Speaking of Ella, one of my teammates suddenly mentions her name. I drop any pretense that I’m not interested and turn to face the two football players who are gossiping like they’re at a Junior League luncheon.
“What about Ella?” I demand.
Neiman Halloway, a sophomore O-lineman, grimaces. “Just heard she had a bad time of it in Speech today.”
“What happened?” I fold my arms across my chest and glare at the two players. If they don’t start talking, they’re going to wear an imprint of their lunch trays on their faces.
Neiman clears his throat. “I wasn’t there, but my sister’s in her class. Said that Ella had to give a speech today about the people she looked up to or some shit. She wrote it about her mom, and, ah…” He shifts uncomfortably.
“Spit it out. I’m not gonna punch you for repeating what went on in class, but I might beat the crap out of you if you don’t stop wasting my time.”
From the other side of the table, East is also listening intently, but he doesn’t meet my eyes when I try to catch his gaze.
“Right. Okay. So I guess some kids were busting her ass, you know? Saying shit like ‘I look up to strippers, too. Usually when they’re grinding on my face.’ And my sister says one of the Pastels asked if Ella had any home videos of her mom teaching her how to blow clients.”
I can feel my face grower darker and angrier at every word he says. I remind myself that he’s just the messenger and I can’t kill the messenger.
Neiman’s paler than a ghost by now. “And then some girl told her that her mom died of shame because Ella’s such a slut.”
I catch a flash of movement from the corner of my eye and turn to see Ella and Val making their way across the gleaming hardwood floor, empty trays in hand.
I’m tempted to chase after her, but as much as I want to comfort her, I know she’s not interested in hearing from me. Besides, comfort can only do so much.
Wade was right—something’s got to change here at school. Before she left, no one but maybe Jordan would’ve dared to talk to Ella like that.
I turn back to the guys. “That it?” I ask between gritted teeth.
Neiman and his friend exchange a worried glance.
No, that wasn’t it, I guess. I brace myself for the rest.
His friend picks up the story. “When we were walking out, someone asked Daniel Delacorte if dollar bills fell out when Ella spread her legs for him. He said, no, she’s too cheap. Only quarters.”
I stick my fists on my knees because I’m afraid if I lose control, I’m going to destroy this whole fucking school. “Text your sister,” I bark at Neiman. “I want some names.”
Neiman has his phone out faster than when he lunges at an opposing defense that’s after his quarterback. He taps out a quick message, and we sit there for nearly a minute waiting for a response. By the time his phone beeps, I’m ready to murder someone.
“Skip Henley is the one who said the dollar bill thing—”
Neiman doesn’t even finish the sentence before I’m on my feet. My periphery vision shows East standing up too, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I’ve got this,” I growl.
Something—grudging respect?—flickers through his eyes. Huh. Maybe my relationship with my brother isn’t completely unsalvageable.
I scan the dining hall until I find my target. Skip Henley. Kid’s been on my radar for a while now. He’s got a big mouth and likes to brag about the chicks he’s hooked up with—in degrading detail.
I stalk across the room toward Henley’s table, which falls silent at my approach.
“Henley,” I say coolly.
Skip warily twists around. He looks preppy as hell with his perfectly gelled hair and clean-shaven pretty-boy face. “Yeah?”
“You have Speech before lunch?”
He nods. “Yeah. So what?”
“So here’s the deal.” I pat my chest. “I’m gonna give you one shot. One free shot. Anywhere you like. And then I’m gonna beat you so bad, your own mother won’t be able to recognize you.”
He looks around, frantic for an escape. But he’s not getting past me, and whatever friends he once had pretend they don’t know him. Everyone at the table averts their gazes, fiddles with their phones, picks at their food. Skip’s on his own, and he knows it.
“I don’t know what you think I did,” he starts, “but—”
“Oh, you need a reminder? Sure. Let me help you out, bro—you talked trash about Ella Harper.”
Panic flares briefly in his eyes, but then it hardens into indignation. He realizes he doesn’t have many options, so he decides to double down on his stupidity. “So what?” he says again. “I was just speaking the truth. We all know that your girl has spent so much time on her back she’s got the word SEALY imprinted on her skin—”
I’m hauling him out of his chair before he can finish. My fingers bunch up the collar of his shirt, fisting the material as I bring his face close to mine. “You’ve either got balls of steel or a death wish. My vote’s on the second one.”
“Fuck you,” Henley shouts, his spittle flying toward my face. “You think you run this school, Royal? You think you can bring some whore to our place and shove her down our throats? My great-granddaddy knew General Lee! I’m not going to associate with trash like her.”
Then he launches himself at me with a roar, and I let him take his shot. It’s weak, like he is. Like all bullies really are. That’s why they’re bullies. Because they’re insecure idiots who try to make themselves feel better.
His fist glances off my jaw because he doesn’t know how to throw a punch. Laughing, I grab the dickhead by the throat and drag him against me.
“Does your daddy not love you enough to teach you how to fight, Skippy? Watch. This is a jab.” I punch his face twice in succession. “See how that works?”
I hear a loud snicker behind us and recognize it as Easton’s. My brother is enjoying the show.
Henley whimpers in pain and backs away from me. The smell of urine fills the air.
“Jesus Christ, he just pissed himself!” someone yells.
Disgusted, I grab Skip by the nape of his neck, kick his legs out from under him and slam him face-first on the ground. My knee digs into his spine as I bend my head toward him. “You say one word to Ella or any of her friends, and I’ll do a lot worse to you than a couple jabs to the face, you got me?”
