Hannaford Prep: The Complete Series Page 3

  None of the boys at Hannaford are desperate. They all have the means to be here, they’ve never struggled for anything, and I quickly learned that with money comes looks. I’m not saying that only rich people are attractive, I know that’s not the case, but they can all afford to take care of themselves and show their best side every day. There isn’t a single girl I’ve seen yet that doesn’t look plucked, primped, and plumped to within an inch of their life, and all the guys are sporting Rolexes, coiffed hair, and expensive cologne.

  Harley winces when he sees me at the desk, but he sits and methodically empties his bag. His handwriting is much neater than mine, and he already has notes from the textbook we were assigned. All of this conflicts with the gangster image I had in my head, and my eyebrows are raised as I take it all in. He might just be the person to beat in the class.

  “Your name is Eclipse?” His voice drips with venom. Fucking rich boys.

  “What can I say, my parents were hippies.” That's not even close to true, but it's an easy lie I've told a hundred times. It's much easier than saying my mom had a conversation with the moon one night and decided to dedicate her unborn child's name to it. That kind of story comes with blank stares, or worse, they figure out she must have been high. I wonder how many kids can say they spent the first three weeks of their lives detoxing from heroin in a NICU? Lucky me.

  “Whatever, Mounty. Don't cheat off my notes. I can see you eyeing them. I don't share, I don't want to work as a team, I'm not fucking helping you.”

  A laugh rips out of my chest in shock. He doesn’t look at me; his eyes stay glued to the front of the classroom.

  “I don't need your help. Why would I need help from some gangster kid? Steal any cars recently? What the hell are you doing at this school?” I say, and the words come out harsher than I intended.

  Shock flits across his face, but it's gone as quickly as it was there. He turns and looks at me with such intense loathing, I swallow. My survival instincts have clearly been misplaced since I arrived here. Who would have thought a school full of rich assholes could be just as volatile as Mounts Bay High? I have to remember I’m not the Wolf here. I’m at the bottom of the ladder with no friends, no allies, no hope.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Of course, he didn't recognize me, why would he remember seeing me there? I only remember him because he's, well, utterly drool-worthy.

  “I was at the courthouse getting my emancipation last month. I had to sit and hear all about your summer activities.”

  He shoves away from the desk roughly and turns on me. I notice immediately that he's much bigger than me. His shoulders are wide and filled out, like he knows his way around a gym. The words tattooed under his jaw flick as his muscles clench tightly in rage.

  “Listen here, you little bitch—”

  “Harley. I will deal with it. Focus on your schoolwork.” My head snaps around at Avery’s voice, but she hasn't even bothered to look at us. What the hell? Deal with it, like I'm not even a person?

  Harley hesitates, like he'd rather rip my head off himself, but then the teacher is stepping into the room and he gets situated back at the desk. I glance around to see wide eyes in every direction.

  Great.

  I'd just pissed off one of the alpha males at the school.

  Ms. Aurelia introduces herself, and then hands out a pop quiz to each student.

  “I like to start out the year knowing what my students already know, so we don't accidentally cover old subjects. Anyone who does not get 80 percent or higher will be moved into the lower classes, as we won’t have the time to cover older subjects.”

  At least a half-dozen students groan. I glance through the pages and I’m relieved to find I know all the answers. My biggest concern with coming to Hannaford was that I'd be behind thanks to my public school education. I'd spent the entire summer break reading all of my textbooks.

  I have all three pages filled out in under three minutes. Harley glares at me as I put down my pen, but he finishes up less than a minute later.

  Ms. Aurelia collects our papers and grades them while we wait on the rest of the class. Harley flicks through his notes like he's grading himself from memory, and I'm forced to stare around the classroom in silence. It's pretty clear that at least four of the students are going to be lucky to stay in the class, the panic easy to read in their posture as they slouch over their work.

  “Oh dear, Mr. Arbour,” says Ms. Aurelia, and Harley's head snaps up to look at her. His eyes are wide.

  “You got 99 percent, with only one question wrong. A very good score.”

  He exhales, and then his eyes narrow. “What's wrong with that?”

  “I know you enjoy being the top of the class. Miss Anderson got 100 percent. I don't think you've ever been beaten in my class before, so I hope you’re up for a challenge.”

  If I thought he had looked angry when I'd called him a gangster, it was nothing compared to his face now. Avery turns to smile at me, but it’s the smile of a predator who has identified their prey. Dread leaves a trail of ice down my spine.

  Maybe I have made a mistake coming to Hannaford.

  Lunch is a hellish experience, and I desperately wish I could eat out in the sunshine on the grass.

  My stomach rumbles loudly at all the delicious smells coming from the buffet tables, and once again I fill my plate to the brim. The long table is bustling and overflowing with students, and I have no choice but to take the first empty seat I can find. The girl to my left gives me a hard look and turns her back on me. The boy on my right leers at me and tries to peer down my shirt. I elbow him, hard, and then start in on my food. The noise in the room is raucous and deafening, so when it suddenly dies down to whispers, I look up.

