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

  Three guys stand leaning against the car as if waiting for us. I scan their faces, trying to recognize the boy I saw last night. A blond guy with strong, angular features leans casually against the rear of the car, one foot on the ground and the other propped on the bumper, his hands resting on the edge of the trunk.

  Not him.

  Beside him, standing straight and tall right behind the car, stands a taller, more muscular version of the same guy, his square, broad shoulders commanding even from a distance. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing a tattoo on golden-tanned forearms, which are currently crossed over a broad chest. He glares at us, his blue eyes icy cold.

  A swarm of butterflies explodes inside me. Him.

  Oh, fuck. Definitely him.

  On his other side, another blond slouches against the trunk of the car, leaning back on it with his elbows while he scrolls through his phone, paying us no mind.

  I have plenty of time to take them in before we arrive at the front of the lot. I bring my attention back to our insomniac neighbor, the angry-looking guy. He’s the driver, the center, just as King is ours. And he doesn’t look like he’s here to throw us a welcome party. I glance sideways at King, wondering how we’re going to play this. If he’ll speak first, if he’ll make nice.

  “Parking back in the nosebleed with the scholarship kids?” the glaring guy drawls in a smooth, silky voice that sends a little shock of electricity through me. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect that gorgeous voice, like warm honey melting over my bare skin. And I didn’t expect what my body did when I heard it.

  “Someone’s in our spot,” King says, nodding to the Bel Air. For a second, no one speaks. The guy on his phone lifts his head, shaking a fringe of shiny blond hair from his eyes. A few people have gathered around, curious about the new kids and ready for a showdown.

  “You think this is your spot?” the angry guy asks. He’s good-looking, with a sculpted jawline and a square chin with the hint of a dimple in the center, but his eyes are hard and mean. The guy on his left has sharper features, a pointed chin and a sharp nose along with bright, curious blue eyes, but I peg them as brothers.

  “It will be tomorrow,” King says, and he keeps walking, so we keep walking.

  We stride up the set of wide, shallow steps to the high front doors. The building is a huge brick thing with the entire name of the school—Willow Heights Preparatory Academy—carved into a long slab of marble high above the doors. Just over the entrance is a smaller marble inset bearing the school motto: Inis Origine Pendet.

  We enter the building and find the office, where we collect our schedules and meet our guides for the day. They’re introduced as the student council, a group of pretty, preppy blondes who look like clones with perfectly straight, smooth, long hair and high heels. As we disperse, I notice my guide, Lacey, gazing after my brothers with longing. Guess she drew the short straw.

  “So, what’s the deal around here?” I ask.

  Lacey strides ahead we make our way down the hall away from the office. “The classes are hard,” she says. “So if you’re from the ghetto or something, you better expect to spend a lot more time than you probably spent on your classes in Brooklyn.”

  There is so much wrong with that sentence that I don’t even bother to correct her. I have bigger things to worry about and limited time to learn what I need to know.

  “I’m not worried about the classes,” I say. “Tell me about those guys out front. The blonds in the Bel Air.”

  “The Darlings,” she says without hesitation, as if she was expecting that question.

  “Brothers?”

  “Cousins,” she says. “They’re one of Faulkner’s founding families. Their great-great-great grandfather of so many generations back settled here in the 1700s or something.”

  “I’m more interested in the ones that go here now than their ancestry.”

  She gives me a pitying look. “This is the south, honey. Family means something here.”

  I already don’t like this bitch, but I keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t have to tell me about the importance of family. But I need information, not an enemy.

  “Got it,” I say. “So, they’re royalty in this school because of their name.”

  “They’re royalty in this town,” Lacey corrects. “They get whatever they want. You’re new, so one of them will probably want to get in your pants.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” I say, sensing her resentment in that statement. “I don’t date.”

  “If they want to date you, you’ll date,” she says. “They get whatever, and whoever, they want. Their family pays the salary of everyone who works at this school. Learn the way things work around here, and you’ll be fine.”

  “Well, thanks,” I say. “Guess I’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  Lacey stops at my class, having pointed out the others along the way. “You want my advice?” she asks, planting a hand on her hip. “Say yes to whatever they want, try to keep your dignity when they’re done with you, and move on. Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re special. You won’t be the first girl to get screwed by a Darling boy, and you won’t be the last. Don’t take it personal.”

  “Even less interested now,” I say. “My brothers are protective. They’d never let me date a guy like that, and I wouldn’t want to.”

  “You’d be lucky to land one of them. Devlin doesn’t really do the whole dating thing, but the others have a short attention span. If you play your cards right, you could be a Darling Doll. The Dolls are set for their entire time at Willow Heights.”

  She’s obviously into the Darling cousins, and she doesn’t care much what I have to say. I’m fine with that. I’m more into listening today. This is a new school, and I don’t want to step on the wrong toes and draw attention. I’ll have to wait and see what my brothers say, find out the game plan. I might end up being best friends with this girl. At a school like this, it’s all about social status, not about deeper connections. If I dated a Darling, I could be in her group. I could have status. I could be a Darling Doll.

