Boys of Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 1)

I stand there until one of them, the tallest of the three, turns and heads for the parking lot, noting the asshole who put his hands on me is the one to get behind the wheel of a big ass, black, chromed-out SUV, not unlike the other flashy cars in the parking lot but by far the most alluring. There’s something to be said about a sleek SUV with blackout windows. It demands your attention – likely why this dumbass drives it.

In my neighborhood, though, such a ride tells you where to score or which way to run in – always the opposite direction is the answer. Unless you’re my mother, of course. To her and her friends it’s looking a lion in the eyes hoping it takes the bait – the fancier the ride, the bigger the payout.

I shake off the thought but catalog the vehicle in my mind.

Lifting my backpack over one shoulder, I prepare to step through the door for the first time, glancing up at the cement sign above before I do.

Welcome to Brayshaw High.The school officials didn’t allow me into my normal classes today, making me sit through some mandatory behavior and ‘how to avoid confrontation’ videos instead. They even arranged for a cafeteria plate to be brought in – guess they read my file, too. I did, however, manage to sneak off for a couple minutes, pretending to be using the bathroom when really I had to make a point.

The second the bell rings, summing up an uneventful day one, I’m out the door and soon the building. I continue past the groups beginning to form outside the school and make my way toward the Bray house, but before I can hook left, loud grunts and gasps fill the air.

I can’t help myself and glance over my shoulder.

The assholes from this morning stare at the SUV while others whisper beside them, wide eyes and all.

The groper slams his door shut. “Who the fuck did this?!” he shouts, stepping forward, and funny thing, the entire crowd moves back with his advance. He scans the masses, instantly halting when his eyes land on me, and he surges forward, his buddies hot on his heels.

I stand in the same place, not moving an inch, not changing my demeanor in any way.

And I think it ticks him off, all of them actually, because all at once their brows draw in above the rim of their dark shades.

Unlike this morning, I let my eyes travel the length of the three and I’m not disappointed. If I had to guess based on this moment alone, I’d say they’re the elite – sitting top tier on the pathetic little food chain high school demands.

Proof is in the way everyone cowers around us – too afraid to face full-on but too starving for gossip to walk away.

It’s funny though, it’s usually the preppy jocks with gelled up hair and button-ups who run around believing their dicks are magic who run shit. The ones with clean and clear paths to ivy leagues and legacies, those are the type most choose to follow, hoping for an arm in.

But these three ... they’re the exact opposite of a pretty boy.

The way they walk, all tall and assertive, forceful and dripping in swag, a physical dominance so solid it commands your attention – there’s nothing clean cut or classic about them. And if my intuition is as on point as usual, then the line they walk is a little more than crooked.

They’re rough around the edges, boys of power in the streets with something to prove.

Things to hide.

I know the type.

I also know what it feels like to be wrongly judged, so ...

“You better start running,” comes from my left and I glance over to find a curly haired girl eyeing the guys as they make their way to me but I make no move.

They’re in front of me in the next second.

“You keyed my fucking truck.”

“Did I?” I tilt my head and his brows jump slightly before he rights them.

He growls and steps closer, but his buddy clamps a hand down on his shoulder, and little pup takes the master’s order in stride.

The guy tips his chin and the herd around us starts to scatter like mice on a threat.

I roll my eyes and make a move to turn, but I’m flanked by the three before I can.

“You made a mistake, girl.” This comes from the dirty-blond.

“I don’t disagree. I mean, I’m here after all.”

The tall, dark-haired one, the big, boss man, I’ve decided, says nothing, but his intensity has the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention.

“You’ll learn quick,” the groper warns. “We don’t put up with this type of shit—”

A humorless laugh escapes before I can stop it and all three of their pretty little heads tug back. I take a step closer. “I’ll learn?” I mock, popping a brow like a brat. “Touch me like you did again, and I’ll burn your sweet ride to the ground, you might even be in it when I do. Maybe then you’ll learn.” I flutter my eyelashes like a floozy, pulling on a man’s upper hand by deeming the one that hangs between his legs. “A girl needs a little lead-up.”