Gunshot.
Robbie.
Spitball off the back of my head.
Justice.
That’s why I snuck out to the police station.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Rybeck promised me.
“Life’s not fair,” Mom warned. “You must accept it.”
But I can’t.
I won’t.
A spitball catches my jawline.
“Excuse me, sir!” I raise my hand.
And know I’m about to sign a special Eton Prep death sentence.
#6:
A Friendly Word of Advice
Trey
We have two choices: empty newbie’s room of contraband…or let him in on our secret stash.
After our pre-dinner intro last night, I doubt he’ll ever be one of us, which means I need to get back in there and clear out our stuff.
I use the door, not wanting to give away the secret passage. I knock twice and after two no-answers, decide it’s safe to sneak in and grab our stuff.
I expect it to open easily. We’re not allowed to lock doors in this place. Stupid rule made by paranoid caregivers. But the door smacks into something and I have to suck in a breath and squeeze through the narrow space. I frown at the trunk barring the door.
Speaking of paranoid.
With a little head shake and a bemused smile, I move to the bed. I’m about to kneel down and dig out the cooler when I’m interrupted again.
“What the…?” new guy huffs. “Out!”
I cross my arms, a slow smile tipping the side of my mouth up. “I see you’ve met Ivan.”
He scowls, dabbing the wad of tissue paper under his nose and mumbling, “Never squeal.”
I wince. “You didn’t. Even after my head shake at the dinner table last night? Was I not clear enough?”
He pulls the bloodied tissue away and throws it in the trash, gently dabbing his red nose.
“It was one spitball too many,” he mutters darkly.
“Sorry to tell you this, but Ivan has this special ability to get away with pretty much anything. Our theory is that his parents donate shitloads to the school and that’s why Headmaster Willy and Dean Cockhead go easy on him. Trying to get him in trouble is pretty much a waste of time. Unless one of them actually sees him committing the crime, they don’t do anything about it.”
“So my word is worth nothing?”
“Pretty much.” I shrug, having accepted it years ago.
The guy’s upper lip curls and he shakes his head with this black look of rage.
“What’s your name again?” I ask.
That brown gaze hits my face, unnerving me so much I take a step back, and frown.
He blinks a couple of times. “It’s Chris. Now get out.”
“Chris.” I nod, committing the name to memory. I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m about to buddy up with a tattletale who hates visitors. “Listen, think of it like a rite of passage. Ivan’s a sadistic piece of shit but he’ll get bored soon enough, especially if you don’t give him any reasons to irritate you.”
His glare tells me to F-off.
“Just trying to help, man.”
“Get out.” His voice goes low and husky. I mean, it’s still pretty high and hardly threatening, but at least he’s trying.
“Yeah, I will. I just want to grab some stuff.”
“Out!” And there he goes, all high and squeaky again.
I can’t help laughing. He sounds like such a girl. I’m waiting for a foot stomp and an indignant scream. “Calm down.”
“The dean’s hearing about this.”
“You’re gonna tell on me too?” I look at him skeptically, then scoff and raise my hands. “Okay, that’s fine. If you complain loud enough he might move you. I’m pretty sure there’s one single room left in the senior dorms.” I lift my index finger. “Yeah, it’s the one next to Ivan’s. You know, the guy who just beat your ass to the ground. Mr. Spitball?”
His skin drains of color, his rosy lips turning a pale white.
Rosy lips?
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
I hide my unbidden thoughts behind a cocky smile and decide to lay it on as thick as I can.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he uses that empty room as a spank bank.”
Chris’s face wrinkles with confusion.
Seriously? He doesn’t know what a spank bank is?
Who is this guy?
I layer on another level of explanation to drive my point home and avoid strike three at all costs. “You know…” I include hand gestures to help the guy out. “He sneaks in there after lights out for a midnight jerk off.”
His lips pull into a disgusted frown.
Yeah, right, like he’s never done it.
“Anyway. That’s why no one’s stupid enough to take the room. I mean, we all enjoy it, right? But most of us get the girls over at Schuster High or Williams Academy to give us a hand.” I wink. “But not Ivan. That guy is an independent soul…or just incredibly grotesque to the female population. Probably the most likely reason.” I shrug.