by Jenni Sloane
Dazed, I scanned the room for the dinner monitor. My stomach lurched as I realized it was Bennett who stood by the door, arms folded across his chest. Watching us. Through the blur of pudding, I saw him smile.
I wasn’t going to get any sympathy there. Nor would I get it from the classmates who were staring at me, snickering.
Cole continued, “If you even so much as think about telling Callahan, or anyone else, I’ll make your life a thousand times more miserable than it is right now. Got it, TT?”
“You can’t starve me to death,” I hissed.
“I can’t stop you from eating,” he said. “But from now on, you’ll eat it alone in your fucking room where you belong.”
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, hating the pleading whine I heard in my voice. “I helped you.”
“And I told you, I don’t owe you anything.” He straightened up. “I mean it, TT. Don’t so much as suck a stray noodle off your sweater, or you’re dead.”
He ruffled my filthy hair, so hard that my scalp burned…then walked away.
I ignored the new wave of laughter from my classmates. Ignored Kayle’s entreaties to tell her whether I was all right, whether I needed her to take me back to my room. I simply took my tray up to the dirty dish rack and grabbed myself a fistful of napkins from the counter. I was shaking, but less from anger than from…regret? I should have been raging. I should have been blind with anger, with the need for revenge. I should have had enough self-respect to hate my tormenter. To fucking fight back. But all I could think about was how good it had felt to hold Cole’s hand in mine.
And how stupid I’d been to think it meant that anything was different between us.
Maybe someone as stupid as me didn’t deserve to be happy.
Maybe someone this weak deserved everything she got.
Chapter Eight
“All right,” Kayle said as we made our way down the second floor corridor. “I stole rolls, jelly, corn chips, and a granola bar. You’re gonna eat, and then we’re gonna practice for this talent show. And you are not going to think about Cole Heller. Even for a second. Got it?”
Easier said than done. We entered the empty classroom allotted for rehearsals and tossed our bags down. We had a forty-minute slot, and Kayle was determined we were going to make the most of it.
“So,” she demanded, as soon as we shut the door behind us. “What are you going to sing?”
“Uhh…” I didn’t want to look stupid in front of her. “Most of the songs I know—I mean that I’ve practiced consistently are…”
“Yes?”
“Jesus-y.”
“Oh boy.”
“I can do an okay ‘Shall We Gather at the River,” I said hopefully.
“No. No, no, no. We have to think fun, contemporary, sexy. Something you can sew a badass slutty costume for.”
“I am not going to dress slutty.”
“You think there’s something wrong with slutty?”
“No,” I admitted. “It’s just not me. Me would get up there in a high-collared blouse and a skirt that covers my ankles and sing to Jesus.”
Kayle rolled her eyes. “And that would be a mistake. Look, I respect who you are. But I also think you have a shot at gaining some major cred here. And honestly, I think trying something a little more contemporary might be freeing for you too.”
“Uh-huh,” I said doubtfully.
“We need to give them an image to rally around. We need a full on Sandy from Grease.”
I licked the granola bar residue off my fingers. “Okay, but I know almost nothing about contemporary music.”
“What’s Ainslie listen to? Steal her MP3 player. Find out.”
“She’d murder me.”
Kayle shrugged. “You could steal it at night. Seriously. She’d never know. Her parents send her so many sleeping pills, it’s insane. Archer said one time Ian tried to wake her up and seriously thought she was dead.”
A little shiver went through me at the thought of stealing—well, borrowing—something from Ainslie. After what she’d asked me about Mason, I wanted some small revenge.
“So how am I supposed to rehearse if I don’t even know what I’m singing?” I asked.
Kayle studied me. “Let’s work on movement.” She reached into her backpack. “I brought some leggings and a tank top. I know it’s not what you’ll be wearing onstage, because you’re gonna be in your awesomesauce costume, but for rehearsal, these will be better than that.” She nodded at my afterschool clothes—long, pleated skirt, high-necked cream blouse. “No offense, but you look like a Mormon.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with Mormonism,” she added. “Except it’s a cult. Just like all religions. But Mormons seem extra intense.”
“Not all religions are cults.” Defensiveness crept into my voice. I’d clung to church growing up because it was the only socialization I had outside of school, and I was comforted by the idea that God loved even a loser like me. But now that I was free of my parents, of my town, I wasn’t sure exactly what I believed. If I believed.
Kayle’s mouth opened slightly. “Don’t tell me you’re actually Jesus-y. I thought you just sang in church because there was nowhere else to sing.”
My cheeks grew hotter. “My parents are religious. I…haven’t made up my mind. I like church, sometimes. When the minister’s not being judgmental. When she’s just talking about caring for each other and stuff.”
Kayle looked at me sideways. Her expression softened. “You’re really not a challenge at all, are you?”
For some reason, that made me flush harder. “I don’t think so.”
She sighed. “Me either. For the record. I think you’re a cool person.”
I laughed, a little too loudly and awkwardly. “You’re the first person to ever say that.”
She smiled a little, but there was a shadow in her gaze. She patted my shoulder. “Come on. Let me show you some of my moves.”
