by Rina Kent
“You returned from the dead.” Dan ruffles my hair again. “That alone deserves a celebration. I’ll delay my hookup with Cindy if you want to grab a greasy cheeseburger from Ally’s?”
“Wow.” I gasp in mock reaction, putting a hand on my chest. “You would delay your sexcapades for me? I didn’t think you loved me this much, bug.”
“I know, right?” He feigns sadness. “The sacrifices one has to make for friendship. You better name your first baby after me.”
That draws a chuckle out of me even when I’m not in the mood. This is Dan’s way to cheer me up.
Aside from the football team’s camp, Dan spent the summer making the rehab sessions less boring and drawing a laugh out of me every chance he got.
He doesn’t voice it, but I know he’s been feeling guilty about leaving me alone that night. I’ve been trying to tell him it’s not his fault, but Dan will just be Dan.
Loyal to a fault.
My shadow to a fault, too.
Or maybe it’s the other way around. I’m the invisible one, so I’m probably the shadow in this friendship.
One more year and we’ll both be free of our parents and their expectations.
Free. Just the thought pushes a burst of unexpected energy through my veins.
Dan and I continue our way inside, talking about our classes.
RES’s old architecture doesn’t reduce any points from its stupid grandiose. Built in King Henry IV’s time during the 14th century, it was first used for the king’s subjects and then fell under the rule of aristocrats and old money folks.
The huge arcs and the stony, half-covered hallways envoke a breeze from the past mixed with the presence’s modernity. It has ten towers, each dedicated to a level. Seniors get four. Freshmen and second years get three each.
RES is exactly its name. Elite’s school. The private school of all schools. It’s not only about money here, though. If you don’t have the brains that go with Daddy’s bank account, then you’re not welcome within its walls.
It has the toughest entrance exams in the country and they’re very selective about who they accept into their ranks.
I guess I got lucky.
Or not.
Depending on how you look at it.
For one, education here can help me in breaking free from Dad. But does it matter if he’s the reason I’m here in the first place?
“So, party this weekend?” Dan asks with a waggle of his brows.
“Wow. You really think I’d step foot in a party after what happened at the last party we were at?”
“You can’t let them bring you down. I bet they want you to stop having fun.”
“It was a hit and run, Dan. Pretty sure they wanted me dead, not to stop me from having fun.”
“You think they’re the same person who called help and gave as many details about you as possible?”
“I don’t think it’s the same person.”
My ‘saviour’ as Dan and I labelled him was the one who had a star tattoo on his forearm. Sort of like the star in the Sun-Moon-Star tattoo Mum made for me.
The responders found no one by my side when they came to get me.
Dan searches my face. “And you still remember nothing about that?”
I shake my head. Because of the fire, the police didn’t manage to retrieve any surveillance camera footage.
The facts were: I was drugged then hit by a car that night. My blood test results came up with a considerable dose of Ecstasy and some cocaine.
I think Dad was angrier about the drugs — and therefore his reputation — more than whether or not I remained alive.
Dad thought I used drugs of my own accord. He didn’t have to say it so I can feel it. He thinks I’m a complete disgrace to the Clifford name.
All he did was slap me with numerous therapies, coping, maintenance. It’s like I’m a machine who’s supposed to start running again after a few mechanics look into it.
He did the same after Mum’s death. He never stopped to ask if maybe I want to talk to him instead of some strangers.
To occupy myself, I’ve been visiting the deputy commissioner — a friend of Dad’s — and insisting on finding the bastard who did this to me.
If they thought I would cower into my shell and be a turtle, they will have a freaking ninja turtle on their hands.
Okay, that was lame, but all my similes are, anyway.
Mum and I didn’t have much, but we had our dignity. She taught me to never take other people’s rights, but to not let them take my right either.
If you don’t strike back, people will stomp all over you, Star.
Mum might not be here anymore, but her words are my mantras.
“You’re all I got so don’t go all emo on me.” Dan fist-bumps me and we release on a sound that resembles the ‘Big Bang.’ “Stay strong, bugger.”
“Strong is all I got, mate.” I nudge him with a shoulder. “I wasn’t always all rich and preppy like you.”
“Yes, miss East London.” He grins, saluting as he motions at the football team’s lockers direction. “I’m over here. See you in class.”
I wave at him with two fingers and continue down the hall. Energy pumps through my veins at the idea that all this will be over soon.
One more year.
I make my way towards the classroom when a hand slams on the doorframe right next to the side of my head. A tall frame blocks my entrance.
My vision snaps to the source and I freeze. Everyone in the hall seems to stop walking and talking altogether, too.
Levi King.
The same hypnotic eyes that pushed me to the brink of death stare down at me with a strange gleam. The other time, I saw interest mixed with menace, but now, it’s complete calculation.
“What do you want?” I snap, and I hear a few gasps around me.
No one snaps at Levi King. Kids here trip over themselves to keep him happy and comfy on his stupid throne.
I’m thankful my voice contains all the venom I feel for this bastard.
He knew I was drugged and still threw me out to be hunted down and left for dead.
