Bully Me (Willow Heights Prep Academy: The Elite Book 1) Read online

  “Where are all the buildings?” I ask. “Where are the people?”

  “It’s a small town,” Daddy says. “Don’t worry. You’ll do great here. You’ll be a novelty at your new school. Everyone will want to make friends with you. And once they see how talented you are, making the team will be a piece of cake.”

  “This one time, he might be right,” Royal says, taking my bag and leading me to the Cayenne waiting to take us to the new house Daddy bought. Apparently he’s been coming down here on business for a few months, and last week, he came down to get the house and cars settled. Now it’s real. We own a house here. We live here. Permanently.

  It’s too surreal to comprehend. I’m a bundle of nerves, giddiness at the prospect of starting over mixed with the familiar fear that nibbled at my insides for the past six months. A blast of hot wind sweeps across the flat concrete lot outside the hangar, dust pelting my bare legs.

  “This town is a joke,” Duke says, diving into the welcoming air-conditioned interior of the car. “We’ll own this school in two seconds flat.” He throws an arm around me as Royal slides in on my other side. Dad sits up front and directs the driver. King and Baron decided to road trip the move, mostly because they didn’t believe they could find the kind of cars they like in Arkansas. After seeing this town from the air, I have no doubt they’re correct.

  “Please tell me that’s not our school,” I say, covering my eyes as we drive by a tan building with narrow windows that looks like a prison.

  Duke laughs and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “That’s the public school. Look how sad it looks.”

  I peek out from between my fingers and see a statue of a weird six-legged cat creature. A blonde couple stands against its base, making out while their friends talk and laugh around them.

  A funny ache curls up under my sternum, and I tear my eyes away.

  “Breathe,” I whisper, closing my eyes and laying my head back against the cool leather. My brothers are right. Daddy’s right. We’ll be fine here. We’ll go to the good school across town, not the one where trashy people make out in public for all the world to see. We’ll be fine. More than fine.

  Royal gives my knee a quick squeeze, then twists around, watching the school until it disappears from sight.

  “The only thing good about Faulkner High is the football program,” Daddy says from the front seat. “Believe it or not, they’re a big rival of Willow Heights.”

  Willow Heights. Our new school. Dad came back from buying the house here with flyers about Willow Heights Preparatory Academy, application forms that his secretary filled out while he laughed about the ‘high tuition,’ which is peanuts compared to our old school. He made up the difference with a generous donation, which he promised would make us royalty with the admin the moment we walked in the door. It’s up to us to make sure we’re royalty with the students.

  If we want to be.

  *

  We pull up to a gate a few minutes later. At last, something looks promising. The drive through town was downright depressing. The tallest building in the entire town is maybe three stories. Everything is weirdly slow, as if it’s sluggish from the heat. Besides a few fast food places, gas stations, and something that apparently passes as a mall, there’s not much going on in Faulkner.

  But as we enter our gated community, sprawling green lawns stretch before us. Huge shade trees dominate the yards, and behind them stand enormous houses that belong in an old movie.

  “Welcome home,” Daddy says, spreading out his arms toward the entire neighborhood before twisting around to check our reactions.

  His words have me swallowing hard, half terrified that I’ve just stepped into a world I know nothing about and half giddy with excitement at the unfathomable difference between this and our Manhattan brownstone. We have a vacation house in the Virgin Islands, but this is…

  Our new home.

  The car slows, and I stare down a long walkway that leads under the gently arching branches of two rows of mossy trees bending over it as if they’re bowing to the royalty that walks beneath. The walkway cuts through the lush, green, perfectly cut lawn to the front of an enormous white plantation-style home with rows of towering white columns, black window trim, and an intricate black railing on the balcony that stretches along the entire second floor.

  As I’m gaping at the house, about to ask Daddy if it’s ours, a classic convertible shoots by us on the right side, spitting gravel at the Porsche like we’re a taxi in the wrong lane. I catch a flash of blond hair and a masculine profile before it swerves back onto the road inches in front of us, shoots forward, and skids into the driveway of the house. The car roars down the drive and disappears behind the house.

