Cruel Boy Page 3

  She laughs hard and so loud. Everyone else on the school grounds is watching us with an equally amused face as if this is a live play and they’re the popcorn-eating audience waiting for someone to snap. And that someone is me.

  I stuff the picture into my bag and pick up the notebook from the ground.

  “Yeah, you go pick that up like a good girl …” Jenny mumbles, and it makes me want to wrestle them both to the ground.

  But I have to contain myself. I promised my mom I’d behave.

  That doesn’t mean I can’t let her know just how much I hate Layla too.

  “Fuck you both,” I hiss as I come back up again.

  Layla sneers at me. Right back at you, bitch.

  But I don’t look at her. My eyes immediately focus on Nate, whose contempt clearly shows.

  People are still looking at me as if I’m some kind of freak show.

  “What are you looking at?” I yell.

  It makes them avert their eyes. Good. Everyone knows I don’t deserve this treatment … but they can’t help themselves. As the king and queen of this castle, Layla and her posse need to silence any and all uprising. Lucky for them, I have no interest in being the next ruler of this pretend kingdom. I’d much rather continue painting a picture of this cruel world, so everyone can see reality as it truly is.

  “Stay the fuck away from my boyfriend,” Layla growls as she grabs Nate’s arm and drags him away. But his eyes are still boring into mine until they disappear out of view.

  Breathe.

  Breathe, Sam.

  “Wow, what the hell happened here?” Monica’s voice startles me, and I jump.

  “Jesus, could you not?”

  “Sorry, I thought you saw me,” she says, frowning.

  “Yeah, I was a bit distracted by Layla and Jenny’s bullshit,” I reply as I throw my bag over my shoulder and try to pretend nothing happened.

  “What was that anyway?”

  “Layla saw my drawing,” I reply. “And she made a fool out of me in front of the entire school.”

  “Ouch.”

  Her response is enough to make me want to sink through the ground.

  Her lip quirks up. “If you want me to cut a bitch, just say the word.” She makes a fist with her hand and punches her other hand. “I’m game if you are.”

  I laugh. “You know I’d love to, but you know how my mom is.”

  “Oh, right.” She sighs out loud. “That’s a tough situation.”

  “Tell me about it.” I roll my eyes. “I just want this all to stop.”

  “They won’t. You’re a target now,” she says as we walk back into school. “The only option you have is weathering out the storm.”

  “But how long will it take her to back the fuck off and leave me alone?” I groan out loud. “She’s such a bitch.”

  “I know. Everybody knows,” she jests. “That’s why no one goes against her.”

  “Really? ’Cause the way I see everyone look at her, it’s like they’re seeing a celebrity.”

  “It’s the same idea. You’re scared of something you can’t reach,” she explains. “Miss Layla Parker, richest princess at school, with a daddy who can buy literally anything she wants with just the snap of a finger. Houses. Cars. Fuck, even entire amusement parks if she wanted them badly enough.”

  “So? Just because her dad can doesn’t make her a person to admire,” I say.

  “No, but people love money, and they’ll do anything they can to get it, including sucking up to the biggest bitch in school,” Monica says, and she points at the posters hanging on the wall, all celebrating Layla as the smartest, kindest student vying to become the next homecoming queen. Of course she’ll win. Everyone wants a pie of the popularity and voting for her might get them that coveted seat right next to her. Just because she already has one best friend doesn’t mean she can’t have two.

  “Case in point. People don’t have to like her to want her to win.” She shrugs. “Besides, her family often donates to the school, and she helps the charity events run by the school.”

  “Right, she’s such a pious little shit.”

  “People love perfect little princesses,” she retorts.

  “If only they could see … she’s really not.” I suck in a breath and stare at the doors in front of me. The big, bad doors leading into the cafeteria or, in other words, the king and queen’s court where all the important gossiping takes place. And my stomach is growling.

  “Let’s go grab a bite, ’kay? You’ll forget about all that shit after eating your heart out,” Monica says. “Besides, no one will remember what just happened.”

  “Because I’m a nobody.”

  She folds her arm around my shoulder. “Exactly. We’re nobodies, and that’s a perfect position to maintain because then you can do all the bad shit and get away with it too.”

  A devious grin spreads on my lips. Mo knows me too well.

  But as we walk toward the cafeteria, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I pause and stare. On the wall beside the doors, flyers hang of that girl … the one who died.

  Nina Jacobs.

  Last year, at the unofficial end-of-summer party hosted at Robby’s dad’s beach house, that’s where it happened. I was there.

  People say she drowned, others say she was drugged … and still others believe she was murdered.

  But that would never happen in a town filled with the rich and famous, would it?

  “Half the school was at the funeral. Just thinking about it still gives me the shivers,” Monica says.

  I don’t know what to say or to think, so I just nod.

  Nina attended this school. We had some classes together because I remember seeing her sitting right in front of me. Her red hair and freckles were hard not to notice; she was one of the few at this school with such a beautiful complexion. Too pretty to die.

  I swallow away the lump in my throat. “Let’s go.”

  We go into the cafeteria and try to avoid eye contact with anyone. It’s my thing and how I live my life. I keep my emotions to myself because it hides my secrets well.

