Beg Me: A Dark High School Bully Romance Read online

  I wave a hand at him, but I don’t answer. I’ll probably take him up on his offer after school. There isn’t much to do in this town besides drink 40s in the park and skateboard until the sun goes down. I took up skateboarding to pass the time, but I rather enjoy it now. I need to work on my kick flip anyway.

  Chapter Three

  Amber

  “Good lord, what in heaven’s name happened to you?” Nurse Latisha belts out the second I step into her office.

  I shrug. “Someone here doesn’t like me.”

  “It looks like you got into a fight, is what it looks like,” she says, tearing a pair of blue gloves from a box on her desk and bouncing up to me as she puts them on.

  “I wasn’t the one fighting,” I reply as she pulls the gloves onto her hands.

  “So, you’re telling me that someone beat up on you and you didn’t defend yourself?” she asks, lifting a gloved hand to my face to examine the cut on my lip.

  “Am I supposed to?” I ask.

  “Girl, sit down so I can get a better look at you,” she says, yanking a chair out from the front of her desk.

  I sit on the old wooden chair, feeling the hardness beneath the butt from the thin pillow that’s barely attached to it. I wince as Nurse Latisha touches my lip. It stings like a motherfucker.

  “Who did this to you?” she asks, turning away to shuffle through clear plastic drawers full of cheap medical supplies.

  “I don’t know,” I reply.

  “You don’t?” she asks, spinning around with a packet of single-use antiseptic.

  “Not really. I mean,” I cross my arms below my bosom, “I think it might have been some cheerleaders.”

  “They’re always up to no good. Someone ought to tell their parents,” she says, ripping open the packet and smearing the brown liquid onto her index finger.

  “Is that going to stain?” I ask, recoiling as she tries to put it on my lips.

  “You have better things to worry about than stains, honey,” she replies, shaking her head full of tight black curls. “You need to get yourself some friends and move in groups. That’s what I seen them kids do around here.”

  “I’m not a kid. I can take care of myself,” I reply, but I know she’s just trying to help.

  “You might be eighteen, honey, but you’re still a sprout to me,” she replies, moving the antiseptic to my cheek.

  I chuckle through the pain. “I feel like a loser, honestly.”

  “Hey, don’t talk that way about yourself,” she snaps. “I done seen way too many bright young women like you talk trash about themselves. Do you see me doing that crap?”

  I shake my head, feeling sheepish.

  “That’s because I respect myself. If anyone attacks you in those hallways again, I suggest you put those tiny fists of yours to good use and fight back.”

  “I don’t want to get in trouble though,” I say, a bit confused as to why a member of school staff would suggest fighting as a solution.

  Nurse Latisha scoffs at me. “Honey, I don’t know where you came from, but we do things a little differently around here. This ain’t a prep school. Students around here come from some pretty broken places. You need to watch your back and don’t take crap from anyone. You got that?”

  I straighten up and nod as she leans back to admire her work on my face. “I have to go,” I say, “We have exams in a few minutes.”

  “Alright,” she says with a sigh, standing up. “Don’t let them get to you, okay? There’s a lot more to life after high school. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” I reply with a warm smile. I feel better after talking with her. I guess things here really aren’t how they were at my previous school. The last person who punched someone outside of school got expelled immediately. It seems like here, killing someone in school wouldn’t get a second look from the principal.

  I walk out of the nurse’s office into the feebly lit hallway. The pristine blue and white halls of my past have been replaced with faded yellow and gray ones, decorated with trash, gum, and cigarette butts. It’s a depressing sight and an apt reflection of life after my parents’ divorce. I just hope things don’t get any worse.

  As I turn down the hallway to the classrooms where my exam is taking place, I feel the heavy impact of a dense body knocking me back. I stumble a few steps back, then fall straight onto my ass again. Am I about to be beaten to a pulp again? I don’t even think I would survive another beating in such quick succession.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry,” a deep voice says from above me.

  I clamber up to my feet, moving backwards defensively until my back is against the locker behind me. I look up at the guy I ran into, a muscular senior with tattoos running down both arms. Why does everyone at this school have tattoos?

  “Sorry,” I say, impulsively apologizing when he was the one who knocked me over.

  “You’re the new girl, Amber, right?” he asks, stepping forward. He leans toward me, his thick eyebrows moving low across his hazel eyes. “Fuck, what happened to your face?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I reply, covering my swollen lips with my forearm.

  “Damn, well, I’m sorry I knocked you over. It was an accident. My name is Flint, by the way,” he says, extending his hand out to me.

  I look down at it. How can a high schooler have such large hands? He could probably wrap the whole thing around my neck and pop my head off without much effort. I wonder if I should even shake hands with him, or if this is some sort of trap.

  Flint blinks at me expectantly. I guess I shouldn’t make any more enemies.

  I loosen my shoulders and reach my hand out to him, allowing him to shake it. His grip is firm but gentle, and his hand is warm. I smell the faint scent of weed mixed with a spicy cologne coming off him, but I can’t say it’s unpleasant. There’s something intriguing about it, even.

  “I gotta go,” he says, pointing a thumb back toward the classrooms. “See you.”

  I don’t reply to him, instead waiting for him to leave before I move away from the locker. I watch him swagger away from me, his shoulders swaying with cocky ease as he walks into the same classroom that I’m supposed to be in.

