The Elites Of Weis-Jameson Prep Academy: The Complete Series (A High School Enemies To Lovers Bully Romance Box Set)

by Rebel Hart

  Either that, or Bernadette is actually the living embodiment and stereotype of a rich Daddy’s Little Girl.

  She probably is. Her shoes, which I can see from under the stall door, are that sort of causal rich. The ones you know cost thousands of dollars.

  She probably gets an allowance larger than Mom and Brendan’s mortgage. She probably spends the kind of money someone earns in a year in a week. Her “Daddy” probably bought her that red Lamborghini for her sixteenth birthday. She’s probably never had macaroni and cheese with cut-up hotdogs in them.

  The sound of Vivian and Bernadette fade away – the door opens and closes, and I’m left in silence. Alone. Finally. But I don’t feel like crying any more. I don’t feel like hiding.

  Suddenly, I’m bitter. I feel the bitterness and anger eat away at my humiliation, hardening my skin. People like me are just ants for her to squish. For her to hold a magnifying glass and say “oh, how cute” as she burns us to death.

  A cold, dead sort of anger hardens my heart. I will not be intimidated. I will not back down. And I certainly won’t let them show that they’ve cracked me. So what, the whole school has seen me naked? So what, they think I’m a slut?

  I’m not going to bow down.

  I grit my teeth and wipe the sticky tracks of mascara from under my eyes.

  I’m going to fight back.

  Chapter Five

  BOOK 1

  “Hey, little whore,” a slimy voice whispers too close to my ear, and I feel the heavy presence of a boy beside me. My elbow connects with the soft tissue of his stomach, and he gasps.

  I step aside, slamming my locker and watch the sophomore clutch his stomach. He groans. He’s on the larger side, with a gut spilling over his khakis. He wears glasses, and when he recovers, he squints his beady little eyes at me through dorky rims.

  “You were saying?” I prompt sweetly.

  His eyes zero in on my boobs, and the disgusting lust in them almost makes me gag.

  “I’ll pay you twenty bucks to let me fondle them,” he salivates.

  “My rate is too expensive for you, sweetie,” I grind out. “You couldn’t even afford me.”

  With a twist of my heel, I walk away. It’s lunch period, and many students are gathering in the cafeteria. That’s where the Elites will be. I know if I show up, relatively unfazed, I’ll have one notch up on them. They may think it’s humiliating to walk in front of my peers, but if I do it with enough of a fuck you attitude, perhaps it’ll come off differently.

  At least I hope.

  The cafeteria at WJ Prep is ridiculous. There are several buffet options available and one grill station that produces hamburgers, hot dogs and even fucking steaks on demand. The meals are all inclusive in the tuition fee – when I looked over their menu, I noticed they even have a sushi chef come in twice a month, and their in-house pastry chef provides at least five different desserts. They boast vegan, gluten-free, lactose-free and sugar-free options for the girls who like to calorie count or who’ve adopted a serious allergen diet as a “lifestyle choice”.

  There’s a minor disturbance when I walk in, but the cafeteria quickly resumes normal activity as I walk around and select my food. I’m starving, unsurprisingly. I need to eat a minimum requirement of calories in order to maintain my figure, and I’ve forgone breakfast because I didn’t want Brendan to see the marks.

  Okay, I think as nobody is throwing things at me. This is fine.

  The Elites occupy the center table. I can see them laughing and enjoying themselves. Their artfully styled hair, perfect teeth, immaculate uniforms – it’s like they were born to be the center of attention. Either that or made to be. My mind casts back to Lily’s comment – trained. Trained probably since birth to be in the spotlight, to gather attention effortlessly and to find ways to keep the spotlight on them at all costs.

  I select mashed potatoes, green beans and two salmon fillets, grab two cookies and wade through the sea of tables to get to theirs. They see me coming, and Bernadette and I make eye contact. But it’s like she sees through me – I’m beneath her, I realize, to even acknowledge. Suddenly, Vivian stands up and slides around to where Emmett sits, curling her body around his.

