Her Shame: A Dark Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 1) Page 2

  It’s a tone that tells me whatever she’s going to say, it isn’t going to be the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.

  This girl is hiding something.

  Just like all of us are here, I guess.

  “Aubrey,” I answer as I shake her hand. Her grip is just a bit too tight, her gaze a little too intense.

  She’s gauging me. Testing me.

  “It’s so lovely to meet you, Aubrey. Let’s get you settled then, shall we?”

  With that, she ushers me out of the office and down the long, gaping corridor without another glance back at the administrator’s office. Soon we’re swallowed by the maze of hallways that finally deposit us onto the grassy quad. The bright sun immediately blinds me in contrast to the shadowy halls of the school building.

  I shield my eyes and look around. Throughout the grounds, students mill about in pairs and groups. Some are sitting on the grass, books open, chatting away with each other. Others briskly stroll from building to building, all of them clad in smart school jackets.

  “So, Aubrey, what brings you to Ridgecrest?” Bridget asks as we walk toward one of the stone buildings at the far end of the quad.

  I glance once at her out of the corner of my eye before answering. “Same as everyone, I suppose,” I say. “My parents thought I needed to be kept a close eye on for a little bit longer before turning me out to university.”

  Simple enough. Not exactly the truth, but not a lie either.

  There’s something about the way she’s looking at me that doesn’t make me keen to spill all the details.

  She’s probably just here because she took too many Adderall and went into a tailspin. That’s what happens to the “perfect” girls.

  Bridget laughs in a high-pitched giggle. “I suppose that’s quite true indeed. Alright then, you’re in Mason House, that’s … well … quite interesting, I will say,” she says with a sly smile.

  My footsteps falter a bit.

  “Oh, why’s that?” I ask.

  “Mason House is the furthest dorm on the campus. That’s usually where they stick the girls that they think might need … how would you say it …” She pauses for a moment, as if she too is carefully considering her words. “Let’s just say it means they wanted to give you a little extra space from our male classmates.”

  With that, she gives me a knowing wink.

  “No way that’s true,” I retort, too quickly. So much for calling her bluff.

  Bridget just shrugs. “I guess we’ll just have to see now, won’t we?”

  “How do you know so much, by the way?” I ask.

  “I got permission to come here a week early, to get a head start volunteering. Mum and Dad are hoping I’ll be out by the end of the next term so I can holiday with them in Geneva for Christmas and start at Oxford in the spring,” Bridget replies quickly.

  Like me, a bit too quickly.

  I glance sidelong at Bridget. This is the first I’ve heard of getting out of Ridgecrest early. I don’t know if she’s just deluded, or if she’s on to something.

  Probably deluded, from the look of her.

  It would be too much to hope for that the reason they have us all starting in a special summer term is so we can get out early.

  We arrive at the front doors to Mason House. It’s a large, stone building like everything else on campus. Inside is a grand foyer with a sweeping wooden staircase leading to the second floor. Bridget motions toward the back of the hall.

  “Back there is the kitchen. We eat most meals in the dining hall, but if you want to fix any late-night snacks or such you can back there. Laundry is past it to the left.”

  Bridget turns and motions toward a large sitting room with overstuffed couches to the left of the foyer.

  “There’s the common area, and then upstairs are the dorm rooms.” She pauses for a second as she takes a look at something on a folded slip of paper before squinting back up toward the top of the stairs. “Come with me, I’ll show you to yours.”

  Bridget and I ascend the wooden staircase and turn down a narrow hallway lined with doors. All the way at the end, she turns at room number twelve and opens the door.

  Inside are two small beds at opposite sides of the room, two wooden wardrobes and two opposing desks with chairs. A window opens up over the quad and a breeze drifts in from outside.

  “Here you are. Your roommate’s name is Alaska, you’ll meet her later at the assembly. And this is where I’ll leave you,” Bridget says with a small smile. “Your uniform should be hanging in your wardrobe on the right. Assembly is in the dining hall in twenty minutes, don’t be late.”

