by Eden Beck
“Wait, Olive? You know her?”
“Everyone knows her,” he says, shaking his head. “Even people who don’t go here know her. She’s basically a socialite celebrity.”
“Oh,” I say, my voice barely making a sound as I glance back down at the paper before fluttering it in the air in front of me. “So, she thinks I’m cute. Why’s that a problem, again?”
Even as I say it, breathless and heady, I think I already know the answer.
“Because Jasper’s been trying—unsuccessfully, I’ve heard—to fuck that girl for years.”
Chapter Seven
It isn’t my fault Jasper can’t close the deal with Olive.
Besides, just because she gave me her phone number doesn’t mean anything. Anything.
If I know her type, she probably just wanted to make Jasper jealous. Keep stringing him along just enough to keep him interested without actually ever committing to anything.
Jasper’s smart. He must know that. He’s got to see it too.
At least … that’s what I’m hoping.
But so far, and as far as Rafael is convinced, hoping isn’t going to get me very far.
I’m doing my best to keep my books together as I trot alongside Rafael toward math class a couple days later. He glances back at me for what feels like the hundredth time and can’t help but roll his eyes at me.
“Keep up, little bean.”
“I’m trying.”
“Can’t be late like you were Monday, on your first day.” He shoots me a grin. “You really do know how to make a first impression, don’t you?”
I huff and puff at his side, trying not to remember getting shoulder-checked so hard in the hallway yesterday that my books went flying as I went sprawling to the floor; or having my fingers crushed beneath Jasper’s heavy textbook when he dropped it on my desk the next day with a smiling, unconvincing “Oops!”.
I don’t want to think about that, or the litany of stupid jokes that already follow me to every class that somehow end with my humiliation as the punchline.
From the way Rafael acted that first day, I thought I’d have ended up as a human sacrifice by now. After all, who would notice if the new kid went missing? The scholarship kid. The nobody.
Or, at least, that’s what Jasper, Heath, and Beck like to make me believe.
All things considered, it’s not so bad being The Brotherhood’s “bitch”. Certainly no one’s attempted to murder me, anyway. In all honesty … I’ve been bullied worse by my own brothers.
Maybe it won’t be so hard to settle into Bleakwood after all.
We’re about to reach the classroom without incident when Beck comes hurtling out of it and smacks my books straight out of my hands.
“Oops!” he yells over his shoulder as he runs past, his blonde hair bouncing as he runs. My textbooks and folders spill out of my arms. Loose paper flutters out and one of my notebook skids down the hallway.
I sigh and bend down to start picking things up. “Go ahead in,” I say defeatedly to Rafael.
He crouches down next to me. “I can at least help you with this.”
I give him a tired smile. Between the two of us, we get my things gathered up quickly and shuffle into the classroom. Rafael and I settle into two desks right beside each other and as far away as possible from The Brotherhood.
“So, are you going to the big meet-up tonight?” Rafael asks, brushing some dust off his desk.
I blink. “Meet-up?”
He thumps me on the back and I almost slam face-first into my desk, managing to catch myself at the last second. Ahead of us, Jasper turns to shoot me a scowl. I avoid his gaze.
“Not so loud,” Rafael sighs. He sounds like a father who’s ‘not mad, just disappointed’. “It’s not exactly … kosher.”
“Please tell me it doesn’t involve more weird rituals,” I grumble, keeping my eyes on my paper no matter how badly I want to just take one teensy glance up at the back of Jasper’s head to see if he’s looking my way again.
“Not like that. The girl’s school, Grandview. Some of the guys are sneaking out for a little rendezvous.”
I think back to Olive, and the little heart-embellished note. It’d really be best if I avoid running into her again. I’m already on Jasper’s bad side. I don’t need to add more fuel to the fire, so to say.
I bite my lip. “I didn’t exactly get an invitation,” I say, noncommittally.
“And if you keep waiting for one, you’re going to die boring and alone,” Rafael says.
I glance up at him in surprise. “You think I should go?”
He nods. “Yes, little bean. You should.”
“But The Brotherhood …”
“Is going to be there. As is anybody who’s anybody. The only thing worse than being picked on is being picked on because you’re a genuine loser.” He lets out a sigh again and glances down at his notes. “And lord knows you seem determined to set up shop in loser town.”
“Then … yeah, fine. I guess I’ll go,” I concede, even though my gut’s telling me it’s a bad idea. I try not to think about it as I rearrange my books on my desk and the professor takes his place at the head of the class. Beck comes hurtling back in and plops into his seat between Jasper and Heath.
“Right on time, I see,” the professor says, eyeing Beck.
“Had to use the bathroom, Professor.”
I don’t think he likes being talked back to, but he starts class anyway. I pull out my notebook and flip to the last page I used. It’s filled with mathematical equations and doodles. Mostly doodles.
Rafael gently nudges me. I start to look up, but he hisses for me to stay still.
“Jasper’s sending a note back to you,” he whispers.
“Why?”
“Do I look like I have x-ray vision?” is his response.
I figure that’s a rhetorical question and stay silent for once. Finally, the boy sitting in front of me turns and surreptitiously slides a folded piece of paper onto my desk. I take it and unfold it, still trying to act like I’m a good little schoolboy taking notes.
