Page 36 of Bound By Fury

Startled, I lock my screen. Unlock it. Read the notification again just to be sure.

I’ve been blocked all year. Tonight he told me he hates me. I hate him in equal measure for how he’s treated me.

I don’t know what kind of mind games he’s playing, but if he wants to be enemies, then that means I’ve got to keep him closer than ever, right?

Though I can’t yet stomach the idea of searching through his profile, I click on the notification and accept the request.

FOURTEEN

FOR SOME REASON, THE BMA back to school pep rally starts at the ass crack of dawn.

One perk of going to a swanky private school is that there’s apparently enough funding to provide the entire student body with a catered breakfast. Daisy, Sam, and I sit huddled together as we wait for the festivities to begin. “Who has pep rallies in the morning, anyway?” I grumble, kicking the crumpled Bojangles bag at my feet and swiping the Bo-Berry Biscuit crumbs from my lap.

Sam grunts in agreement, and Daisy’s eyes drift across the field as she slurps the last dredges of her sweet tea. “Where’s the band? They should be on the field by now.”

I glance at Sam in question.

“Her ex plays the trombone.”

“Emma,” Daisy spits, sitting up straighter as a line of navy blue and marigold starts to make its way across the side of the field.

“Bad blood?” I ask, repeating what she asked me about the boys yesterday.

Daisy scoffs. “I wouldn’t say bad blood, just that Emma is a liar and a cheater who doesn’t deserve anything good to happen to her ever again!” She curls her fists and does a weak double punch into the air. “She does look really good in that fancy jacket though,” she whines, peering down at a girl with purple hair and dark, smudgy eyeliner.

The sun’s rays have replaced the gentle breeze, beating down against the artificially green field and warming the back of my sore neck. My first night was tainted by fitful sleep, unused to the lumpy mattress, tormented by the knowledge that every single thing in my life has changed and I have no control over any of it.

A mild headache throbs at my temples.

As Headmaster Matsoukas ambles across the field, a hush befalls the crowd. Standing behind a single podium central to the bleachers, he’s wearing a navy sweater over a white button-down, the collar laid neatly at his neck. When he turns to face his students, he carefully pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before bending down to tap the mic.

“Good morning, Black Mountain Academy!” A clump of clouds drift across the sun, the dimming light casting a shadow that darkens the planes of his face.

“Welcome to a brand-new school year! I trust that you all had safe and productive summers and that you’ve come back to us wiser, brighter, and more worldly. We’re excited to start this year on a new foot and are compelled to take the lessons of the past into a future that is safer for all our students.”

The headmaster’s words remind me of the missing girl. Fiona. I look to Daisy and Sam, wondering if they’re thinking of her too, but their faces give nothing away.

Alastair Matsoukas clears his throat. “But I don’t want to get ahead of myself! This year will be full of learning, laughter, and a win at states!” At this, a thunderous round of applause erupts from the crowd, the aluminum bleachers shaking as hundreds of feet slam against the metal.

“I would like to welcome our freshman students.” The upperclassmen give a halfhearted boo. “And I would love to wish our seniors the best of luck in their final year here on campus.” The howling from the seniors is overwhelming.

Headmaster Matsoukas’s eyes swim through the sea of faces before locking on to my own. “And finally, I would like to welcome our transfer students to this wonderful school. We are happy to have you and look forward to building a future united.” His arms spread wide, and his face remains pleasant, but there’s something about the look in his eyes—though it’s so fast, I doubt it happened at all.

When he’s done, the football coach calls the team onto the field. They run through a banner to whoops and cheers and the crinkling of pom-poms shushing together.

Malachi leads the pack, his red hair flopping into his eyes with every strike of his feet against the ground. He flicks his head to remove it.

I track him across the field, tugging at the bottom of my black shorts and straightening the neckline of my tie-dye Keep Asheville Weird T-shirt. In the bright light of the morning sun, he’s radiant as he laughs at something his friends are saying.

Like a pendulum, my attention swings between him and a different player. Black curls dust the edge of Lucas’s jaw, and he smirks when his gaze finds mine searching, his head lifting in a knowing nod. For some reason, my cheeks grow warm as I glance back to Malachi.

Loose gray sweatpants sit low on his hips, the right leg rolled up lazily, and a navy BMA Mountain Wolves crewneck barely hovers over the elastic waistband, a sliver of taut, pale skin peeking out. Sunlight glints off the onyx carbon fiber of his leg. Strokes of black ink swirl at the edges of his wrists and the base of his throat.

Are those… tattoos?

As if he can feel me staring, Kai finds my face in the crowd. Almost imperceptibly, the bridge of his nose wrinkles, the corners of his full lips pulling down.

“Ugh!” I scoff, scowling in kind.