Not My Hero: Black Mountain Academy

by Michelle Heard

  Copyright © 2020 by M.A. Heard.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and various other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Designer: Lori LovesBooks Jackson

  Cover Model: Ben Sellect

  Photographer Credit: Wander Book Club Photography

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Songlist

  Synopsis

  Not My Hero

  Family Tree

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Black Mountain Academy

  The Heirs

  Trinity Academy

  Enemies To Lovers

  Connect with me

  About the author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  For the silent ones.

  Songlist

  Click here - Spotify

  Synopsis

  He walked into school on his first day and didn’t care what the other students thought of him.

  Dark. Broody. Dangerous.

  He didn’t care where I cared too much.

  Then the rumors started.

  He failed his senior year at his previous school. His brother committed suicide. It’s his fault.

  And for one blessed week, I wasn’t the topic of discussion.

  You see, I’m the daughter of a socialite who has no soul. I’m the one paying for her sins. They never let me forget where I come from, and she never stops telling me what a failure I am.

  But then Colton Lawson looks at me, and unlike the other students, his dark gaze seems to see through the dark lies spun around me.

  He starts appearing out of nowhere, fighting my battles for me only to stalk away, making me feel like I’m nothing but a nuisance.

  My name is Brie Weinstock, and this is my story of how a boy walked into my hell and fought for me, even though I never expected him to.

  The question is, am I strong enough to repay the favor?

  Not My Hero

  A Standalone, full-length novel in

  The Black Mountain Academy Series

  (A Spin-off from Trinity Acadamy & Coldhearted Heir.)

  Young Adult / High School Romance.

  This book deals with sensitive subjects of abuse.

  “Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice.” ― Steve Jobs.

  Family Tree

  COLTON LAWSON

  ↓

  Brady Lawson

  Brother

  (Brady was Jade’s boyfriend in Coldhearted Heir)

  BRIE WEINSTOCK

  ↓

  Serena Weinstock

  Mother

  (Villain in the Trinity Academy Series)

  Chapter 1

  BRIE

  When I was younger, I used to pretend I was an alien. I dreamt my family would come and get me and take me back to a world where I would fit in. Or I’d get powers once I turned sixteen. Like in the movie I Am Number Four. Nothing huge. Just being invisible would’ve been great.

  But sixteen came and went. I’ll be eighteen soon and have pretty much given up on dreaming about things that will never happen.

  Still, I can’t complain. I got my wish. Kind of. Most people don’t notice me. They just pass by me as if I don’t exist.

  If only everyone would ignore me.

  Taking a deep breath, I walk into the school, aka the pits of hell, to start my senior year. Black Mountain Academy is supposed to be a private school for the elite, but it’s the same as any other school where the bullies rule and the teachers turn a blind eye.

  I used to attend church until I learned hell was a place where your worst nightmares came true. I figured, seeing as I’m already there, I shouldn’t have to bother with walking the straight and narrow.

  Keeping my head low, I make my way over to my locker. When I have it open, I huddle closer and hide behind the door.

  “Look, fresh meat,” a girl whispers behind me.

  I don’t glance at the new student because there’s always a handful every year. They’ll somehow fit in with the other students. It always boggles my mind. How other people can just fit in while I remain an outcast.

  Taking a clean uniform from the bag I always carry around with me, I place the clothes in my locker. I’ve learned the hard way to keep extra clothes at school.

  Someone bumps hard into my back, and it slams my body against the locker. “Whoops,” I hear Sully, one of the biggest bullies in school, laugh. “Didn’t see you there.”

  My muscles grow tense, and I quickly slam the locker shut. I grip hold of the strap over my shoulder, and hunching forward, I attempt to make myself smaller.

  “Hey now,” Sully chuckles. He slams his hand against the metal and blocks my escape. Crowding my personal space, he pinches some of my hair between his forefinger and thumb. “Did you miss me, Weinstock?”

  I swallow hard, clutching the strap tighter until my fingers turn white. Sully’s the most arrogant person I know. He thinks he's god’s gift to women, and it doesn’t help that he’s always surrounded by a bunch of girls.

  He leans down, then whispers, “I sure as fuck missed you.”

  A commotion of whispers sounds up, and luckily it draws Sully’s attention away from me. Using the distraction to my advantage, I rush down the hallway. Before I round the corner, I glance back to make sure Sully’s not following me, and that’s when I see what the eager whispers are about.

  A new boy. Dark hair and dark eyes. He looks downright scary. Anger’s etched hard into his features, and the nose ring and earrings make him look dangerous. He’s taller than most of the other boys, and the way he walks makes it look like he’s prowling for his next victim.

  Which will probably be me.

