The entitled Almadale alum would probably rather cut off their own feet than pay for poor kids to go to their school. Except for a few, Chester included, most of the elitist assholes here wouldn’t think twice about us.
I sigh and rub the back of my neck.
“Now you’ve done it,” Brock says, throwing his phone down and sitting up. He jerks his neck from side to side, stretching and popping it before rising and looking for his uniform to put on. “He will have to add this to his list, and we won’t hear the end of it.”
“You don’t have to pay us back, man. You know you are our brother.” Bodhi looks sheepish, like he can’t believe he let out a secret.
“I know,” I growl, wanting them to stop talking about it.
It’s a joke to them but not to me. They don’t know what it’s like to not know when you’ll be able to eat again or if you’ll be able to wear clean clothes to school. They’ve never worried about electricity or heat. I’m not saying they’ve never had hardship, but they don’t understand my thinking. They’ve never owed anyone anything.
I pull my uniform with a hard yank, making the hanger skitter across the floor, and the room is silent, only the rustling of our clothing as we dress. I slip my feet into my loafers and roll up the ends of my pant legs, leaving my shirt untucked. We are the only three the faculty doesn’t dare to get on about our uniform, and they are lucky we wear one.
I open the door, Brock and Bodhi beside me, as I take a deep breath.
Here’s to another year at Almadale.
11
Landry
I shuffle anxiously on the bench, the hard wood digging into my ass where my skirt has ridden up. It’s not a hard feat to accomplish, given that I still have to wear Trixie’s uniform until mine can be found. I’ve ordered two more sets, but they said it would take a week or two to arrive since it’s the very beginning of the semester and most everything is sold out.
Chapel started ten minutes ago, and it continues for twenty more minutes before we head to class. There’s a slight shuffle at the back of the room as the double doors are thrown open. Heads crane around to look, but I don’t. I know who it is because my traitorous body has focused on the fact that neither Corbin nor Brock or Bodhi have shown up yet. I hate myself for even looking.
Their footsteps echo down the middle aisle, drawing closer and closer until there’s a gasp and movement to my left. I finally give in, glancing their way to see the boys stepping over the girls in my row until they are next to me and Trixie. They jerk their heads, indicating for the ones seated around me to move, and when there are three clear spaces, they sit down, Corbin next to me. His sleeve touches mine, and I look down, slightly shifting away so there is a gap between us, but he shifts again, filling it. I look up, glaring, but he smirks, keeping his eyes straight ahead and not looking at me.
The rows of girls around me are murmuring, especially since we are split up. Girls on the left and boys on the right. The three guys stick out like sore thumbs amid our blue button-up blouses and pleated skirts. Their masculinity in tailored coats and pants don’t go unnoticed. Especially by me.
Dammit.
My nostrils flare as I breathe in Corbin’s scent, the smell that has haunted me since yesterday and, if I’m being honest, since the moment he sat beside me in the car that night.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss under my breath.
He doesn’t move or even indicate that he heard me speak for a full minute before he leans over, his breath hitting my shoulder as he turns his head toward me.
“Sitting in chapel. What are you doing here?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. Why are you sitting on the girls’ side?”
“Maybe I wanted to be close to you,” he whispers.
I snort, drawing some stares from around us. I focus my head forward again, telling myself to ignore them but they make it damn hard, sitting there casually.
As soon as chapel ends, I bolt as fast as I can. I need to get away. I need to remind myself how much I hate Brock and Bodhi and how much I should hate Corbin for being their friend and going along with their damn stunts. Fucking dumb stunts. I don’t know how they got that video anyway.
I step into my first class—History IV—and head to the back row. A leg juts into the aisle I’m walking in, effectively stopping me in my tracks, and I glance up. I meet dark brown eyes, wavy hair, and a smile that doesn’t bode well for me.
“Landry, is it?” he says, not moving his leg, making me stand there.
“That’s me. Will you move?” I give him my best intimidating stare—narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, lips pressed together—but he isn’t deterred. I don’t know why I thought he would be.
“Damn hot video. Want to try making one with me?” His smile grows wider as a few of his asshole friends chuckle around him.
I squint my eyes as I peer at him. I want nothing more than to reach down and twist his balls until he is purple in the face, but I know I’ll regret that. These kids here have money and asshole lawyers to back them up. I don’t want to be on the wrong side of that.
Technically, I’m not poor, and I guess you could consider me wealthy with the marriage my mom has made. But that’s not my money. And I haven’t even met Chester.
What if he hates me and that I came to live with them—well, mostly at Almadale?
He probably wouldn’t want to use his money to back me up if it came to that. His sons hate me, and I truly feel on my own here—besides having Trixie.
I lean over, making sure my breasts are on full display, and feel a small amount of glee when the dude’s eyes sink to my chest and stay there for a moment.
“What’s your name?” I say in a sweet voice, smiling a little.
I watch as he glances around, smirking at his dickhead friends.
“Lawrence.” He gives me a cocky look, and I lean over on the top of his desk, ass up in the air.
A silence settles over the room as everyone focuses on us, seeing what’s going to happen next.
“Lawrence,” I say, rolling the name around in my mouth, making sure his eyes are focused on my lips. “What a strong name.” I flutter my eyelashes and prop my chin on my hand, licking my lips.
He smirks and eyes me again, thinking he has this in the bag.
“It’s a shame that it’s attached to such a weak, spineless dickhead of a guy.” I stand slowly, watching his smirk morph into a frown and then into anger as he registers what I said.
“Fucking bitch,” he spits out, bracing on the desk as he leans forward, about to spew more venom.
There is a chorus of, “Ooh,” around the room at our little exchange before a broad hand slaps down on the desk.
A warm body hits my back, and a few gasps echo out after all the catcalls.
“Now, now. No need to call anyone names,” Bodhi’s smooth voice sounds from behind me, and I stiffen.
“What do you care?” Lawrence asks before thinking better of it. “You are the one who played the damn video.”
“This is my lil sis,” Bodhi says, his voice calm and collected, no indication that he’s anything but poised and relaxed. “I’m the only one who gets to mess with her.”