  With that, Bridget sashays—there’s really no other word for it—back down the hall toward the stairs. I wait one full second after she’s disappeared down the steps before I stop and suck in a single, deep breath while I take in the room around me.

  So, this is it.

  This is it.

  It may not be a prison, but it sure does feel like it.

  For one brief moment, I allow a heavy weight to settle on me. This is not how this was supposed to work. This is not where I was supposed to be.

  I worked my ass off to get into Brown.

  Now I have to do it all again—and for what? A single, stupid kiss?

  It would be easy to let myself spiral, but I can’t have that. That, at the very least, I know.

  So, I take another deep breath in, let it out, and step over to the wardrobe. I open the doors and hanging inside is the Ridgecrest uniform: a grey herringbone blazer with the Ridgecrest emblem on the left breast, a crisp white shirt, and a blue and grey plaid skirt.

  Just as I suspected.

  I just hope this time the herringbone doesn’t itch.

  I place my trunk on the ground, peel off my old Sisters of Virtue blazer and toss it on the bed. I unbutton my sweaty shirt and drop my old, worn skirt to the ground. I pull the fresh uniform out of the wardrobe and quickly put it on. The fabric is new and stiff, starched within an inch of its life.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror inside the wardrobe door. My straight, dark brown hair is pulled up in the same high ponytail that it’s bounced around in since primary school, just like the words of the first boy I ever had a crush on bounce around in my head still.

  You’re just pretty enough, I guess. Means you’re probably still nice.

  He wasn’t wrong. A lifetime of average meant I rarely ever made waves, and I certainly never felt like I was entitled to be anything other than a pleasant, well-behaved girl. Until Ben, that is.

  And we see how that turned out.

  A sudden, colder breeze wafts through the window and I hurry over to close it. Before I do, something catches my eye on the quad. A guy with short, black hair just outside, eyes turned up toward the open window. For a split second, they lock onto mine before he turns and walks away in the direction of the dining hall.

  Was he watching me?

  I guess Mason House isn’t really all that far from the boys after all.

  Not—if I recognized that look in his eyes correctly—in the ways that count.

  Chapter Two

  I hope I didn’t recognize that look.

  I’ve already seen where that leads, that place currently being the dining hall at Ridgecrest.

  It’s admittedly impressive—much like the rest of the academy that I’d seen thus far—with vaulted ceilings held up by thick wooden beams. It’s the sort of place that wouldn’t feel out of place at Oxford or Eton or any number of the old, stuffy schools built on old money. Long tables line the main space and a small sea of students are streaming in to grab a seat.

  It’s not too unlike what I would have expected at Brown, I realize. It’s a thought that gives me an odd sort of nostalgia, nostalgia for a place I’ve never actually been.

  Before I can find myself slinking back into a dark place, I spot Bridget near the center of one of the tables, chatting back and forth with a large group of students. For lack of a better option, I st
art to walk over—but then I notice who else is among the group. Dark hair pushed back, laughing loudly and leaning dangerously far back in his chair, is the boy from the quad.

  I freeze. My eyes dart around looking for a seat, but they’re filling fast. Before I can move, I hear my name.

  “Aubrey! Over here! I saved you a seat.” Bridget’s voice chirps above the noise.

  Not running from him now.

  Every eye around the table is fixed on me, including those of the mystery boy. A sly smile seems to tug at the corner of his lips as I walk over and slide into the chair next to Bridget.

  “Hi, I’m Aubrey,” I say, trying to avoid locking eyes with the dark-haired boy by nervously arranging the placemat in front of me.

  “Aubrey is over in Mason House, rooming with a girl named Alaska,” Bridget adds, airily, before suddenly fixing me with one of those looks of hers. “What are your plans for after Ridgecrest, Aubrey?”

  “Brown. Hopefully, at least,” I say, finally forcing my hands to still.

  “Oh really, me too.”