  I disappear around the corner and slip into my English class. At the beginning of the new school year, I always try to be first, so I can get the desk in the corner. I sit down and dig in my bag for my sketchpad. Pulling out a pencil, I open the page I’m busy on, and then I stare at the drawing. I’m working on a shadow image of a woman wading through a shallow lake.

  When other students start to trickle into class, I begin to shade the shadowy parts darker.

  Someone bumps against my desk, and years of training have my hand hovering over the picture, so I don’t accidentally draw a line through it.

  “What the fuck are you drawing?” Michael asks. Just hearing his voice has the hairs on my body rising. Michael Jones is trouble in the worst way. I’d rather face a hundred Sullys before having to deal with Micheal. I’ve heard rumors he raped a girl from a neighboring school,
and since then, I’ve done my best to stay out of his way.

  Michael places his hand on my shoulder, and his fingers dig into my collarbone until it starts to throb. “Damn, bitch, that looks pretty fucked up. You’re a crazy one, aren’t you?” He leans down, and my body begins to tremble from all the effort it’s taking to sit still.

  I want to get up and run. I want to run to the ends of the earth until I no longer have breath in my lungs. And then I want to jump into oblivion.

  I feel Michael’s breath on my ear, and it fills me with revulsion. “I have a thing for girls who are into kinky shit, so I might make an exception for you.”

  I shut my eyes tightly, sending up a silent prayer the teacher will walk into class.

  “You’re in my way,” a harsh voice snaps.

  My eyes fly open, and I peek through my hair, hanging like a curtain between the class and me.

  “What you gonna do about it?” Michael sneers as he straightens to his full length, but he still has to look up at the new guy.

  Michael takes a threatening step forward. “Colton Lawson, right? You’re new in town. I heard you killed your brother.” He lets out a low whistle. “That’s some fucked up shit. Are you going to off me as well?”

  My eyes dart to Colton’s face. He looks like he could murder someone, and it sends shivers prickling over my skin. His eyes are like bottomless pits of darkness as he stares at Michael. Then his lips part. “Move.”

  Michael seldom backs down, so when he steps forward, ramming his shoulder into Colton’s before he walks to the other side of the class, I’m surprised.

  Colton takes the desk next to mine, and I’m acutely aware of every movement he makes. I dare a glance as he sets something down, and when I see it’s The Art of War by Sun Tzu, a frown forms between my eyebrows.

  He doesn’t look like the type that reads.

  Mrs. Ramsey walks into the classroom. “Settle down.”

  I turn my attention back to my sketch and focus on shading it darker.

  “We’ll be reading How To Kill A Mockingbird this year.” A hand appears in my line of sight, and without a word, Mrs. Ramsey closes my sketchpad before placing the assigned book on top of it.

  She stops at Colton’s desk and picks up the paperback on his desk. “Is this what you’re currently reading?”

  “Yes.” His answer is short, making it sound like he’s annoyed.

  “It’s an excellent read. I’d like to hear your thoughts on it once you’re done.”

  Colton doesn’t reply, and as Mrs. Ramsey continues up the aisle, I dare a glance in his direction.

  I watch as he thumbs through his copy of How To Kill A Mockingbird. His hands seem strong, and veins snake up his forearms.

  My gaze keeps sneaking upward until it collides with his dark eyes. Instantly, my head snaps down, and I stare wide-eyed at the cover in front of me.

  Crap! I know better than to draw attention to myself.

  Feeling overly self-conscious, I ball my hands into tight fists on my lap.

  The lesson feels like it’s taking forever, and when the bell finally rings, I grab all my stuff and dart up from my chair. I’m out of the class before the other students and quickly walk to my locker. I place my copy of the English reading material in it, then stop by the restroom before hurrying to my next class.

  Sometimes I feel it’s all my life consists of. Running and hiding.

  As I dart into the classroom, water splashes all over the front of my uniform.

  “You gotta watch where you’re going, Weinstock,” Sully chuckles.

  I know he did it on purpose, and I choose to ignore him, but then he laughs, “Oh damn, looks like someone pissed herself.”

  The whole class laughs, and it makes my cheeks flame with embarrassment.

  For a moment, I freeze like a frightened deer, but then Mr. Matthews’ voice snaps me back into action as he passes by me. “Clean up that mess and take your seat!”

  I dig tissues out of my bag and quickly wipe up the puddle on the floor.

  “Be glad I didn’t drown you,” Sully chuckles. It’s a jab at what my mother did. She was once a socialite until she ruined her own life by trying to drown a fellow student at Trinity Academy. Kingsley Hunt. I wish I could meet her. I’d like to see what the girl who survived my mother looks like.