Rehearsal was actually fun. I had to fight the urge at first to cross my arms over my chest once I put on the tank top. But once I loosened up, I liked the freedom the clothes offered. I forgot my growling stomach and let Kayle coax me into moving more freely.
“Hot!” she yelled, clapping, as I finally managed a real hip thrust.
I padded over to her, suddenly shy again. “This feels so weird.”
“It looks so good.”
“Ughhh. Do you have another granola bar?”
She laughed and reached for her bag. “Be careful, or you’re not gonna be able to move those hips come time for the talent show.”
It took me a second to process the words. They’d been spoken in Kayle’s regular, cheerful voice. But they hit me deep below the ribs and twisted like a blade. I was fairly thin, but my mom had made enough comments about my “pear shape” that I was grateful for my church blouses and formless skirts. For Strathmore’s dowdy uniform that hid any hint of my curves. I suddenly wanted to be back in my own clothes.
Kayle seemed to realize she’d hurt me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Amma. That was such a stupid joke. I…” She trailed off, putting her hand on my shoulder again. “I do that sometimes. I had some trouble a few years ago. Anorexia. I’m not always…” She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” she said.
I realized guiltily that I hadn’t thought too much about Kayle’s story after that first day. She’d been my only source of stability here. I counted on her smile, her sunny nature, her knowledge of Strathmore. I kept forgetting to wonder where she’d come from. What, exactly, had led her here.
“I’m going to change.” I was still eager to get out of the tank top. I headed to the alcove where I’d changed before.
When I came back in my blouse and skirt, she tossed me a granola bar. Part of me didn’t want to eat it anymore, but I did anyway.
“I’m
going to talk to Archer,” she announced. “Cole can’t treat you this way.”
I shrugged, chewing. “He’s been treating me this way for weeks. Why should he stop now?” I tried to ignore that stubborn pulse in the pit of my stomach I felt every time I saw Cole, or talked about Cole, or thought about Cole…
“He can’t stop you from eating.”
“I’ll figure something out. You don’t have to talk to Archer.”
If I felt fluttery whenever Cole’s name came up, I couldn’t pin down how I felt when I heard Archer’s. He was a solid, unmovable rock. Fiercely protective in a way I’d never known anyone to be.
Ian was lucky.
“You know.” Kayle’s voice lowered conspiratorially. “If you need a way to put Cole in his place, I could probably hook you up.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m a mad scientist. Just sayin’. Give me a little time and I could probably figure out how to give him dick warts or something.” She laughed a little, but she didn’t sound like she was joking.
I stared at her.
“What?” she asked. “I just thought I’d offer.”
“He’d kill me.”
Her mouth twisted to the side. “I hate that he has so much power.”
“Well, me to. But he does. And I don’t.”
“You eat alone in your room where you belong,” Cole had said.
Alone.
Was that where I belonged?
What would happen when a girl who was destined to be alone, who deserved to be alone—walked out on stage in a dress she’d made. Sang the kind of song she’d hardly dared listen to up to this point? Thrust her hips? What would Cole Heller think? Bennett Baker? Ian and Archer Kemp?
I suddenly felt sick.
“I’m gonna head back to my dorm.” I stood.
“Same time tomorrow,” Ainslie said. “I reserved the room. Decide what you’re singing.”
I tried to laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
I gathered my things and opened the door. My bag snagged on the doorknob, and I turned back to free it. As I did, I heard footsteps rushing away down the hall. I quickly stuck my head into the corridor. But I didn’t see anyone.
Had I imagined it?
As I was straining my ears, the dark-haired student who’d reserved the room next arrived. I didn’t even know his name, but I still braced myself for a cruel comment. A glare. A shove.
But he just walked past me into the room.
I hurried away as quickly as I could, willing myself to forget about the phantom footsteps.
Chapter Nine
I was passing by the offices on the main floor the next morning, ready to head out for my first day of work, when I heard a familiar voice coming from Callahan’s office.
“This is bullshit! You have to let me go!”
Cole.
“We don’t have to let you do anything, Mr. Heller.” Ms. Callahan’s voice was pitched high, and she sounded like she’d been arguing this case for some time. “Despite what you may believe, you are obligated to follow the same rules as the other students.”
I stopped and listened.
“You can’t prevent me from going. My mother will—”
“Your mother does not attend this school,” Callahan snapped. “You do. We’ve let your parents buy quite enough favors for you. It ends here.”
“They’re not my parents,” Cole spat. “She’s my mother. He’s nothing to me.”
“Be that as it may, you do not have the school’s permission to go home for the weekend. Any—”
“He’s sick!”
“He has the flu, Mr. Heller. It’s quite common. Any attempt to leave the grounds will result in swift punishment. And if you do succeed in leaving, I would ask that you don’t return.”
Cole let out a sigh that sounded like it wanted to be a roar. “This is so fucking—”
“Another word of that language, and you’ll get an additional week of detention. Perhaps a visit to the Station would convince you that I’m deadly serious?”
The Station? I wasn’t sure what that meant. The best I could figure was that she was threatening to kick Cole out—take him to a bus or train station and send him on his way. Part of me was overjoyed to hear someone finally refusing Cole something. But part of me was shocked by the genuine distress in his voice.
