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

THE BOARDERS: 12

Sam

I force myself not to turn and watch Somers' ass as she walks out of the room. She looked seriously upset when I interjected. As well she should; it was a stupid stunt she pulled, spending the night in my dorm knowing it would rile Ott and put us both in a position to get expelled. But she sure as hell hasn't endangered anyone in MacMillan. Based off the few moments I actually paid attention to Ott and Weaver this afternoon, she's the only one who needs to worry about watching her back.

I'd lingered on the other side of the door long enough to hear her admission about her dad, too. That one was new, something she's clearly working to keep from Brandon. I understand why; if he knew that her father was dead, he'd have a field day. The thought of him using that against her twists my stomach.

Carr eyes me over the desk. I clasp my hands in my lap and straighten my shoulders, mocking him with the model student act.

"I called you fifteen times," he says finally.

"Jessica called me. Eleven times," I correct. The blonde secretary from the front office is annoyingly persistent. And I should have known from the second my dad's name appeared on the screen that he wouldn't have done his own dirty work.

He acts as if he doesn't hear me. "Where were you?"

"Out."

"Off campus?"

"I'm allowed off campus, aren't I?"

Carr gives me a long look and I stare daggers at the gray eyes that match mine. It really fucking sucks to look into the eyes of someone you loathe so much knowing they're yours. Just older.

Eventually, Carr seems to decide it's not worth the argument and he changes tack.

"The rings need to go."

I clench my fists at my sides, willing myself to stay calm. "We're not going to talk about Somers?" I ask, using his method of changing the subject.

"There's nothing to discuss. The girl has been expelled from Remington."

I grit my teeth, working hard as I can not to freak out. I don't think there's anyone in the universe that pisses me off quite as quickly as this man, the absentee father my mother divorced when I was only five. We've had very little interaction over the years, but I know all I need to: he reveres academia more than any human in his life, he dislikes me just about as much as I do him, he left me. After my performance at Deerfield last year—and what a performance it was (I hear they're still talking about it)—my mom decided she was done shuttling me from prep school to prep school. But she didn't want me back in Manhattan, that's for fucking sure. So she roped my dad back into the picture, force-fed Remington to me with the promise that she'd pay for my single dorm and Ott's tuition if I stayed the course for my final high school year. I wonder if she knows about Somers, about the fact that she slept in my room last night. From the look on my dad's face, he believes Somers weaseled her way into my room about as much as Brandon believes she's a good girl. And I realize, suddenly, I can use that to my advantage.

I lean toward Carr's desk, steepling my fingers under my chin. "You know I convinced her to stay," I say, challenging him.

My dad sits back, his gaze steady. He doesn't look surprised or disappointed, and that digs at me more than I'd like to admit. I may not have grown up with the dude, but I'm still his son. And even if I haven't given either of my parents a lot of reasons to trust I'm a good kid recently, I'd still appreciate a show of familial support. But my father's belief that I would game the system to get a chick in my room is going to work out to my advantage, and I'm going to make sure I get what I want. My grin widens as Carr watches me.

Finally he asks, "Why?"

I laugh. "Dude, you saw her right? And you have to ask?" I cross my arms over my chest and push back in the chair so it stands on its rear legs, giving my dad a look like 'are you nuts?'

Now he looks disappointed, or maybe angry. There's a good chance that's because I called him 'dude' and not 'Sir' or 'Headmaster.' Either way, I'll take it. It's so much harder to get a rise out of Carr than my mom and it feels good to see a little reaction out of this old prick. Someday, maybe at graduation, I'll get him to really snap, to hit me or start fucking screaming. Just once. Just so I can know what it feels like, and maybe hit back. But not today, because even though I can't admit this to myself, I'm not willing to let Logan Somers walk away from Remington just yet. As risky as it is for my friendship with Ott, and as fucking selfish, I'm going to put everything I have into making this plan work. I'll figure out the details later.

"She's eighteen, I'm eighteen. What's the problem?"

Carr grunts a sarcastic laugh. "You're on school grounds, son. It doesn't matter how old you are—attending this school means obeying its rules. Neither you nor Logan has done so. You're lucky I didn't call you in here to expel you. Though it is regrettable. I expect that Miss Somers would have done quite well here." The way he looks down at me over his snob-ass nose almost makes me forget that I'm trying to stay calm. I settle for clenching my fists in my lap. I can stop by the gym later tonight, take it out on one of the punching bags behind the fieldhouse.

"Yeah, well, maybe she still can."

By the time I make it back to the dorm, I'm grinning like a fucking idiot. After nearly an hour, my dad finally conceded that a clean-cut girl like Logan Somers was less likely to be a rulebreaker than the kid who got kicked out of Deerfield for pissing in the Christmas punch (among other things), and that her grades and record on the cross-country track would only help Remington. I'd kept my fists to myself and done my lawyer mother proud, though she likely won't appreciate that her skills of debate were used to keep a girl I want to sleep with in arm's reach. And while I've been given the directive to stay out of the dorm for the next two hours so that Coleman can discuss Somers' options with her, I have no intention of doing so. I want to see her eyes when I tell her that I'm keeping her at Remington, where she belongs. With me.