Good Girls

by Henry, Max

Colt frowns, glancing down at me. “She’s your friend, Lace. Not mine.”

  “I know.” My hands fist briefly. “She mentioned something in Messenger last night about coming out to visit. I wondered if she’d spoken to you about it to get our address or anything.”

  He stalls. “No. Why wouldn’t you give it to her?”

  I set off again when he does. “I can. I just got distracted and didn’t reply.”

  Colt holds the door, allowing me to enter the café first. “You were at that Maggie girl’s house, weren’t you.”

  I lift my eyes, jerking my head to one side with a shrug. “Is it obvious?”

  He pinches the shoulder of the T-shirt and lets it go with a grimace. “A little. Black isn’t the most demure colour for you, sis.”

  Perhaps I don’t want to be demure any more, I long to say. Instead, I find us a table while Colt heads to the counter to order.

  I open Greer’s thread and stare at it, unsure what to say. How do I tell my good friend that I’d rather she stay out of my new life, so it doesn’t get tainted with the problems of my old one?

  I leave the issue for later and pass the time snapping a few selfies of my look for the day instead. I want a few pics to remember it by considering I’m pretty sure Mum will never let me out of the house like this again.

  I feel… fierce with my hair braided on one side, the rest of my waves in a waterfall over my shoulder. The style is such a subtle change, but it’s enough of a deviation from the good girl I’ve always been that I feel hopeful I could be somebody new out here.

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Colt teases as he sets our coffees down on the table. He tosses a wrapped protein bar my way before tearing into his own. “Breakfast.”

  “I already ate, but thank you.”

  “Save it for later then.” He studies me as he chews. “What did you get up to at Maggie’s?”

  I could lie, tell him we had a girl’s night in playing with hair and watching movies, but he’s bound to hear through the grapevine at school that I was spotted at Beau’s party.

  “Promise you won’t tell Mum?”

  His eyes narrow, a smile tilting one side of his lips. “Lacey…”

  “I went out to a party at Beau Maun’s house.” I fidget with the edge of the mug handle, dragging a nail down the join in the pottery.

  “Tell me more.” Colt leans forward, elbows on the table. “What exactly do these hillbilly’s do for a party?”

  “They had a bonfire,” I spill. “Huge thing in the middle of a paddock. And get this.”

  His grin grows.

  “The girls race the boys. Motorbikes versus horses.”

  “Betting?”

  “Sort of. It’s for bragging rights and ultimately for who gets to pick their date to the formal.”

  He slams back in his seat. ”Lame.”

  “It’s a big deal to them,” I defend. “What happened in the city then if it’s so much better?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing much other than Arthur proposing to Libby.”

  “What?” I shriek, gaining the attention of our table neighbours.

  Colt jumps his eyebrows. “Yuh-huh. He seems to think it’s the best way to prove his loyalty to her since she started on her crusade out find out who he’s sleeping with.”

  “Is he?” I ask. “You’d know if he was unfaithful, right?”

  Colt shakes his head. “I don’t think he is, but I can’t trust anyone anymore.”

  “Even me?” I smile sweetly.

  He reaches across the table, tapping me under the chin. “I can always trust you, baby sis.”

  Pity I can’t reciprocate anymore.

  I spent most of Sunday night on the phone with Greer getting every juicy detail of the proposal. Arthur got down on one knee, the whole deal, or so she tells me. He took Libby on this ridiculously long all-day date that ended with them in the Sky-High restaurant on their own. Ten thousand dollars to hire the venue for the night, plus a top-notch photographer and a band to play a private gig afterward.

  What girl wouldn’t say yes to that?

  I haven’t dared open my social media feed in case I puke all over my phone seeing Libby’s happy face.

  She doesn’t deserve a guy so great.

  “Hey, look. It’s Tuck’s new stable hand.”

  Happy Monday morning to you too, guys. I give Amber a sarcastic smile and keep walking toward the admin office. I have a plan, and after another ride to school listening to Colt moan and complain about the students here, I’m more than ready to pop my bus cherry.

