Dixie laughs. “You can sit with me and my friends. My cousin Quinn’s new this year, too. We sit over there.” She points to one of the round wooden tables in the big room. It looks about as far from the white linoleum and prison-style dining of Faulkner High as the office looked different. Instead of drop ceilings with long fluorescent lights, giant fans and modern lights extend down from the vaulted ceiling here. The chairs are almost standard school chairs, but even those are a sleeker model, like the school had to flex a little and splurge on even cafeteria chairs.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I say. I realize I’m being kinda bitchy for no reason. This girl seems genuinely interested in helping me out—or helping the school or herself get a gold star in student council. Not that it matters why she’s being nice. The point is, she could have been a total bitch to a scholarship kid, but she wasn’t.
“I know,” Dixie says. “Just don’t sit alone, okay? We can always make room at our table.”
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile. I’m not used to people being nice to me for no reason. “I’m not really into the whole social scene thing. I’ll probably find the other scholarship kids and stick with my kind. Don’t worry, I won’t sit alone like some charity case. I’ll come find you if I have any questions.”
“One more thing,” Dixie says, her eyes earnest as we leave the cafeteria and head back toward my first class. “You’re new, and you’re pretty, and you’re bound to draw some attention.”
Her eyes flit to my clothes, and I cringe inwardly even as I raise my chin and give her a level gaze, feeling instantly defensive. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”
In truth, I didn’t know what to wear to a school like this. Despite what I’d heard, there’s not even an official uniform here. I’ve already seen a few girls wearing plaid skirts, so it must be the trend, but it’s not required, and thank fuck for that. My mother would have thrown the papers back in my face if I asked her to pay for a uniform. As I suspected, she’s definitely on the party bus with this new guy. Her hands shook so hard she could hardly hold the pen when she signed my transfer papers.
But I don’t have a plaid schoolgirl skirt to my name, which left me to cobble something together from my very limited wardrobe. I dreaded getting dressed this morning. At Faulkner, I never thought much about what I wore. I just threw on whatever was clean. But even a bitch like me can feel the burn of shame in my cheeks when I think about all those kids staring at me, knowing I’m a poor charity case, judging me for the way I dress.
“Nothing’s wrong with your clothes,” Dixie says quickly. “I’m just trying to warn you. Some people here can be pretty nasty to new kids. Girls and guys. It’s best if you just stay out of their way, but it’ll be hard for the first few days. This school is small. Any new kid gets noticed. Just get through that, and you’ll be fine.”
“Like an initiation?” I ask, cocking a brow.
“Nothing so formal as all that,” Dixie says, waving a hand. “But the Dolce boys like everyone to know from the moment they set foot in here that they run this place. I bet you have guys like that at Faulkner High. Like Chase London. Well, the Dolces are the kings of Willow Heights. Just bow at their feet and kiss their shoes and all that, show them you’re not here to cause any trouble, and they’ll forget all about you in a couple days.”
I look at her incredulously. True, I’m not here to cause trouble. But kiss someone’s shoes? Not if it’s the last thing I ever do. And fuck if I’m bowing at anyone’s feet. I bow to no one.
“Just tell me what to look out for,” I say. “And I’ll walk the other way when I see them coming.”
Her eyes widen a bit. “You don’t know who the Dolces are?”
“I know them,” I admit, a flutter of nerves starting inside me. “I mean, I’ve heard the name around town. I don’tknowthem. Who else do I need to look out for?”
I didn’t know I was supposed to study up on the important people of this town before my first day, but obviously I’m underprepared in several ways.
“I was gonna say,” she says with a little laugh. “You have to know the Dolces. They’re the family who took down the Darlings.” She widens her eyes at me, her expression expectant, like it’ll all click into place for me.
I shrug.
“You don’t know who theDarlingsare?” she asks, her voice squeaking a bit with shock.
“Of course I do.” It’s a small town, and the Darlings basically founded it. But as I said about Chase, I don’t move in the same circles as powerful people like them. They seem faraway, a name thrown around like the mayor or the governor. One of the Darling daughters goes to FHS, but she’s a cheerleader who dates Chase and takes AP classes. She’s never said a word to me. I know their name, their importance, but besides her, I probably couldn’t pick a single one from a lineup.
“Okay, well, the Dolces are… New royalty in this town. And they didn’t get that way by being worshipped by the townsfolk for their benevolence.” A soft chime sounds overhead instead of the jarring ring of a bell. Dixie glances toward the front entrance and back to me. “They’re not nice people, Harper. They have their reasons for being the way they are, but that’s not really important. Just steer clear if you see them or their little harem of Dolce girls coming, and you’ll be fine.”
“And how do I know which ones they are?” I press.
“Look for the hottest guys you’ve ever seen,” she says. “You can’t miss them. Tall, dark, full of muscles. Kinda thuggish, in a hot way. But try to admire from a distance. You really don’t want to get mixed up with them. Trust me on that one. They’re brutal.”
I meant the girls, but my heart skips when her words call a picture to mind… A picture of the three guys at the train tracks, all of them sharing an accent and a name that doesn’t belong in these parts. The students are strolling in now, though, and it’s too late to ask more, so I thank Dixie and head back toward the locker she pointed out for me.
The wheels in my brain are already turning. I head into class, but I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about Dixie’s warning, how it paints a different picture of the Dolces than the image Jolene had in her mind. They’re more than the hot guys that every girl wants on her arm to increase her status. They’re assholes. I could have told her that, but it’s different for them to be assholes to me down in poor town than to be known for it in the halls of their own school.
How am I going to convince them to delete that picture? They haven’t shared it with the world as far as I know, though that doesn’t mean much. I don’t exactly frequent the internet looking for homemade porn shot through the windows of parked cars. Still, it’s not circulating at FHS, which means it hasn’t traveled too far from their circle of privilege. I may not have any tight friendships, but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t tell me.
Hell, the entire population of Faulkner would probably harass me about it. I’d get the dreaded Slut Club invitation dropped on my desk, and no one would ever speak to me again except the other “sluts” in the club and the lowlife guys who sniff around them hoping to get some while pretending they’re throwing the girls a bone. If the pic shows Mr. Behr, it’d be a scandal big enough to rock this whole shitty little town. Probably big enough to make Willow Heights retract my scholarship. This is the type of school that expects its students to behave even when we’re not at school, to be examples to the community, not porn stars.
I still have time to do some damage control before that happens. If only I had someone to go to for help. Maybe I should have joined one of the gangs at Faulkner, after all. I never felt the need to have someone watching my back. I look out for myself, and I’ve always liked it that way. Plus, I don’t want to owe anyone anything, and once you’re in a gang, it’s a life sentence. The only person I’ll ride or die for is myself. It’s easier that way. I don’t have to wonder about ulterior motives, getting played, or being left. I trust the only person in life I know I can trust—myself.
But coming here is like stepping into an alien world, one where I don’t know the rules, who’s the enemy, or what’s expected of me. By lunch time, I’m already regretting my dismissal of Dixie’s offer. Still, I’ve never shied away from anything that can make me stronger, so I tell myself that toughing it out on my own is only going to put another layer of armor on me. I put my books up and head for the café alone, despite Dixie’s warning.
I’m not three steps from my locker when a girl’s bitchy voice cuts through my determination.