Bitter (A Dark High School Bully Romance)

“You have?”

“Most of the books we’re assigned this semester, actually,” he says. “You’d think they’d pick something new. This place is supposed to be an advanced academy, but they can’t even pick a book we haven’t all already read.”

I don’t tell him that I haven’t read The Hunchback … or any of the other books we’ve been assigned. And from the snippets of conversation I can catch around us, neither has anyone else.

I look tentatively back down at the pages. “What d’you think?”

“Huh?” He looks lost in thought when he looks back up at me.

“Of the book,” I say, tapping one of the worn edges.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and for a second, I think I’ve found the Beck I know again. Hot-headed, flashing temper … but no. He grins and flips through some other pages before shutting the book completely. The spine is cracked in several places. “Hugo is brilliant. It’s just a shame that he didn’t write more.”

His eyes narrow at me. “Wait, don’t tell me … you haven’t read it yet?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer. From the confused look on my face, he correctly assumes that I haven’t. He’s not exactly wrong, just wrong about why I look the way I do. While Beck goes off on a sudden, breathless explanation of Victor Hugo’s brilliance, I just sit here convinced that my brain is short circuiting.

Am I dreaming? Where did the terrifying, angry, defensive bully go … and when was he replaced by this boy talking about classic literature so … passionately?

“So,” Beck says, leaning forward, “What do you think?”

I’m saved from the humiliation of revealing I completely tuned out the last ten minutes of him talking as the bell rings, signaling the end of class.

“It uh, it all sounds great,” I say.

He nods. “So should we work out those locations now, or you want to meet up tonight?”

A chill runs through me, and it has nothing to do with my momentary fantasy of Beck as a bookish boy.

Clearing my throat awkwardly before grabbing my map out of my backpack, I unfold it quickly and spread it out across our two desks. Better to do this now, quickly, rather than have to face Beck alone later.

Even if a tiny part of me is starting to wonder if there’s more to him than maybe I once thought.

Chapter Eleven

There’s lacrosse practice today, and I’m not going.

It’s been a few weeks since my stairs “accident”, and every time I miss practice, I get just a little giddy. My ribs are healing up nicely to the point that they barely hurt anymore, but I still have an excuse to keep the bandages.

After class, Rafael heads back to the dorm, leaving me stern instructions to chain-smoke at least four cigarettes before I head back. It doesn’t quite dampen my mood to do it this time. Maybe I’m becoming addicted to the nicotine, or maybe it’s just a nice feeling to stand out in the sunshine on my own. And, of course, I’m not going to smoke four cigarettes. I’ll just tell Rafael I did.

It isn’t long before I flick the last of the cigarette into the dirt and dig it into the ground beneath my heel. I’ve become an adept smoker, though it’s not a skill I’m particularly proud of. Certainly not one I’ll regale my family with when I eventually … hopefully … go home for break.

Apparently, everyone goes home for a couple weeks in late October, but at this point I’m just hoping they can afford a ticket home at Christmas. Even that seems like a bit of a stretch at this point. No one likes to talk about money, but the last I spoke to my mother she dropped more than one hint about how lovely it would be up here in the mountains in the fall.

I’m not in my usual spot today. There’s a little seating area outside the dining hall and I’m tucked into an alcove there, my feet dangling down from the stone bench on which I perch. From here, I can see people milling around the wrought-iron tables, but they can’t see me.

Which is how I realize that Heath is approaching.

The boys haven’t exactly slowed their bullying since I fell down the stairs. They’ve just changed it up a bit. I’m sure I can’t expect things to stay this way for long. I can already tell they’re growing restless.

Which is why it’d be better if Heath didn’t see me just now.

I curse under my breath and try to slip off my perch without him noticing me, but I’m too slow to duck around the corner. I hear him shout my name across the little patio.

“Fuck,” I mumble. I’m not fast enough to run away.

“Alex!” he yells again.