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11. Drew

ELEVEN

drew

I stood in the middle of the crowded hallway, staring at the text on my phone: Hope you're enjoying the new school, darling. Bisous. - Irina

My mother.

Who refused to let me call her anything but Irina. And who evidently had no idea what type of school Dayton was, or I'd hope to God she'd have curbed my father. Just as I went to reply, someone smacked the phone from my hands.

"Barrington whore."

A group of girls laughed as they parted around me, Nikki standing pride of place among them with a bitchy smile radiating off her face before they moved on. God, she was pathetic. They couldn't even come up with something more original— Barrington Whore had been Sharpied across my locker. Looked like the conversation I'd overheard Bellamy and her having did fuck all.

Sighing, I dropped to a knee to reach for my phone, but just as I did, someone else snatched it up.

"Hey, Drewbie." Hendrix smiled, flicking his finger against my knuckles before straightening.

A crisscross of SpongeBob Band-Aids decorated his forehead, reminding me that I'd almost accidentally knocked him out.

"Hendrix," I groaned as I stood. "Give it back."

"Patience." He started down the hall, fiddling with my phone as he maneuvered around students.

"Hendrix!" I jogged after him.

"Call me Daddy and I'll give it back."

"You're gross." When I made a grab for my phone, he ducked away.

"Oh, come on. You gotta have some titty and beaver shots in here somewhere." On a shake of his head, he chucked the device at me, then headed toward the Men's room. "You disappoint me, rich girl."

I flipped him off before rounding the corner and heading toward history. I took a seat and my phone vibrated in my pocket, probably my mother sending a picture of her new yacht.

Unknown Number: I'm taking a shit right now. I need moral support. It's a burner.

I didn't need to ask who it was. I dropped the phone to the desk, refusing to acknowledge how vile Hendrix was. A few seconds later, it buzzed again, and a picture of a curled turd popped up on the screen. And that—was another level entirely.

Mr. Weaver was halfway through a lecture on the American Revolution when the intercom system crackled. "Could Drucella Morgan come to the office, please?"

The class snickered, repeating my godawful first name, and I cursed my parents for the millionth time for apparently loathing me from birth. I pushed up from my seat and made my way through the empty hallways to the office, wondering why I was being called in. Maybe someone had said something about my car getting damaged on school property. Doubtful. Everyone in this school was up Bellamy and Hendrix's ass.

When I stepped through the glass doorway, the secretary looked up. "Miss Morgan?"

"Yeah?"

"Coach Todd told me you have a grass allergy, but…" She flipped through several pages in a chart while shoving her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "It's not listed on your medical records. I'll just need you to sign a form so we can add it. And you'll need to bring in an EpiPen as well."

Who knew Dayton High would actually care about their students dying? "Oh, it's not that serious. I just get a rash." That sounded plausible…I thought.

She peered over the rim of her glasses, one pencil-drawn eyebrow quirked. "A rash?"

"Yep."

On a sigh, she pushed up from behind her desk. "Let me get a different form then…"

While I waited, two guys in baggy, Star Wars shirts walked in. They slumped into the chairs beside the principal's office, fidgeting and wiping sweat from their brows.

"He's gonna kill us."

"If we don't turn someone in, we'll get expelled."

Expelled. I looked away and stared at the printer on the back table, trying not to make it obvious I was eavesdropping on their whispered conversation.

"But if West gets expelled, Hunt will murder us." A small whimper leaked through his lips. "Hunt's crazy."

"But if we give another name, someone else will get expelled, and they didn't do it." Well, at least they had a conscience.

I should have just minded my own business, but of course, I'd never been able to control my impulses. I turned around, my curiosity more than peaked.

"What did West do?" I asked.

Both guys froze, staring wide-eyed at me like deers in headlights. One of them went to open their mouths, but the other nudged him in the ribs. "Don't, Kyle. She's like... his ."

Wow. "Uh, definitely not," I scowled at them for a moment. "But I might be able to help you."

The guy to the right shook his head. "Don't do it. Getting expelled is way better than getting murdered."

Bellamy was a dick for sure, but murder sounded extreme. "Did he sell you weed?" I asked.

They looked at each other before the one named Kyle broke. "It was a test."

His friend hit him in the arm.

"He what...sold you a test?"

They both nodded. Bellamy really was into anything and everything bad. But that was worthy of expulsion? Screw it, I didn't care about the how, only getting out of this awful school and away from that psycho. The slightest concern whispered in the back of my mind that getting kicked out might jeopardize my college acceptance. Then again, my dad had paid them to keep me after one expulsion, and as important as it was to me, the bragging rights were more important to him.

Principal Brown's door creaked open. An excited thrill shot through my veins. Screw Bellamy and screw this school. I was getting out of here.

I turned to the two guys. "Look," I said, feigning distress. "Just don't tell Brown I sold you the tests. I'll refund you the money."

Both guy's faces washed white. Principal Brown cleared his throat. When I turned to face him, he had both hands on his meaty hips, his cheap dress shoe tapping the floor.

"Would you like to step into my office, Miss…"

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