by Jenni Sloane
I snorted. Of course he didn’t. He was Cole Heller. He would never believe he owed anyone anything. A word of kindness. A moment of his time. A thank you.
I didn’t look away from him, not for a second. For the first time, I wasn’t even a little bit afraid of this pathetic bully. “I would never dream of expecting anything from you, Cole. Except pure bullshit.”
I ended up going to the baseball game. I told myself it was because I wanted to support the school, but I knew better. I watched Cole out on the diamond. His ass in those baseball pants was beyond reality. Even with the brim of his cap shading his face, his eyes were pure liquid silver, dangerous and beautiful. His arms flexed as he wound up for each pitch, his focus intense. As though he was pouring all of his aggression into winging that ball over the plate.
How could be so beautiful, so evil, so broken, so…
What was he?
Who was he?
I was afraid to find out.
I breathed in the evening air, grateful to be outside, away from my cramped dorm room and those tiny, stuffy classrooms. I was standing alone near the fence, knowing if I went into the bleachers, I risked being tripped, snickered about, or otherwise humiliated. I scanned the seats around me, realizing I still didn’t know many of my classmates’ names—and didn’t want to.
But what if there were people here who might befriend me?
Wouldn’t I stand a better chance of passing through this hell?
I’d told myself the only way I’d survive here was by holding myself apart. Keeping my distance from people who could hurt me. But what had Kayle said about the talent show? “We are all in the same boat, after all. Trapped here.”
But how was I supposed to believe that of people who tripped me and shoved me? Laughed when Cole tormented me?
And was I worse off here than I’d been at home? At least here I wasn’t facing constant criticism and humiliation from the people who were supposed to love me, supposed to take care of me.
I thought about Mason, and wondered what he was doing right now. If he was safe. If he could find any measure of peace and happiness in his prison cell. My parents had never held quite the level of distaste for him that they did for me. In fact, there was a period before I’d entered high school where it seemed Mason could do no wrong. Like I had one of those golden-boy brothers, a hero whose light would shine on anyone in his proximity—except me. Yet I’d noticed little things—the raw, frantic energy he sometimes displayed. A tendency to lose his temper. I’d pushed those things aside, because I saw the way he drew people to him. I saw the confidence I longed for. The charisma I’d never have.
And now, what was I supposed to think of Mason? He swore his innocence. Begged me to believe him. Did I really think he was capable of doing what he’d been accused of? Yes, he was troubled. But surely I didn’t believe that he could…
His actions had been suspicious.
But maybe it was all a frame job.
After all, I wasn’t really the “Strathmore Challenge.” I was just someone who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
A light breeze ruffled my hair, and I turned in to it, enjoying the feel of it on my face. I spotted Bennett in the bleachers. He wore a red sweater that I recognized as Strathmore’s “punishment uniform.” The school’s version of a Scarlet A. I guessed since Bennett wasn’t a student, they couldn’t give him a detention for his fight with Cole. But they had to make an example of him somehow. Compared to having your skin seared off with brass polish, wearing a different-colored sweater seemed like a mild punishment. But I had a feeling it wasn’t mild to Bennett—who was smart, ambitious, and probably not used to being in trouble. Bennett, who clung to the power afforded him by the school, to make up for his lack of real social standing.
Where had that thought come from?
I didn’t know anything about Bennett—about his feelings, his ambition. The only thing I could say that I knew about him in all honesty was that he was a jerk.
I turned away, trying to make sense of the strange heat deep inside me. It was similar to what I felt when I remembered the feel of Cole’s skin under my thumb. The way his muscles had rippled as I’d treated his injuries. I turned back to the game, but that didn’t help matters any. Cole was poised for the windup. But just before he coiled all that energy and let it fly, he spotted me. There was no mistaking where he was looking—his silver eyes locked on mine. He curled his lip—in a snarl or a grin, I couldn’t tell—then wound up and threw.
Chapter Seven
“So, like, do you think you could put me in touch with your brother?” Ainslie asked one night.
At first, I was just surprised she was talking to me. Usually she put her earbuds in as soon as we got back from rec and ignored me until we went to bed. Tonight, she had one earbud in and was perusing a comic book that appeared to be about anthropomorphic cats. Then I realized what she was asking. And how little sense it made.
“My brother?”
“Yeah. He’s doing time, right?”
My face grew hot. My only saving grace at this school had been that people didn’t seem to know who my brother was. Cole and Bennett knew, of course, but by some miracle they hadn’t paid to have the news put up on a billboard in the rec yard, or published it in the Strathmore Review. (Yes, we had a school paper. No, it was not scintillating journalism). Maybe they’d finally decided to spread the word. “I guess,” I mumbled, then realized how stupid an answer that was.
Ainslie didn’t seem to notice. “So could you put me in touch?”
“He’s…in jail.”
“I know, just, like—do you have his address? Like, which prison? And do I make the letter out to a certain cell number or something?”
“Why would you want to write to my brother?” I was both deeply suspicious and genuinely curious.
“Because.” She rolled her big blue eyes like she was already bored with this conversation. “I think that whole prison girlfriend thing is hot.”
I stared at her. “You want to be his prison girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I think it would be fun.”
