Hateful Lies: A dark high school bully romance (Stonehaven Academy Book 1) Page 3

  “I already said I don’t give a shit about your business.” My tone is harsh, but I’m still catching my breath. A newbie could tell I’m bluffing badly.

  “Thanks, Astrid.” He moves to leave.

  “Wait,” I call out like a lovesick groupie. Fuck. “When are you going back?”

  He knows what I’m saying. Walking away backward, he shrugs his muscular shoulders. “They’ll let me know.” He lifts a finger to his lips, and I smile before he turns and hurries away.

  “Astrid.” Gary is standing at the corner of the building, giving me an evil eye. “Work is waiting for you when you’re ready to give a shit.”

  “Hey, language,” I reply.

  “We’re not in the building.” He glowers then walks off.

  Little fucker.

  “Hey, Wyatt, checking out the help?”

  Off in the distance, two of the boys that were sitting at the table are hanging out. I’m pretty certain they weren’t watching when I see the third one with the long hair come out of the building opposite and stare at me like I just crawled up out of the earth. I can’t hear what Wyatt says to them, but whatever it is, it makes them laugh. The one called Bryce looks over at me and gives me a look with his nose in the air as if I stink and he can smell it on the breeze.

  Double fuck them too. They’re probably repeating the same old shit the other students have said all summer about me. They use the waitstaff for practice so they can make the freshmen cry in the new year.

  The boys disappear around the building, no doubt heading for their class. I hurry off toward the kitchen. If Gary speaks to me again, he might send me home. He likes to make examples of us like we need harsh discipline.

  Whatever. I rub my arms as if they’re cold. Boys talk shit when they’re too afraid to get it up. I shrug my shoulders as I fling open the back door. I ignore Gary, who’s chewing out another worker for losing the garbage can lid in the dumpster.

  Insults don’t hurt me anymore. I don’t give a fuck when Wyatt fights again. Or that he has my tat on his back.

  Chapter 3

  Astrid

  I open the door to the apartment I share with my mom, Evelyn, and it’s still the filthy mess it was this morning when I left. The television is on in another room, no doubt in Mom’s bedroom. It’s the only television that works in our home. I prop my bicycle up against the wall, not caring if it leaves another dark mark on the yellow wall. The only food I smell is the odor that clings to my uniform. I walk into the cold kitchen, greeted by a larger pile of dirty dishes in the sink. I spent the day loading and unloading the dishwasher at work and scraping leftover food into the bin. I’m not touching another dirty plate. I know Mom’s back is terrible, but this is bullshit.

  “Astrid.” Her voice sounds weak, and I swallow my constant displeasure at the way we choose to live. I’ll have to clean later, but I’m too tired after working at Stonehaven, plus I fight tonight. Mom only knows about Stonehaven. I’ll never mention the Pit, though I’ve noticed her staring at the bruises on my face. Makeup doesn’t cover everything.

  I walk into her bedroom, and she’s lying in bed on wrinkled sheets that should be changed. The room has a musty odor of BO, and I go to the window to let the place air out.

  “Don’t touch the window,” she says. “You’ll let the heat in.”

  Mom watches reality TV where ordinary people fuck up their lives to entertain the rest of us. I guess it makes her feel better. We’re not doing much better at the game of life, but we keep it to ourselves. What am I going to do when I turn forty? Keep fighting at the Pit? I sit on the bed, lean back against the headboard, and decide to order Chinese tonight. Gary lets the staff take the leftovers at the end of the workday, but I don’t want to admit that we need them.

  Mom stares intently at the screen while I study her profile. My mom and I look like twins aged twenty years apart, except her dark hair rests on her shoulders, and her blue eyes look dim and old. She aged overnight after the accident at her job in the warehouse. Ironically, they closed the place down a few months later. Lucky breaks avoid us like the plague. I sit down on the edge of the bed and lean against the headboard beside her.

  “Where are you hiding the cigarettes?” I ask her.

  “I gave them up,” she replies softly.

  “I can smell them, Mom. You should’ve opened the window.”

  “I wasn’t smoking.”

  “Don’t lie,” I reply.

  Pressing her lips together, she doesn’t respond, and folding my arms over my chest, I don’t push it. Restless, I glance over at her bedside table at the collection of pills on the old microwave tray—amber bottles of all sizes filled with pills of different colors. I grab a bottle and shake it, judging how many are left. Not many. I read the label—oxycodone.

  “Put it down, Astrid.”

  “I don’t use, Mom.”

  “I know,” she replies, shutting off the TV with her remote,” but I need them more than your friends.”

  I want to suck my teeth, but I’ll get a smack in the mouth. Mom’s back is fucked up, but push her too far, and she’s quick with the hand. Evelyn doesn’t tolerate disrespect. I put them down, making sure they make a loud tap as they hit the tray. At the Pit, a few pills would pay our September rent.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says, placing the remote down on the covers. It’s going to get lost in all these covers. I keep my eyes on the piece of slim plastic.

  “What about?” I ask.

  Her hand grips the remote, and her fingers touch the keys nervously, but the screen stays off. “Your father came by to see me today.”

