Rival (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 1) Read online

  Throwing a sad, mental farewell to the delicious food I can no longer eat, I start to rise, but something heavy and wet forces me back down.

  I yell. My eyes burn, and I rub at them, realizing warm liquid drips down my face. Something else falls from my head to my back with a wet, sucking sound.

  “Piper!” I hear Ivy yell, but before she can follow that up with anything else, I stand, whirl, and shove my palms into the closest chest.

  Piper laughs at my feeble, half-blind attempt to push her. “No need to get so angry, Callie. I’m putting my trash where it belongs.”

  “What’s going on here?” an authoritative voice booms out.

  I scrunch my eyes, trying to see better, then feel a napkin forced into my hands. I swipe my face, squinting through all the red sauce.

  A teacher storms forward, his face lined with fury. “Girls! What is all this?”

  “Nothing, Professor Dawson,” Piper says. “Callie just had an accident and slipped and fell while holding her tray. Didn’t you, Callie?”

  Appalled, I answer, “No, I fucking did not.”

  “Language, Miss Ryan,” the teacher says. “And in case it’s not clear, that kind of rudeness is not the way to properly introduce yourself to faculty members.”

  Piper says to him, “It’s all a misunderstanding, sir. I swear.”

  “Then explain the pile of trays on this table,” I say, close to shrieking. I glance around frantically, searching for Ivy, for someone, to back me up.

  But Ivy’s held back by one of Chase’s boys, his grip tight on her arm. The strawberry blond one, the one named James. Her eyes are steady on mine, but pleading. Her lips are a thin, white line.

  The students who haven’t exited the dining hall with tray-throwing flare don’t bother with pretense and abandon their food, ogling in silence.

  “Oh, in case you didn’t know, Callie,” Piper flaps her hand. “At the end of the evening, one table is selected to help clear and clean the dining hall. It’s a way for students to appreciate our custodial staff. This table was selected for tonight, was it not, Professor Dawson?” Piper’s question rises with innocence at the end. “Miss Ryan isn’t yet aware of how things work around here. Are you, Callie?”

  The double entendre isn’t hard to miss. Except for this Dawson, who still has yet to choose a side while he studies the trays in grim silence. “Well, yes, Miss Harrington, but usually students are a lot neater than this.”

  “We’re in a big rush, sir,” Piper says. “What with the night run that’s happening tonight.”

  “Mm.” Dawson nods, resting an infuriating finger on his chin as he listens to this bitch.

  “That’s not even sort of true,” I say. “Piper threw—”

  “—I’m here to help with clean up,” she cuts in.

  “You’re out of your mind!” I say, still wiping droplets of red sauce from my eyes.

  “Callie,” I hear Ivy whisper close by. “Stop.”

  “I saw it all,” another girl says as she sidles up to Piper. Is it Violet? Falyn? The evil little sister? Who the hell cares.

  “More importantly,” this girl says, “Piper’s been Callie’s Student Guide all day, so it makes sense that Callie learn the kitchen rules from her.”

  Piper squeezes the girl’s hand. “Thanks, Addy.”

  My eyes are close to bugging out. What I say is being twisted.

  “Ivy saw it, too. Right, Ivy?” Piper asks.

  Dawson asks Ivy, “Is this true, Miss Alling?”

  Ivy’s throat moves. I wait for her response, certain she’ll have my back…

  “Yes,” she says. Then follows up, in a dull tone, with “Callie tripped. The students were in a rush to see the race and the table got overcrowded. It … got out of hand.”

  Ivy’s name bursts from my lungs, but she can’t look at me. Or won’t.

  “Okay, then.” Dawson smacks the sides of his legs. “Problem solved.”

  My jaw goes slack, and I’m ready to unhinge it when he adds, “It means you’ll also be wonderful at showing Callie the rules of detention, of which you’ll be joining her for two weeks’ worth.”

  Piper’s face blotches, her voice taking on the notes of an out-of-tune flute. “But Professor!”

  I smile.

