Good Girls

by Henry, Max

I wrest my uniform free and take off toward the smug wenches. “You arseholes did this to him!”

  “Us?” Amber exclaims innocently. “How?”

  “If you hadn’t picked on him the first day, pushed him over the edge—”

  “Then what?” Mandy asks, stepping between us. “Something else would have tipped him off?”

  “Or maybe we would have settled in without any issues at all,” I yell, tears of frustration falling. “Did you stop to think that?”

  “Look,” Maggie says, joining Mandy between Amber and I. “I think emotions are high at the moment, so how about we leave it for the day, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Dee leers. “Listen to your dyke friend, Gucci. She’ll protect you.”

  “What did you say?” Maggie growls, turning on Dee.

  “Les-be-friends,” the idiot taunts. “We know what you are.”

  I’m stunned to silence when Maggie lays Dee out with a quick fist to the face. Wow. And I thought I had issues.

  “Hey!” Mandy flies in, peeling them off each other after Maggie decides she’s not finished.

  “You fucking cow,” Dee hollers. “You’re dead, bitch. Dead.” She clutches her bloody nose, Amber consoling her as they take off.

  “Think carefully,” Mandy warns with a finger pointed to each of us. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish. I think there’s enough shit going on right now, don’t you?” She backs away, turns, and follows the other two with Cate.

  “I can’t believe her.” I shake my head while Maggie shakes out her fist. “They start this shit, and now we’re the villains?”

  “Welcome to motherfucking Arcadia, Lace.”

  Understandably, tension hangs thick in the air for the rest of the school day. I don’t get a call back from Dad, only a text to say he and Mum are with Colt and he’ll update me later. I let him know that Maggie has offered to give me a ride home.

  Fifth period is cancelled in favour of an all-levels assembly—no prizes for guessing the subject.

  “They can’t give everyone detention,” Maggie scoffs as we file into the hall with the rest of the student body. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Rothwell will have a fit, the rest of the teachers will scowl at us, and we’ll be out within ten minutes.”

  The two of us find a seat on the right near the back, the Mavericks already in their spots at the front and interestingly enough with a vacant place where Tuck should sit. Amber leans in to whisper something to Dee, who then turns to look over her shoulder directly at us.

  I snort.

  “What?” Maggie crowds my seat, stretching to get a look.

  “Dee has medical tape bridging her nose.”

  “Oh, fuck off.” I lean back so that Maggie can set an elbow on my leg and peer around the students in front of us. “Ugh. She’s turned around again.”

  “I swear.” And they call me Hollywood. “How hard did you hit her?”

  “Not hard enough if she can still plan that kind of bullshit manipulation.”

  “Quiet!” Mr Rothwell booms, taking the stage.

  He walks to the edge; hands clasped behind his back while he slowly regards the crowd before him.

  “I will list some names,” he says with far too much glee, “and I want each student to rise and join me here on the stage.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

  “Johnson Davis!”

  A hushed whisper flutters through the room as Johnson rises from his seat.

  “Amber Davis!”

  Davis? I lean into Maggie, whispering out the corner of my mouth. “Are they related? I thought you said they were sleeping with each other?”

  “Eww. No.” She shakes with a suppressed giggle. “Step-siblings. Her mother took his name and gave it to Amber too.”

  “Kinky.”

  “Maggie Epsom!”

  “Shit.” Mags rises beside me and steps over my legs. “Wish me luck.”

  “Dee Archerson!”

  The Moto-Hoe sends a scathing glare Maggie’s way before taking her sweet time to make it to the aisle. She shadows Mags to the stage, close enough that I’m pretty sure my friend will feel the girl’s breath on her back.

  “And last but not least, Lacey Williams!”

  Oh, hell. I wait a second before I stand, the shock leaving me lightheaded, my bearings wobbly. I didn’t do anything. Well, nothing more than Mandy, and she’s not up there.

  “Right here at the front, please,” Principal Rothwell instructs, assisting each student into a perfectly spaced line-up.

