Broken: A High School Bully Romance (Athole Academy Book 1) Page 3

  “To get you two beautiful ladies to sit with us, I’d toss all these dickheads out.” The other guys laugh, but I notice a few giving Ben a look that I wonder about.

  Aleen and I head over to get our lunch. With as fancy as the school is, I figure they’d have waiters and waitresses to serve us, so I’m glad to see that the food is setup in a normal cafeteria style, although there definitely isn’t anything normal about the food. At least, not in comparison to public schools.

  I choose the only thing I recognize, mac and cheese, although it’s a gourmet type with breadcrumbs on top. To balance out the carbs, I nab a salad and two containers of ranch dressing.

  Aleen is staring at my tray as I fill my glass with soda. “What?”

  She shakes her head and glances down at her tray. She picked out a salad, no dressing, and unsweetened iced tea.

  “Aren’t you worried about calories?” she asks as we move to the cashier and scan our meal cards. Another first — at my old school, I had to give my account number so the cashier could look it up and make sure my account either had money on it, or, as in my case, was a free lunch account.

  I shrug as we walk back to the boys’ table. “Nah. I’m not very active, but I never really gain weight. Still, I should do laps in our indoor pool, I guess.”

  My comment makes me wince and I wonder if it sounded snobbish. It did to my ears and if someone had said the same thing to me just six months before, I would have mentally rolled my eyes at them.

  I have no clue how to navigate these waters. Thankfully, Aleen just nods.

  “My weight is up and down all the time,” she says with some disgust. “If my butt gets any bigger, they’ll have to order special chairs for me for all my classes.”

  I glance at her curvy figure. I could see how she might lean toward chubbiness, but she definitely isn’t at the moment. She looks perfect to me.

  “I wish I had your curves,” I tell her, meaning it.

  She snorts. “And I wish I had your figure. And your hair.”

  I laugh. “I’d rather have your curls than this straw. We’re never satisfied, huh?”

  Aleen laughs too and shakes her head.

  “I could satisfy you, baby,” a dark blond boy next to Rod says as he winks at me. Total perv.

  Instead of getting mad, or defending me, my stupid brother laughs. I should have known he wouldn’t stick up for me.

  Ben, however, does. “Shut up, Perez,” he growls. Yeah, growls. His deep voice sounds a bit like a bear.

  “Have some respect.” His words definitely aren’t something I ever expect a teen boy to say, but apparently it isn’t something unusual for Ben, because instead of the jeers and laughter I would have expected at his order, the others just get quiet.

  Hmm, also interesting.

  Aleen and I make our way to the empty spot created when the boys dragged the other table over and without saying anything else, we start eating.

  Since I’m starving, I start on my mac and cheese first and immediately decide gourmet style is absolutely preferable to the blue box kind. I make a mental note to recreate it at home as I close my eyes and chew slowly, trying to discern exactly what all I’m tasting.

  Garlic, feta cheese, maybe a bit of Parmesan or Romano, definitely gouda and provolone. I think a bit of onion, but not too much. Probably a little cayenne…

  Throat clearing has me opening my eyes to see that the entire table has stopped talking and they’re all staring at me.

  “What?” I say around my mouthful. Rod laughs, sounding a bit embarrassed.

  “Don’t mind her. She’s always doing that with new food. Pretty sure we’ll be having that mac and cheese at home as soon as Beth figures out what’s in it.”

  “Looks and cooks,” one of the other boys says with a grin and a wink. I notice Ben jerk, then the boy jumps and yelps. He must have kicked him under the table.

  “Dammit, Penn! I have a meet tomorrow. Watch the shins!”

  “Then watch your mouth, jerk,” Ben fires back, growling again.

  Okay, so his defense of me is cute, but unnecessary. I’ve dealt with my fair share of jerky, flirty guys in my lifetime.

  “It’s okay,” I tell Ben. “My family is always picking on me.” I shrug as Rod snorts in agreement. “I’ve got pretty thick skin.” I smile at him and I’m surprised that he doesn’t smile back.