  “I can fall for your stunts only so many times, Miss Harrington,” Professor Dawson drawls. “As for the rest of you, you’d better hurry. Mr. Stone, aren’t you leading the boats this evening?”

  Ugh. I’m not surprised to see Chase on the fringes of this gathered group, observing from afar.

  “Hell, yes,” he responds.

  “That settles it. Miss Ryan, you can be exempt from assisting in dining hall clean up tonight considering your … appearance, but don’t make this a habit, okay?”

  I have no words. But what I lack in syllables, Piper makes up for with a blubbering defensive argument, appalled she’s made to clean up the mess she instigated.

  I leave her to it, storming through the gathered group and pass Ivy along the way.

  “Callie…” she says, but my answer is my shoulder hitting her on the way out.

  I’m a fool. I shouldn’t have been so trusting, so fast. So clingy. Ivy’s been here a lot longer than me, and she has her own motives to make a priority. They all do.

  I push through the doors and into the cool, empty air of the hallway, lights dimmed for the night. Trophy displays cast their glow onto the marbled floor, but I fly past them.

  “Hey,” I hear a voice say behind me. I don’t stop.

  “New girl,” it says again, and my molars clench.

  I throw a “fuck off” over my shoulder.

  “Is that any way to thank a guy for bringing you a towel?”

  My steps slow, but I keep moving. Unfortunately, Chase has much longer legs than I do, and he comes up beside me with smooth precision. “Here.”

  I bat the towel away. “I don’t want your help.”

  “Aw, don’t be such a Carrie.”

  I halt and spin so fast, red droplets scatter, some hitting Chase's perfectly pressed polo shirt. I’m glad for it. “What part of fuck off don’t you understand?”

  “Hmm. I understand the ‘fuck’ part well enough,” he responds, a slow grin creeping across his face.

  I raise my upper lip in disgust. “I don’t want anything from you. Or anyone else in there. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Why? What did I do to piss you all off so much?”

  “You’re new.” He shrugs. “And somewhat easy prey. Frankly, Piper’s becoming lazy. I don’t condone what she did in there.”

  “Yeah, right.” I scoff. “If you for one second consider yourself a white knight, you can take your piss-poor armor and shove it up your dick. You didn’t do anything to help back there. You just looked and enjoyed. Like the rest of them.” Then I laugh. “You know, when I met Piper, I asked if she led a bunch of rats around.” I give Chase the once-over, ignoring the twinges and pulls in my belly at the sheer length of him and the amount of muscle bunching underneath his shirt. “Guess I was right.”

  “So, what am I then, new girl? A dickless knight, a useless bystander, or a rat? Choose one analogy, at least, if you’re determined to insult me for offering you a towel.”

  “It’s not just the towel,” I spit. “It’s that you do nothing. You just stand by and watch.”

  “That’s where you have it wrong.” Chase lowers his head, shadows from the hallway forming a tarnished demon over the angelic curvatures of his face. “I’m merely waiting my turn.”

  He moves before I can clock it. In an instant, Chase stands close, his nose inches from mine. I’m shocked to feel his finger trailing down my cheek, leaving sparks in its wake. My lips part of their own accord, and I’m drowning in the chocolate depths of his eyes, dark and bitterly sweet.

  “For the record,” he murmurs, angling his lips close, “you look nothing like a possum.”

  The word�
�the memory of the graphic image—snaps me from the reverie. Horrified, I harden my features, rip the towel from his grip, and continue stalking toward the exit.

  His laughter follows me all the way outside.

  10

  It’s when I hit the pavilion out front that I realize I have nowhere to go.

  I’m in clothes that aren’t mine, in a place I’ve never been before, and in less than a day, managed to attract the derision of the entire school.

  Great job, Callie. I wish proving to Dad and Lynda I don’t belong here didn’t have to hurt so much.

  As I walk in the dark, with tall, electric lanterns providing minuscule light, my phone illuminates in the thigh pocket of my borrowed leggings. I pull it out, thinking that at least my phone has survived this hell-pit.