  I grab what I need and put it on my plate and then wait for Monica to finish. I scan the room for an empty table. There’s only one left, at the other end of the cafeteria, near the bins. But that’s not the worst part. It’s that we have to pass Layla’s table to get there.

  I’m not one to avoid a challenge, so I clench my plate tight and march toward her. The moment she spots me, her smile immediately disappears and out comes that dirty scowl. And everyone sitting at her table participates in her hating game, including Nate.

  I suck in a deep breath and turn my head the other way while we pass them.

  Suddenly, something sticks out in front of me. A foot.

  Too late. I’ve already toppled to the floor, and the food on my plate has spilled as well.

  And I can hear them fucking snort behind my back.

  Fuck. Fuck them.

  Monica offers me a hand, but I scramble off the floor on my own two feet, and say, “Fuck you!”

  “What’s your problem?” Layla scoffs, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

  Monica picks up my food while I’m busy glaring at Layla. “Do you enjoy being a petty bitch?”

  “Excuse me?” Jenny says. “Layla’s innocent.”

  “Oh, of course she is,” I say, rubbing my lips together.

  “You fell. Maybe work on your balance a little?” Layla muses.

  “Yeah, that looked like it hurt,” Jenny adds, giggling too.

  “Fuck you too,” I hiss at her.

  “Don’t.” Layla gets up from her seat. It’s only now that I realize how much taller she is than me. Like a fucking giant on heels, ready to sharpen them and attack. But I’m not afraid of her.

  “What? Call you a bitch?” I fold my arms. “Everyone knows it’s the truth.”

  Her jaw drops. “Don’t you understand? This is your own damn fault.” She taps my chest violently.

 
I get up in her face. “You stuck out your foot!”

  I’m about three seconds away from hitting her in the face.

  “I did not!” she yells. The cafeteria has grown quiet, and everyone’s watching the drama unfold. “You need to look where you’re walking.”

  “Bullshit,” I hiss, and I shove her forward. “I’m tired of your lies.”

  “Get your hands off me.” Layla grabs my wrist and forcefully pushes me away. “You’re just as ugly as your whore of a mom.”

  My eyes widen, and my body freezes.

  Everyone at the table practically takes a collective breath. No one else says a word.

  Did she really just say that? Fuck.

  I grab some of the food Monica picked up and chuck it right at Layla’s face.

  Everyone gasps in shock. Jenny. Monica. Even Nate.

  Layla stands there, flustered, with her arms out, and her eyes scanning her clothes for damage.

  “And you’re just as ugly as your fucking cheating dad,” I reply.

  Another collective gasp at the table. It’s as though they’re soaking it all in, but I hate it. I don’t want to stoop to her level, but she leaves me no choice.

  And the way Nate’s looking at me right now with amused eyes makes me regret my words and actions immediately. A tepid grin briefly appears on his face before disappearing again.

  It’s almost as if he … enjoys watching us fight.

  “Sam. That’s enough.” Monica grabs my shoulder and attempts to pull me away.

  “You’ll pay for saying that,” Layla says through gritted teeth, swiping some of the food off her face and throwing it on the floor.

  “C’mon,” Monica says, tugging me with her before I do more damage.

  But fuck … she drove me to the edge.

  “Let’s grab you something else to eat,” Monica says, and she attempts to drag me back to the counters.

  I pull away. “I’m not hungry anymore.” And I split away from her and the entire crowd to march out of the cafeteria, slamming the doors shut behind me.

  However, commotion behind me stops me in my tracks, and I peer through the small windows.

  Layla is arguing with Nate. He suddenly smashes his plate onto the table. Everyone’s watching him as he gets up while glaring at Layla, his eyes shooting fire. He leaves without say another word. Not even a goodbye, or a kiss. And Layla seems as flabbergasted as I am.

  But my astonished face completely disappears when I realize he’s marching straight toward me. I step aside just in time before the doors slam open against my face.

  Nate Wilson walks past me, but not without throwing me a glance too. It’s not a look of remorse or rage. It’s careless … indifference to the people around him. To the world. To me.

  And when he walks through the hallway, I can’t help but stare after him, wondering how someone like him, so revered and admired, could blow up like that.

  But I guess it only takes a short fuse to light the fire.

  Chapter 5

  Nate

  I stare at my sweaty palms clutching the steering wheel. The leather burns my skin as I rub and rub until I’m sick of it, and then I smash my hands against the wheel. I’ve been driving for hours, but nothing will take away the rage circulating through my veins. Not even football practice after school. Everything’s changed. I’ve changed.

  “Fuck!”

  I shouldn’t have gone to school. Shouldn’t have shown up there. But what else was I supposed to do? Stay home and wither away? Ruin my college, my career? My life?

  Hers was ruined. Who do you think you are, Nate?

  I don’t know what’s true anymore, nor do I know what I want … or who I really am. Things never used to be this difficult. Life was a game I played, a fun house filled with jumps and crazy spins. I liked living the wild, party drug-filled life. But you don’t know how bad something truly is until you’re on the other end … and you’re in deep shit.

