Turn the Tables Page 4

  Oliver’s dark eyes are carefully blank when Mason speaks to me. I shrug. Mason starts to say something, but I slip my goggles back on and begin another lap.

  I’m halfway down my lane when I’m grabbed from behind. The surprise causes me to suck in water – which is very unpleasant – and I sputter in horror as I grab the lane divider for dear life. I rip off my goggles, fighting the arm around my waist.

  “Settle down, Freeloader!”

  “You asshole!” I shriek at Mason. I hit him in the jaw, and we struggle in the pool. He swears when I try to kick him. When he finally lets me go, I try to slap him, but he stops me by grabbing my wrist.

  “Watch it!” he snarls.

  “Are you trying to kill me?! What the hell!” I’m livid. My nose and throat burn from the pool water.

  “I was talking to you and you ignored me,” Mason says like it makes perfect sense to grab someone for that reason.

  I stop and glare at him incredulously. This arrogant POS thinks his actions are justified. “Stay away from me,” I spit out. I swim to the side and haul myself out. I don’t bother to look back, but I hear Oliver’s laughter in the changing room.

  CHAPTER 5

  In the reserved piano room, I record myself singing and playing two songs. The first is my take on Rachel Crow’s “Mean Girls.” I came across the song last year but felt that my playing didn’t do the song justice. The first few lines have meaning to me now.

  Do you ever go to lunch with no one by your side / Cause the moment you arrive they all leave the table / Calling me everything but my name / How would you feel if you running home crying / Lock yourself in your room, don’t want anyone to see ya…

  The song isn’t just about being bullied. It’s about telling yourself that you won’t let words get to you.

  The second song is mine. It’s called “Afraid.”

  When you see the world around you / Have you ever felt so afraid / There are no kind words / Everyone seems the same / Can I trust myself to be strong / I tell myself that it won’t be long / Everything they say, everything they do / They’ll never care what happens to you.

  The rest of the song expresses my fears that it won’t ever end. When I sing the last line, my voice trembles: I dream of a world where I’m far, far away and I’ll never need to hear your voice again.

  I check the video. I’ll upload it later once I’m done editing. Meanwhile, I upload my last edited video before packing up my devices, my mask, and the paper blocking the peephole. I’m heading to meet Katrina for dinner, but I need to pee badly.

  I’m more than halfway into the restroom when I hear a weird sound. At first, I think it’s the sound of retching, but I’m completely mistaken.

  Lucas Rhodes has Astrid Fleming bent over the sink. I don’t bother to determine what stage they’ve progressed to. I simply blurt, “Oh, my God, why in a restroom?!”

  Lucas’s eyes meet mine, and his expression is indecipherable. “Get out, Freeloader,” he says like I came in here for the sole purpose of having this sight burned into my visual cortex.

  I don’t need to be told twice. By the time I meet Katrina, I’m starting to think I’m attending a brothel rather than a school. I feel sick to my stomach. When I try to sit, Lucas appears at my side, forcing me into a conversation with him.

  Katrina looks alarmed, but I guess it’s a big deal to be dragged off by an Elite. I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Did you wash your hands?” I ask, looking at the hand on my arm. I may be a slight germaphobe.

  Lucas’s jaw twitches. “What did you say?”

  Since people are looking at us, I whisper, “I’m kind of grossed out because I don’t know if you washed your hands. It’s nothing personal. But, like, it’s gross.”

  I have mortally offended an Elite. I can see it in his eyes. “You saw nothing,” Lucas says in this incredibly cold but cultured voice that he must have learned in Bullies 101. He pushes me away as if I disgust him. If I ever need to give him a White Elephant gift, he’s getting a bottle of hand sanitizer. I feel like spraying sanitizer on my clothes.

  “Lucas,” Vanessa snaps, tapping an expensive shoe while carrying a cup of tea. “You shouldn’t touch the Freeloader. Who knows where she’s been and what diseases she might be carrying.”

  “I’m not the one that needs to worry about that,” I blurt, and I hear the collective gasp in the room. Brock wags his finger at me with a smirk.

  Lucas whirls, eyes wide, and his lips press into a fine line. Mason starts laughing, but Vanessa isn’t amused. She marches over to me, Kiana shadowing her like a creepy sidekick, and flings her hot tea at me.