  The response doesn’t come from the dark-haired peeping tom, however, but rather a boy with short brown hair and striking green eyes hidden behind thick, black-framed glasses down the table to the right.

  He smiles and waves when he realizes he’s caught my attention. “I’m Clark, I went to Bishop Albertson before I got caught selling my Addy’s to freshmen right before finals.”

  My mouth drops open a bit at his candor, but I’m not given the opportunity to respond before the dark-haired boy draws the attention back to himself with a haughty snort.

  I didn’t even know snorts could be haughty.

  He lets out another half laugh and rolls his eyes before saying, “Jesus, that’s literally kid stuff. I was slinging Addy in middle school, can’t believe they dropped you here over that.”

  Clark just shrugs, unfazed. “The blessing of being the oldest kid, I guess, doesn’t matter that I held straight A’s since the third grade, a couple pills find their way into different pockets and I’m a hazard to my family and society.”

  “Parents are the worst. Everything is way too over dramatic.” A red-headed boy on the other side of Bridget sighs. He leans around Bridget and reaches his hand out to me.

  I can’t help but think the color somehow suits him even better than it does her.

  “I’m Warren,” he says as he puts his other arm around Bridget’s shoulder.

  “Nice to meet you, are you and Bridget …” I pause and my eyes dart between them, as I try to make out whether or not they’re a couple or not.

  Dating? They seem close …

  “Been together forever,” Warren says when he catches my look, but not before flashing an adoring smile at Bridget.

  “Oh … well, you make a really cute couple!” I say enthusiastically.

  And, it seems, incorrectly.

  The dark-haired boy starts snickering across the table as the boy next to him, a strong, muscled, athletic guy, elbows him while also stifling a laugh. The only person not laughing is Bridget. She pushes Warren’s arm off as she stares at me.

  “Um, gross Aubrey, this is my twin brother,” she says with an eye roll. “Besides, I’d never be caught dead dating a ginger.”

  I feel my cheeks immediately flush. The two boys across the table are nearly in tears.

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I should have noticed,” I stammer, trying to recover.

  Of course, they’re twins. Now that she’s said it, I can’t help but see the obvious similarities between the two of them.

  Bridget still doesn’t look amused, however. She throws a sharp look across the table at the snickering guys and then turns to Warren.

  “I’m going to grab a drink, save my seat.”

  With that she wordlessly heads away from the table and I’m left with the three boys who clearly find the entire thing to be the funniest joke they’ve heard all day. Warren chuckles and looks at me.

  “Don’t mind her, she’s just sensitive, we get that all the time. I like to screw with her that’s all, she hates having her twin around constantly, thinks I chase off the interested men. Not that she’s had too much trouble regardless,” he says with a knowing look.

  A look that sours, however, when the dark-haired boy still seated across from me all too heartily agrees.

  “Hey, I can say it, not you,” he snaps, a clear threat in his voice. He fixes the boy across from him with a glare. “I’d shut up unless you want me to warn the new girl all about you, Sterling.”

  Sterling.

  So at least I have a name to put to his face—those eyes—now.

  “Dare you to,” Sterling says with a stiff chin, but he noticeably doesn’t push farther. Instead, his eyes shoot back over to me.

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know new girl, I’m an open book.” His eyes are clear and bright and contrast strikingly against his black hair. That snickering smile still tugs at the corner of his lips, like everything is some sort of big joke. “You on the other hand … we haven’t heard much from you since you sat down, what’s your deal?”

  My mind races. I really should have worked this one out before I got here.

  Despite the fact that I’ve been done the apparent disservice of being placed in Mason House, I can’t tell them why I’m here. Even if I hadn’t been sworn to secrecy in both word and contract, it’d mark me with a scarlet letter from day one.

  And more than anything, I certainly don’t need that.

  “Not much of a deal, been a boring, good, Catholic girl my whole life,” I reply, before realizing I’ve gone back to fiddling with the placemat in front of me and forcing myself to stop. “But first, what’s your deal?” I try to come off cool, reversing it back on him, hoping my voice is masking my nerves.

