Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103

by Hartford, Devon

  Prince opens our back door from the inside and Chase climbs over him, followed by Mimi piling in giggling. She sits down next to me.

  “Mare Bear!” she squeals and hugs me.

  What a relief. Without her here, I don’t think I could’ve done this. She wears the knee-length gown she picked out last night. An embroidered and embellished champagne-hued low V-neck that plunges well past her navel, showing cleavage and featuring her perfect legs. I could never pull off a gown that revealing, but she totally can.

  “You look gorgeous,” Mimi says. “Look at your makeup and hair!” She flicks a few of my spiky locks. “I love this!”

  “Thanks,” I grin, already perking up.

  “You look fucking hot,” Chase says.

  “Who, me?” I giggle.

  Mimi frowns dramatically, “You better not dump me for her tonight.”

  They’re both just blowing smoke up my ass. Nobody would steal me over Mimi.

  Chase says to Mimi, “I didn’t say she was fucking hotter than you, babe. I just said she was fucking hot.”

  “Just making sure,” Mimi says, sort of meaning it.

  Chase says, “You’re the hottest fucking babe in this school, babe. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  Mimi smiles at that, “You too, babe.”

  I love that they’re calling each other babe. Mimi deserves a little romance in her life.

  Mimi looks around herself for something, “Wears the sunroof button?”

  “I got it,” Prince says and opens it.

  As soon as it’s open, Mimi stands up. “Get up here, Mare Bear! Whoop, whoop!” Her enthusiasm is infectious.

  Reluctantly, I stand up beside her.

  Mimi is laughing and doing a sarcastic princess parade wave as we pass the line of limos waiting to pick up more Fundies. I don’t feel so bad because we’re past the work-study buses.

  “Wave, Mares! Show them who the royals are!”

  I don’t have a problem shoving it in the faces of the Fundies. I do my own snooty princess parade wave and sneer at the few Fundy girls walking toward their limos.

  Okay, maybe tonight might be fun.

  Chapter 44

  The limo stops and Thomas jumps out, opening the door for us. Mimi and I climb out first. We’re on the outskirts of downtown Castle Hill. I immediately recognize the sports-slash-event arena from this morning. It has been fully transformed into what I can only describe as a fairytale snow castle.

  “Oh my god!” Mimi gasps. “Would you look at this place?! It’s insane!” Chase and Prince lead us up to the main doors. On our way, Mimi whispers in my ear, “Oh, look. The Snow Queen.”

  To my surprise, Ms. Skelter and Mr. Ralston flank the main doors. She wears a white dress and looks surprisingly good in it, and not at all ghostly or skeletal. Mr. Ralston wears a white and silver tuxedo that makes him look ten years younger.

  “Mister Lancaster,” Ms. Skelter says formally.

  “Ms. S,” Prince nods.

  “What a beautiful young lady you’ve brought with you.” She looks right at me, extending her hand and smiling, “Pardon my ignorance, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Erm,” I mumble.

  Her face ices over and she drops her hand to her side without shaking mine. “Mizz Angerman,” she grumbles. “What are you doing here in that dress?” She obviously means not in one of the work-study snowflake waitress dresses.

  Annoyed, I nod at Prince, “Ask him.”

  He says, “Isn’t it obvious, Ms. S? Mary is my date for this evening.”

  “I can see that,” Ms. Skelter scowls. She glares at Mimi, “You too, Mizz Barker?”

  Chase steps forward, beaming with pride as he wraps a possessive arm around Mimi’s waist. “No way I’m going to the winter formal with anyone other than the finest piece of ass on campus.” He flashes a winning grin at Mimi and she eats it up.

  “Mister Wendingham!” Ms. Skelter barks, furiously offended.

  “What?” Chase chuckles. “You don’t think Mimi has the best ass on campus?”

  Mr. Ralston is blushing and trying not to laugh. Prince is chuckling.

  Ms. Skelter is pissed, “Watch your tongue, Mister Wendingham! Foul language such as yours is not appropriate at an official school function!”

  “Watch this tongue?” Chase flaps his tongue suggestively at Ms. Skelter. “I never do anything appropriate with it. You know that, Ms. S.” He blows her a dirty kiss and waggles his tongue expertly.

