Another girl walks past me and clips my shoulder with hers. I stumble forward to keep my feet underneath me, but I don’t make eye contact. That would just be asking for trouble.
Behind me, a male voice cuts through the air like he’s the emcee at a party. “New pussy!”
Students around me chitter like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all day. I mean, it may be. Did I mention it’s only fucking eight o’clock in the morning?
The crowd parts, and a guy at the very end of the hall leans back against his locker, one leg quirked with his foot planted on the metal behind him. He’s staring down the hallway like he owns the place before zeroing in on me: New Pussy, apparently.
Holy hot shit. Hopefully I’m as good of an actress as I think I am, otherwise, he’ll see the spark of acknowledgment in my eyes. Private school assholes never did it for me. Guys like this though? Damn. Yes. Just fucking yes.
I reach up to pull my hair around my ears. A gesture I hope looks hesitant. I know who the guy is. I’ve done my research. I just didn’t expect to have this much of a visceral reaction to him.
He quirks an eyebrow, and I wet my lips. He’s tan with dark hair shaved at the sides. The top is longer and slicked back. He has bottomless pits for eyes that should make me think he’s definitely an enemy, but it doesn’t. It makes me wonder how deep his pit actually is. I’d be willing to bet it’s not as deep as mine, but we all have secrets, don’t we? We all have things we’d rather not remember. Memories we hold tight to but wish they would blow away like smoke on the wind.
Just how bad are you, Oscar Drego?
A hand shoves me from behind, and I sprawl toward him. I end up within a couple of feet of his casual stance and look up. I suck in a breath. The energy coming off him sets fire to my nerve endings. He’s wearing a cheap ass Rawley Heights letterman jacket he got for playing football. Quarterback to be exact. Last year, he left to go to Spring Hill, chasing rich girl pussy. When he got back, he paid for that shit. At least, that’s what I hear. He had to make ties with the Heights Crew to stop his ass from being fucked up every day.
Not that you’d know it from the look on his face right now. He looks smug as all shit.
The same person who pushed me forward grabs a hold of my neck, forcing me closer to Oscar. “Say hello to your master, little cunt.”
I grit my teeth, but Oscar just beams at me like he’s won the fucking lottery.
The fingers tighten around my neck. “I said…say hello. Or are you too much of a princess for us?”
I swallow down the bile rising up my throat. I want to tell both of these assholes to get fucked, but that won’t bode well for me here. I can’t make enemies. I need to sneak in the backdoor, not come in guns blazing. Not yet anyway. “H-hello,” I say.
My voice makes Oscar tilt his head. “Hello what?” His eyes almost twinkle. I swear he’s getting off on this.
The richness in his voice makes me squeeze my legs together. For fuck’s sake. I need to get a hold of myself. I’m getting off on this shit. “Um, excuse me?”
Oscar snickers and kicks off the locker before stepping forward. Whoever has my neck in a vice loosens his hold and backs away until it’s just Oscar and I face-to-face.
I smile tentatively. “I’m Kyla.”
His lips turn up. “You think I give a fuck?” He moves around me, staring me up and down while walking around me in a wide circle. We’ve attracted a crowd now. As much as I’d love to demolish these guys, I keep my mouth shut and my arms pinned to my sides. When he moves around to face me again, he shakes his head. “You’re not giving us anything, are you?” His stare drags down my oversized t-shirt, which is cleverly hiding my body away from everyone. I’m pretty much dressed the exact opposite of every other female in this school. On purpose.
I pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. The truth is, if I came in here dressed like everyone else, I’d be on their radar for the wrong reasons. I’m going to be on their radar, sure, but by my doing.
I try to walk away, but the same guy from before grips my neck again, forcing me to stay in place. My face reddens, and I let the heat crawl all over me until my skin is hot and itchy.
A throaty laugh rips from Oscar. “I give her two days.”
The guy behind me, most likely someone trying to get into the Heights Crew since he’s acting like Oscar’s little bitch instead of standing next to him, roars. Somehow, the sound is more infuriating than Oscar’s guess at how long I’ll last here in the Heights.
“We’ll let the girls deal with her,” Oscar says, nodding at me. “She’s not worth our time.”
The grip on my neck loosens for a fraction of a second before I’m pushed to the side. I stumble, catching myself on the intersecting hallway wall. I look over my shoulder at the douche who keeps manhandling me, solidifying his face in my memory, so I can kick his ass when I get the chance. Hmm. He has a lip ring. That could be fun.
And no, not to kiss. To tear it the fuck out. Men don’t need to be handling women that way, especially to pretend like they’re fucking cool.
Afterward, I focus on Oscar. He’s eyeing me still, but nothing in his face gives away what he’s thinking. I guess we’re both good like that. From what I’ve already gathered about Oscar, he’ll pretty much do whatever it takes to make his life better. Including succumbing to the whims of the Heights Crew for protection.
Throughout the day, the insults get worse. It hasn’t taken long for word to spread that it’s open season on me. Guys sit back, watching the girls try to tear me to shreds on my very first day. Some get physical. Some just use their words. The only respite I get is while I’m in class, but even then, it depends on the teacher. Some teachers don’t have control of their classrooms at all. It’s anarchy in English. People come and go as they want, and not one time in any of my classes do any of the teachers ask who I am.
I’m getting the impression no one gives a shit about these guys, not even themselves.
At the end of the day, I try my locker again. I haven’t been able to get the fucking thing open all day, which isn’t going to work for me. I need some place to store my shit, maybe hide something contraband in case I need it. After the fifth time trying to open it, I groan. Fuck me. I look around, only to find Oscar walking down the intersecting hallway. He’s got one of the other Crew members next to him: Brawler.
I blink at him. He’s bigger up close. With a name like Brawler, he had to be chiseled and muscled in all the right places, but within twenty yards, he’s a sight to behold. I won’t ever deny what fighter’s physiques do to me. I’ve spent my fair time in gyms across this state, and I’ve seen some banging bodies. This guy? He’s right up there at the top.
A split second of warning is all I get before my head slams into my broken locker. I grunt, bringing my hands up to prevent another go. When I realize it isn’t coming, I turn to find one of the crew cunts smiling at me. Girls aren’t usually let into gangs like the Heights Crew, but I know this type of chick. She hangs on the guys, mostly for protection. She throws her weight around like she means something to them, but she doesn’t, only a lukewarm hole to stick their dick into when they want it. The only chicks who make it into the Crew are either as badass as the guys, legacy, or girls who are going to end up tied to a member for life. Traditionally, we’d call that husband and wife, but for the Crew? It’s more than that. You can’t just divorce the Crew if you want out.