  Ahmar: How was your first day?

  I stop in the middle of the walkway. The crashing waves half a mile from here are amplified in the silence.

  Ahmar’s been a shoulder I’ve often cried on, but there’s not much comfort he can provide from New York City. I could call him and whine about my circumstances, but I’ve already done that. This is where I am now. Accept it and move on. Despite drawing Piper’s inexplicable ire, I’m still a student at a world-class school, and my classes start tomorrow.

  Great, I text back, the screen of my phone smearing with garlicky red sauce from my thumbs.

  Ahmar: I love hearing that. Call me anytime, ok?

  Sure! I text.

  I’ve never been so fake with Ahmar. Ever. But what are my options? Tell him I’m currently standing outside, my things destroyed, kicked out of my dorm, and have no friends to speak of? Then ask him to please come over and arrest the bitch who started it all?

  A smile spreads across my lips as I advance forward, picturing Piper screeching in handcuffs as Ahmar plops a hand on her flat-ironed head and pushes her into a police car.

  I reach Richardson Place and file that fantasy away for a later date. I knock on Ivy’s door. Eden answers with a frown.

  “Ivy’s not here,” Eden says.

  “I know. I’d just like to get my stuff from the laundry room.”

  Eden looks me up and down, refusing to move from the doorway. Just as I’m about to appeal my case, she mutters, “You need to use the showers again, too.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Eden steps aside, her expression unreadable.

  I cut through the room, but pause at the back door when a sharp, humiliating realization hits.

  “What now?” Eden says as she resumes sitting at her desk, a lamp lighting the textbook she’s been highlighting.

  “My luggage was destroyed. The bags, I mean.” I can’t even look at her as I say this.

  “That sucks. But how’s that my problem?”

  “I, uh…” I close my eyes for this part. “Do you have some garbage bags I can put my clean clothes in?”

  Silence.

  I wait for the laughter, or maybe a highlighter to hit my head. I know nothing about Eden, other than she’s overtly rude, whereas Piper hides her distaste until the minute she can wield it. And Ivy … Ivy isn’t who I thought she was.

  Eden says, “Fine.”

  Her chair creaks as she moves, and I hear the rustle of plastic bags she’s pulled from somewhere. “Here.”

  I turn to grab them—quickly, so maybe the humiliation will end faster—but also latch on to cushy-soft fabric.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “A sleeping bag.” Eden shrugs. “I hear things.”

  It wasn’t even said that nicely, but the gesture makes my eyes sting with tears.

  “Eden, I…” Oh, please, don’t break down and cry. “Thank you.”

  Eden clicks her tongue as she waits for me to regain control. “You might want to use the back walkway behind this building that leads to yours. Since you’ll be carrying trash bags and all, I doubt you’re aiming to be photographed.”

  “That’s true,” I say. “Thank y—”

  “Go away now.”

  I sniff. Nod. Then head to the bathrooms. Again.

  I’m spinning my hair into a wet top knot when the sound of the bathroom door draws my head up.

  An ice-blonde head appears. It’s Ivy. “Hey,” she says.

  I meet her eyes through the mirror.

  She fidgets with her hands at her sides, then continues, “I’m sorry about dinner and how I didn’t help.”

  “It’s fine.” My hair tie snaps into place. “We just met. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Callie, I—”

  I bend to grab my two garbage bags and swing both over each shoulder. “You helped out today. I’m grateful that you picked through trash with me. But what I most appreciate is how you educated me on the class system here.”

  Ivy's eyes soften. “Callie, I’m so sorry. I wish I could make you understand, but I…”

  “You don’t have to. Like I said, we’re not even friends. I have no idea how you interact with those guys—”

  “The Nobles,” she whispers. “They’re called the Nobles.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, staring at her sidelong. “I have no idea how you interact with guys who deem themselves royalty from centuries ago. God, it’s like they’ve replaced compensating their tiny dicks with fancy cars to using royal titles instead.”

  One corner of Ivy’s lips tics up. “They still have those fancy cars.”

