His light brown hair was just a tad too long, falling into his gaze in that adorable, puppy-dog way that made girls’ knees weak. I’d seen it enough times before Wildwood to know I wasn’t the only one he drove crazy. And his soulful-gray eyes made insides melt. With permanently tanned skin that looked good enough to bite into, like a caramel popsicle, Crispin made me want to lick him all over.
And I wasn't the only one who thought so. I shared my opinion with his nine-million closest friends—his Insta followers. Because after what I did to him, Crispin Dalton was Insta-famous. He would never forgive me for what had happened. How could he? I’d ruined so many lives. I didn't stand a chance. But worse than any worry of what people thought of me after the scandal, was knowing that Crispin Dalton officially hated my guts. In fact, he’d made it his mission to ensure my life at Wildwood was miserable. He’d made that plenty clear when I walked into that classroom, and he greeted me with a patronizing laugh.
Worry and doubt made my heart pound harder, and I wondered how the hell I was supposed to stay cool when he had already turned my knees to jelly. “Hello,” I managed to get out, my eyes quickly skimming over a certain Dalton and settling on a girl in the front row. Good, I can focus on her. “I’m Tinsley Sullivan. I’m new.”
“Is that it?” The professor dug deeper, making me shoot him an annoyed look. Um, hello? Have you heard of the fear of speaking to a large audience, Professor Douchebag?
“Tell us something unique about yourself, Ms. Sullivan. This school prides itself on creating capable public speakers. The sooner you realize you’ll be doing this a lot, the better.”
“Well…” I swallowed, his comment rendering me speechless. Thanks for that, Prof. The girl in the front row offered me an encouraging grin, and I gave her a timid one in return. “I know some of you may remember me from…stuff. But I want to start over. I need a new beginning.”
“Let’s hope you get one and that your public speaking is not something you consider a talent,” the professor responded dryly before sending me to an empty desk in the middle of the classroom. “I’m Professor Mulroney. Now that you’ve finally graced us with your presence, Ms. Sullivan, perhaps you can tune into today’s lesson.”
I took my seat, feeling my cheeks burn again. I’d somehow managed to score the worst seat in the classroom—one where Mulroney could see everything I did with zero privacy from the other students. And worst of all, the seat was right in front of Crispin Dalton.
I sank down into the chair without giving him a shred of my attention, even though my heart pounded because of him. Pulling out my books, I stacked them on the desk next to my colorful gel pens and arranged it all in perfect order. There. That felt better. Now, freaking breathe. Once I was done, I opened the notebook at the perfect angle to my right hand and pressed ink to paper.
I could do this. I reassured myself. I could totally do this. I just had to get through this one lesson. And then I could get away from him.
I really thought I’d go uninterrupted for the whole hour, but I should’ve known better. Crispin was going to try to break me. He always did, after all. The class had ten minutes left when I heard his voice.
“Yo, Devin Mooney.”
The skin on the back of my neck prickled. There he was, ruining my concentration, yet again, as if I hadn’t had to put up with it for years on set.
“Or maybe we should call you Tinsley the Homewrecker?”
“Fuck you, Prince goddamn Charming,” I hissed before returning my attention to Mulroney and writing the name of the class, my fingers shaking as I struggled to focus on the task at hand.
The sound of wood scraping against the floor made me bite my bottom lip, trying as hard as I could on the letters. E, and then an N, and then a G…
“I guess you put the ho in homewrecker.”
“I guess you put the douche in douche-canoe.”
“No, but don’t you wish I’d put something else inside you?” he teased in a low, seductive voice that made my skin crawl. “Welcome to Wildwood, Homewrecker. You’re not going to get away with the same shit here, so don’t even think about it.”
“Crispin. Fuck. The fuck. Off,” I demanded. “In fact—”
“Miss Sullivan!” Mulroney now stood in front of my table, glaring down at me with his hands resting on my open notebook where the name of the subject remained unfinished. “I would advise you against causing trouble on the first day,” he scolded. “You don’t want to end up in the headmaster’s office, do you?”
“I’d prefer to stay here uninterrupted,” I hissed, glancing at Crispin in plain view of the teacher who followed my gaze, seemingly realizing what had happened, but just as easily, a smile replaced his frown.
“Yes, Miss Sullivan, we don’t want you to interrupt anyone,” the professor replied icily. “Now, please focus on the task at hand, and open your book to page one-hundred-and-two. And Miss Sullivan? Make an accusation like that one more time and I won’t need another excuse to send you to Headmaster Hawke. Things may have worked differently in La-La Land, but this is Wildwood. You’d better get used to it.”
I nodded, dumbfounded by the way he’d disregarded me. He finally left my desk, launching into an explanation of something that went in one ear and out through the other. I couldn’t focus. I kept thinking of the bully breathing down my neck. And the fact that even the goddamn teacher worshipped the ground that prick walked on.
“Oh, am I interrupting, Tinsley?” His whisper crept along my neck, “Just you wait and see what the others have in store. I’m going the fucking easiest on you, you can trust me on that.”
His breath was cold, and now I felt it on my shoulders. He was so close. Close enough to brush his lips against my skin. And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to move back or come closer. At the same time, I was painfully aware of the truth in his words. I remembered the boy who’d pushed me outside. He was fucking right. They were going to eat me up alive here.
I didn’t answer, pressing my pen onto the paper with such force it tore.
“I’m going to make fucking sure you’re protected,” he went on. “But Tinsley, if you don’t let me do that, I’m going to make your life hell. Do you understand why? Because here… The teachers, the students, and the parents listen to one person only. And that person is me. I’m not going to risk losing that because of a piece of ass.”
Biting my bottom lip, I glared ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. It was
then that I felt fingers wrap around the French braid my mom had helped plait in my hair. I hated myself for responding to his cruelty. Like a moth to a fucking flame. Long, strong fingers pulled hard. I gasped; the sound barely audible.