Her Shame: A Dark Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 1) Page 3

  The air in the hall seems to drop ten degrees.

  Longer than anticipated? I thought this was just a gap-year program.

  But then again … that does explain what Bridget said earlier, about starting in the summer term.

  Does that mean we can get out of here sooner after all?

  Up at the front, Ms. Hopkins has continued.

  “First, you will attend all your classes on-time and with adequate preparation. Save grave illness, there will be no leniency for absence or tardiness. Second,” and here somehow her glare becomes even more severe, “gentlemen are not welcome in the ladies’ dorms and vice versa, and absolutely no guests may visit outside of their assigned dormitory after lights-out.”

  Not news to me. That’s the sort of thing that got me here in the first place, so even if three of the boys seated here with me might normally have made me consider breaking the second rule … it certainly won’t now. Not here at Ridgecrest.

  “Third, anyone found in possession of illicit substances or found to be using or intoxicated will be immediately expelled.”

  Her eyes scan the quiet hall for a moment.

  “Now, many of you may be thinking that you’re clever, you outsmarted whatever the system it is that you came to us from, surely you’ll be able to go undetected here. But first, let me remind you; you would not be here unless you got caught. And we are better prepared to detect mischief than anywhere you’ve studied before.”

  She takes one final pause to survey the room like a cougar ready to pounce at the slightest movement. Satisfied with the tension in the air, she hands the microphone back to Mr. Peters.

  “Thank you, Ms. Hopkins, for that reminder. Now, to welcome all of you, we’ve had the kitchen staff prepare a special lunch. Please, enjoy!” he says with a smile.

  Or, at the very least, his sorry attempt at one that does nothing to thaw the chill cast by Ms. Hopkin’s final warning.

  Trays of food emerge from the kitchen and are placed on the tables. Sandwiches, fruit, huge salads, and an assortment of petits fours and other sweets adorn the platters. It all looks delicious, but next to me I hear an exasperated sigh.

  “God, it’s practically prison food,” Bridget moans. “At Kensington the chefs used to make a salmon tartar over salad that was to die for.”

  “And yet, somehow, all that posh food never added an inch to your waist, can’t imagine what your secret is,” Sterling quips back, dodging an immediate punch to his arm by Warren.

  My stomach is turning a bit. Everything seems a bit … off. This place, these people. This doesn’t feel like somewhere I belong.

  They all get it. They’ve chosen to rebel, live life on their own terms. That’s never been me.

  The invisible grip of my parents has always been there, tightening around my neck whenever I’d see my friends sneak off behind the shed at the end of the recreation field, or hear about a party that raged at whichever lake house someone’s parents were foolish enough not to hide the keys to.

  It has always seemed impossible to hide anything from them. And getting caught like I did, well, that only further confirms it. One mistake and I’m lumped in with people like Sterling who make a game out of seeing how far the line can not just be crossed—but completely ignored.

  I stand up from the table, only to be immediately met with everyone’s curious eyes.

  “Food doesn’t look that appealing, I’d rather head back to my room and pack,” I say.

  At least Bridget just makes a snort of approval, her own face screwing up as she picks at the most beautiful roast hen I’ve ever seen laid out in front of her.

  I turn and head out of the hall and back onto the quad. I’ve only made it a few steps outside when a voice calls out over my shoulder and I spin around to see none other than Sterling standing right behind me.

  Just who I want to see right now.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls that thinks they’re fat, Aubrey, those are no fun,” he says with a mocking grin. “You know that was just a joke back there with Bridget.”

  I blink at him a couple of times before I find my voice. Is he … is that his way of apologizing?

  “What? No … I just … my stomach hasn’t really settled since I got here. Been a lot to process, you know?”

  “I get it,” he says with surprising kindness. “So, what’s your strain? I can hook you up with whatever you need, it’ll definitely help settle that stomach.”

  What is he talking about?

  He just keeps me fixed with that look of his as he continues, “Indica, sativa, hybrid … something in particular suit your fancy?”

  I stare blankly at him for a moment too long and the widest grin I’ve seen yet spreads across his face. He takes a step toward me that feels almost threatening, but I can’t take my eyes off his high cheekbones and piercing gaze. He stops inches from my face and his voice drops to a near whisper.

  “I knew it. You’re no stoner girl, way too high strung. Don’t try to bullshit me anymore, why are you really here?”

  The look on his face is amused, but I hear the slight threat in his voice. He doesn’t just want to know; he needs to know.

  Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT.

  I stare at him a moment longer, the air escaping my lungs and my mind totally blank. He holds my gaze, waiting patiently, expectantly. Finally, he breaks the tension.

  “Alright, you might not tell me now, but I’ll find out. Just you wait.”

  It sounds playful at the start, but there it is again—a chilling hiss of menace behind it. A chill of my own runs up my spine. He steps back and with a smile turns and heads away toward one of the men’s dorms.

  I can hear my heart pumping in my ears. My lips have gone numb. As if I suddenly snapped out of a trance, I begin to stride back toward Mason House.

