The Initiation: A High School Light Bully Romance (Beverly Hills Prep Academy Book 1)

by Melissa Adams

  I tell Mom that I think it was.

  “Look, Mom, all kids go to college for is finding a job and Ben got an excellent one without even graduating high school.”

  “Yeah, I know. Aside from selling his app, he makes way more than me. And this house, we could never have afforded it. I’m proud of him but he still needs to finish school.”

  “Mom, would you like me to help with the homeschooling?”

  Mom’s green eyes light up.

  “Would you? That would be so much help...”

  We agree that I’ll check Ben’s homework when Mom’s working nights and then I double check that she doesn't need help with dinner.

  “No.”

  “Ok, then. Tomorrow we have the first mock test before our first test on Friday for our Latin Class.”

  I get to my room and I try to translate a few passages from the De Bello Gallico (Translation: About the Gallic War) by Julius Caesar when my phone starts ringing with a call.

  It's Alex.

  I’m quite surprised that he's not trying to FaceTime but I answer after two rings.

  “Are you ok? I thought about waiting for you if you had got detention but Tuna told me that you were at practice.”

  He chuckles.

  “Detention? Whatever! As soon as I told coach, he tore the slip out and told me not to worry about it.”

  “Ok. Good, I guess.”

  “What do you mean? Did you want me to get detention?”

  It's my turn to laugh.

  “Well, you were in the girls locker room...”

  “I sure was...”

  He lowers his voice, probably remembering what we were doing in that locker room.

  The memory of his body against mine, of how hard he was, makes me clench my thighs with a little shiver.

  I try to play it down, not wanting him to know that he can affect me even by simply talking to me.

  “The thing is, that you already think that you can get away with anything you want.”

  His tone becomes somber all of a sudden but it's just fleeting.

  “Yeah, at school that's mostly true. At home... You say your Mom is strict, Ayla... You haven't met my Dad.”

  It's the first time Alex ever talks about his family, so I ask:

  “Ok, he might be strict but do you get along?”

  He laughs but this time it's more of a barking sound, nothing like the low chuckle he had before.

  “Get along? Listen, my Father isn't someone you get along with. You think I’m a control freak? He just doesn't leave anything unplanned and I’m at best an asset, a cog in some kind of plan he has for the family company. At worst, a fucking inconvenience that he's got to deal with. The only redeeming factor is that I see him quarterly at best.”

  Damn!

  I never thought that Alex’s family life wasn't good. He always looks so confident and perfect.

  “What about your Mom?”

  His tone changes again, playful now but laced with a veiled warning:

  “Ah, no, baby! You asked your question and now it's my turn.”

  “Ok...”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Huh? What does it have to do with...?”

  “Ayla, answer the question.”

  “Wouldn't it be easier to just show you?”

  He laughs again, his voice low and deep.

  “You could but somehow I think it’s better to stick to voice only. You’ll see... Now, what are you wearing?”

  I sigh.

  What's he getting at?

  “A tank top and a cotton tennis skirt...”

  “Nice. And underneath?”

  I blush immediately.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I want to picture you in my mind, right now. I was thinking about you...”

  “Yeah but now it's my turn to ask a question. I told you what I’m wearing...”

  He laughs again: I like the sound of his laugh.

  “No. You asked one. You said why do you ask? So now it's my turn. Whatcha wearing underneath that tank top and skirt? List and describe everything you have on.”

  “I don't know why you are so nosey but I’ve got on pink lace panties.”

  “And?”

  “That's it.”

  I hear a gasp, as if he were inhaling sharply.

  “No, bra... I love that. Would you let me feel those gorgeous boobs?”

  My ears are on fire!

  I’m glad I can't see myself in the mirror right now, I bet I’m blushing so hard.

  “Boobs? What are you, twelve? So, how about your Mom? Do you get along with her?”

  “I like to call them boobs or do you prefer tits? Regardless, you haven't answered my question: would you let me feel them?”

  I’m trembling all over: his voice is low and smooth and I know that if he were whispering in my ear, I would totally let him do a lot of stuff that I’ve never done before.

  But I’m embarrassed and I try to deflect the question.

  “Would you feel rejected if I didn't?”

  Another low chuckle.

  “You still haven't answered your question, so if I answer this you owe me two questions. No, I wouldn't feel necessarily rejected. But I wouldn't like it if you said no. So, would you let me feel them?”

  Yes!

  But I don't say that: Alex is already too much without my encouragement.

  “If... If you asked me like you are now and didn't demand it, I would consider it.”

  I hear a low hum coming from my phone.

  “Ayla... There's no shame in wanting me the way I want you, you know? I know I can be quite brash at first but by now, baby, you must know that I like you, right? And that this isn't about just a quick hookup.”

  His words make my heart beat faster: he likes me!

  “Would you let me feel the weight of your boobs in my hands, and rub my fingers over your nipples, until they get as hard as my cock is right now?”

  Whoa!

  Is he... Good Jesus, is he doing what I think he’s doing?

  Are we having phone sex?

  My voice is shaky when I speak next:

  “Alex...”

