by Angel Lawson
“Ms. Warren, can you hold back for a second?”
“Sure,” I say. “Something wrong?”
Mrs. Banks addresses me, “Eden, I’m aware that you’ve gone through some challenges during your time at Sparrowood. The hazing and bullying. The sexual advances from boys. But you’ve also created a strong foothold with your academics and creating the self-defense group. I’m proud of your accomplishments. I know it hasn’t been easy.”
Wow. I’m stunned she’s noticed. “It hasn’t.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing, Eden,” she says, reaching out and grasping my arm. “I know it may feel like you’re caught in quicksand, but you and the boys are making progress here. Sparrowood has needed to clean house for years, and you’ve made a solid dent.” Her expression shifts, turning serious. “Although I want the violence to stop, do not hesitate to defend or document any altercations between yourself and Trip. Also, feel free to stay away from him. Focus on your studies and report to Mr. Miller as needed.”
“I will,” I say. “I’m committed to making Sparrowood work. Thank you for the opportunity.”
I’m dismissed, and I walk into the lobby. The guys are gone—probably back to eat before the dining hall is closed. The door shuts behind me, and I see Dorian.
“I heard about Hope,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “You K-Boys gossip like middle-schoolers.”
“Sometimes,” he admits. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” I say. I hadn’t seen him since before the break. I’d been raw and humiliated on several levels, but I’d gained some perspective since then. “I want to apologize for what happened between us that night—”
“No apologies are needed. You were vulnerable, and I didn’t see what was really going on. You needed me to step up and be a leader.” His dark eyes hold mine. “I should apologize to you.”
“I could have told you.”
He grimaces. “We all made a lot of mistakes in how we handled that situation. Honesty is important, especially when dealing with people like Trip. They have no integrity, it’s up to us to do better.”
A pulse beats between us. It may just be chemistry or the simple fact Dorian is forbidden. It could be that like my sister, I like trouble, just the gritter, familiar kind.
“I should go get some dinner before they shut down the dining hall,” I say, knowing I need some distance.
“Good idea.” He swallows and on impulse, reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear. A tingling rush runs down my limbs. “That night in my apartment, don’t blame yourself for what happened—or didn’t happen. You’re a beautiful girl, Eden, saying no to you may have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the sound of Mrs. Baker coming out of her office cuts me off.
“Mr. Miller, do you have a minute?” she asks, barely glancing at us.
“Of course,” he replies, giving me one last look before turning away.
I bolt from the office, heart thundering. I have no idea what’s happening with Dorian or if anything ever will, but to hear him admit my feelings weren’t one-sided made me feel a little bit saner.
And a tiny bit thrilled.
7
Theo
“So listen,” I say as we walk down the hallway between classes. “I’m going to ask Coach Dawson to let us off the hook for swim lessons this semester.”
“Oh yeah?” she says, pushing her hair over her shoulder. I get a waft of fresh-smelling shampoo. “You trying to get rid of me?”
“No, but we have detention and service hours taking up so much of our time, I figured you’d want a break.” The truth is, I love the swim lessons with Eden. It gives us a time alone, and I can usually make up an excuse to touch her in the water. The tight bathing suit doesn’t hurt, either.
“I thought maybe you’d want to help me learn a few strokes.”
“You want to learn more?”
“Treading water and holding my breath is great, but it’s not really swimming.”
“No,” I say, holding back a smile, “it’s not.”
“Good. So we’re still on.”
“Bright and early.”
She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “See you at detention, I guess.”
“Yeah, see you there.” This afternoon is our first day, and I’m already dreading it.
Eden steps into her classroom, and I turn down the science hall.
“Mr. Higgins,” a voice calls a moment later. I turn and see a stocky woman with short, almost buzzed hair coming my direction. She’s wearing a red track suit with green stripes down the sleeves and legs. She stops in front of me, barely coming up to my chest. “I’m Coach Spinks—from the swim team.”
My fingers grip my backpack strap just a little tighter. “Nice to meet you.”
“Coach Dawson tells me you’re quite the swimmer. That you were a leader in your youth leagues and broke some records.”
“I did, once upon a time.”
She tilts her head up and studies me. “I’d like to offer you an invitation to try out for the team. Practices are every afternoon at 4 p.m. in the aquatics building.”
The small amount of excitement I had dulls. “Sorry, I have detention every afternoon with Mr. Miller.”
“For how long?”
“For the foreseeable future, unfortunately.”
“That is unfortunate.” Her eyes skim my arms. “You’ve got quite the wing span. Butterfly?”
“My best stroke, yes.”
“Let me talk to Mr. Miller—you show up in your suit at 4 p.m.”
She’s like a tiny general. I’m a little scared to say no. “Are you sure?”
“I take my team seriously, Mr. Higgins. I want to win, and if you’re half as good as Coach Dawson says, the school needs you more in the water than sitting at a desk all afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Don’t be late.”
After lunch, Dorian finds me in the hallway. Eden and the guys stand nearby.
