Mercy: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Montlake Prep Book 5)

by Nora Cobb

  “Don’t ask,” says Jacob.

  “No,” I reply, even more curious, “Come on, what does it mean?”

  “Ask me again, and I’ll show you later. I dare you.”

  “Pig,” I pout.

  “Hey, just keep asking me.”

  I stop asking because I can Google it later.

  “Here’s the queen of the sluts,” shouts a boy’s voice behind me.

  I stumble as I hear the words from down the hallway. My skin goes clammy as my shoulders tense into iron, and I wait for the onslaught of abuse that I thought was over. Slowly, I look over my shoulder toward the person speaking and realize that they’re not talking to me. They’re talking to Arielle.

  I turn and look, not as a spectator, but frozen in place, watching it unfold as if it’s a playback of my own life.

  She’s standing at her locker, her mouth set hard. Stoic, Arielle keeps her gaze straight ahead, but I can see the reflection of tears forming in her eyes. She ignores her tormentor, which only encourages him. Quickly, Arielle opens her locker, grabs a bag, and slams it shut. Her eyes narrow on the latest picture added to the pile.

  “I got a dick.” The obnoxious guy almost gets in her face. “You want to suck it. I’ll let you suck it now,” laughs the jerk. The guy won’t let up. I recognize him with his ginger hair; he used to make fun of me with his friends watching him show off.

  My fists clench at my sides. It makes me sick to listen to him taunt her. A boy badmouthing a girl that got caught having sex, but he would congratulate the boy she had sex with. The unfairness makes me sick with rage. I want to step forward and tell him to stop, but I just can’t. Whenever I’ve tried to be decent in the past, it just makes her worse.

  “Jacob,” I whisper, “isn’t he on your team?”

  He shakes his head, but he understands what I want him to do.

  Jacob steps forward and blocks the kid. “Hey, douchebag,” he says, “Button it up.”

  The guy eyes Jacob as if Jacob is the one acting stupid and vulgar. “Are you defending her?” The guy scoffs. “That’s a laugh. What are you going to defend her with, Fleming?”

  Jacob towers over the guy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rumor has it that you’re broke.” The kid laughs. “But I hear she likes broke boys.”

  I grab Jacob’s arm to prevent him from grabbing the guy and shaking him until his teeth pop out of his mouth. Using the distraction, Arielle takes off down the hallway.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you think you’ve heard,” Jacob tells the guy. “Watch yourself, or the whole athletic team will use you as a punching bag.”

  I look down the hall, and for a moment, my gaze meets Arielle’s. Her blue eyes are sharp enough to send a warning chill down my back. I don’t know what I expected, but I know she’ll never show me any gratitude for acting decent.

  But I wasn’t doing it for her. I was doing it to stay sane.

  ***

  By Wednesday, the bullying has gotten out of hand. A school employee patrols the hallway by Arielle’s locker. They never did that for me, but it was never this bad either. People disliked me, but they hate her.

  On Thursday, Cromwell holds an emergency assembly to address the issue of bullying once again. I sit in the front with the captains, Cora, Lexi, and Beth. I look around, curious to see the rest of the new pecking order. Vicki Saunders sits in the back with Arielle next to her. Their friendship only seems to be growing, much to Troy’s dismay. He’s stopped warning his sister about Arielle because Vicki told him he sounds like their pushy mother.

  I look to the right and see Anthony in the back row on the opposite side. I almost drop my mouth open because he looks completely different. His black hair is cut short and out of his eyes. He’s actually dressed in the school colors in a hoodie and khakis. The skinny jeans, the leather jacket, and most importantly, the backpack, are gone. In fact, he looks like any other rich kid in Montlake. He’s faking the part brilliantly.

  “He stopped dealing,” whispers Beth. “He wasn’t joking either. He speaks to no one and just focuses on getting out of Montlake and into college. He’s heading to Rutgers.”

  Cromwell starts the anti-bullying lecture, and it backfires miserably. He’s the one who should be taking his own advice and report back later. No one’s going to listen to a man that’s enabled his favorites to bully the rest of the student body. Instead of a respectful audience listening in silence, he’s heckled by a few students that feel emboldened by the Petrenko lawsuit.

  A junior girl who I tutored in calculus holds up a homemade white sign that reads, “Hire Her Back” in big red and black letters. Soon, more students are chanting, and none of the admins can silence the shouting. The chanting sails across the room like a wave, picking up more student voices as the volume grows. I hold up my phone and send a video to Ms. Petrenko. My phone chimes with a text from her of a smiling emoji.

  Red-faced and spitting as he screams like a spoiled brat, Cromwell yells at all of us to return to class, or face expulsion.

  ***

  After school, Beth and I decide to get fries and shakes from the Shimmy Shack . Final exams are fast approaching, and even though most everyone has their college acceptance letters, flunking a final could mean losing a coveted spot. This morning, Beth picked me up from home, so we could hang out later. We walk from the library to the deck, and we notice a small group of kids standing in the quad. I probably wouldn’t have noticed them except Vicki is there in her signature plaid shirt. Two of the other girls are wearing plaid shirts, just like Vicki’s.

