A few months ago, my cousin and best friend since birth, Kiki, was waiting in her little red BMW while I went into a local grocery store to grab snacks. While at the counter, checking out, I noticed the older gentleman clerk eyeing something behind me. Let me be honest here, I was expecting one of two things: a gunman or some hot MILF. Neither were what I saw when I glanced behind me.
What I got was a girl in a hoodie, starting to walk out the door with a loaf of bread and some peanut butter that, due to his reaction, I knew she hadn’t paid for.
“Hey, Karen”—I don’t know why I called her Karen; it was honestly the first name that popped in my head—“he’s gotta ring it up for me.” I looked back at the older man and told him, “She must have forgot.”
I paid for “Karen’s” shit and, as soon as we walked outside, I handed her the almost stolen goods. Instead of a simple thank you, or no words at all, she sneered, “Rot in hell” then took off.
Then, my first day at Seashore Academy, I ended up face-to-face with Gabrielle, who I had also seen on the app and had gotten a sense she was the “it” girl. I also knew she was involved in everything that interested me.
She was wearing a thousand-dollar white Gucci blouse under her navy-blue Seashore Academy blazer, the exact blouse I’d drooled over and Dad legit laughed in my face.
I complimented her on that blouse, and she sneered at me, “Keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll ruin you and the rest of your new-monied bottom feeders.”
I recognized her voice, the voice of “Karen,” but no way could this be the same hot mess in the hoodie lifting bread and peanut butter, right?
I stood, mouth agape, and she took full advantage of my shock and confusion, shoved me against the locker, pinning me as she sneered, “You hear me?”
Before I had a chance to shake the shock and put her on her ass, Justice showed up out of nowhere, jacked her up by her collar, took three long strides away from me, and dropped her to her feet.
When she turned on him, he stepped into her. I couldn’t see her, but she quickly moved until her back was against the locker.
“Touch her again, you’ll have three of our females on you like flies on shit, you feel me?”
Her voice shook a bit as she snapped at him, “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”
“Don’t give a fuck if you are or aren’t. Leave her alone or justice will be served. And trust me, Queenie, you won’t like it.” Then he leaned in and sniffed the air above her, shocking both her and me, before turning around and walking toward me.
“Let’s get to class, T.”
I flipped her off over my shoulder as we walked away and whispered to Justice, “Why the hell did you smell her?”
He lifted a shoulder and answered, “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, or I wouldn’t have asked,” I insisted.
He stopped at the door to our APUSH class. “She either pissed herself a little or was wet.”
“Was wet?” I asked in confusion.
Rolling his eyes, he opened the door. “After you.”
It hit me then what he meant, and I scrunched up my face at him. “Ew …”
He shrugged. “You asked.”
Ever since that day, Gabrielle and I have passed each other alone in the hall, sat in some of the same classes together, and shared a stage—she played Katherine, the lead, and I played Specs, a member of the ensemble, with no lines and no featured dances—and we uttered not one word to one another.
I’ve yet to find confirmation of my suspicions as to who runs the app. I’m pretty damn sure my initial suspicion, that it’s one of the four boys gracing the first page of the app, would probably be wrong. It’s more likely the sticky-fingered queen bee, Gabrielle Morales-Ortez, runs the whole damn thing.
Why?
Our first day here, Kiki was hit on by none other than Harrison Reeves and ridiculed by his recent ex-girlfriend, who he’s rumored to still be fucking, Gabrielle Morales-Ortez. From day one, Kiki’s name was mud on The Sound … She was said to be a wannabe and so much worse.
Kiki didn’t give a damn. She was dealing with her own issues—being pregnant at eighteen and carrying the child of her lifelong crush, who happens to be the biggest country singer on the damn planet. So, yeah, her plate was full.
Until she and Brand got married, all these assholes legit laughed in her face and thought she was making it up. If there was anything to find amusing about that, it was the fact that she never confirmed they were a couple or posted a damn thing on her social media about them. He was no trophy; he was the boy she had always loved, and he loved her, too.
It was Brand who finally posted about them. And if there was one good thing that I have enjoyed about Seashore Academy, it was seeing them all squirm when she walked in after the cat was out of the bag.
After that, when she was asked if Brandon Falcon was truly her man, it was she who laughed at them then walked away without an answer, like the badass she is.
Then the whispers about her being pregnant at eighteen started. Pissed me off, but not her. She didn’t care one bit.
I wish I could be more like her and ignore the slander, but truth matters, and everything they post or whisper in the hallowed halls of Seashore Academy makes my blood boil.
I need to get over it. The rest of my crew is doing just fine here. Not one of them miss attending our private Catholic school, and even though I despised it and the nasty nuns who taught us, I’m not sure that I like this hell hole much better.
So, here I sit, being bitter, while there’s a party going on around me, with people laughing, drinking, and having fun around the blazing fire, like a butt-puckered, pouting asshole.
Fuck this, I think as I push myself up off the blanket that I’m sitting on.
Brisa looks back at me and smiles. “You gonna drink?”
Wiping the sand off my hands as I walk toward her, I shake my head. “Promised I’d stay sober.”
“It’s actually Justice’s turn.”
She’s right; we do have a rotation, and it is his turn, but he’s not here.
“He left with Tags and Bella after the show.”
“First, I’m stoked your dad and mom let him go with them. Second, it’s not like I can’t drive.”
“Well, legally, you can’t.” I shake my head.
“And legally, you can’t drink, but whatevs. It’s a mile away.”
I pull my phone from my Forever Steel hoodie to check the time and see notifications from The Sound.
Brisa jacks my phone from me. “Nope, not tonight. Say it with me.”
“Say what?” I ask, a bit annoyed.
“Fuck them.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on; say it with me. Fuck. Them.”
“Just pisses me off, you know. Who the fuck do they think they are, talking shit about Kiki and …” I stop.
She finishes for me, “And you.”
“Yeah, and me,” I huff as I kick some sand.
“You gotta find the good in all this and focus on it. Do you think it doesn’t piss me off?”
“Gotta be honest, Brisa, you haven’t been targeted, so—”
“I haven’t allowed them to target me. And I gotta be honest with you, I may be a little offended that you think them targeting you and Kiki doesn’t make me want to cunt punch a bitch, because it does. But”—she holds up my phone—“I ignore this shit. And if I didn’t think you’d get in trouble, or Uncle Cyrus would show up because he tracks your ass on this thing, I’d chuck this in the Atlantic right now.”