  At least somewhat.

  But Sterling just fixes me with another knowing look.

  “Oh, I don’t buy that for a second. Good girls don’t end up at Ridgecrest,” he says with a wink. “But I’ll play. Me and Chase got busted for some athletic enhancers before our championship game,” he says, motioning to the athletic looking boy next to him.

  “Honestly, it’s bullshit that Chase got tossed in here too. He was just using. Me, I made sure we all had a consistent supply, so I can’t be too mad. Besides, word on the street is that this is where all the naughty girls get sent. Tuition is probably eating less out of my trust fund than a gap year in Ibiza, so I’m gonna come out ahead,” he says with a grin. “Okay, your turn. Fess up.”

  I rack my brain, but I still end up blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Using too. Not for athletics, I got caught with a joint out behind one of the classrooms.”

  Perfect. Nothing too crazy, not like a crazy girl pill addiction, just a little weed. Cool girls smoke weed.

  Chase’s eyebrows jump up.

  “Oh, really? That’s dope. I mean, sucks that you got caught and wound up here, but I like a girl that’s chill like that,” he says with a wink. “Maybe we could chill together sometime. You know.”

  I feel heat rise in my cheeks.

  Chase looks like the perfect, clean-cut California surfer boy. Shaggy blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a strong jaw make him look like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad. My heart skips a little bit.

  Okay, this is going well then, excellent.

  “I wonder what everyone else is in here for,” Clark says from further down the table, gratefully drawing the attention back away from me. “We can’t all be in here for drugs, can we?”

  “Who would’ve thought,” Warren says, scooting back over as Bridget makes her way back to the table. “What a coincidence we all ended up sitting together, right?”

  Both Chase and Warren laugh, but I note that Sterling does not.

  No, he’s still got his eyes fixed on me, a strange impish grin spreading across his face.

  “What a coincidence, indeed.”

  I feel a shudder run up my spine just as a voic
e echoes above the din of the hall. At the same moment, Bridget slides back into the seat next to me with enough of a fuss that even Sterling is forced to peel his eyes away from mine to flicker nervously toward the teachers I only now realize have started to line the outer edges of the hall.

  At the front of the hall stands a tall man in his mid-thirties with neat brown hair and a wide, almost artificial smile, microphone in hand.

  Normally I’d dread having to sit through what will likely turn out to be a cookie cutter start-of-school announcement that seems to be repeated every year at every school. I thought I’d finished with that sort of thing. But right now, I’m just grateful for anything that keeps the attention off me.

  “Good afternoon everyone!” The man’s voice carries through the speakers and echoes off the walls of the cavernous space. “I hope those of you who are just joining us for this new year are settling in nicely. My name is Mr. Peters, I’m one of the counselors here at Ridgecrest Academy, which means for some of you, I’ll be your guide through your journey here at Ridgecrest and toward what comes next.”

  Chase and Sterling roll their eyes. Warren whispers something into Bridget’s ear and she claps her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Now, most of you are here because the choices you’ve made so far, to put it simply, have not been the best,” Mr. Peters continues on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the volume in the hall is slowly increasing with the whispers and giggles of students. “You’ve found yourselves in some sort of trouble of one kind or another, and the hope of your families and teachers is that you can use your time here at Ridgecrest to reflect on those choices and think about how you’re going to do things differently going forward.”

  Mocking snickers roll through the hall and the din begins to increase until a shrill whistle pierces the air, sending the hall back into silence again. Stepping up from behind Mr. Peters is Ms. Hopkins, fingers to her lips. He hands her the microphone, but not before a disgruntled look flickers across his face.

  “Thank you, Mr. Peters,” she says, tilting her chin down to fix the hall with that stern glare of hers. “Now, a quick reminder on the rules and standards we hold here at Ridgecrest. These are to be followed to the letter or you can be certain that your stay here will be longer and less pleasant than you anticipated.”