by Jenni Sloane
“Speaking of,” I said, hoping to change the subject “I saw Ian Kemp today. He came to Algebra late, and the teacher didn’t even care.”
Kayle rolled her eyes. “Ah yes. The rock god himself.” She lowered her voice to a raspy whisper and put on a terrible English accent. “Yes, I’m Ian Kemp, and all shall worship my skinny little rat-weasel arse.”
I laughed, even as the idea of Ian’s skinny little rat-weasel arse made my face heat.
She returned to her normal voice. “Well, at least that means Archer’s back too. Thank God.”
“Thank God?”
“Yeah, it’s…complicated.”
“What, are you guys dating or something?”
She burst out laughing. “What? No! Don’t be silly.”
I wasn’t sure what was so silly about it. Archer was hot, Kayle was cute, she was glad to hear that he was back… “Oh.”
She took a bite of borscht and left the spoon dangling from her lips for a moment. Then she slid it out. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a cool kid.”
I hadn’t noticed, actually. Kayle seemed confident, street smart. It had never occurred to me that she had trouble fitting in.
“Archer and Ian?” she went on. “They’re too cool to be cool kids.”
I snorted. “C’mon. They’re just annoying teenagers like the rest of us.”
“No, I’m serious. They’re, like, untouchable. In a way that even the richest rich brats aren’t. Take Cole, for example.” My stomach twisted at his name. “Obviously, he was hot shit wherever you went to school before. And he’s become hot shit here in less than twenty-four hours. But he has to work for it. He has to be an asshole and assert his dominance or whatever. He’s hot shit because everyone’s too scared to treat him like anything else. I mean, believe me, he’s gonna have more of a battle here than he did at his old school. There’s kids here bigger than him and meaner than him, with scarier rap sheets. But he’ll hold his own, if he works at it. Ian and Archer, though? They don’t even have to try. People just fawn over them.”
“Probably the accents,” I said.
Kayle laughed. “Maybe. My point is, I could never date Archer.” She stirred her borscht and stared down at the purple puree. “I did, however, save his life last year.” She tried to make the words sound casual, but I could tell she was proud and a little embarrassed by the confession. She hastened on. “In exchange, he offered me his protection. Which is why I don’t get pummeled by the Cole Hellers of this fine institution.”
It was easy to picture Archer as a protector. Who would ever mess with him? But if you were on his bad side…
“How’d you save his life?” I was more curious than I wanted to be. Maybe I was a total cliché, but I was fascinated by Ian and Archer. Fascinated by anyone who got to sing onstage in front of adoring fans. I guessed singing at Sunday mass wasn’t quite the same.
She hesitated, mouth opening. “I…think that’s his story to tell, actually.”
“Oh.” I tried to hide my disappointment. As if Archer Kemp was ever going to notice me, let alone tell me his story.
“I was a little worried when he and Ian went on tour last semester. But I guess he’d already established to the student body that I was not to be messed with. So people left me alone, even after he was gone.”
“Do you like their band?” I asked.
“Certifiable?” She laughed. “They’re okay. A little emo for my taste.”
I nodded. Somehow I would have to find a way to listen to them. Maybe Ainslie would share her MP3 player. I swallowed a bitter laugh as I tried to imagine Ainslie and me lying side by side on her bed. On our stomachs, ankles crossed in the air, sharing her earbuds. Yeah right.
Maybe for my job assignment, I could work in a computer lab—either here or in the outside world. I was good with computers, despite my parents’ restrictive rules regarding screens. I’d been such a natural at computer classes that Monroe had made me their unofficial IT person. If I got a computer job, I could sneak some time on YouTube. Educate myself on Certifiable. And, you know, pop culture in general.
“And do you think they’re hot?” I asked. “Ian and Archer?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“You don’t seem convinced.” I forced down more soup. “I think they’re hot.”
She glanced at me. “Amma?” she said warningly.
I wiped my lips with my tiny, sandpaper-rough napkin. Flinched a little as the cuts on my hands ached. “Huh?”
