Page 17 of Outcast

The girls muttered some disparaging remarks about my sanity and backed out of the door. Each of them moved slowly, as though one out of place gesture would have me charging at them, ink flying. Even Blake kept his hands up. He may have smiled, but his eyes remained trained on the bottle of ink. Triumph filled my chest with warmth, and I raised my chin, watching them file out of the front doors and into the crisp, autumn day.

Edward was the last to leave. Unlike the others, he didn’t back away but crossed the room with a regal dignity as though he knew I wouldn’t dare act against him. The arrogant prick paused at the door, fixing me with such an intense look of hatred, it made my stomach twist.

He was probably halfway to becoming a psychopath because that was the kind of look people reserved for monsters like Hitler, not Americans they found annoying. “This isn’t over, Trollop. I’ve planned an attack that will make you run screaming back to your whore mother. Leave now, and you’ll avoid the pain and humiliation.”

“What makes you think I don’t have something planned for you?” I snapped.

He jutted out a chin that could have been chiseled out of alabaster. “You’re in my territory. Nothing happens here without my knowing.”

I curled my lip. “We’ll see about that.”

He gave me a tight-lipped, wintry smile. “I wouldn’t be too sure about your survival if I were you.”

A barrel of dread rumbled through my belly, but I kept my features even. Edward Mercia would never know how much those words had affected me. He had to be talking about social survival. Nobody would go so far as to threaten someone’s life. I replaced the lid on the bottle of ink and slipped it into my satchel. “What does that mean?”

Instead of an answer, he raised a brow and walked out through the double doors, leaving me alone in the entrance hall with my thoughts and the crack and pop of the fireplace. Whatever he planned next was probably going to be spectacularly humiliating. I strode to the table and cradled the package of clothes in my arms. If I didn’t strike soon with something devastating that showed them I wasn’t someone to be messed with, these snobs wouldn’t stop.

Over the next few mealtimes, I observed the triumvirate and the stable of bitches who orbited them. Henry, the blond, I learned was the captain of the house rugby team. He was the most aloof of the three and only spoke to girls if they spoke to him first. Whenever Charlotte tried to engage him in conversation, he’d give her one-word answers and turn back to whatever he was doing, even if it was staring into space. Eventually, she’d get frustrated enough with Henry’s lack of responses, flirt with Blake and cast Henry furtive glances to see if he was looking. Edward seemed to find the whole dynamic tedious and would often roll his eyes when Charlotte tried and failed to use Blake as a means to make Henry jealous.

Two of Charlotte’s doppelgängers, Alice and Patricia, spent their time vying for Edward’s attention. He seemed to be dating them both and noticed the conflict it caused the two friends but didn’t care. Blake didn’t have any favorites and would flirt with every girl, especially Charlotte and Wendy, the girl who had pretended to befriend me on my first day.

One lunchtime, I’d just sent Mom another text, when I noticed Henry jerk his arm away from Charlotte’s touch. I whispered to Rita, “Why doesn’t Henry like girls? Is he gay?”

“I heard a few of the others talk about it,” she whispered back. “Some say he’s in love with Blake, and others say he’s insecure about being the least handsome in the group.”

I glanced at the head table and met his startling green eyes. He blinked with surprise, then his blank expression sharpened into one of interest. A jolt of excitement shot through my heart and traveled down to my core. Henry had the looks of the sexiest kind of football player. Tall, broad, and heavily muscled without being too bulky. While Blake and Edward might be facially outstanding, Henry was still more handsome than any other boy in the school.

“I don’t think he’s insecure about his looks,” I muttered.

“Others say he’s careful of gold diggers,” Rita whispered. “He’s the only son of the Bourneville family and stands to inherit the department stores and all their properties in London. That’s why so many of the girls want to get close to him.”

“What do you think about Bourneville?”

She glanced down at her plate of mushroom risotto. “They’re all terrible people.”

“That’s for sure,” I muttered.

Up at the head table, Blake whispered into Wendy’s ear. She giggled and slipped her hand under the table. Blake stared right at me and raised his brows in challenge. It was the kind of look that said, ‘Don’t you wish that was your hand down there?’ Heat rushed to my face and spread down my neck and into my chest. I should have pulled my gaze away, shouldn’t have played his game, but the gravity in his eyes held me mesmerized. My nipples tightened, and I shuddered as the intense warmth traveled south. His lips tweaked into a smile, and I almost growled. Damn him!

I dipped my head and plunged the tines of my fork into my spaghetti carbonara. Why did I waste so much time analyzing the love lives of those jerks? I needed to pay them back for the bloody clothes, not obsess over them and their bitches.

“You’re planning something, aren’t you?” asked Rita.

“Why do you ask?” I replied.

“Trust me. Fighting back will only escalate the bullying. Ignore them, and they’ll get bored eventually and leave you alone.”

“But what’s the alternative?” I stared into my friend’s dark brown eyes. Getting to eat real food in the dining room had filled out the hollowness of her cheeks, and the absence of negative attention on her had eased her skittishness. She’d spent her time hiding from the world, trying not to be noticed, and submitting to the bullies, but that hadn’t helped her to thrive at Mercia Academy. “I can’t just allow them to walk all over me.”

She sipped her water. “I know it’s hard, but they’ll get bored eventually and move onto someone else.”

“Why should they bully people at all?” I glared at the head table.

Blake leaned across and said something to Edward, who turned to stare in our direction. Edward said something back, and Blake rose from his seat.

“Oh, no,” Rita slid further down her chair. “He’s coming over.”

I sat up and clenched my fork as though it was my only means of protection. As Blake stepped down off the podium, a hush spread across the dining room, broken only by the activation of multiple camera apps. I clenched my jaw. Whatever he said or did, I couldn’t react and give these people more crap to post on the Mercia-Net. Blake walked across the room like he was in a grand ball about to ask the girl in the enchanted dress to dance. One of his brows rose, and a crooked smile curved his lips. It was obviously something he’d practiced in front of the mirror.