Bitter (A Dark High School Bully Romance)

He’s already making his way toward us.

“Hey, let’s go this way,” I say quickly to Olive. “Let’s get some—uh—” I tug her toward what appears to be the food table, around the side of the huge tree where we disappear from Jasper’s view. Luckily we discover a chocolate fountain to distract ourselves with and a lot of small, beautiful dishes that look more like art than food.

“Oh, look!” Olive says. She points to a dish and says something in a language I don’t understand, but I assume she wants it, so I pick up two of them and wind us through the growing crowd of pressing bodies to a table far away from The Brotherhood’s. I didn’t see Heath, but Beck and Becky are out on the dance floor, grinding to the club beat that’s pumping through the room.

It vibrates my whole ribcage … or that might just be my own beating heart.

“This one has roses on it,” Olive gushes as we near the table I’ve chosen.

“That’s why I picked it,” I lie, trying to sound smooth and not like the nervous wreck I am.

She stands there for a moment, but I realize too late that she meant for me to pull the chair out for her. She makes a little face when she finally does it herself with me scurrying to sit across from her and dig into whatever weird dish she’s chosen.

I know it probably tastes amazing, but it could be ash for all my brain can concentrate on it. Now that I’m here, I feel far more exposed than I expected … even among a crowd like this. My eyes keep nervously scanning the transformed gymnasium until I think I catch sight of Beck, his eyes meeting mine for the shortest second before tearing themselves away. Aside from that, he and Becky are paying us no mind, which is fine by me.

Beck has been avoiding me in the days since our kiss. I find one hand absentmindedly reaching up to trace the outline of my lips, remembering for a second the rush of forbidden emotions in that moment.

I can’t be completely lost in it, however. Beck isn’t my only worry tonight. In fact, he might be the least of them.

With Heath nowhere to be found and Jasper still out of sight, I should be safe.

And then I see the dean making a beeline toward me, and I know exactly what he’s here for.

Ah, shit. I’m not out of the woods yet, it seems. I’ve been providing the numbers to random doctor’s offices around my home time, each time pretending to have forgotten exactly which one has my info … but it seems that jig is finally up. I thought I’d outrun this thing, but it seems it’s caught up to me right at the most inopportune moment.

I turn to Olive, trying to look busy so maybe he’ll just leave us alone. “So, uh, what was this called again?” I ask, and I pretend to be listening with rapt attention as the dean of our school walks straight up to my table.

“Mr. Trevellian,” he says.

I jump, pretending to be startled. “Oh—hello, Dean Withers. Didn’t see you there.”

He doesn’t look as though he believes me. And he shouldn’t. He just clears his throat and looks down at me like I’m an annoying gnat that’s gotten in his way.

“I thought we might discuss something privately.”

“Uh, anything can be said in front of Olive here,” I say cheerfully, my grin not matching the churning feeling inside me. Olive just beams at him, oblivious.

“Fine.” The dean sighs and glances shrewdly at Olive before turning back to me. “It’s about your medical records.”

“What about ‘em?” I ask with false confidence.

“The school has yet to receive them. Have there been issues with your doctor?”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, I guess so.” I stab my fork into whatever it is we’re eating. Some kind of steak?

He narrows his eyes. “This is much more urgent than you realize, young man. You shouldn’t have been allowed in here without them.”

I look pointedly across the room towards the entrance. “Well, now that I’m here it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

My tone doesn’t convey the way my heart feels like it’s sitting at the top of my throat.

It also doesn’t seem to amuse the dean.

“You need to hand those in.”

His gaze is scathing. I can’t sit under it for another second without breaking down.

So, with no better idea, I stand up. “Sure thing. Later, though—Olive, do you wanna dance?”