“I’d be careful, okay?”
“Why?”
“I see the stars in your eyes.”
I laughed nervously. “What are you talking about?”
“I know I said Ian doesn’t have to be as brutal as Cole in order to be worshipped. That doesn’t mean he’s much better than Cole.”
My heart sank. “What do you mean?”
“Ian’s on nobody’s side but his own, okay? Don’t set yourself up for…for hurt. Or whatever.” She was looking at me seriously.
I shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Not like I want to marry him. Just saying he’s cute.” I reached for my roll. One of the splits in the skin of my finger joint cracked open, and I hissed.
“What’s wrong?” Kayle asked.
Reluctantly, I showed her my hands. “I was polishing trophies last night. With a scrap of cheesecloth.
She winced. “Yikes. Rominsky doesn’t mess around.” She studied my cracked skin. “I can give you something for that.”
“You mean, like…Tylenol?”
She snickered. “Not exactly. I’m a bit of a mad scientist, I guess you could say. I used to want to be a pharmacist. Still do, I guess. Though, it’s not a career path Strathmore will approve for me. On account of how I was sent here on potions-related charges.” She grinned, but didn’t elaborate. “Anyway, I’m not so bad at whipping up cures to what ails people.”
“You whip up cures…here?”
“Tell anyone, and I’ll give you arsenic instead of an ointment. But yes. I do have a top secret laboratory in my dorm room. And I can whip up something you can put on your hands tonight for round two. It’ll help heal the skin and serve as a protective layer to prevent the polish from burning you in the first place. I’ll have it ready by dinner.”
“Wow. Thanks.” I hesitated, unsure as always that anyone would want to hear anything about my boring life. But Kayle seemed genuine. “I was gonna try to get permission to start sewing again. It’s kind of my hobby. Can’t do that if my hands are a wreck.”
“What do you sew?”
“Uh…costumes.”
“Like cosplay?”
“Yeah. I’m a geek.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me.” It wasn’t said cruelly, though. “What have you sewn?”
“Oh. Um.” Before I could overthink it, I pulled out my wallet and unfolded the photograph I’d printed out before I’d come here. Me, dressed as Dany, getting ready to embark on the trick-or-treating endeavor that would ruin my life. “I did this one.”
Kayle took it and stared. I waited for her to laugh at me for being such a nerd, or criticize the costume, or the way I looked in it. I knew it was pathetic that I kept the picture with me. I just wanted to remember the dress. How good I’d felt when I’d finally put it on.
She glanced up at me. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks,” I said, my voice barely audible.
“I’m serious.” She studied the photograph again. “You made that whole thing yourself?”
“The dress, yeah.”
She handed the photo back to me. “That’s so fucking cool. You are gonna kick ass at the talent show.”
“Talent show?” I asked, startled.
“Yeah! The schoolwide talent show? In March? Were you not paying attention at orientation?”
I hadn’t been able to pay attention to much of anything after Cole’s threat. “Uh, I guess not.”
“Yeah, the whole school participates.”
“Oh, no. No, I don’t—I’m not gonna do it.”
“It’s mandatory.”
“A mandatory talent show?”
“They do it over three nights. I’d say about a third of the student body refuses to participate and just takes detentions or a write-up instead. So you end up with about thirty acts per night. At four minutes per act, plus breaks for the MC to speak—it’s a marathon. You’re in that auditorium for two, two and a half hours a night, three nights straight. But it beats the hell out of rec and study hall.”
“I don’t get onstage in front of people.”
“Were you listening? Not optional, babe,” Kayle said. “It teaches us important social skills or some shit. And how to survive public humiliation.”
I swallowed, unable to answer right away. No. No no no. I would not get up in front of Strathmore. In front of Cole. What did Kayle expect me to do up there in my costumes? Catwalk? Dance? “I can’t,” I whispered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
“No, but…” I trailed off, not sure what additional protest to offer.