  “Hey, baby,” she says into his ear. Her eyes meet mine in show of dominance.

  It’s laughable, how she thinks I want him. I smile sweetly at her – he’s all hers.

  Yet, some part of me notices that Emmett, while he still lets her cling to him, doesn’t react in any way. He’s deep in conversation with Vincent when I arrive.

  “Is this seat taken?” I ask, pointing to the empty one next to Bernadette.

  Her eyes find the seat, then flick up to mine. She cocks her head. “Obviously.”

  “Well, I can’t stay,” I say, “ So I’ll get right to it. Where’s my fucking phone?”

  “Don’t have it,” Trey says, shrugging nonchalantly. He’s seated next to Bernadette, who is rolling her eyes. “Don’t know where it is.”

  “Unlawful possession of pornography of a minor, tsk, tsk,” I say sweetly, loudly, placing my tray at the edge of their table. “What will the authorities say?”

  Trey laughs.“Oh, you think we’d be as stupid as to download your nudes onto our phones?”

  “What are you, stupid and a whore?” Bernadette sniggers.

  Trey holds a french fry between his fingers, twirling it like a pencil. “We didn’t upload the photos from our phones. You did.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Try proving that,” Bernadette says haughtily. “It’s all from your phone.”

  I want to punch her. They made it look like I committed social suicide. Though we all know who was responsible, there’s no way to prove that I didn’t upload the photo myself. Or printed the hundreds of thousands of printouts.

  “What you guys are doing is harassment,” I point out. I jerk my fingers to my neck, and then pull up my sleeves, exposing the angry bruises. “And you think that they don’t have camera footage of you dragging me into a room against my will?”

  Trey’s smile is almost pitying. “And who’s going to go look at it?”

  “The police.”

  I was hoping that the mention of the police would cause them to pause. But Bernadette’s pealing laughter upsets me. Clearly, I had said the wrong thing.

  “You think you can go to the police?” Trey says in between barks of laughter. His face turns red from the effort. “Oh my god, that’s rich.”

  “We basically own the police, honey,” Bernadette says with an irritating, condescending smile. “So that’s cute.”

  “I love self-admitted extortion rings,” I mutter to myself. But for some reason, I believe her. I’m starting to realize there’s much more influence behind their names.

  “Now you’re learning,” Trey says with a wink.

  “Where’s my phone?” I snap, voice rising.

  Emmett, as if he’s just noticed my presence, procurs my phone from his pocket. He dangles it in front of him, his long fingers playing with it. Vivian watches it like it’s some sort of magic trick.

  “Ooh,” she says, “Look, it’s her phone.”

  I almost expect her to start clapping.

  “Give it back to me.”

  Emmett’s cool gray eyes follow my outstretched hand up to my boobs. Heat rises in me – he knows what they look like, thanks to that fucking photo. When he finally finds my eyes, I feel violated.

  “My,” he says with disapproval, “were you raised in a crackhouse back in Oklahoma? Where are your manners?”

  “Where are yours?” I fire back. I extend my hand again. “Phone, please.”

  “Not even a full sentence?” Vivian laughs. “Did your crackwhore mama teach you that?”

  She’s trying to bait me, and just a couple hours ago it would’ve worked. But this is a new Ophelia. They might try to go for my Mom, but I know she would want me to take care of myself first.

  “‘Your Mom’ jabs? Wow, what are we in, six
th grade?” I laugh, and I think I nailed the whole patronizing tone of it because Vivian scowls fiercely. Emmett, on the other hand, gives a small twist of his lips. Almost like approval. “I didn’t realize that’s the level we’re playing at.”

  “You’re sassy today,” Emmett remarks.

  “Having a very private photo of me leaked to the entire school will do that to you.” I flash him a blinding smile, and I wonder if he can see the cracks in my facade. “But no harm no foul. Give me my phone please.”

  “Emmett, don’t give it to her,” Vivian snaps.

  It dawns on me that they are under no obligation to give my phone back. They don’t care – phones are like rocks to them: they probably have the latest models. They don’t play by normal rules, but they might recognize that they can use it as a weapon against me.

