Sweet Like Revenge

03 - Notes and Negotiations

Kingsley left me with a copy of her book so that I could catch up to the rest of the class while they finished their pop quiz. I utilized the time to scrutinize my new classmates more closely, yet they were each just as unfamiliar as they had been when I first walked through the door. Not only that, but it appeared that they couldn't have been less interested in my sudden appearance.

Perhaps my memories of the ogling and the whispering and the fawning-over-the-new-girl had become exaggerated over time. Or perhaps my new look and new confidence weren't the only things that had changed since seventh grade.

To my surprise, I was slightly disappointed.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and jolted out of my reflection. I turned my head in a hurry, my eyes crashing into those of the boy sitting behind me, his crimson face fraught with peril.

"Here," he urged. He jammed a scrunched-up piece of paper into my hands, then buried his head back into his quiz.

I frowned at him, awaiting clarification. But he covered his beet-red face with his hair, very clearly trying to avoid my quizzical gaze.

I looked back to Kingsley, who had busied herself amidst a pile of essays on her desk. Satisfied that I wouldn't be caught, I opened the paper and read the messily-written message etched inside.

Want my notes for chapter one? The message asked. We could meet after school if u want ;).

I turned my head once again to peer at the boy behind me. Whether it was because of his terrified expression or panicked breathing, I had a pretty good feeling that the message wasn't from him. He certainly didn't look like the type to shorthand 'you'. Not even via text.

An exaggerated cough caught my attention. My head whipped upright, my eyes darting to the back of the room. Two boys stared back at me with wry grins spread over their lips, one with black, coiled hair and the other with hair as golden as a crown. Both wore the same uniform—the same obnoxious black-and-green letterman jacket.

The boy with the golden hair flashed me a smile, then raised a brow confidently as if to ask, "So?"

It was clear that I had found my wannabe tutor.

I studied him for a moment longer, carefully considering my options. Did I need help with chapter one? No, thank you. Did I need any kind of help from the kind of person who drew flirtatious emojis on notes during a time when he should have had his face buried in a pop quiz? Absolutely not.

But was getting 'in' with the football team a guaranteed way to get 'in' with the group that I was pretty sure still ran Irvine? Yes, it most certainly was.

Because, in Irvine, the football team was elite. They were Sienna's army after all, her manpower and strength. They enjoyed a privileged life on rung two of the social ladder, a place where I needed to be if I was to successfully infiltrate the fortress.

That was my plan, broken down into five not-so-simple steps.

The first was the easiest; glo up. Physically and legally. My infallible disguise was partly attributable to my best friend Ryan, who'd sculpted me into the perfect queen bee candidate. Together, we'd bleached the brown out of my freshly-cut hair, blown my savings on a chic new wardrobe, and learned every trick available online to beat my face like a mini Kardashian. My new alias, on the other hand, was a gift from my stepfather—having his last name decorating my new nickname meant my name wouldn't ring alarm bells in the ears of my peers.

In paper and in person, I was utterly unrecognizable. At least to those who failed to look beneath my layers of cream contour.

Second on my list (and probably the hardest goal) was to infiltrate the A list. To become a trusted and valued member of the nobility, a non-threat to their dangerous regime. I needed to get into the castle before I could bring it crashing down.

That was the third step—destroying the monarchy's closest and most valuable allies. I had to uncover the deepest secrets and scandals of the Counsel and the army, then detonate them like a bomb, destroying their lives, their reputations, and their credibility. Just like they'd done to me.

Stealing the king was both a practical and personal goal. Practical because it would rid Sienna of her most precious asset. Personal because, since year seven, I had been convinced that Nate Alderidge and I were star-crossed lovers, kept apart by a system that I had now sworn to break.

I needed to infiltrate the fortress, weaken the nobility, and steal the king. Only then did I even have a chance at moving on to my fifth goal—slaying the queen.

Adrenaline pumped under my skin and through every vein at the mere thought. But I couldn't get ahead of myself. I couldn't let visions of Sienna's downfall cloud the present as it played out right before me. I had to take things one step at a time.

Right now, I needed to infiltrate the fortress. And that football player? He seemed to be my carriage. My very charming, very dashing carriage.

He swept his golden mop of hair back from over his chiseled face as he assessed me, both of us frozen in a moment of bated breath. A moment of excitement, of playground nerves and endless possibilities.

I knew what I was going to say. I knew without hesitation that I was going to accept his offer. Still, as ecstatic as I was about the prospect of adding the beaming boy to my deck of cards, I reminded myself that Elle Roxford was no easy feat. She couldn't be, not if she had any chance of living up to the beautiful—and unattainable—Sienna Hawthorne.

After school's no good for me, I scrawled back. How about lunch?

I passed the note back to the blushing boy behind me, who pretended to ignore me at first. But the blonde football player coughed again, louder and harsher that time. Instantly, the boy sighed, then quickly grabbed the note from my hand and passed it down the row.

I waited for my admirer to receive it, my heart beating in my chest like drums sending soldiers off to battle.

My request to meet at lunch wasn't just about convenience. No, it was much, much more complex than that. I needed to be seen with the football player. Because I needed to be noticed—the sooner, the better. Most importantly, I needed a seat at the Elite's lunch table. How else would I convince them, convince everybody, that I was rung-two-material?

The football player unfolded my note and took a second to consider it thoughtfully. Of course, he didn't know that I knew how big a favor I was asking. How incredibly symbolic it would be for me to be seen with him. For me to be seen sitting at the Elite's table, alongside the most influential students in our school. For a second, I questioned whether he would even say yes.

He looked up at me, his smile upturned into a thoughtful smirk. He took a moment to study me, to look me up and down as though I was a piece of treasure that he had found washed up on the shore.

Then, so quickly that I almost missed it, he threw me a simple nod.

The bell rang to signal the end of first period. I sprung into action, collected my things, and glided to the front of the classroom where I returned Ms. Kingsley's book. I was moving so quickly, almost as though I was afraid that the football player would change his mind.

To eliminate any suspicions—to reassure him that I was as confident and bold as my note had made me seem—I glanced back to offer him a farewell smile. Then, I strutted out the door to second-period History.

When I was confident that I was out of sight, I allowed my heart to flutter with excitement. Perhaps my classmates were ogling me after all. Perhaps it was just that, like me, they had all become far more skilled in the art of deception.