  Head down, I make my way to the stage stairs and then climb to my fate. Whatever he’s about to do, I get the feeling I might stress my parents just a little more today.

  “Students,” Rothwell calls to the room. “Take a good look at these faces. Because when the end of the year rolls around, these are the kids you will want to think of when you’re seated at home and not at the school formal.”

  The collective gasp from the girls explodes like a shockwave, awakening the boys into shouts of disapproval. The hall thunders with their frustration. Anger that’s sent squarely in the direction of the five of us on stage.

  “Now, these students may have been the only ones responsible for the disagreement that escalated into today’s events,” Rothwell shouts gaining the attention of the school again, “but rest assured, you are all being punished due to the school-wide disobedience I witnessed on the sports field. I have never, and I mean never, in my twenty-one years of teaching seen anything so abhorred. You flocked to the scene like sightseers on tour. And what’s worse, is you then encouraged the behaviour to continue.” He pauses for effect. Long enough that a good portion of the people before me swing their hateful gazes back to our line-up. “Where are your morals?” Rothwell shouts. “Where are your standards? It takes a brave man, or woman, to lead from the front and do what’s right, yet today I saw nobody reach for that honour. You know what that tells me?” He steps forward, precariously close to falling off the stage as he leans out. “You are all cowards!”

  And he’s a bully. I’m not up to speed with the recommended course of action for discipline in today’s schools, but I’m pretty sure humiliating students and belittling the rest isn’t a bullet point in those guidelines.

  “Since I’m an advocate of punishment to fit the crime,” he says, turning back toward the five of us. “Each of you will also receive additional penalties fitting of your misconduct.” He steps before Johnson first. “Your position as a student representative at this years A&P competition—revoked.” Johnson stiffens his jaw, the muscles in his neck corded and thick. Rothwell moves to Amber. “Two weeks of daily detention after school.” She seems to have got off lightly in comparison, but what else can the Principal do when she doesn’t have any extra-curricular responsibilities? “One week of detention,” he tells Dee. “Sidelined for the rest of the season,” he lays on Maggie. She’s close to tears, yet she keeps her chin held high. “Two weeks of detention,” he finally dishes to me.

  My mouth drops open as I frown. Two weeks? I didn’t throw a single punch. Dee only got one. Whatever.

  “Each of your parents has been contacted with the news,” Rothwell taunts, striding back along our line.

  Johnson groans, head hanging between his shoulders. Amber’s head tilts back, and she stares up at the ceiling. Dee seems unfazed. I guess one week of detention isn’t much to stress over. Maggie, however…

  I reach out and find her hand. She links her fingers through mine, squeezing hard. I’m not immune to the whispers that start as Rothwell dismisses the hall. Slurs about her sexuality rife while questions about my own are added.

  Girls can hold hands. Christ. Sometimes all a person needs is a human touch to feel less isolated in their despair.

  I know. I’ve been there, appreciated that connection.

  My thoughts drift back to Barrett on the morning of my father’s arrest. He held me, gave me that security until Colt showed up and I sought out the more
familiar home that is his hug. A stab of remorse spikes in my gut. I miss that; having Colt to rely on.

  I wonder if he misses having me for the same? Especially today.

  “Hey.” I give Maggie a little tug as we reach the stairs. “It’ll be okay.”

  “We’re on track for regional finals, Lace. It’s the first year we’ve got there.” She’s pale—more than usual.

  “Thanks a lot, bitch,” Amber snipes, shouldering Maggie on her way past.

  I brace for a reaction, but Mags simply stares down at her feet as she descends.

  “Real mature,” I hiss after her. “Blaming others for your own actions.”

  “Fuck off, lesbo.”

  “Shut up,” Johnson grumbles, “before you get yourself in even more shit.”

  Dee stays quiet, choosing to ignore the spat before her as she steers away from the group at the base of the stairs and heads for the others.

  “Will your Mum be mad?” I ask Maggie.