Kayle slurped the last of her soup and smacked her lips. The beets had stained them magenta. She grinned at me. “Look on the bright side. It’ll be a good chance to drool over your buddy Ian while he makes sweet love to his guitar onstage.”
Chapter Five
I was dreading this evening’s rec. Yesterday’s had been so awkward—I’d spent most of it trying to hide. Evening rec was supposed to be a time for us to exercise, to “challenge our bodies as well as our minds,” or some crap. I had no physical prowess, nor did I like the prison yard vibe I got from the Strathmore courtyard. The grounds themselves were sort of pretty. Like the rest of the school, there was something rundown about the landscaping, but you could tell an effort had been made at one time. Though the winters here were mild, the grass was still patchy and brown, but I could imagine it green and neatly trimmed. Flowers in the springtime, maybe. A tall, black iron fence surrounded the property, separating us delinquents from the world beyond.
There was an old chapel nearby too, weathered and small, the wooden cross on the steeple stripped of all paint. I found myself staring at it, fascinated and a little creeped out. There were bars over the stained glass window too. Why bars on all the windows? I wondered. It wasn’t like it was hard for students to get outside. It was the fence around the property that kept them here, and the monitors everywhere—though to be honest, what was to stop students from running off when they left the grounds for work? No, there was nothing that truly kept Strathmore students in. So why did I feel so hopelessly trapped here?
I looked around at my classmates, wondering if they felt the same way. Cliques stood around talking and laughing. There was a loosely organized game of kickball going on at one end, the sole object of which seemed to be to bust people’s noses by winging the foam ball as hard as possible. A few runners lapped the perimeter, evenly spaced as carousel horses. A tetherball pole stood unused. The supervising teacher was playing on his iPhone near the school entrance.
Slowly I slunk through the yard, trying not to attract any attention as I searched for a quiet place to hunker down and read my Strathmore-approved paperback—some tame women’s fic. The mystery novel I’d wanted to bring had been rejected on the grounds that it might “give me ideas” about crime.
I thought I’d finally found an ideal spot, when I saw a short, slight figure in a cap and sunglasses tossing a ball back and forth with a much broader, taller figure. Ian and Archer. I watched for a moment. Ian’s taut, slender arm flex as he tossed the ball to his brother. My body reacted as Archer caught the ball, drawing it into his massive chest. My nerve endings seemed to sing, and there was a pull between my legs that almost made me gasp.
Forget it, Amma. You’re not going to be one of their pathetic groupies. Your focus is on surviving Strathmore. Don’t forget it.
I hurried to the opposite end of the yard, as far away from Ian’s gorgeous face and body as I could get.
I finally found the perfect place—a little alcove where the iron fence formed an L-shape around what might once have been a garden. From here, I could barely even see the schoolyard. And—hopefully—the people in the schoolyard couldn’t see me. I sat on a mound of mulch and opened my book. But I’d read less than a paragraph when I heard voices approaching. Or rather, one voice—gravelly, English accent. The other voice mostly just grunted in occasional acknowledgment. I was too busy flushing from chest to scalp at the realization that the voices belonged to Ian and Archer to make out what was being said.
They stopped a few feet from my alcove. “Why shouldn’t I leave this dump?” Ian demanded. “People want me out there. Okay? I don’t need my parents’ support, in any sense of the word. I have an actual career now.”
It sounded like Archer replied with, “The state,” in a low, almost unintelligible mutter.
“The state,” Ian replied. “The state, the state, the fucking state. Why would the state care? I’m doing what I’m supposed to do, aren’t I? We come here to learn the error of our ways—and I already know the error of my fucking ways, thank you; I embrace the error of my ways—and learn the real-world skills we need to get jobs. Well, I have a job. If they try to keep me here, I won’t have a job. How does that help anybody?”
They were so close. I could see the leg of Archer’s track pants.
Archer grunted. “It’s six months. Callahan’ll still give you permission to go record. The next tour can start when we graduate.”
“I’m sick of this place.” Ian’s gravelly voice was just this side of cold. “I never should have been sent here in the first place.”