  “Where are you going, Gucci? I have a job for you.”

  “Not interested.” I don’t bother turning to address her.

  The slap of boots on the concrete has my shoulders stiffening and a heavy breath leaving my lungs. I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with her this morning.

  Amber skips in front of me, walking backward. “Hey, bitch. I’m talking to you.”

  “So?” I sidestep.

  A hand wrapped around my ponytail jerks me to a halt. “So you listen.” Dee.

  “It honestly won’t take a minute,” Amber says, leaning down to remove her boot. “I got something on my sole this morning and thought you could clean it off for me.”

  I open my mouth to respond but freeze when the bitch slides her boots down across my white uniform shirt.

  I don’t want to know if that’s mud or not.

  “There.” Amber smirks. “All better.”

  “Are you serious?” I smile tightly. “What the hell is your problem with me?”

  She lifts one eyebrow, eyeballing the length of me. “Honestly? All of you offends me.”

  The bitch saunters off with her bestie, arms linked while they laugh hysterically.

  I glare at some kid who stares too long at my marked appearance. Guess I’m getting hot today. I jerk my blazer closed and button it to cover most of the mark. I’ll deal with it later. Same as her.

  “Lacey,” Mrs Blowers greets as I walk into the admin office. “Oh, honey. You’ve got a little something on you.” She gestures to where the muck from Amber peeks out.

  “I know. Hey, can you clarify something for me?”

  “Certainly.”

  I set the bus pass form on the counter between us. ‘It says down the bottom here that payment options are available. Is that just, like, cash or credit. Or do you mean I can pay this off in instalments?”

  “It does only mean cash or card,” she says apologetically. “But maybe I could work something out for you. What were you thinking?”

  “I have half available today.” I set my one hundred and sixty dollars on the paperwork. “Can I pay the other half in a month?”

  She hesitates, glancing down at her keyboard. “You’re set on taking the bus, huh?” Mrs Blowers lifts an eyebrow.

  “Yes. I am.”

  She reaches up and takes the offerings. “Okay. Then I’ll issue you a pass today, and since you paid half, it will be for six months. But,” she stresses. “I need the rest paid in full by then otherwise I’ll have to suspend it, and that looks bad on your records; we usually only suspend passes for bad behaviour.”

  “That works.” I nod.

  I can sell a few things in six months to cover the rest. Not like I’d bother holding my breath to get the cash I loaned back from Mum by then.

  “Stop by after school, and I’ll have it ready for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I leave feeling a hell of a lot lighter, even though I now need to deviate past the bathrooms to try and sort my shirt before homeroom.

  I shed my blazer once safely inside, and then take my shirt off as well, setting it on the side of the sink to google what’s better for washing out mud—I’m sticking with that since it doesn’t smell too bad yet—hot or cold water.

  The swing door jerks open, ricocheting off the wall. I lift my eyes, chin down, and check the reflection. Dee. Crap.

  “Oh,” she chuckles. “You doing your own laundry now
too, Gucci?”

  “My name is Lacey,” I grind out.

  She lifts her hands, striding into a stall. It doesn’t shut her up any. “You know, there’s a real easy way you can be left alone.”

  I return to researching stain removal while she pees.

  “You want to know what it is?” The cistern flushes, the door to her stall swinging open shortly after.

  “I get the feeling you’ll tell me anyway.”

  She pumps soap in her hand at the sink beside mine, watching me in the mirror. “Stay the fuck away from our men.”

  “Last I checked they didn’t have your names tattooed on them.”

  The bitch strolls behind me to then reach out and dry her hands on the clear part of my shirt. “Oh. Woops. I’ve made it worse.” She snatches it off the sink before I can stop her. “Let me take care of this for you.”

  To my horror, she strides back into the stall and stuffs my shirt into the sanitary bin. I lunge after her, but she fends me off with a boot kicked out behind her.