  She shakes her head with a bitter laugh. “She’ll probably be proud I stood up for myself.”

  I lace my stiff fingers before me, wiggling them back and forth. “Is it true?” I cringe.

  Mags frowns. The Mavericks file out with the rest of the angry student body. “Is what true? What they say about me?”

  Why is this such a hard question? “Yeah.” I don’t care about the answer, so why does it feel as though it’s so damn rude to ask?

  “Would it change how you feel about me if it were?” She glances away, snatching up her school bag from where it remains under our seats.

  I grab my own. “No.”

  “Then believe whatever the fuck you want to believe,” she snaps before storming out of the hall.

  I watch her go, my gaze sliding to the last of the students who leave also, their hateful stares directed undeniably right at me.

  Great. If I thought one against eight was bad enough, then I guess I’m about to find out what one against six hundred feels like.

  Yay for me.

  I thought the question was innocent enough. Why was Maggie so angry at me for bringing it up? If I don’t care what the answer is, why is she so reluctant to tell me either way?

  Ugh. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her after assembly since we had separate classes for the remainder of fifth period. Most of which, I spent fielding slurs from all corners of the classroom. It seems our teacher was that mad she appeared perfectly happy to let the students take their frustrations out on me provided it didn’t turn physical.

  No. That waited until I reach the hall.

  “I can’t believe you.”

  I whirl off balance before I get a chance to see who struck me in the shoulder.

  The girl who glares back at me as she walks away with her friend is some chick I have never spoken to before. I don’t know her name, I’m pretty certain we don’t share a class, and yet she seems to think she knows me well enough to pass judgement.

  Bitch.

  I double down, chin dipped to use my long hair as a shield while I find my way out to the front of the school. Murmurs greet me in the corridor, the insults much louder once they need to be shouted across the courtyard to greet me.

  “Selfish bitch!”

  “Go back to Riverbourne!”

  “Somebody catch that mangy bitch and stick her back in the kennel!”

  “Skank!”

  Seriously. The school condones this? Principal Rothwell stood up there and made me a target with the rest of those jerks knowing damn well what kind of bullying he would incite.

  For a school which prides itself on honour, they certainly seem content to turn the other cheek and let the student body do their dirty work when you don’t fit into their perfect mould.

  I reach the gates and search desperately for Maggie. I know she was upset after our shaming, but she never mentioned she wouldn’t be able to give me a lift to the police station.

  I have to see Colt. The need to know what’s happened to him and how his actions affect our already fragile family is the only thing that gave me the strength to keep walking out here when all I wanted was to find the nearest bathroom and hide.

  This world is so far from what I’ve known my whole life that I feel as though I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole, but unlike Alice, there’s no magical realm at the end of mine. Only the cold dark damp of neglect.

  “Damn it, Mags.” I tuck myself against the stone upright of the gate, frantically scanning the road for any sign of her beaten up little sedan. Ugh. I have no other option. I smack dial on Dad’s number and lift the phone to my ear.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t take your call. Leave a—”

  I try Mum instead.

  No answer and no voicemail. They must still be in serious discussion if they haven’t sent me any updates the past two and a half hours. Damn it.

  “Hollywood!”

  I shut my eyes briefly, take a deep breath, and then lift my chin to seek out Johnson. He leans against the front of a truck I recognise all too well, five parks down.

  “You need a lift anywhere?”

  This could be a trap. But it could also be the only option I have for getting to my family right now.

  Reluctantly, I walk toward the truck, my heart racing. I can’t see Tuck, but I guess he must be in the vehicle. Why didn’t he message me? Why is it Johnson, the guy who’s treated me like the shit on the bottom of his boot since I got here, who’s offering me a lift?

  “Are you sure this is okay?”

  He grins as I near, pushing himself off the hood. “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “Exactly,” I say. “You asked.” I glance to where Tuck sits in the driver’s seat, eyeing us with cool contempt. “Is it okay with him, though?”

  “Why don’t you ask when you get in?”

