“I wonder if he has any friends here,” Mena mused. I left the comment alone for now. I needed to know more about him before I decided how close we would become.
“Hey, girls.” Nicola joined us at our table, her bleach-blonde hair bouncing at her shoulders. She was nice enough, and her mom was a household name due to her film career—as well as a client of Emily Mead Interiors—so she hung around us at school. But she wasn’t a part of my core group. Harlow, Amaya, and Mena were my soul-deep friends.
We greeted her warmly anyway. Within a few minutes, a bunch of other people joined us too, and the new guy was the topic on everyone’s lips. I kept quiet, listening to what everyone else had to say. The girls at the table kept glancing in my direction, waiting to hear what I thought. One negative word from me, and Hendrix Hawthorn would not be getting into the La Perla panties of a single Fulton student.
Unfortunately, I had a feeling I’d have to tackle this one head-on and speak to him directly. There just wasn’t enough information to decide if he was going to be trouble—or if he was worth the trouble.
Before long, the conversation moved on. William complained about Mrs. Watson’s surprise quiz in Calculus, Harlow threw in a completely random fact about the Fibonacci sequence that I had no idea where she’d learned but was positive was correct, Drew loudly and half-jokingly hit on Mena, and half the table reminded him she had a boyfriend.
Business as usual.
Lunch ended, and we dispersed to our next classes. Mulling over the new guy proved to be a good distraction through the afternoon, and I pulled at the waist of my skirt only once, thinking about how I couldn’t wait to change into something very different and go to my dirty little secret. Only a few hours to go.
I was the first one of us girls out at the end of the day, so I threw my bag into the car, put my sunglasses on, and leaned back against the hood to turn my face up to the sky. There was a chill in the breeze, but the sun was driving it away.
Hendrix Hawthorn came striding down the steps as if he owned the place. He looked casual enough, but that neutral mask was still in place, and his Ray-Bans were already over his eyes. Nicola and a few other senior girls were trailing a safe distance behind him, whispering to each other, trying to get up the courage to talk to him. Tess even adjusted her boobs to put her cleavage on better display.
I rolled my eyes behind my shades and gritted my teeth. I didn’t know why his presence bothered me so much. Maybe it was the blasé attitude. Maybe it was the fact that I had no idea what his deal was, and I really hated not knowing things.
But I was never one to let things fester.
As he passed my car, I pushed up into a standing position and called out, only slightly raising my voice. “Hendrix, right?”
I glanced at the girls behind him, pleased to see they were dispersing, even if their focus hadn’t left us. Most people nearby had slowed down and were throwing us surreptitious glances. They knew just as well as I did that this interaction would determine where the new guy would fit in the complex social hierarchy of Fulton Academy.
Hendrix pressed his lips together and looked as if he might just keep walking, but then he seemed to notice all the attention too. He slowed his steps and half turned his body to face me.
Well, at least he was smart enough to realize that ignoring me would be a bad move.
“Yeah.” His deep voice was as disinterested as his facial expression. He stuffed a hand into his pocket and chewed on something, adding an edge of frustration to his impassive posture.
“Welcome to Fulton Academy.” I folded my hands in front of myself, giving him my polite but professional smile—a smile I’d perfected at twelve years old. “I’m Donna Mead.”
“Uh-huh.” He smacked the gum. “I’ve already had the welcome speech from the people in the office.”
“This isn’t official business.” Maybe he wasn’t as smart as I thought.
He looked me up and down. “No thanks.”
“Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrows.
He flashed me a grin, mashing the pink gum between his perfectly straight teeth. “If this isn’t an official welcome, then it’s clearly . . . personal.” He leaned in as if he were sharing a secret, but I kept my back ramrod straight. Was that cinnamon? “And I’m not interested in getting personal with you.”
My right hand twitched with the urge to slap him. Luckily, my left was wrapped around it. I shoved down the rage, removed my sunglasses, and cocked my head, giving him an amused smile. “That’s really presumptuous of you. I just wanted to introduce myself. Starting at a new school after the year has already begun can’t be easy. I can help ease the transition. I could make your time here very pleasant.”
I left the implications hanging in the cold breeze between us. I could make his time at Fulton incredibly fucking unpleasant too if I wanted to.
He watched me for a moment, his sharp jaw working that gum a little faster. Then he turned to face me fully and took his own sunglasses off. “I know girls like you. You think you rule this school and that you’re going to grow up to rule the world. I know exactly what you think you can control. But I don’t give a shit, princess. I don’t want to be in your court. I don’t give a flying fuck about making friends or getting personal with you or your hangers-on, so just pretend like I’m not here and continue to live your perfect little life. I’m just here until I can graduate and join the real world.”
He blew an obnoxiously loud bubble, jammed his sunglasses back on, and walked away from me.
He fucking walked away from me. It was doubtful anyone had heard our exchange, but plenty of people were looking, watching for a hint of what my decree would be on Hendrix fucking Hawthorn.
I resisted the urge to chase him down, scream at him, smack that smug look off his face. Instead I smiled and replaced my sunglasses, keeping everyone in suspense for a little longer.
The smile was even a little genuine. He’d pissed me off, disrespected me, and was downright antagonizing. But I had a feeling I was going to have fun breaking him.
Chapter Two
Donna
Gravel crunched under my favorite pair of thigh-high boots. The red miniskirt was tight around my thighs, the sheer top showed off my lacy bra underneath, and I was wearing more makeup than I ever did in public.
But I wasn’t perfect, polished Donna Mead with starched uniforms and manicured nails tonight.
I was . . . someone else tonight.
Dark Donna.
The gaudy green neon above the metal door read Davey’s.
A smile pulled at my ruby-red lips as every step I took toward the shiftiest establishment I knew took me away from myself.
Mom had come home from her boozy dinner, and I’d heard her snoring through the door as I passed her bedroom. Harlow was on her computer and had been oblivious to anything going on around her for hours. She’d be going to bed soon, and she’d leave early in the morning for tennis while Mom slept in. Meaning no one would notice me sleeping in.
My Legal Studies extra-credit assignment was done.
I’d mentioned a headache to the girls, ensuring they wouldn’t try to get me out.
My to-do list for next week was written up in order of importance.
Hendrix . . . ugh! Hendrix was tomorrow’s problem.