Defiant Princess (Boys of Oak Park Prep 2)

This was how they’d fooled me last time. With actions that seemed like they could only be interpreted as kindness, as caring.

But there was always another side to that coin.

At least this time, I knew to expect it.

“You’re really okay?” Maggie tucked a wisp of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “You don’t look good.”

“Yeah.” I chuckled humorlessly. “So I’ve heard.” I wasn’t okay, but I didn’t want to lie, and I didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, so I nodded and settled deeper into the couch cushions, turning to face the TV. “What are you watching?”

“Beverly Hills Cop. It’s actually pretty funny. It just started.”

We watched the rest of the movie, and when another started to play right after, we sat and watched that too. Maggie laughed out loud often, and even though I didn’t much feel like laughing, hearing her giggle made me feel better.

I didn’t do much studying that weekend. I didn’t do much of anything, really. I replayed my standoff with Mason over in my head several times, trying to figure out where the next attack might come from, what he and the other Princes would do in response to my refusal to back down.

On Monday, I headed over to the school buildings early and forced myself to walk up the steps of Craydon Hall—to remind myself that I could still do it, that I wasn’t broken. That I was stronger than my old fears. The left side of my body still ached, but the bruises would fade.

The halls weren’t crowded yet, since a lot of kids slept in until the last minute and then raced to first period. But even without the entire student body present, I could tell something was different.

Nobody hissed insults under their breath as I walked by.

Nobody jostled me or shoved at me.

Nobody called me trash.

A few kids tentatively met my gaze, and the ones who’d been the loudest on the attack seemed to shrink into themselves a little as I passed, like they were afraid to even get too close to me.

A writhing, twisting feeling filled my stomach as I stopped at my locker on the west side of the building.

I knew what was happening. I’d gone through the exact same thing once before.

The Princes had called off their attack.

Maybe I should’ve felt relieved, but I really didn’t. Experience had taught me not to trust this seeming victory. It’d be easy to assume Mason had called off the dogs because he didn’t want to see me actually get hurt—but that would be giving him credit for feelings I honestly wasn’t sure he was capable of.

I was wary and alert the rest of the day, but none of the Princes approached me. There was no offer of a fresh start, no invitation to join their royals club.

At least they’re not dumb enough to think I’ll fall for that shit a second time.

Adena and Sable ignored me in seventh period, although I caught the blonde girl casting me scathing looks every so often—as if I’d pushed her down the stairs instead of the other way around.

I wondered if she really had been lying about being back together with Mason. I was starting to think she’d made the whole thing up just to try to fuck with me. Either way, I wasn’t sure the Princes could really rein her in. She hated me with a passion, and I doubted even a direct order from them would be enough to call her off.

The next few days were the same—calm and almost peaceful. The kids who had seemed inclined to sit the whole thing out, the ones who had neither actively bullied me nor defended me, started talking to me in the halls and in class.

The Princes ignored me.

I had no idea what it meant, when the next shoe would drop, or what that shoe would be, but I did know one thing. I couldn’t waste this reprieve.

Now that all my time and energy wasn’t devoted to defending myself or carrying out retaliatory strikes, I could do what I’d come here to do—start digging for real dirt on the Princes.

There was probably more I could find on the internet, but my research was slow going, and I was sure the worst stuff was better hidden than that. To find the worst things, the things that would hurt them the most, I needed to look in person.

And as it turned out, I got a chance to do that sooner than I would’ve expected. On Thursday, as I was passing by the admin offices in Johnson hall on my way to eighth period, I bumped into one of the maintenance guys. He didn’t even notice that the keycard clipped to his front pocket fell off and skittered down the hall, and I didn’t either until I was several feet past him. The card had slid toward a bank of lockers on one side of the hallway, and as the maintenance man walked away, I darted over and swooped down to pick it up.

The girl whose locker I was crouching beneath shot me a skeptical look as she turned the dial on the lock, but I palmed the card and slipped it into my jacket pocket, then rose and hustled quickly away. My heart thudded hard in excitement, and I kept shooting glances at Cole all through our History class. His buzz cut was growing out, but it was still far from his usual style—all last year, he’d kept the top long and the sides short.

He caught me looking at him once and narrowed his piercing blue eyes at me, and I fought the urge to cover up the little rectangular card sitting in my pocket. There was no way he could know what I had, what I planned to do. But nerves twisted in my gut anyway.