I’m fuming when I wrench my front door open and storm inside the messy apartment. The look on Mr. Mulliez’s face when I ran to the music room and saw him getting escorted into the principal’s office like a criminal is one I’ll never forget.
It’s going to be okay, he said to me.
Even in that horrific moment, he was more interested in comforting me. As if all of this isn’t my fault.
I throw my backpack on the floor, bend over and scream my head off.
Normally, I’d check to make sure Viola isn’t home before I release my frustration, but I can’t contain my rage. Today, I stood face-to-face with a cold, heartless vortex wrapped in the face of a god. Three of them, in fact.
And I barely survived.
Right now, I’m in critical condition. My heart is leaking blood and it’s all I can do to sew myself up so I can face another day.
Sweat beads on my neck and gathers under my shirt. I lift my cell phone. There’s still no new notification on the school app. Not that the picture would still be there even if I had access. I bet the school scrubbed that photo from the records as soon as possible.
Mr. Mulliez has to be okay, right? He’ll explain that the picture was out of context. He’ll tell them we were only at the lounge that night to discuss my scholarship. Everything will be fine.
I pace the length of my cramped living room, past the drug store makeup kits scattered on the ground, past my cheap piano and Viola’s prized light up mirror.
I’m trying not to hyperventilate but I don’t think it’s working. Mr. Mulliez’s entire reputation could be destroyed and it’s all because of me.
I’d really enjoy the chance to break you.
I didn’t expect Dutch to hit me so hard. He sure knew where to find a place that would hurt.
How could anyone be that cruel?
There’s a knock on the front door at that moment.
It can’t be Viola or Breeze. Viola has a key and Breeze would just shriek, “skank, I’m home” for the entire neighborhood to hear.
I’m not in the mood to entertain door-to-door salesmen, religious groups, or visitors right now, so I ignore the thudding.
The knock sounds again, more insistent this time.
I stomp to the front door and wrench it open. “WHAT?”
“Whoa.” A handsome man blinks at me. Chocolate eyes peer into mine. “Calm down, little rottweiler.”
“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any of it,” I snap, starting to shut the door.
He sticks his head forward. “Wait, I’m Hunter Scott, a friend of Rick’s.”
At the mention of my brother, my hand falls limp. I haven’t heard from Rick since he told me we weren’t his responsibility. I figured I’d never hear from him again.
“Rick sent you?”
“Not exactly.” Hunter flashes me a handsome grin. Laugh lines form around his mouth, giving him an approachable, warm look. “Can I come in?”
“No, you may not,” I say firmly. Having a drug addict for a mother taught me many things. Like how gullibly inviting a strange man into the house when I’m home alone can lead to his hand edging down my thigh.
One broken bottle over the head stopped what could have been a disaster, but it was a lesson I didn’t need to learn twice.
The handsome stranger smiles, revealing twin dimples. “Okay, I can see why you wouldn’t roll out the red carpet. Your brother’s been kind of a jerk to you.”
“Kind of?” I scoff. Rick made all kinds of promises to the social worker and then he spit in our faces in our time of need. I don’t think his jerkishness needs a precursor.
“Me being his friend probably doesn’t endear me to you either,” Hunter adds.
“What do you want?” I ask impatiently.
He holds an envelope out to me.
I frown at it. “What’s that?”
“I was there when you called Rick and told him about your electricity shutting off.”
Flames of humiliation spring to my cheeks. Great. So our family laundry’s been aired to Rick’s entire friend group?
“He was a prick to you, but he’s having a hard time too.” He shoves the envelope toward me. “I’m not sure how much the bill is, but I think that’s enough to cover it.”
I keep my hands at my sides. Not only do I have to deal with The Kings of Redwood Prep calling me poor, and accusing me of sleeping with a teacher, but now complete and utter strangers think I’m so pathetic they’re randomly handing me cash?
“I don’t want it,” I say, pushing it back to him.
“Look, I know how this might seem. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t want to take this either. But here’s the thing.” He tilts his head and his curly brown hair falls in front of his eyes. “I have been in your position before. Oldest sibling. Looking out for my little brother. Trying to make ends meet with the world breathing down my neck. I get it.”
I fold my arms over my chest and look up at him.
His lips hitch up slightly. “Your brother’s got complicated feelings about his mom. It’s inevitable that he’d take it out on you. This is my attempt at asking you to cut him some slack.”
“You said you were Rick’s friend?”
“We grew up in the foster home together.”
That statement knocks the wind right out of my sails. Rick never told us anything about how he grew up and mom, in all her delusional wisdom, hadn’t divulged that information either.
I frown suspiciously at Hunter. He’s cute and it seems like he has good intentions, but I’m not falling for that play twice.
“I appreciate you coming down here to say all this and to throw cash at me,” I gesture to the envelope, “but I’m fine. Really. So you can go back to Rick and tell him I don’t need him or his friends’ guilt money.”
After swinging the door shut on Hunter, I scoop my bag off the floor and march to my room.
All I want to do is flop onto my bed and let someone more mature than me solve my problems. But that isn’t going to work. I need to make dinner for Viola and then I need to report to my shift at the diner. I work as a waitress on the nights when I don’t play music at the lounge.
My phone vibrates.
I stiffen, wondering if it’s Jinx again. The creepy know-it-all has been hounding me since my first day at Redwood Prep. I have no idea who he or she is but, after what happened today, I definitely don’t want any part in her twisted game.
Thankfully, it’s not Jinx.
It’s Breeze.
Breeze: I heard there was a teacher-student scandal at Redwood. *gasp* Can you believe it? Seems like even the rich have their secrets.
