They The Pretty Stars (Court High 1)

I nodded as I would, but before he darted off, he waved a finger by his nose.

“This will have to be removed before you start your day, I’m afraid,” he stated, referring to my nose ring. “We do have a strict dress code here, yes?”

I’d popped the hoop in outside of the scrutiny of my dad and in the privacy of a chauffeured car. Apologizing for the error, I removed it, and Principal Hastings left me to wait for my guide standing next to the scarier-than-shit simian bust. The King was giving me the eye like nothing else, and the urge to smoke hit me like a freight train.

Shit.

I usually only did weed when I was stressed and I was damn stressed. I figured I’d at least wait until lunch and bop off somewhere, but this guide was taking too long and I needed a smoke. After a quick scan of the halls, I decided to take the map Principal Hastings gave me along with my class schedule and find some place to hide and light a joint. My travels took me outside, and it was like God was looking down on me because the bell signaling the end of class sounded and the sudden crowds allowed me to blend in. Eventually, I peeled off from the packs of students and escaped behind the administrative offices. The back of campus had an outlook of the water, a little lake of some kind, and venturing, I noticed a moderately sized shack. Considering everyone else was headed in the opposite direction, I darted inside the shack and internally screamed sweet relief to find myself alone.

The place was a boathouse. I mean, stacks upon stacks of what appeared to be long canoes were stored on elevated shelving and I touched one. Obviously, this school had some kind of rowing team as well, and I took advantage of the fact when I decided to light up my joint amongst the clusters of boats.

Damn, did I need this.

I allowed the drug to filter through me as I took a seat in a boat aisle. Using my backpack as a pillow, I lay on it, crossing my ankles and watched as my smoke drifted, then clouded toward the top of the house.

I closed my eyes, feeling the release of the drug before a rustle behind nearly made me drop the joint.

Shit.

I started to put it out but stopped at the sound of a little whimper. Getting on my knees, I followed that sound to another aisle and alarm hit me at the sight of a pair of little eyes underneath a boat. I lowered, and when those eyes turned out to be puppy dog eyes surrounded by dark chocolate fur, alarm instantly shifted to warmth. A puppy, a real live puppy, was under there, and getting closer, I made out the breed, a dark Labrador. I had a friend who had one once, and I recognized it easily.

I reached for it. “What are you doing here?”

Friggin’ cute as hell, the little guy or girl crawled right into my palm, no more than teacup-sized. Pressing him to my chest, I studied to see if he was hurt since he whimpered, but got nothing but licks to my fingers.

“You must have just been lonely, huh?” I asked him, smiling as he pushed his head into my hand. Whatever bothered him before he seemed to be okay now. Standing, I considered a game plan for him, but I lost the thought at the sound of moans.

And two bodies.

One in particular was on her knees, a girl with bright red hair as she bobbed back and forth. I saw her easily between the spaces of several boats ahead, and cradling the puppy, I pretty quickly made out who exactly she bobbed back and forth on.

He stared right at me, a sandy blond with electric green eyes and a grin for days. He grinned at me, cradling this girl’s head while she sucked him off right in front of me. He so obviously knew I was watching, cocky about it. He merely tipped his chin at me before going back to the redhead, those eyes of his falling back into ecstasy, and disgusted, I stepped back. The puppy wriggled in my hands, and completely thrown from what I’d just seen, I accidentally let it loose.

“Hey, hey!” I whisper-shouted, chasing it through the house. I lost sight of it between two boats and cursed before giving up and going back for my bag. I managed to avoid the couple the second time, but I did hear a groan as I made my way back to the boathouse doors.

I slammed it shut behind me, hoping I scared the shit out of whoever they were, whoever he was.

Arrogant ass.

The fucker actually grinned at me, my head shaking as I returned to the quad and went back to the administrative building. I returned to the simian bust, and when my name was called, I turned.

An extremely tall girl made her way down the hall, like the playing-basketball kind of tall. She had dark hair she hiked in a ponytail and didn’t wear a skirt and heels like I did. She wore white basketball shoes with pleated pants, and I had a feeling any skirt they gave her might ride worse than mine.

“Sorry I’m late. You’re December, right?” she asked me, waving. She had a few books in her hands, a smile on her face. “They just told me I’m supposed to take you to class.”

I wondered at the “they” but figured she’d misspoken since Principal Hastings was only one man. I lifted a hand. “Yeah, that’s me and no problem. I haven’t been waiting long.”

Technically, this was true considering my little detour. Fighting myself from cringing at the show before, I shook the tall girl’s hand.

/> “I’m Birdie Arnold,” she introduced, and I smiled, loving her original name. I hadn’t heard that one before, cute. She grinned. “I’m a senior like you. You ready for class? It’s mine too. Second period English.”

Happy to at least know one person, I followed her across the quad to our English class. The class had already started, but I think the teacher, Mr. Pool, had been warned about my arrival, so he didn’t give us a hard time about it. He introduced me to the class of about twenty-five or so, then Birdie and I took seats off to the side. The room settled for about two seconds before the door opened again, and a familiar face sauntered himself into the room, looking thoroughly satisfied with his chiseled jaw and thoroughly tousled hair like he just had a round in the sheets. Who knew what he and the redhead did before I got there.

His strands of spun gold complemented a clean-shaven face. This guy’s cheekbones could cut glass and I think he knew it. Stopping the class in conversation, he came fully equipped with a note folded between two fingers, one he passed off to Mr. Pool without breaking his stride.

“A late pass from the headmaster,” the guy informed, that smile of his hiking before he ventured to the back of the classroom. Pulling off his blazer, he exposed a set of chiseled biceps and similar forearms when he rolled up his sleeves. He concluded by loosening his tie. Second period English was apparently this guy’s relaxation period. Once he finally made it to his seat, he clasped hands with not one but several guys in the back. Those who didn’t get handshakes got fist bumps, and Mr. Pool merely shook his head at the spectacle.

“I’d expect nothing else, Mr. Prinze,” he said, huffing before tossing the pass on his desk. “If you’re done?”