The guy lifts his head out of his cell phone and out from beneath the bill of his baseball cap. The second he sees my face, he grins and flips his hat around. "Well, look what the cat dragged in." He smirks. "Just the girl I've been hearing so much about."
I roll my eyes and wave my hand back and forth. "Oh, whatever."
"That stunt you pulled is all over school," he says.
"Yeah, well, I couldn't have done it without you," I say. "Thanks for the hand … or should I say the panties?"
He laughs, throwing his head back, and slaps his hand on the table. "Please, no need to thank me, it was funny as shit to watch. Besides, I never really liked Kate."
"Awww." I fake a pout. "Too good for your dick?"
He doesn't even try to lie. "Yeah, pretty much."
"Thought all rich pricks were the same," I comment.
That gets me a huff of disbelief. "With Carter, Frazier, and Smalls in the pot?" he asks. "Not a chance in hell."
"Which is which?" I ask.
He pauses as if he's not sure if I'm being serious or not, but when I keep my face even he frowns. "Wow," he says. "You really don't give much of a shit about this place, do you? Been here, what? A few weeks? And not only have you pissed off the three richest and most powerful guys here, but you don't even know enough to know their last names?"
I shrug. "When it's important, I know it."
He shakes his head in disbelief.
"Besides," I continue, "I don't even know your name, and I can actually stand you."
"I'm so pleased," he says dryly. A beat passes and he grins. "The name's Jake, by the way. Jacob Hayes."
"Avalon," I say. "Just Avalon."
"Pretty name," he comments.
"It is what it is."
"Yeah, that seems like something you'd say." Jake shakes his head and pushes back from the table. "Well, I gotta head to class, but it was nice seeing you. Take care not to get into too much more trouble—word on the street is the shit you did to Kate's car got you off lockdown. Take advantage of that. Make some friends—something tells me a girl like you is gonna need them.”
I’d laugh at that “girl like me” comment if I didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. I stand too. "Wait," I say, catching him just as he pockets his phone, "I wanted to ask you something."
He tilts his head back and eyes me curiously. "What is it?"
"You seem like you know more about this place than I do," I hedge carefully. "I was just wondering if there's a place I can make some quick cash."
Jake shoves one hand into his pocket and lifts the other to scratch the underside of his jaw. "What kinda cash we talkin'?"
I stride forward slowly until we're chest to chest and then I reach up and tap the pocket against his chest, feeling the joint I knew would be there. "I think you know the kind I'm talkin' about."
He fights it. I see it. He fights it hard, but the longer I stand there, smirking up at him, the more I see him caving. He grins. "Alright, alright," he says, withdrawing his phone once more. "Gimme your number. I'll text you some times and locations. It's just some fun. If you wanna fight, I can introduce you to the bookie so you can get on the docket, but—"
I stop him right there. “I'm not a fighter.”
He pauses and arches a brow as his finger swipes across the screen of his phone. "Bullshit," he says.
I shrug. "Alright then,” I say. “Let me clarify. I don’t fight for cash.”
"Huh." His lips twitch. “Never would’ve figured that.”
He's curious, but I don't say anything more and like the smart guy he is, he doesn't ask. We exchange phone numbers and I head off my way as he heads off his.
I grab a quick sandwich to go and start off around the campus, just walking aimlessly—not really ready to go back to the dorm and not really sure what else there is to do around here. I'm halfway down the row of buildings full of classrooms when I hear someone yelling.
"Hey! Hey, new girl!" Out of curiosity, I turn as a girl with short, choppy hair comes sprinting down the sidewalk, a designer bookbag—holy shit, designer bookbags are a thing?—hanging over her shoulder. "Yeah! You!" She points and I turn again, wondering who the fuck this chick is trying to track down. When I realize she's not pointing at anyone behind me, but actually at me, my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline, and I slowly pivot back to face her as she comes to a startlingly abrupt halt before me.
She wheezes, one hand on her chest, "Sorry, just … give me like two seconds. God, I need to work out more."
"What do you need, rich bitch?" I ask.
She freezes but shockingly, instead of getting offended she gives me a sheepish smile. "It was the new girl comment, wasn't it?" she asks. "Sorry 'bout that," she says, straightening up. "I don't know your name or I would've used that instead." One perfectly manicured hand shoots out. "I'm Corina Harrison."
I flick my tongue between my teeth and narrow my eyes on her. "No thanks," I say, ignoring the outstretched hand. "I'm not interested."
The girl makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a grunt as she reaches out and snags my arm as I turn to go. Once again, my brows go up. "Please wait!" she says.
"You wanna keep that hand?" I warn her.
She grimaces but remains locked on me. "I promise, I'm not here to do anything mean."
As if she could, I think. Still, her words come out in a rush of breath as she follows me when I try to take a step away. Short of shaking her off like a mangy mutt, there's not much I can do unless I want to get violent. I'm debating it, but looking at her big eyes and smooth face, it's kind of hard. Despite the fact that this girl obviously belongs at Eastpoint—the expensive backpack, the pound of perfect make-up on her face, the manicure, and the three inch wedges on her feet that probably cost more than my mom's rent—she's got this girl next door vibe about her. I know I called her a rich bitch, but what kind of girl would come chasing after somebody like me? My curiosity stays the violent tendencies telling me to break her fingers. If she pisses me off, though, it's still an option.
I huff out a breath. "What do you want?" I finally ask.
Her face brightens. "I was wondering if you would go out with me."
Shock ricochets through me. "Um … I'm flattered, but sorry, I am—unfortunately—purely a dick kinda bitch. It’s unfortunate, but I like cock not pussy."
Confusion ripples over her features until she realizes what she said. "Oh, no!" she squeals. "No! I didn't mean it like that. I'm—oh my gosh—what I meant was that I'm going to Urban and I heard that you kinda had a thing going on with the Sick Boys so—"
"Stop." I hold a hand up, effectively silencing her display of word vomit. "Where the fuck did you hear that I have a thing going on with the Sick Boys?" I grimace as that stupid ass nickname comes out of my mouth. Sick Boys, my ass. But fine, whatever, if it's what everyone else calls them and everyone else understands them as, I'll say that shit. Doesn't mean it's true though.