  Beth’s gaze narrows, and she hits my shoulder. “Is that Arielle?” she asks.

  It is. Arielle is hanging out with a small group of freshmen. For a second, I thought one of the boys was Anthony. The guy is dressed in head to toe black, despite it being a warm spring day. But now, the original Anthony wears khakis and hates Arielle. Freaking doppelganger. Their voices drift over to us.

  “No,” one of the boys shouts, “that is so wrong. You have no taste in music.”

  “It’s coming back.” Vicki places her hands on her narrow hips.

  “No one’s going to listen to that.” The Anthony lookalike shakes his head.

  “What do you think, Arielle?” asks Vicki.

  Arielle laughs and holds out her hand for the shared cigarette. Smoking is not allowed on campus, but after all the shit that’s been happening, smoking is a minor offense.

  “I think the show sucks,” she laughs, “but I love the soundtrack.”

  The freshman boys must approve of her answer because they slap each other’s outstretched hands.

  Turning her head, Vicki looks in our direction when one of the girls points. Their sullen, bored looks are appraising and far from friendly. The girl whispers to Vicki as they watch us reach the deck.

  “Is that the one?” the girl whispers loudly.

  Vicki nods.

  “Hi, Vicki,” yells Beth in the phoniest friend voice ever, “Good seeing you at the party. Hope you feel better.”

  Arielle glances over and makes a quiet comment. The small group glances over with dirty looks on their faces and laughs at us.

  “Why did you say hi to her?” I ask Beth, scowling.

  “Why did you ask Jacob to defend the bitch cow?” she replies.

  I swing the door open, and we enter the deck. “You first.”

  “If toffee-nosed Vicki Saunders is going to stare at me,” says Beth, “she better say something. I was cool when she was digging for boogers in her stuck-up nose.”

  I laugh and reply. “Okay, I didn’t want to see Arielle get bullied because it’s like watching a past life experience that I didn’t want to remember.”

  “Fair enough,” Beth unlocks her car. “Have we learned our lesson for today, Natalie?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what is that?” she asks.

  “Don’t give charity unless it’s asked for, or you might get your feelings hurt by
a choosy beggar.” I smile and bat my lashes. “And what have you learned, Beth?”

  Looking up at the ceiling, Beth presses her finger to her chin as she pretends to think. She snaps her fingers as if the thought just entered her head. “Freshmen suck so bad that they reek of it.”

  I smirk at her. “You’ll be a freshman next year, my dear.”

  CHAPTER 4

  NATALIE

  Friday morning, I’m jolted awake by a smashing sound coming from downstairs. I sit up cautiously in my bed and listen for the sound to repeat. I’m not a hundred percent that it isn’t a dream. When it starts again, I hurry to my bedroom door. Slowly, I open it and listen, wondering if I should go get Uncle Phil first. Maybe someone is in the house doing work? Or worse, breaking in? Then I hear a shout from downstairs, and I hurry downstairs to find Uncle Phil standing in a ruined kitchen.

  Shattered plates and cups are scattered across the tiled floor. Uncle Phil’s haggard face is flushed, and he’s panting as he lifts his arm up. A deafening crash fills the air, and shards of jagged ceramics fly in all directions across the tiled floor.

  I scream, and Uncle Phil spins around. The wild expression on his face terrifies me. His forehead is wet with sweat, and his chest rises up and down as if he’s been working out, but he doesn’t work out in his suit and tie.

  Holding my arms, I shake in my thin cotton nightgown. “What happened?” I ask.

  Uncle Phil leans his head back and looks at the ceiling as he catches his breath. Then he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Nat. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  The floor is covered in ruined dinnerware, and I have no shoes on. I hurry to the back closet and pull out my snow boots. The thick soles will protect my feet, and I head back to the kitchen with a broom.

  Slumped over, Uncle Phil is sitting at the counter island. Looking at the shards littering the floor, I walk across white groundcover, but it isn’t soft like snow. This can hurt. This will cut. Something awful has happened. Slowly, I sit down beside him, but I don’t speak. For several minutes, we sit silently as his breathing returns to normal.

  Finally, Uncle Phil speaks to me. “Remember how I told you to be careful? After your selfies were plastered over the internet?”

  I nod.

  “Well, I wasn’t careful.” he sighs. “And I really fucked up.”

  “How do you mean?” I ask quietly.

  “There are pictures of me with another man on a website very similar to the one that posted your selfies. Natalie, I’ve been outed.”

  I frown. “I thought you were openly gay.”

  “It was my personal concern,” Uncle Phil explains. “I didn’t talk about it, and no one asked about it. I was out of the closet, but under the radar, until today, or whenever the pictures were posted online.”

