He didn't step closer like I thought he would. He let the porch between us swallow the words before reaching each other.
He took an exasperated inhale from the joint that looked small between his fingers. He was all muscle and perfection, leaving no room for flaws. He had cut the arms off his t-shirt, unevenly displaying his toned arms, clearly from the discipline of football.
I tried not to bite my lip in front of him; I wasn't giving this gorgeous man an upper hand on me.
He moved forward slowly, not to catch me off guard, erasing the space between us with each step. His pinched fingers gestured towards me offering me what was his. I didn't take it from him, instead I leaned forward and pushed my lips up to his fingers still holding the joint. I inhaled the bud I hadn’t tasted in months.
I wasn’t prejudiced against whatever fun meant here… as long as it was dangerous and got my blood circulated.
I watched Jasper’s body stiffen as he watched me pull away with the inhale still in my lungs and burning my chest. My eyelashes fluttered involuntarily as I looked up at him.
He was slow to act, and it confused me in every way.
The King of Arcadia Prep himself shouted Jasper’s name from the doorway, and he sighed like it was enough to send this guy into a pissed off mode with just syllables alone.
I guessed steroids were another avenue of fun here.
His body twisted, facing Bolton and leaning against the banister next to me. For all intents and purposes, he looked caught.
Why did he care what Bolton thought? Who voted him the pointless king? Was he the sex police too?
Bolton stormed closer to us and demanded Jasper go inside. Jasper didn't even attempt to talk back, and I suddenly found him less attractive than I previously thought.
Jasper let his hand with the joint fall down, and he gave me a look instead of any words.
Bolton’s head cocked behind him, looking over his shoulder at Jasper and Nyx going inside and closing the door behind them quieting the music.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?”
I felt like I was being scolded by my father, when his hands grabbed his own hips and his face looked so severe I wondered if looks really did kill. I waited for whatever nonsense he was gonna throw my way with his disgusted tone he perfected for me now.
I slid off the banister and stood up, “Seriously, isn't there some kind of rule you have to tell people you're a narc?”
I didn't bother sticking around for his jabs. I had seen so many versions of Bolton that I was pretty positive I had heard all the insults worth hearing.
Walking away stole his majesty’s right to put me in my place, but his hand grasped around my bicep as I walked away holding me in my place. Another sharp prick came with another person’s touch. Jesus… this campus either truly hated me or wanted to tell me something. Either way, I didn’t speak in electricity.
I could hear his voice in my ear so clearly that I didn’t need to grant him the pleasure of making eye contact. “He can't smoke in the season. Maybe while you’re bulldozing through our school, you can use your head.”
I jerked my arm back and turned to finally face him, as pissed off as I felt at his attempt to make me feel small.
“He's old enough to not have you baby him,” my voice shook with my immature comeback.
I wanted to affect him, shake him, but nothing did. I was pretty sure he was made of the same shit demigods were and had the attitude to match.
I was ready to storm back into the party. My hand reached for the door, just as his hands grasped my hips with such strength I felt realigned in a way only chiropractors knew how.
His head bowed down into the crook of my neck, and I felt his warm voice hit my neck. “Stay away from my boys, New Girl.”
This party wasn't enough rebellion or adventure to satisfy a photojournalist in the middle of a war zone. I turned around in his grasp facing him. I made sure to make eye contact while I spoke.
So much for keeping my nose clean here. Sorry, Dad.
“And what if I don't?”
I didn't have to see my reflection in his dark eyes to know there was a twinkle of victory in mine. I finally found the chink in his armor: questions he wouldn't answer.
I was celebrating long before I should have… before he leaned down, letting his closeness pin me against the door frame in a distracting way. He was purposely making me feel off center with his body and that sultry voice that was borderline too rough and coming into my space. It was like my whole body needed the next breath to come before I became deprived of oxygen.
“Don't test me. We aren't your typical rich kids.”
His body pushed off of mine, and I felt the colder air rise between us. The air was deprived of the bickering, and it was giving us the cold shoulder.
The party was still going strong inside, and I found Luna again after realizing boys are a lost cause here.
Luna could read facial expressions like a more in-depth personality test. She saw the disappointment in my mouth without any delay.
“Don't worry… the game day is this weekend against our rivals Exeter Academy. There will be a whole new meaning to trouble soon.”
I was sure she had ever used the word in a sentence before now. She was trying very hard to comfort me with it anyways.
“Rivals? I can see why. No offense, but I might cheer for the other team.”
Kate’s snicker was like a flicker and quick fade. She didn't snap and call me New Girl when she turned to me, so I took it as progress.
“Good luck with that, really. Bolton will love that.”
“Who crowned him King of Arcadia Prep?”
Kate didn't laugh or even sneer when she looked at me for the first time since I arrived. Every other time was a glance in my direction, seemingly trying not to make direct eye contact.
“Himself, duh.”
Bolton
The gods had ways of torturing you with mediocrity and driving you mad by making you think things were coincidence or karma.
I'd watch people turn themselves inside out looking for the one infected part of themselves to cut off, finding religion, breaking up with their partners, or even creating a more disastrous situation for themselves, when the whole time it was my gods simply toying with miniature versions of hell.
Mediocrity was hell.
Routine was hell.
And New Girl? My own personal torture from the gods.
She spoke out of turn. She was confident in the ways girls this age shouldn't be, and she knew exactly how much she was annoying me every time that grin took over her face, like it was her favorite sport.
I pushed off my locker just annoyed with her being in the same hallway as me. We had a game to play against our rivals, and I was consumed with my own personal hell.
That was the thing about hell: it was on a loop, and there was no escaping.
I thought being stuck as a high school senior more than once was hell.
I was mistaken.
The only time I will admit to being wrong is to prove how much she didn't belong here.
The boys’ locker room wasn't typical. We had the state of the art equipment and funding that would well exceed one season. Boarding school parents weren't afraid to trade in their guilt for donations.
I threw my duffle bag down with force, making Nyx and Austin look at me with so much concern that I wanted to throw up.