“I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t like me either.”
“I treat you like every single one of my students.”
“Not like Remington. Remington seems to be getting a lot of one-on-one time with you.” Her eyes dart to me, as if to say “busted”. And I know that she is trying to blackmail me.
“Anything you wanna tell me, Miss Stephens?”
“There are rumors around campus.” She smiles, a cunning, ugly smile, and even though she has a generically beautiful face, this peek to her personality makes her absolutely horrendous to look at.
“There are, I agree. They’re called rumors for a reason. The consequences of spreading them and causing trouble for fellow students—and teachers—are heavier than you can ever imagine. You want to go to UCLA, right, Miss Stephens?” I lean toward her, just as I hear the headmaster shuffling in his office on his way to open the door for us.
Mikaela swallows. “Of course.”
“Then I would advise against pissing me off. I promise you, Miss Stephens, I will not hesitate to write detailed letters to every single one of the schools you would like to attend and tell them what I think of you. And, of course, my colleagues will be happy to contribute to my personality assessment of you.”
The headmaster opens the door, and we both erect our spines.
“Hello, Mr. James, Miss Stephens.”
“Hello,” I say, neutral as always, and Mikaela scurries away.
And I feel just a little more alive than I did when I first walked into school.
I see Benton in the hallway leaning against Mikaela’s locker. She’s French kissing him to oblivion and back, but he looks like he’s barely holding back his lunch. When he sees Christian, though, he becomes ravenous. He snakes his hand into her skirt, and it rides up as he touches her sensitive skin where Pierce touched me yesterday, putting on a show. I look back at Christian across the hall, staring at them like they are everything that’s wrong with the world. And to him, they are.
I rush over to him, slinging my backpack on both shoulders. Christian says I’m the only teenager he knows who actually still uses a backpack. I elbow him and pepper the gesture with a wink.
“Looking hot, mister.”
“Yeah? Not hot enough for the guy I want, obviously.”
I let my eyes drift to Benton and Mikaela’s direction. I don’t know what Christian sees in Herring, but whatever it is, I wish he could unsee it, because it makes my best friend seriously upset.
“Leave it alone.” I tug on his uniform shirt, and he wiggles free from my touch and walks over to Benton. I grab his arm and pull him in the other direction, but Christian is a force to be reckoned with when he’s mad. Apparently, anyway. He’s bolting to Herring’s direction, and the crowd slices open for him, like Moses parting the Red Sea, because everything about Christian’s body language screams fight, and everyone is out for blood, especially when it’s not theirs.
“The fuck!” I hear Benton’s voice screaming before the thud of his back slamming against Mikaela’s locker sends my heart somersaulting in my chest. I scurry toward Christian again, trying to pull him away from the scene, muttering, “he’s not worth it” and “please stop” and hating the way this is unfolding before everyone’s eyes, because Christian might be openly gay, but Benton isn’t, and he seems like the type to recklessly do something horrible when things don’t go his way.
“You’re an asshole!” Christian screams in Benton’s face, spit flying out of his mouth in the heat of the moment. People are circling the four of us. Some pull out their phones and take pictures while a lot of them whisper into each other’s ears. Mikaela’s eyes dart to mine, and her eyebrows furrow. She doesn’t make a move to stop them from fighting, and for a flash second, I wonder if she knows her boyfriend is gay. She has to know he isn’t interested in what she’s packing.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Benton laughs, but it’s an unnatural, nervous laugh. Anyone can know that, I’m sure.
“You’re a coward,” Christian pushes his chest, “and a fraud.” He proceeds. “You’re a liar. You’re a pawn. You’re a fucking little pussy.” Christian is on a roll now, and I want to throw myself between them, but selfishly know this would mean that I am going to be labeled “that girl” for the rest of the school year. Though I’m starting not to care.
“Are you high again? You look like a freak with that nose piercing.”
“It’s a septum, you trash, and your tongue was playing with it just a few days ago.”
Holy. Shit.