I moan and throw an arm over my face. This is bad. If the news has spread outside of Redwood Prep, there’s no way things will end quietly. Mr. Mulliez is in more trouble than I thought.
With a deep sigh, I sit up and roll out of bed. Viola will be home soon and I try to have at least a pb&j prepared for her. She’ll whine and refuse to study if she’s hungry.
I’m slathering jelly on one side of toast when the front door opens. I expect my little sister to walk in, but I see a walking sandbag instead. The sandbag is hefted to the floor and Viola’s dark eyes twinkle at me.
I stick the butterknife in the punching bag’s direction. “What’s that?”
“I found it leaning against our door. I thought you ordered it.”
Heart racing, I throw the knife on the counter and hurry to the bag. “Does it look like we have money to order anything right now?”
I inspect the mysterious item further and notice a note flapping on the side. Snatching it off, I read a man’s crab-like handwriting.
This might be a better stress-reliever than screaming. It worked for me.
– Hunter
My eyebrows jump.
Viola grabs the note and reads it, a slow smile climbing on her face. “Who’s Hunter?”
“Rick’s friend,” I mumble, lifting the punching bag and inspecting it. There are a few discolored areas, but it otherwise looks intact.
“Rick?” Viola’s expression shifts instantly. “He’s talking to us now?”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slump and she stares at the ground.
“What do you say we try it out?” I offer, hoping to cheer her up.
“Really?” Her voice squeaks. “I thought for sure you’d throw it in the trash.”
“It doesn’t exactly fit the decor in here but…” I glance around for somewhere to put the punching bag and decide to hang it up on the hook in the living room that’s never held a picture frame.
“Can I try first?” My sister asks.
I nod and gesture for her to go ahead.
She bounces in place like a seasoned wrestler and rolls her neck back and side-to-side. Her ponytails bounce on top of her shoulders.
Since Viola’s school—my old high school—doesn’t require wearing uniforms, she gets to choose whatever she wants. Today, she paired a T-shirt with a daisy in the center with a pair of high-waisted jeans and pure white sneakers.
It’s amazing the way she makes thrift-store clothes look so expensive. I know that if she keeps posting with consistency, she might start to get views. I just don’t trust that those views can actually turn into money.
Surging forward, Vi slams her fist into the punching bag and makes a guttural roar. “That’s for calling my makeup cheap, Tiffany!”
The punching bag whirls around like a runaway piñata.
I stare at my sister with concern. “Who’s Tiffany?”
“This poser at my school who thinks she’s better than everyone just because she has a thousand followers. Whatever.” Viola rolls her brown eyes in that expert way young teenagers do.
Then she gestures to me. “Go on. Your turn.”
“My turn?” I shake my head. “I have to get to work.”
“You have time.” She juts her chin at the punching bag.
“I don’t…”
“You know you want to, Cadey.”
I step forward hesitantly.
“You can’t approach it like that.” Viola stands behind me and massages my shoulders. Her fingers are long and slender, perfect for playing piano. Sadly, she has no interest in music.
“How am I supposed to approach it?”
“Like you own it.” She puffs out her chest and sticks her chin up. “Like it’s your worst enemy and today’s the day you stomp them into the ground.” Finally, she drops her stance and returns to the cute, bubbly thirteen-year-old that I practically raised. “Like that.”
“Okay.” I breathe in and stare at the sand bag, imagining Dutch’s beautiful, cocky face. Hauling my fist all the way back, I let a punch fly into the bag. “Jerk!” I think of Dutch’s laughter as he told me he’d enjoy destroying my life. “Bastard!” I punch the bag again and again. “Prick! Trash faucet!”
“Whoa, whoa, sis.” A hand lands on my shoulder. “You’re going to crack the plaster.” She nods to the punching bag that’s slamming into the wall.
I straighten awkwardly and brush my long brown hair out of my face. I’m flushed and my fist is hurting a little, but I’m lighter already.
“You were right.” I smile at Vi. “That does help.”
My sister looks at me as if I’m crazy. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
I laugh and throw my arms around her.
For once, she doesn’t squirm. She hugs me back. “Is something going on at Redwood Prep?”
“Of course not,” I lie, snuggling her closer. There’s no way I’m telling my baby sister that I’ve gotten on The Kings’ bad side. It would only stress her out and there’s nothing she can do about it anyway.
“Everything is great,” I add.
“In that case,” she wiggles away, “would you link me up with Zane Cross? Or even Dutch or Finn.” She bats thick eyelashes. “They’re super hot and super popular and they’re into music. Just like you.”
My arms go limp and I step away from her. Voice tightening, I say, “Get to your homework.”
“Homework?” She makes a face. “I just got home. Let me relax a bit.”
“Viola.”
My sister hops into the sofa and scrolls through her phone. “You’re going to be late for work,” she says smugly.
I glare at her, but she’s got a point. I point to the sandwich. “I made you a snack. Do your homework and don’t—”
“Open the door for anyone except Breeze. I know. You’ve only said it a million times.”
I walk up to her, bend over the back of the couch and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back after my shift.”
“Don’t work too hard,” she calls absently, half her brain already focused on whatever mindless dribble is on her phone.
On my way to the front door, I cast another look at the punching bag. My knuckles are a little sore, but it’s a good kind of pain. I feel like something in my chest got snapped free.
Dutch better watch out. My energy to fight has just been activated. Maybe I would have considered leaving Redwood Prep before, but because of what he did today, I’ll make it my mission to hold on.
I won’t ever let him win.
Jinx: Trade a secret for a secret, New Girl. Were you really sleeping with Mr. Mulliez? And what kind of secret did he want to protect that he was willing to leave Redwood than admit why you were really at the lounge that night?
