MrD: The Swans kept their membership small, secret, and very exclusive. I’m sure you know about the big changes that took place a few years ago, in town and at the school. The Swans were not exempt. With the new memberships, everything changed. I want you to be my eyes and ears in the halls of Willow Heights, not just the Swans. But I want that, too.
BadApple: u were kicked out
MrD: You don’t need to know about my personal involvement. You only need to do your job and report back to me. I want to know everything about the Swans and how the school is being run, and I don’t mean by the administration. I want to know about the boys who run that place, what they’re up to, how they behave. I expect weekly briefings staring Friday.
BadApple: ur right. Will do. Signing off.
Damn, he got me to break my own rule, to get invested in the outcome of this. But it doesn’t matter what his personal stakes in the matter are. It doesn’t even matter who he is. All along, I thought he was Mr. Dolce, the boys’ dad. But now I’m not so sure. Why would they kick him out of their secret society? Just because he’s old? And why would he want to spy on his own sons?
I remember Dixie telling me this family took down the Darlings. I don’t personally know any Darlings, but a couple went to FHS, and I saw them around. They’re the kind of people everyone sneaks glances at, wondering what it’s like to hold that much power. The Darling name is synonymous with Faulkner. They’re town royalty, the way the real Waltons are state royalty.
They were definitely around for the founding of Willow Heights. If this guy got kicked out of his own secret society after the Dolces took down his family, it makes more sense that he’s another Mr. D altogether—Mr. Darling.
I push back from the computer, startled to see that it’s time to get ready for my fight. It doesn’t matter who he is, I remind myself. He gave me a scholarship, and what he’s asking in payment is far less degrading than what he could have asked. This isn’t personal at all. If he wants me to spy on some assholes, so be it. They’re entitled little shits and I don’t owe them anything.
It’s a job, the same as a fight or a poker game. Instead of money for my stash, it’s a scholarship—worth way more than anything I could earn. If I graduate Willow Heights, I’m almost guaranteed to get into a decent school.
The only thing standing in my way is that fucking picture. It nags at the back of my mind, always there, always a threat. The shoe that never dropped. I need to get the picture. And now I need to get into the Swans. Lucky for me, I’m certain the people who took over the Swans and kicked out the olds are the same people who have my picture.
Not so lucky? They think I’m trailer trash who doesn’t belong at their school, and I’m the absolute last person they’d let into their exclusive inner circle.
The question is, how do I convince them I’m worthy of being a Dolce girl?
*
Add More Weight
The coach says,
Are you sure, son?
I’m sure.
Add that shit until my muscles ache,
Until leg day is pain day
Until I can barely walk to my car after practice.
I’m sure.
Sure I’ll never be caught unprepared,
never be smaller than anyone in the room,
never be outnumbered
or overpowered.
I’m sure.
Sure I’ll work harder
Until I’m bigger and stronger
Sober and alert at all times
A better fighter