  The guy from the office, the older Beaumont kid, is standing in front of a group of freshmen kids seated at the end of the table, not too far away from where I’m sitting. He's flanked by four other students who are all smirking.

  “Move.”

  The freshmen look at each other, and then one of them, a guy I haven't seen before, says, “We haven't finished yet. You have to wait.”

  All of the whispers stop.

  You could hear a pin drop in the room; even the kitchen staff are silent.

  “Get. Up,” he says again, but the guy stares at him blankly. The flush on his face betrays him.

  “Let me explain to you how this works. I'm a Beaumont. My family is old money, so old it will never run dry. In fact, I wipe my ass with more money than your pathetic little family has ever made, and I have the connections to not only ruin your life, but to end it. If I tell you to move, you move.”

  All the freshmen stand at once and move. The guy who spoke grabs his tray and manages one step away before Beaumont slaps the tray and covers him in his lunch. He hisses as the hot soup splashes on his face and down his uniform.

  “There is a clear hierarchy in this school, and you are at the bottom. Don't fucking forget it.”

  No one moves to help the guy, and I can see angry tears welling up in his eyes. The kitchen staff starts motioning for the kids in the line to move along, ignoring the situation happening before them.

  Fucking rich kids.

  I focus on my food again, except now I can hear the older kids talking because they're sitting so close to me.

  “How are the twins settling in? I'm thinking about fucking your brother, by the way. I like the scowl on his face. It'll be like fucking an angry, miniature you.”

  “You're such a slut, Harlow. Make sure he pays you well.”

  The girl just laughs, like she enjoys this pompous dick speaking about her like she's nothing.

  “Maybe I'll do him right after I do you, just to see who fucks better.”

  The group laughs again, and they start a terrible game of comparing their conquests, loudly and in detail. I chew faster to get out of the room. I don't want to attract their attention. I can’t help but listen to them, though.

  “I want to fuck
Morrison, just to say I've had him. Joey, get your sister to get me in with him. I've heard she's the gatekeeper to all three of those boys.”

  Joey, who is the older Beaumont sibling, scoffs.

  “She's a little cunt, just like Mom was. You have no chance there; I've always assumed she's fucking them all. I'm expecting her to get knocked up by Ash and them to have a three-headed, incestuous baby. Father would be so proud.”

  They cackle again and I get up with my plate, too sick to keep eating. What a great guy to have as a brother. I mean, the twins didn't exactly seem like upstanding human beings, but no one deserves a sibling who speaks so badly of them, and in such a public way.

  I leave the dining hall to walk to my next class, and I try to ignore the looks and whispers.

  The girls’ dorms don't have individual private bathrooms, so you have to use a giant communal bathroom.

  It’s worse than being in the group home.

  I manage to get in and out of the shower before any of the other girls come into the bathroom, and I tuck my toiletries bag under my arm as I walk back to my room. I'm dressed in old boxer shorts and an old band tee that I love.

  Every girl in my dorm stops and watches me walk past.

  I don't get what their problems are with me. Surely being on a scholarship doesn't mean I'm the enemy, and yet I haven't had a single student try and talk nicely to me. It's exhausting.

  As I open my door, I hear Avery's voice, and I pause for a second.

  “Fucking pathetic.”

  I whip my head around to stare at her. She’s leaning against her own doorframe across the hall from my room. I can see her room is at least four times bigger than mine and furnished luxuriously. I can't help but feel jealous, even as her eyes are fixed on my shirt. I glance down, but there are no holes or stains in it. What does she have against band tees?

  “If you think that will get his attention, you're an even more stupid Mounty slut than I thought.”

  “Whose attention? These are my pajamas; I don't want to show them to a guy.”

  She stares at me for a second before smirking. She is strikingly beautiful, but with her lips twisted into a sneer, I think she looks older than fifteen.

  “You're totally clueless. Even better.”

  I see a flash and blink owlishly. She's taken a photo of me on her phone and then retreated into her room, locking the door behind her.

  These rich kids are going to do me in.

  After I'm safely behind my own locked door, I collapse onto my bed and groan. I had better end up with an amazing career for putting up with this school.

  I check my phone and see Matteo has texted me again.

  Are you raising hell yet?

  I bite my lip. While I've always been academically driven, and always the top of my classes, I had a reputation for being a bitch at my last school. Not that I was a bully, I just had a lot of anger because of my home life.

  My mom was addicted to drugs and, because of that, neglected me.

  It's hard to admit that out loud. It makes me feel like she mustn't have loved me very much if she was willing to spend all our food money on heroin, coke, meth, pills, whatever she could get her hands on really. I didn't ever want to admit how much easier my life had become after she died. I must be the worst child in the world to think that, and yet it's true. In foster care, I never had to worry about if there was going to be food on the table at night.

  Granted, the food was shit and never quite enough.

