The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy 1)

“Yeah,” Lincoln answers, his voice low. “My maid. So don’t fucking break her. Unless you want to come clean my house?”

The red-headed cheerleader scowls, apparently incensed at being compared to the help. And even though it’s all still kind of an insult to me, I can’t help but enjoy the look on her face.

“I wouldn’t—that’s not—” she huffs. “I don’t do that.”

“Didn’t think so.” Lincoln smirks. “So maybe back the fuck off the girl who does.”

Savannah gasps and sputters for a few seconds, and honestly, I can’t really blame her. I mean, Lincoln and his stupid friends are the ones who got this ball rolling. They made damn sure on the first day of classes that everyone in the fucking school knew who I was and what I was. And now they’re, what—sticking up for me?

I can’t quite process it, and neither can the cheerleader.

Her jaw snaps shut as her pink lips curl. “You’re an asshole, Lincoln Black.”

“Noted.”

The kid whose leg I tripped over—a sophomore girl who just joined the cheer squad and hangs on every word Savannah says—tucks her feet under the table in front of her, staring down at her food like she’s trying to make herself invisible.

But Lincoln ignores her, turning back to me and jerking his chin at the puddle of pizza and Diet Coke. “Better clean that

shit up.”

He and his friends turn to walk away, and Chase shoots a glance over his shoulder, grinning at me.

What the fuck?

I’m torn between gratitude and annoyance. Lincoln just publicly shamed Savannah for fucking with me and obliquely called her out for the car thing, which I’m pretty sure she instigated. But of course, he couldn’t do something nice without immediately being an asshole to make up for it.

That guy drives me fucking crazy.

I do an extremely half-assed job of cleaning up the spilled food and drink, then grab another couple slices, wrap them in a napkin, and leave the cafeteria. I don’t really feel like being around people right now.

I head outside into the mild fall air, and make my way to the bleachers surrounding the track. I don’t sit on the benches but duck underneath the bleachers themselves, finding a quiet, shady spot. After scarfing down my food quickly, I roll my wrists tentatively, sucking in a breath at the pain that still lingers. Not sprained, I don’t think. Just jarred and bruised.

I dig a little plastic baggie out of the bottom of one of the side pockets in my backpack and roll a joint, then light it up and take a deep drag.

“Hey, Pool Girl.”

The voice behind me makes me jump, and I turn to see Dax and Chase standing near the end of the row of bleachers I’m under.

I transfer the joint to my other hand, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “What do you want?”

They share an offended look, and I almost laugh because their faces are so damn similar, right down to the expressions they wear.

“What makes you think we want something?” Dax asks. His darker copper hair glints in the sunlight.

“I dunno,” I say dryly. “Do you always just go poking around under the bleachers?”

“Maybe we do.” Chase grins as the two of them duck their heads to step into the tight space underneath the seats. “Or maybe we saw you sneak out of the cafeteria and wondered where you went.”

“Yeah? Why do you care?”

He shrugs, not answering the question. His eyes are blue, with just a hint of green, while Dax’s are the opposite. The similarities and minute differences between them make me feel like I could stare at them for hours, but I force my gaze away, clearing my throat.

“So what are you guys, like identical twins or something?”

“Why?” Dax grins at me. “Do you care?”

“Jesus, I’m just making fucking conversation. You’re the ones who came looking for me down here.”