Feisty: A High School Bully Romance (Midpark High Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  It should’ve been just a normal day, but during homeroom I sat back and watched as a new face walked in and spoke to the teacher.

  I leaned back in my seat; I was in the far back since my last name was Vega. Homeroom was basically just our first class extended, which gave time for the morning announcements and for the teacher to take attendance and send it to the office.

  She wasn’t a student here, I decided, tapping my pencil on the side of my desk. Most everyone else was caught in conversations, busy talking about what they did over the weekend. Party, party, party. I admit, I went to some sometimes, but only because I was dragged to them. Only because I was paraded around like a trophy.

  Right when I decided she wasn’t a student, the teacher strolled over to a cabinet on the far side of the room and got out a new textbook, handing it to the new girl.

  So she was a student. A new student? We didn’t often get new students here, mostly because those who didn’t live in the area couldn’t afford to send their kids here, and those who did live around here tended to stick around.

  Except for that girl a few years ago, the one everyone made a big fuss about. Celeste. She came and she left. She didn’t stay. She even had a police escort too, for a while. I did my best to steer clear of her, mostly because she had been a senior while I was a freshman. There were just some lines you didn’t cross.

  The teacher quieted the room—it was usually chaos until the announcements came on the loudspeakers—and introduced us to her. Jazmine Smith. She was a transfer student who’d be joining us permanently. The teacher told her where to sit, the empty seat beside me, and she kept her head low as she walked through the aisles of seats, well-aware everyone’s eyes were on her.

  I couldn’t help but watch her as she approached me, sitting up straighter as she slid into the seat beside mine.

  She didn’t look like the typical Midpark student. Her jeans were holey, for one thing. Holes in any clothing here were shunned and looked down upon. She had a bit of eyeliner around her dark eyes, a smoky black look.

  Jazmine Smith was pretty, I realized. Thin and slender beneath those torn jeans, with long, thick black hair tumbling halfway down her back. She looked almost too old to be here, like she had an old soul tucked in that heart of hers. A beauty that was timeless and unavoidably alluring.

  Wow. Listen to me go on and on about her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was almost smitten—a bad, bad thing.

  I watched her with my peripherals, trying not to outright stare at her. No joke, but I was sure this girl was the prettiest girl I’d ever laid eyes on. She’d attract a lot of attention here, some good, some bad.

  “New girl, huh?”

  She stopped fiddling with her pencil pouch and stared straight at me. She sat less than two feet away from me, and she stared at me like I’d grown a third eye.

  Right. Because I talked. Because that was me, trying to be smooth and suave. Most people probably believed it, even though inside I was pained to act so happy and jovial.

  “That’s probably why the teacher introduced me, and included the words transfer student,” she spoke, staring at me with eyes that could pin you in place, her voice deadpan. “But then again, what do I know?”

  I grinned, dimples on my cheeks. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.” Anyone who resorted to dry sarcasm was a winner in my book, although she’d probably make more than a few enemies around here if that was how she always responded to everything.

  She let out an unimpressed sound. “I’m glad you think so, but I’m not so sure.”

  “I’m Archer,” I told her. I’d seen this girl getting out of Oliver Fitzpatrick’s car in the parking lot, and I couldn’t help but wonder what that meant. Was she a relative? Her last name was Smith, but that didn’t mean much when it came to marriage. She did have dark hair like the Fitzpatricks did.

  “Not interested” was her curt reply.

  I chuckled. “I wasn’t asking you out.”

  She side-eyed me for a while, shortly letting out a sigh. “Sorry. It’s just…being new here. Not fun, you know?” I didn’t know, because I’d been with this crowd my whole life—as sucky as it was.

  “I can imagine it’s scary, but I think you’re doing fine.”

  She chuckled. “It’s not even first period yet. At least give me until lunch to fuck something up.”

  Ah, so this girl wasn’t afraid to swear. Couldn’t say why, but I kind of liked that.

