by L V Chase
The moment I step into my dorm room, I smell blood. I see Diana stumbling out of the closet. I see her grabbing my palette knife. I feel the heat after the knife slices through me.
I blink. Diana isn’t here. It doesn’t smell like blood. It smells like cleaning fluid.
I lock the door. I crawl onto my bed, pulling my covers around me. I stare up at the ceiling. Just like I should have run from Diana, and just like I should have run from Grayson, I should run from this school. All of the benefits of being at a prestigious school can’t be worth the torment of the rest of the year. What does it matter if I get into the best colleges in the world if I graduate half out of my mind?
But Damian just got here. He’s ready to repair our relationship. If I abandon him now, after what my mother did to him, what does that say about me?
It says I’m a coward. It says I’m not as tough as I thought. It’s exactly what Grayson said: I’m just like any of these other girls. Only ever looking out for myself.
2
Grayson
I'm running directly into a cool breeze carrying the crisp scent of autumn. The sun's red glow is barely peeking over the horizon this morning, too weak to warm my bare chest, but it doesn't matter. My body's burning. I welcome the stinging chill.
I make my way along the sidewalk tracing a path around the school campus. It's still empty here other than a couple of gardeners raking the leaves. When I pass by the main office buildings, someone in a full-length skirt stops to glance at me from the doorway, but I'm too far away to tell who it is. I ignore her and keep running, my breath leaving faint white puffs behind me.
I run fast. I run free. And why wouldn't I? This place is mine. These people are mine. I own everything here.
Except for her. Cin.
I've lost count of how many times I've saved her from one mess after another. She doesn't know a quarter of what I've done, either, all to keep her safe and out of trouble. I put up with her, coddled her, and for what? She still doesn't get it. I know Cin's been through a lot, but fuck, can't she tell that I'm on her side?
A faint voice calls out to me from far away. "Gray! Yo, Gray!"
I look over my shoulder. Eric's leaving the parking lot, waving at me. I'm not stopping for him, though. I keep running. I motion for him to follow if he wants. He scowls, then starts running after me in his boots and denim.
I push the pace. It takes him a good minute of hard running to catch up to me. I ease up a bit once he finally does.
"Asshole," Eric mutters. He's breathing harder than me even though I'm the one that's been running for a while. "Come on, Gray. Hold up."
"Don't want to cool down." I keep jogging at a slower pace. "What is it?
Eric huffs his annoyance. But he runs along beside me, his boots thumping hard against the sidewalk.
"Christ, you're a pain in the ass. You know that?" Eric scowls again. "Your dad called me."
I glance over at Eric. "My dad?"
"He couldn't get in touch with you. So he called me."
"So?"
"Fucking hell, Gray. I'm not your messenger boy."
"That's what you should have told him."
Eric says something that I don't catch. "Forget it. Anyway, he wants you to help that Crocker kid."
"Crocker?" The names familiar. "The weirdo? What was it? Harvey, Hank…"
"Hayden. His dad's the DA. Frank Crocker. Ring a bell?"
"Oh, right."
I already have an idea of what this is about. After everything that's happened, that fat fuck Brady is of course pissed. I think he's more pissed about not getting Cin than the clusterfuck surrounding Diana. Like it's our fault for pulling a bait-and-switch, which I suppose I did.
It's not hard to figure out what Dad has planned. Brady was the assistant district attorney. He's off the table for now, so Dad's moving on to Crocker, his boss. The thing is, from what I vaguely remember, Crocker was clean, which is why Dad didn't go after him in the first place. Not clean as in a saint, but clean as in Dad didn't have any dirt on him.
Which brings us back to Hayden Crocker. I think I remember him now. He's this skinny kid who's always staring at the ground. He just kind of hides or blends into the background. I remember him because I nearly ran him over once last year while leaving school one day. He was shuffling along, staring into the distance like a fucking cow crossing the road.
"So what?" I ask. "We're supposed to babysit him?"
"We aren't doing jack shit," Eric says. "This is you, all you."