I could have slapped her. It was as if she had no clue that Mason was a real person. That I was a real person. That our lives weren’t hers to have fun with. “You don’t even know him.”
She shrugged. “I social media stalked him. After I heard Kayle say he was in prison. He’s cute.”
I wasn’t sure which part of that to be more surprised by: the fact that she’d found my brother on social media, or the fact that Kayle was telling people about Mason. “How did you—we don’t have internet.”
She smirked. “I told you. I have my ways.”
I tossed my school sweater into my laundry basket with perhaps more force than was necessary. “No, Ainslie, I’m not going to give you my brother’s address so you can try to be his prison girlfriend.”
She narrowed her eyes and stuck her left earbud back in. “You’re so uptight. They could have picked someone way more interesting for the Strathmore Challenge. You don’t even seem like a real criminal.”
I bit back the urge to shout, I’m not!
How many people had Kayle told about Mason? I’d thought she was my friend. But was she like Tamar—my friend when it suited her? Maybe, behind my back, she was no better than anyone else here.
Ainslie had turned her music up so loud I could hear it through her earbuds. But she was still staring at me. I didn’t like her expression.
“I thought you were into Ian, anyway.” I tried to sound lighthearted.
She turned the music down, still glaring at me. “Ian is my ex. I’m moving on. Doing a better job than he is, anyway.” She shrugged and looked at her comic book.
Somehow I doubted that. I had a feeling Ainslie was only interested in making my brother her prison boyfriend to make Ian jealous.
“Just stay out of that whole situation, okay?” I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Why?” She leaned toward me
suddenly, eyes shining with a disturbing eagerness. “Is it really bad?”
“It’s just not your business. Okay?”
She turned a page of the comic book, still staring at me. “I could find out if I wanted.”
“I’m sure you could. And I’m asking you not to.”
She licked her full, glossy lips. “That’s not very nice, Amma.” She rolled slowly onto her back, fluffing the pillow behind her. She bent one knee, her teeny-tiny Care Bear shorts riding up her smooth-as-silk thigh. “Not very nice at all.”
I had a meeting the next morning to discuss my work-study prospects. All first-timers would be meeting with assistants throughout the week to get information about jobs. I’d spent yesterday evening rehearsing how I was going to ask for a job with computers. I would explain my strengths, and ask firmly but respectfully for the opportunity to pursue this career path. I mean, they wanted the Strathmore Challenge to be a success story, right? So they should let me play to my skills.
But when I got to room 322, where the meetings were being held, an unpleasant sight was waiting for me.
Bennett Baker sat at the oak teacher’s desk, tapping a pen impatiently against the wood.
Okay, fine, unpleasant sight wasn’t technically true.
No.
Definitely wasn’t going there.
He stared at me coldly as I entered. “Ms. Reiter.” His voice was devoid of any emotion. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I walked up to it, feeling as intimidated as if I’d been sent to stand before the headmistress. But I couldn’t let him see that.
He folded his hands on the desk and looked at me. His deep-set eyes were such a dark, rich blue they looked almost violet. “Let’s get right to it, shall we? Strathmore has agreed to your work-study taking place off campus.”
“Good,” I said.
“They think it will make for a more exciting narrative if the Strathmore Challenge is working in the community.”
My brow furrowed. “Narrative?”
“I’ve considered several possibilities for you.” He reached for a piece of paper.
“Actually,” I cut in. “I have some ideas too. I’d like to work in a computer lab. Or in IT, in some capacity. It’s where my strengths lie, and—and—” Shit, I was already forgetting what I’d rehearsed. “I feel like I would be an asset to this community if I had a computer-related job. It would also help with m-my career path. Since that’s what I want to do ultimately.”
I waited, every muscle in my body tensed.
His stare remained chilly and blank for a moment. Then he threw back his head and laughed. His cheeks pinked from the laughter, and I found myself strangely drawn to the smoothness of his skin, the light stubble around his jaw.
I also found myself very, very angry.
“What?” I demanded, flushing hotly. “You think I can’t really be good at computers? You’re some rich-kid genius, and I’m trailer trash, and a woman to boot, so I don’t know–”
He put up a hand, still smirking. “I’m only laughing because ninety-eight percent of students ask for a computer job. You first-timers are very…transparent.”
“Transparent,” I repeated.
His grin turned wolfish. “You think you’ll be able to access the outside world. Check social media, chat with your old friends, from your old life. You can’t accept that you’re here now. But you are. And there isn’t any going back.”
Well. That seemed a bit dramatic. “For your information, I’m not trying to ‘go back.’ I didn’t have friends; I didn’t have social media. I’m not on speaking terms with my family. I’m just good at computers.”
His smile faded, and his face was a cold mask again. “Be that as it may, you’ll work at Peppino’s Pizza Parlor in town. Your manager is Lane Crawford. She’s agreed to keep an eye on you for any…behavioral issues. You start Wednesday.”
“Okay,” I said, wishing I sounded confident, nonchalant. “I’ll work at the pizza place.” I pushed myself to say more. “Making pizza actually sounds kind of fun.”