“Seems like you’ve got a potential fan.” I blink, trying to follow. Dorian rolls his eyes. “Coach Spinks.”
“Oh right.” I frown. “Did she come talk to you?”
“She demanded you be released from detention this afternoon for swim tryouts.” He laughs. “She’s a small, terrifying woman.”
“Right? So is it okay?”
“Yeah, I ran it past Mrs. Banks. We agree that a school sport is a valid excuse.” He sets his jaw. “Just don’t blow this, Theo.”
I hold his eye. “You don’t have to tell me that, Dorian.”
I don’t explain that this is the second chance that I’ve been looking for. An opportunity to get back in the pool and prove I have what it takes. Dorian nods and walks off. Gray raises an eyebrow and Eden asks, “What was that all about?”
“Looks like Sparrowood needs a new swimmer.”
“They invited you to swim on the team?” Eden asks, her eyes brighten.
“Yeah. A tryout, at least.”
“Congrats, man,” Gray says, giving me his fist to bump.
“You’re going to kill it,” Eden says. To my surprise, she pushes up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “For luck.”
My stomach twists with happiness. “Thanks.”
We continue down the hall, and I realize that maybe Eden was right about us taking advantage of Sparrowood and what it has to offer. It may be more than just a punishment, after all.
8
Eden
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Sparrowood, it’s that the students will use any shift in power as leverage. Denise seems intent on turning my incident with Trip into her chance to climb to the top. What she doesn’t know is that I don’t care—as long as she keeps her bullying to her own circle of friends.
Unfortunately, for her to take control she has to make sure the other girls know I’m weak, which means she’s taken to following me around and muttering little comments when she can.
&nb
sp; “Some leader you are,” she says one afternoon, cornering me in the bathroom by the sinks. “Telling everyone to fight back while you’re caught on your knees and then crying assault.”
I scrub the soap into my hands. “I never cried assault. No one forced me.”
That’s the hardest part of all this. No one did.
“So you’re just a cheater—times three.” She smirks. “Or maybe you just like your sister’s sloppy seconds. Do you share those boys with her, too?”
A mix of emotions flares in me. Pissed-off anger with a dash of hard-boiled possessiveness. I swallow back the rage and turn to face her. She’s not ugly, but her shitty disposition colors everything about her. I look her up and down, letting her know I see through her. “You know nothing about me and my sister, but what I know is that you’re just jealous because you’d give anything for Trip or his brother to beg you to be with them. That you wish you had three guys that have your back, and definitely not just for sex. That’ll defend me for who I am and not for how low I’ll go.” I take a deep, steadying breath. “I’m not here to play your games, not anymore. My sister may have joined in with you Brats, but I’m here to get an education and move on with my life, so if you want to call me names, understand that means more about you than me. I know who I am and I’m not beholden to anyone. Not anymore.”
The speech comes out in a rush, truthful and to the point. Denise looks at me with confusion, like my words can’t even process in her thick brain. I grab a paper towel, dry my hands and toss it in the trash, leaving it and the other garbage behind as I exit the room.
Theo waits outside, leaning against the opposite wall. He frowns when he sees me. “You okay?”
“Actually,” I say, tucking my hair over my ear, “I’ve never been better.”
We trickle into detention one at a time, each finding a desk in the small language arts room. Dorian sits at the front, like some kind of after school warden, his lap top and a stack of paperwork in front of him. Sometimes I wonder about his work at the academy. Does he really keep up with all the students? At times I feel like we’re the center of his universe, which may say more about me than anything else.
The old-fashioned clock behind the desk ticks off the minutes. I use the time to finish my homework, while a quick glance tells me that by day two Hawk is almost finished with our assigned book. Dorian does allow me to get up and assist Gray a few times with his math and Trip? He sulks in the back corner, furious that Theo got out of the punishment, while being reminded over and over not to fall asleep.
Dorian looks up as I walk in on the third afternoon. I’m the first one to arrive. He says, “I have a job for you this afternoon.”
“What kind of job?”
“They need some help in the laundry.”
“There’s a laundry?” I ask. I guess it makes sense. The school does provide towels and bed linens. We put them in the basket in the hall once a week. I’d never thought about it beyond that.
“In the basement,” he replies. “I’m not sure what they need help with, but they’ve asked for two extra helpers today. Thought you may want a break from detention.”
“Sure,” I say, hearing someone walk in behind me. It’s Trip. I give Dorian a pleading look not to assign him to work with me. A second later, Gray crosses the threshold with earbuds plugged in his ears.
“Mr. Mathers,” Dorian says. Gray looks up and pulls the headphones out. “You’re working with Ms. Warren in the laundry today.”
He shrugs and gives me a wink. “You’ve got it.”
In the hallway I ask, “Do you know where the laundry room is?”
He directs me toward a door underneath the staircase. I’d never noticed it before. “I thought you understood that there’s no stone left unturned in this place. Offices, classrooms, storage closets, maintenance…my magic key gets me into anything.”
“I would’ve thought after the trouble before Christmas, you’d give away that key.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure you know me as well as you think you do.”
