Alpha Bully (Wolf Ridge High 1)
It works.
Ben drops Adriana on her feet to face me. “Gary Jones? Are you kidding? The asshole doesn’t have a scrap of talent.”
Adriana glares furiously at his back as he launches into his explanation of who on the team is worth watching.
After a few seconds Winslow loses interest in the girls he picked up, too, and unceremoniously dumps them to join in the conversation.
Bo steps in to close the ranks and solidify the sports talk.
The rest of the group disperses, trying not to make it too obvious they’re getting away to find a better—and more private—place to party.
Bo and I stay and keep the conversation going, taking one for the team.
I shake my head. Same story different night.
Fucking pack living.
Chapter 4
Bailey
Journalism class—the one where I sit beside Cole—becomes the source of all kinds of anxiety and anticipation over the next week. It used to be my favorite. I don’t know, maybe it still is. Mr. Brumgard likes me. He makes a special effort to engage with me. I’d like to think it’s because of my interest in the subject and because I’m a great student, not because he pities me. Not because he sees how left out I am at this school, how ostracized.
Now, though, I think about the class all day, get cold sweats before I go in, and flutters every time I see Cole out of the corner of my eye.
I never look at him directly.
I don’t want to invite more attention.
Except, that’s not true, because I have all kinds of fantasies of having a normal conversation with him. Or of him showing interest.
And he does.
Show interest.
I feel his searing stares all period long, but he has yet to say anything or initiate any conversation.
Today is no different. His long legs fill the aisle between us, jutting toward me and my desk, crossed casually at the ankles. I have no doubt the infringement on my space is deliberate. I try not to stare at the size of his shoes, but damn. They’re huge. He’s already six feet tall and I’ll bet he’s not done growing.
He rocks his foot back and forth like he knows I’m looking at it.
“I hope you all took a look at the assigned reading.” Brumgard passes papers out, face down.
The class groans, recognizing the cues for another pop quiz.
I did the reading, so I’m not worried, but I can’t help but dart a glance at Cole.
Big mistake. He’s staring at me with those fathomless dark eyes.
Just staring. I can’t read anything in his expression.
Then he lifts his chin just slightly.
A question.
I shake my head.
The corner of one lip curls up, like he’s amused by my defiance. Like he knows I’m going to cave and help him anyway.
I look back to the front of the room, still shaking my head.
“You may begin,” Brumgard says.
I flip my test over, this time writing my name in the blank line on the top first. Can’t fool me twice.
The answers are easy if you read the material, and I finish in less than a minute.
And then I doodle on my page.
Stare at the blemishes on my desk. The ink stains, the carved letters, the scratches.
I look up at Brumgard, who is pacing around the room. I don’t know why he doesn’t just sit at his desk where he can see the whole class at the same time. It’s like he’s inviting people to cheat.
Dammit, I give in and glance at Cole.
He flicks his brows.
My heart beats faster. But then my pulse has been elevated from the moment I tangled in his gaze.
Don’t do it.
Do not do it.
Keeping my eyes on Brumgard’s back, I tip my exam up and angle it so Cole can see the answers.
Seriously, I must’ve taken stupid pills this morning. What am I doing? Am I so desperate for Cole to not hate me that I’m willing to screw up my future? Screw up with the teacher who likes me best at this school?
Nausea rolls through me and the paper trembles. Which means Cole can see how badly my hand’s shaking.
Damn him.
No, damn me. I’m choosing to risk my grade, my reputation, the recommendations I plan to ask for. All for a chance to get sneered at again by the alpha-hole next door.
Ridiculous.
Brumgard calls time and collects the tests. I manage not to look over at Cole. It’s a minute-by-minute test, but I make the entire rest of the class without giving in to the urge.
After class, I wait by Mr. Brumgard’s desk with the folder of recommendation forms. “Mr. Brumgard?”
He glances at the folder in my hand and reaches for it with a smile.
“Hi. These are recommendation forms. For college?”
He nods, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “I’d be happy to write a recommendation for you, Bailey. And listen, I’ve been thinking—about the student newspaper.”
There’s no school newspaper at Wolf Ridge High. I approached Mr. Brumgard at the beginning of the year to ask if he’d be willing to lead one as a club but he said no one would join—the only after-school thing kids at WRH cared about was sports.