I’m grateful for a weekend away from Redwood. I spend most of Saturday working at the diner. On Sunday, my day off, Viola and I have a spa day and invite Breeze over.
The moment I see my best friend, I throw my arms around her. She laughs awkwardly—Breeze isn’t too big with public displays of affection—and tries to pry my arm off, but I only tighten my grip.
I’ve decided not to tell anyone about what’s going on at Redwood. Especially not Breeze. She’ll turn up at my new school with a machete, demanding to see Dutch.
It’d be like an ant attacking a giant. Dutch wouldn’t hesitate to crush her under his boot.
I don’t want my sister or my best friend to be on Dutch’s hit list. It’s safer all around if I keep my troubles to myself.
But the anger, frustration and helplessness has been boiling inside me and it needs a way to come out. Sometimes, beating the crap out of a punching bag doesn’t feel the same as embracing a friend.
“Do you miss me that much?” Breeze laughs.
I nod into her neck.
She pats my back. “What’s wrong? You haven’t made any super rich friends at Redwood?”
“None as good as you,” I mumble. Serena counts as a friend, well, half-friend. Sort of friend? I haven’t seen her around since she invited herself to my table.
“What about boys?” Breeze asks.
“What about boys?” I respond innocently.
“Tell me you’ve gotten some action.” Breeze wiggles her eyebrows. “A little under the table activities.” She makes a gesture with her fingers. “If you know what I mean.”
I smack her hand. “Stop that.”
“You think the rich boys at Redwood Prep would go for her?” Viola asks, bouncing into the room.
Her long hair is pulled back into a ponytail that swishes cheerfully when she plops beside me. She’s got her arms full of cheap, dollar-store face masks, cucumbers, and nail polish.
“Your sister’s got a gorgeous face and a rocking bod,” Breeze argues. “Besides, boys don’t care if a girl has money. All they care about is—”
I slap a hand over my best friend’s mouth. “Boys are not a priority for me right now.” I glare at my sister. “And they definitely shouldn’t be for you.”
Viola rolls her eyes.
I wiggle a finger at her. “I mean it.”
Mom got pregnant when she was in her teens. Some vices are hereditary, but I’m hoping like crazy that the ‘get knocked up before eighteen’ gene skips us both entirely.
Viola is much more boy crazy than I am, which worries me. I’m working most of the time and she doesn’t have anyone else to make sure she’s staying safe. ‘One thing led to another’ is not the kind of story I want my sister to have.
She scoffs. “I’m not going to be a virgin like you all my life.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin,” I defend myself.
“You know what would be great?” Breeze slings an arm around my neck. “If you found a really cute guy at Redwood Prep to pop your cherry.”
“No, that sounds awful,” I mumble, thinking of all the pretentious guys I’ve met.
Breeze laughs. “Are you sure no one has been paying attention? I mean, I’ve seen you in that short Redwood Prep skirt. Every time you so much as bend over, you flash a cheek.”
“I do not!” I gasp.
Breeze grins. “Unless those guys are blind, someone should have dragged you off into a dark corner by now.”
I think of Dutch’s hot and heavy hands. The feel of them, as they landed on my upper thighs sent my entire body into flames. What’s embarrassing is I’m not sure if those flames were from desire or hate.
“Trust me. There is no guy at Redwood,” I say to the floor.
“What if he’s not at Redwood?” Viola muses. Taking a small brush, she pours a mixture into a bowl and starts stirring. “What if he’s, I don’t know, Rick’s friend.”
“Your hot older brother has a hot older friend?” Breeze gasps. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because there was nothing to tell.”
“He gave Cadence that.” Viola points to the punching bag.
“What the hell?” Breeze’s eyes are about to fall out of her face. “That’s so sweet!”
“A punching bag is sweet?” I snort.
Viola gets up to grab something from the fridge.
While she’s gone, I pull Breeze close and speak in a hushed tone. “Don’t misunderstand. Hunter tried to give me money for the electricity, but I turned him down. After that, he brought the punching bag.”
“He came all the way here to pay your electricity?” Breeze hisses. “Why haven’t you jumped him yet?”
“Because I’m not a prostitute,” I whisper heatedly. “Am I supposed to sleep with the first guy who pays my bills?”
“No, of course not.” Viola chomps on another cucumber. “You sleep with the second guy who pays your bills.”
