”

  “Bitch,” Ingrid murmurs while I saunter away, bag slung in the crook of my arm.

  I manage to maintain some semblance of cool confidence until I get myself into the closest girls’ bathroom. My stomach roils worse than when I smell greasy burgers after a day of fasting. I can’t get my message out to Lacey fast enough.

  G: What do you know about Amber? Is she coming to Riverbourne Prep?

  Arse leant against the edge of the vanity, I wait on her reply. She should be at break too, able to message me back.

  L: I only just heard the news. I don’t know.

  G: Colt has some insider who thinks she may go to Portside.

  My hand shakes. I wish I were there to tell her in person, but this couldn’t wait. As much as I detest the thought of Amber sharing our halls, attending Portside makes matters ten times worse for Lacey.

  L: Are you sure?

  G: Call Colt. You need to talk to him about this.

  L: Yeah. Okay. Thanks, hon.

  G: Always here for you :*

  My phone slides into my Prada tote, hitting the bottom with a thud. I spin to face the mirror, drawing a deep breath and then flicking the ends of my hair out over my shoulders.

  My father says that I have my mother’s eyes, but as I stand here now losing all sense of myself, I recognise his shrewd determination in the vibrant caramel flecks. I lean a little closer—a first-year girl entering the room behind me—and examine the pout of my bottom lip. I have a full pout. I know that. But as I twist my head slightly to one side, I can’t help but view my mouth in an entirely new light.

  Colt stares at it when I talk. He made a point of pulling the rose-tinted flesh between his teeth when he kissed me.

  My fingertips brush against the glossed skin, my arm glancing across the sensitive bud of my nipple sheathed by no more than my thin school shirt. I shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. W
hy is he in my head?

  I’ve always been viewed as the sweet and bubbly character in our clique. Relied upon to make my friends laugh, I’ve always been there to make sure my friends feel good, no matter what stress they face at home or school.

  But since the breakdown of our structure, since the fracture of our petty monarchy, Colt has viewed me differently. And if I’m entirely honest with myself, that’s what I love.

  He recognises the strength in me. He sees me as more than a pretty face.

  I’m my own woman when I’m around him.

  “What the hell was that stunt you pulled out there?”

  Hand snapping away from my face, I lean back to face Ingrid. I never heard her come in. “Excuse me?”

  She limps forward, crowding me against the marble vanity. “They’re mine until Libby returns. Got it?”

  Oh, she’s so delusional it’s almost sad. I scoff. “You think I’m trying to steal your harem from you?”

  “Don’t be cute about it.” Ingrid leans in close.

  I squint to make sure I’m not seeing things. “Are those … lash extensions?” She’s always been completely engrossed in her sport, uninterested in beauty to the extent the rest of us are.

  “So what if they are?” She jerks back, her scowl still firmly affixed. “Do you think that looking your best is exclusively for you now?”

  Ugh. “No,” I say on a sigh. “I was merely making an observation.” I narrow my gaze on her, the back foot she had me on with her surprise arrival fading. “What’s changed with you? You were never interested in the politics of what we did, just the perks. Why the sudden turnaround, Ingy?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” She feigns indifference, checking her reflection in the oval mirror. “What’s with the mistress routine with Colt?”

  “Pardon?” Palm to my throat, I lift an eyebrow.

  “You heard me.” She waves a limp hand toward me. “You throw yourself at his feet like some desperate housewife looking for her next sugar daddy.” Ingrid laughs. “Do you honestly think he can take over this school on his own?”

  “He’s not alone.” A surge of anger heats my cheeks. “And even if all he has is me, then that’s more than what you have in all three of your jocks combined.”

  “Careful.” Her left eye twitches. “I’m sure Arthur would be hurt to hear you speak of him in such a way.” She smirks at my confused response. “Yeah, that’s right. I know you two are still friendly in class.”

  “You’ve got people spying on me?” I cough a laugh. “How insecure are you?”

  “Informed,” she corrects, gesturing to her leg. “When my best promise of getting ahead in this damn social circle may never be what it was, then yes, I find renewed interest in other ways to climb the ladder.” Her eyes rove the length of me. “You may have looks on your side and parents with more money than sense, but some of us have to work to keep what we have.”

  “You think you’re disadvantaged because your parents fell into this life through fame?”

  The girl from earlier exits her stall. “Excuse me.” Her whispered words barely register as I step back automatically to let her use the basin.

  Ingrid eyeballs the girl until she leaves with such haste she forgoes drying her hands.

  “I don’t think I’m disadvantaged, Greer. I know I am.” For a fleeting moment, I see a glimpse of the terrified girl beneath all this bravado.

  I know her.

  I am her.

  “Do you honestly believe losing this life would be that bad?” I ask on a whisper.

  Ingrid studies me, her expression hardening once more. “I think you know the answer to that yourself, don’t you?”

  She spins somewhat ungainly with her strapped foot and limps out the door.

  Hands to the edge of the vanity, I return to the reflection of a girl before me. Only this time it’s not my lush lips that I focus on.

  It’s the audacity of a naïve young woman to think she could be anything other than who she was born to be.

  LACEY

  How on earth am I supposed to sit through fourth period on a Thursday after that bombshell from Greer? Amber? Attending Portside?