  “Mister Wendingham!” Ms. Skelter harrumphs.

  “Just say the word, Ms. S,” he winks a laugh and leads a giggling Mimi past her and through the doors.

  Ms. Skelter looks ready to explode, but she stands there impotent.

  Prince says, “Don’t mind us,” and pulls me past her. We cross the big lobby, which is lightly decorated with silver and white streamers and garland.

  Mimi hisses, “Can you believe that bitch?”

  “Yes,” I snort.

  When we walk through the last set of doors and see the inside of the arena, I’m stunned. It has been transformed into a winter wonderland. Pools of cool colored lighting artfully reveal a sweeping snowscape. It’s like walking into another world.

  “Oh my god,” Mimi marvels. “It’s like we’re in the movie Frozen!”

  “Right?” I laugh.

  “Oh my god, look!” Mimi points. “It’s Santa!” Sure enough, hanging from the ceiling is a life-size Santa Claus in a big red sleigh full of colorful presents and pulled by nine life-size reindeer, their legs moving in slow motion with Rudolph in front, his red nose glowing bright, lighting the way through the twinkling snowflakes, which are sparkling lit up fixtures, hundreds of them hanging from the rafters.

  “Wow.” I can’t imagine how much the decorations cost. A million dollars? Two? It’s astonishing.

  Prince and Chase lead us down the steps toward the main floor. I can see dinner tables laid out, only they’re not in neat rows because the floor of the arena isn’t flat. There’s little snowdrift mountains of varying levels, with some tables on floors, but others set atop the fluffy mounds of varying heights, with the highest mounds and tables at the far end. Some of the tables are already occupied with groups of Fundies in their finest formal attire.

  In the middle of it all is a shimmering silver dance floor.

  “Is that ice?” I ask.

  “It’s supposed to look like ice,” Prince offers as he leads us weaving past the table mounds to the tallest one in back. A curving white staircase circles around the snow, which is obviously fake, and we work our way to the top.

  “This is our table?” Mimi gawks as we near the top of the staircase.

  “It is,” Prince says.

  The table is draped in a sparkling white table cloth and covered with expensive place settings. A huge white floral centerpiece sits in the center of the table. There’s seating for eight. I cringe when I see who is already here. Sitting in four of the chairs are Duke, Victoria, Jacqueline, and Skill, in that order, the girls between the men, probably so they don’t fight.

  “Oh, look!” Victoria gushes. “It’s the gutter sluts!”

  Jacqueline laughs.

  Prince smiles, “Would you two like to leave on your own two feet, or shall I have you thrown out?”

  “Pfft,” Jacqueline snorts.

  “You wouldn’t,” Victoria sneers.

  “I would,” Prince insists politely. “I’m not kidding, Vicky. Find your manners or find the exit doors. You too, Jackie.”

  Both girls roll their eyes and pout.

  Prince pulls out a chair for me. “Fairest?”

  “Oh, thanks.” I sit down and he pushes in my chair, then sits between me and Skill.

  “Hey, War Paint,” he says. Unlike every other guy here, Skill’s tuxedo is a dark burgundy with black lapels that goes great with his scarlet hair.

  “Hey,” I mutter, not sure what to say after seeing him at the Secret Fucking Hideout and hea
ring Rob’s story about the Poor Boys today. I can’t help but think Skill’s here with Jacqueline for reasons other than the obvious, aka his manwhorishness. I’m suddenly wondering if that has all been an act? Has Skill been playing Jacqueline and Victoria this whole time?

  I don’t really know.

  Chase pulls out Mimi’s chair next to mine and she sits, then he plops down next to Duke. They bump fists, happy to see each other.

  Prince does not look exactly happy to see Skill sitting next to him. He turns his back on him and focuses on me.

  I notice a little white gold gift box on my plate and everyone else’s. “What’s this?”

  “I would assume some sort of confection,” Prince offers.

  Mimi rips hers open. “White chocolate! My favorite!”

  I open mine and see the same. “Do I eat it now or…”

  Prince grins, “Do whatever you want, fairest. Tonight is yours to enjoy.”

  “I’ll save it,” I smile. I don’t want to spoil my appetite. We’re obviously having dinner and I want to try everything without eating too much. My gown isn’t exactly expansive around the waist. As it is, I have to suck my tummy in just to sit.