  My gaze flies to her face, but Mom refuses to look at me. Her fingers keep rubbing the buttons on the remote.

  “I thought he was dead,” I snipe.

  “I never told you that.” She’s on the defensive as her voice turns cold. Mom keeps forgetting I didn’t just show up on her doorstep in a basket wrapped in blankets. Being here isn’t my fault.

  “Well, he’s never been around,” I explain, “So what other reason does he have for not being here?”

  “Astrid.” Her voice is warning me that I’m heading over the safety line. “It’s not my fault he didn’t stick around.”

  “Then whose fault was it?” I ask softly. “Mine. Men split when a kid appears.”

  Her hand lets go of the remote, and carefully, she places it on my knee. I stare at her weathered hand as if it’s a large furry spider crawling along my leg. It isn’t her fault because nothing is her fault. Mom just lets life take a swipe at her every time it wants a whipping boy. I brush her hand away.

  “Why did he show up?” I ask, “Looks like he didn’t want to stick around to see me.”

  “Astrid.” Mom’s tone is no longer soft or patient. It’s laced with pain as she raises it. “Stop taking his desertion out on me.”

  I look away and clench my fists tighter, and my short nails bite into my palms. I want to lash out at Mom, but she’s so frail that I feel like a bully. I’m the strong one. I quickly wipe at my eyes, concealing my own pain.

  “Your…” she starts over, “he wants to make amends for neglecting us.” I lift my head and listen to what she has to say. “He’s acknowledging that he should’ve been more present in our lives.”

  I scoff. Those aren’t her polished words. The SOB wants something from us, but what do we have to give? Maybe he’s afraid we’ll crawl out of the woodwork and embarrass his ass with our presence. Twisting my lips, I keep my mouth shut and wait to learn.

  Mom continues briskly. “He’s offered to pay our living expenses. And he wants you to go to college.”

  This time, I scoff loudly. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Language, Astrid.” Her tone is tight.

  Turning toward Mom, I continue my tirade of frustration. “College? Seriously? What college is going to take me with my 2.0 average from the prestigious Monarch Street Academy?”

  Monarch Street Academy used to be
a respected school back in the 1950s when the rich people still lived in our town. But then the population changed, and when the urban spread reached their pristine homes, the rich people fled like rats abandoning a sinking ship, leaving their snotty-ass academy behind. Too bad they didn’t leave any money to keep funding it.

  “He’s paid your tuition to attend Stonehaven.” Mom’s lips curve into a rare smile, but it quickly fades when she sees the dread in my eyes.

  All I can think about are those stuck-up kids and how they look down their plastic noses all summer at me while I bus their trays into the kitchen. Fuck. My head starts to swirl, and the air in the room turns stuffier, making it impossible not to notice the stench.

  “No, I can’t go there.” I leap off the bed. “I won’t go there. I hate those kids.”

  There’s one I now hate more than the rest. Wyatt caught me with a kiss when I should’ve slapped his face for trying, but instead, I returned his kiss eagerly. My body responds to the memory of his hands on my waist, pulling me into him as if his need to have me was out of his control. But the boy laughed after he got what he wanted. My silence. He’s lucky I never snitch.

  “Astrid, you have to go.” Mom’s eyes shine as she pleads. “Do you want to end up like this?” She waves a hand over her inert legs. “Wasting away with a broken body weighing you down? I used to be pretty like you with a future way ahead of me. I didn’t make plans because I had my looks. Well, they got me nowhere. Go to school and get a degree. Get out of this…shitty neighborhood.”

  The word sticks in her throat until it blasts past her trembling lips. Unlike me, Mom rarely curses, and I stand there staring at her as her agony morphs into a rare display of rage. She leans forward until her forehead touches her knees and her shoulders shake. I hurry over to her, climbing onto the bed and hugging myself around her fragile form.

  “Don’t cry, Mommy,” I sob, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be trouble. I’ll go. Whatever I can do. I’ll go.”

  She presses my hand to her chapped lips, and her dry kiss brushes my skin.

  “Astrid, it’s for you,” she says, “or I would never have let that man past the door.”

  I wait for a further explanation, but she’s going to make me ask. “Who is my father? What’s his name?”

  Mom squirms away from me and pulls her body to the edge of the bed. Awkwardly, she heaves her feet onto the floor. Breathing heavily, she sits up with her shoulders hunched over. “I can’t tell you his name, Astrid,” she replies sternly, “If I do, he’ll never help you.”

  Chapter 4

  Astrid

  “Your father had your clothes dropped off for school.”

  Scowling, I look at two leather suitcases that I guess are full of new clothes. At the kitchen table, I finish chewing my canned spaghetti. She sits calmly at the table, also staring at the suitcases with a forlorn look on her tired face.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” she asks. “The one with the monogram is yours.”

  I open it on the floor after we clear the dishes into the sink. The yellow kitchen is barely big enough for us to turn around in, much less inspect the contents of a suitcase. But Mom wants to see my new clothes, and I’m less than excited when I pull out a long black pleated skirt. I scowl at it. “What am I, Amish? I’d rather have nerd branded on my ass than wear this thing.”