  The name makes me want to gag, but I don’t show my distaste. I’m lucky she’s laying it out so clearly for me. I’m still not even sure what I want, and if I can have it. I’m not sure I can be a wallflower. It’s not the Dolce way. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be someone different than I was before.

  The one thing I know for sure is that I want to be better, to find some way to pay for what I’ve done. But I don’t know how I’m going to do that. I’m okay observing until I figure it out. If helping take down the kings of this school and letting my brothers step into their shoes is going to assuage my guilt, I’ll do it. I know that’s what my family wants, so I’ll probably do it, whether or not it’s what I truly want. Sometimes, we all make sacrifices for each other. That’s what family is all about.

  A soft bell chimes, and students begin to appear at the ends of the hallway, coming in for classes.

  “Thanks for showing me around,” I say, sliding my schedule into my bag. “I think I’ve got it for the rest of the day.”

  “I have one piece of advice for anyone new in town,” Lacey says. “Faulkner is built on tradition. We’re set in our ways, and we don’t like to see those ways disrupted. That goes for your entire family. Don’t make waves, and you might survive.”

  five

  The first day at a new school. My one chance to make a first impression. Who will I be? Who would I be if I didn’t have to be a Dolce daughter, instructed to take my rightful place in the social hierarchy—at the top? If I had a choice, I might wonder. I don’t, so wondering is a waste of time. Dolce’s don’t dwell on what-ifs. We see what we want, what we deserve, and we take it.

  “Hey, girl,” drawls a sexy southern voice as I make my way to my next class, typing out an entry on my blog.

  I look up to see one of the Darlings, the one with the longish hair swished across his forehead. His voice is almost as sexy as our neighbor’s and fu
ll of mischief that makes me want to smile back even though I know better.

  “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is no,” I say before I can get sucked in by his playful smile that reminds me a little of Duke’s. But while Duke is all energy, like a cute puppy, this guy looks like he’s biding his sweet time before he decides on a plan of attack. There’s something calculated in the way he strolls along, as if the world moves at the pace he sets. I realize too late that I’ve slowed to his pace, that I’ve fallen into step with him as if he’s drawn me in with the gravity of his very presence.

  I won’t be a moon orbiting him or any of his cousins. I have my own sun to orbit—King. He’s the brightest light, the one that gives life and keeps the worlds turning in the Dolce universe.

  “I was just going to say we’re in the next class together,” he says. “You can’t say no to that.”

  “How do you know what class I have next?”

  “Magic,” he says with a wink.

  “Very funny.”

  “I like to think I am,” he drawls. “I’m also Colt. Colt Darling.”

  “Of course you are.”

  He quirks an eyebrow, smiling wider. “So you’ve heard of me?”

  “No, I meant, of course your name is Colt. I bet you wear cowboy boots with your uniform.”

  “Sometimes,” he says, swishing his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head. He’s got that lazy, easy charm, like a teen Matthew McConaughey. “So, you got a name, or should I just call you New York?”

  “Crystal Dolce.”

  “Sweet.”

  “I assure you, I’m not.”

  Colt laughs this slow, drawling laugh. “Let’s sit together.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  He gives me a lazy smile. “I’m funny, remember? I’ll make you laugh.”

  “Can I laugh at you?”

  “I’ll be laughing, too,” he says. “Guess you’ll have to settle for laughing with me.”

  “Is that how things work around here?” I ask. “We’re either with you, or against you?”

  “How else could it work?” he asks, sauntering into the classroom in that slow, easy way of his. My eyes are drawn in, captivated by the confident walk, and the next thing I know, I’m checking out his ass for a second when he’s in front of me.

  This shit has got to stop. Before it begins.

  He sits down at a desk and pats the one beside him.

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to be taking someone else’s seat?” I ask. “I’m sure you don’t sit alone.”

  “They’ll deal,” he says. “Sit.”

  I want to disobey, but the thought of sitting alone in a class full of strangers, of enduring their stares and whispers of speculation as I did last period, has me sliding into the seat. It’s not like anyone else is going to ask me to sit with them. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m flattered by his attention. He’s adorable, with that playful smile, drawling southern accent, and the swish of golden hair he keeps playing with.

  “Good girl,” he says, squeezing my knee under the desk. The touch of his hot, calloused hand on my bare knee makes me jump, and I move my leg away, but the sensation is not exactly unpleasant. This is so not good. My brothers have already started shit with this family. Being attracted to any of them is the worst move I could make.

  I’m startled by the little thrill that goes through me at the thought of defying them.

  I couldn’t do that, though. We’re the Dolces. We stick together. Nothing in this world is more important than that, and there’s not a guy in this world who could come between us. Definitely not this too-charming-for-his-own-good guy who I’ve already been warned is a player who will take what he wants and leave me to pick up the shreds of my dignity.

  I do my best to ignore Colt for the rest of class, a boring English lecture about Romeo and Juliet, which I read like ten times at my old school.

  “Want me to come to your balcony tonight?” Colt asks halfway through class.

  I roll my eyes and put a finger to my lips.

  A second later, a piece of paper slides across his desk onto mine. Colt’s handwriting is scrawled across it, big messy letters that speak of zero effort. I hear you live next door to Devlin.

