Cruel Boys Page 2

  Things are better after we arrive at Ranch Y. Dom takes the time to help us out. He talks to the guard on duty, and we get a better spot, near the water and electricity. Dad’s thrilled and pats Dom on the back more than a few times. He wants to take off, but Dad insists he stay for a beer.

  “Thanks Greg,” he replies. “But I’m good. Besides, Vicki wants to talk to you … alone.”

  Fuck him. Dad immediately looks at me with concern, and I can’t make excuses. And I don’t want to sound lame in front of either one of them.

  “I’m going on a hike, but I’ll stop by again on my way back.” A smiling Dom waves, and I glare at him as he heads up the trail, probably to meet his biker friend.

  “Vicki, you want to talk?” Dad takes a step toward the RV.

  I ask. “Should we set up first?”

  “That bad?” he asks, “Let’s talk first.”

  We go inside the RV and sit at the little kitchen table in the back. It’s as if we’re about to have a meeting, and it isn’t fair. Dad is wicked excellent at negotiating any deal in his favor.

  Might as well rip off the bandage. I sigh and then confess. “I applied to Redwood Arts Academy for my last year of high school.”

  “That’s a tough school to get into, Vicki.” Dad frowns as he sits up straight. “Even if you had an art background, that school is a feeder into the film industry.” He shakes his head. “Highly competitive. Among other things.”

  “I got in, and I want to go.” I hold my breath and wait. At eighteen, I may legally be an adult, but if he’s not willing to pay the tuition, I can’t go. Going to an art school and staying clean seems like an oxymoron.

  Dad’s quiet as he stares at the table. “It’s a boarding school, isn’t it?” He knows it is.

  “I really want to go.” The pleading starts. “I know I don’t always do well in school, but you can trust me this time. I’ll work hard. It’s what I want to do.”

  “Vicki, I hoped you would spend another year at home to regroup.”

  Any second, I’ll start blubbering like a spoiled toddler in public, and over school no less.

  I take a breath and start listing reasons. “Taking pictures kept me sane while I attended Montlake. I hung with the art crowd in the Page Center. I paid attention in my art classes. I can draw. Look what I sent to Redwood admissions. It got me in.”

  I hand Dad my unlocked phone, and that’s a big deal. I scroll and tap until a short film I made is on the screen. It’s a low-budget spoof of The Matrix I made for an art class at Montlake. Dad watches it and laughs in the right spots.

  “Vicki, this is really good.”

  I have another one. “I spoofed the final scene in The Dark Knight.”

  He shakes his head in disbelief after watching it. “That’s even better. I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  Dad gives me the stern look that only a dad can master. “We’ll go speak to whoever’s in charge. Maybe you can be a day student. You can’t board there. But you can have your own car. I’ll rent a house nearby.”

  “I hear it’s in a nice town,” I reply, sitting up straight.

  “You haven’t been there yet?”

  “Nope,” I reply. “I saw pictures online.”

  Dad stands up. “Then why are we here?”

  “You don’t want to finish camping?” I ask.

  Dad sniffs his armpit. “I want a real shower. And we can leave after we say goodbye to Dom.”

  Chapter Two

  Redwood Arts Academy is maybe three hours behind Montlake Prep Academy on the East Coast, but it’s way ahead in prestige. The private West Coast boarding school for the arts requires an audition to attend. Rich parents can’t pay a bribe to have their talentless offspring admitted. For my application, I filmed the Empire State Building every day for a month from dusk to dawn from Dad’s Midtown office. I spliced the digital together. And then I narrated my thoughts on the struggle to tame addiction, without naming myself. It was a personal piece, and it got me admitted as a senior, which is rare.

  Dad rents a massive house seven miles from the academy in Sequoia Valley and buys me a vintage Mustang GT. I can’t sleep the night before school, and I can’t remember if I have ever been this excited about anything before. I roll over and grab my phone off the bedside table. It isn’t even five yet.

  On the first day of class, the teachers only keep us long enough to make introductions and review the syllabus. I tour the campus with a student guide who’s bright-eyed and way too happy. Normally, I’d be annoyed, but I’m smiling like I’m high too.

  ***

  The Redwood campus isn’t traditional like the Montlake Campus, with red-brick buildings decorated with classical columns set on each compass point. The campus mimics a resort, with low-story buildings built of red-stained wood among sparse pine trees that extend into a dense forest. The ecofriendly cars in the student parking lot appeal to the green in crowd. Range Rovers, Porsches, and Teslas replace the Camaros, Mercedes, and Beamers of Montlake. Covered with socially conscious bumper stickers, it’s a competition to see how green one will go.

  Unlike Montlake, money isn’t the currency at Redwood. Connections are king. And knowing a celebrity means more than wearing one. Hanging on a movie set gives you more cred than hanging in an exclusive Los Angeles bar.