As if I didn't have enough shit to deal with already. Piles and piles of shit. My mind wanders back to yesterday when I saw Cin. I don't even care what everyone else thinks, but what the hell? Cin accuses me of killing Diana?
A strong gust of wind pushes against me, but I grit my teeth and pound my legs even harder as if I'm going to batter the wind itself into submission.
"Gray. Fucking hell, Gray!"
I look back. Eric's stopped. I sigh and slow to a walk, then come to a complete stop, too. I wait for him, but he doesn't budge.
I tilt my head and call out. "Well?"
Eric throws his hands up and stomps over. "Seriously? You mad at me or something?"
"What? No." Yeah, I'm mad, but not at him. I'm pissed that Cin still can't trust me.
Eric's giving me a weird look. He shakes his head. "So about Hayden. You know how he is? You're supposed to give him a hand. Help him out. Make him feel like he belongs for once."
I roll my eyes. "What, we're supposed to help him get laid?"
Eric smirks. "That's be hilarious, but nah. The talent show that's coming up. You've got to get him ready for it. Pull some strings. Show him the ropes. Whatever he needs."
I frown. "You're kidding?"
"Nope."
I'm not a damn babysitter. I’m thinking of ignoring Dad and telling him to go fuck himself, but then I remember Brady. If Dad can't get through to Crocker, there's a chance he needs Brady again, and that means more shit for Cin. There's no way I'm letting that happen.
"What a fucking waste of time," I mutter. I jump up a few times, getting the blood flowing again to keep myself warm. "That it? I'm going to head back and shower now."
Eric shrugs. "Yeah. " His mouth purses, like he's about to say something but holding it back.
Strange. Eric's not exactly the type to hold back.
"Something wrong?" I ask.
Eric pauses. "Are we good?"
I have no idea what he's talking about. "Yeah, we're good," I say, trying not to frown. "Why?"
"Never mind. Hey, by the way, do you know what's up with Lyle? Some new guy took his room."
I look at Eric. His eyes flicker to me, then away, acting like he doesn't care about his question. Does he think I killed Diana? Or is this about Lyle? He worried I'm going to dump him, too? I can't figure out what Eric's dancing about, but that's his problem, not mine. I'm not his fucking psychologist.
"Yeah, Lyle left. Personal reasons."
I'm not telling Eric the rest. Lyle saw me covered in blood the night Diana died. I didn't need Lyle jumping to conclusions and stirring up shit. Neither did Dad. We made sure Lyle got the message that he'd be better off elsewhere. Oh, he got the message.
Eric holds my gaze for a moment. "Alright."
I start jogging back to our villa. I don't need to explain myself to anyone. I know what I want. I know what I have to do even if they don't.
Fucking hell, Cin.
3
Cin
I step into my dormitory building and pull my backpack off. Streaks of ketchup stain the front of it. After that first ambush, the bottom of my bag had still been clean until I left eighth-period gym and some freshman or sophomore tore it off my back and threw it into the janitor’s mop bucket. The dirty water drenched the bottom of my notebooks and the novel I’m reading for English.
Like a father, I’m not angry. Just disappointed.
I stop in front of the dormitory’s common room. The DDD girls—De
mi, Dahlia, and Desiree—sit on the couch while Mr. Byrnes sits in the armchair to the right of them.
Mr. Byrnes interviewed me for the scholarship. If he’s here to take away my scholarship—a consequence of being involved in an incident that stained their floor and their reputation—at least it would be a good reason for me to leave. I wouldn’t be ditching Damian. I’d be pulled away like a loose piece of string in a quilt made of pretentious patchwork.
“Miss Reeves,” he says. “Come join us. We’re discussing an important part of your scholarships.”
I set my backpack down near the doorway, facing it away from the girls so that they don’t notice its defacement. They’d relish in my downfall, and I have no interest in adding to their amusement.
I sit down at the armchair on the left side of the couch. Mr. Byrnes doesn’t look much different from when I met him. With his sunken face and his pitch-black designer suit, he’s what I would imagine the Grim Reaper would look like if the Grim Reaper decided to go commercial. The only difference from when we’d met is that his eyebrows now match his black hair.