  I burst through the doors and run up the wooden stairs two at a time. When I reach my room, I fumble with my key, but just as I stick it in the lock, the door swings open and I’m staring face-to-face with a dark-haired girl.

  So much for having a moment to myself.

  “Oh, hi, you must be Aubrey,” she says. “I’m Alaska, your roommate.”

  “Oh, hi, nice to meet you. Were you at the assembly?” I ask, trying to mask how out of breath I am.

  “No, I just got here. Um, before you come in, I just want you to know that this is how I found it … I don’t know what happened …” she says nervously.

  “What?” I ask.

  She slowly opens the door and my heart hits my stomach.

  Across my pillows in bright red ink is scrawled a word. That word. The one that has been echoing around in my head since that afternoon with Ben.

  SLUT

  Not one afternoon spent here at Ridgecrest, and already, despite everything, someone here knows my secret.

  Chapter Three

  Well, what do I have to be afraid of now that the worst has already happened?

  I feel numb staring at the scarlet letters. Alaska shifts uncomfortably next to me. She clears her throat to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “Girls pulled shit like this on me all the time in the locker rooms last year. It’s just plain childish. Do you want help stripping the pillowcases? I’m sure we can get you some new ones somewhere,” she offers.

  I feel the numb fog start to clear. “No, I’ve got it, thanks.”

  I walk over to the bed and grab hold of the pillowcase with SL scrawled on it and examine it. The letters are dark and waxy.

  Lipstick.

  So, one of the girls here knows. She knows why I’m here and she’s not happy about it.

  “That probably has nothing to do with you, you know?” Alaska continues. “It’s probably some dumb hazing they do here. Pick random girls and do shit like this so everyone walks around watching their backs.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I didn’t think I could piss someone off this bad in a few hours,” I say.

  Alaska chuckles. “I certainly could, but he
y, that’s me.”

  “So why are you here? If you want to tell me that is …” I say, suddenly stumbling over my own words as I remember how annoyed I was when Bridget asked me the same thing.

  Alaska sits down on her bed and leans forward. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing to hide. One of my coaches caught me kissing my girlfriend in the girl’s locker room.”

  “Oh … wow. So, you’re …” My voice trails off a bit.

  Alaska chuckles “Yeah, I am. Don’t worry, you’re not my type.” She says with a playful nod. “But, anyways, you’d have thought they caught me with a pound of white powder the way they freaked. Couldn’t expel me since it was my senior year but my parents gave me the option of this or one of those summer camps that sets you straight, literally. This seemed like the lesser of two evils.”

  I laugh. “Well, I don’t know about that …”

  “Trust me, it is. Pill sellers, teen moms, and some uptight admins I can handle,” she says. “Those camps, on the other hand, are hell on earth.”

  “Must be,” I say as I toss the pillow cases in the laundry basket. I open up my luggage and unpack the few things I threw in there before we left. A few weekend outfits, the pocket bible my father gave me for my first communion, some pictures of Mom and Dad.

  “What about you?” Alaska asks. “Why are you here?”

  Well, Sterling or not, I’m stuck with this story now.

  “Caught with a joint. Wasn’t even that big of a deal but my parents don’t really allow any room for error,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah I get that.” Alaska laughs. “Well, a whole year shoved together with a bunch of other delinquents, what could go wrong right?” she says with a wink.

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Right.”

  I take Alaska in for a moment in the reflection of the glass. I know it’s too soon to tell for sure, but I think I might not hate having her for a roommate at least.

  “What classes are you taking?” I ask after straightening back up and turning away from the glass.

  “Communications, Statistics, Biology, Poly-Sci, and whatever ‘Ethics’ here is.”

  I laugh again.

  “Oh cool, same—except I’m in Chemistry instead. Guess we’re really stuck with each other.” I flop back down onto the creaky bed. “Sounds like they’re playing it safe with most of the classes so some of us might have a chance of getting credit for them.”

  “Looks like it,” Alaska says, nodding. “Where you headed after this?”

  “Brown, you?” I reply.

  She bursts out laughing. “Well damn, same. Now I really hope we get along. If we’re lucky, we’ll end up stuck together for a hell of a lot longer than one year here at Ridgecrest.”

  Alaska has the kind of laid-back attitude that puts me at ease. I lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The plaster is worn and cracked, symptoms of its age and the weight of the walls around it. It’s been patched up in places instead of being repaired altogether.

  Kind of like us.

  Kind of like me.

  Maybe this year won’t be all bad after all. I just have to figure out who knows my secret—and find a way to shut them up before it’s too late.

  …

  The alarm blares through my sleep like an oncoming train. I groan and smack the snooze button, drifting in and out of consciousness until Alaska’s voice cuts through the fog.

  Even then, it takes me a few seconds of staring up through clearing morning eyes before I realize she’s the shapeless form moving slowly in front of me.

  “At this rate you’ll never make breakfast and you’re cutting close to class,” she says, finally coming into view as she straightens her collar in the mirror.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” I groan again. I groggily swing my legs over the edge of the bed and marvel at how the morning light splashes across the wooden floorboards.

  “I’m gonna grab something from the dining hall really quickly, I’ll see you in class,” Alaska says as she swings her bag over her shoulder and heads out the door.