  My mom told me that my dad had been sent to prison in a different state for drug trafficking, which meant I had basically been left to raise myself. I think I'd done a great job of not turning into a hopeless asshole, and someday I would be a doctor or an engineer or some other career that paid ridiculous money. Then I would never have to worry about food ever again.

  So, I was known for having a smart mouth and being angry all the time. It had worked out in my favor with Matteo.

  I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  I smile as I hit send. Matteo had sent the same message to me the day after he had moved out of the group care home. Back then, I'd wished so hard that I could move out of there with him. He was like a security blanket to me in the group home. Something safe to go home to. He'd told me when I'd accepted the scholarship that I would have to go back to him when I was done with school, and that I wasn't allowed to grow apart from him. It made me feel wanted, in a dark, twisted way.

  I’ve never felt that before.

  Come home then, kid. I'll take good care of you.

  I smiled and rubbed my thumb over the screen. How I wished life was that simple. How I wished he hadn’t become a monster.

  I have to make a life for myself, we can’t all be the Jackal.

  The Jackal. His name on the streets. I knew he was involved in all sorts of trouble, and I tried not to think too hard about it.

  This Jackal just wants his Wolf safe and by his side. Don’t forget that while you’re at this big posh school.

  A shudder ran down my spine. Why did that always sound more like a threat than a promise?

  Chapter Three

  The first time I get a real break from Avery and Harley is during study hall. It is the one required unit that’s flexible about the location, and I choose to go to the library.

  The library is huge and looks vaguely Victorian. The fiction section is a third of the size of the non-fiction and referencing sections, and the librarians are all matronly women with tight gray buns perched on their heads. I feel most out of place at this school in this room. It makes me feel like a grubby child to walk through the doors, and I still cringe after weeks of doing it.

  I don't have a laptop to use quietly in my room, and the library has a selection of computers to use, the only modern luxury. I get there early and choose a desk toward the back of the room. One of the librarian’s nods at me in acknowledgment but doesn’t offer any help as I struggle with the technology. My last school only had one computer in the library, and it was a glorified typewriter. Internet access was limited, and students generally didn’t bother using it. The computers here are high-tech, complicated, and in my opinion, high maintenance. I guess they fit in well with the student population.

  The bell tolls, and the room begins to fill with students. A girl I recognize from my biology class approaches my desk and smiles sweetly before taking a seat across from me. Once the rest of the seats at the other tables are taken by students, a group of freshmen reluctantly fill the remaining seats at my table. I don’t even spare them a glance and instead focus on my assignment.

  I’m focusing on my research at the computer when a piece of paper slides toward me.

  I saw your argument with Harley in history. You shouldn't piss Avery and the boys off. The rest of us learned that lesson in middle school.

  I look up at her, and then at the rest of the table, but no one is paying us any attention. I scribble a reply and slide it back.

  If I always did what I was supposed to do, I wouldn't be at this school.

  She smiles and scrabbles back. The library isn’t exactly quiet, students are talking all around us, so I'm not sure why we're doing this with notes, but I'll play along for now.

  My name is Lauren. If they hadn't put a ban on the rest of us speaking to you, I would've already approached you. I know what it's like to be the new girl at school.

  How the hell do they ban other students from talking to people? Who the hell do they think they are? I'm angry enough that I grip my pencil so hard my hand shakes.

  What happens to you if you speak to me?

  She bites her lip before sliding the paper back.

  Then they add me to the list, and they will do to me what they’re going to do to you. I'm sorry, I’m terrified of Avery.

  The list? Was that metaphorical, or did that psycho Avery actually organize her reign of terror that methodically? I let out a deep sigh and nod my head at Lauren. I guess I didn’t blame her, or any of the others in our
class. I’d seen what Joseph had done to the other freshmen. I was fine on my own, but sometimes it was hard to see the other students walking around, chatting and laughing together, and not wish I had someone to talk to.

  I give her a nod and scrunch the note up in my hand, a clear sign of conversation over. She gives me a sad smile and gets back to work on her own homework.

  I try to focus back on my own work, but I'm all hot and cranky. I hate this sort of bullying. I'd rather they just come at me with fists so I could fight back properly. Whispers and intrigue are annoying, but then I think about life back home and Matteo. Maybe learning this political shit isn't such a terrible idea.

  It might help me survive the Jackal someday.

  As the first few weeks pass, I learn something very important.

  Harley and Avery are in every single one of my classes except choir, and they, along with Ash, have a lot of influence on our classmates.

  News had spread quickly of my argument with Harley, and it has made me even more of a pariah than my scholarship status ever has. No one tries to speak to me, not during classes or meals. I think they are trying to make me feel shitty enough to leave, but little do they know I am enjoying the quiet.

  At the beginning of the year, I had signed up for a bunch of extracurricular duties to get class credits and plump up my applications for college. The one I am looking forward to the least is tutoring especially now that I’ve pissed off Harley. It takes three weeks before I get an email from the school’s admin to let me know I have had someone sign up and to meet the student in the library during three of my study halls. I groan but go along to it. When I see who the student is, I begin to think it’s a trap.