Cruel Boy Page 2

  This whole school is a cesspool of rich, spoiled kids. In fact, I’m ashamed to admit I’m one of them. Still, the truth is the truth. I only got in because my father is a celebrity lawyer. But it was my mom’s idea for me to go here. But I befriended Monica here, so I’m happy with the choice as I can’t imagine my life without her now.

  We walk along the path that boasts a dozen seats accompanied by exotic flowers and manicured trees. Sitting in their own little circle or hanging around the fountain or the pathways behind the trees, the cliques are everywhere in the grass surrounding the building. We don’t belong to any of them, and I don’t even want to. I’d much rather be an outlier than an it girl.

  “Oh, my God, check that out,” Monica says, nudging me with her elbow.

  Speaking of it …

  One look at the brown-haired, long-legged girl marching in our direction while wearing a purple skirt too short for her ass, and my eyes almost roll out of my skull. Pretty Miss perfect Layla Parker. But I call her Bitch number one.

  The other one is her lackey, Jenny, equally beautiful but a killer too. Not literally, but most boys who stumble into her path are left in ruins.

  “Jenny looks like she’s on a murder spree,” Monica jokes. “Did you know? Rumor had it her last breakup was so bad the guy ended up crying on her lawn for hours.”

  “No. But interesting.”

  “And someone said Layla and Jenny caused a classmate to drop out last year just because they didn’t like the way she smelled.”

  “Wow,” I reply, folding my arms.

  “Yep.”

  I don’t know if I should believe all the rumors floating around about them; and there are a lot. But they sure don’t deny them … and judging from the way they behave toward everyone around them—including me—I don’t think they’re really rumors after all.

  Layla flaunts her stuff, strutting around the premises as though she knows she owns the property. People glare at her with a mixture of admiration, envy, and sheer panic. It’s as if the zoo has suddenly turned silent at the sight of the trainer carrying the bucket of food. Everyone wants a taste. But neither of them dish any of it out … or so they pretend.

  No, Layla saves that for her darling quarterback boyfriend with his killer smile, six-pack, and V-line of which a tiny glimpse can be seen from underneath his shirt. Nate Wilson. The moment he appears from behind a tree, my eyes are glued to his presence, but I’m not sure if it’s in awe or in lust. I won’t ever admit that to anyone, though. The fucker is a grade A asshole, just like his girlfriend. The perfect match.

  She’s headed straight for us, and I’m contemplating whether to step aside or best the storm coming my way. I’d be an idiot not to move, but it’s too tempting to stand my ground because this isn’t just her sidewalk; it’s mine too and everyone else’s. She marches around as if she owns the place, but she doesn’t, and someone needs to remind her of that.

  The moment she passes me, she bumps her shoulder right into my bag and pushes me aside.

  “Watch it!” she says.

  When I’ve recaptured my footing, I hiss back, “You walked into me.”

  She narrows her eyes at me and throws me a look. That look; the one that could make a thousand girls fall to the ground and beg for their reputations not to be ruined by the matriarch. But I’m not scared of her. What’s she gonna do? Hit me?

  Her top lip curls. “Whatever, loser.”

  I know why she hates me, but it doesn’t mean I care. My eyes aren’t fixated on hers.

  All I can look at is Nate Wilson … and how he’s staring right at me.

  My throat clamps shut, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. My feet feel rooted to the ground as he stands beside Layla, the moment our eyes lock seeming to last forever.

  Suddenly, Layla turns her head and swirls her long mahogany hair. “Stay out of my way.”

  She prances off in her Louboutins as though she’s the queen of her castle and we’re her defiant subjects. Nate follows but not before throwing me a single, hardened glance as though he’s trying to warn me not to get close.

  Don’t say a word. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t follow us.

  Before I know it, the moment has passed, and they’re gone, vanished behind the gold-engraved doors of the building.

  Goddammit. Sometimes, Layla makes me want to poke her eyes out with a pencil.

  “Hope you were careful …” Monica snorts. “You don’t want whatever she has. Raging bitch princess cooties or something.”

  Mo always manages to make me forget my anger by making me laugh. But I still can’t help but stare at the door through which Layla and Jenny disappeared … but most of all because of Nate.

  Something in his eyes made a chill run down my spine. Like a dangerous threat and a sinful promise bundled into one delicious package.

  Chapter 3

  Nate

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  My fingers thrum against the metal of the locker in front of me, the sound calming me.

  My brain is fried. All I can think of is that girl …

  The girl with the icy white blond hair who’s occupied my mind ever since I saw her that day in the ocean.

  I should forget about her, erase her from my mind, but the moment she stepped right in front of me before school, it all came pouring back in. It’s as if she stared straight into the deepest, darkest pit of my soul. As though she’s seen it all.

  No, she hasn’t. She hasn’t got a clue. No one does.

  I sigh out loud. I’m staring at my locker and the books I’m supposed to pick up, but I can’t for the life of me remember what classes I’m supposed to follow today. I should’ve brought that damn schedule, but I forgot to print it out, and in my rush to get out the door this morning, my dumbass self left my phone at home. Maybe I could ask Layla for it …

  “Heads-up!”