Benton Herring’s face contorts in anger and betrayal, and before I have the chance to stop him, he tackles Christian to the floor and slams his fists into his face while straddling him. I hook my arm around Herring’s neck and try to pull him away, but he is too big and strong for me. He doesn’t budge.
“Help! Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you people?” I cry out as Herring mercilessly punches Christian like he’s nothing but a ragdoll.
“Please,” I say again, trying to drag Herring from above Christian. I can’t see my friend’s face. It’s so bloodied I can’t even distinguish his facial features anymore. I want to kill Benton. I want to yell my lungs out at Christian. Herring slows down, but I’m not sure why. The adrenaline in my body blinds me. Deafens me. People are shouting around me, and then they aren’t. The commotion stops. I feel a firm, strong hand lifting me up to my feet, and it’s Mr. James. Before I have the chance to react and fall into his arms and bawl my eyes out—wrong thing to do, Remi. Very wrong—he jerks Benton up by the collar of his shirt.
“Someone call an ambulance,” he instructs, and my heart shatters on the floor right next to Christian when I take a good look at his face for the first time since he sort-of outed Benton.
“Jesus.” I cup my mouth with both my hands. “Christ. Oh my God, Christian.” I rush over to him and touch his head very gently. He looks dead. Legit ruined.
Herring must be taken away by someone else, because Pierce is right beside me a second later, peeling my hands off of Christian’s face.
“Go to class, Miss Stringer,” he orders, but his voice is oh-so-soft. Like velvet on my skin. I’m trying not to let it influence me, but there’s no denying it anymore. I’m his, and every single piece of me belongs to this man to do whatever he wants with me. Me, Remington Stringer, who’s been let down by every single man in her life. Every single man…but Mr. James.
“I’m so worried about him,” I say, and as I do, I realize that I’m crying. My salt tears are in my mouth, and I shake my head, like this is somehow my fault.
“I’ll keep you posted when I know more,” he whispers to me, knowing it’s wrong.
I nod. “Thank you.”
I walk to class feeling like a total loser. In the hallway, people are still scattered around, and I hear them gossiping without even dropping their voice down.
“What was that all about?”
“Chambers basically outed Benton in front of the whole school.”
“Like, whatever. Benton? No fucking way. Mikaela Stephens is his girlfriend.”
“Maybe she’s just his beard.”
“Do you believe the Herring rumors?”
“I dunno, man. If he wasn’t gay, would he react this way?”
“Hey, did you hear Chambers and Stephens are bumping uglies?”
I take the bus home because Pierce has disappeared somewhere and is nowhere to be found. I’m not worried. It’s something he does sometimes. I get the feeling it’s got something to do with his sister, and even though I wish he would open up to me more, I know firsthand how bad it feels when you want to keep a secret from the world.
The bus ride is not really all that bad. It gives me time to think. I think of getting my fresh start, away from the toxic environment I call home. I think about how I’m going to go and fill my suitcase with only my most important belongings. I think about how I will mend my relationship with both my dad and Ryan—because I lo
ve them both despite of everything, or maybe even because of it—and how we’re all going to laugh about it one, two, three years from now, when I’ll be somewhere else. I imagine how it would feel to come visit them on vacation from time to time and to not feel trapped or controlled. To feel my family around me, to know that there are people who love me unconditionally, because even though I am madly in love with my teacher, what we have is different. What we have sweats and moans and thrusts and groans.
The bus stops around a mile away from my house, and I start walking, clutching my backpack straps in my hands. I sent Christian a few text messages earlier, so I check to see if he answered. He didn’t. I stare at my texts to him.
Please tell me you’re okay. Which hospital are you at?
I’m so worried about you. Why did you have to go and get yourself hurt?
Benton Herring is probably going to be expelled. It’s senior year. His parents are pissed.
I open the gate to my house that doesn’t really feel like my house anymore and walk in. Dad’s not at home, but what else is new?