  I gasp as the hot water scalds my skin, so shocked that I don’t even cry out from the pain spreading on my chest. Oliver laughs boisterously. Katrina rushes over while I stand stunned. “Are you insane, Vanessa? Shit, we need to get you to the nurse.”

  “Mason, control your bitch sister,” Vanessa orders in a shrill voice.

  Mason stiffens, hands clenched at his sides. “My sister is off-limits, Vanessa.”

  “Lucas!” Vanessa shrieks in offense.

  Lucas shrugs. “You heard him, he’s an Elite. Leave Katrina alone.” His eyes narrow on me with a strange expression.

  As the Elites bicker, Katrina drags me to the nurse. When I get asked what happened, the nurse barely blinks. “So, you spilled hot tea on yourself?” she says, peeling back my shirt to expose my red, stinging skin.

  “It was thrown at me,” I retort, but the nurse ignores me.

  “The burn is first-degree. It will hurt for a bit, but it won’t scar,” she continues.

  Considering that I’ve burned myself worse on the oven, I want to roll my eyes. I look like a lobster.

  Katrina waits while the nurse applies an ointment and burn cream, then gently wraps me in gauze. I get extra gauze and some OTC pain relief. I’m excused from classes for the rest of the day. Although I’m okay to walk back alone, Katrina insists on helping me back.

  “Vanessa is such a bitch,” she mutters, her dark skin flushed with anger.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.” To be honest, I don’t even know why I snapped like that. I’m normally very good at keeping quiet. Maybe the isolation is getting to me.

  After Katrina leaves, I lie down after popping some acetaminophen. I check my phone and see that I’ve missed a call from John. As I listen to his message, tears begin to fall. I miss him and Mom so much. My world has revolved around taking care of Mom and being there for John. I’m here trying to fend for myself and I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. For the first time in years, I fall asleep crying.

  I’m awakened by someone knocking at my door. I hear Katrina’s voice in the background and presume she’s checking on me. I splash cold water on my face and use a little mouthwash before I open the door.

  Lucas and Mason stand before me with an anxious Katrina behind them.

  “What?” Do I need to be polite when my chest burns?

  Lucas scans me head to toe before he speaks. “We came to finish the paper,” he says, making me think I missed a scheduled meeting in the library.

  Mason hands me a paper bag. “There’s a muffin in there in case you’re hungry. We don’t want you to faint before we finish.”

  “Mason, if you aren’t nice to her,” Katrina warns, fire in her eyes, but she doesn’t finish the threat.

  My head is still fuzzy from sleep. “Okay, are we heading to the library?”

  “There are chairs right here,” Lucas points out, gesturing with his thumb to the lounge.

  “Fine, give me a minute.” I turn, slipping my backpack into the closet and grabbing what I need. When I stand, I frown. “I didn’t give you permission to come in.”

  Lucas and Mason look around my room. “You don’t have anything,” Mason remarks.

  “Can we not do this? Can we just finish this dumb paper?” I swear under my breath, reaching for more pain relief. A first-degree burn is nothing in the sc
ope of things, but I’m surprised at how much it stings. Tears prick my lids and I blink furiously.

  I push them out, slamming the door behind me. I collapse into the nearest chair, oblivious to my disheveled state. “I looked over the draft. I think we need a bit more meat to this argument. Your words are flimsy, Mason.”

  Lucas is quiet for a minute. From her room, Katrina pretends to ignore us while on her phone, but I catch her furtive glances. I wait to see if Lucas and Mason will harass me further or if they’re ready to work. I can’t hide my relief when it’s the latter.

  A few hours later, our paper comes together nicely. I’m exhausted and I still have math to do. “Nice work, Freeloader,” Mason approves with a grin.

  I survived middle school – just barely. Ninth grade wasn’t so bad, but the jibes were still fresh in many of the kids’ minds. But life was bearable. I had a sanctuary at home. Even when Mom got really bad, I had that safety. When I’m doing homework, I’m able to forget a lot. What gets to me is that nothing ever changes for most bullies. These kids will grow up never caring or knowing how much they hurt others.

