All the Little Lies (English Prep 1)

This is ridiculous.

I should have just walked out right then. I didn’t have to be the butt of their joke. I didn’t have to let her bully me. In fact, I could have ripped her hair out right then and called it a day, but then I would have been kicked out of this stuffy, prestigious school and sent back to Oakland High, and that would have been the end of me getting a scholarship to an Ivy League school. If I left now, it’d look like I was retreating, like I was backing down, and that wasn’t me. I learned pretty quickly after my dad died that you couldn’t run from trouble. It’d find you one way or another.

Running is what got him killed in the first place.

I had a hard exterior now. Whatever this bitch was going to say or do would be nothing compared to what I’d been through.

I crossed my arms over my chest, my back unmoving from the wall, ready to enjoy the show.

“English Prep, this is Hayley Smith. Our new classmate. Can we all give her a warm welcome?”

I willed my face to stay a neutral color. I had no idea if it got red, but I was praying to God it didn’t.

Everyone in the lunchroom booed me. But I continued to keep my feet planted on the ground, watching from below.

The girl, who I now knew was Madeline from someone yelling her name in awe, spun around and mocked a smile in my direction. I cranked my neck up higher to stare into her eyes. She batted her thick eyelashes and puffed out her lips. “So, Hayley, would you like to tell everyone a little about yourself? Or should I do the honors?”

I didn’t even bat an eyelash. I did, however, look around the room to see if any of the faculty members were witnessing this, because if they were, and they were letting it slide, they couldn’t be trusted. But much to my surprise, there wasn’t a single adult in the room except for a lunch lady who was too busy replacing tomatoes in the salad bar.

“No?” Madeline giggled. “Let me do the honors, then.” She jumped down from the table, her skirt flying up so high everyone could see her classically pink thong, and came over to stand beside me. It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my expression bored and my hands from knocking her on her ass.

“Hayley Smith,” she started. The lunchroom was eerily quiet. It seemed everyone wanted to know my story. In any other circumstance, I might have felt flattered. But not this version of myself. My life was anything but ideal. “Hayley Smith has been in seven different foster homes in the last few years. Such a shame. But can you blame them? Who would want to keep such an ugly, poor, raggedy girl around?” She laughed, along with a few others, and I honestly couldn’t believe there were girls like her that still existed. “Hayley’s father was murdered when she was in middle school, and her mama took it a little hard.” Madeline’s eyes sliced over to mine as she trotted around the lunchroom, stopping by each table for a brief moment before moving to the next. “Hard as in…does the hard drugs now. But once again, can you blame her? Who wouldn’t want to be high all the time with a daughter like that? After all, she’s the reason her daddy was murdered.”

My head twitched a fraction. My palms began to sweat. My feet were itching to move toward her. How does she know all this, and why is she telling everyone?

“Poor Hayley,” she said, walking over to Christian’s table. I was beginning to let my guard down. It was starting to get to me. My stomach hurt. My heart was aching with each beat against my rib cage. No, don’t let it in. Don’t feel, Hayley. She finds you as a threat; that’s why she’s doing this. I ground my teeth, pushing all thoughts of my parents away. My eyes began to gloss over, but I hurriedly blinked the tears away. “She’s poor, guys, and I honestly have no idea why she’s here in this school, but I feel kind of bad for her.”

“Why exactly are you talking about me like I’m not in the room?” I asked, my voice as steady as the three-hundred-year-old oak tree in the courtyard.

Madeline looked appalled that I had interrupted her story time. A few people snickered, and she shot them a look with her eyes no bigger than slits. “Because trash like you doesn’t deserve to be talked to. Only about.”

I shifted on my feet. “So, you like to spend your free time talking about trash? That seems strange.”

Madeline’s perfect round face formed angry wrinkles. Then, almost as if she had gotten a brilliant idea, her face lit up. She scooted closer to Christian, and I felt that tiny piece of jealousy creeping in. She sat on his lap, and my heart began to thud faster and faster. He leaned in close, his sharp jawline taunting me as he whispered something in her ear. She nodded with a conniving smile on her face. I noticed his hand creeping along her bare thigh beneath her skirt, and a chill ran down my spine. Stop feeling. He’s not yours. And he never was mine—not in that way, at least.

Before I knew it, Madeline was standing up and walking over to me with a tray of food in her hands. It didn’t take long for me to realize it was Christian’s. Every guy sitting at his table was trying to hold back grins and laughs as Madeline approached me. I turned my neck and looked at her group of friends, and they were also trying to hide little smirks. I took half a second and met Christian’s eye before Madeline leaned into my personal space.

“Ya know, since you’re poor, do you want something to eat?” Yes. I did want something to eat. But I’d have rather chewed my arm off than admit that to these people. The entire cafeteria was under her thumb. I swiveled my head back to Christian. Or his thumb. What made me angry about this entire situation was the fact that Madeline knew I’d feel jealous with her sitting close to Christian. I was certain it was a lucky guess; I was sure every girl in this school wanted a piece of him, which was why she felt threatened in the first place. But she was right. It did bother me. Christian’s looks alone were enough to lure any girl in.

“Nope. Not hungry,” I said matter-of-factly. “Thanks, though.”

And just like that, the entire tray of food was shoved into my chest with a thud. My stomach buckled forward as the tray clanked to the floor. Silverware ricocheted off the glossy tile and skittered over to the trash cans. My white shirt was covered in some kind of red sauce, and I was instantly pissed because of three things: One, I really could have used t

he food. What a waste. Two, I now had to figure out how to get a stain out of this shirt by tomorrow or else everyone would know just how bad off I was. And three, I somehow didn’t see that coming.

Madeline whispered in my ear. “You don’t belong here. And stay away from Christian.” Then, she spun around and took a dramatic bow. Our peers wooed her, but I ignored them all. It wasn’t the first time someone wanted to show their dominance to the new girl. But it did surprise me that Christian was a part of it. Back in middle school, when people would tease or bully his younger brother, Ollie, he’d shut them down within a blink of an eye. But here at English Prep, it didn’t seem he cared much. In fact, it was as if he encouraged it. It was obvious that it was his idea for Madeline to pour his tray on my uniform. Christian was the bully now—or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he just stood up for people he cared about.

And he obviously didn’t care about me anymore.

I left the lunchroom as slowly as possible to head for the bathrooms, not wanting anyone to think I was running away from Madeline or her threat. The girl’s bathroom was as pristine as the rest of the school, the ceramic sinks sparkling as if they were scrubbed clean seconds before walking in here.

I glanced at my shirt and bit the inside of my cheek. For fuck’s sake. I hurriedly untied the stupid bow around my neck and unbuttoned the front of my blouse. The air conditioner blew on my bare shoulders as I shrugged it off and began running it under water.

“Make sure that’s cold water or else it’ll stain worse.” My eyes flicked up into the mirror, but I was only met with my own face and the navy stalls behind me. I began running the damaged cotton under the cold water and scrubbing some hand soap on it.

“Here,” I heard the voice again. I dropped my head when something nudged my shoe. It was a stain removal pen, the kind that I’d expect only an old lady to keep in her purse.

Slowly, I bent down and grabbed it. “Thanks.” The scent of fabric cleaner filled my nose when the creak of a stall door caught my attention. I kept my gaze on my shirt, respecting the girl’s need to keep her face hidden.