  I don’t know why I thought I belonged here, but I’m here now. And I will find a way in.

  Between classes, I find my way over to the day-student center by the parking lot. It’s a little wood building stained red, with a sad collection of castoff furniture inside. A lone bulletin board has announcements pinned to it from last year, and the soda machine is broken. This isn’t cool, but I won’t be here for long. I sit down on the cleanest couch in the place and start my homework for English prep.

  “Day student too?”

  I look up, and there’s a girl that’s taller than any tree in the forest. She’s all legs, slim with copper skin, and long black hair down to her ass. I have to stop staring, but she’s too pretty to be real. Plus, she has a cool Aussie accent.

  “Yeah,” I reply, “My name is Vicki Saunders.”

  She plops down on the couch beside me. “Luna Flores. Thank God, I’m not the only one commuting. I didn’t get my acceptance letter until last week.”

  “That was tight. Are you a senior?”

  “Yes, but it was entirely my fault. I applied late and ended up on the waiting list. I’m staying with relatives in Palm Springs, but my family is originally from Australia via the Philippines. Do you live around here?”

  “I live in Sequoia Valley.” I offer a little info.

  I’m glad she’s not asking me a shitload of questions. Her knee is bouncing, and it’s obvious she’s too wound up to be nosy. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her purse and offers me one. I shake my head. Luna glances at the no-smoking sign before she lights up. And because of that, I like her already.

  “We just moved from Jersey,” I casually mention. “Just my dad and me. I’m a late admit too.”

  “Good.” She sends a stream of smoke in the air. “I mean, I’m glad I’m not alone. This place is a bit intimidating.”

  I raise an eyebrow. This impossibly beautiful Amazonian is intimidated.

  “Are you here for acting?” I ask.

  “Sort of.” She bites the tip of her finger. “I’m studying acting, but I want to model.”

  I screw up my face, not clear on the logic. “If you want to be a model, why not go do it?”

  “I have no contacts,” she explains. “Plus, modeling is easier if you can act, especially if I want to do video. Or sell a product. Or start a beauty and fitness TikTok if nothing else pans out.”

  “Alright, alright.” I nod, “You convinced me.”

  She bobs her knee up and down. “I’m so shitting nervous, I could pass out. Can you tell?”

  She smiles the best smile, and we both burst out laughing.

  “What’s y
our major, Vicki?”

  “Film,” I reply, “I want to direct.”

  “You should be in front, not behind. But you’re probably smart to be a film major.” She pulls out her class schedule and glances at it. “All my classes are in Adler Hall.”

  A young guy walks in and gawks at us. He stumbles like he can’t figure out how feet work, then hurries over to the other side of the room to sit down.

  “Freshman day student,” Luna lowers her voice. “But they’re too young to drive. His mom must have dropped him off.”

  “Would you want to be one again?” I grin.

  “Nope.” She shakes her head, and her silky black hair glides across her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  We hurry out of the day center and walk toward a cluster of A-frame buildings. The only two-story building is in the center, and six smaller ones surround it. It looks like the big one had offspring.

  “What’s that weird building that looks like a ski lodge that hooked up with the Dane?” I ask.

  “Let’s go and explore.” Luna stamps out her cigarette and leaves the butt behind.

  We walk down the path toward the big building where most students are entering and exiting, and step into a crowd of people in the lobby.

  Luna laughs. “Looks like we found everyone.”

  What we’ve found is the other student center, surrounded by the residential dorms. According to the sign on the door, it’s for residents only. Unlike the sorry place we ditched, this one is loaded with cozy seating areas, a gourmet food court, a student store stocked with name brands, study rooms, and of course, private screening rooms.

  Luna and I casually walk over to a cluster of couches off the main hallway and plop ourselves down.

  “We got this,” she whispers. “You’d never know we don’t belong in here.”

  “We do belong in here,” I reply, putting my feet up on a low, wide table. “When’s your last class?”

  “I had it already.”

  The huge old-fashioned clock on the wall says it’s only three o’clock.

  “Really?” I ask. “What was it?”

  “Business writing.” She shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to learn more words.”

  I try not to laugh too hard, but I do anyway. “It’s good for writing contracts, grants, pitches …”

  Luna’s eyes widen. “And Twitter feeds?”

  I nod. “Typos can kill a tweet.”

  Something is blocking the light from the large windows that surround half of the building, and I sense someone standing behind me. Luna stares over my shoulder, but I don’t bother to look.

  “Do you belong here?” says a male voice.

  “We’re students,” Luna shrugs, but her voice goes up an octave, “and just looking around.”

  I look over, and it’s Dom. I smile, but he doesn’t smile back.