Bennett smiled grimly. “Making pizza,” he repeated, as though the words were foreign. He glanced at his watch. “Go on. I’ve got another appointment in three minutes.”
How did it feel, to be that uptight? I mean, I was repressed, for sure, but Bennett was on a whole other level.
And suddenly, unbidden, came a fantasy of what it would take to loosen Bennett up. My hand drifted along his broad shoulders. My lips drifted closer to his stubbled jaw…
What the hell? I’d never even kissed anyone before. And if I was going to kiss somebody, it definitely wouldn’t be one of the assholes who were making my life at Strathmore a living hell.
I don’t know what made me say it. It was like something gave way within me, and I realized that for all his cruelty, Bennett was just a man. And barely a man at that. Still a boy, deep down. And the only power he had over me was the power I gave him. “Why do you let him treat you like that?”
He froze. His eyes widened slightly, and his nostrils flared. He knew exactly what I was asking. But in another instant, his face was blank. “What are you talking about?”
“Cole. He treats you like shit.”
His eyes blazed now. He looked like he wanted to rise from his seat. The anger I saw thrilled me on some level. There were ways in which I had more power than he did. “I could write you up for that language.”
“Then do it,” I said quietly. I’d watched my language my whole life. Been a prim and proper girl. This place was going to make me something else entirely.
He gripped the edge of his desk. Didn’t speak for a moment. “Cole is a nasty piece of work. A spoiled little rich boy.” He seemed to be talking to himself, not to me.
“But you’re tight with him.”
“I’m no such thing!” he snapped, looking up. Fire burned in his eyes. His lips curved in a sneer that was at once frightening and strangely attractive.
“Why did you tell the cops I was the one who smashed the bird baths?” I asked softly. “Why didn’t you tell them it was Cole?”
Something flared in his gaze. Something I didn’t understand. He looked down at the desk, as though maybe he’d find an escape from this conversation somewhere amid his charts and lists. His hand clenched on top of the papers.
“Cole just can’t handle the fact that I’ve seen him begging and crying. That I’ve seen him on his knees.”
I hardly dared breathe. I wanted to know more, but I knew the sound of my voice could shatter the moment. I had to choose my words carefully. I couldn’t directly ask the question that was on my tongue: When had Bennett Baker seen Cole Heller on his knees?
“He doesn’t like anybody or anything he can’t control,” I said softly.
For a second, I thought I’d done it. Kept Bennett in this space where he was willing to reveal himself. Offered myself as an ally and confidante. Then his eyes flashed, and his mouth thinned to a forbidding line. “What the hell do you know?” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Get the fuck out. I have another appointment.”
I left, annoyed but strangely satisfied. These men were creeps. They were dangerous. But not quite as dangerous as they believed they were.
They only have the power you give them.
It’s not all about you. They have histories. They’ve been hurt. You might be drawing those histories up to the surface. But you didn’t make them what they are.
And you can’t fix them.
All you can do is be you. No matter what they say to you. No matter what they do.
I felt better for a moment. Until whatever motivational poster I’d tacked up in my mind peeled off the wall and fell to the floor.
How the hell was I supposed to keep being me in the face of their cruelty when I had no idea who I was?
At dinner, it took some time to work up the nerve to confront Kayle.
“How many people have you told about my brother?” I finally demanded.
She started slightly
, and her forehead creased with guilt. “I’m sorry! It just slipped out around a couple of people.”
“Well, one of those people was Ainslie.”
“Sorryyyy…” She looked genuinely pained. “I’ve been working on a new potion, and that always makes me a little scatterbrained. I promise, my lips are zipped from now on.”
I was happy not to have to fight with my only friend, and focused on my dinner—cold, dry spaghetti and meatballs, and another wilted salad. There was also some vanilla pudding, slopped into one of the tray’s compartments, the artificial scent of which mingled with the scent of the spaghetti. Unpleasant, but I was too hungry for it to matter. I told Kayle about the pizza place. She made a face.
“Yeah, I know a few people who’ve worked there. It seems boring, but not awful. I think tossing the dough would be fun.”
It was a relief to hear that Bennett hadn’t assigned me the worst possible job. Honestly, anything that got me off campus sounded fun right now.
Kayle and I moved on to talking about a new costume I was working on—I’d gotten permission to have a sewing kit and some fabric—and I was so engrossed in describing it that I didn’t see Cole until it was too late.
Just like that first night, I was suddenly covered in food. Sauce on my sweater, spaghetti down my bra, vanilla pudding in my hair. My lap was filled with lettuce and tiny shreds of carrot. I looked up in shock and humiliation, blinking my dinner out of my eyes—and found Cole staring back. I expected his cruel smirk, the self-satisfied flicker of heat in his steel-gray eyes. But he looked deadly serious.
“You’re not going to eat here,” he said.
Pudding dripped out of my hair and onto my sweater, and the lump in my throat felt like a jagged stone. “W-what?”
His gaze was unwavering, his tone cold. “Anytime I see you trying to eat in here with the rest of us, this is what’s going to happen.”
“Cole,” Kayle said, clearly trying to keep her voice level. “Get lost.”
“This doesn’t concern you,” he told her dully, his eyes not leaving mine.
