Worse Than Enemies

Like I can tell the truth. “I think that happens to new students in every school.”

“We have a no tolerance policy on bullying. If someone or a group of someones is bullying you, I need you to tell me who it is so they can be dealt with.”

It’s so tempting. I’d get the chance to watch Hayes’s face when somebody finally holds him accountable. Maybe I’ll wave at him from behind Mr. Bradley.

I’d also have an even bigger, brighter target on my back if I did that—and things would only get worse than they already are at home.

“Nobody in particular,” I say. “I’m not used to being around people this… rich. They know that.”

“If it’s only a matter of class disparity, that will iron itself out in time. They’ll forget there was a time you weren’t living under the Ambrose roof.”

That’s the thing adults like to tell themselves so they can turn a blind eye and still sleep at night.

“I’m sure they will.”

“But I have to tell you.” He leans across the desk and hits me with a hard look. “Unless you come to me with claims of bullying and we get to the bottom of the situation, I’ll have to look at any other outburst as the third strike. You know what happens after three strikes?”

“I do.”

The bell rings and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

“You’d better get to your next class. Let’s not meet like this again.”

I don’t waste time getting out of his office. Sure, I’m still worried about my history grade—I’m not going to take the exam now, I know better than to hope he’ll change his mind—but it’s better than withering under Mr. Bradley’s stern stare.

A part of me expects Hayes to be waiting outside the office, ready to rub it in like he rubbed his cum into my skin last night. But it’s Franky, instead, and he’s wearing a sad grin. “Heard you overslept this morning.”

“Great. Now everybody’s going to know when my alarm doesn’t go off.” I can’t be mad at him, though. He didn’t do it, even if he’s treating it like a joke. He doesn’t understand the depth of Hayes’s hatred for me. Even I don’t understand it.

“You should hide all his speedos or replace his shampoo with the kind that tints your hair,” he suggests as we start down the hall. “That’ll teach him.”

“And you two are supposed to be friends?”

He laughs and shrugs it off. “Friends play pranks. Just, you know, try to forgive him for it. He’s going through some shit.” There’s darkness in his voice, replacing the laughter. I won’t bother asking what he means. I know he won’t tell me. I don’t know if it makes him a great friend or a bad one.

“Hey, there’s a concert in the park tomorrow night. I know your parents are out of town, so they won’t care if you go out on a school night.” When I lift an eyebrow, Franky explains, “Mr. Ambrose is kind of a tight ass about that.”

I like Franky a lot. He’s cute—even hot—and he’s easy to talk to. Hayes trusts him, which means a lot. But there’s no spark on my side of things. He doesn’t get me all fluttery in my stomach when our eyes lock.

Not like the guy coming our way from history class. The person whose fault it was that I missed the exam. When our eyes meet from down the hall, a shiver runs down my spine and it feels like a hundred butterflies are loose in my belly. He sets my teeth on edge, too. I can’t make sense of anything he makes me feel.

“I don’t know…” I look up at Franky and bite my lip.

“Come on. Everybody’s going to be there. Don’t tell me you’d rather sit alone in that big house.”

That’s different. “Who’s playing at the concert?”

“Who the hell knows? It’s more like a reason to hang out.”

Hayes has come to a stop in front of his locker, but he’s watching us and not bothering to hide it. I can almost hear him growling—his jaw twitches, his nostrils flare, and he’s practically shooting flames at us with his eyes.

Fuck him if he thinks he owns me. I reach up and touch Franky’s shoulder, flirting as much as I know how to. That’s not saying much. “Yeah, I’d love to go. Thanks for asking me.”

I shoot Hayes a look before passing him on my way to English. He’ll be good and pissed when I see him again, but so what? At this point, I know there’s nothing I can do to make him treat me better. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him dictate what I do with my free time. At least we’ll be in a group, so he can’t get away with anything.