AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did you do anything fun this summer?” Sophia asks.
“I bussed tables,” she replies evenly, matter-of fact. “And took care of my brother when I wasn’t working.”
I immediately feel like an ass. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of working; I just hated the looks of pity that usually came with the admission. “I worked too,” I rush to confess, so she’ll feel normal. “Cafe or restaurant?”
“An ice cream parlor. The tips were pretty good.”
“They usually are in the—”
I don’t finish because without warning, liquid drenches me. Sputtering, I sit there as the coldness slides down my front. Sophia grabs napkins from the trays around us and hands them to me, but I'm frozen, mouth gaping and eyes fixed on the boy who just chucked his smoothie at me.
I say boy and I mean it this time. Though he’s tall, ridiculously bulky, and outwardly mature, his playful eyes and mocking smirks are all childish mannerisms. This is a game to him. I can feel a bit slide down my shirt between my breasts. It’s fucking cold, so it takes everything in me not to shudder, but I refuse to show any hint of weakness in front of him.
Them.
The other three are standing just paces away, watching me. Cain looks bored. Maverick, exasperated or impatient, I can’t quite tell. And Jason…
Jason’s cold. Colder than the ice on my skin.
“Oops,” Rowan says, all smiles. “I didn’t see you there. You’re so inconsequential you’re practically invisible.”
“Grow up, asshole,” I shot back before I can think.
He leans forward. “You know, you could play nice. Make this easy for yourself. If you remove your top, do a little dance and sit on my lap, you and I are good. How does that sound, sweet cheeks?”
What the hell?
"You’re delusional.” I don’t understand him. It’s not like he wants me—if he did, he would have flirted a little, asked me out. Not…whatever this is. Intimidation, I suppose.
“And you, my dear, are dead meat if you don’t get yourself some protection. Enjoy the next year in hell.”
I don’t understand him then.
The next hour, I do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I have enough time to catch a quick shower in my new dorm room. While small, the room’s cozy, with dark wood and cream paint. My stuff’s already been brought upstairs by maintenance. I slip into another uniform and race back in order to avoid being late for the second time on my first day. Though I suppose I just didn’t turn up, the first time.
I feel a little foolish in the locker room right before gym, changing again, especially since I’ll also have to grab another shower. But no way was I walking around with sticky banana and kiwi all over me.
I eye the other students gathered outside around the football field, eager to find a familiar face here. There was Sophia in Italian and Melina in English, but no such luck here. I’m in this class with Brooke, along with her friends Yuki Moore and Jacqueline Billington—both legacies. This holy trinity of bitches are the queens of this school. Great.
I also notice the asshole from English, Martin Lee, with a few of his friends. A little late, I see Willow. I didn’t notice her with her hair tied up in a ponytail, when it had been loose at lunch. I wave. She waves back, but stays where she is. I consider going to her, on the bleachers, but the teacher’s eager to start.
While most of the teachers were all about chatting, today, Mr. Pierson is all about launching straight into the torture.
“Take five laps around the field, then we’ll grab balls.”
I wonder at what age old people forget what it’s like to be eighteen. The class chuckles as the baser minds emphasize their desire to have their balls grabbed.
“Congratulations, Lee, you’ve just earned another lap.” The teacher blows his high-pitched whistle before screaming, “Go, go, go!”
No wonder I quit track. There was a second teacher, Mrs. Aspen, but Pierson took the fun right out of life.
As we jog slowly, I start to make my way to Willow, when out of nowhere, someone pushes me from the back. I just have enough balance to catch my footing before I fall, but a foot appears in my way, tripping me over.
“Fuck!” I scream as I fall, bringing my arms before my face to protect it.