  No, no, absolutely no.

  I swipe through and tap on Colt’s number as I hustle to class. Phone to my ear, I don’t even notice Dee until I damn near bowl her over on my away through the archway.

  “What?” I snap, ending the unconnected call.

  She folds her arms across herself, staring at me in silence.

  “As great as this wee chat is,” I sass, “I need to go.”

  “You shouldn’t come this weekend.”

  Seriously? This has shades of Barrett back in Riverbourne. “Really? And why is that?” I match her stance; arms folded.

  “Amber has a surprise planned. I think it would be best for you to stay out of it.”

  “Is that so?” I narrow my gaze on her.

  She stares back stoically.

  “A surprise for who?”

  The grin that slowly tugs at her lips is creepy. I’m honestly concerned about this girl’s mental health after what Tuck told me about her feeling left out all the time.

  “You’ll hear about it,” is all she says before taking a backward step and moving off toward her next lesson.

  The bell chimes from the main hall, pealing out across the grounds. “Damn it.” At this rate, I’ll be kept in anyway after Dad gets a notice that I’m always late.

  I manage to slide into Math with a lame excuse about a damaged keyhole on my locker. Twenty minutes into the theory revision, my phone lights up from its spot hidden on my lap under the desk. I lift my eyes to the teacher, checking he still sits head down in his paperwork at the front of the class, and then slide the device onto my desk. With it hidden behind the thick textbook splayed on today’s subject, I swipe to open Colt’s message.

  C: What did you call for? Everything okay?

  L: Who told you Amber might go to Portside?

  I receive a line of sly smiling emojis.

  C: Heard about that, huh?

  L: Spit it out. Who told you?

  In other words, are they reliable, or is this all gossip?

  C: Willow.

  What the hell?

  L: I thought you guys weren’t talking anymore?

  C: We weren’t. Now I need something, so we are.

  L: What are you up to?

  C: Never you mind. Leave it with me, sis. I’ll tell you if I hear more.

  L: Likewise.

  I glance toward the front again to check I’m still in the clear.

  C: And don’t fret. She didn’t mention you at all.

  I want to say that’s reassuring, but it doesn’t ease my mind at all. I left Portside for a reason, and that reason was promised to stay buried with my history.

  Honestly, though. How much worse could things get out here? What would a little extra gossip do?

  It would lose respect with your father for one. Shit.

  Head down, I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. Days like this, I feel as though my future is in a damn blender. All the factors swirl around in the blades, mixing into one indecipherable blur of colours while I’m that stubborn ingredient bouncing around on top, completely out of control.

  The remainder of the class passes with my textbook failing to change page and my head failing to retain anything new. All I can do is toss the idea over and over in my mind. I gather up my things and blindly walk to my final class for the day with one quandary stuck on repeat.

  Do I strike first?

  Should I get in touch with Willow and raise the subject? If she has no intention of letting secrets slip, then all I may be doing is lifting the lid on Pandora’s box. But if she does see this as an opportunity to win over the new girl, she may use the ammo against me to get Amber onside.

  Ugh. Choices.

  “Earth to Lacey.” Maggie leaps into my path, waving her palm in front of my face. “You in there?”

  “H
ey. Yeah,” I answer, half-heartedly. “Somewhere.”

  “Last class for the day. Yay.” She raises both fists in a mock celebration.

  I give a weak smile.

  “Okay. Spill. What the hell have I missed now?” She wrangles me to the side of the busy hall, semi-secluding us with her back to the other students.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Good thing I love epics, huh?” She lifts an eyebrow.

  I sag against the wall. I can’t be bothered giving life to it. I want to push this back down into the hole it resided in the past three years and cement it there.

  “Is this to do with you and Tuck fighting?”

  I snap my gaze to Mags. “Did he tell you?”

  She shrugs, lifting one eyebrow as she does. “If you call him accosting me about my part in the circumstances ‘telling’ me, then sure.”

  “Ugh.” I sag further, contemplating skipping fifth period altogether.

  “We argued about me going to Dee’s at the weekend, right?”

  Maggie nods.

  “And then he told me I should go back to Riverbourne if I want a perfect guy.”

  Maggie’s lips turn down at the corners. “That’s quite the escalation.”

  “There were other things said between,” I cede. “But that’s the crux of it.”

  “But that’s not what’s bothering you now?” Her gaze narrows on me, black hair falling into her face when she ducks her chin.

  “No.” I look away.

  Maggie sighs. “Fuck fifth period.” One hand beneath my arm, she sweeps me out of my self-pitying state against the wall. “We need yum-yums for this.”

  “Yum-yums?” I manage to repeat while laughing.

  She nods. “Cookies, coffee, hot chocolate, sweet pastries … you name it. Yum-yums.”

  I clinch her arm tight, leaning my head against her shoulder as we walk. “You’re the best. You know that?”

  “I try.” She pats my hand like a parent. “Mostly I just like having you around.”

  I squeeze her harder.

  “Now tell me why the hell you’re wandering the halls like a zombie.”

  “You’re not going to look at me the same after this,” I warn.

  Maggie laughs. “Dude. Unless you’re about to tell me something that makes me suddenly view you as more than a friend, then I really don’t care what you have to say.”