  Before I can argue any further, he steps backward and turns to pull open the rear passenger door. I’m left with the front seat, right beside Tuck, as my only option given that Amber scowls at me from her place in the back beside Johnson.

  Step-siblings… who sleep together. Yeah, I still can’t get a grip on that.

  Not a word is said while I climb in beside Tuck. Not a single thing uttered as he starts the engine and then pulls out into the road.

  “Thank you for the lift,” I murmur.

  His hand tightens on the wheel. “Not my idea.”

  Knew it. What the hell did I do to deserve this from him? One minute he’s kissing the living daylights out of me in a stable, the next he’s on suspension and mad at me about it.

  “Where am I getting rid of you?”

  Getting rid of me. Nope. Didn’t miss that choice of words. “You can drop me off at the police station, thanks.”

  “Where you belong,” Amber grumbles. “Ow!”

  Best guess is Johnson gave her a smack for that comment. Interesting. The only guy I care about, though, is the one currently scowling out the windscreen as we speed toward the town centre.

  “I’m sorry about your truck, Johnson.” Loosening my seatbelt, I turn to look at him. “I had no idea he was going to do that.”

  He shrugs, yet his face displays his true feelings on the matter; brow hard, and eyes cloudy as he stares out the window. “Brought it on myself after what I did, really.”

  “Face the front,” Amber groans. “Looking at you makes me car sick.”

  I do as suggested, but not because she wants me to. Because I seriously don’t know what else to say. To anyone in this car. Johnson offered me an olive branch by calling me over for a ride, yet the branch is withered and cold, covered in slimy moss and algae.

  It’s given reluctantly, and well after its prime.

  The remainder of the short ride is awkward and tense. The only sounds aside from the whine of the truck’s huge tyres on the road are the low dulcet tones of some country singer on the radio. The atmosphere is tight enough that even a heavy breath exhaled out Tuck’s nose sends my nerves skittering and my heart fluttering.

  Words e
xist, perched on the tip of my tongue. My jaw aches to hinge open and set them free, yet the electricity from Amber’s scorned gaze behind me keeps my mouth firmly wired shut and my feelings deep in my heart where they belong.

  Nothing I say right now could adequately convey how I feel in the few short minutes we have before Tuck reaches the station. I want to apologise. To say sorry for the things I’ve done here, the ill-conceived beliefs I had about these people when I arrived. I want to beg for forgiveness for being such an entitled, arrogant arse up until this point in my life, but it’s not just these three I want that forgiveness from.

  I want it from the world. From myself most of all.

  Something deeper is at play here. Something that involves these kids and my damn brother. Until I figure it all out, I get the impression hasty apologies would only worsen the situation anyway.

  “Looks like you’ve got back up,” Tuck says before dropping a weighty sigh.

  There’s no question to what he refers: a sleek black Bentley parked closest to the entrance of the police station. Money may circulate through the fields of Arcadia, but people don’t own Bentley town cars. They don’t have a Ferrari or Porsche stashed away in the garage. And they don’t get around for a Sunday drive in their Lamborghini.

  Luxury cars go with luxury lifestyles. The kind indulged in the city, where nobody cares about the depth of a man’s character, only the vastness of material assets he presents on a shallow exterior.

  “Colt must need it, I suppose.”

  Johnson leans forward between the seats as Tuck double parks behind the car. “Who’s that?”

  “Derek Mayberry. A lawyer.” Only Riverbourne’s top barrister. He holds more family secrets in his filing cabinet than the entire National Archives.

  “I thought your stupid family is broke,” Amber seethes, face pressed against the window to get a better look.

  “They are,” I mumble, reaching for the door. “Thanks again for the lift.”

  “I’ll walk you in.”

  I gather myself before I tumble out the door in shock. He couldn’t wait to get rid of me, and now Tuck wants to walk me in? I soon spot why. On the far side of his father’s Bentley leans Christian, a cigarette in one hand, his phone pressed to his ear in the other.