Boys of Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 1)

I catalog him to memory and head back, but before I step onto the porch a black SUV identical to the one from school but free of key marks, pulls into the lot. It slows to a complete stop five-feet from me and my skin prickles beneath my sweater. Slowly but surely, it rolls forward again, disappearing down the dirt path at the back of the property line.

I stare after it a moment before it vanishes, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust behind.

“Boys of Brayshaw.”

I glance to my left to find the blonde Nira was talking about also watching the dust as it falls back to the ground.

She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t look my way, and then walks off.

I head back inside and finish up my task by adding bags to all the trashcans. Once the chores are done, the house sits down to eat, cleaning up after ourselves as we finish, which is when we’re allowed more free time.

I start down the long hallway right as a couple girls start arguing.

“Fuck you! I didn’t steal your shit!”

“I know you did, I saw you come out of my room!”

“Girls! Enough!” Maybell shouts, sliding between the two.

I squeeze behind the arguing duo, and slip into my room, dropping onto the mattress.

A mattress that doesn’t belong to me in a room that’s not really mine and a house that means nothing.

With a dozen complete and total strangers.

But this place is clean, the hot water works, lights are on, and there’s food on the table every night.

It’s definitely not the worst place to be.Bastard.

I growl, swiping my hand down my arm as I glare at those fucking blackout windows I’m getting real tired of seeing. Finally, the back one rolls down and the handsy fucker, Royce, shows his face.

“How you doin’, RaeRae?” he smirks, tracing the mud splatters that now cover half my body with his taunting stare.

What? He thinks dirt bothers me? Please.

I slept on the ground with nothing more than an old blanket and pillow at the reservoir for a week once when my mom refused to let go of one of her more ... persistent men.

Guess Royce is used to the prim and proper type who’d fret with a little grime against their skin. Weird if that’s true, since visibly speaking he’s the one who puts off more of an edge with his appearance what with the tattoo sneaking up his neck beneath his T-shirt and running down to meet his wrist, not to mention the small gauges in his ears. His brown hair matches his eyes and is a little wilder on top then theirs, but he keeps the sides trimmed nice. He’s that tempting kind of sexy, but he knows it which is annoying.

Captain, I decided is the least ‘in your face’ type as far as being seen goes. He’s just as captivating as the other two, but his attitude seems to be more subtle. He’s the light eyed, blond of the three, cleaner cut with the pouty, jaded, model look. Perfectly side swiped hair and silky light skin. He’s that silent killer type, seems soft, but he’ll pounce when pushed.

“Better run on back and change. Wouldn’t want anyone to call you names,” Royce jokes.

“Don’t you worry about me. Worry about why Captain is always sitting shotgun instead of you.”

Royce’s brows dip so low they practically meet in the center, but before he can pop off again, Maddoc reverses, positioning the truck so when he peels out this time, my entire face gets covered in mud.

Asshole.

But I hit a nerve with that one.

I consider it a win for me.

When I get to the school, I rush into the girl’s locker room to inspect the damage done and find it’s a lost cause, so I toss my dirty shit in my locker and wear the frumpy, completely wrinkled, loner uniform meant for gym – these are extras from the school left out for kids who don’t have or forget their own and don’t want to be knocked points for not dressing out.

The jokes start instantly.

“What happened, Rae? All night deal with the janitor? No time to go home and change? I mean, if you had a home to go to.”

Original.

I ignore everyone all through the day until I get to PE and a picture-perfect face plants itself in front of mine. The queen bee, always fucking hovering somewhere.

“Nice outfit.” She pops a hip, chewing on her gum like an obnoxious brat, her friends crowding around in anticipation of what, for sure, is to be a roasting session of sorts. Probably even preplanned insults.

“How is it living at the Bray house with no men to share a bed with at night?” Her light eyes trail over my body in these used clothes. ‘Course she’s wearing a sports bra and spandex shorts – something that would never be allowed at any other school, I’m sure.