Demi whispers into Dahlia’s ear. They giggle, glancing over at me. The DDD girls haven’t changed at all since I’ve been in the hospital—thin, blonde, and boobs that defy gravity. I shouldn’t expect that they would have changed in the last few days, but with the loss of Diana, I would have thought they’d start wearing black clothes or learn about empathy. They should experiment with at least one of those.
“Good. Now that everyone is here,” Mr. Byrnes says. “I’m here to tell you about a Roman Academy tradition. Every year, in mid-October, the seniors are given the opportunity to participate in the Roman Academy Talent Show. Has—"
“R.A.T.S.?” I ask. “Seems a bit heavy-handed.”
“Has anyone heard of it yet?” Mr. Byrnes presses on as Dahlia appears exceptionally offended and Demi narrows her eyes at me.
Desiree raises her hand. Demi’s eyes widen, looking back at Mr. Byrnes as he starts to point at Desiree.
“There’s a grand prize of five thousand dollars,” Demi gushes. Desiree slowly lowers her hand.
“Right,” Mr. Byrnes says. “All of the other seniors have the chance to compete. It’s optional. But for you scholarship girls, you’re expected to create an act together.”
“Are the scholarship boys doing an act too?” I ask.
“No,” Mr. Byrnes says. “They prove their talent through sports competitions. This is the girls’ chance to prove that the school made a good choice by selecting them. Now, the scholarship girls are always the first act, so we strongly encourage the girls to do something…fun. Provocative. We need you to excite the crowd.”
Demi grins.
Desiree’s eyes brighten.
Dahlia twists a strand of her hair around her finger.
I swallow the vomit creeping up the back of my throat.
“You should do most of your brainstorming tonight,” he says. “And start working on the act, because the talent show is in less than three weeks.”
“What happens if we don’t manage to come up with an act?” I ask.
“If any of you fail to perform, your scholarship is at risk,” he says. “The talent show is considered part of the service requirement. It’s a way to show the Academy that you appreciate their hospitality. Got it? I’ll leave you four to it.”
As he stands up, his eyes wander over to Desiree, whose skirt is short enough to be mistaken for an anaconda’s shedded skin. She raises her eyebrow at him, uncrossing her legs. He smiles back at her before shaking his head and turning around. He leaves the dormitory, likely with a whole new set of fantasies.
I hate this school.
“So.” Demi claps her hands together. “The most obvious choice is Romeo and Juliet. Since I’m the actress here, I’ll play Juliet. I’ll perform her soliloquy on the balcony while Dahlia and Desiree can be the nurse or one of the servants. Cinnamon can be the moon or something.”
“Pass,” Dahlia says.
My eyebrows shoot up. The only one who seems more shocked than me is Demi.
“I’m sorry?” she asks.
Dahlia shrugs, leaning back into the couch. “I’m not going to play a nurse or a servant.”
“Don’t be oversensitive Dahlia,” Demi says. “There aren’t bad roles, just enthusiastic actresses.”
“Why don’t we do something where we can all use our talents?” I ask. “There has to be a way we can mesh them.”
“Why don’t you try to not murder people, Cinnamon?” Demi snaps. “You don’t get an opinion. You’re the reason Diana isn’t here.”
“I didn’t kill Diana.”
“Maybe not directly,” she says. “But I heard that you know some crackheads who would do anything for a blowjob.”
“When did we start talking about your father?” I retort.
She takes a swipe at me, but she misses by half an inch. She turns her back to me, sitting on the edge of the couch to face Dahlia and Desiree.
“Desiree, you agree, don’t you?” she asks. “Romeo and Juliet. It’s romantic. Everyone will love it.”
Desiree sighs. “I don’t know. I think everyone will think it’s super boring. I think we could do something a little more modern. A little more…provocative. Exciting. Like the interview guy said.”
“Exactly,” Delilah says, sitting up again. “And I should sing while Desiree dances. Our talents are equally worthy of attention.”
Demi throws her hands up. “Fine. We’ll do Chicago. Cell Block Tango. I’ll be Velma Kelly. You two can fight for Roxie—"
“No,” Delilah says. “I’m going to sing the song. No offense, Demi, but you can’t sing.”
