eleven
Harper Apple
The moment I park my bike on the rack on Wednesday, I know the Dolces are back. I can feel it in the air, a current of nervous excitement. The kings have returned to the castle.
I skipped the vigil on Tuesday night, partly because I didn’t want to see a bunch of fakes pretending to care when they never gave a fuck about him while he was at Willow Heights, and partly because I was afraid of what the Dolces would do if I showed I still did give a fuck. Nothing in this school goes unnoticed by those boys, and I wouldn’t put it past them to find Colt in the hospital and finish the job.
I will do something better than light a candle for him or go visit him. I’ll avenge him and all the other girls and boys in this school they’ve ruined. I’m ready to play my part as the lowly peasant who serves the royals, not a princess or even a lady who might grace the throne beside them, but a whore they’ll visit a few times on the side. I’m secure enough in my worth to play the part and know I’m only playing. They’re the ones who can’t see the value of a girl without a pedigree, or, as Royal said, a golden pussy.
It doesn’t bother me. I need a way in, and if this is it, so be it. I spent the past few days doing my homework, and not just the stuff for class. I’ve studied up on the Dolces, reading everything I could find on them online, most of it boring news articles that didn’t tell a quarter of what I know must have gone down in the past two years. Still, I know a little more than I did before. I’m educating myself, and I have no plans of stopping. I’ll find what Mr. D is missing, the key he needs to take them down. Then he can work on the parents. The boys are mine.
I’m so caught up in scheming that I almost forget reality. When I walk in the door, I’m quickly reminded.
“Sucky, sucky, five dollar,” a guy calls, making a lewd gesture at me while his friends laugh.
“Keep your five dollars,” I shoot back. “You couldn’t begin to afford me.”
They follow me down the hall like a cloud of bad body spray. “Hey,” one of them says, grabbing my arm. “We know you’re a whore. We want in on it. Name your price.”
I give a quick jab to his nose, not enough to break it, but enough to make him bleed. He drops his hold on my arm, stumbling back, looking so shocked its comical as he blinks past the pain. Adrenaline and sweet satisfaction courses through me. I missed the fight on Friday, and damn did I miss it. I stick around just long enough to see him touch his nose and see his fingers come away bloody. I’m a bloodthirsty bitch sometimes.
“That’s the price of touching me without permission,” I say, then turn and walk away.
I open my locker and get my books, ignoring the other comments and snickers as people stream down the hall past me. I wore Mabel’s clothes again yesterday and today, despite the girls giving me shit. After the video, I’m glad to have something concealing to wear. I get enough guys ogling my body as it is. About the only guys who have left me alone, to their credit, are those in the Dolce boys’ inner circle—DeShaun, Dawson, and Cotton.
As I close my locker, a bespectacled little dude who must be a freshman sidles up, clutching his books to his chest. “So, is it true?” he asks, licking his lips nervously.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not,” I say with a sigh.
“Is it really you in that video?” he asks. “It’s hard to tell because of the angle, but if you pause it at just the right moment, there’s a pretty good profile shot with only a little hair covering your face.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” I say, imagining this asshole in his basement replaying the video over and over, watching Mr. Behr’s cock going into my mouth a million times over.
“Get lost, asshole,” says a big beefy guy, shoving the kid aside and throwing an arm around my shoulders. “So, here’s the deal, ho-bag. You’re going to come service me and my boys after school today, or we’re going to send the video to your mom.”
I snort and duck out from under his arm, stopping at the door to my first class. Every day, the same damn shit. It’s a relief to get out of the hall and into class, where the bombardment dies down to a couple lewd comments per hour. “Y’all just go right ahead,” I say with my most winning smile. “After she has a good laugh, she’ll probably invite y’all in and service you herself.”
Suddenly, the voices in the hall die down, and I see the three kings flanked by their three dukes heading our way, their eyes locked on me like predators who’ve singled out the weakest antelope from the herd. I sigh. Jesus fuck, it never ends.
My eyes meet Royal’s dark gaze, and tension crackles between us for a moment before I tear my eyes away.
“Well, if it isn’t big George Tanner,” Cotton drawls, strolling up to the guy who accosted me.
George Tanner looks bewildered and a little freaked out as he glances behind him to see the Fear Squad blocking his retreat.
DeShaun boxes him in on the other side, so he can’t make a quick escape. “Or should we call him Little George,” he says, rubbing his knuckles against the big guy’s scalp like he’s a kid. His words are taunting, but the look in his eyes is pure viciousness. “We all know your brain’s not the only thing the size of a peanut around here.”
“Are you fucking with my toy?” Royal asks George, his voice low and so incredulous it sounds like a death threat.
“N-no,” George manages, his hammy neck still clutched in DeShaun’s muscular arm. “I mean, I didn’t know! I’d never disrespect you, bro. I’ve got your back on the field every week. You know that. I’m your boy.”
“No, we’re his boys,” DeShaun says. “You’re a slab of meat who takes a pounding like a bitch every Friday night. If you were his boy, you wouldn’t have your hands on his girl.”
Royal doesn’t react to the mischaracterization of the situation, to DeShaun calling me his girl. He doesn’t seem to notice his boy is there at all. He’s glowering at George like a snake preparing to strike. “I’m sure you’ve heard since Friday what I do to people who touch my things,” he says quietly.
I start to edge backwards into the classroom while poor George begs for mercy, but Baron’s eyes fix on me, and he steps around Cotton to grab me and wrench me back into the hall. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he demands, fisting a handful of my blouse.
“You, too?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “It’s one thing for the fashion-obsessed Bitch Pack to give me shit, but why would you care? Or even notice?”