  The work-study waiters and waitresses go around asking if we want fish, fowl, or honeyed ham. I’d pick chicken if they had it, but they don’t, so I go with the ham, which isn’t my favorite, but who wants fish on Christmas? I’m not even sure what fowl means, other than a bird that isn’t chicken, so I skip it.

  Do I feel guilty the work-study kids are waiting on me hand and foot? Of course I do. I’m constantly thanking them profusely as a result, almost begging them not to hold it against me.

  They start serving soup a few minutes later. Some sort of creamy pumpkin bisque that is to die for. Salad and breadsticks come next. A dozen different shapes and flavors of bread, some crunchy, others fluffy. The salad is mixed greens, walnuts, dried cranberries, and a bunch of other yumminess tossed together. The ham is honey-glazed and served with a side of roasted butternut squash drizzled with brown butter and cinnamon molasses, turkey sausage & chestnut stuffing, and lastly creamed spinach and nutmeg, all of it artfully arranged and plated. It’s melt-in-your-mouth excellent, the most gourmet Christmas dinner I’ve ever had.

  Oh, and it turns out the fowl is glazed game hen, which Prince gets and shares with me. It’s actually really good. Almost tastes like chicken.

  It takes nearly two hours to get through everything. During that time, I start to notice something weird. Prince is acting like he’s got a solid buzz going. Not drunk, but getting there, which is weird because none of our drinks are alcoholic. That I know of, anyway. They certainly aren’t supposed to be, not with faculty here.

  I start to wonder about the punch. We’re all drinking it. It’s some kind of red mulled hibiscus infusion that’s not too sweet and not too flowery. It’s quite good, actually. But it’s not alcoholic. I’d notice if it was. I sniff mine to make sure. Smells normal to me.

  I whisper to Mimi, “Is Prince acting weird?”

  “Not any weirder than usual.”

  “Does he seem drunk to you?”

  She turns and glances at him, watching while he says something to Jacqueline, talking past Skill. Mimi shrugs, “I don’t know, maybe a little? Why?”

  “Did someone spike the punch?” I whisper.

  She sniffs her glass, sips thoughtfully, and shakes her head, “I don’t think so. He’s probably just nervous. Trying to impress you.”

  “I guess.”

  At some point, one of the work-study snowflake waitresses goes around our table filling our punch glasses from a pitcher. I think her name is Hannah, if I remember.

  Actually, she holds two pitchers. I watch her go around the table. She fills every glass from the pitcher in her right hand. Never pours from the pitcher in her left. Until she gets to Prince’s glass. She fills his with the left pitcher.

  When she gets to mine, she has to lean between me and Prince to reach my glass. He doesn’t notice because he’s blabbing something to Victoria.

  “Oh, sorry,” I grab my glass and hold it out for the snowflake waitress so she doesn’t have to lean for it. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” she says with an edge and sets down the left pitcher on the table next to me so she can take my glass and fill it. She steps back and pours with the right pitcher, holding my glass away from the table and over the floor.

  While she’s distracted, I take a quick sniff of the left pitcher sitting on the table. I swear I smell alcohol.

  “Isn’t that right, fairest?” Prince spins in his chair and knocks the left pitcher from the table splashing onto me.

  I stand up and gasp. Red punch soaks my gown from the boobs down. The alcohol smell wafts over me.

  “What the fuck?!” Prince roars. “Who put that pitcher here?!” He fires a hateful look at the snowflake waitress. “You did that on purpose! I’ve been watching you all night! Giving dirty looks to fairest Marianne! Now look what you’ve done! You fucking idiot! You ruined her dress! Do you have any idea how much that dress cost?!” He stands up and towers over her glaring.

  “I, I, I,—” the waitress is scared to death, her face tightly frightened. “You were—”

  “Me?! Don’t blame me! What the fuck did you put that pitcher here for?”

  Now I’m mad at him. I don’t care about the stupid gown. “Calm down, Prince! It was an accident! She didn’t mean it!”

  Prince is furious. Looks at me. Looks at her. Looks at my gown. “Fuck!”

  “Would you relax?!” I scowl at him. “It’s just a stupid dress!” I’m suddenly seeing Prince in a very different light that I very much don’t like.