  The girl puckered her lips as she looked at me, as if, for the first time, noticing my looks. Most girls did eventually, and then they started acting different around me. They started giggling and batting their eyelashes, flirting and all that. Only time would tell if she’d be the same.

  “Jaz,” she said. “I don’t like Jazmine.”

  Not what I thought she was going to say, but I found myself grinning all the same. “Jaz it is,” I mock whispered. “I’ll be sure to let the whole school know on your behalf—” I paused as I watched her open her mouth, ready to come at me with something, but right then the announcements blared to life over our heads, and the whole room got quiet.

  Her dark gaze lingered on me for a minute or two after, and I couldn’t help but let my mind wander. I mean, she was gorgeous. Any guy with eyes could see it. Spunky, too, if our short conversation revealed anything about herself. I knew I immediately liked her more than I should, which was none. Nothing. I shouldn’t like her at all. Liking her would only cause both of us problems later on.

  Problems, unfortunately, were something of an Archer Vega specialty.

  Chapter Three – Jaz

  They actually put me in choir. Choir. It was the period right before lunch, which seemed decent enough because for half of the class we were on our own and able to work on some homework—of which I already had a ton. So much catching up to do. Coming midway through the year, everyone was in the middle of different sections and lessons that my old school wasn’t.

  Apparently curriculums were different across state lines, let alone city lines.

  But, back to the choir part. I didn’t know if they just needed to fill up my schedule or what, but me and singing did not go hand in hand. I sounded like a dying cat crying out for its last breath, worse than nails on a chalkboard. I couldn’t hold a note to save my life, and reading sheet music? Forget about it.

  I could catch up on the homework and the chapters I’d missed, but choir? There was only so much you could do when you were musically inept.

  Hmm…maybe I’d have to take a trip to the office and ask them to switch it up, put me in some other elective, because me taking choir could only end badly. I didn’t know if Midpark had its choir perform at its rallies, but my old school did. I would annihilate every set of eardrums nearby if I had to get in front of the whole school and belt out the Star-Spangled Banner or some shit.

  I sat by myself in the corner of the room, most of the other girls and boys in the class having their chosen group of friends. No one really spoke to me, though they did toss curious glances my way as they whispered to each other, probably about who I was or what I was wearing. Class was halfway over when a girl walked up to me and plopped herself in the seat beside mine.

  She wore high-rise jeans that hugged her slender frame well, a red shirt that made her seem plain giddy. Or maybe that was the smile on her face. Her brown hair held highlights and gentle waves, waves that put mine to shame.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Bobbi. Ms. Haber wants me to help catch you up with the rest of the class.” Her voice came out quiet; she was a giddy but soft-spoken girl, the complete opposite of me.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be staying in the class,” I started.

  “Why?”

  I could’ve gone on and on about how weird it was to ‘warm up’ my cat-wailing voice, how strange it was to try to sing along to a song written in Italian—and I didn’t know any Italian or how to pronounce any of the words—but all I ended up saying was, “It’s not re
ally my thing.”

  “Singing is everyone’s thing,” she said, still smiling. Did she always smile, or was my budding personality just bringing it out of her? “Come on, just give it a shot. Once you get in the groove, I’m sure you’ll love it.”

  I held back a frown, pretty damn sure I wouldn’t.

  “Today’s your first day here, isn’t it?” Bobbi spoke, running her hand through her hair and tucking some of it behind her ear. The rest of the class had broken off into their own groups, the teacher locked away in her office, doing God knew what.

  I mean, if this was how class would normally go…it could sort of be viewed as a study hall. My eyes glanced to the notebook in my lap.

  “Yeah,” I eventually said. “Is it that obvious?”

  Bobbi studied me. “We don’t really get many new faces. Most of us grew up around here. We never get transfer students. Did you just move to Midpark?”