  I try to make it sound intimidating but I don't succeed: the sound that leaves my lips is needy, lustful.

  “Yes, baby... My hands would run all over your body until they’d find your pink panties and they’d sneak in to touch—”

  “Ayla! I’ve been calling you for ten minutes. Ben’s back and dinner is ready. And put a jacket on or something, you must be cold.”

  If I could have turned to stone, I definitely would’ve.

  My Mom entered the room and I don't know how much she heard.

  She saw my nipples standing at attention.

  “Ayla, baby?”

  “I... I’m sorry, I swear I’m not rejecting you, dinner—”

  He chuckles again.

  “Yeah, I heard. I also heard that my bad, bad girl liked the idea of me touching her, since your nipples are as hard as I am. Go ahead but while you eat dinner, think that I’ll be finishing up what we started. I’m so hard for you... And while I take care of it, I’ll think about you. I’ll imagine your hands stroking me...”

  “I gotta go.”

  I say softly and he sighs a goodbye before hanging up.

  “Do you not like your dinner, honey?”

  Mom notices that I’m playing with my food but not eating much.

  “No, no it's nice Mom. Sorry. I’m just super tired. The course load at BHPA is much more intense than at my previous school. And I’m nervous: tomorrow we have this mock test in Latin before the test on Friday and—”

  “I’m sure you'll do great. There's something I wanted to talk to you about, Ayla. In about two weeks it’ll be your eighteenth birthday. Did you want to invite a few friends over? Or if you don't wanna do anything at the house, would you want to go somewhere fun? Like Disney or Knots Berry Farm?”

  I WAKE UP FROM A DREAM where warm lips were
tracing the line of my neck and hot hands were gripping my hips to make me feel his excitement.

  The guy in my dream had his face in the shadows, so I couldn't tell exactly who it was but... I have a hunch of who might have stirred feelings that I didn't even know I had.

  When I come out of the shower, I find that Mom has pressed my school uniform before going to work and has left a sticky note on my book bag:

  “Good luck with your mock test, honey! You got this! Love, Mom.”

  She must've left early and obviously that means that Ben needs to take the bus to go to work, so I need to make sure that he's awake.

  I yell his name and then remember that this house is way too big, so I text him instead.

  He's funny, he comes across as sleepy even by text.

  His reply is:

  “A...Wake... mmm”

  I check that he's got lunch money: despite making more than her, Mom won’t allow him a credit card, while I’ve been given one because I’m almost an adult.

  I take twenty dollars to put in his jacket and my fingers find something cylindrical and that feels like a cigarette.

  I dig it out and look at it wondering if it's a cigarette or pot. I know most people at my age would know but my Mom put the sacred fear of any drugs in me.

  And Sean was really religious, so he considered smoking pot a sin.

  The result is that I’ve never tried it and I have no idea of what it smells like.

  I’m still debating whether to talk to Ben about it or not, when the doorbell rings.

  Could it be a delivery this early in the morning?

  It isn't even seven o’clock yet.

  I open the door and I’m surprised to find myself staring into two intense hazel eyes.

  Tuna is standing at the door in our school uniform and I can't help but give him a once over: long, muscled legs encased in dark grey pants, the white shirt is untucked and the dark grey blazer unbuttoned.

  The grey and orange tie that matches the girls’ scarf is slightly loose around his neck.

  Anyone else would look like a mess, he manages to look effortlessly classy and hot.

  “Tuna! What are you doing here?”

  His lips open into a little smile and he nods towards his car, parked in my driveway.

  “We have no morning practice today and I thought about driving you to school... Maybe getting breakfast?”

  My heart starts beating fast in my chest: that's so thoughtful.

  “That would be great, I just have to make sure that my brother gets to work on time.”

  He shrugs.

  “We can drop him off and get him some breakfast too. His work’s on our way anyway.”

  I text Ben to hurry up and to do so I put the cigarette in my blazer pocket.

  Tuna sees it and grabs my wrist, tightly.

  Almost as tightly as Alex did yesterday.

  I squeal in discomfort but he doesn't let go.

  “What the fuck did you just put in your pocket?”

  “I... I... It isn't mine, I found it in my brother’s pocket.”

  “Your brother smokes pot?’’

  “I’m not sure. I’d never even seen a joint before, Tuna. If Ben’s smoking it, I’m worried.”

  “You're fucking right. Look, I don't know your brother but he shouldn't use this shit. Seriously. Take it from me.”

  “I know, I—”

  He extends his hand, palm up.

  “Give it to me. I’ll get rid of it. If they find it on you at school, it's automatic expulsion.”

  Tuna puts the joint in his pocket just a second before Ben shows up.

  The drive to Ben’s work is pleasant enough, Tuna makes small talk with my brother and by the time he drops him off at work with a sausage and egg muffin, they are joking and laughing like two old friends.

  As soon as Ben leaves the car, he returns quiet and serious: this is why at first I thought that he didn't like me.

  Because he looks so at ease with everyone and I seem to be the only one on the receiving end of this quiet and almost surly demeanour.

  Maybe I shouldn't but I decide to ask him why.