  He clenches his jaw and hisses hatefully, “But it’s your dress, princess.”

  “Don’t call me that!” I snap.

  “I’m sorry.” He heaves a deep breath. “I lost my temper. I want your evening to be perfect. This is not what I’d call perfect,” he snorts, his voice strained, motioning at my gown. He’s trying to get himself under control but he’s struggling.

  I remind myself at least he’s trying.

  The waitress looks like she wants to fall to pieces. Her eyes brim with tears.

  “Sorry, fairest,” Prince says to me.

  Still angry, I blurt, “Don’t apologize to me! Apologize to her! You called her an idiot in front of everyone!”

  “She is an idiot,” Victoria chortles and sips her punch.

  I scowl at her, wanting nothing more than to throw the other pitcher of punch in her face.

  Duke says to Victoria, “Not now, Vee.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” she barks at him. “You’re not the boss of me!”

  Duke rolls his eyes in frustration.

  “Fundy cunt,” Mimi mutters.

  “What did you call me?!” Victoria demands, standing up at the table, holding her glass of punch at the ready.

  “Go ahead and throw it,” Mimi threatens, grabbing her own glass of punch.

  I feel for Grayson’s knife under my corsage, ready to pull it on these bitches if need be.

  “STOP!” Duke shouts loud enough to shake the stadium. Background dinner music is playing, but it isn’t loud enough to drown him out.

  Everyone in the entire arena is looking at us.

  With us on the highest snow mountain, we’re easy to see.

  Duke says in a more normal volume, but with his face fighting itself, “Vee, put your punch down before I put it down for you.” He’s not even standing up, but his words carry an immense weight.

  “What did you say to me?” Victoria hisses with righteous indignation like he’s never stood up to her before and he’s doing it for the first time in front of the entire school, of all places.

  “Put it down, Vee, or we’re done. No wedding and you can explain why to both our parents.” These are momentous words. Everyone knows it. Especially me.

  “Oh yeah?” Victoria snorts. “Fuck you, Duke! You dumb fucking jock! I never wa
nted to marry you anyway, you worthless piece of shit!” She splashes her punch in his face before storming off. She stops at the top of the staircase, “Come on, Jackie! We’re going!”

  Jacqueline looks at Skill.

  Skill smirks at her, not moving from his seat.

  “Come on, Skill!” Jacqueline demands.

  “I haven’t had dessert,” Skill suggests.

  Jacqueline snorts in surprise. “Fine! I hope you like not getting laid tonight!”

  Skill stands up with a sigh and follows.

  Jackess Jacqueline looks pleased. She, Vicious Victoria, and Skill disappear down the stairs.

  “That happened,” Chase chuckles, sipping his punch.

  I realize the snowflake waitress is standing there paralyzed.

  Prince turns to her. “I’m supposed to apologize to you.”

  “Her name’s Hannah,” I say. To her, “It is Hannah, right?”

  She nods.

  “Say you’re sorry, Prince,” I insist.

  “My dear Hannah,” he says somewhat drunkenly, “I am very sorry for losing my temper. Will you accept my most sincerest apology?”

  “It’s okay,” Hannah mutters. “I’m sorry for spilling. It was an accident.”

  Prince gives her a smirky grin.

  At least he apologized.

  Hannah scurries off.

  The rest of us sit down.

  Prince says, “Duke, aren’t you going to follow your fiancée?”

  “Fuck her,” he grumbles behind his fisted hands, which he clasps in front of his brooding mouth, elbows resting on the table top. “She can go fuck herself. Or fuck Skill. Or fuck Jacqueline. Or fuck them both. I’m done with her.”

  “Good for you,” Prince says. “Show her who’s boss.”

  Chase raises his eyebrows, a silent sign of doubt? Hard to say. He knows Duke better than I.

  Dessert arrives at that point, distracting us. Two work-study waiters set out eight plates of white cake covered in thick drifts of sparkling frosting and accented with silver candy pearls.

  “Who wants dessert?” Mimi says sarcastically.

  Nobody laughs.

  Duke digs in anyway, staring off into space and stabbing his cake with his fork and chomping on every bite like he’s chomping on Victoria’s head.