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I look at her with wide eyes, my jaw damn near on the floor. Fucking rich people. He’s forced into this engagement, and despite what she said, she’s definitelynotover him. From the looks he’s been sending her way it doesn’t seem like he’s over her either. It’s the absolute epitome of stupid, and how selfish of their parents to take such a huge choice away from them? I swallow down my protests because despite how wrong this feels, I can bitch about the logistics later.
“So, do we hate her?” I’m not really good at this girl talk thing, never having had girl friends of my own, but movies dictate who she hates I hate and even though I’ve known Peyton around twenty-four hours she doesn’t strike me as someone to needlessly dislike someone else. Cautious, yes. Hate, no.
She sighs, picking at her fingernails. “No, we don’t. She’s nice enough, even if she doesn’t take the engagement as seriously as he does.”
I don’t have time to ask what she meant by that because Ms. Taylor calls me up to dance next. Peyton gives my hand a quick squeeze which I return, before I get to my feet and make my way to choose my song, Trouble by CRMNL.
Closing my eyes, I take one last deep breath before I let the rhythm take hold. Moving my hips to the rhythm, I exaggerated the movements with thrusts of my arms and throwing back my head, completely giving myself over to the beat pulsing to life in my chest. The people in front of me blur as I enter that sacred place in my mind.
It's not so much of a place as much as an overload of my senses, as if encased of a memory in time. Warmth explodes in my chest, the feel of safety and peace allowing my movements to free me from the usual despair and anger lingering below the surface. My nose fills with the scent of fresh rain and I can almost feel soft grass under my feet.
Twisting and turning, I lift my leg behind my head, windmilling it in the air as my torso dips close to the ground and up again. As the routine ends, my vision reels back into seeing the class on the bleachers. There’s nothing, not a sound that follows my performance. But, as I take my first step to my seat it breaks into a series of hoots and clapping comes from Peyton, Milo, and his friends.
“Yeah girl, that’s an ass I would pay to see shake all over me.”
I look over in time to see Milo whacking one of his friends in the stomach hard enough for him to keel forward, muttering to the guy, Bradford to shut the fuck up, before giving throwing a playful wink as I saunter back over to my seat.
“Holy hell, girl!” Peyton shrieked at me, throwing her arms wide. “Where the hell did you learn to dance like that?”
That was it though, wasn’t it? I hadn’t been taught to dance; I just did so because I loved to. There was no one to fund my love of dance, but in it I found a freedom, a small piece of me that connected in place like it was always meant to be there. I would escape the horrors of foster care, and let my body guide my movement wherever I could find the space to do so.
We’re dismissed to the showers with the parting words that a dance schedule will be released with information regarding partners and games over the course of the week. Peyton waves her goodbye, saying that she’s going to shower in her dorm before the boys get there for her first day celebration dinner. She grins widely and I’m immediately waving her off so she can go enjoy her night.
I heave my bag over my sore limbs and take in mouthfuls of water. Peyton has the right idea of showering in the dorm rooms, and I head in that direction, preferring the privacy without warring over the hot water with the others. My movements are slow as I make my way there, leaving me to close my eyes and do something I haven’t done in years.
I imagine what a family dinner would look like for me. For someone who has long since accepted that she doesn’t have parents and never had any true close friends. Behind my eyelids I can see a happy family fighting over food and laughing with one other, but as soon as I insert myself into it, they pop like bubbles leaving me sitting at the table alone, exactly how I avoid almost every night.
A hard shove has me violently jolting forward, and another sends me skidding on my hands and knees. I hiss at the sting in my palms and just know that I’ve torn my stockings. I push back on my haunches to wipe the dirt and gravel from off me when a pair of black pumps steps around in front of me.
Blakely is staring down at me with a sneer turning her face into something that looks like the gargoyle statues in the courtyard. Just behind her I see that pink haired girl, Gianna, holding a similar stare, like I’m not worth her time of day. On the other side I see a pretty redhead with olive skin, she too is staring down at me with her arms folded across her chest, but from the way she keeps shifting her weight from foot to foot, and glances at Blakely in the corner of her eye, I think she’s uncomfortable.
“I thought I warned you yesterday to keep your eyes off my guys.” Blakley’s voice brings my attention back over to her and I stare up at her with my best disinterested look. I was hoping to have a conversation about this in our dorm tonight, but I have no interest in engaging with an audience.
“You’re from Darling Valley, aren’t you? I’ve heard about girls like you. Poor little paupers with loose morals sinking their claws into rich men. There is no one here dumb enough for you to baby trap, gutter vermin.”
Gianna lets out an unabashed laugh before she starts to circle me, the redhead mimicking her movements on the other side until the three of them have me surrounded. “Well, Milo seemed interested in her poverty package from the way he was flirting with her during dance, but don’t worry Juniper I’m sure a quick stint between her thighs and an STD exam would bring back his senses.”
Juniper lets out a high-pitched squeak, obviously taken off guard by the comment, before giving me a murderous look. She doesn’t do more than ball her fists at her side, but the fire in her eyes promise violence if I step too closely to her betrothed.
Before I can think of anything to say back, cold sticky liquid is poured over my head and the now-empty bottle of powerade is tossed on the ground in front of me. Blakely steps closer to me, her words feathering across my face.
“Go home, trailer bitch. No one wants you here.” Then turns on her heals and walks across the field, the other two girls fall in step with her. If today is a show of what time my time here is going to look like, I’m in for a treat.
Oh, goodie.
Chapter Five
Peyton prattles on as we walk down the hall about her classes for the semester. Turns out she chose anthropology as her major, which shouldn’t have been the shock that it was. The more I get to know her, the more I can see that I’d stereotyped her as plainly as she had me. Nowhere was the primp princess sucking on silver spoons, despite her life of privilege.
She was down to earth, funny, and loved to rile up her brother which I could get on board with. Jack and his friends haven’t approached me since the girls had started their assault, and honestly it hasn’t been as bad as what I’d imagined. Witless insults and attempts to trip me up in the halls. After Blakley’s spat on Monday I’d returned to the dorm to see my half of the room trashed and my clothes crumpled on the floor, a smirk sitting on her face as she watched me silently move around righting my things. After everything I’d heard about rich bitch bullying, I expected… more.
“I don’t know how they can give assignments on the first week. Like there should be a law against that sort of cruelty.” Peyton throws her head back and groans loudly. I barely stifle a laugh at her dramatics, but she powers through anyway.
“How do they expect us to know the content for it anyway? The week isn’t even over, literally no one has access to the course materials yet and it’s worth thirty percent of the grade! It’s just rude.” She huffs, and this time I can’t stop the laugh. It bubbles out of me. She shoots me an amused look before shoving me with her shoulder, scattering the books I was holding onto the floor.
“Don’t punish the books!” I mock indignation before I bend down to pick them up. I gather all the ones I can see but can’t find the last one. A pair of boots appear in my vision, and I move my eyes up so that I’m staring into a pair of ice blue eyes, so similar to that of my new friend. I don’t know when Jack got here but he’s holding the missing book.
Standing and offering a small smile in thanks, I grip the edges of the it before he pulls forward, closing the distance between us so that my body is flush against his. Gasping, my hand shoots up landing on his abdomen, his very toned, very hard abdomen. Jesus. How often does this guy work out? His gaze darkens as it roams over my face and rests on my mouth, with his tongue flicking out to trace the plushness of his lips.
