The woods sway and dance in a breeze that whistles past me like a ghost. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, watching the darkness for any signs of movement. I tell myself I'm being paranoid, but then I see smoke coming from the trees, and my interest piques even further.
“What the hell …” For a while, I just sit there and watch it, but then curiosity gets the better of me, and I end up pushing off the glass doors and heading toward the trees. I'm no sleuth, but it's easy enough to stay hidden out here. It's so freaking dark, nothing at all like home. Even at night, there are streetlights and cars, restaurants, clubs, bars. Everything is lit and alive. This place is so … dead.
Creeping through the trees, I start to notice the flickering orange of a bonfire, pausing behind a thick trunk to spy on the small group surrounding it. There are three boys there, counting cash out on an overturned wooden crate.
“This is fucking stupid, Spencer,” one of the boys says, standing up from a kneeling position and brushing off the front of his pant legs. It’s that Eugene guy again. “We're over a hundred bucks short. That's not coming out of my cut.”
“Jesus, Eugene, lay off,” the first guy—I guess his name is Spencer—says as he puts a rubber band around some of the money and chucks it at his friend. “Don't be such a pathetic little bitch. I'll absorb the loss. If we go around and start accusing our clients of shortchanging us, then we're not going to have any left.”
“Whatever,” Eugene sneers, tucking the money away. The third dude isn't talking at all, just smoking a cigarette on the edge of the bonfire. They're all wearing third year uniforms, but I don't recognize anyone but Eugene. Not that I would. I haven't spent much time with any of the other students. That is, unless you count the assholes from today.
I move back, and turn to leave, but with my night vision messed up from the light of the fire, I only make it a few feet before I trip over a log and grunt.
The chatter back at the bonfire goes quiet.
“The hell was that?” one of the guys asks as I scramble to my feet, heart racing, and take off as fast as I can through the forest. My breath is panting, face stinging from the slaps of branches. I'm just about to emerge safely onto the running path when a hand grabs me from behind and spins me, slamming my back into a tree trunk.
I groan as pain radiates down my spine, and then grunt as my pursuer puts his forearm against my throat.
“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing creeping around on us?” I reach up and curl my fingers around the guy's arm, but he's got muscles that are as hard as rocks. I can barely see him through the darkness. He's pressing so hard, I can feel myself getting lightheaded. I most definitely can't talk to save my life.
As if he can sense that, he releases the pressure just slightly, and I find myself gasping for breath.
Turquoise eyes sparkle at me through the darkness.
“I … got locked out of the dorm,” I whisper, my voice husky and strained. My attacker—I think this is the Spencer guy—lets go of me and I collapse, coughing and holding my throat.
“Wow, you must be new or stupid or both. There's an emergency fire exit in the back that's always open.” I lift my eyes up to look at him as he cocks his head slightly to the side and studies me. “First person out sticks a brick in there to keep it open. It's like an unwritten rule.”
I stand back up, rubbing at my throat and looking warily at this jerk.
“If it's unwritten, then how the hell was I supposed to know about it?” I snap, wondering if I'm brave or stupid for defying some mystery creeper with rock-hard muscles who attacks people in the dark like a goddamn ninja.
“What did you see out here tonight?” he asks me, and there's this cold, quiet menace in his voice that gives me the chills. He's clearly looking for a very specific answer.
“If you leave me alone and promise to not to assault me again, then nothing.” I keep my hand to my throat, and step back in a slight crouch when the guy moves toward me again. I've got the knife in the mini backpack slung over my shoulder. I'm not afraid to use it either.
“You're the new guy, huh? Chuck Carson, the headmaster's son.” The boy smirks. I can barely make out his face, but I could recognize a cocky expression from, like, miles away. There's this aura of arrogance that accompanies it that transcends sight. “You haven't made a lot of friends at Adamson, now have you?”
“Thanks for the tip about the brick. And yeah, I'm sure my neck will be bruised but fine. Good night.” I start off toward the dorm, and the guy lets me go.
“Thanks for stopping by, Chuck,” he says with a little scoff.
And I can't decide if I should be relieved he let me go so easily … or concerned that he thinks he's such a bad ass that I will most definitely keep my mouth shut.
Hmm.
Either way, it’s not good. Not good at all.
The Adamson All-Boys Academy Student Council is proving to be far more of a pain in my ass than I thought. First off, they moved my locker from the first floor of the main building into one of the back buildings where the seniors have all their classes. Essentially, it's the worst possible placement for a locker on the entire campus.
On Monday, I take that decree of theirs and storm up to the Student Council room, intending to tell those pieces of shit that they can shove their locker assignment up their ass.
I come up to a huge pair of double doors, and a secretary desk with a fourth year boy on a laptop. My brows go up.
“I need to talk to the assholes in there,” I tell the boy, trying to keep my voice gruff and raspy. He looks up at me like I'm crazy and then squints.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asks me, like we're in some fancy corporate office and not standing outside a freaking faux student government with no real power. I purse my lips and narrow my eyes.
“No. But I just need to pop in for a second.”
“Yeah, not happening,” the boy tells me, looking over something on his screen, and then pausing after a moment like he's surprised I'm still there. He leans over and taps the iPad on the edge of the desk. “Fill that out. There's a calendar that shows availability.” He goes back to his computer, and I squeeze the piece of paper in my right hand until it's all wrinkled.
Just before I accidentally let some bitchy Valley Girl slip, the door behind me opens and in walks a boy in a third year uniform, adjusting his sleeves and strolling past like he owns the place.
He pauses as I glance over at him, those turquoise eyes catching my attention. My mouth drops open as the boy tosses his silver-ash colored hair and smirks at me. It’s almost the same color as Eugene’s, but with darker roots, and a much edgier cut. Yeah, this isn’t Eugene, it’s that Spencer douche.
“Hello there, Charlie,” he says, reaching up to adjust his shiny Student Council pin. He's also got a blue arm band on his left sleeve, and a red one just below it. Uh-oh. I look up at him as he saunters over to me, a feral grin working its way across his face. “Not creeping around the woods today, eh?”
“Takes one to know one,” I blurt, and the guy laughs. My fingers reach up and I subconsciously find myself touching the tender skin of my throat. “So you're a delinquent and a member of the Student Council?”