  Before I even have time to respond, something hits me hard in the head.

  “Sorry!”

  I rub the back of my head and spin around. Robby just threw a ball at me. “Nice warning, bro.”

  He smirks, but then says, “You’re so damn distracted lately. I don’t know what’s up with you, but ever since that party, you’ve been acting off.”

  “What?” My brow rises. “Nah.”

  I close my locker, and he punches me in the shoulder. “Was the booze a little too much for you? I thought you weren’t a crybaby.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, throwing the ball back into his stomach so hard he clenches and an oomph sound leaves his mouth.

  “Don’t cry now, Robby,” I retort.

  “Thanks, I needed that,” he says while holding the ball, and he walks off. “You are coming to practice, right?” he yells. Typical. I give him a salute and shake my head when he laughs.

  Suddenly, a familiar face completely redirects my attention. That girl with her icy white hair just walked past me, and I can’t help but follow her.

  Like a man possessed, I tread in her footsteps through the crowd, leaving only a few people between her and me. She’s accompanied by another girl who I assume is her friend because I haven’t seen them separated yet, and this other girl is talking nonstop about their vacations and the boys here at school. She’s listening, but she seems distracted, as if she can sense something is wrong.

  Suddenly, she turns around and stares right at me.

  I stop but don’t flinch, and neither does she.

  Then someone stands right in front of me. Layla snaps her fingers in front of my face, breaking the spell.

  “Hello? Earth to Nate. I’m here.”

  “Yeah? What is it? I’m kinda busy,” I say, and I grab her arms to push her aside so I can see where the girl is going, but Layla refuses to budge.

  “What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to have class?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “You forgot, didn’t you?” She sighs and fishes her phone from her expensive-looking leather bag. “Here.” She opens an app and shows me th
e times and dates of each of the classes. “English in about two minutes, so you better hurry.”

  She leans in and presses a kiss to my cheeks. “See you later, hun!”

  Right before she passes behind me, she squeezes my ass. I hate it, but I never say it out loud.

  I look around, desperately trying to find the girl I need to follow, but she’s gone. Dammit.

  Sighing, I find my way through the long hallways until I come to the room number shown on Layla’s app. I hope I see her again today because she’s gonna need to print that schedule for me. Layla always knows where I’m supposed to be and when. She keeps tabs on me, and I like that. Maybe I let her use me as an accessory because I use her stay sane and get through the last year of this prep school alive. She’s like a personal obsessive fan who can’t get enough of you. Toxic relationship? Nah. Normal teenage stuff.

  Without thinking, I step into the classroom even though the class has already started. The teacher throws me a grumpy look while I stand frozen in the doorway. There she is … that girl … sitting right here in the same class. And there’s an empty seat behind her too. Lucky me.

  For a second, all I can do is stare at her until she looks up from her paper and notices me too. And boy, that look in her eyes riles me up.

  I wish I’d noticed her before … before the summer … before everything.

  “You’re late,” the teacher, Mr. Flanagan, says.

  My nostrils flare as I look away, and say, “Sorry.”

  The teacher licks his lips and rubs them together. Then he waves the paper in his hand up and down. “Go. Sit.”

  I nod and walk past all the seats. Everyone’s staring at me. I know I’m late—and on my first day of the year too—but I don’t care. None of this matters. I don’t even know why I’m here … except for her. That girl glaring right back at me as I walk past and sit down right behind her.

  She doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, but I can smell her fear. It drips off her like the sweat beading on her skin just an inch below her shirt. I can’t help but stare. I need to know what she’s doing, saying … and thinking. If it’s about me.

  I shift in my seat and flick my pencil up and down as the teacher begins to talk. I don’t listen to him even though I should because I can’t stop staring at this girl in front of me. She doesn’t even know what she got herself into the moment she got involved with me. My life, my space … it’s sacred. The people I let in are people I choose. But I never picked her.

  She picked me.

  And that makes me feel uncomfortable. Weak. And I don’t like feeling vulnerable.

  I clench the pencil tightly, questioning what I should do. If I should speak up, talk to her, say the words. But what would a guy in my position say to a girl like her? What words could I ever use to describe the demons screaming in my head? None.

  So instead, I lean in and peer over her shoulder, taking a peek at the texts she’s sending to who seems to be her bestie … a girl named Monica who can’t shut up about the guy she’s sitting next to in her class. I don’t want to read about some dickwad’s pretty face and how she’s already thinking about dating him, but I need to know whether I can trust this girl in front of me. If, when it comes down to it, she knows when to keep her mouth shut.

  But the longer I peek, the more she seems at ease. It’s as if she’s forgotten I’m here. As if she’s completely engrossed in her conversation and not even paying attention to the teacher anymore. And for some reason, for a single second, I wish she was focusing all that attention on me.

  The wind entering from a nearby window lifts her hair up, and her scent enters my nostrils, invading my sense of smell … completely overtaking my ability to focus on the cell phone in her hands or the sounds around me … or the fact that she immediately spins around in her seat and we come face to face. Finally.

  Chapter 4

  Sam

  A prickle on the back of my neck makes my skin crawl. Again and again, it comes and fades, like a feather tickling me, coaxing me to turn around and grab it.