Jasper’s handwriting is remarkably neat. Pretty, even. And it clashes horribly with the words he’s wasted his ink to write.
Hey shithead, it begins.
Nice. I’ve always wanted to be insulted in such beautiful script.
Hey shithead,
I don’t care if your little virgin ass comes to the party looking for some strange. You wanna get your dick wet, that’s your business. But don’t go waving your tiny prick where it doesn’t belong. Stay away from my girl, or you’ll pay. Trust me.
Sincerely,
Jasper
He’s even signed it; how lovely. There’s no wondering who he means by ‘my girl’.
I push the note at Rafael, who reads it quickly before giving it back.
“On second thought,” he whispers to me, “maybe don’t go.”
“Sounds good.” I glance up and accidentally meet Jasper’s gaze.
Got it? he mouths angrily.
I nod.
He nods too and turns back to the front. Somehow, I don’t think it matters if I go to the party. I don’t think it matters if I never speak to or even see Olive again. Not that I want to. Even girl me wouldn’t be friends with a girl like that.
But I don’t think any of that matters.
My throat feels dry and tight. If Jasper decides I’m the reason he doesn’t get what he wants, then I doubt my little ‘bitch’ problem is going to end with more book-slapping and a few snide remarks.
If I’m not careful, things are going to get a lot worse.
Beck takes a second to glance back at me, and there’s a look in his eyes …
I don’t like it.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to die here, I swear.
Aside from the whole “being bullied by an ancient fraternity” thing, the first couple weeks at Bleakwood soon turn out to be mostly unremarkable. Classes keep me and the rest of The Brotherhood busy
, busy enough that I soon start to lose track of time.
Right up until I get the note that sports will be starting up, and I’m served a grim reminder of my first major mistake. The first lacrosse practice looms over me like a dark cloud.
I slip out to the back of the school after class and pull out a cigarette with trembling fingers. Chain-smoking is what Rafael advised me to do, and I’ve been diligent. I still hate it, of course, but it’s getting easier to suck down the smoke.
I like it out here on the back grounds. With nowhere to sit and nothing to do, it’s the only place I’ve found to truly be alone. It’s just me and the wall and these damn cigarettes.
I finish my first and immediately light up another. Dinner will be starting soon, but I’ve taken to waiting until almost all the food is gone and everyone’s cleared out. Less of a chance of running into The Brotherhood. I’ve had my tray knocked out of my hands, been yanked out of the line so they could take my place, and gotten my food stolen, but all that’s fine; I can’t eat too much anyway, or I’ll gain a single pound and my figure will immediately become girlish. My weight goes right to my hips, after all. It’s a fact that Rafael is all too keen to remind me of.
I swear I woke up bloated on Wednesday and he nearly had a heart attack.
The door I came through suddenly bangs open. I jump and accidentally drop the still-smoldering cigarette onto the ground as Rafael storms angrily out toward me, slamming the door shut behind him.
“You joined the lacrosse team?” he snaps.
“Did I not tell you that?” I could have sworn I did.
“No! I had to learn it from Neville!” Rafael throws his hands into the air. “Of all people, Neville had to tell me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and starts pacing. “I can’t believe this. This is the worst thing you could’ve done.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I say, fumbling with another cigarette. “They dragged me—”
“I don’t care if they beat you to a pulp, you should have refused. They couldn’t take your hand and force you to sign. You should’ve just taken your lumps and signed up for chess club or something!”
“I can’t play chess.”
“That’s very much not the point.” Rafael sighs heavily and leans against the wall beside me. “Do you realize what this means?” he asks as wearily as an old man, slipping his own pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He stopped lending me his own a long time ago and made me buy a carton from him—at a steep upcharge, of course. This dirty little habit is going to cost me my entire savings before too long. Better hope it’s worth it.
Better hope Bleakwood is worth it.
“ … that I’m going to humiliate myself? That’s nothing new.”
He goes through his cigarette ritual; lights it, pulls in a small draught, and breathes it out in a little puff as he tucks his lighter back into his pocket. Then he grabs it and sucks in a big, long breath, closing his eyes, tilting his head back and relishing it before he breathes it out again.
“You’re going to be found out,” he says finally, calm as you please.
Stunned, I watch him take another draught. “What the hell do you mean? I’m doing all this work!”
“How do you plan on getting through even one practice?”
“Painfully.”
He shakes his head. “You won’t even make it onto the field. The locker room, Alex.”
My mouth snaps shut. I’m sure the color drains from my face. I look, horrified, into Rafael’s passive eyes as he continues smoking.
“Shit.” My voice is a whisper.
“Shit’s right.” Smoke curls out of his lips as he speaks. “I think I’ve got an idea, though. Uh, but you’re really, really not going to like it.”
“I’ll do anything,” I say quickly. “Just tell me.”
Rafael eyes me as he continues to puff on his cigarette. “I’ll tell you once we get inside for dinner.”
“I don’t want to go until it’s late.”
“That’s too damn bad. Sneaking around like this just ends up drawing more attention to you in the end.”
