Page 16 of Outcast

“This is no laughing matter,” said the old woman. She turned to me with a kindly smile. “Ten credits for bravery, Miss Hobson, and five to Miss Underwood for defending your friend.”

I groaned. The old woman had lost her mind if she believed Charlotte’s filthy lie.

Miss Oakley’s light blue eyes twinkled. “You know, there was a film a few years ago, starring a young woman like you. What was it called?”

“Pretty Woman,” said someone at the back of the class.

My shoulders stiffened. Was my teacher calling me a prostitute now?

“Oh… it was starring Richard Newman.” Miss Oakley’s face broke into a smile of worn, yellowing teeth. “That’s it. Pretty Lady! Keep your chin up, dear. Regardless of your previous circumstances, Mercia Academy will give you a chance for a better life.”

I sat on the newspaper, hatred simmering like banked coals in my belly, trying not to react to the howls of laughter filling the room. If my hands weren’t already convulsing with rage, I would have given Charlotte the finger… straight in her eye. I stared ahead, focusing on my breaths and willing the rest of the day to fast forward so I could seek out a spare uniform. I’d well and truly received their declaration of war, and I was ready to fight back with every dirty trick in my arsenal.

Chapter 6

I couldn’t get the stains out of my skirts and neither could the house matron. For the rest of the week, I had to wear my blazer around my waist and to endure idiots throwing tampons at me while the school outfitters made up some new skirts. Each morning at mid-break, I would rush to the mailboxes in the entrance hall to see if the new skirts and pants had arrived, and each morning, I would find some kind of sanitary product or a note telling me to go home… trollop.

It was clear that Edward, one of the others in the triumvirate, or Charlotte and her doppelgängers had sabotaged my order. How long did it take to make up a gray skirt? They should have had them in stock. Twice, I called to check, but the snooty woman on the phone said she couldn’t rush the process. Whatever that meant.

On Tuesday morning, I stepped into the entrance hall to find Edward, Blake, Charlotte and the doppelgängers huddled together around a table close to the mailboxes. As soon as I heard the words bloody yank and trollop, my heart flip-flopped. My package had arrived, and they were doing something to my clothes.

I strode over, fists clenched. “What’s going on?”

Edward was the first to turn. His gaze flickered up and down my body, lingering on my B-cup breasts for longer than needed, then he tightened his lips as though to say he found them lacking. My insides writhed with shame, and a prickly heat rose from my chest and up my neck. I sucked in a breath and clenched my teeth, not daring to let him see how badly he’d upset me.

“What do you want, you bloody trollop?” he asked.

I flinched. Hearing those words flung at me in that commanding voice stung. I tried not to let the hurt show on my face and walked around him, acting like he didn’t exist. “Is that my package?”

“Not everything revolves around you, Trollop.” Charlotte twisted her body, hiding something behind her back.

I rushed forward, but Blake snatched the package out of reach, making me clamber after him with a snarl. “Give that to me!”

“With pleasure, my dear.” He stepped back, holding it above his head, face split into a mischievous grin, chocolate-brown eyes sparkling with challenge. It was the sort of look that said, ‘if you want it, come and get it.’ The sort of look that made my nipples tighten and made heat pool low in my belly. Who wouldn’t want the full attention of Blake Simpson-West? Especially when the loose curls framed his brow so perfectly, and that fine, sculpted chest already heaved in anticipation for a close contact wrestling match?

Somewhere, through the rush of blood through my eardrums, I heard the beep of a camera phone. I stopped advancing on Blake and glared at the taller doppelgänger who stood twelve feet away, holding a smartphone at the ready for the oncoming spectacle. She wanted me to rush forward and try to snatch my property while the others laughed and hooted at the trollop manhandling their friend. Well, I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction… or the footage.

I feinted toward the doppelgänger, dodged left, spun Charlotte around, and snatched the bottle of ink out of her hands. “Is this what you used to ruin my clothes?”

She stepped back, red blotches appearing on her cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

I untwisted the cap off the bottle and wielded it like a weapon. “Give me my package, or this ink gets on all of you!”

“What?” she screeched.

Edward’s nostrils flared. “Give it to her.”

I straightened. Why were they giving up so easily?

“But I was having so much fun.” Blake lowered the package to chest level and strode to the table, his dark eyes fixed on mine, and a smirk dancing across his full lips.

I stepped back, not trusting any of them to make a last-minute lunge, snatch the open bottle of ink, and pour it over me and my new clothes. “Don’t try anything stupid, or you’ll get a face-full of ink.”

“Message received and understood.” He placed the package on the table and backed away, palms up, as though I was holding a grenade.

“Crazy bitch,” muttered one of Charlotte’s doppelgängers.

I twisted around, but the doppelgänger scuttled back toward the door like a coward. Curling my lip, I said, “Nice try, bitches. The next time you touch my stuff, you’ll be blinking ink out of your eyes for a month.”