  I resist warming to her smile, but it’s harder than I thought. “Point is, you did help me today. You’ve been nice when you didn’t have to. So, it’s okay. I’ve got it from here.”

  I step closer, indicating that I need the space to get around her, but Ivy doesn’t move. “Do you?”

  “Sure.” I put extra pep in my tone. “Avoid them at all costs. Keep my nose in the books. Literally. Survive two semesters here, then go to college like my mom always wanted. Easy peasy.”

  “They’re bad,” Ivy says, and I don’t need to ask who. “Like really harsh. This could just be the beginning for you.”

  I lick my lips. “Then at least now I’ll know to expect it. Excuse me.”

  “Where will you go tonight?” Ivy asks, remaining in place.

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But it’ll come to me. I refuse to go to Piper’s room.”

  “I could—you could stay with us.”

  I think of Eden and how much it pained her to even share garbage bags. She did provide me with a sleeping bag, but I doubt her kindness extends to a third roommate. Then I think of Ivy, and how she showed me just how easy it is to be super-kind, then super-silent, in just five hours.

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

  Ivy hesitates. When I don’t show any indication of wavering, she steps aside.

  “I hope we can be friends,” she says.

  I stop with my hand on the door. “I think we will be.” I muster up a smile to toss over my shoulder. “Just give me the chance to survive twenty-four hours.”

  Ivy's answering smile is sad and hopeful, but it doesn’t distract from the fear in her eyes before the door swings shut behind me.

  11

  The back walkway Eden suggested is better titled the hidden walkway.

  Richardson Place is at the bottom of Briarcliff’s sprawling hill, flush against the trees lining Briarcliff’s property. The paved stones cut through a miniature forest as I trek along, aiming for the main building at the top and hoping I don’t get eaten by a wolf.

  Real or fake.

  The crashing waves nearby are extra loud. I keep on the pavement, since I’m so unfamiliar with the layout and worried about wandering off track and ending at the bottom of an unexpected cliff. I’m one of those people who goes blind when night falls.

  Electric streetlamps are scattered throughout, so I do have some light as my footsteps pad silently forward. I keep my eyes straight ahead, ignoring the random snaps of twigs and rustle of leaves.

  It’s not a wolf. It’s not a bad man. It’s just the wind.


  Saliva builds in my mouth, and I swallow, the trash bags making squishing sounds against my back as they swing with my movements.

  I’m lulled into a hypnotic pace and warm up to the sounds of the forest. I’ve almost convinced myself the echoing snaps and crackles and pops aren’t a threat and just the former mascots of puffed rice cereal screwing with me like little elves.

  It’s why when I hear a whisper, I halt.

  I set my jaw, searching the area with my feeble vision, positive I heard a human voice.

  Over here.

  My head snaps in the direction of the hushed speech. It’s to the right, where the forest becomes deeper and the cliffs get closer.

  Are they calling to me?

  If so, are they living under a rock? I’m not about to follow some faceless asshole into the woods after having trash slung at me all afternoon.

  Something flits across my vision, and I’m careful not to yelp.

  It was a person, running, with something flowing behind them.

  Oh, fuck. It’s another prank.

  I readjust my bags and start running, bending my head to go faster—I’d rather run into a tree than face whatever they have planned next.

  As I run, panting and following the curves of the walkway, spurts of fire draw my attention, flickering higher the closer I get.

  I slow to a hesitant jog, then to a creep, when I realize my poor vision’s brought me deeper into the woods instead of its fringes. The forest bed is soft, fallen leaves and soil obscuring my sounds. I squint at the little fires ahead, formed into a circle with hands cupping their stems. Faces are obscured by shadows layered with the dark of night. I have no sense of whether they’re twisted in glee or tense with wait as their prey—i.e., me—scampers around the edges.

  Slowly, I set the two bags on the ground. Then I move, bending low, into a denser thicket of trees.

  These people are in cloaks. Like, Red Riding Hood cloaks with the hoods pulled up and their voices murmuring in a low chant as they surround a bonfire.