He barks out a laugh. “What the hell are they going to do about it?”
I chew my lower lip and contemplate the question. It’s the same rationale I used for not mentioning the vandalism to the G-wagon. Mom is under the delusion that throwing a party will fix all our problems.
It won’t.
My belly pinches with nerves as I turn onto school property and pass through the gate. It’s been less than two weeks and I hate Hawthorne Prep along with the kids who attend it. I glance at the clock on the dashboard. We have ten minutes to get to class. At least we won’t be late. For one more day, I’ll escape the wrath of Ms. Pettijohn.
We exit the vehicle and walk toward the entrance of the stone building. Conversations ground to a halt as we pass by. For fuck’s sake. This is the second week of school. Why are we still garnering this much attention? It sets my teeth on edge and sends a prickle of unease scuttling down my spine.
Austin yanks open the glass door as we head to our lockers. It’s definitely not my imagination. More people are staring than usual. Smirks and whispers get shared behind cupped hands. There’s an air of anticipation that permeates the atmosphere.
A feeling of foreboding gathers inside me. Instead of stopping at my locker, I follow closely behind Austin to his. Half of the football team is hanging around, talking in small clumps. Most go silent when they catch sight of us. The tension becomes even more stifling and I tug on Austin’s arm to stop him.
He shoots me an impatient glance. “What?”
My gaze flits around nervously, trying to pinpoint what the problem is. “I don’t know,” I mutter, “but something’s going on.”
His lips flatten into a tight line. “They can’t do anything to us here.”
If only that were true. Doesn’t Austin realize that these people don’t follow any rules other than their own?
One of the football players straightens when he sees us. A malicious glint enters his eyes. “Looks like Hawthorne tripped again and landed on his face,” he says in an overly obnoxious voice before laughing. “Maybe you’re not coordinated enough to play football, bud. Ever think about taking up checkers? Might be the way to go.”
My brother grits his teeth as every muscle becomes whipcord tight. His hands gather into fists. I recognize his body language for what it is. The not-so-calm before the storm. Dread pools inside me. I have no idea how to avoid the inevitable.
The blond guy with stormy gray eyes appears to be the ringleader. Next to him is the girl who showed Austin around the first day of school. Delilah. Looking distinctly uncomfortable, she gnaws her bottom lip before whispering something in the douchebag’s ear. When he ignores her, she reaches out and tentatively lays a hand on his bicep. He jerks his gaze away from my brother long enough to scowl before shaking off her touch.
“Who is that?” I mutter from the side of my mouth, glaring at the guy. I know an enemy when I see one.
“Jasper Morgan.”
Even his name sounds douchey.
“Let me guess, he’s the first-string quarterback.”
“You guessed it.”
For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut. This is the guy who has been messing with Austin.
Fuck.
“That would about sum it up,” Austin mutters.
“Why are they all standing around your locker?” The hallway is jam-packed with people. More than usual.
“My guess is that we’re about to find out.” Austin’s tone and expression don’t betray him. He’s become a master at hiding his genuine feelings. If the past has taught him anything, it’s to keep your vulnerabilities buried deep inside where people can’t use them against you.
As we move through the corridor, a whiff of something rancid catches my attention. I inhale again and try to figure out what it is and where it’s emanating from. Although, I’m pretty sure I have a sneaking suspicion.
“Aus,” I claw at his arm, attempting to stop him, “forget about your locker, let’s head to class.”
He shakes me off, unwilling to back down from whatever confrontation is about to unfold. His new teammates have brought the battle to him and Austin has never backed down from an altercation in his life. When you’re used to fighting for every scrap of respect, it becomes second nature. Sometimes I think he enjoys it.
“Maybe you should listen to your hot sister and get your pussy ass to class,” Jasper yells.
Austin snarls in response. I feel the pent-up adrenalin rushing through his blood.
I glare at the guy who is dead set on provoking my brother into a reaction while his monkeys stand behind him. Delilah looks miserable. For a moment, a twinge of pity fills me before it’s quickly quashed. No one is forcing her to date an asshat.
That’s her choice.