Everything ached, and I arched my back, trying to stretch the muscles, but just as I turned around to leave, a fist came down and knocked my books out of my arms.
I sucked in a breath, startled as I retreated a step on instinct.
Miles Anderson glared at me as he passed, but a smirk curled his lips, too.
“See something you like, stupid?” he taunted.
I clenched my jaw, trying to get control of the pounding in my chest, but the sudden fright made my stomach roll as his friends followed him, laughing.
His blond hair laid haphazardly over his forehead, while his blue eyes trailed down my form, and I knew exactly what he was taking stock of.
The outdated plaid pattern of my secondhand skirt.
The missing button on the cuff of my blouse that was two sizes too big.
My faded blue blazer with little pieces of thread sticking off the patch-ups I had to do from the previous owner.
My worn shoes, from all the walking because I had no car, and how I never wore makeup or did anything with my dark hair that just hung down my arms and in my face.
So much different than how he looked. How they all looked.
Little shits. I let Anderson have his pathetic fun, because it was the only time he had any power. One thing I could be grateful to the Horsemen for.
I hated how this school was their own personal playground, but when they were around, Miles Anderson didn’t pull shit like that. I could bet he was probably counting the days until they graduated so he could take over the basketball team.
And Thunder Bay Prep.
Clenching my jaw, I crouched down and gathered up my books, stuffing everything into my bag.
But a light sweat covered my face all of a sudden, and I felt sick. Pushing myself to my feet, I blew out a breath and hurried for the bathroom, the closest one up the stairs and down the hall.
My stomach filled with something, the burn of the bile rising up my throat growing stronger. Throwing my weight into the door, I pushed through and dove into a stall, leaning over the toilet and heaving.
I lurched, the vomit rising just enough to taste the acid, but it wouldn’t come up any farther. I coughed, my eyes watering as I gasped.
I pushed my glasses up on top of my head, holding the sides of the stall as I drew in breath after breath to calm down.
I rubbed my eyes. Shit.
I fought back sometimes.
When it didn’t matter and when I wasn’t really threatened.
I wiped my brow and flushed the toilet on habit, exiting the stall and walking to the sink. Turning on the water, I dipped my hands underneath the faucet, but then I paused, my energy to even splash water on my face now gone. I just turned it off and left the bathroom, wiping my hands dry on my skirt.
I was too tired, and the day had barely started.
But as soon as I opened the door, someone stood there, and I stopped short, looking at Trevor Crist. He smiled at me as I fisted the strap of my bag, staring at him.
He was only a freshman, two years my junior, but he was already my height and looked absolutely nothing like his brother. Fake, plastic eyes that didn’t match his smile, and dark blond hair that was as perfectly styled as his tie was positioned.
He looked like his name should be Chad. What the hell did he want?
He held out a blue notebook, and I recognized the frayed notes and loose papers inside, highlighted with scribbled yellow marker. I darted my eyes back down the hall toward my locker.
I must’ve left it behind when that jackass knocked everything out of my hands.
I took the notebook, stuffing it into my bag. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
“I got it all, but I can’t be sure it’s in order,” he said. “Some of the papers fell out.”
I barely heard him, noticing the hallways filling with more students, and Mr. Townsend make his way for my first class.
“Trevor Crist.” The kid held out his hand.
“I know.”
And I walked past him, ignoring his hand.
Heading a few yards down the hall, I held open the door, following another student inside, and scanned the classroom for the safest seat. In the corner, at the rear and near the windows, an empty desk sat surrounded by students at every available angle—Roxie Harris next to me, Jack Leister in front of me, and Drew Hannigan kitty-corner.
I ran for it.
I slid into the seat, the legs of the desk skidding across the floor as I dropped my bag to the ground.
“Ugh,” Roxie groaned beside me, but I ignored her as I dug my materials out of my bag.
And she started to pack up her things.
The classroom filled, chatter and laughter pouring in as Mr. Townsend stood, hovering over his desk and going through his notes.
But Roxie didn’t even have time to clear out of her seat before they were there. Drifting through the door, tall, magnetic, and always together.
I turned my head toward the window, closing my eyes behind my glasses and holding my breath as I quickly pulled my earbuds out of my jacket pocket and stuck them in my ears.
Anything to look unapproachable.
Please, please, please…
The prayer was too late, though. I could feel Roxie, Jack, and Drew’s eye rolls as they sighed and grabbed their shit, vacating their seats without even being asked, like it was my fault these guys insisted on completely crowding me no matter where I sat in this damn room.
Kai Mori slid into Jack’s seat ahead of me, while Damon Torrance took the seat diagonally from me.
I didn’t have to look up to see their dark hair, and I could always tell who was who without checking because Kai smelled like amber musk and the ocean, while Damon smelled like an ashtray.
Michael Crist had probably planted himself somewhere close, but it was the last body, passing me in the aisle and planting himself in the seat next to me in what should’ve been Roxie’s seat, that made my heart beat faster.
I could feel his eyes on me as I stared out the window.
If I knew we were going to share classes when the administration decided to move me to senior English a few weeks back—a year ahead of schedule—I would’ve said no. No matter what my brother wanted.
I was pretty sure they only moved me, because I was “difficult” last year and they thought challenging me would put a cork in my mouth.
They were all finding out that wasn’t true.
“You’re out of uniform,” I heard some girl whisper.
And then I heard Will Grayson’s voice heating the back of my neck. “I’m in disguise,” he told her.
“That piece of shit has a hard-on for you or something,” Damon added. “Every time he sees you, he wants to get you alone.”
I clenched my fingers around my notebook and pencil.
“In his defense,” Kai chimed in, “it was you who put the ‘Sorry, I hit your car’ notes on people’s vehicles all over town with his phone number on them.”
Damon snorted and then burst out laughing, while Will breathed out a self-satisfied chuckle.
Assholes. My brother’s phone rang all damn night last night because of that prank. And when he’s aggravated, he shows it.
“So, what do you say, Em?” Will prodded, finally engaging me like he could never stop himself from doing. “Is your brother hot for me? He’s certainly on my ass enough.”
I remained silent, absently opening my notebook as people got situated in their seats and talked around us.
Everyone in this school hated my brother. Their money and connections had no effect on his willingness as a police officer to hand out speeding tickets, parking tickets, investigate noise complaints, or shut down parties and drinking as soon as he got a whiff of anything going down.