  Straightening up, I throw the tissues away, then anxiously glance at the remaining open seats. The one in the corner is still available, but Colton has taken the desk next to it.

  Dang.

  “Sit!” Mr. Matthews snaps.

  I dart forward and keep my eyes on the floor until I reach the corner desk. Taking the seat, I notice a scrap of paper, and I shove it aside. I pull the wet fabric away from my chest, hoping it will dry quickly.

  I’m not good at math, and luckily Mr. Matthews doesn’t pay much attention to us while he drones on. I open my art book, and I’m just about to continue with my sketch when my eyes are drawn to the scrap of paper.

  Someone from the previous class probably left it here. Reaching for it, I fold it open.

  ‘Remember, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’ – Eleanor Roosevelt.

  The quote hits like a ten-ton train, and it derails my emotions.

  Yeah? Eleanor probably never had to deal with Sully or Michael, who love to torture me every chance they get.

  She never had to deal with my mother, who continually reminds me I’m nothing more than an unfortunate by-product of one alcohol-induced night between her and some man. A stranger whose name she didn’t even bother to get.

  At least, that’s one way of looking at it.

  My opinion? That my mother had me because she needed someone to torture, so she could feel better about her own life that’s nothing short of disastrous.

  Inferior? That’s not how I feel.

  I just feel alone and unwanted. All my life, I’ve been judged for the way my mother behaves. She’s a cruel woman who has a high opinion of herself. She blames the world and me for her problems. My grandparents practically exiled her to this town because she’s unhinged and harmful to their public image. They also refuse to acknowledge my existence.

  Letting out a sigh, I neatly fold the scrap of paper and tuck it into my bag.

  COLTON

  She read the quote. I watch her shove the paper into her bag, and then she continues to draw.

  There’s a frustrated pang in my chest. I was hoping the quote would mean something to her. I don’t know, maybe enlighten her the same way it did me. But it doesn’t look like the words meant anything to her.

  Something about her reminds me of Brady. Just like my brother, she looks timid and scared of her own shadow.

  Brady.

  I shut my eyes against the grief that shudders through me. It’s not as intense anymore. Three months have passed since Brady shot himself, but there are moments when it feels like it just happened. I’ll suddenly smell the blood. I’ll see his vacant eyes.

  If I allow myself to think of everything that happened, I’ll break. It feels like all it will take for me to lose my mind is one small shove.

  Before Brady died, life was a constant battle. I had to fight our father because my mom and Brady wouldn’t. They cowered whenever Dad flew off the rails. But I couldn’t. It’s like his anger triggered something inside me to keep fighting. To keep forging ahead because retreating would mean that he’d turn his rage toward them.

  That night, I backed off and left because it felt like I would kill our father if I stayed at home a second longer. The one night I retreated cost me my brother’s life.

  If I could turn back time, I’d stay and kill our father if it meant Brady would still be here. I’d spend the rest of my life behind bars so my brother could live.

  But I retreated.

  I left Brady to face that monster.

  The rumors are right. I did kill my brother.

  Opening my eyes, I try to focus on the book I’m reading. At first, I read to es
cape, but now it’s so much more. My father is nothing but an abusive asshole, and my mother checked out of reality the day we buried Brady.

  I can’t give up like Brady did. I just don’t have it in me. I can’t lose my shit like my mother did because then there won’t be anyone to look after her. And truthfully, I’d rather die a thousand deaths before I become anything like my father.

  Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer taught me how to survive when staring death in the face. The book changed my life.

  Since then, I’ve been devouring books that show the unbreakable spirit of those who have survived the unthinkable.

  Where my parents have failed to teach me anything of value, books have become my guide, my perseverance, my moral compass.

  The teacher begins with class, and I close my book, so I can pay attention because I sure as hell don’t want to fail my senior year again.

  “Psst…”

  I let out a slow breath, instantly annoyed. It’s the same idiot who was hurting the girl in English. I hate people like him. People like my father. They only know how to hurt – how to destroy. I’ve dealt with his kind all my life.

  The guy waves a hand to get my attention from where he’s sitting a desk up in the next row over. “Hey.”

  Clenching my jaw, I slant my eyes in his direction. He leans back to hand me a piece of paper. When I don’t move to take it, he tosses it onto my desk. “Pass it on.” He gestures to the girl next to me.

  Not caring that I’ll upset him, I read the note.

  Couldn’t help but notice you’re all wet for me. Did I hit your G-spot in English?

  My eyes snap back up to his, and then I tear the note into tiny pieces.

  “What the fuck?” he hisses.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn my gaze back to the teacher.

  I have zero time for the parasites of life. If you give them half a chance, they’ll suck you dry. Not that there’s much left of me. Brady’s death stripped all meaning from my life.