  In fact, he frowns, like he’s puzzling over something. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that from anyone,” he mutters and looks at Rod pointedly. “Not even your family.”

  Um, wow.

  It was at that moment that I fall head over heels for the guy. I liked him a whole lot after meeting him in the office earlier, but now… man, I am in so much trouble.

  Realistically, I know I don’t actually love the guy. I mean, I don’t even know him. But what I do know so far, I like. A whole lot.

  He’s gorgeous, yeah, but he’s also nice. Protective. I love that.

  Confession time: Hi, my name is Bethany Hanson, and I’m an alpha man addict.

  Not that I’ve ever had an “alpha.” Actually, I’ve never even dated, thanks to my crazy study schedule. But if I’d had Ben at my old school, I probably would have figured out a way to fit dating into my schedule. Like, take my books with us to a restaurant.

  But there hadn’t been any guys like Ben. The guys I’d known were more like the guy named Perez, stealing their pickup lines from construction sites and being so rude and crude that even their mamas didn’t want to kiss them.

  And honestly, a whole lot of the guys in Cali had been so “metrosexual” that you couldn’t even be sure if they were batting for the hetero team or not.

  Lunch is over before I know it. I’d been dreading the lunch hour — yeah, we actually get a whole hour — but it had been fun. Once all the guys realized they weren’t going to get away with any rudeness at all, not without suffering from a kick from Ben or a whack on the back of the head, which he’d given to the guy on his right after he’d made a rude boob comment to Aleen, the guys settled down and we ate in peace.

  The guys were fun — making jokes, picking on each other. They were relentless in that, but Ben never said a word to them about it. Apparently, he only defends the girls.

  Le sigh. My heart is fluttering to the beat of the song my ovaries are singing.

  By the time the warning bell sounds, I have already planned how many kids Ben and I are going to have; three — two dark haired boys and a little blonde girl, all with their father’s eyes — and I have the carpet colors and tile patterns picked out for our house.

  My future husband catches up with us as Aleen and I walk down the hall. I had pulled out my schedule and was asking her for directions to Pre-Calculus. I’m really dreading that class; math is not my strong subject, not at all.

  I’m engrossed in Aleen’s directions when Ben slides his arm around my shoulders, making me jump.

  He grins down at me and it isn’t until then that I realize just how large the dude is. The top of my head barely comes to his arm pit, which would be gross if he didn’t smell so good. Not like the strong colognes most guys showered in, but a citrusy smell that fits him well with his exotic looks.

  I’m now picturing our honeymoon on a tropical island, sipping fruity drinks while watching sailboats and windsurfers go by.

  He gives a look to Aleen over my head that she apparently interprets correctly. “Um, Ben can help you get to your class,” she smiles at me and widens her eyes. I roll mine back.

  “Okay, but give me your cell so I can give you my number,” I tell her with a smile that says, “I want to get the scoop on this guy from you later.” We exchange phones and punch in our numbers, but when she hands mine back to me, Ben pulls it out of her hand.

  Aleen laughs and trots off.

  Before I can form a protest at his grabbiness, he grins. “My turn.” Instead of giving me his phone, though, he punches in his number, then sends himself a text from my phone.

  B
en finishes with the phone and hands it back to me. He then turns me down a hall without taking his arm off my waist. I notice the other kids giving us looks — the guys, wide-eyed stares; the girls, narrowed eyes.

  Whatev.

  I’m feeling pretty special at that moment. I had already deduced that Ben Penn was That Guy... you know, the one at every school who people bow to; the one who gets his way all the time, even with the teachers; the one who everyone knows will be homecoming king and be voted “Most likely” for whatever cool thing they come up with.

  So, to be walking down the hall on my first day at a new school with That Guy... well, seems like my career at Athole Academy has just been kicked into high gear.

  He walks me all the way to my class. I wonder if he has the same class, and a huge part of me hopes so. He stops at the door, though.

  Ben reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. Normally, that action would tick me off and I might throat punch someone; but when he does it? I actually lean into his touch.

  I already have it bad for the dude.

  “So… you, me, dinner Friday?”

