Maybe Steve will come around, too? For some reason, I’m not too hopeful about that.
Lacking anything better to do, I wander down the hall to find the owners of all the cars outside. In a computer lab, a bunch of students are clustered around one screen. Toward the end of the hall, I hear the clashing of metal against metal. A peek inside the window reveals two students waving swords at each other—advancing, retreating, and slashing at one another. I watch the sword play for a few minutes before moving on. On the other side of the hall, a huge number of students are silently engaged in a different kind of battle. This one is comprised of boards and chess pieces. In almost every hallway, I see huge posters for the Winter Formal, as well as signup sheets for what seems like a million different clubs and organizations.
Seeing all this makes me realize that I don’t know much about Astor Park. I assumed that it was like any other school with its football in the fall and baseball in the spring, only stocked with wealthier kids. I hadn’t paid much attention to extracurricular events or activities or groups because I didn’t have time for that.
Now it looks like I have nothing but time.
My text alert goes off. Callum’s response flashes on the screen.
He’s your father. Sorry, Ella.
Seriously? Two days ago Callum was making a grand speech about how he feels like my father. Now he’s backing down? What changed between then and now?
And what gives Steve the right to do this? Can parents really prevent their kids from working? My mom didn’t care what I was doing so long as I could assure her I was safe.
Furiously, I key in a response. He has no right!
Callum replies with, Fight the important battles.
It’s good advice, I guess, but it causes an ache to develop in my chest. If Mom were alive, I wouldn’t have to deal with Steve on my own. But…if she were alive, would I even know Reed? Easton? The twins?
No, I probably wouldn’t. Life is so unfair sometimes.
I pull up in front of the main gym. The double doors are propped open and hip-hop music blares in the background. I spot Jordan inside, wearing booty shorts and a bralette. Her back is to me as she curves one arm elegantly over her head, and then she spins around on one foot, using her other leg to whip herself into a pirouette.
I rub one foot against the other. Mom and I used to dance around the house. She told me she wished she could’ve been a professional dancer. In some ways, she was. Like a dancer, she moved her body and got paid for it. The only difference was no one in the audience wanted to see a pirouette or appreciated the graceful arch of a limb.
Plus, she had to take all her clothes off.
I don’t have any real classical training—not the kind that I suspect Jordan has. The few classes Mom was able to pay for were more of a tap and jazz mix. Ballet was too expensive because you were required to buy specific shoes and leotards. After seeing my mom’s despondent face when we checked out the prices of gear, I told her I thought ballet was stupid, even though I was dying to try it.
The other dance classes only required me to show up in socks or bare feet, and I was happy with that, but…I won’t deny that I sometimes stood outside the door of the ballet room, watching the girls dance by in their pastel leotards and toe shoes.
I can’t help superimposing those images over the one I’m watching now—until Jordan spins to a stop with her eyes shooting fire at me. Too bad I can’t pin the murder on Jordan.
“What the hell do you want?” she snaps.
Her hands are on her hips and she looks ready to come over and kick my ass. Fortunately, I already know I can hold my own with her. We threw down, literally, just a few weeks into classes.
“Just wondering who you ate for breakfast,” I answer sweetly.
“Freshmen, of course.” She smirks at me. “Don’t you know? I like them young and tender and weak.”
“Of course you do. Anyone strong would scare the shit out of you.” Which is why Jordan doesn’t like me.
“You know what would scare the shit out of me? Climbing into bed with a murderer.” Tossing her long dark hair over one shoulder, she walks over to her gym bag and pulls out a water bottle. “Or are you so jaded from all the guys you’ve slept with that normal ones don’t turn you on anymore?”
“You wanted him before,” I remind her.
“He’s rich and hot and supposedly has a good dick. Why wouldn’t I want him?” Jordan shrugs. “But unlike you, I actually have standards. And unlike the Royals, my family is actually respected around these parts. My father has won awards for his philanthropy. My mother heads up half a dozen charity committees.”
I roll my eyes. “What does that have to do with you wanting Reed?”
She scowls. “I just told you—I don’t want him anymore. He’s bad for my image.”
A laugh pops out. “You’re saying all this as if you and Reed hooking up is actually a possibility—which it isn’t. He’s not interested in you, Jordan. Never has been, never will be. Sorry to burst your delusional bubble.”
Her cheeks flush. “You’re the delusional one. You’re screwing a killer, sweetie. Maybe you should be careful. If you make him angry, you might be the next person in the coffin.”
“Is there a problem?”
Mr. Beringer, the headmaster of Astor Park, appears out of nowhere. Even though he’s all bluster—I’ve seen Callum pay this guy off more than once—I still don’t want to make any waves.
“Not at all,” I lie. “I was just admiring Jordan’s form.”
He eyes me suspiciously. The last time he saw us together, I’d taped Jordan’s mouth shut and paraded her, bloody nose and all, in front of the school.
“I see. Well, perhaps you can do that another time,” he says in a clipped voice. “Your father is here. You’re being excused for the day.”
“What?” I blurt out. “But I have classes.”
“Your father?” Jordan echoes in disbelief. “Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”
Crap. I forgot she was here. “It’s none of your business.”
Jordan stares at Beringer, then at me, and then collapses on the gym floor, laughing so hard she needs to wrap her arms around her stomach.
“Oh God! This is amazing,” she gasps between giggles. “I can’t wait to see the next episode where you’re pregnant but we don’t know if it’s Reed’s or Easton’s baby.”