I follow him down to the bottom floor. It’s more industrial down here. Cinderblock walls, low ceilings. We pass a few closed doors, each labeled; electrical, boiler, custodial, building manager, until we get to the laundry. It’s steamy and smells of bleach. There are several women, all in the same light blue uniform, working the big machines and folding clean, crisp white sheets that are then stacked on a long metal table.
One woman looks up at us, she sees Gray and smiles.
“Hello, pretty boy.”
“Marta, how are you?”
“Busy. My feet ache, you know?”
“I do know. Remember, you should soak your feet in Epsom salt, we talked about that.” He gestures to me. “Until then, today’s your lucky day. We’ve been sent to help out, what can we do?”
I watch this exchange in complete confusion. Gray and this older laundry worker seem to have some kind of history? Maybe he’s right. I don’t know him at all.
“I need these linens delivered to the linen room for the third-floor dormitory. Unload the cart and bring it back.”
“How do we get the cart upstairs?”
“There’s a service elevator behind the kitchen,” Gray says. Marta nods, like it’s not unusual for Gray to know this.
He grabs the cumbersome, large cart and pushes it though the door. I follow, confused by what just took place. Down the hall, he points to the elevator button and says, “Punch that in, will you?”
I press the button and we wait; the hall's quiet other than the hiss of steam from the laundry. The wide doors open and I step inside, helping Gray navigate the cart. When the doors close, I narrow my eyes and say, “Okay, what was that all about?”
“All what?” he asks innocently.
“You and your BFF, Marta. You two seemed pretty friendly.”
He grips the cart as the elevator slowly climbs to the upper floors, his elbows locked, muscles in his forearms tense. He sweeps his green eyes over me and says, “I met her and some of the other people that work here when I was roaming around. Carl, the mechanic that keeps the building running. Annie, who manages the kitchen—”
“The one that gives you extra food?”
He grins. “That’s the one.”
“There’s Enrique, who is head of landscaping, and Paul manages facilities. Renee is the head of office administration.”
“You know all of them?”
“I make it my business to know all of them.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because they’re the invisible people that keep places like this running. Mrs. Banks? She’s just for show, a pretty face and sharp wit for the students and parents to deal with. I mean, when have you seen Head Master Jacobson other than a photo opportunity? The people that really run this place are in the basement, out in the garden shed, working with the facilities. I’ve lived in a lot of different homes and it’s always been important for me to know as much about the building and who I’m living with as possible.”
The elevator dings and the door opens to a small landing. I recognize it as being near the linen closet on the third floor. I’d never even noticed the elevator doors before. But he had, and I realize Gray is always aware of his circumstances, not just out of curiosity but survival.
Together we push the cart through the door.
The linen closet is locked and the housekeeper from the floor isn’t around. He pulls out his key and opens the door. The closet is large and lined with shelves that not only hold linens but cleaning supplies and products for the bathrooms. Quickly we unload the bed linens and towels onto the correct shelves. The stacks are high, and although I push up on my toes, I can’t reach.
“Here,” he says, placing a hand on my lower back. I steady and hand them over. He’s not as tall as Hawk or Theo, but he can reach without toppling over all the other towels.
“Thanks,” I say, looking at the cart. It’s empty.
We stand in the smal
l space together, surrounded by the clean, fresh scent from the laundry. He places his hands on the cart and I blurt, “I think you’re right.”
His eyebrow raises. “Really? About what, exactly.”
“That I’m not sure I know you very well.”
I know what Gray tastes like. I know his scent. I know how his fingers feel between my legs. His tongue. I know he’s handsome and loyal and tough. A K-Boy through and through. But until this moment I didn’t know how much he planned, how much he thought about his environment and the people in it.
I have to wonder if he uses his flirting the way Hawk uses his fists, or Theo his athletic physicality. It’s a buffer so he doesn’t have to reveal himself to the world. A quick wink and a sexy grin, a delicious kiss and knee-quaking movements.
His eyes hold mine and for once they’re not filled with an abundance of confidence. His drawl is slow and sweet when he says, “Maybe we should rectify that.”
“Maybe we should. Any suggestions?”
He scratches his neck. “I saw the signs for a winter bonfire this weekend. Some kind of tradition. Want to be my date?”
We’d talked about this. Doing it right. Even so, it takes me by surprise and a flutter of nerves rolls through me. With the cart between us and a million other issues, I reply, “I’d love to.”
“Then there was the time Theo, stoned out of his mind, goes into the corner market and demands that Mr. Keller make him a burrito,” Gray says, cackling with laughter. We’re all sitting around the lounge after dinner. Now that we have detention and finish our homework there, our evenings have more free time. This has mostly evolved into us sitting around the lounge, eating junk food and gossiping, although tonight the guys started talking about Kingston.
“So,” Rochelle says, trying to follow.
“Mr. Keller doesn’t make food or sell burritos.”
“Did he throw you out?” I think of Mr. Keller with his bald head and his baseball bat he liked to hold up and shake at the kids in Kingston. He wasn’t violent, he was just tired of us always messing around.
