A short woman with glasses and a pencil skirt hugging her generous curves stepped out of the office and reached for the form I’d just been staring daggers at. She spotted me and paused, giving me a warm smile.
“Did you want to sign up? It’s not too late.” She wiggled the form in front of my face.
“No thanks.” I kept my voice even. There was no need to take my frustration out on the nice reception lady.
I did my best to ignore the other students as I walked to my locker.
She may not have whited my name out herself, but I had no doubt Donna Mead was the person behind its removal. It didn’t matter though. I didn’t belong on their stupid football team, especially if I wasn’t welcome. You couldn’t build a team if the team didn’t get along.
I’d been at Fulton just over two weeks, and other than a few early verbal sparring matches with Donna, I’d hardly had a conversation with another person. The first few days had been a nightmare. It was a new school, all new people, the other fucking side of the country. I knew I was good-looking and tall, and now the giant chip on my shoulder gave me the edge of bad-boy danger private school girls creamed their panties for. A few guys had been friendly initially too, probably hoping I’d join the football team and help save them from a disaster season.
I’d either brushed off or ignored them all, wondering how long I’d have to endure this torture before they got the hint. I just wanted to be left alone, finish my senior year, and never see any of these stuck-up, rich assholes again.
By the end of the first day, it was clear who the “queen bee” was. Donna Mead strutted the halls with her predictable gaggle of girls and the confidence of a spoiled brat who’d never been told no. The guys all checked her out as she passed; the girls all glanced in her direction, as if waiting for permission to exist.
Donna was exactly the type the old me would’ve gone for. If this were a year ago, before I went and ruined everything, she would’ve been riding my dick within a week, and I would’ve been throwing punches at any guy who dared look in her direction as we both got off on the power of being the most popular couple in school.
A lot had changed. I had nothing but contempt for girls like Donna and guys like me now.
I hated her for what she represented, but I hated myself more for what I used to be.
I’d hoped to just sail under the radar, but it became apparent very quickly that wasn’t going to happen. Antagonizing Donna was the best and most efficient way of making sure everyone left me alone.
So, I was rude to her, really embracing the cocky attitude, the side of myself I tried to push down.
I could tell she was pissed, but the stares from chicks wanting to get in my pants didn’t stop. So I parked in her spot deliberately. Of course I knew it was her spot. I’d seen her park there, seen other students leave the prime space free. I got up extra early and sat in my damn car for nearly twenty minutes, waiting for her to show.
It was almost cute, the way her nose scrunched up in derision. It took a lot not to chuckle while she was berating me. That was the first time I noticed she had one green eye and one hazel. So unusual. It was distracting, watching both the mesmerizing colors blaze in fury at me. I’d planned to hang around longer, really rile her, maybe even get her to raise her voice. But I’d started to forget all the hurtful things I’d planned to say to her and walked away much sooner than planned.
It worked anyway. I’d goaded the queen of Fulton Academy into declaring war on me. I got what I wanted . . . and then some.
The next day, a group of freshman girls were standing in the parking space, blocking my car with their gangly bodies. I laughed to myself as I passed. I had no intention of ever parking there again. I’d made my point. But the parking-minders remained for a solid week, faithful subjects trying to impress their queen. Most likely she hadn’t even had to ask. They’d probably only needed a vague mention of how inconvenient it was for her and jumped to her defense.
I deposited my bag in my locker and gripped my biology books with one hand, slamming the locker shut with the other.
As I walked the halls, no one looked at me anymore. Donna had made her declaration, and her loyal subjects were doing her bidding—excommunicating me.
Just before I reached the end of the hallway, some junior with a wonky tie and acne around his nose deliberately bumped into me in an attempt to knock my books out of my hand. His intentions had been obvious in his jittery steps and nervous glances, so I’d had plenty of time to tense my core and grip my books tighter. The kid bounced off me like a tennis ball.
Eyes wide, he stared up at me. I gave him a disparaging look, and he nervously shot a glance to the side before hanging his head and rushing off.
I followed his gaze. Of course. Donna was walking up the corridor with her short friend—Mena? The guy had been trying to impress her and failed miserably.
I rolled my eyes and went on my merry way.
It had been two and a half weeks of this. At first, all the early attention for a hot new guy had abruptly stopped. Exactly what I wanted. Then people started throwing me openly hostile scowls wherever I went. Not unexpected, and definitely something I could handle. Then losers wanting to impress Donna started bumping into me, attempting to shove me into lockers, trying to intimidate me, while the chicks—also wanting to impress Donna, although mostly for different reasons—started saying bitchy things about me as I passed. Having the entire school against me was more than I expected, but I could still handle it. There were only seven months until the school year ended, and I’d never be seeing any of these people again. What did I care what they thought of me?
I never fought back, never reacted more than to tense up and stop my ass from hitting the ground. I just sealed that impassive look on my face, turned my nose up as if none of these bastards mattered more than dirt on my shoes, and kept walking.
Inside, I was writhing.
Old habits die hard, and every time someone showed me aggression, I itched to drive my fist into their face, spear tackle them to the ground, knee them in the gut, do something violent. I knew it would make me feel better . . . momentarily. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. Not after what went down at my last school.
As I neared my classroom, a football came sailing at my head. I’d seen the quarterback throw it. I caught it, not even flinching at how close it got to my nose or how my hand stung from the impact. The guy had a good arm, had to give him that. I was pretty sure his name was Drew—I’d seen him hanging out with Donna and her group.
I fixed him with a deadpan stare. Nice try, asshole. A smile pulled at his lips as he stared at me in shock. He was as grudgingly impressed with my catch as I was with his throw. Suck on it—that’s exactly what you missed out on by scratching my name off the sign-up.
I let the ball bounce to the ground and walked into my classroom to take my seat, like a good little boy. As I opened my textbook, I allowed myself a little smirk of satisfaction.
The bell sounded, everyone settled, and Mrs. Shepard—a middle-aged woman with a killer rack that I’m sure was in the spank bank for half the boys at the school—started the lesson.
And my fucking pen ran out of ink. I scratched it aggressively against the paper, hoping to get the blue stuff flowing by force, but it refused to budge. My grip on the pen tightened to the point that I could feel the plastic about to snap. Dropping it onto the desk, I took a deep breath and, without even thinking about it, turned to the chick in the seat next to me.