Walking over to my room feels final. The house is a mess again, but I guess Ryan is on another bender. My room looks torn apart, but all my shit is still here, albeit scattered. I pull out two big and old suitcases—one of them has a giant hole in the middle and the other doesn’t zip all the way through, but they’ll have to do—and start packing the very little possessions that actually belong to me. Clothes. A teddy bear Ryan got me when I was twelve, even though I was more into skateboards. Some books and pictures my dad bought for me along the years. Photos of my mom. Photos of Ryan and me and Dad. Just…things. Things that make me sad and nostalgic and hate what we all became.
I open my nightstand drawer and pause. My camera is not there. I blink. Close it. Open it again. It’s stupid, I know, but there’s just no way that it’s not there. It was there yesterday. That’s where I put it.
Only now it’s gone.
I feel the panic grabbing my throat and squeezing hard. My camera. My mom’s camera. The only thing I have left of her. This shit is not even worth that much money, so I know for a fact Ryan didn’t try to sell it.
The photos.
Frantic, I flip over the mattress. I hide all of my photos underneath it. Everything I took pictures of. Because I’m the one who makes all the beds and changes all the sheets in the house. They’re gone, too.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I turn the mattress upside down until it’s on the floor. The photos are gone. Pierce’s photos are gone. There’s a hurricane in my stomach, and I practically fly over to Ryan’s bedroom, even though I know he’s not there. I throw the door open, and it’s empty. There are needles on his nightstand and a gun on the messy bed. I want to cry. I want to kill him. I want to help him.
I’m out of the house in a second. I’m not even sure where he could be. As fucked up as our relationship may be, there’s trust there, too. When he tells me he is going somewhere, I don’t even ask why or where or when would he be home. I try the auto shop where he’s supposed to be working, but the guy who owns the place looks at me like I’ve gone completely mad when I ask him if my brother has a shift and answers, “Who? Ryan? No, he’s not here. Hasn’t been in months.”
I walk around in circles. I try the food mart down the road and a few of his friends’ houses and even call Reed. Three hours pass. Four. Pierce is calling and texting me. I don’t answer. I need to sort this out first, I tell myself. I need to make sure that Ryan keeps his mouth shut.
I go back home and see his bike parked in the middle of the yellow dying grass, and I’m not sure what I’m more—relieved or scared. I run to the house and open the door.
“Ryan! Ryan!”
He is draped over the sofa like he’s half-dead, and there’s a girl straddling him. Correction: fucking him. She has long blonde hair. Dyed. And she is wearing a cheap school uniform. A uniform…not unlike mine. My stomach churns. I hold the handle to the front door, refusing to walk deeper into the living room. Danger is in the air. It’s everywhere. It’s in my bones.
“Get out of here,” Ryan says, holding the girl’s hips in his rough palms and driving her onto his dick, which I can see every time she pulls upwards, shining with her arousal.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m busy.”
“You have something of mine.”
“What would that be? Can’t be your virginity. You gave that shit away to the first horny kid to ask for it. You’ve been around the block, huh, Rem?”
“Fuck you, Ryan. I want my camera.” I swallow hard. “And my pictures.”
“Your camera is broken. I drove over it. It’s in the backyard,” he says, his voice flat and businesslike. “And I’m saving your teacher’s pictures so I can show them to Dad. You seem to be keeping a lot from him lately. And me. I’m doing it for your own good, baby sister.”
Then I do the unthinkable. I’m pulling at Ryan. I toss my phone onto the counter, then I jump on both of them, throwing the girl away from Ryan. She rolls on her back on our tattered sofa and screeches in annoyance. I grab Ryan by the collar and yell into his face, “Give me the pictures!”
“Not a chance on earth.” He gets up, his dick still hard and pointing right at me, grabs my wrists, and walks me over to the nearest wall. I try to wiggle free but can’t.
“When are you going to see that it’s you and me, Rem? It’s always been us. Until he came along. He’s ruining everything!” he yells, looking more than a little crazed.