  “Seriously!” I holler, arms tense with rage.

  “As I said,” she says with a pitying smile. “Stay the fuck away from our men, and we’ll lay off the heat.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” I grind out as she waltzes toward the door.

  “Get what? That you’re not welcome here?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “That picking on me only makes me fight back harder.”

  She snorts, giving a little head wiggle. “Then it’s your funeral, bitch.”

  The door smacks behind her, rage coursing through me like the pulse of an approaching earthquake. When this one hits, these girls are bound to wish they could take it all back.

  I don’t forgive easily.

  With a frustrated growl, I swipe my blazer off the counter and tug it on. The top button is at the chest-line, which means I need to be careful unless I plan on giving everyone more of an eyeful than they expect. My pulse still pounds heavily in my ears as I stride into homeroom and take my seat. I get a couple of sideways glances at my lack of shirt, but I’m pretty sure the resting bitch face I have in place warns them from opening their damn mouths about it.

  “Good morning, everyone.” Mr Creighton greets, clasping his hands together as he walks down the aisle between our tables. “Let’s kick this off with a reminder about the—” His gaze stalls on me. “Miss Williams. Trouble getting ready this morning?”

  A few students snort and giggle.

  “Nope. Perfect morning at home, thank you.”

  “You appear to have forgotten something in your efforts to prepare for school,” he retorts.

  “Didn’t forget it, Mr Creighton. I had it stolen.”

  He tilts his head before lowering his chin and licking his lips to answer. “Is this funny to you, Miss Williams?”

  “Not in the slightest.” I stare straight ahead; chin held high.

  “Report to Ms Michaels’s office, please. This won’t be tolerated.”

  I snatch up my satchel and march from the room to the laughter of these hypocritical bastards.

  “Settle down,” Mr Creighton commands as I stride into the courtyard.

  Satchel to my chest, I head into the admin building for the second time within the hour. Mrs Blowers lifts her head, mouth in an O. “Lacey.”

  “Is Ms Michaels in?”

  She blinks a couple of times. “I’ll go get her for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  What looks to be one of the school mums gasps when I take my seat and drop the satchel to reveal a glimpse of my bra. Back straight and legs tucked neatly to one side, I give that bitch a smile.

  “Beautiful day today, isn’t it?”

  Yep. I’m pretty sure that this morning I tipped over the edge.

  This good girl is officially out for commission because if you can’t beat them, join them.

  Whoever said kill them with kindness never met the girls from Arcadia High.

  “Here,” Ms Michaels says, handing over a shirt from the lost property. “I think this is the right size. The tag is missing, so I can’t be sure.”

  “Thank you.” I take it from her and set it in my lap; shoulders curled in.

  “There’s a bathroom on your way out if I let you down the staff hall. You can change in there.” She settles at her desk and pushes a stack of exercise books aside to rest her elbows on top. “I wish you’d tell me what happened for you to ‘lose’ your shirt.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” I offer her a smile, yet my distant gaze stays fixed to a spot on the wall behind her.

  I’ve dealt with girls like Amber and Dee before. This isn’t new territory for me. It’s just ground I didn’t think I’d have to cover twice.

  “Well, I can’t force you to speak up, Lacey, but I can remind you of the school stance on bullying.” She hesitates, frowning a little. “If you don’t say anything, they win. You know that, right?”

  “Do they, though?”

  “Yes,” she implores. “By staying quiet, you give them licence to do this to others.”

  “And yet, by speaking up, I give them a reason to do worse things to me. It’s a catch-22, don’t you think?”

  Her gaze drops to her folded hands. “You’re right. It is.” Brown eyes lift to find mine. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Even if you choose not to name and shame, I’d prefer if you spoke with the school counsellor about this. Offloading our feelings is beneficial when we’re in times of strife.”

  “I know.” I stand, holding the shirt to my chest. “I have a supportive family.”