  A crack in my wall. They must see it because the Elite boys watch me carefully. “How bad is the burn?” Lucas asks. His voice isn’t exactly kind, but it isn’t cruel either.

  “It’s nothing.” I see Katrina peek out of her room, her brown eyes worried. I try to muster a smile. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

  “We’re holding a party tomorrow night,” Lucas says, his slate eyes full of shadows. “Why don’t you come with Katrina? Consider it—thanks for your contribution to our paper.”

  Katrina literally skips over. “You’re inviting her, truly?” she asks, her voice high and hopeful.

  Mason’s smile to Katrina is affectionate. “Yes, truly.” He laughs when she squeals, clapping.

  I don’t say anything, retreating from them. Two fingers lift my chin until I meet Lucas’s eyes. “Is that a yes?” When I remain silent, he says, “Don’t worry, I washed my hands.” His smile mocks me.

  I turn beet red. I did not need that reminder. I pull my chin free. I grab my things. “Thank you for the muffin.” I throw it in the trash. It’s probably covered with arsenic. “I’m not hungry, though.”

  I flee to the safety of my room.

  I don’t want to go to the party, but Katrina keeps insisting. “You know, if Lucas begins to approve of you, the girls will back off,” she points out.

  “I’m not going to buy charity, Katrina, by kissing up to someone who screws anything that is vaguely female. And I don’t care about approval.” I sigh. “You said Bruce and Charles are going?” When she nods, I surrender. “Okay. Can I wear jeans? I mean, I only have jeans.”

  Katrina’s horrified expression tells me all I need to know. I’m worried she’ll buy me something, but she rummages through her closet, holding up outfit after outfit. Her first suggestion is a sequined dress that barely reaches mid-thigh. I point out that it’s more of a shirt than a dress. The second dress looks too cold. I would need a serious jacket with that one. We finally settle on a burgundy skater dress. It’s a tad short for my tastes, but it has long sleeves. My burn doesn’t hurt very much anymore, and the dress is comfortable against my skin. I use a little gauze to protect a few areas and it doesn’t show under the dress. I refuse heels because I don’t want to fall and hurt myself. Since I feel bad for borrowing Katrina’s clothes, I pull out some leather sandals I bought this past summer. They aren’t fancy, but they’re pretty. Katrina agrees reluctantly that they’ll do when I decline whatever monstrosity she thinks would be better.

  Of course, since I’m not wearing the blue sequined dress, Katrina throws it on. She looks amazing in it. “Have you ever thought about being a model?” I ask as I watch her apply her makeup artfully.

  “You’re too sweet. I’d have to lose ten pounds to be a model. I’d be a walking skeleton,” she says, sucking in her cheeks to mimic gauntness. She cajoles me into putting on a little lipstick. “Girl, your Asian skin tone screams for a little red.”

  When we exit the dorm, Bruce and Charles are waiting. Students aren’t supposed to be using their cars without permission on the weekends, but students walk the mile regularly to the student car lot. I carry Katrina’s Louboutins in my hands because she’s wearing flats to save her shoes from the uneven terrain. It’s quite a sight to see a group of rich kids tromping over grass and dirt to get to their cars.

  “Thank you for bringing her,” Lucas says, suddenly appearing at my elbow.

  Charles opens his mouth in surprise as I frown at Lucas.

  “Mason will be taking his sister and I have Elena,” Lucas states in a voice that brooks no questions, and he’s so damn arrogant that Charles agrees. I glare at Charles in annoyance.

  How in the world did I get hijacked like this? If I look pissed watching Bruce and Charles get into their Audi, I don’t care. I give Katrina her heels, but what I want to do is stab Lucas in the eye with one of the heels. Mason escorts his sister over to his Maserati and I see Brock sitting in a car with Oliver. They’re waiting for us to get into a car, I guess. Katrina’s eyes tell me to calm down.

  “Mercedes-Benz GT Coupe, four hundred sixty-three horsepower,” I recite, staring at Brock’s car. Lucas guides me to his car. “Aston Martin DBS Superleggera, twin V12 engines combine to make seven hundred and fifteen horsepower.” I’ll have to tell John about these two vehicles when I next talk to him.

  Lucas opens the door for me, looking faintly amused. “I wasn’t aware you knew so much about cars.”

