Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 06

Lo

All I want is to make a break for it, run screaming from this room—from the school—and never look back. But something (whether stupidity or stubbornness, I don't know) keeps me here, lying pitifully on the floor and trying to ignore the phones buzzing and boys laughing. Clearly Jared's wasted no time in sending out his little video. I'm furious and embarrassed and my head fucking hurts, but I refuse to wave my white flag so quickly. As much as I tell myself he's an ass, I saw the guilt flash across Sam's face when he first leaned over the couch. I want to believe that he's being a jerk just because of the lies Brandon's told about me. Which is stupid. It doesn't matter why, he's still being a jerk. And yet I'm making excuses for it because his eyes are like storm clouds and my stomach won't shut the hell up about them.

This makes me angry. I've never been the kind of girl that likes assholes. Bad boys, sure, in the loosest sense of the word: the guys that show up at punk shows and smoke joints in the park with their friends. But assholes? Absolutely not. In fact, contrary to the stories Brandon likes to tell, the death of our friendship came as a direct result of him becoming—drumroll, please—a complete and utter asshole.

It's easy to tune Coleman out as I fume about Brandon and Sam, remembering the way Brandon turned on me at the end of middle school, seemingly out of the blue. We'd been the same for years, always on the fringe looking in, but happy enough because we had each other. At some point, though, Brandon had packed on a solid 6 inches of height and 20 pounds of muscle, and suddenly the football team wanted him among their ranks. Then the girls did. And when he brought me to a football party and I attracted the attention of his wide receiver, who wanted to take me to the movies the following weekend? Things started to change between Brandon and me fast. I came into school the Monday following my date with Ben Coates' to the rumor that I'd shut down the place due to lice. A week after that, Brad Mandleberg, a kid best known for eating pesto on Oreos and farting loudly in class, told me I didn't have to be scared to ask him, that he'd be happy to go on a date with me. I looked at him in confusion until he fessed up: Brandon had told him I'd been talking about him nonstop and wanted him to take me out.

They were little things then, but they were the beginning of a virus that had spread to every part of my life, including my new start at Remington. I hate Brandon for that, possibly more than he hates me. And right now, with my head pounding and my wits hanging on by the thinnest of threads, I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to prove it to him.

Coleman claps his hands, ending the meeting and sending the boys to their dorms. I don't waste a moment; I'm up and out before anyone can stop me. The only bathroom on MacMillan's second floor is designated for the boys that live there, and I need to brush my teeth and pee before it's crowded with them.

At the door of the common room, against my better judgement, I turn and scan to make sure Sam isn't on my tail. He hasn't moved; his arm's still slung casually over the back of the couch as Jared talks animatedly to a tan guy wearing a lacrosse pinnie. I feel a jolt of electricity when I realize Sam's watching me intently. He looks almost considerate, until our eyes meet and that cocky smirk takes over his features.

"You can run, but you can't hide," he mouths.

I lift my middle finger, my lips breaking into my most menacing smile, the one my dad called murderous on multiple occasions. Sam's eyes narrow and his tongue swipes over his lower lip, flicking the ring there and making me shiver from the inside out. But I have a mission now, and it requires I get a handle on my body's attraction for Sam. I turn and book it to the bathroom.