  “Good.” She also rises, stepping out from behind her desk to swipe her access card on the internal door. “The bathroom is on your left.”

  “I appreciate your help, Ms Michaels.” I stride out into the staff only section of the administration building and find my way to the crisp white tiled room. The shirt fits fine, other than a torn hem on the sleeve. But with my blazer over the top, nobody would be any the wiser.

  The bell tolls for the start of the first period, rousing me from the trance I’d fallen into before the mirror. I’ve left Maggie’s braid in and added a ribbon in the school colour—grey—woven through the lengths. Lifting the sections on my other side, I toy with the idea of asking her to do a matching braid so that I’m left with a kind of faux hawk style.

  Nope. Too much, Lace.

  One change at a time.

  Satisfied I pass inspection, I step out into the hall and find my way back to reception via a side door that leads into the waiting area. The sight on the other side causes me to falter in my step, my boot rolling a little before I regain composure.

  Directly opposite, seated beneath the tall decorative windows that overlook the front gate, is Tuck and who appears to be his father. The man beside him shares the same strong jaw, the same warm yet intense eyes, and the same dusty blond hair. There’s no denying he’s at least family.

  I meet Tuck’s eye and catch the slight shake of his head as though to say, “Not now.”

  What the heck is going on? Is it about the incident last week?

  I step out front and make my way along the building to head to class, glancing up at the windows even though I can’t see Tuck from this angle.

  I manage to tap out a quick message before I reach English.

  L: What’s happening?

  I’m left stewing over the possibilities throughout first and second period. What does this mean for him? How involved am I? Is this about what happened to Colt’s car?

  My phone buzzes on the walk to the mess hall.

  T: I’m heading home.

  L: Why?

  T: Suspended. Can’t talk. With Dad.

  So it was his father. And suspended? He didn’t even do it. My gaze zeroes in on Johnson’s smug face as I enter the hall. As though feeling my presence, he turns his head, fiery eyes landing on me.

  “Gee, girls. It looks as though you didn’t check to see if she had a spare change.”
<
br />   Amber scowls at my clean and put-together appearance. Dee seems as though she’d physically rip the new shirt off me given half the chance. I ignore the two of them, plus Mandy at the far end of the table with Beau, and head straight for Johnson.

  “You’re such a coward. Letting Tuck take the fall for you.”

  His brow hardens, gaze narrowed on me. Amber tries to pull me back by my arm, yet I shrug her off.

  “I’ve spent my fair share of time around boys who play at being men. Boys who have more money at their disposal than half the families at this school. And you know what I’ve learnt? It’s always those that act the toughest who are the most frightened.”

  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he leers.

  “Who are you afraid of, Johnson? Who’s got you too scared to man up and admit what you did?”

  He lashes out, shunting me hard enough in the shoulder that I fall flat on my arse. I was not expecting that.

  The mess hall unites in a collective “Ooo.”

  The duty teacher, Mrs Gastonbury from Art, rushes over. “What’s going on over there?”

  Johnson rises from his seat and places a black leather boot either side of my hips to glare down at me beneath him. “You should think about who you’re picking fights with, Gucci. It seems to me you’re a little confused about who’s to blame here.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Students!”

  “Wouldn’t give you the pleasure.” Johnson steps over me, knocking me in the shoulder with his shin, and leaves—Amber and Dee in pursuit.

  I glance across at Mandy who watches from her seat at the table, and scowl. ‘What?”

  “You got balls, Gucci.” She turns away and picks up her conversation with Beau as Mrs Gastonbury arrives.

  “Stand up, dear.”

  I do as I’m told, eyeballing those of the students who still gape at me.

  “As I didn’t see who started that, I’ll let you off with a warning. Come in here with the express intention of doing anything but eating again, and you’ll find yourself with a demerit.”

  Damn it. We only get four demerits in a year and then it’s a suspension.

  Guess I answered my question about why Tuck was packed off home. Mr Rothwell did say he has a history.