  My cold arms are covered in bumps as I hug myself and rock back and forth. I’ve been through this, and well-meaning reassurances don’t help. I had to live through it, and I have a terrible feeling Uncle Phil will have to also. Time is the only solution that will heal.

  I place my hand on his back; his shirt is sweaty, and I rub circles over his tense muscles. He puts his head in his hand, and after a minute, his back shakes. I slip off my chair and hug him.

  “Things are different now,” I say softly. “You’ll get through it. People are open-minded. It’s not okay to be intolerant.”

  He sits up and inhales deeply before explaining, “Unfortunately, that’s not true. And it wasn’t just the pictures, Natalie. I was with a man who told the world he was straight. In fact, his image is based on him being straight. I lost some major investors without any explanation.”

  “Is this man married?” I ask.

  “No, but he’s the son of a conservative investor.” Uncle Phil’s phone chimes on the counter, and we stare at it. We don’t move. We just stare at it as if we can will the bad news away. It stops, and he continues, “There’ll be a backlash because his father thought he was straight. He won’t be able to marry him off to the best families.”

  Uncle Phil needs me, so I call out sick from school. Uncle Phil doesn’t question me when nine o’clock comes and goes, and I’m still around. I grab the broom and start sweeping the broken plates off the floor. I’m not sure he would’ve told me any of this if I hadn’t been home.

  Uncle Phil finally checks his phone. “Another one.” He grabs the garbage can and tries to scoop up the broken pieces with his hands.

  I try to stop him. “Please don’t. You’ll cut yourself.”

  He already has. He stares at his left hand as bright red lines feather out from a nasty cut. His world is changing as quickly as the blood spreading across his palm.

  “I’ll get the first aid kit from the closet.”

  He nods and sits down with a dejected sigh. I return quickly and wrap a bandage over the wound after cleaning it in the sink. His phone chimes again, and I shut it off immediately.

  “Let’s have a phone-free day. Okay?”

  He nods.

  “I’m surprised,” I say, sweeping again. “Are people this conservative in the tech industry?”

  “Yes, and it has destroyed livelihoods. Remind me to tell you about Peter Thiel.”

  “Who’s that?”

  He shakes his head. “Later.”

  “I’m sorry.” I bite my lower lip and fill the dustpan.

  I rarely go into Uncle Phil’s bedroom except to fetch the random item he might have forgotten upstairs—wallet, keys, or a credit card. But today, we camp out on his king-sized bed, staring at the pale blue-gray ceiling. His bedroom is decorated in subdued grays and blues, and it’s depressing me and certainly him. I grab my pink comforter off my bed and put it over him to cheer him up a little. And then we watch only streaming—no cable, and definitely not the news.

  “It’s over,” he says, choking on a sob.

  “Uncle Phil, I’m sure the business will come back.”

  “No, I mean, my relationship with Ray. He didn’t appreciate the fact that I strayed. Do you think I’m a rotten person because I cheated?”

  I swallow hard and fidget. I think of Jacob, Lucas, and Troy. I can’t remember if I discussed the one with the other before it happened. It seems so long ago. I can only remember that it just seemed to happen.

  “Did you tell him it was exclusive?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Maybe there was an understanding. But I think it was more of an assumption.”

  “That’s not the same as stating it,” I try to reason.

  He sighs, then frowns. “Dating’s different when you’re in high school.”

  I coax him into eating leftover mac and cheese from the one bowl left unbroken. Mac and cheese is thick enough to mend a broken heart or put him to sleep, so he doesn’t think about Ray all night.

  I sit cross-legged on his bed while he finishes his meal. “Uncle Phil, I think I may know who outed you.”

  With carefully chosen words, I tell him about the last time I saw Arielle. I tell him about the Arielle-Anthony sex tape, and how she said she was coming after us.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d really go after you.” I explain how she’s been low-key since her fall.

  “It’s not your fault, Natalie,” Uncle Phil frowns so hard he looks like the devil is pinching him. “The Blackwaters are vindictive people. And I’m not going to let them get away with this.”

  “I’m not sure it was her,” I say softly.

  He sits up and tosses off my pink comforter. “That wicked girl has done this shit before. And she’s petty enough to do it again. When the Bellmans are through with her, I’ll teach her a lesson—from me to her.”

  ***

  Monday, I sit in calculus, wondering how Ms. Petrenko is doing with her lawsuit, when Lucas walks into the classroom, beaming like a supernova.

  “It’s all over,” he sits down next to Jacob, “I’m free of Arielle.”

  At lunchtime, we crowd around him as he tells us the details. The video of Arielle w
as more damaging than the photos of Lucas with me. The judge annulled the marriage and declared the contract null and void. But the Blackwaters insisted on a settlement, and the annoyed judge flipped it. Arielle broke the fidelity clause, and therefore, they owe the Bellmans.

  “How much?” asks Lexi.

  Troy smirks at her interest. “The amount hasn’t been disclosed yet.”

  “Well, ask for an extra million for me,” replies Mancuso. “We’ll throw you an annulment party.”