Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

First Week

I do my best to avoid my fellow students through the rest of the school day. It's not easy, and the jabs keep coming, cutting deeper now I know that Sam has a hand in them. Worse, my final class of the day has him sitting directly next to me. We're in Calculus, a sixth form class that fifth forms have to test into. We're the only ones here.      

            The sixth forms still seem to know who I am and what I've—allegedly—done. I remind myself again that prep school is a fishbowl. And a damn small one.

            I'm ready to get the hell out of class and have a good cry somewhere private before cross-country when someone taps the back of my head with a pencil. I ignore it, not interested in another asshole looking to abuse the new girl, the slut.

            When it happens a second time, and then a third, I spin.

            "Can I help you?" I snap.

            It's Jared behind me. He holds his hands up in a 'whoa' motion. "Dude, sorry," he says quietly, under the teacher's lecture. "I just wanted to say 'what up.'"

            I give him a salty grin. "Well now you did. Congrats."

            Jared gives me a pouting look. "Hey, don't be like that. I'm just trying to be friendly."

            I ignore my strong desire to start cursing profusely. "You're trying to be friendly because you're under the impression I give sexual favors out like candy. Newsflash: I don't. So lay off." I turn to the front of the class, biting my tongue hard to stop from screaming. I feel Sam's eyes shift to me but I don't bother meeting them, afraid I'll really lose it. I've been at the brink of snapping more times the past three days than I have in my whole life. It seems like a bad sign. 

            "Well, damn," Jared mutters behind me. I can hear him leaning back in his seat, away from me. I ignore him, focusing my eyes on the board and feigning rapture in the equations at the head of the room.

            Forty long minutes later, the final bell of the day goes off, and I slide my things off my desk in a single swipe, escaping the room before anyone can stop me. I have a half hour before cross-country, and I made the dim mistake of leaving my running stuff in the dorm this morning. I hike across the quad as fast as my legs will take me without jogging. I am itching for the release of a hard run in the woods.

As expected, cross-country goes poorly. Both Brandon and Jared are on the team, as are about 20 kids who think I'm either a slut or a liar (or both). And here's the thing that pisses me off: if there was any truth to the rumors—if anything that anyone was saying had even a spark based in reality—I'd be okay.  But it doesn't. And the lies don't just affect me. They affect Mr. Ross and Jill. They affect Spencer. And—I hate that I care—they affect Sam. Hell, Sam started them. So what does that say?

            I manage to keep my mouth shut through most of practice, with only a half-mile left when I hear the steady approach of a teammate behind me.

"What do you want, Brandon?" I don't need to look to know he's the one who's run up beside me, I can tell just by the sound of his slightly giddy, labored breathing.

            "I just wanted to congratulate you, Logan," he says. I roll my eyes, keeping focused on pace and not Brandon's drama.

            "About time." I speed up, dragging the back of my hand over the sweat collecting on my forehead.

            "About time. Seriously." Brandon pauses long enough for me to ask what he's talking about. I don't and he continues into the rhythmic beating of our shoes on the trail. "About time you start really living up to your family's reputation." His voice is hard.

            I tense, but don't grace him with an answer. He nudges a shoulder against my arm.

"What? Wittle Wogan doesn't have any stupid jokes to make?"

  I roll my eyes at that. He hit a nerve using the word 'family,' but if he thinks 'Wittle Wogan' is going to get me worked up, he's sorely mistaken.

"All right, fine," Brandon slows just a bit, so his steps come slightly behind mine as he says: "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. We all knew that someone would have to pick up your mother's torch when she skipped town. Honestly, I was just wondering what took you so long."

I whirl on him, my vision suddenly focused on nothing but Brandon. "What did you say?"

"Come on, Logan," he goads, jutting his chin the direction of my clenched fists. I realize my nails are digging into my palms. "Give me the satisfaction."

I think about it. It would feel so good to hit Brandon, just one time. I know it's what he wants, what he's always wanted. All the teasing, the lies and the rumors...it's never been enough for him to destroy my life and friendship with words. He wants to hurt me. He wants me to hurt like him. But I rarely play with fists; I can do just as much damage with words.

"You're not worth the energy." I stretch my fingers away from my palm.  "Besides, you and I both know it takes two to tango." I laugh drily at the phrase. "Sorry, did I say tango? I meant fuck. It takes two to fuck. So why don't you remind me where your father was that day?" My voice is steady with anger.

A tic sets in Brandon's jaw. It's his tell, the sign that he's on the verge of losing his goddamn mind or bursting into tears. Granted, once we turned fourteen, it's only showed up for the former, but no matter. He dug the knife in first. My turn, with a twist.

I take a step closer to Brandon, baiting him. "Oh my God," I taunt. "Are you going to cry, Brandon?"

Brandon's glare is lit up in fury, his eyes flashing hatred that I have to actively ignore. I know I have crossed a line I will regret. He reaches toward me, grabbing at my wrists. I take a nimble step back, holding in my yelp of surprise.

"Does it seem like I'm about to cry, you stupid bitch?" His voice is venom.

"Now, now." Brandon and I both spin. Jared's loping in our direction, a lazy smile on his face. "That's no way to talk to a lady, Trent."

Brandon steps toward Jared, holding out a hand as if to stop him. "Trust me, Weaver, I'd never speak to a lady the way I speak to this home-wrecking piece of trash. But it'd do you good to mind your own damn business." 

I'm breathing evenly despite having run four miles and wanting to slam Brandon's head against something solid. When Jared looks at me, I run my tongue against my teeth and shrug in a way that indicates I could care less.

"Don't worry about me, Jared. It's not my problem this moron believes his dad walked out on him because of a tree fort." I put a hand to my mouth and whisper loudly, "You'd think after five years without a word..."

            "God dammit!" Brandon explodes, launching at me. Jared grabs him almost out of the air, holding him around the waist as he curses and spits.

            Jared looks between Brandon and me with a mildly frightened expression as the latter fixes me with a scathing glare. "Your whore mom is the reason my dad left. Don't think I have any misconceptions about that. And I refuse to let you go through life the same way she did, destroying everything in your path." Brandon shakes Jared's hold and steps back. To him, Brandon says, "I'm good, man." To me: "We're not done here, Grey."

            He shoves past, starting up a jog almost immediately. Jared and I watch him until he disappears around a bend in the trail.

            "You okay?" Jared sounds a little nervous.

            I turn my attention to him and try to conceal the fact that I'm shaking by pushing sweaty hair from my forehead. When it doesn't exactly work, I let loose a false laugh.

            "I'm fine. But I appreciate you holding him back. I didn't expect it to get so heated so fast." What I don't say is that Brandon has never confronted me about what happened with our parents, and I never expected him to. The fact that he has—and that he did it so ferociously—has me worried that this year isn't going to be like the rest at all. If today is any indication, it's going to be a hell of a lot worse.