  I blink a few times because it takes my brain that long to quit steaming from the look he’s giving me and I realize that he’s asking me out.

  “Um, I have —” I was going to say, “I have to check my schedule,” which is admittedly lame, but I’m interrupted by some girl shoulder checking me as she pushes her way into the classroom. Ben’s hands immediately go to my arms to steady me.

  “Watch where you’re going, Raine,” he growls. The girl turns back with overly wide blue eyes and I notice with some annoyance that it’s the girl who had been giving Aleen a weird look in the dining room… and she’s exceptionally pretty.

  But it’s hilarious to see how she’s trying to look so innocent. Super fake.

  She even puts her hand to her chest, like some freaking debutante. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she breathes as her eyes flick from Ben to me. I swear, her eyes round even more when they catch mine.

  “I get in a big rush sometimes,” she says with a breathy laugh. Then she smiles and I almost flinch at the brightness of her teeth. They’re so white that they look like she coated them in plaster and so fake-looking, they almost look like dentures. Bad dentures.

  She sticks out her hand. What is it with these prep kids and the hand shaking? I snort to myself at my thought; I’m one of “these prep kids” now.

  “Raine Barre,” she says, putting a French accent on her last name. I take her hand and flinch a little when she squeezes it a bit hard. Idiot thinks she can intimidate me. I squeeze back and give her a crooked smile that says, Don’t try me, bitch. Her eyes narrow slightly.

  “Bethany — Beth — Hanson.”

  “Yes, I know who you are,” she says, dismissively. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of scorn in her voice. Once again, I have the feeling that I’m the fish trying to fly with the birds. She squeezes my hand just a bit harder, then releases it before I can return the favor.

  She then turns her fake doe-in-the-headlights stare back up at Ben. Even though Raine is quite a bit taller than me — which isn’t saying much, since I’m barely five two — Ben makes her look tiny. Hell, I've noticed he makes most of the male teachers look petite.

  “Are you going to be at the rally Friday?” Her voice is so overly sweet, I swear I got a cavity just from hearing it.

  Ben looks down at me with a crooked smile. “Nope. Got other plans.” He winks at me. “See ya later, Tink.”

  Before I can process the nickname he’s just given me, he turns and walks off. I may or may not have sighed a bit dreamily as I watch him stroll down the hall. He looks almost as good from the back.

  I glance at Raine and see that her pretty face has morphed into a malicious mask. She leans forward and hisses, “You think just because you’ve got money now that you’re going to come here and do whatever you want?”

  That causes a frown. I have no clue what the hell she’s talking about. “What are you talking about?” I ask, voicing my thoughts. “I’m not trying to ‘do whatever I want’.” I use air quotes, just cuz they're snarky.

  I wonder how she knows that my family “had money now.” I’m starting to think that everyone here has a Dane Browski on their payroll.

  She sneers and I notice her perfectly lip-glossed lips have smeared on her perfectly straight, white teeth. Nothing about her mouth is perfect now. I almost grin at that.

  “You think you can show up your first day and get your pick of guys? Ben isn’t going to be interested in you, so forget it.”

  I snort. “That’s funny, cuz he just asked me out.”

  I didn’t think she could scowl even harder, but she proves me wrong then. Before she can make another bitchy comment, I continue.

  “I was just going to give him an answer when you tried to knock me on my butt.”

  This isn’t how I wanted my first day to go, making enemies with the one who was likely the most popular girl, but that would just be my luck.

  But I also am not going to kiss her butt either and I definitely am not going to put up with her attitude. Raine needs to know that right away. I’m not a pushover.

  I narrow my eyes at her and lean a little closer. Kids are filing into class behind her, giving us wide-eyed looks, probably hoping a cat fight is going to break out any minute.

  It’s tempting.

  After Ben had told his friends off at lunch and I realized that money doesn’t necessarily talk, because they all listened to him, I’d made up my mind that I wasn’t going to be walked on by these stuck-up jerks either. I might be "rich white trash," but I was also trash that could kick butt.