  It wasn’t like I wanted to advertise I was living with Oliver Fitzpatrick because my mother was his live-in maid, and he allowed us both to stay there because he had plenty of room. Then again, maybe I’d find out about what happened to his wife and his kids…was the ridicule worth the risk?

  I settled for saying, “Yeah. Me and my mom.”

  “I’m with my dad,” she said, as if that somehow cemented the bond between us.

  God, listen to me. I sounded like a bitch, and I wasn’t. Not really. I was actually kind of nice—I think—but today my walls were up. I was a bit prickly because it was my first day here, with new people in a new place. Once I relaxed, once I lowered my guard a bit, everything would be fine.

  Wasn’t too sure about making friends at this point, but that was okay.

  “It’s not too bad here,” Bobbi went on, glancing around the room. “Everyone is nice…mostly.”

  I let out a laugh. “You don’t sound too sure.” And she really didn’t.

  She shrugged. “I’m sure you had mean girls at your old school, too. The principal has tried to cut down on the bullying though, after what happened a few years ago.”

  That piqued my interest. “What happened a few years ago?”

  Her eyes fell to her lap, and I watched her nibble her bottom lip in unease. Whatever happened a few years ago must’ve been bad. I didn’t get any strange vibes from this chick; she seemed like a decent enough girl who was just given a job by the teacher. I doubted she’d purposefully come over here to gossip about years past.

  But then again, you never knew.

  “Have you heard of Celeste Chambers?” she asked, hedging before telling me any information.

  The name rung a few bells, but I wasn’t certain what bells they were. The name was recognizable, but I couldn’t say when or why I’d heard it. “I’ve heard of her, but I don’t remember why.”

  “She was kidnapped a long time ago, came back after five years.” Bobbi shifted in her seat, looking uneasy as she whispered, “Things happened—”

  “What happened?”

  “Bad things. Rumor has it Celeste was involved somehow, and after fingers started pointing at her, she just…left.”

  I had no idea how a high schooler could just leave. “She moved away?”

  “I guess, although her stepdad didn’t. He’s still around. I think the community would go nuts if Oliver Fitzpatrick were to move away—this place might look shiny and clean, but it’s got a black underbelly, as long as you know where to look—”

  My mind zoned out, even though she continued talking.

  Hold the fuck up. This story wasn’t making any sense.

  It was a good thing the bell rang right then, because otherwise I would have let my wandering mind get the better of me. When my mind wandered, it tended to come up with dozens of scenarios that were probably unlikely. I knew though that just because something was improbable didn’t mean it was impossible.

  As everyone else got up and scurried out of the room, practically pushing past each other to be the first ones out, Bobbie switched tracks, telling me, “Look at the sheet music tonight, okay? We’ll figure out times to meet outside of class later to catch you up.” With a smile, she was gone, leaving me sitting there for a few moments, wondering what the hell just happened.

  A black underbelly to Midpark, and then she brought up Ollie…

  I could totally see it, but maybe that was just because I loved all of the shows on the CW. Small-town people, rich people—they got into shit. This was life, and life tended to be messy.

  I was one of the last stragglers to walk out of the room and into the bright hall. My feet drew me through the crowded halls and to my locker, where I shoved my books and notebooks in. Mom had packed me a lunch today, but I didn’t know if I wanted to eat it. I knew my body needed replenishing, but actually sitting down and eating felt like the last thing I wanted to do.

  Or maybe that was simply because I was nervous about finding a seat. It wasn’t like I’d spoken to many people today. I got countless stares and questioning looks from the other students who wondered what rock I’d crawled out of, but no instantaneous offers of friendship.

  Bobbi seemed nice, but I didn’t really know her. If she had lunch the same period as me, I didn’t want to put pressure on her or annoy her by asking if I could sit with her.

  Hmm. Decisions, decisions.

  Steeling my nerves, I grabbed my small bagged lunch and straightened my shoulders. Surely there had to be an empty table in the cafeteria. Surely. I’d just be the weird chick who transferred in the middle of the school year and sat alone at lunch. Not who I wanted to be, but at this point, I wasn’t feeling very outgoing or friendly.