“Breeze.”
“Did you at least thank him for the gift?”
“She didn’t,” Vi says smartly, returning to the living room.
I cast her a dark look for her betrayal.
Breeze leans back on her slender arms and tilts her head to the ceiling. “I’m so disappointed in you, Cadey. You’ve spent your entire life taking care of yourself and now that there’s a super hot—”
“I never said he was super hot.”
“—There is literally no way he can be anything but super hot if he gave you a punching bag.” She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder. “You’re going to DM Hunter and tell him thanks.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Fine. Then I will.” Breeze lunges over the sofa and grabs my phone.
“No!” I yell.
Viola holds me back. Locking her legs around me like a wrestler, she yells, “Do it, Breeze!”
While my traitorous sister holds me down, my best friend opens my phone.
I realize she’s going to see my messages to Jinx and panic blasts through me. Knocking my sister back with all my strength, I lunge at the phone.
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”
“That’s my girl,” Breeze says, smiling victoriously.
I take my phone, navigate to Hunter’s DMs and tap out a message.
“‘Thanks for the punching bag.’ See? I sent it.” I show it to them as evidence.
“Do you think he’ll respond?” Breeze asks.
I sure hope not. In fact, as soon as Breeze and Viola aren’t looking, I plan to delete that message.
As if they can read my thoughts, they stare at the phone waiting for a response.
When five minutes pass, I set the phone away. “Look at that. He can’t be bothered to respond. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Or maybe he’s not a big social media guy.” Breeze thumbs the screen. “He hasn’t updated his socials for over a year now.”
“Can we please stop talking about Hunter and go back to a relaxing spa day?” I beg. “This is my only time off from work and I don’t want to spend it thinking about boys.”
Breeze tosses the phone. “Fine. Viola, cucumber me.”
We enjoy the rest of our time together. Breeze even sleeps over and helps me get ready for school before taking off with Vi to catch the bus.
I’m so refreshed from spa day that, on Monday, Redwood Prep’s massive buildings and castle-like spires look more like a fairy tale than a haunted mansion.
I even manage to smile at the cheerleaders who pass me in the hallway and glare at me with their icy eyes. They don’t get in my way though, which is a small miracle.
The good keeps on rolling when I get to my locker and open it up to see it’s free of water, frogs, or any other childish things Dutch can think of.
Speaking of the royal jerk, I don’t see him or his brothers for most of first period. I hope they’re gone on another tour and won’t return until graduation.
Three blissful hours roll by without incident. Feeling good, I bounce into the cafeteria to get my lunch. Since I’m on a scholarship, I have a special meal card. With limited options, I skip over the sushi bar, gourmet burgers and vegan trays and choose a tuna sandwich and a bottle of orange juice.
Satisfied, I turn to carry my tray outside.
That’s when a guy wearing a football jacket slams into my shoulder.
I wobble on my feet, gripping the tray while stumbling forward. I barely manage to keep myself, along with my sandwich and juice, upright.
“Watch it, slut,” he murmurs.
My temperature rises and I can’t hold back. “Excuse me?”
The jock turns smoothly on his feet and stares me down.
I return the glare.
He scoffs, tosses his ragged-looking hair and gives his friends a ‘can you believe this chick’ look.
“I was having a freaking good day.” My voice trembles from my anger and irritation. It feels so good to finally lash out at someone. Even if that someone isn’t Dutch. “So the least you can do is give me an apology.”
“Why would I apologize,” he breathes, “to a whore.”
I can feel the heat climbing in my cheeks. Everyone is watching us and it only makes the humiliation worse.
I tighten my fingers on the tray, wondering if I should bash his head in with it. Then I think of Viola and the sacrifice Mr. Mulliez made to keep me here at Redwood. I think of the money I’ll have to pay back if I lose my scholarship.
Deciding this douchebag isn’t worth a fight, I suck in my rage.
“Whatever,” I mutter. And then I try to walk past him.
He steps into my way. “Where are you going, sweetie?” He shoves me and I skitter back. “Since you’re here, why don’t you give me the same treatment you gave Mulliez?” He sticks his groin out toward me so I can’t miss his meaning.
“Yeah,” a voice says, “why don’t you get on your knees right here, Brahms?”
Every nerve in my body pulls tight when I hear that raw and silky voice.
It’s Dutch.