  I tried to ignore it. I desperately tried to focus on my text conversation with Monica just to pretend everything was okay. To forget he is sitting right behind me. Nate Wilson, the most handsome, popular boy at school and the varsity quarterback. He’s highly sought after by scouts and already has a scholarship attached to his name. He’s also the biggest heartthrob at this school … and a devil.

  He knows.

  That’s why he sat down behind me, but I won’t let him creep up against me like that. Yet no matter how many minutes I tried to ignore him … it was futile. He keeps pushing, keeps invading my space as though he belongs there now.

  He doesn’t, and if he thinks he can intimidate me, he’s wrong.

  I spin around and stare him down. He’s so close, and I can see the creases on his skin where his once cheerful smile has now turned into a bitter scowl.

  He flicks a pencil up and down in his hand, and it’s so close to my face that I almost fear he might throw it at me or worse … stick it in my eyes.

  Am I the only one who sees this rage?

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Sitting.” His voice is gruff and raw as if he’s trying to scare me off with a sneer, but I’m not afraid of him. Despite my thoughts about the pencil, I know he’d never do something like that. Not in front of all these people anyway.

  I make a face. “Better put that pencil down before you hurt someone.” I know what I say sounds petty, but I feel petty. Especially with him breathing down my neck.

  His top lip curls up, and a short, vicious grin appears and disappears all in the span of two seconds. “Better put that phone down … before you text something you’ll regret.”

  Motherfucker … did he just threaten me?

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Mind your own damn business.”

  “And what if I don’t?” he retorts.

  I sigh. “I don’t like playing games, so don’t even try.”

  “Oh, I’m not playing games …” His tongue briefly darts out to wet his bottom lip. “If I was, you’d know.”

  That statement makes me swallow hard. Goddammit. How does he make even a threat sound sexual? I shouldn’t be surprised, though. He is the king of heartbreak, after all. Many girls have fallen for him and then taken the fall when he decided to ditch them without mercy.

  But I won’t be his next victim, and we both know that.

  “Nate! Sam!” the teacher yells, and I immediately turn around again after throwing him a dirty look. “Eyes on your books, please.”

  Suddenly, he whispers from behind me, “Goody Two-shoes.”

  “Shut up,” I whisper back.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  What the hell does that even mean?

  “What do you want?” I hiss over my shoulder.

  The ominous stare he gives me makes my heart beat faster, but he refuses to answer. Typical.

  Suddenly, the bell rings, and he gets up hastily, snatching his bag off the floor and hurrying off. I didn’t even have the chance to say another word. To tell him what I think of him … and about what just happened.

  Jesus. This guy’s really changed. He used to have a smile on his face all day long—an arrogant smile but a smile nonetheless. No one ever seemed scared of him. But the mere sight of that scowl would put fear into any girl’s heart.

  That’s not at all how Nate used to be.

  I remember him playing on the field. Strapped into his tight gear, he would roar with his teammates while preparing for a game. And when he got the ball in his hands, he ran like lightning, passing people left and right and even jumping over someone just to get that ball to the other end of the field.

  I loved watching him. I don’t particularly enjoy sports, but seeing him throw blood, sweat, and tears into winning made me smile. I even drew a picture of him while lounging on the grass next to the field. In
fact, I still have that drawing here somewhere in my notebook.

  As I sit down on a bench outside, I fish my notebook out of my bag and sift through the pages until I find it. And oh boy, I never disappoint myself. Just looking at it reminds me of what a ditz I used to be. I sigh to myself. Nate isn’t the only one who’s changed.

  “What is that?”

  I snap the notebook shut and turn around. Layla and her shitty friend Jenny are peeking over my shoulders.

  “Is that … Nate?” Layla’s face scrunches up, and then the most devilish grin appears.

  “You’re imagining things,” I say, tucking the notebook back into my bag.

  “No, I’m not. I saw the uniform. I’d recognize it anywhere. You were drawing him,” she says, and she snatches the notebook right out of my bag.

  “Hey! That’s mine!” I yell as she dodges my every move like an annoying pixie floating around.

  “Who cares? You’re drawing my boyfriend, so I wanna know.” She scrolls through the pages until she finds the picture and tears it out of my notebook, then throws the notebook to the ground. “Oh, my God …” She snorts, glancing over the drawing. “Look!” She holds it up for Jenny to see along with everybody else walking past us on the school grounds right now. Including Nate fucking Wilson.

  “What’s going on?” he asks as he approaches Layla from behind.

  “Look, she drew you,” Layla says, showing the picture to him. “You’ve got yourself a fangirl.”

  His face contorts as she says the word, and he glares at the drawing as though it’s a freak accident.

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  His eyes narrow. “Fucked.”

  Aim. Shoot. Kill.

  Just one word … as if it’s the world’s worst image he’s ever seen. And it stings like hell.

  “Give that back,” I growl, and I march toward her and snatch the paper from her hand while she flaunts it to her friends.

  “Why are you so obsessed with him?” she says, shaking her head. “Are you in love with him or something?”

  I make a face. “Are you insane? Of course not.”