“How can you really believe that after everything you’ve done? While your dick is still wet from someone else?” Does he not see how insane he sounds? His eyebrow lifts, amused, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. He lets go of my wrists and takes a step back.
“You’re jealous. Is that what this is?” he taunts.
“God! No! We could never be together,” I say firmly, my throat thick with emotion. “Even if we could, do you really think I could ever want you now? Look at you. This isn’t you. This isn’t the Ryan that I love.”
He inhales sharply and tugs at his hair. I see the change in his demeanor. His face morphs into something so menacing that I take a step back and discreetly reach for my phone on the counter. Keeping the phone behind my back, I swipe on the missed call notification so that it automatically returns the call. I don’t want to set Ryan off, but I also know I need to get out of this situation.
“Where’s Dad, Ry?” I ask, suddenly nervous to be alone with him. Well, almost alone. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I turn my head to see the girl righting her skirt and gathering her belongings.
“You two are fucking sick,” she shrieks before walking to the door, shaking her ass harder than necessary. She pauses, waiting for a reaction, but Ryan doesn’t even glance in her direction.
“Ugh!” she whines before finally leaving. Once she’s gone, I try again, hoping Pierce has picked up by now and can put together where I am.
“Just give me the pictures, Ry. Please.”
“I told you. Not a fucking chance. Did you really think you could fuck your teacher and get away with it?” He moves closer again.
“It’s not like that.” And it isn’t. Maybe that’s how it started, but now, it’s…everything.
“I don’t fucking care how it is. You’re not seeing him anymore, except for class. You’re lucky you even get that.” Ryan brings his hand up to my face and strokes my jaw with his thumb. “And if I find out you’ve disobeyed me, sweet sister, not only will I tell your dad and the school,” he brings his mouth close to my ear and tightens his grip on my face, “but I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Get off me,” I grit out through clenched teeth. He’s still completely naked and way too close. He doesn’t budge. I hear my name being yelled by a familiar voice, and Ryan cocks his head at the sound.
“I said get off me!” I yell, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him in to knee him in the dick.
“Fuck! You little bitch!” Ryan roars, falling to his knees. I don’t even think. I take off running.
“Remington! Remi!” I hear Pierce’s frantic voice through the phone. Once I’m outside, I lift the phone to my ear.
“Pierce? I just left my house. Can you meet me somewhere?”
“I’m around the corner. I was already on my way to you when you called. Don’t move.” His voice sounds calm, but I know him well enough to know that below the surface he’s anything but. I don’t even make it to the end of my still-flooded street before I see his car barreling around the corner. He throws it in park and jumps out to meet me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, taking my face in his hands and bending his knees so he’s eye level with me. I nod into his palms.
“C’mon.” He opens the passenger door and helps me in, buckling my seatbelt for me. I love it when he does that. It’s such a small, innocent gesture, and it should be the last thing on my mind, but it makes me feel…wanted. Treasured, cheesy as that may sound. My dad is indifferent toward me, Ryan wants to possess me, boys at school lust after me…but Pierce treats me like he needs me. And he hates that he does.
We pull up to my house, and I look at him, confused.
“Pierce?”
“Stay in the car,” he orders, opening his car door.
“No! Don’t go in there. It’s not worth it. Please, Pierce.” I don’t know who I’m more afraid for, Ryan or Pierce. All I know is that it’s the last thing Pierce needs in his life.
“I said stay here. I’m just going to have a talk with him.”
“Take me home.” It’s not a question. He knows I don’t mean my house. He sighs, settling back in his seat after closing the door. He grabs a fist full of my hair, bringing my head to rest under his chin. He kisses my forehead three times before releasing me and turning the car back around.
I doubt Remington has eaten today, so I stop at an In-N-Out on the way back to my place. I look over to see her dipping a French fry into her chocolate shake, her heavy eyelids desperately trying to stay awake. This fucking girl. All in one day she’s dealt with Mikaela, Christian and Benton, her dad, Ryan, and me. Yet she still sits there, eating a chocolate shake like all is okay in her world.
Misbehaved Page 17