  My walls were up, and it showed.

  I closed my locker, practically alone in the halls. Everyone had already made their way to their next class or to lunch if they had it this period. I didn’t need the map to find the cafeteria, thank God. It sat in the middle of the school; most of the halls eventually led to it, so even a blind person could find it.

  My feet took me to the edge of the cafeteria, a big, wide-open space that held a tall ceiling, a wall of windows, and a bunch of stainless steel tables where the rich kids sat. Maybe it was stereotypical of me, but it was true. Only a kid born to parents who could afford to live in the area went to Midpark. I was the exception, mainly because my address was now the same as Ollie’s.

  As I thought of him, my mind wandered back to what Bobbi had said. Celeste. What happened to her? Now there were more things that made me worry. Ollie had been her stepdad, which meant he’d remarried after his old wife.

  Maybe Ollie was involved. She’d brought him up like he was a part of it. Maybe he helped to get rid of Celeste, and his old wife, and was able to use his connections to cover it all up. I…probably should let the conspiracy theorists think up things like that and stick to trying to survive Midpark.

  My eyes scanned the cafeteria. I was mainly looking for a table, but a teeny, tiny part of me searched for Archer, the boy I’d met earlier. There were tons of cute guys here, but none of them drew me in quite like Archer. He seemed fun, and he seemed nice, which was more than I could say for a lot of these kids—tossing disgusted and curious looks at me like it was their damned job.

  Ugh, this day could seriously not be over fast enough.

  I didn’t see Archer’s cute blonde head, which was probably a good thing. Attaining a crush on my first day at Midpark would only end in disaster, honestly.

  You know what freaking sucked? There was not a single table empty. Maybe it was because it was too cold outside to sit in the square courtyard—a little bit of nature in the center of the school—so everyone was taking up the tables.

  God, that just made things extremely awkward, didn’t it? So I’d either sit myself in an empty chair, or…what? Eat in the bathroom like some kind of loser from an old eighties movie? No thanks.

  I scanned the cafeteria again, spotting a table that was mostly empty. One boy sat there, but even at this distance, I was hesitant on calling him a boy.
He looked more manly than anything, but maybe that was because of the thick black tattoos I spotted on his hands.

  Looked like a loner, a stoner, someone who no one wanted anything to deal with—not the typical Midpark student, from what I’d seen today. Hmm. Even with the tatted-up hands, he was cute.

  I must’ve been staring too long, for our eyes locked across the cafeteria, and he abruptly stopped fiddling with his food.

  Well, I guessed my decision was made.

  Chapter Four – Vaughn

  Midpark lunches were not something you ate if you were smart. Most of the other students willingly ate the nicely-presented shit, shoveling it down their gullets as if they didn’t have a care in the fucking world. I supposed they didn’t. They weren’t like me. They would never be like me.

  And I didn’t say that because I was of the I’m so different than everyone else because I listen to emo music and wear eyeliner variety. I meant it quite literally. I’d seen things in my eighteen years that these kids would never dream of seeing.

  Maybe in their nightmares, but even so, their nightmares were merely my daydreams.

  My eyes stared down at the tray on the table before me, and I moved around the pile of corn, pushing the small yellow kernels into whatever meat that was supposed to be. My hands were covered in ink. My family hated it the moment I came home with it, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was the only one in my family with tattoos.

  Something in my gut told me I was being watched—which wasn’t unusual in and of itself, because I was an outsider here—and I looked up, scanning the nearby area. I sat near the windows at a table alone, my usual spot. Sometimes girls came up to me and tried talking to me; I didn’t know if they thought I could be the bad boy they worked to tame, but I never looked twice at them.

  These people…I might come from money like them, but we weren’t the same. The money their family held was not like mine. We weren’t even comparable.