“Olives,” I say loudly. The girls on the other side of the locker fall auspiciously quiet. “In the forties, after the war, my gram married my grandpa. They were young and in love, and they wanted to move away from their parents, so they bought a patch of old farming land in Toscana and decided to start growing olives.”
A head pops around the side of the locker: blonde hair blown out to perfection; black cat-eye liner and heavy mascara; ridiculously overdrawn lips that look kind of clownish. It’s Leah Prescott, in the spray-tanned flesh. She was always a low-ranked member of the Sirens, but with Kacey gone all sorts of powerplays have been set in motion as a number of the girls jostle for the position of Queen Bee.
“The fuck are you talking about? Olives?” She lets out a disgusted sigh. “You’re that desperate for attention now that you just start rambling about fucking olives?”
I give her a saccharine-sweet smile. “They’re one of Italy’s biggest exports. Gram and Pops built up themselves an olive empire. When they moved to America in the seventies, they outsourced the management of the business and lived off the profit. Gram sold the business in the mid-nineties when my Pops died. I won’t go into specifics, but let’s just say the Parisi family did damn well for themselves. We’re what some people might call obscenely well off. I’m set for life. I sure as fuck don’t need Jacob Weaving’s inheritance money. But even if I were planning on extorting cash out of that piece of shit, I’d have a tough time. He’s a psychotic rapist. He’s gonna spend the next thirty years rotting in a jail cell with all of his assets frozen. Now. Do you want to head into the gym and actually practice, or are you gonna hang around out here, pulling your kick shorts out of your ass crack and popping pineapple Hubba Bubba like the basic bitch that you are?”
Leah’s jaw drops. Low and behold, there, wedged into the side of her cheek, is a wad of bright yellow gum. “Eww,” she grouses. “Have you been staring at my ass? Gross. Don’t even think about it, okay.”
God, seriously. Yawn. I make mention of her ass and suddenly I’m hitting on her? “If I were into girls, Leah, you would not be on my radar. I’m only interested in creatures with a soul, and you’re a fucking vampire.”
“Rude! Wait, what kind of vampire? Like, a Bella Swan kind of vampire? Or the dusty old hag kind out of one of those old black and white movies?”
“GIRLS!” Coach Foley’s voice roars into the changing room, causing one of the girls still loitering on the other side of the lockers to scream out loud in surprise. “I can hear your bickering from my office on the other side of the damn hall. What in God’s green earth is wrong with you?” Coach Foley used to work at Raleigh, but she retired a couple of years ago. Darhower enticed her away from her gardening and her cross-country mountain biking to cover for Coach Quentin while he takes a leave of absence.
I’m glad it’s Foley who’ll be coaching the Sirens during my first term back on the team. She always kept Kacey in check whenever my ex-best friend used to haze the new girls who joined the team. I wasn’t strong or brave enough to shut Kace down myself, no one was, to do such a thing would have been social suicide, but Coach Foley didn’t give a shit about Kacey’s ice queen routine. She was immune to every single one of Kacey’s powerplays, and she’ll be immune to Leah’s brand of bullshit now, too. “Get your asses into the gym right now. And if I hear any of you say fuck one more time, you’re all gonna wind up in detention. Get moving! Silver, hang back a sec. I need to go over some game dates with you.”
“Bitch,” Leah mutters under her breath. “You’ve been off the team a long time, Parisi. Don’t think you’re just gonna waltz back in and claim your old place at the top of the Siren food chain. It won’t be that easy.”
I smile tightly, pressing my lips into a thin line. “Siren politics don’t interest me in the slightest, Leah. I’m only here for the college application credits. Believe me. The floor’s all yours.”
Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, gasping for air. If I stand still long enough, I’m sure she’ll come up with a cutting come back about how she doesn’t need my permission to jostle for role of Siren’s head bitch, but I’m already walking past her, heading for Coach Foley’s office. Leah’s friends chitter and mumble quietly behind me; I can’t tell if they’re gossiping about me or their beloved leader. Can’t bring myself to care, either. They’re so high school, clinging on to the unimportant, unnecessary stuff. They still think that surviving at Raleigh is tough, but they’re so fucking wrong. Surviving here is easy as hell once you’ve been raped and nearly strangled to death.
“I know I’ve been gone a while, but I read the papers. I still have friends on the faculty here, and I have to say, I’m surprised you haven’t transferred out to Bellingham, Silver. What you’ve had to deal with…” Coach Foley puffs out her cheeks, eyes wide as she shakes her head. “It’s unconscionable that the situation wasn’t dealt with properly before it could come to a head like that. Principal Darhower should have investigated the matter and taken the appropriate steps to make sure you were safe. I’m sorry that didn’t happen. Truly, I am.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline; it takes a second to register that a member of Raleigh’s staff just apologized to me for what happened. Foley’s the first person to openly acknowledge that it even happened in the first place. The other teachers have all been making an obvious effort to avoid eye contact; there must have been a staff meeting held in my honor, detailing how little attention should be drawn to my existence.
“No need to look so surprised.” Foley steeples her fingers together. “The school administration’s been woefully corrupt for the better part of the past decade. It’s part of the reason why I retired early in the first place. My position here’s temporary now, though, so I can say whatever the hell I like. The Weaving family are evil incarnate, and they deserve everything coming to them. I doubt the board’s going to replace Principal Darhower mid-way through an academic year, a regime change like that might be too upsetting to the status quo, but believe me…it’s on the cards. It’ll be too late to right the wrongs he’s done to you, but next year hopefully there’ll be someone a little more competent in the driver’s seat.”
I’m astonished that she’d say all of this to me. She’s talking to me like I’m…well, like I’m not only an actual, real life person with real feelings, but like I’m an adult who is due an explanation. I remain mute, uncomfortably gripping the sides of the metal chair I’m sitting on, waiting for this unexpected moment to be over.
“All that aside, I won’t be bringing this up again. And I won’t be going easy on you, Parisi. Mollycoddling does more damage than good, and I’m guessing you might want things to be as normal as possible for your remaining months here as a senior. Am I way off base?”
“No, Coach Foley. You’re right on base.”
“Good.” Perfunctory. All business. I like this about her. She shuffles a bunch of papers, organizing them into one neat stack, which she places in the ‘out’ tray on her desk. “There are only so many spots on this team. You were a good cheerleader once upon a time, but you were always deferring to Kacey, dumbing down your own talents so she could shine. I knew you could be better, and now I’m demanding it from you. There won’t be any in-fighting. No backstabbing. No arguments, and no drama. If I see things going south with the Sirens, I will confiscate your damn uniforms and disband this shit quicker than you can say ‘Go, Rebels, Go.’ Do we understand each other?”