  I bite my lip and glance up at Daddy, but he doesn’t even flinch, let alone take off after the asshole driver. Instead, he laughs.

  “I better not catch any of you driving like that knucklehead,” he says, gesturing to the next house. The driver pulls in as I turn to Royal, widening my eyes.

  “Knucklehead?” I mouth incredulously.

  Daddy has never used that word in his life. He’s notorious for swearing nastily and vehemently. It’s like we’ve suddenly stepped back into the 1950s. Even the convertible was reminiscent of an older time, all spiffed out and in mint condition.

  Our driver pulls into the driveway Daddy indicated. This house does not have a row of trees for the front walkway, but it has the same sprawling lawn, huge shade trees, and meticulous landscaping. An enormous white plantation house sits back from the road, with two curving staircases leading up to the second-floor balcony like a pair of welcoming arms.

  Daddy turns to us and grins. “I thought you might like to have a little freedom to come and go as you please.”

  “Wow,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say. I feel like I just stepped onto the set of Gone With the Wind.

  “Not you,” Daddy says. “The boys. You’ll keep an eye on your baby sister, right?”

  Royal salutes him. “That’s what brothers are for. To do the job dads are supposed to do.”

  Daddy ignores his little dig and hops out of the car when it stops. He opens our door and gestures toward the house with a flourish. “Welcome to the new Dolce family home.”

  four

  Who would you be if you could be anyone? I’m not sure I know. I never got to choose before, and I don’t know if I do now. Sometimes, I think my whole life was manufactured by my family.

  Here’s what I’d choose. I want to be… Better.

  Not better than everyone else. Better than me. Better than I was. But I don’t know if that’s asking for too much. My family expects me to be better than everyone else, just like they are.

  I lie in bed the night before our first day of school, listening to the big house settling around us. Daddy’s still at the office, working late to get everything in order for the new branch he’s opening here. I can’t seem to sleep in the new, strange house. Foreign noises invade my consciousness—the crickets and other insects so loud I can hardly go outside after dark, the wind through trees making eerie sighs like restless ghosts in the hot night.

  Tonight, another sound that I can’t identify rouses me from my half-sleep. I check my phone. It’s midnight, and Daddy’s car still hasn’t turned into the white gravel drive. Outside, an irregular slapping sound catches my attention. I snag a silk robe from the back of my closet door and step outside, cinching it around my waist. A gust of hot wind sweeps over me, and I think I must have heard a loose shutter banging somewhere.

  Twack!

  The sound is somehow familiar, though I can’t tell what it is. I peer down into the bright moonlight that lights up the entire yard in an eerie glow. The balcony runs all the way around the top floor of the house, though my room is on the far back corner. To reach the stairs, I’d have to walk past Duke’s windows on one side and then King’s windows on two sides since he has the front corner room. I’m pretty sure they set it up that way on purpose.

/>   From the balcony outside my room, I can see the back yard, the side yard, and the row of lilac bushes that forms the boundary between the houses. According to the new housekeeper who came with the house, they’re quite impressive in springtime. Beyond the lilacs, a slice of the neighbor’s backyard and one side of their house are visible. A handful of looming shade trees toss in the heat and wind as I wait for the sound that disturbed my attempted slumber.

  Suddenly, something small and dark races between the lilacs and into the moonlit yard. I gasp, startled into thinking it’s a varmint for a second. But then it rolls to a stop in the dewy grass, and I see that it’s something much more familiar than a yard pest. A football.

  I blink at it, not sure if I’m dreaming. The light on the dew gives everything a silvery, dreamlike quality. Then a tall, blond guy steps between the lilacs. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of drawstring sweats hanging so low on his hips that I can see more of him than I should want to. His body is slicked in sweat, his tan skin glistening in the moonlight. I swallow, my eyes raking from his tattooed shoulders, over his washboard abs, down to the V of muscle that dips into the waistband of his pale grey sweats, which he’s cut off at the knee.