Demi bares her teeth. Delilah turns to Desiree.
“Rae, you can choreograph a dance for everyone, right?”
Desiree brightens up. “Oh, yes, I’d love to. What song are you thinking about?”
“You know the one I wrote about that time I hooked up with that Spanish guy in the club bathroom?”
“Oh, that one’s sexy. You think the school will approve it?”
Delilah shrugs. “If they don’t, we’ll just tweak the lines.”
“Uh, I can’t dance,” I say.
Delilah turns toward me. Her expression is cold. “Cinnamon, it’s going to be a simple number. You’ll be fine. Just practice extra hard.”
It’s true that I can’t dance, but I also know that if I’m dancing like a broke stripper in front of the whole school, they’ll never let me live it down. I’ll be the most notorious alcoholic murderess whore that danced to a song about a quickie.
“Good, we’re agreed,” Delilah says, standing up. “Now, excuse me. Desiree and I have plans to binge the Wildin’ Sisters. Good night, both of you.”
Delilah and Desiree link arms before walking out of the common room. I slowly stand up, rubbing my stitches.
“If Diana were here, she wouldn’t have let that happen,” Demi snarls, hooking her purse over her shoulder. “Thanks a lot for killing her, Cinnamon. Now, everyone will think we’re stupid sluts with no talent.”
She stomps out.
I shouldn’t smile. But it’s kind of funny.
4
Grayson
Eric's stretched out across the black leather sofa, one arm behind his head, the other holding a joint. A wisp of smoke leaves his lips as he turns to watch the boxing match on the television.
I'm lounging on my own sofa, leaning against the armrest, feet on the coffee table, a cold can of beer in my hand. Meanwhile, the Hayden kid is sitting in the dead center of his own sofa, back straight, hands squirming in his lap, feet on the ground together like a fucking lady. We invited him over to our villa to get this whole thing kickstarted, but he's taking more work than I had expected.
"You sure you don't want a drag?" Eric offers his joint.
Hayden's pale blue eyes widen. "No, no, I'm fine. But thank you." He smooths out the blond hair of his bowl cut.
Fuck me. Eric s
norts as he tries to hide a laugh, then ends up coughing when I glare at him. Hayden picks up a can of beer from the side coffee table. He pretends to sip it, but his throat doesn't even move, which means he hasn't swallowed anything. He places the can back on the table.
"You sure you don't want anything harder?" Eric asks, his mouth twisting into a mocking smile. "You want to do shots? Let's get wasted, the three of us. How about it, Gray?"
"We've got work to do," I reply.
"What about a cosmo?" Eric says, sitting up now. "I can whip one up for you, Hayden. You look like a cosmo-type of guy."
"Cut it out." I frown, and Eric settles back into his sofa, taking another long drag.
My eyes drift towards the television, where the boxers clash in a flurry of fast, brutal strikes. Hayden winces and reaches for his beer can again. I sigh, then get up and head to the drink fridge. I grab a bottle of water.
"Here." I toss the bottle to Hayden.
He fumbles the bottle but manages to catch it in the end. He makes a face as he twists the cap off, then takes a long sip, swallowing.
"So, for this talent show," I say. "You're going to do a dance?"
Hayden nods. "Yeah, except I'm not good at anything." He bites his lip. "It's my senior year, though. I want to do something before I leave this place. You know? I figure I should step up and contribute."
I nod back to him. "Good idea."
Fuck, this kid is sheltered. His idea of taking a big step is performing in the school's talent show. Eric and me might be assholes, but we aren't sheltered—one of the benefits of having a fucked-up family. I'm not surprised that Dad hasn't gotten any dirt on Crocker, either. If this is Crocker's son, I can only imagine what kind of uptight shit Crocker is.
"You have any idea what kind of dance?" I ask. "Classic shit, like a Broadway number. Or more modern. Something glitzy." I give Eric a glare because he's starting to crack up.
"Yeah, yeah," Eric says, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "I saw this dance online once. They had neon lights on their clothes. They turned the lights out. Was pretty badass."