  I ignore him, watching Brock speed off first. Katrina waves at me before Mason drives with his lead foot. “He’s going to destroy those tires,” I mutter to myself.

  I close my eyes when Lucas begins to drive, but Lucas drives the same way he works: his control is sharp and precise. The ride isn’t as smooth as you would think, but the car’s power is obvious.

  “How are you enjoying the free ride?” Lucas asks in that cruel dark voice, and I don’t miss the double meaning.

  I check his speed and wonder if I would survive if I threw myself from his car. “Slow down,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “I know how to drive this car, Freeloader,” Lucas snaps. “Relax.”

  “I’d rather throw myself from the car.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare out the window. “In fact, I’m actively contemplating the idea. If you slow down, I might not die when I fling myself out of your car.”

  “You’re rather ungrateful.”

  “Do they teach you that in ‘How to Be an Asshole’ or in ‘How to Be a Prick’?” I retort, surprising myself. Walls, Elena. Walls.

  “Stop being a bitch.” Lucas’s hands tighten on the wheel.

  “You first,” I mutter, but I’m sure he hears me. Ugh, I realize my thigh is showing more than I’d like. This dumb dress is too short for my tastes. I pretend to shift in my seat while pulling the skirt down. Eventually, I give up and tuck my hands beneath the skirt, pinning it in place. I catch Lucas staring at my legs. I hope he doesn’t think I was trying to expose myself to him.

  “Doing okay in math?” Lucas changes the subject abruptly.

  A side glance confirms Lucas’s trying to stay focused. “Yup.”

  “You finished that test before anyone else on Monday.”

  My eyes bug out. Do I apologize? I shrug. God, I hope I have my poker face on.

  “You’ll lose the scholarship if you fail anything. I don’t think you’re failing.”

  I swear Lucas keeps eyeing my legs. I decide to keep my mouth shut.

  “You clean up well,” he finally says, and just like that the asshole returns. He’s so much easier to ignore this way.

  When we pull up to the party – I have no clue whose house we’re at – I recognize a few faces. Highbury is not a large school so you get familiar with a lot of people. It feels weird to have Lucas, the king of jerks, help me out of his car.

  Katrina grabs my hand, grinning like crazy, and dr
ags me with her before I can speak. “Come on, let’s find something to drink!”

  Brock, mixing drinks by the bar, makes sometimes for Katrina. “What can I get you, Freeloader?”

  That name is so yesterday. I roll my eyes as I grab a bottle of iced tea, but Brock stops me. “Hey, no need to blow me off. I hope Lucas appreciated having you in his car because I’m going be the one driving you home.” He winks. “Dance with me?”

  I look over my shoulder at Katrina. This is a dancing party? Katrina winces at my panicked face. “One little dance,” Brock whispers, but I’m busy noting Ben Summers slow dancing with Ashley. Are Ashley and Lucas not together? Is there a name for friends who only hook up in restrooms? Brock turns my face. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Or are you trying to make me jealous by staring at Ben?”

  “What?” I say stupidly. “Oh, sorry, just remembering something about Ashley. Never mind.” I decide dancing won’t kill me. Is it okay to dance with someone who mocked you earlier? Do I want to dance with a jerk? “Why are you being nice to me?”

  Brock continues his easy smile. “I’ve been listening to you play. Let’s just say you’re persuasive.”

  I narrow my eyes, but I find myself extending a hand to him in a moment of weakness.

  I’m not an expert, but Brock is an excellent dancer. He’d win on Dancing with the Stars. “My favorite part of the week is when we’re in music class together,” he says to me. “I love watching you on the piano.”

  “Thanks.” My thoughts are all over the place. My eyes search the room for Katrina, and I see her chatting with Charles and Bruce. She gives me a secret thumbs-up, ignoring my Help me! look. Vanessa is talking to Lucas, her arms around his neck, but his eyes are on me. He’s uncharacteristically solemn.

  From where I am, Mason is in a serious conversation with Oliver. They gesture a few times and shake their head, but their attention shifts when Lucas removes Vanessa from his neck and walks over to us. I can’t shake the feeling that Lucas is displeased about something and Mason knows what it’s about.

  “Brock,” he snaps, snagging my hand. “I want to talk to her.”