There’s no way I’m even going to respond to that comment.
“You know, if you had takenmyavailable seat, you wouldn’t have been in the way.” Reaching around me, he withdraws a large canvas, then swaggers back to his seat.
“If I had taken your so-called available seat, you’d be dick-less right now.” I head to the front of the class before he can get a word out.
Chelsea turns so that her back is to the class. “Listen, Kinsley,” she starts, lowering her voice, “I just want to let you know that if you need someone to talk to or anything, I’m here. Sometimes this school can be a little challenging.”
“Thank you.” I doubt I’d go to a professor for anything I’m dealing with, but the offer is nice. However, it’s the last part of her speech that catches my attention. “What do you mean bychallenging?”
She looks like she may regret saying that. But she doesn’t dismiss my question. Her voice drops to a whisper. “The students here are used to getting what they want. And that’s all I’ll say on that,” she says, then drags her hands down her apron like we didn’t just have a cryptic conversation.
I nod like she just spilled top-secret intel. Of course, they do. They’ve been raised that way since birth. I can only hope there’s not much more to deal with at Monarch than wealthy, bullying murderers.
“Okay, on to the stuff I get paid for.” She tucks loose purple strands behind her ear and smiles. “The assignment we’re working on is about self-expression. So, since you’re a little behind the rest of the class, why don’t you walk around the room to get an idea of what others are doing? Have the supplies listed on here by the end of the week.” She hands me a syllabus. “That gives you a few days to think of an idea for your canvas.”
Oh, joy…not.It’s more like a dilemma. Dilemma. Dilemma. And here, I thought art would be an easy A.
As I turn to leave, two girls, giggling and whispering, prance through the open door. The stench of their expensive perfume fills the air like an invisible fog.
“I know we’re late, Chelsea, but don’t get uptight. We had to help Mikayla with her lashes. Her mascara was?—”
“I don’t care, Brielle, you’re late. As are you, Peyton,” Chelsea says. “Get your canvas, then get to work.”
With a huff, the girl with bleached blond hair, Brielle, abruptly turns and stops dead in her tracks when she sets her sights on me. The other girl, Peyton, runs into the back of her, a gold pen and lip gloss falling out of her sequin mini purse that can’t hold much more.
“Brielle, what the?—”
Brielle stands stone-still. Her hand tightens on the strap of her red designer bag. “You must beher.”
5
KINSLEY
I didn’t thinkcollege had mean girls, but I believe I just met the self-appointed bitchof Monarch University. Damn, I’m on a fucking roll.
Brielle sneers as she bumps my shoulder on the way to her desk. Her four-inch heels clack on the tile floor as she walks through the mass of easels toward the back of the room. In the short twenty or so seconds of my meeting the bitch, I assumed she would sit next to Gunner. And I’m right.
As I follow her toward the back of the room, I pretend to look at some of the artwork I’ll be expected to create. Some are serious masterpieces, while others are mediocre. With my lack of artistic skills, mine will definitely be on the mediocre end of the spectrum. Even with the bar so low, I’m still way over my head.
An irritating whine scrapes along my eardrums as I slide into my seat.
“I don’t know what all the hype is about,” Brielle says. “She’s just another dirty whore—which I could totally deal with—but this one is also a complete bitch.”
“Bri, you don’t even know her. Why don’t you give her a chance? Who knows, she may fit nicely into your little group ofhot hoes.” Gunner adjusts his crotch. “In fact, I’m hoping she does. I bet having a piece of that would be more than sweet.”
My mouth drops open. As if there would be a chance in hell of either of those things ever happening. It takes every ounce of control I have to force myself to stay planted on this rickety stool and listen to their bullshit. I thought I was far enough away from their corner, but apparently, not far enough.
I reach for my phone in my bag while I try not to pay attention to them, but it’s so damn hard, especially when they’re talking about me. They have to realize I can hear every word they’re saying. Not that they should care, but wouldn’t they want to plan their attack on me privately?
“You don’t know her either,” she retorts. “What’d you have, like a three-word conversation before I got here? Besides, I don’t need to get to know her. If what’s going around is true—which I’m pissed I wasn’t there to see it for myself—then she’s just a piece of trash who needs to be taughta lesson. She can’t challenge Edge in front of the entire school. So, the only thing that bitch will get from me is a lesson she won’t forget.” Brielle looks down at her chest, reaches into her bra, and adjusts her boobs so her cleavage is on full display.
I roll my eyes and stifle a laugh. I would bet my life that her chief weapon is her tube of mascara.
“Trust me, Edge had it handled,” he says, chuckling.
Brielle meticulously lays her tie over the fake mounds of silicone as if there’s no chance it will move all day. “That’s not what I heard.”
With a glance in their direction, I notice Brielle’s sidekick. I think her name is Peyton. A pink bubble expands from her lips, then pops over her mouth. She peels off the sticky wad and shoves it back into her mouth. “Maybe she just needsa friend.”