  Mom’s half-hearted smile fades, and I know I’m unnecessarily bitchy. I also wonder how many pills she’s had today. I glance over at the other suitcase. She focuses on my questioning look. “While you’re getting an education, I’ll be cleaning up. Unfortunately, they don’t allow cell phones.”

  It’s good news knowing she won’t be alone in the apartment with her pills. “Good luck,” I whisper, tossing the skirt back into the suitcase.

  Grimacing, she shifts in her chair and then clutches her lower back. “It’s not a punishment, Astrid, not for either of us.” Mom has made tremendous sacrifices for me, especially before the accident. And she can hardly be blamed for what happened to her later.

  I hold up a button-down shirt that looks like a shower curtain. I want to torch this mess in the backyard, but now who is the brat? “I’m grateful, Mom.” I’m a shitty liar. “But I’ve lived my own life for a long time, and I’m going to have to get used to this.”

  Mom will stare me in the eye with an unblinking gaze whenever I’ve said something stupid. And suddenly I find myself shriveling from an intense glaze that I haven’t seen for a long time.

  “Astrid, youth is expendable, so invest in your brain.”

  ***

  I can’t sleep the night before my first day at Stonehaven for multiple reasons that race through my head. I stare at the ceiling until the first rays of sunlight enter my narrow room. I haven’t told anyone except Nova, and she swore she would never tell. I toss and turn until I’m on my side, staring at the school uniform hanging on the closet door—the shirt and the skirt with a navy sweater sporting the Stonehaven crest. My phone buzzes before I can smother myself with my pillow, and it’s time to go.

  After I dress, I walk into Mom’s bedroom, but she’s still asleep. She looks peaceful sleeping, like it’s the only time her body gives her a break. I don’t dare wake her. I press my lips to her forehead and in my mind, I wish her good luck. I wish us both good luck.

  I ride my bike to the academy, leaving the suitcase behind. I’m not sleeping at this place. It’s weird to live in a high school. I speed through the stone arch and pass the limos dropping off students. Nope, not for me. I’ll just pick up my class schedule and live at home.

  A girl with brown hair in a white sundress is holding up a sign. She has on gloves, and not the kind I use to wash dishes. Her long wavy hair is perfect, with a headband holding it off her face. She looks thrilled to imitate a guy standing on the highway twirling a sign advertising a store closing. I slow my pace on my bike when I see the word senior printed on it.

  Senior Orientation and Breakfast. Eight to ten.

  I frown as I read it, and the girl frowns back at me as if I shouldn’t look at it. She turns her shoulders, pointing the sign toward the front gate so I can’t look at it anymore. Petty.

  There’s only one place to have breakfast at Stonehaven, so I ride over to the dining hall. Instead of the back door, I park my bike in the front in the rack. My gaze stays on the floor while I walk through the old double doors and silently beg Gary to remain in the kitchen.

  My heart starts racing worse than it does before a fight. At the Pit, I know what to do there. I don’t know what to expect here, but no one is looking at me. I sit at the last table by the swinging doors to the kitchen. No one ever sits at this table—it’s social purgatory. I look over the people in small groups, trying to assess the scene. I sigh deeply. I’m invisible, and right now, that’s a wonderful thing.

  “Hey.” Someone beside me snaps his fingers. It’s the brown-haired guy who was with Wyatt. The one that called me it. Well, they all did. “Orange juice with seltzer. Table eight.”

  I turn and look away, waiting for him to go, but he doesn’t take off. He jokes with a couple kids passing by the table, and one slaps him on the back like he’s the man.

  “How was summer school, Pierce?” the other kid asks, “Finally score an A?”

  Pierce laughs, but not too hard, and he doesn’t disappear from view no matter how small I scrunch down in my chair. He turns around and eyes me with a ridiculous smile on his pretty-boy face. Tall with light brown hair and a set of perfect white teeth, his hazel eyes sparkle as he sharpens on me again.

  “Orange juice. Fresh squeezed. Seltzer.” He repeats it, and slowly, as if I have a short-term memory problem. The guy with long hair stops beside him and stares at me like I can’t see him being rude. The girl with the sign bounces in and rests her chin on the other guy’s shoulder. Then a few other kids start to take an interest in what they’re staring at, which is me.

  “I don’t work here,” I finally say.

  With a
look of disbelief, Pierce looks at his friend as if he can explain.

  “I don’t work here,” I repeat, “Anymore.”

  “Anymore?” His mouth widens as if I’m mistaken about my purpose in life. “So, what are you doing here?”

  A few more kids stop to watch my public humiliation on the first day of school. What the hell. I fight at the Pit, so why is this kid intimidating me? I sit up straight. “Now, I go to school here.”

  He scoffs. “You? A student?”

  “Yes. Me.” I reply heatedly, “I’m a senior.”

  Pierce smirks. “Congratulations on your scholarship.”

  One of the girls snickers. I flash her a sharp look and which she—undeterred—responds with a sneer.