  I write one word and nudge the paper back.

  So?

  I know where you live. I could come to your window.

  We’re not Romeo and Juliet.

  We could be.

  No. We couldn’t.

  You’re right. You’re not 13, and I’m not a suicidal perv.

  I stifle a laugh. Idk, saying you know where I live is kinda pervy.

  I’m not sure how I feel about Devlin telling him where I live, or the fact that Devlin has said anything about us at all. In the few days it took us to settle in, they haven’t made an effort to come by and welcome us to the neighborhood or anything, but apparently Devlin knew we were there all along.

  Colt slides the paper back to me.

  Not pervy, just a fact. So how about 10ish? I can throw pebbles.

  I shake my head and scribble a few lines back. Unless you want to die, I suggest you leave my windows alone. I have four very big, very protective brothers. And a father who may or may not be in the mafia.

  I consider leaving off the last line, but it never hurts to have that question in the back of people’s minds. We’re Italian, so ignorant people like to ask that question anyway. Might as well answer it before they ask. It offers a layer of protection, respect, and fear. We embrace those rumors, neither confirming nor denying. It’s part of the Dolce image, part of our mystery.

  Colt pushes the paper back, his one line of lazy print taking up three or four lines on the notebook paper.

  I’m not scared.

  I don’t answer that, because too many thoughts are racing through my mind. He should be scared. My brothers don’t joke around when it comes to guys messing with me. Even if not for them, I don’t want to start up something complicated. I have a lot to atone for, and if I want to be someone new, someone better, it doesn’t start like this. It’s not an option, anyway, so I push the thought away.

  Colt nudges my elbow with his, giving me a pair of puppy dog eyes that would make a weaker woman melt. Okay, fine, it makes me melt. But I’m not falling for it. I can’t. I’m not here to fall in love.

  I turn to face forward and refuse to look at him again. Only when class ends do I realize that no one came to claim my seat. Either Colt usually sits alone, or his word is unspoken law, and the person who sits there simply accepted that I’ve displaced them.

  After class, I slip out and down the hall before I can do anything stupid. I’m halfway down the hall when I hear a commotion. It sounds like a pack of dogs have gotten into the school, but when I turn the corner, I see a group of students crammed together like they’re watching a fight. Except they’re all barking. It might be funny if they weren’t making the sounds deep in their throats, like something bloodthirsty and primitive.

  I hesitate, pretty sure I do not want to know what’s happening. But my feet carry me forward, and the next thing I know, I’m hurrying along the hall, shouldering my way through the crowd to see what the fuss is all about. Shoving my way past a Darling cousin with a hysterically giggling Lacey on his arm, I reach the center of the circle.

  My first glimpse shows me Devlin Darling standing with his back against the lockers, holding a sobbing girl by the back of her neck. Everyone crowds around them, barking like a pack of rabid dogs. The girl is shaking from her sloped shoulders to her pale, thick thighs. Her hands cover her face, and a mop of red, frizzy curls obscures what her hands don’t. One slice of skin shows at the top of her forehead, bright red beneath a layer of freckles.

  For a minute, I don’t move. I have this weird, out of body feeling, like I had when we first arrived in Arkansas, and I realized this was real. Now, I have that same feeling, as if I can see my life splitting. There’s the girl I was, and the girl I’m
about to become. This is my chance to join them. I can hang on the arm of a Darling boy and laugh. Be best friends with the old families. I have the right cars, the right bags and shoes, the right house. I even have the right brothers. I can be one of them. A Darling Doll.

  I know how it works. I can fight for a place in this new world, a place at the best table, in the best parking spot. It wouldn’t be hard. It would take a bit of adjustment, but everyone would move aside and let me take a spot at the top with the other old-money families, just like someone vacated their seat without complaint when I sat there. I can do this. It’s the easy route, the one I took for so long I didn’t even realize what kind of person I’d become until it was too late.

  Now I have a chance to be someone else. To atone for my sins. To say, no more. This is who I am now. This is Crystal Dolce 2.0. This is the girl I am in Arkansas, the girl I am to these people. My brothers like to make an entrance, but I didn’t want to do that today. I wanted to keep my head down at this school, to stay out of trouble and keep quiet. To let someone else have the spotlight.

  It’s only my first day, and I already know that’s not going to happen. Because the truth is, I’m not made for invisibility. I’m not the sweet girl, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never be. Disappearing doesn’t come naturally to me any more than it does to my brothers. Being invisible isn’t how I’m going to make up for the person I was. Fighting my brothers’ battles isn’t how. This is how. This is my moment.

  I wanted a chance to make things right. A way to be better. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that, but now I know. I have a choice to make, a choice that’s going to ruin everything I’ve planned since I heard we were moving to Arkansas. If I do this, I’m not going to be the quiet new girl, the sister of royalty. And I’m not going to be the old Crystal. I thought those were my two choices, but I was wrong. There’s a third choice. My choice.

  I choose to make waves.

  six

  I step forward from the crowd. A surge of power rises in me. I’d been so nervous to come here, to try again. Now, the nerves are gone. I’m solid as steel.