I throw him the bird and stalk into my class. Jason is the least of my worries now. I need to think of ways to protect myself.
I bury my head in my hands, and a little chuckle escapes my lips. What was I thinking? This is ridiculous. I was all wound up from that girl talking about a stupid hierarchy. The Elites. I chuckle again. What a fucking pretentious name. It wouldn’t even work as a band name.
The morning passes quickly, and by the time it’s lunch, I’ve pushed out all thoughts of The Elites from my mind. This was probably just first-day harassing. Nothing more. And Jason can suck my dick for all I care.
I stop by the girls’ bathroom, taking a quick look in the mirror. I tried to style my chocolate brown hair nicely this morning, but the waves are now poofy in reminiscent eighties style. I redo my hair into a bun, applying chapstick and wiping away smudges from my mascara.
There’s a piercing scream. “No, no, I’m sorry!”
My feet rush me into the hallway, and I’m met with a confusing scene. The girl from the morning is on the ground, covered in trash. One guy finishes dumping the trash-can over her, and I watch, horrified, and some nameless black sludge drips onto her head.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she blubbers. “I was just trying to help her.”
There are three boys. More like men than boys, as each one of them is tall and muscular from what I can tell of their backs. The one who throws the trash-can across the hall, he’s the tallest, with dark blonde hair and a cruel glint to his eyes. Another one – a thick-shouldered guy, built like a footballer – grinds some sort of horrible concoction of trash, sludge and food into the girl’s thigh with his foot. The girl doesn’t do anything, whimpers escaping her mouth as she keeps her eyes closed.
“Please, I was just trying to let her know.”
My shock dissipates, and I feel my limbs slowly thaw to life. Rage flows through me like lava, and I nearly sprint to the group, shoving away a guy and standing in front of the girl. I am nearly quivering with fury, and I feel loose, like a cannonball.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand, giving them each a hard gaze.
Until. . .
Until I meet his eyes.
“Emmett-Emmett?” I stutter, looking into his beautiful gray eyes. They’re as reckless and dangerous as a tornado storm. “Like Emmett from Arcadia?”
“I’m glad you remember, Ophelia,” he says as his eyes rake over my body. Goosebumps pepper my skin as a hot coil of desire reaches low into my stomach. Fuck. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Arcadia was a couple months ago,” I say, almost lost.
How can Emmett be here? My thoughts are beating against my brain, and a firestorm of emotions fight for dominance.
Emmett Jameson was one of these “Elites.”
I’d tried to fuck him out of my system, but my hand didn’t do the intense need that thrummed through my body justice. Each time my fingers ventured down there, his face popped into my mind. And I was left wanting the real thing.
And I hadn’t remembered him clearly. He’s as every bit as handsome, but his hair is now shorn on the sides and flipped to the right. I can feel my hormones taking over, quickening my blood at just the sight of his lips, wanting to tousle his hair with my fingers, feel him groan against me.
No, Ophelia.
There’s a small sound behind me, and I look at the girl struggling to stand up. I extend a hand, but she waves it off. I’m kinda glad – her hands look sticky and wet.
“Lily,” says Emmett, his eyes never leaving mine
. “You’re free to go.”
I open my mouth, but before I say anything, Emmett glares at me.
“You say one word and you’ll end up like her.” He whips his head to the sodden, trash-riddled Lily. Her mousey brown hair has a gum wrapper in it. “Come with me.”
Okay, so Emmett is a hot fucking jerk.
“What the actual fuck,” I say quietly, looking at the two guys who’ve now circled around me. Emmett pauses about ten feet away. “You’re all fucking insane.”
One of the guys, the footballer-built guy, cracks his neck. “You clearly don’t know what’s going on.”
“Clearly,” I say sarcastically. “I do. You’re fucking bullies.”