  It’s not like I’ve never seen a guy in nothing but shorts before. My brothers spend half their time dressed that way. But this boy is not my brother. He’s thinner than my brothers, less bulky, but every bit as muscular in a more lean, ropy way. The kind of muscle you might get from working instead of working out. His skin is more golden than the olive tone my Italian brothers have, and his tan is concentrated on his shoulders and arms, like he got it from being outside. I can see so much of him, and yet, seeing doesn’t illuminate. Each thing I notice is a mystery, a question instead of an answer.

  He trots across our lawn, picks up the ball, and draws back like he’s going to throw a long, spiral pass toward his house. Just before he completes the pass, he hesitates. Lowering the ball, he turns slowly. My body freezes, but my heart races. Every part of me knows that I should duck back into the shadows on the balcony, that I shouldn’t let the careless-driving, football-tossing insomniac neighbor see me watching him.

  And yet.

  For one reckless moment, I want something other than what is. I don’t want to be Crystal Dolce, darling daughter of a possible mob family and coddled sister of four very dangerous boys. I don’t want to be the mean girl who did a terrible thing, or the one who’s off limits to every boy if they want to live. I don’t want to be the Queen B or cheerleader.

  I want to be seen. I want to be a girl standing in my silk robe in the moonlight, with my disheveled hair streaming in the hot midnight wind and the moon making me luminous. I want to be a mystery to him, too. I want him to see me and want to solve this mystery.

  His eyes settle on mine, and he stills. For a long moment, no one moves. The see-saw music of the crickets falls away. The shimmering moonlight disappears. The suffocating heat of the night dissipates, and the wind dies. There is only us, suspended in time, in place. I sink into the ocean depths of his eyes, plunging deeper and deeper below the surface until nothing else exists.

  The crunch of tires on gravel invades our world, the one we built for only us. Headlights sweep across the front of our house, and I glance that way to see Daddy’s car pulling into the drive. When I turn back, the boy is gone, leaving me to wonder if I dreamed the moment with him.

  *

  “Crys, what are you doing?” King asks, banging on my bathroom door.

  “I’m changing my tampon, what do you think?” I yell, shoving my phone into my pocket.

  “Let’s go,” he says. “It’s time.”

  “Time to dominate,” Duke yells, thudding a fist against my door.

  I take one last look at myself in the mirror. For a minute, I considered changing my image. But I’ve been this person so long, I don’t know what else to be. Maybe it’s who I really am. Pretty. Spoiled.

  Mean.

  At any rate, I look the same as I’ve always looked. I don’t dare change my image. I thought, for a minute, I might be a girl who wore slouchy sweats, oversized T’s, and messy buns. But my brothers wouldn’t let me out of the house like that. We have an image to uphold. Dolces take care of themselves and each other. Looking the part is half the battle.

  I run a brush through my dark locks, straightened to perfection after an hour of work. Collecting my hair into a long, low pony, I drape it forward over one shoulder. After smoothing on a thin layer of product to enhance the shine and tame flyaways, I head out of my bathroom.

  My brothers step back and look me over. They’ve all gathered outside my door wearing slacks and buttoned shirts to fit the dress code. I feel bad for them having to wear pants and long-sleeved shirts in this heat.

  “Is that lipstick too dark?” King asks.

  “It’s what I always wear,” I tell him, making a kissy-face. “My signature.”

  “Is that skirt shorter than your uniform at our old school?” he asks, eyeing my hemline.

  I’m excited to be able to wear real clothes here, since Willow Heights has a strict dress code but no uniform. “Stop looking at my legs, perv,” I say, pushing past them and out of my bedroom.

  By some silent agreement, we all climb into Royal’s new Range Rover, a “gift” from Daddy that was more like a bribe to come here without making a fuss. I’d expected them to each take their own car to show off, but maybe my brothers are as nervous as I am.