“Debatable.” Archer chuckled.
“It’s not a joke,” Ian said sharply.
“I’m sorry,” Archer said. “I know you miss her.”
“Her,” Ian practically spat. “Not everything’s about her.”
“Sure feels that way sometimes,” Archer murmured.
I accidentally dropped my book. It hit the grass with an audible thwack. Shit.
I heard both of them shuffle as they searched for the source of the sound.
Ian finally stepped into my view. His gaze seemed to lock on mine—it was hard to tell what was going on behind his sunglasses—and I felt a jolt of hope. I didn’t know what I was hoping for. That he’d see me and lower his sunglasses slightly to better take in my dazzling beauty? That he’d ask my name and whether I wanted to go out sometime?
What he did was give me the tiniest curve of a smile. Not the full wolf-grin Cole gave me, but a twitch of his muscles that looked, for one split second, friendly. Then he took a step toward me, and I recognized the movement. His body was smaller than Cole’s, but just as coiled with energy. Just as threatening.
“You spying on us?” Ian asked, his voice so low and gruff I almost didn’t understand the words. Behind him, Archer stood immovable and silent as a boulder.
I opened my mouth to point out that they were the ones invading my space, then thought better of it. It would only be a moment’s satisfaction. Then I’d pay.
Here we go again.
That sign on my forehead, lighting up. This man, this gorgeous rock star, was sensing my weakness just as Cole had.
Ian took off his shades. Thick-lashed, hazel eyes regarded me with an almost puppyish warmth before they narrowed. “Hey. You’re that Challenge girl, aren’t you?”
You’re not the only one who’s famous, asshole. The bitter retort died on the tip of my tongue.
He didn’t circle me like Cole had. He stood there, still and self-assured, waiting.
I nodded, unable to speak. Some part of me still hoped. Hoped he’d think that made me a badass. That it made me sexy—the fact that I was untamable. Strathmore’s worst nightmare.
He laughed. “You don’t look very challenging. Unless they meant you were mentally challenged. Is that it? Do you know how to talk?”
“You’re disgusting,” I hissed, una
ble to stop myself. I had zero patience for anyone who was gonna joke about developmental disabilities. Any hope I had that Ian was better than Cole—that there was a hot guy at this school who was actually capable of being a decent human being—vanished.
“Oooh!” Ian turned to Archer. “It speaks.”
Archer didn’t say anything, but he was by Ian’s side, like always. I had no doubt where his loyalties lay.
“You’re not original,” I said, my voice low and steady. “There’s nothing you can say to me that hasn’t been said, nothing you can do to me that I haven’t already gone through.” I knew that wasn’t true, technically speaking. And I didn’t want him to take it as a challenge. But I couldn’t take the words back.
He stepped closer, and I forced myself not to retreat.
“You don’t look like trailer trash either. People said you were, like, white trash.”
“Well, I’m not.” My face heated. Don’t take the bait. Don’t give him what he wants.
“But you’re actually quite beautiful.” Ian went on as if I hadn’t spoken.
“I don’t care what you think of me,” I said through gritted teeth.
Ian lunged forward suddenly, and I fell back against the iron fence, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of me. He laughed again, then reached out with one hand as though to touch my hair. The heat deep in my body was an altogether different sensation than the fire of my anger. Part of me desperately wanted him to touch me. And part of me knew his touch wouldn’t mean anything good.
I opened my mouth to yell for help, when suddenly Bennett appeared behind Ian. For a second, I felt relieved. Bennett might not like me, but he did seem to like giving detentions. And maybe he was here to exert his power over Ian and Archer.
Then I saw Cole.
Cole broke into a huge, almost pleasant grin as he took in the scene. “What’s going on here?”
To my surprise, Ian whirled like a dog, baring his teeth. “You weren’t invited to this party, mate.”
“I don’t need an invitation.” Cole smirked. “TT’s always glad to see me.” He glanced at me. “Aren’t you, T?”