  My dad appears in the kitchen window, and he stares me down. I’ve been caught.

  Sighing, I grab my bag and open my car door, slamming it shut behind me. I suck in a breath and open the door to my home, rushing in as fast as I can. But nothing can stop the onslaught of questions bombarding me.

  “Nate? Where were you? You were supposed to come home an hour ago.” My dad barges out of the kitchen.

  “Busy, sorry,” I reply, throwing my coat on the hanger.

  “With what?” he asks, following me around.

  I kick off my Nikes. “Stuff.”

  He blocks the stairs. Of course he knew I would go straight up to my room.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, frowning. “Tell me.”

  I shrug. “Nothing.”

  “You were sitting in your car for minutes on your own.”

  “So?” I make a face. “I’m not allowed to think?”

  “You never used to do that,” he says, cocking his head. “Something’s going on.”

  “Things change,” I say. “Can I go now?”

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” he asks.

  I sigh. “Because …”

  He grabs my shoulder and squeezes. “I get that you’re a teen, and you need space …”

  “Oh God.” I rub my face. This is so embarrassing. “Dad …”

  “But I’m still your father, and I want to talk to you. I want to know what’s going on in your life.”

  I roll my eyes. “Look, I was just thinking about school stuff, okay? Nothing big.”

  “How is school?”

  “Good, I guess,” I reply. I don’t know what he’s looking for, or what he wants me to say. “It just started.”

  “Nothing to report?”

  I make a face. “No.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

  Why does he keep pressing so much?

  “Dad, everything’s fine,” I say, grabbing his shoulder. “Can I please go to my room now?”

  He takes a deep breath and then nods and steps aside.

  “Thanks,” I say, and I pass him quickly before he changes his mind.

  But as my feet tread up these stairs, the weight they carry starts to feel heavier and heavier. Each step is another one sinking deeper and deeper into the pits of hell.

  And there’s nothing I can do about it to change that. It’s already done.

  I’m done. Fucking done with today.

  I go into my room and drop my bag, then fall onto my bed headfirst. I bury my face in my pillows and try to cancel the noise in my head, but nothing I do will make the voices yelling at me go away. They tell me to do better, to stop lying, to fix what I’ve broken, and to deal with the consequences of my own lies.

  But if I did, everything would’ve been for nothing.

  My friends would hate me.

  My spot as a varsity quarterback. Gone.

  My scholarship for college. Gone.

  My dad’s respect. Gone.

  My mother’s legacy. Gone.

  My life. Over.

  No way, I can’t do it.

  I turn around and stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds. The iPad lying on my nightstand buzzes. I pick it up and unlock it, then go into the messenger app. One of my teammates sent me a picture.

  Daryl: YU didn’t tell me U hung out with Nina!

  My eyes widen.

  The sight of those eyes staring right back into my soul forces me to look. Forces me to see how we’re playing a game of spin the bottle, and her bottle landed on me.

  The single kiss that followed makes the bile rise up in my throat.

  I immediately type back.

  Nate: Where DY get these pics?

  I bite my nails as the little dots appear in the corner of the screen.

  Daryl: Something happen, m8? ;)

  I immediately reply.

  Nate: Tell me.

  Daryl: Chill, dude. Robby took them.

  Nate: Delete them.

  Daryl: Why?

  Nate: Just do it.

&nbs
p; I sigh and close the messenger app before I lose my shit and throw this iPad out the window. But that picture of me and Nina is seared into the back of my mind, scorching its way down to the core.

  If only I could get rid of this dread. How many more pictures are there?

  I know of one other person who took them … that girl who sat in front of me today.

  Sam.

  She was there that night at the party.

  I’ll never forget her piercing eyes staring back at me when we were both at the beach. Where I tried to wash away my sins. But not even the ocean can rinse the stain on my soul.

  There’s only one way to fix this before it’s too late.

  I have to find out what kind of pictures that girl Sam took.

  And how I can erase them off the surface of the earth.

  Only one way to find out …

  * * *

  Sam

  The next day, I grab my breakfast as quickly as I can because I’m not interested in talking to that douche nozzle. He’s already out of the sex cave, which is early, even for him. I try to ignore him as I walk past and grab an apple to go. Too bad my mom just entered the kitchen too.

  “Sam. Morning,” she says, clearing her throat. “Do you wanna talk to me?”

  “About what?” I shrug, trying to keep walking, but she blocks the way by placing her hand on the doorjamb and eyeing me down like a hawk.

  “C’mon now … Don’t try to pretend nothing happened.”

  I raise a brow and throw a deadly glance at her boy toy.

  “No, no, talk to me, not him,” she says, cocking her head to get my attention. “Do you need to tell me something?”

  “I was there for the lasagna, wasn’t I?” I shout.

  “I mean the thing that happened at school. You didn’t tell me about that when you came home yesterday. Don’t you think you should have?”

  I make a face and glare at the boy toy again.

  He knows. She told him.

  “You know I don’t approve of you fighting …” Mom says, stopping my flow of thought.

  I sigh out loud. “I know, Mom, but she really got on my nerves this time.”

  “It doesn’t matter what people do. You don’t stoop to their level.”