  Sadly, though, while I really kinda want to grab Raine’s perfectly styled chestnut hair and slam her into the wall, I also know that probably won’t look good on my Harvard application.

  Raine opens her mouth to say something else, probably to threaten me in some uncreative way — “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!” — but the teacher interrupts her.

  “Ladies,” he calls out from the classroom, “would you care to join us?” There’s no missing the sarcasm in his voice.

  Raine glares at me one more time, then puts her sweet, innocent angel mask back on as she turns on her heel to walk into Calculus. I have to give her credit; she’s seriously good at being fake. She’d make a helluva actress.

  Today is my “A schedule” and so far, my classes have been fairly easy, but then I’ve only had Web Design and History. This afternoon is pre-Calculus and my weightlifting class, which should be freaking hilarious since my idea of heavy weight is a gallon of milk.

  Tomorrow is schedule B, with French, Freshwater Ecology, Journalism, and English. Fridays are half-days and I only have my other elective, Writing for Performance.

  Of all the classes, the only one I’m dreading is the one I’m walking into. I hate math. And I’m pretty sure math hates me.

  And now, with Raine glaring at me from her front row center seat, I have even more hate directed my way.

  I ignore her glare as I make my way toward the back, where there are still a few seats available. The school has a really low student-teacher ratio, so it isn’t easy to blend into the woodwork and not get noticed by the teacher.

  Which seriously sucks.

  The only seats available are near a girl who looks like she wants to be noticed even less than I do. She darts a quick glance at me and I give her a small smile. I’ve been nice to everyone so far, with the exception of Raine, but that isn’t on me. I don’t want to make enemies here.

  The girl’s lips twitch in what may or may not have been a smile, before she looks away. Since she isn’t looking at me, I take the opportunity to study her. She’s pretty without even a touch of makeup, but her long hair hangs limply around her shoulders, like it needs a good wash. It actually looks so dirty that I’m not really sure what color it is, other than some shade of reddish brown.

  Her uniform is too small, and her sh
oes are in really bad shape. They look like they’re an expensive brand from what little I know, but they’re well-worn.

  She’s also painfully thin, like a skeleton with skin. Probably has an eating disorder, I think as my heart clenches sympathetically. My Cali friend, Sheila, has fought anorexia for years.

  Despite bitching at Raine and me, the teacher hasn’t started class yet, so I lean over to introduce myself. I’m not going to put my hand out there, though. That’s just weird to me.

  “Hi, I’m Beth,” I say in a low voice so I don’t draw attention to us. It’s pretty obvious the girl doesn’t want anyone looking her way. She’s putting out some seriously standoffish vibes.

  I must startle her, because she jerks in her seat and looks at me like a rabbit in a rifle sight. She gives me a wobbly smile.

  “I’m Ariel. Just Ari, though.” She sounds a little hoarse, like she hasn’t spoken in a long time. I give her another smile and she looks away, shifting in her seat to move farther away from me. I wonder at that, but then I notice a smell that makes my nose wrinkle involuntarily. It’s a combination of b.o. and the musky smell of clothes that got washed but not dried right away, that mildewy odor.

  I realize then why no one is sitting anywhere near her.

  Instead of being disgusted, though, I feel another sympathetic pang in my chest as I wonder about her, wonder what her history is. She’s attending a super-expensive prep school but seems to be really poor. Unless, that’s just the image she’s wanting to project.

  The future novelist in me wants the story.

  I covertly pull my phone out of my jacket pocket and send a quick text to Aleen. The school doesn’t have a no cell rule, but still, I don’t want to get in trouble my first day of class.

  Me: do you know Ariel?

  Aleen: Ariel Kane?

  Me: IDK her last name

  Aleen: is she kinda dirty?

  Me: um yeah

  Aleen: yeah that’s her. don’t really know her. doesn’t talk much

  Me: yeah. wondering what her story is

  Aleen: IDK. she lives in oak place but dresses ghetto

  I wince at that. It was pretty judgey, but I guess it’s an accurate description. I glance at the teacher, who still isn’t paying attention to the class. In fact, it looks like he’s texting too. I snort at that.