  I give my head a shake and force myself to my feet. I could have used another reminder on how to get there, but I wasn’t about to ask Alaska to stay back with me while I sort my shit out.

  Shit that does not want to be sorted this morning, apparently.

  I plod down the hall to the shared bathroom and lean over the sink to splash some water on my face. I look up and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Staring back at me is a face that looks so … innocent.

  Fresh-faced is what mom always calls it. Ugh. I hate that. Makes me sound like a child.

  A child she didn’t even bother seeing off.

  That stung more than it should have. Still does.

  I finish washing my face and put on some basic makeup, before heading back to the room to quickly throw on my uniform. It still feels stiff, like I’m living inside it, not wearing it.

  I do a quick check in the mirror. A clean, starched catholic school girl stares back at me once again. An innocent girl who could do no wrong. And like the starched uniform, it feels like I’m living inside her.

  An uninvited guest.

  I barely make it to Communications class before the bell rings at eight o’clock. Most of the seats are filled, but Alaska waves and motions toward an empty chair next to hers. I slide into it and notice she’s sitting next to one of the boys from the assembly, Clark, the tall one with the glasses. He smiles warmly at me as I sit down.

  He’s got one of those genuine smiles that would make me wonder how on earth he ended up here—if he hadn’t already told me.

  “Aubrey, right? Alaska told me you’re roommates,” he says.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Cool. Alaska and I went to Our Lady of Good Faith together. Never thought either of us would end up here,” he says with an eyeroll. “But at least the three of us are still going to end up going to Brown.”

  This he punctuates with a sharp, bark-like laugh. “Unless we’re really unlucky.”

  Just what I needed, another reminder of how tenuous my position still is.

  At the front of the room stands an old, grey haired teacher with a round belly and worn tweed jacket. If he was ever a brilliant scientist, it was decades ago, and he’s been biding his time at Ridgecrest for far too long.

  “Alright class, listen up. I’m Professor Martinson. This semester we will study the foundations of all living things. I expect your full attention throughout as grades will be based on participation as well as your work.” His voice creaks and huffs as he speaks. He turns his back to the class as he begins to write on the blackboard and out of the corner of my eye, I catch some movement.

  The classroom door silently cracks open and in slides Sterling. Our eyes meet and he quickly puts a finger up to his lips as he slips into a seat next to Chase. Professor Martinson turns back around and begins to drone on about carbon, clearly unaware of the additional student.

  So much for Ms. Hopkin’s warning yesterday.

  I relax a little in my seat. Maybe this year will be just like all the others.

  All I have to do is get through it, after all.

  Even still, my focus wanes in and out as the professor’s raspy voice drones on. I notice my eyes constantly shifting back and forth between the blackboard and Sterling’s seat just in the corner of my view. I can’t take my eyes off his shoulders. They’re surprisingly broad even though he’s lean and toned. Every once in a while, it seems like he glances quickly over his shoulder in my direction, but I can’t be certain.

  Why is he so interested in why I’m here? There are dozens of girls with better stories than mine, what makes him so fixated on me? And more importantly, why do I care so much?

  Deep down, I know why.

  I created a mystery.

  And now he wants to solve it.

  Chapter Four

  The class finally ends and afterwards I endure two more never-ending lessons with Alaska and Clark sitting beside me. Bridget, S
terling, Chase, and Warren are in all the same classes as us as well, though they seem to stay in their own tight-knit group.

  A group I am, thankfully, able to mostly avoid for the rest of the day. I’m the last person to deny, even to myself, that under normal circumstances I’d have a hard time keeping my eyes off those three boys … but these are not normal circumstances.

  It doesn’t take long to recognize that those three are just as likely to get me into the same situation that sent me here to Ridgecrest in the first place as they are to get me sent to actual prison.

  Especially that Sterling.

  Something about him … if I don’t keep him at arm’s length, he’ll be the death of me. I just know it.

  Eventually, Alaska, Clark, and I head to the dining hall for dinner. Bridget can complain all she wants, but the food is actually quite good. There’s baked salmon, stuffed chicken breasts, and fresh garden salads filled with dried fruit and nuts. The pastries look like they’re straight out of the bakeries of Montmartre.

  It makes me regret the fact that I agreed to eat pre-packaged sandwiches from the kitchen in order to study with them over lunch. I won’t willingly make that mistake again.

  I fill up my tray and all three of us find seats at one of the long tables.

  Shortly after, I notice Bridget and the three boys enter.

  I know I’m not the only one, either. I can’t help it.

  Now that they’ve settled into Ridgecrest, there’s an air to them that I didn’t see before. All together, they have a commanding presence. As they walk over toward a table, the people around seem to be constantly trying to decide if they want to move closer or further away.

  There’s also something about the way Bridget carries herself that seems different from when I met her outside of Ms. Hopkins’ office. Gone is that sweet, upbeat girl. There’s an edge now in the way she nods her head toward Warren or throws at look at Sterling. Her shoulders are further back and her hair is no longer pulled back in a neat ponytail but instead hangs freely around her shoulders in long, red waves.