  I certainly don’t have anything as humiliating and degrading as more nude photos.

  But I’m sure they could find a way to twist the information on my phone to their advantage.

  “Beg him for it,” Vincent says. It’s the first time he’s spoken, but the sinister expression on my face causes my stomach to drop. “Beg him for it like a good pet.”

  The moment the words are out of his mouth, my heart pauses. Like a dog. They want me to beg him like a fucking dog.

  “I’m not opposed to the idea,” Emmett muses, and his eyes rove over my body.

  “She’ll look good on her knees,” Bernadette intervenes, smirking at my open mouth. “I’m sure she’s used to it.”

  Heat colors my cheeks. She can’t be serious.

  “I’m not getting on my knees,” I say, and I look at Emmett. His handsome face tilts to the side, almost as if studying me and he finds my reaction curious. For once, I just want a speck of decency to shine through him. For once, I want him to do the right thing. “Emmett, please just give me my phone back.”

  He licks his lips, and the heat in his eyes warms me in all the wrong places. “On your knees, Ophelia.”

  “I’d rather die,” I say ruthlessly. And it’s true. I would rather die than show them that they have one iota of power over me. I will not bow to them. I scoop up my tray and give them a sour smile, and their expressions are hard to decipher. “See you around.”

  I walk away from them.

  “Let me handle this,” I hear Emmett say, and I increase my pace. He’s following me.

  My fingers grip my tray – should I whip around and hit him with it? But I’m hungry, I want to eat. I want to be left alone. My feet carry me toward the exit, and I can feel hundreds of eyes on my back, at the girl that Emmett is following to teach a lesson.

  I’m just about at the double doors when a hand grips my elbow. I’m yanked back, my food flying, and suddenly my back is pushed against the milk dispenser. The cold of the metal is nothing compared to the absolute ice in his gray eyes.

  I gasp at the sudden change. Emmett looks murderous. His jaw is clenched, sharpening the hollows of his cheeks, and his nostrils flare. His expression accentuates just how handsome he is, and I’m at the brunt end of his fury.

  “Kiss me,” he whispers harshly, just centimeters above my mouth. His breath is hot and smells like the hamburger he was eating. “Kiss me and you can have it back.”

  “What?” I gasp at the sudden warmth and pressure of his body against mine. He leans closer, and amidst the fury I can see it.

  How much he wants me.

  It burns within him, is eating him from the inside out.

  Emmett Jameson wants me. And he’s angry.

  And I don’t know anymore. Is his anger from my defiance? From my refusal to bow, from my refusal to let him intimidate me? Or is he angry at how he wants me? The fire in his eyes, the parted kissable lips – he wants me. I search his face, dumbfounded, wanting to know.

  “What if I begged you,” he murmurs, softer this time. “I just want another taste.”

  His words are for me and me alone, though our audience is the entire cafeteria. They don’t know what he is saying to me, or know what he wants – they think he is putting me in my place.

  “You know you want to,” he teases, and his tongue darts up to wet his bottom lip. “You feel this too. You want this too.”

  I’m drawn to the movement, and my pulse quickens, desire pooling in my stomach. I hate how he makes me feel – both wanton and helpless, both filled with desire and repulsed by him. He’s handsome and he scares me. He’s done nothing but make me miserable.

  And yet, I’d fuck him in a heartbeat if I had no control.

  I want to pull him down to me and forget how angry he has made me feel.

  “In your dreams,” I finally rasp, and his eyebrow quirks at my quivering voice. “I will never kiss you.”

  His fingers come up and when I don’t flinch, he presses his palm along the side of my face. His touch is tender, though I know inside hides a cruel monster.

  “You will,” he says with certainty. Again, the tip of his tongue wets his lip. The action sends a thrilling response to my core. “You want this just as much as I do.”

  His hand comes to my stomach, and I frown. A hard rectangular object is between us. My fingers come up and grasp my phone. As I take it from him, his thumb presses into my bottom lip. A dizzying rush of desire clouds my thoughts – I want more.