Lacking anything better to do, I wander down the hall to find the owners of all the cars outside. In a computer lab, a bunch of students are clustered around one screen. Toward the end of the hall, I hear the clashing of metal against metal. A peek inside the window reveals two students waving swords at each other—advancing, retreating, and slashing at one another. I watch the sword play for a few minutes before moving on. On the other side of the hall, a huge number of students are silently engaged in a different kind of battle. This one is comprised of boards and chess pieces. In almost every hallway, I see huge posters for the Winter Formal, as well as signup sheets for what seems like a million different clubs and organizations.
Seeing all this makes me realize that I don’t know much about Astor Park. I assumed that it was like any other school with its football in the fall and baseball in the spring, only stocked with wealthier kids. I hadn’t paid much attention to extracurricular events or activities or groups because I didn’t have time for that.
Now it looks like I have nothing but time.
My text alert goes off. Callum’s response flashes on the screen.
He’s your father. Sorry, Ella.
Seriously? Two days ago Callum was making a grand speech about how he feels like my father. Now he’s backing down? What changed between then and now?
And what gives Steve the right to do this? Can parents really prevent their kids from working? My mom didn’t care what I was doing so long as I could assure her I was safe.
Furiously, I key in a response. He has no right!
Callum replies with, Fight the important battles.
It’s good advice, I guess, but it causes an ache to develop in my chest. If Mom were alive, I wouldn’t have to deal with Steve on my own. But…if she were alive, would I even know Reed? Easton? The twins?
No, I probably wouldn’t. Life is so unfair sometimes.
I pull up in front of the main gym. The double doors are propped open and hip-hop music blares in the background. I spot Jordan inside, wearing booty shorts and a bralette. Her back is to me as she curves one arm elegantly over her head, and then she spins around on one foot, using her other leg to whip herself into a pirouette.
I rub one foot against the other. Mom and I used to dance around the house. She told me she wished she could’ve been a professional dancer. In some ways, she was. Like a dancer, she moved her body and got paid for it. The only difference was no one in the audience wanted to see a pirouette or appreciated the graceful arch of a limb.
Plus, she had to take all her clothes off.
I don’t have any real classical training—not the kind that I suspect Jordan has. The few classes Mom was able to pay for were more of a tap and jazz mix. Ballet was too expensive because you were required to buy specific shoes and leotards. After seeing my mom’s despondent face when we checked out the prices of gear, I told her I thought ballet was stupid, even though I was dying to try it.
The other dance classes only required me to show up in socks or bare feet, and I was happy with that, but…I won’t deny that I sometimes stood outside the door of the ballet room, watching the girls dance by in their pastel leotards and toe shoes.
I can’t help superimposing those images over the one I’m watching now—until Jordan spins to a stop with her eyes shooting fire at me. Too bad I can’t pin the murder on Jordan.
“What the hell do you want?” she snaps.
Her hands are on her hips and she looks ready to come over and kick my ass. Fortunately, I already know I can hold my own with her. We threw down, literally, just a few weeks into classes.
“Just wondering who you ate for breakfast,” I answer sweetly.
“Freshmen, of course.” She smirks at me. “Don’t you know? I like them young and tender and weak.”
“Of course you do. Anyone strong would scare the shit out of you.” Which is why Jordan doesn’t like me.
“You know what would scare the shit out of me? Climbing into bed with a murderer.” Tossing her long dark hair over one shoulder, she walks over to her gym bag and pulls out a water bottle. “Or are you so jaded from all the guys you’ve slept with that normal ones don’t turn you on anymore?”
“You wanted him before,” I remind her.
“He’s rich and hot and supposedly has a good dick. Why wouldn’t I want him?” Jordan shrugs. “But unlike you, I actually have standards. And unlike the Royals, my family is actually respected around these parts. My father has won awards for his philanthropy. My mother heads up half a dozen charity committees.”
I roll my eyes. “What does that have to do with you wanting Reed?”
She scowls. “I just told you—I don’t want him anymore. He’s bad for my image.”
A laugh pops out. “You’re saying all this as if you and Reed hooking up is actually a possibility—which it isn’t. He’s not interested in you, Jordan. Never has been, never will be. Sorry to burst your delusional bubble.”
Her cheeks flush. “You’re the delusional one. You’re screwing a killer, sweetie. Maybe you should be careful. If you make him angry, you might be the next person in the coffin.”
“Is there a problem?”
Mr. Beringer, the headmaster of Astor Park, appears out of nowhere. Even though he’s all bluster—I’ve seen Callum pay this guy off more than once—I still don’t want to make any waves.
“Not at all,” I lie. “I was just admiring Jordan’s form.”
He eyes me suspiciously. The last time he saw us together, I’d taped Jordan’s mouth shut and paraded her, bloody nose and all, in front of the school.
“I see. Well, perhaps you can do that another time,” he says in a clipped voice. “Your father is here. You’re being excused for the day.”
“What?” I blurt out. “But I have classes.”
“Your father?” Jordan echoes in disbelief. “Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”
Crap. I forgot she was here. “It’s none of your business.”
Jordan stares at Beringer, then at me, and then collapses on the gym floor, laughing so hard she needs to wrap her arms around her stomach.
“Oh God! This is amazing,” she gasps between giggles. “I can’t wait to see the next episode where you’re pregnant but we don’t know if it’s Reed’s or Easton’s baby.”
