Alaia Finley has always lived in the safe, wealthy bubble her parents created.
Her neighbor, Benedict Grace aka Ben, couldn't be more different.
He's part of the city's most feared group, known for causing trouble.
Even though they've lived next...
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When we arrive at the party, loud music blares. Teens our age clutch red cups while others are sprawled on the beach, making out. Guys have their arms draped around random girls. Other People are dancing or swimming in the water. I really hate parties like this. I scan the crowd and spot Ben. He's talking to a girl, and all I see is the back of her head and do I care that she's standing so close to ben? No. Absolutely not. Am I interested in how well my fist would match her ugly blush. Chanel wraps her arm around mine. "You look like you want to hurt someone," she whispers with a smirk. I roll my eyes as she guides me to another part of the beach. There, people from our class are already waving at us. I force a smile. Chanel might like them, but she'd like anyone as long as they don't tarnish her reputation. I spot two familiar faces in the crowd: Noah and Jackson. What are they doing here? I haven't seen them since the motel incident. Jackson drove me home, and Noah stayed behind when Ben and he... I don't even want to think about it. Jackson glances at us, especially at Chanel. But when she looks back at him, he quickly turns away, his cheeks flushing red. Chanel tries to hide a grin. "How are the ladies?" Andrew, the biggest jerk in our class, asks. "Very good," Chanel replies, giving Andrew a cold stare. Andrew slings his arm around my shoulder, pulls me close, and shoves a cup into my hand. "And you, Finley?" he asks, leaning in close. I try to push him away and don't take the cup. He presses me against him, the cup against my chest, spilling beer onto my bare stomach. I shove him away, but he doesn't let go. "Come on, Finley," he whispers with a laugh. Jerk. I kick him lightly between the legs, and he finally lets go. "What was that for?" he hisses in pain, and everyone falls silent, looking our way. "What was that for?" I repeat with a bitter smile. "You touched me and wouldn't let go," I say, glaring at him. "I was paid to do this. He said you'd like it," he whines, and his friend comes over, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "Who?" I ask, stepping closer. "Benedict Grace," he hisses. What the... It's like a switch flips in my head. I turn on my heel and march toward the drink station, where he's still standing with that girl. I walk in his direction and throw a punch straight to his face. "You bastard" I say, my anger simmering. The music around us fades. Everyone whispers or gasps in shock. Ben doesn't look at me. His hand slowly touches his bleeding lip. The girl steps closer, trying to touch his face, but he slaps her hand away with a loud clap. "Get lost, slut" he snaps. She looks confused, then glances at me. Wait, is he talking about me? Ben growls, then looks at the girl, realizing she's looking at me. "I mean you," he says, and she looks at him. "M-me?" she stammers. "Who else here is the slut?" he growls, then turns his gaze back to me. My legs feel weak. I could sink into the sand under his stare. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I flinch and turn around. It's Jackson and Chanel. Jackson releases my shoulder when he sees Ben looking our way. "Let's go..." Chanel whispers, not to me but to Jackson. "He's going to cause trouble if I don't calm him down," Jackson whispers, stepping past me, but Chanel grabs his wrist. "I don't want you getting hurt," she whispers. What the heck? Jackson smiles, shakes his head, and lightly strokes her hand before letting go and heading toward Ben. Ben's gaze remains locked on me. His look makes me feel small. He's furious. Chanel takes my hand and leads me to the parking lot. That was a... long party. haha.
Under the bright lights and noise, she opens her convertible and slides into the passenger seat staring into the darkness where voices can still be heard. I sit down next to her, looking at my lap. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," I say, tracing my fingers along the edge of the cloth around my hips. "I'm proud of you," she whispers, and I look at her, puzzled. She smiles. "That's the real Chanel Mini," she says with a chuckle. I let out a bitter, sad laugh, and we both lean forward and embrace each other.