“What about Ella?” I demand.
Neiman Halloway, a sophomore O-lineman, grimaces. “Just heard she had a bad time of it in Speech today.”
“What happened?” I fold my arms across my chest and glare at the two players. If they don’t start talking, they’re going to wear an imprint of their lunch trays on their faces.
Neiman clears his throat. “I wasn’t there, but my sister’s in her class. Said that Ella had to give a speech today about the people she looked up to or some shit. She wrote it about her mom, and, ah…” He shifts uncomfortably.
“Spit it out. I’m not gonna punch you for repeating what went on in class, but I might beat the crap out of you if you don’t stop wasting my time.”
From the other side of the table, East is also listening intently, but he doesn’t meet my eyes when I try to catch his gaze.
“Right. Okay. So I guess some kids were busting her ass, you know? Saying shit like ‘I look up to strippers, too. Usually when they’re grinding on my face.’ And my sister says one of the Pastels asked if Ella had any home videos of her mom teaching her how to blow clients.”
I can feel my face grower darker and angrier at every word he says. I remind myself that he’s just the messenger and I can’t kill the messenger.
Neiman’s paler than a ghost by now. “And then some girl told her that her mom died of shame because Ella’s such a slut.”
I catch a flash of movement from the corner of my eye and turn to see Ella and Val making their way across the gleaming hardwood floor, empty trays in hand.
I’m tempted to chase after her, but as much as I want to comfort her, I know she’s not interested in hearing from me. Besides, comfort can only do so much.
Wade was right—something’s got to change here at school. Before she left, no one but maybe Jordan would’ve dared to talk to Ella like that.
I turn back to the guys. “That it?” I ask between gritted teeth.
Neiman and his friend exchange a worried glance.
No, that wasn’t it, I guess. I brace myself for the rest.
His friend picks up the story. “When we were walking out, someone asked Daniel Delacorte if dollar bills fell out when Ella spread her legs for him. He said, no, she’s too cheap. Only quarters.”
I stick my fists on my knees because I’m afraid if I lose control, I’m going to destroy this whole fucking school. “Text your sister,” I bark at Neiman. “I want some names.”
Neiman has his phone out faster than when he lunges at an opposing defense that’s after his quarterback. He taps out a quick message, and we sit there for nearly a minute waiting for a response. By the time his phone beeps, I’m ready to murder someone.
“Skip Henley is the one who said the dollar bill thing—”
Neiman doesn’t even finish the sentence before I’m on my feet. My periphery vision shows East standing up too, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I’ve got this,” I growl.
Something—grudging respect?—flickers through his eyes. Huh. Maybe my relationship with my brother isn’t completely unsalvageable.
I scan the dining hall until I find my target. Skip Henley. Kid’s been on my radar for a while now. He’s got a big mouth and likes to brag about the chicks he’s hooked up with—in degrading detail.
I stalk across the room toward Henley’s table, which falls silent at my approach.
“Henley,” I say coolly.
Skip warily twists around. He looks preppy as hell with his perfectly gelled hair and clean-shaven pretty-boy face. “Yeah?”
“You have Speech before lunch?”
He nods. “Yeah. So what?”
“So here’s the deal.” I pat my chest. “I’m gonna give you one shot. One free shot. Anywhere you like. And then I’m gonna beat you so bad, your own mother won’t be able to recognize you.”
He looks around, frantic for an escape. But he’s not getting past me, and whatever friends he once had pretend they don’t know him. Everyone at the table averts their gazes, fiddles with their phones, picks at their food. Skip’s on his own, and he knows it.
“I don’t know what you think I did,” he starts, “but—”
“Oh, you need a reminder? Sure. Let me help you out, bro—you talked trash about Ella Harper.”
Panic flares briefly in his eyes, but then it hardens into indignation. He realizes he doesn’t have many options, so he decides to double down on his stupidity. “So what?” he says again. “I was just speaking the truth. We all know that your girl has spent so much time on her back she’s got the word SEALY imprinted on her skin—”
I’m hauling him out of his chair before he can finish. My fingers bunch up the collar of his shirt, fisting the material as I bring his face close to mine. “You’ve either got balls of steel or a death wish. My vote’s on the second one.”
“Fuck you,” Henley shouts, his spittle flying toward my face. “You think you run this school, Royal? You think you can bring some whore to our place and shove her down our throats? My great-granddaddy knew General Lee! I’m not going to associate with trash like her.”
Then he launches himself at me with a roar, and I let him take his shot. It’s weak, like he is. Like all bullies really are. That’s why they’re bullies. Because they’re insecure idiots who try to make themselves feel better.
His fist glances off my jaw because he doesn’t know how to throw a punch. Laughing, I grab the dickhead by the throat and drag him against me.
“Does your daddy not love you enough to teach you how to fight, Skippy? Watch. This is a jab.” I punch his face twice in succession. “See how that works?”
I hear a loud snicker behind us and recognize it as Easton’s. My brother is enjoying the show.
Henley whimpers in pain and backs away from me. The smell of urine fills the air.
“Jesus Christ, he just pissed himself!” someone yells.
Disgusted, I grab Skip by the nape of his neck, kick his legs out from under him and slam him face-first on the ground. My knee digs into his spine as I bend my head toward him. “You say one word to Ella or any of her friends, and I’ll do a lot worse to you than a couple jabs to the face, you got me?”