  They’d never show it, though.

  “Look at this pathetic little town,” Duke says as we pull out of our opulent neighborhood and start toward the school. “We’re going to rule this school the second we step through the doors.”

  “Not me,” I say, my voice sounding light though I was too nervous to even think about breakfast. If I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s that power can be a dangerous thing. I don’t want to rule anymore, and I told my brothers as much. They don’t get it, but they’re trying to be understanding. They’ve never wanted to be normal. They love the power.

  I have to admit, I loved it, too. I loved it until the moment I saw what it could do. Until the moment I lost control of it. But here? No one knows me. I could be normal. Have a friend who didn’t know the worst things about me, our shared guilt hanging between us like a noose. Maybe I could even have a boyfriend, someone my brothers actually liked instead of one they allowed to escort me to some function and then promptly dismissed like a servant.

  Things will be better here, like Daddy promised. A new start is just what we all need.

  We pull into the parking lot, and my chest tightens, my resolve crumbling. How easy it would be to march down the hall like I put the B in Queen B. I’ve been that girl so long, it’s my default. But no more. Here, I’ll be different. Better.

  “Ready, Crystal?” Royal asks.

  “What if I’m not?” I whisper, meeting his pure cacao eyes when he twists around in his seat.

  “Relax, would you?” Baron asks, shoving my shoulder. “This school is a joke. One day here, and everyone will be eating out of our hands.”

  “Or licking our shoes,” King says, glancing at us in the rearview mirror.

  “I got something else the hot ones can lick,” Duke says, grabbing himself for emphasis.

  King pulls into a parking spot at the back of the lot, halfway under the shade of a towering oak. I know he’s doing it for me, parking back here so we can talk without prying eyes checking out the new guys. Otherwise, my brothers would be parking front and center, soaking up the attention. They’re not exactly the slip-in-unnoticed type. They couldn’t be if they tried, so they don’t bother trying.

  “I guarantee you, anything this tiny town has going on can’t even touch what goes on in our old school,” King says, turning to pat my knee. “We’re gonna take this place by storm in a matter of minutes, and you know why?”

  “Because we’re the Dolces,” I mutter.

  “Yeah we are,” Duke and Baron yelled in uniso
n, pumping their fists in the air. They’re identical, but they’ve taken great pains to distinguish themselves at this school. Baron even wears a pair of glasses instead of his usual contacts, and Duke got his hair cut short, forsaking their usual tousled look.

  “Let’s go kick ass,” King says.

  I know they’ve reached their limits in dealing with my anxiety, so I take a deep breath and center myself by meeting Royal’s eyes again. He’s the quietest of my brothers, my twin, the one who can always calm me down when I start to lose it.

  We climb out of the Range Rover, and I straighten my skirt and smooth my hair as we get into formation. King is the center of our family, the center of our group. Royal and I step up beside him, and my younger brothers each fall in at opposite ends, the first line of defense. I don’t know when we created this formation, but it’s as predictable as a football formation on the field. We’re ready. With a nod, King sets the play in motion, and we start across the lot.

  “Thank the baby Jesus the girls here aren’t ugly,” Duke says as we pass a group of girls primping next to a pickup truck. They stop to gawk, and Duke shoots them an inviting smile.

  My brothers are, to put it mildly, noticeable. They’re all over six feet and built like the athletes they are. To add to that, they all inherited our parents’ good looks—in spades.

  We make it toward the front of the lot, the primo parking spaces designated for the students who want to pay for a spot, each with a big yellow number painted on the asphalt. There, I spot the long, sleek, powder-blue classic convertible that cut us off the day we moved in.

  Our neighbor. Considering where they live, it’s no surprise that they have the best spot in the entire lot, right next to the walkway that leads to the door of Willow Heights Prep. They probably paid through the nose for that. Suddenly, I’m glad we parked at the back. We can scout out the school this way. It’s always good to know the ones to watch, even if you’re planning to become the ones to watch.