Well, he only knew I was drugged. He couldn’t possibly have known someone drugged me unless he was the same arsehole did it.
But that’s the part that’s still fuzzy. If Levi drugged me, why didn’t he carry on with his plan and kick me out instead?
A change of mind, perhaps.
But why would he drug me anyway? He and I don’t cross paths. Ever.
He lives on the highest position of the food chain and I chose the low comfortable — and very invisible end — on purpose.
What made me visible to him?
That’s the only reason why I’m not going on full offence on him. That doesn’t mean I’ll take his entitled shit around me, though.
The accident taught me something valuable. I’ll not be a secondary character in my own life.
Not anymore.
Levi tilts his head to the side. “Is that a way to greet me after the entire summer, princess?”
“What do you expect? A chanting of ‘Long Live the King?’ Sorry, the choir is still on holidays.”
His lips twitch in amusement. Even when I’m sober, he’s still attractive as shit. His shoulders broadened over the summer — due to football training, no doubt — and I swear he became even taller.
“And here I thought you were still interested.”
“Interested?” I repeat, dumbfounded.
“Did you forget?” his voice drops to a shiver-inducing range. “You begged me for more the last time we were together.”
My cheeks heat until I feel like I’m thrown into a pit of flames. He had to bring out the most embarrassing moment of my life.
“Lapse of judgement.” I lift my chin. “Believe me, it won’t happen again.”
His fingers clasp around my wrist and he strings me along towards him. I try to twist and pull, but that only makes his grip harsher.
“Let me go,” I grit out, hating all the
audience that has stopped to see the show.
My cheeks flame with hot, flashing anger at being manhandled in public. Way to ruin my top-notch invisible reputation.
“Meet me after school,” he whispers in that deep, slightly husky voice.
It’s not a request, it’s a flat out order. He must be so used to people falling at his feet.
“Why would I want to do that?” I give up trying to remove my wrist and glare up at him.
He taps my nose twice. “Wait for me at the car park after practice.”
“No.”
“Be there, princess.”
He must still see defiance written all over my face. Instead of cowering away, his eyes shine with mischievousness and something so similar to ‘Challenge accepted’.
When he speaks this time, it’s loud enough for everyone surrounding us to hear.
“Don’t worry. This time I won’t make you beg for it.” He smirks. “For long.”
Scorching heat climbs up my neck and to my face, bathing me in red hot embarrassment mixed with blinding anger.
He offers a smug grin that says, ‘I always win’ before he taps my nose again and walks in the opposite direction. Everyone goes out of their way to let him go through as if they actually believe he’s the king or some shit.
I stand like a red ball, watching his retreating back with stupefaction as one of the other seniors joins him and soon enough, half of the football team are waltzing alongside him toward the locker room.
Everyone continue gawking at me as if I’m a world wonder — or a mass murderer, I can’t be so sure with some of the girls’ glares.
“Slut,” one of them hisses as she brushes past me.
The anger that should be directed at her or her minions that said similar insults is burning in the opposite direction.
The locker room and the wanker in it.
King wants me to meet him after school?
I’ll be meeting him after school, all right, but he’ll be wishing he never issued his royal decree.
Chapter Six
Levi
You could’ve escaped the battle, but you asked for a bloody war.
* * *
Coach yells at the front lines, his voice reverberating over the pitch like he’s a general at war. Or maybe he’s the strategist.
The royal blue baseball cap with RES’s golden crown covers his bald head.
He rolls his notes into what resembles a bat that he doesn’t hesitate to strike the slacking players with.
We just finished our first practice game for the season. The main team lost against the second-year team. Two to nill.
Two to fucking nill.
The negative energy radiating off Coach Larson is like a black halo over my mood.
The two teams stand in straight lines opposite one another as Coach paces between us.
The second team wear neon yellow over the team’s jersey while my team have the official royal blue jerseys and white shorts.
“Ladies,” Larson snarls, his small eyes and bushy brows give him a meaner, harsher look. “Is this how we’re starting the season after last year’s defeat?”
“No, Sir,” all of us yell.
“I didn’t hear you, girls.”
“No, Sir!” we bellow.
He nods as he continues his back and forth with his hands crossed behind his back. The paper bat hits his spine with every move. “The school might put you on a pedestal, but that’s only because you’re getting Royal Elite’s name out there. The moment you stop benefitting the board, the team is gone.”
A few murmurs break amongst the players, but they know better than to interrupt Coach.
“What did you think? Your parents pay for your education, not sports. Royal Elite is all about academics. The only reason they indulge with a few sports teams is because they want to promote that the school isn’t all about nerdy, snobbish teenagers. Are we or are we not going to prove to them that we breathe football?”
“We are!”
“Are we or are we not going to win the schools’ championship this year?”
“We are!”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“We. Are!”
“Captain.” Coach stops in front of me with a dark look.
He doesn’t approve of the way I’m leading the team since the finals’ loss in July, but he also knows I’m the reason they’re in check. He might be the strategist, but I’m the leader of the troops on the field. Besides, he trusts I won’t allow anything to screw this up. We both want that championship.