  “Remember who this is from,” he says, before breaking the spell by stepping away.

  I don’t want to remember. I’m tingling and dizzy and my core is throbbing. Emmett knows how much his presence affects me. As he gives me a wink before loping away, I realize that Emmett will always remind me.

  I do want him. And I shouldn’t. It’s all sorts of wrong. There’s nothing normal about this situation. There’s nothing normal about Emmett Jameson.

  That one sophomore kid is back at my locker. I almost groan with frustration, but I bite my tongue and walk up to him. I need my books for next period.

  “Hey, little whore,” he says, eyes glued to my boobs.

  “Get lost, perv.” I’m not in the mood to deal with him. He and hundreds of other horny male teenagers have seen my boobs, and I don’t want word to go around that I can be harassed.

  That role, it seems, is exclusively for The Elites.

  And I will not tolerate this shit from anyone else..

  “I thought you’d say that,” he says, and I notice he has a slight speech impediment. There’s Cheetos dust on his fingers and around the collar of his polo. Gross. “So I propose a proposition. I mean, we all saw what just happened in the cafeteria.”

  “I said get lost. Or are you just braindead?”

  His hand reaches out, and in a flash I’ve got my elbow on his neck and his back up against the locker. My movement surprises me. His fleshy neck bends under my pressure, and his eyes bulge.

  “What the fuck do you want, you twisted fuck?”

  It actually feels good to take back some control.

  “Let him go,” comes Vincent’s voice from over my shoulder. I freeze. “You hear what I said or are you just braindead?”

  My words come spitting back out to me, but this time they drip with malice and promise. Vincent will hurt me if I don’t do as he asks.

  I drop my elbow and step away, but Vincent grabs me. My wrists are behind my back before I know it.

  “Let me go,” I growl, trying to struggle out of his hold. “Ouch, fuck.”

  “Shut up,” Vincent says, and I stop, chest heaving and my wrist reminding me that it’s still fucked up. “Go on, Nico, what was your proposition?”

  The kid suddenly looks greedy, and he’s looking at my chest like I’m the last cheeto in the world. “Boobs, under the bra, thirty dollars.”

  “Nah, I think he can touch them for free,” Vincent whispers in my ear like we’re conspiratory partners. “What do you think, Ophelia?”

  “Over my dead fucking body,” I snap.

  I struggle violently, putting all my weight and strength into freeing myself. One of my wrists gets free, and I twist a
round. I will fight until my very last breath. I must have surprised Vincent though, because his dull eyes are widened. My foot comes up, connecting with his crotch, and he hisses in pain. He lets go of my other wrist, and I take off running down the hallway.

  My feet slap the tile as I pick up speed – I race past doors and lockers and dodge other people. When I look back, Vincent is nowhere to be seen. My breaths are sharp and frantic – Vincent was going to help that kid assault me.

  What a sick fuck.

  The rest of the day, I’m propositioned by at least two other weird kids. I brush them off, but I don’t touch them. In the hallways, Vincent passes by and wiggles his eyebrows at me. He thinks this is hilarious. I’m just some sort of object he can toy with.

  I desperately want the day to be done already.

  I just want to go home and sleep.

  In seventh period, I debate whether to go to practice or not. It’s what’s expected of me. It’s what Coach Granger wants. But my body is bruised and tired and achy. I’m mentally strung out, from being on high alert each moment, waiting for the next thing the Elites throw at me. The teachers are looking at me different – that is to say, they won’t meet my eyes.

  I’m betting the teachers are under the Elites’ thumb just like the police. Figures why I haven’t been called into the principal’s office to talk about the blatent nudity and minor pornography littering the hallway. The trash-cans are full of the pictures – I see them everywhere I walk.

  Screw practice. I need a nap.

  There’s a small form waiting for me at my car after school. I almost turn around and call a cab before I recognize Lily.

  She has a hood over her head, and when she sees me, her eyes light up.

  “Come on,” she says, nodding impatiently to my vehicle. “Get in.”

  “Lily, I can’t talk,” I say, and my voice cracks with strain. “I’m exhausted.”