All I can do is make him wait until I finish smoking my own cigarette down to its butt while Rafael does the same beside me. I make sure to take my time, make him wait. I know I should be grateful. I am, really. But it’s all a bit much sometimes. All of this.
By the time I’m done, the tips of my fingers, the short tendrils of my hair, my skin, the collar of my shirt—it reeks of smoke and cheap cologne. A swish of mouthwash and hand sanitizer dulls the scent, but it doesn’t cover it entirely.
Not that anyone cares. No one here seems to care.
Bleakwood isn’t what I expected. It’s a surprisingly lawless place. So long as I get good grades, I don’t think anyone cares what I get up to.
No one certainly cares what The Brotherhood gets up to.
Just a few weeks in, and I have the growing suspicion that all this … all the bullying, the snide remarks, the threats … it’s just the beginning. And I’m not looking forward to see how it ends. Probably with me on a plane heading home, disgraced and discovered.
Or in a body bag.
“You’re a weirdo,” Rafael says as we walk toward the dining hall, the scent of tobacco fading with each step, each breath.
“Thanks.” I frown.
“No, I mean—that’s what people think. You need to lean into it. That’s the type of boy you gotta be.”
“Great. Exactly what I was going for.”
“Was it not?”
I shoot him a look from where I’m grabbing a metal tray at the head of the serving line. “What do you think?”
“Ah well … tough titties, little bean. Hey!” he snaps, smacking my wrist as I reach for a sausage. It falls out of my hand and onto the floor. My stomach rumbles sadly. “You know what you’ve got to do, right? You can’t go growing boobs on me if this is going to work.” He grabs an apple instead and sets it on my tray. I think he picked the bruised one on purpose.
I look longingly at the hot dog on the floor while Rafael puts a few other low-calorie snacks on my plate—then makes a big show of stacking his own tray high with more sausages than I can count. I can feel the saliva building behind my teeth at the smell. This, this is torture.
If Bleakwood wasn’t my only shot at some sort of future, then I’d have given this charade up long ago.
But as it is … I just have to be content to munch on carrots. Lots and lots of carrots. Maybe, if I’m lucky, my skin and nails will turn so bright orange that no one will even think to look at anything else.
Our spot at the table, the same seats carefully curated by Rafael on that first day, are thankfully empty. I slide into my seat and stick a carrot between my teeth as Rafael plops down across from me.
“You’re not going to like my idea, Alex. But I think it’s the only way.”
“Just tell me already.”
We keep our voices low. Sound likes the carry down the wooden tables, but fortunately the hall is filled with enough voices to drown out our own today.
He sighs and sets down his second sausage. “You’re going to need to throw yourself down some stairs.”
Though, after what Rafael just said, part of me hopes we’ve been overheard … because I’m really hoping someone is going to try to stop me. Unluckily for me, when I glance over my shoulder to either side, that doesn’t seem to be the case.
I settle my glare back on Rafael.
“Really? That’s your idea?”
He just shrugs as I shake my head, my eyes glazing over as I stare off at the opposite wall.
“There’s got to be another way.”
Chapter Eight
Thankfully, it seems there is.
Not to say that Rafael’s idea isn’t actually brilliant. If I injure myself so that I need to keep my chest bandaged, voila … no one need see me naked. It wouldn’t last forever of course, but then my newfound reputation could come in handy—lean into the weirdo thing so I can claim that
I ended up liking the bandages or something.
Because no matter how thin I am, how much I smoke, how I change my walk, my hair, how often I perform my now-perfected ball shuffle, even the steamiest of shower rooms isn’t going to hide the fact that underneath it all, I’m actually a girl wearing two sports bras even though one would probably do.
So though I don’t have to throw myself down a flight of stairs, I am going to have to inflict a certain amount of bodily harm on myself in order to make this whole scheme work.
Maybe, even, if I’m really lucky I’ll find a way to injure myself so that I don’t have to play.
What kind of person have I become? Just a few weeks at Bleakwood, and I barely recognize myself.
But I don’t have time to really wonder. I have a task at hand, and it has to be done without delay. It has to be done now.
It’s a strange way to spend a Friday afternoon, wandering the school looking for ways to hurt myself. The more I wander, the more attractive Rafael’s suggestion sounds. Sure, I could throw myself out a window, but I’m not looking to paralyze myself. I could slip and fall in the kitchen … if I knew where the kitchen was.
If all I had to do was break a finger, a toe, sprain an ankle … those things I could do. But my chest … a chest injury … that’s harder to force. People don’t just sprain a rib by running into a doorway too hard. Not without questions, anyway. And that’s the last thing I want.
The halls are getting darker as I continue to wander around, my hands tucked into the pocket of the huge hoodie I have pulled over my uniform now that classes are over for the day. I’ve got a few of these, all stolen from my brothers. If they were here one of them would probably do the injuring for me. I wouldn’t even have to pay them or anything.
I might not even have to ask.
Rafael is up in our dorm studying for some big test he has in one of the few classes we don’t share. If he saw me now, he’d probably have a mini-stroke. He hates my hoodies. He thinks they make it look like I’m trying too hard.