“I need results.”
“You will get them, Sir.”
Still standing in front of me, he points at Daniel, one of the benching players. “Good game, Sterling. You held the fort.”
He smirks in that cocky way that half sports’ players have.
Coach moves to Chris who’s standing beside me and gives him a harsh glare. “Vans. You’re out of the startup line next game.” He throws a look over his shoulder at the opposite team. “Astor, you’re in. Show me what you got, boy.”
“Yes, Coach!” Ronan grins like a goofball.
Coach Larson heads into the locker with his assistant coaches and the medical trainer trailing after him.
Chris lunges forward, to start a scene with Coach, no doubt.
I stand in his way, blocking his path. He’s like a bull, eyes black and jaw clenching. I hit my shoulder against his and shake my head.
“Fuck this, King!” He spits out. “I won’t give up my position for a second year.”
“Maybe you should’ve played better, huh?” Ronan waggles his eyebrows.
My gaze meets my cousin Aiden’s bored one and I say in a levelled tone, “Take him away.”
“Naw.” Ronan jumps in place, ducking on his own. “Come at me, bro.”
“Ronan,” I warn. He’s treating it as fun and games, but Chris is volatile as shit right now.
And most of the time, really.
Aiden clutches Ronan’s arm while Xander pushes him from the other side.
“Just to be clear,” Xander, a striker and a little wanker, throws over his shoulder. “This has been long overdue, Chris. You don’t deserve a place on the team since the summer.”
Aiden offers me a knowing look before he, Xander, Ronan, and Cole stalk to the locker rooms.
They’re nicknamed the four horsemen because whenever they’re on the field, they bring conquest, war, famine, and eventually death.
I call them the four fuckers.
Aiden, Xander, and Cole snatched their positions from the seniors. Ronan is the last to join.
The rest of the second-year players follow Aiden and his band of thieves. I might be the captain, but if they had to choose, they’ll probably take the ‘young’ King’s side.
Chris continues lunging forward like a train losing its course. Zach and Alex, two seniors, try to pull him back, but it’s like he’s on RedBull — or fucking drugs judging from his performance.
I swing my fist and punch him in the chest. He stops with stupefaction written all over his face. The rest of the senior players and the freshmen watch for my reaction, unblinking.
“What the fuck was that for?” Chris spits out.
“For losing your place.”
“It was Coach, he —”
I get in his face. “Did Coach play with your legs? Did he let Aiden score the first and lose the ball to Xander so he can score the second? Did he leave the defence like a pathetic deserted land?”
“Well, no, but —”
“No buts, Chris.” I point a finger at his chest. “You’ve been playing like shit since the quarterfinal game and during summer camp. If you don’t snatch your place back from Ronan, you’re out. For. Fucking. Good. I don’t need half-wits on my team.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m not listening anymore. The rest of the players part as I make my way to the showers.
Christopher and I are friends. Maybe not exactly friends, but co
lleagues. We both liked the high of alcohol, cigarettes and girls.
We’ve been rebels against our last names and families.
I loathe my uncle and he hates his uptight father who’s the metropolitan police’s deputy commissioner. Chris and I found each other on detention when we were juniors and bonded.
If there’s trouble, we shit all over it. Both of us live for that disapproving look on our guardians’ faces.
We even bet on whether his father or my uncle will pay the largest cheque to the school to cover all the trouble we cause year in and year out.
But Chris has been spiralling out of control. He’s been a knee too deep in the excitement part, he doesn’t even play decently anymore.
Football isn’t only a game for me. It’s not a high of the moment and a pumping of adrenaline. It isn’t the roaring of the crowd or the chants.
It’s a state of mind.
It’s the only fucking thing I own in a life that’s shackled by Uncle’s chains.
Football is the only thing I’m doing for myself and no one will fucking take it away from me.
For that, I need to take care of a certain princess problem that’s two months overdue.
Aiden and his band of thieves walk with me to the car park, all chatting about the upcoming game. Or more like, Ronan and Xander are bickering while Aiden and Cole shake their heads at them.
Chris left without even going into the locker room. Half the reason why I unleashed on him in front of everyone is because I know he holds grudges. Here’s to hoping he’ll release it on the pitch by finally sobering up and snatching his place back.
“I’m telling you, fuckers, I want hookers on my birthday.” Ronan taps his chest. “That’s the least you can do for all the parties I throw you all year round.”
Xander throws a jab to his side. “And what, you want one that comes out from the cake, too?”
“Fuck yeah.” His eyes twinkle. “All in bunny uniform, s’il te plait.”
“Bestiality alert.” Cole deadpans.
“Fuck off, Cole.” Ronan glares. “Don’t kill the fantasy.”
“Okay, hold on. Let me get this straight. So we’re getting hookers sent to… a House of Lords’ member. Like hello, hookers house, can you send some bunny strippers to Earl Astor’s mansion?” Xan laughs. “You realise they might send us the police or… I don’t know some MI6 agents?”