  “Hey, Dom.” I wave. “How was your summer?”

  Looking down his nose, he frowns and folds his arms over his chest. “Nonresidents aren’t allowed in residential buildings.”

  I gawk at him. What the hell is the matter with him? “Don’t you remember me? I met you camping in Malibu.”

  He sneers as if I smell. “Should I remember you?”

  I can tell by the gleam in his eye that he knows damn well who I am.

  “You know what?” I stand up because I don’t like arguing sitting down. “Maybe I made a mistake, because the guy I met was cool and not an ass.”

  “Equipment has been stolen by nonresidents,” he speaks in a monotone, “so unless you know someone, which I doubt, you need to leave.”

  I notice two guys standing behind Dom as a crowd forms for the free show. The guy with the dark reddish hair is scowling like I’ve insulted him by showing up. The guy with the dark hair doesn’t waste his time looking. This is bad. I want to be noticed for my work, not because I didn’t want to party with some guy over my summer vacation.

  I step around the couch and into Dom’s personal space. “Do you treat every girl that says no like this, Dom?”

  He doesn’t care that I’m trying to call him out. “I’m only asking one more time. Or I’ll have to call security.”

  “Too bad, I thought you weren’t an asshole.” I grab my bag and swing it over my shoulder, narrowly missing him.

  “Hey, it’s school rules,” Dom calls out. Luna quickly grabs her bag, and we start to walk away.

  “People only follow the rules when it suits them,” I answer back.

  The dark-haired guy looks over and appraises me with a glance before he walks off with the redhead. Dom starts to join his friends. He shrugs as he smiles. “If someone knew you, you could stay.”

  “They’re with me.” A guy separates himself from the crowd and hurries toward us. He has the curliest brown hair I’ve ever seen. Crazy curls. He wraps an arm around Luna, and then around me, giving us a squeeze. Luna sighs audibly with relief that our public shaming is over.

  “You know them?” asks Dom.

  “Sure, these are my friends,” the guy replies. His face beams with a wide smile, and I’m unsure if he did this for us or to get at Dom.

  “When were you going to say something?” asks Dom.

  Curly Hair shrugs while he hangs onto us. “I have a scene later called teenage angst. And watching you inspires me.”

  Dom narrows his eyes. “Your friends need passes, Theo. You know that.”

  “You are so right, Dominic, because you’re always right. I could learn so much from you just by listening to you talk.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Dom tells him in a low voice.

  “Or what?” laughs Theo. “You’re going to try and prove how big of a man you are? C’mon Dom. I’m surprised you’re throwing out two hot babes. Are you sure you’re not sitting on my bench?”

  Dom glares but walks off to join his friends waiting in the hallway.

  “You are fucking brave,” I whisper as Theo herds us away to safety.

  “If they had an honors class on bullies,” he replies, “Dom would be the professor. Come on, ladies, these people have better things to do than stare at us.”

  We follow Theo into a small admin office, where we get a semester pass for the center. The older woman behind the counter gives us a quizzical look, and I want to ask her why. But for now, I blow it off.

  “Evil stares at three o’clock,” Theo says as we exit the office.

  Peripherally, I can see Dom glaring at us from the hallway. His two friends are leaning on the wall on either side of him. Luna and I exchange a glance and keep pace with Theo. I can’t imagine why I’m attracting his ire. It’s not like Dad and I left him in the woods. I have a bad feeling that’s like déjà vu.

  “As the bottom said to the mattress, baby, let’s bounce.” Theo hurries us toward a side exit.

  Outside in the open, we slow down and follow Theo to one of the smaller buildings. Neale Dorm is carved on a wooden sign over the door. He holds the main door open, and we walk in. No one is in the hallway, so we slow down, even more relieved we have somewhere private to hang.

  “Thanks for that,” I tell him as we walk past several doors.

  He smiles sweetly. “You’re welcome.”

  “By the way,” I ask charmingly. “Who the fuck are you?”

  He spins around and stops at a door with an index card with his name printed on it in black marker. “I’m Theo Simon, your new best friend.”

  “That was super nice of you, Theo,” Luna says. “And I love making friends who treat me right.”

  Theo opens the door wide, and it’s like walking into a comic book. The wall by his bed is covered with anime drawings in marker and pencil. Some color, others black and white, all of them amazing. Each one signed by him.

  “Omigod.” My Jersey accent slips out. “This is so cool. It’s like you’re living with an audience.”

  The opposite wall is covered with autographed headshots, all framed. Most of the shots are selfies with celebrities,
and there are a few with Theo photobombing. I lean in and look at every face in every picture.

  “It’s good practice,” he quips. “I want to be in the business because I am a super fan.” He leans in next to me and points at a picture. “Recognize him?”