  He pulls over at an overlook and turns the engine off before facing me and saying:

  “With you I don't have to fake it, Ayla. I can be serious if I want... You don't care about what other people think. That's why I like you, apart from the other obvious reason that has to do with how pretty you are...”

  It's one of the best compliments I’ve ever been given. That he sees that appearances aren't what draws me to people.

  And he said that I’m pretty and from him that's such a compliment because he's so good looking that it's seriously even a bit too much sometimes.

  He’s not a pretty boy like Alex, he's manly and...

  My train of thought is completely interrupted by his lips coming into contact with mine.

  The kiss takes me by surprise but my body responds immediately by making my heartbeat go crazy fast and making my knees feel so weak that I’m grateful to be sitting down.

  When I open my mouth for him, I taste the minty flavour of his toothpaste and that slight sweet flavour all his kisses have had so far.

  He kisses me deeply, slowly, his hands holding my face gently.

  I kiss him back enjoying how confident he is and when I swipe my tongue against his, he unties my scarf and starts peppering my neck with kisses that are soft and light at first but soon become something entirely different when he adds his teeth to his lips and tongue.

  I know he's gonna leave a mark but I don't care, it feels way too good.

  When his mouth arrives at my collar bone, he lifts his head and looks in my eyes:

  “You're so beautiful... So sexy...Can I... Can I touch your boob?”

  Do I want him to?

  Like yesterday with Alex, the answer is yes and god help me, he only touches me through the material of my clothes but I love having his hands on me.

  9.

  Tests

  TUNA: TWELVE POINTS

  Alex: zero points

  Sam: zero points

  EM: zero points

  Ayla

  TUNA TAKES UP DRIVING me to school in the mornings: when he has football practice, that means going in early and I don't mind because while the guys practice, I can do some extra studying.

  But we also go early because we always stop somewhere quiet before getting to school and those have become my favourite times of the day.

  He’s such a good kisser and so gentle too, I would never have thought that I would look forward to being in a boy’s car and that I would want him to touch me.

  Nothing beyond second base ever happens but I like that he understands that I’m not experienced and that I prefer to go slow.

  On Tuesday, we have the mock test in Ms. Webber's class and I think I’ve done quite well.

  On Friday, we sit the actual test during first period and again, I think I aced it, so I’m surprised and a bit concerned when I get pulled out of class during art class, which is the last period of the day.

  There's something unnerving in hearing your name being blared by the school intercom system, regardless of trying to stay on the straight and narrow.

  Could this still be about being caught in the girl's locker room with Alex on Monday?

  Alex has been called too but so have Michelle and Tuna.

  We are to go to the teacher's lounge.

  We all leave class together and before I go, I meet Sam’s blue eyes: he gives me a little shrug and an encouraging smile, to signify that he thinks that we’ll be all right.

  We don't talk much during the short walk to the teachers lounge but Alex takes my hand in his, which earns me a bitchy look from Michelle.

  Fuck her!

  If I wasn't already enjoying Alex’s surprising small PDA, I would anyway be seeing the added bonus of pissing Michelle off.

  “Good afternoon, guys. Please, take a seat around the table.”

  Ms. Webber is the onl
y teacher in the room and once we're all sat down, she goes to close the door.

  She then takes a seat opposite us after going to her locker and taking out a small stack of papers.

  She sets them on the table and I recognise our tests and the A five sheets with the Latin passage that she gave us to translate this morning and on Tuesday.

  “Oh, sorry guys. Wrong assignment: this is your next mock test for Tuesday in three weeks time which will be a short section of poetry by one of the two biggest poets in Ancient Rome.”

  She walks back to her locker, replacing our next test with the one we just took.

  She returns after locking the locker and sits down with a sigh.

  “I normally don't grade papers straight away, but I happened to have a free period, so I thought why not? And I have to say that while I’m extremely pleased with how well most of you did, I’m also quite surprised and disappointed with the disastrous results of a small portion of the class. I called you here because two of you had the best translations in the whole class and two of you had the worst.”

  Ms. Webber gives us both Tuesday’s and today’s papers.

  Both of mine have an A+ marked in red pen, so I sigh, relieved not to have disappointed our teacher.

  I glance discreetly around and I see an A on Alex’s papers.

  I can't see what grade Michelle and Tuna got but if what Ms. Webber said is true, it mustn't be too good.

  “Miss Jennings, Mr. Richmond, well done. Your translations were perfect and the only reason why Miss Jennings had a slightly better grade is that she interpreted the thought of the author in a more advanced way. She understood the most important principle of translating into any language. You don't translate the words literally but you have to translate the thought. In modern languages, this applies when we use slang or metaphors. In a dead language like Latin, this means understanding figures of speech and grammatical structures that might be unusual to us in modern times. So in other words, Mr. Richmond, don't be afraid to leave out a word or two. I’ll never mark down because of that as long as the thought is correct and is expressed properly.”

  Alex nods and thanks our teacher: he doesn't look mad that I did slightly better than he did and it bothers me that I feel relieved about it, because I would never play dumb to make a guy feel smarter.