“I don’t care!” Cole shouted. “I have to see him, and I will. And I don’t care if I come back here or not.”
“Mr. Heller!” Callahan’s voice matched his in volume and force. “Starting now, you are no longer captain of the baseball team.”
“You think I give a shit?”
“You will either stay here and learn some discipline…” Callahan’s voice was a feral growl. “Or you will leave and not come back.”
He gave a low, harsh laugh. “You think you’ll get rid of me that easily. He’s paying to keep me here, isn’t he? You really want to piss him off by sending me away?”
“I’m not sending you away. Merely telling you what the consequences will be if you leave campus without permission.”
“Fine.”
I jolted at the sound of footsteps pounding toward me. I moved aside just as the door swung open and Cole stormed out. He didn’t appear to see me. He scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and headed for the stairs. I sank back against the wall for a moment. Things were getting stranger and stranger around here. Where did Cole want to go, and who did he need to see? And was Callahan serious that the school wasn’t going to let Cole get away with any more shit?
The idea of Cole leaving the school and never returning should have elated me. But I couldn’t banish the sour taste in my mouth over the conversation I’d just heard. He was awful, yes. But for the first time, I was forced to consider Cole a human being. One who sometimes felt powerless and scared.
No, not the first time, I thought, remembering him slowly stepping closer to me. Holding out his hands, unsure what I planned to do to him, but forcing himself to trust me.
Maybe I was sick, twisted.
Scratch that—I knew I was. Why else would I feel a shred of sympathy for a man who hurt me? Who was trying to prevent me from eating for Christ’s sake?
But God help me…some part of me wanted him to stay.
The school had let me rent a bike to get to my first work shift. I was amazed at how good I felt, being outside. The day was brisk, but the sun was out, and I was free.
When I’d first come to Strathmore, I’d had no time to explore the town on my way in—I’d been unceremoniously dumped on campus, and then hadn’t left since.
I pedaled faster and faster, feeling the wind in my hair. I didn’t care if making pizza was tedious. I vowed I’d learn to do the best job I could.
I arrived at Peppino’s fifteen minutes early. Locked my bike to the rack out front and practically skipped inside.
I’d missed all of this—the faces of people who weren’t my classmates. The smell of mediocre pizza. The feeling that I was once again part of the real world. I opened the door and stepped into the restaurant, looking for the hallway where the manager’s office was. Before I could head that way, a deep British voice said, “Amma?”
I whirled. Archer Kemp stood behind the counter in a red Peppino’s polo and visor, staring at me.
My jaw dropped. What was he doing here?
“Lane’s busy right now. So I’ll be showing you the ropes.”
“I didn’t know you worked here,” I said dumbly.
He nodded, the slightest jerk of his broad, angular chin. “Come on, I’ll show you the time cards.”
He didn’t say anything awful to me as he showed me where to clock in, then explained to me that I didn’t get a locker, just a coat peg to hang my purse on—but I couldn’t relax around him. Couldn’t shake the feeling that this was part of an elaborate scheme, perpetrated by…who? Bennett? Cole? Callahan? Archer hadn’t shown himself to be a bully, but Ian had. He’d shoved me against the fenc
e. His breath had been hot in my ear, his voice rough, and I’d been at once hot to my core and cold with terror. Ian was on nobody’s side.
And Archer was on Ian’s.
I wanted to know why Archer was here. He and his brother already both had jobs outside the school. Was Archer still required to work when the band wasn’t touring? Was Ian? I took a moment to study Archer’s face—as though I might learn anything from it. It truly looked carved from stone—all angles, too sharp and clean to be real.
“What does your brother do when you’re not around?” I ventured the question carefully, still half convinced he was suddenly going to turn on me. “Don’t people mob him?”
“He studies,” Archer said shortly. “In his room.” He dragged a yellow mop cart from the storage room toward the restrooms. Handed me a bottle of bleach and the mop.
“You’ll start in the restrooms at the beginning of each shift. You’ll want to check the bathrooms every hour and tidy up. The teenagers around here are monsters; the bathrooms will be disgusting. Vomit powder is in the storage closet. There’s a spray bottle of bleach too, for when shit gets smeared on the walls. When you’re done with the bathrooms, you’ll start on the dishwasher.”
I still hadn’t taken the mop.
He thrust it toward me. “Get started. I assume you know how to clean a toilet.”
“I thought…”
He raised an eyebrow. For the first time, I saw a hint of amusement on his stony face. “You thought you’d be making pizza?” He shook his head. “You’re on bathroom duty, Reiter. Bennett’s orders.”
My cheeks flushed hot. That’s why Bennett had looked at me so strangely when I’d mentioned flipping pizza dough. He’d arranged it so that I’d be scrubbing toilets. He’d found a way to humiliate me even when I was away from the school.
Well, screw him, I thought, snatching the mop away from Archer and dragging the cart into the women’s room. I wasn’t going to let any of these guys take away the sense of freedom I’d had, riding my bike away from Strathmore this morning. Feeling the wind in my hair.