  Great.

  I don’t know what to make of Flint, but I can say that he’s got the face of a model and body of a boxer. He’s big enough to where I doubt anyone would want to mess with him. Maybe he would be a good friend to have, but I don’t especially want to get involved with a bad boy. I’ve been warned about his kind. They take advantage of women like me, and I’m vulnerable enough already. I need to protect myself.

  I quickly slide the padlock off my locker and pull out my hoodie, wanting to hide myself before anyone else asks what happened to me. I don’t want to become a spectacle, even though it seems that I already am.

  Should I be dressing differently?

  I look down at my white designer sneakers. They have a drop of blood on the toe box, but otherwise, they look a lot nicer than any of the other shoes I’ve seen around here. Most people wear dirty old sneakers or even boots to class. I guess even though my mother is poor now, we don’t look the part. That will change once my clothes start to get old and we can’t afford to buy new ones. I’ll start to look like everyone else at Blackstone High.

  Until then, I’m little miss prep, and I know that means people won’t like me. Flint, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have an issue with my look. Maybe it’s just the other girls here that hate me. Regardless, I’ll stick to the hoodie and wear some jeans tomorrow instead of a pleated skirt. I just want to blend in.

  I close my locker gently and hurry off the class. I have an exam to take.

  Chapter Four

  Flint

  I look up from my test booklet, surprised to see two thin legs in a small black skirt walking past me. Amber really is stunning, like Blake said. She makes my pants feel tight around my crotch, and it’s uncomfortable when I’m trying to take an exam.

  I look back down at the questio
ns as Amber slides into the seat directly in front of me. I can smell whatever expensive perfume she has on, and it’s like honeysuckles in the spring. Everything about her screams expensive, but for some reason she’s here at Blackstone High instead of some stuffy private school on the other side of the state. It’s weird.

  I wonder what’s up with the bruises on her face. She looks like someone beat the shit out of her, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t look like that this morning when she came in, not that I was staring at her or anything. It’s really not like that.

  I just think she’s odd, and I seriously wonder what the hell she’s doing in a place like this. I don’t think she even likes it here, and I can’t blame her.

  I shake my head after filling in a bubble in my light-green test booklet. These questions are stupidly simple, but I know that half the class will still fail. There isn’t any excuse for it other than apathy. Most people at this school will grow up to be career criminals or work as burger flippers to pay their rent and buy cheap beer every Friday night. I have bigger aspirations.

  I don’t talk about that here, though. People laugh and taunt you, putting you down for dreaming big. My stepfather does the same shit, which is why I haven’t been home at all this week. I sleep at the skate park or under the bridge by the creek. Nobody bothers me there. Since it’s springtime and we’re in the south, the weather is good enough to pull that off.

  I scribble in another bubble with a yellow number 2 pencil and look up at the back of Amber’s head. Her hair is messy in the back, like she got into a scuffle and never bothered to fix it afterward. She was probably in a fight, but I wonder who she would’ve been fighting with.

  I stare at her hair, thinking about how soft it must be. She probably uses some rich girl shampoo that smells like coconuts. I wash my hair at the creek with a bar of soap I stole from the dollar store. My head smells like plain soap. I wouldn’t mind smelling like coconuts instead.

  I lean forward, smelling the air while trying not to look like a major creep. I lean back. It is coconut. I was right.

  I look back at my test, sighing and scribbling down a few more answers. Most of the questions are super easy, but eventually I get to one that I don’t know the answer to. It’s some quadratic shit, something I probably skipped out on while they were teaching it. They don’t bother doing role calls because half the people don’t come to class anyway. They’d rather ignore the problem than draw attention to it.

  I tap the pink chewed-up eraser at the end of my pencil on my desk, trying to remember the formula we were supposed to use for this. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what to do. I look up at Amber again and get an idea.

  I prod her in the back with the dull graphite point of my pencil.

  Her head spins around so fast that I’m afraid she’s going to slap me right out of my seat. “Why are you poking me?” she hisses.

  “Damn, chill out,” I reply. “I need help with question 23a.”

  She squints her eyes at me. “Helping is cheating. Maybe you should’ve studied.”

  “Maybe you should stop being a bitch and give me the answer,” I reply, unable to help myself. I always get aggressive when someone challenges me. It’s in my blood. You need that kind of attitude to survive in this place.

  Amber looks taken aback and genuinely offended. “Do you want me to tell the teacher that you’re trying to cheat?”

  “Go ahead,” I reply with a grin. She obviously doesn’t know that the teacher doesn’t give a shit. If they don’t see the cheating, as far as they’re concerned, it never happened.

  Amber turns back around, letting out a huff of hot air from her nose but remaining silent. She returns to her test, and I skip question 23a. Turns out, the rich girl is a bitch.

  Big surprise.

  I used to think that some of them were different, but I’ve been proven wrong one too many times.

  I fly through the rest of the test questions, not bothering to double-check my answers. Anything that takes more than a few seconds to figure out, I skip. I’m tired of this day already, and I’m ready to blow off some steam with Blake at the skate park.

  Six minutes after the test starts, I’m finished.

  I’m not the first person to finish. For some reason, Edyth always finishes exams in record time, whizzing through them as though she didn’t even have to look at the questions to answer them. She can blow through an exam just as fast as she can blow one of the senior soccer players, and she still manages to get straight A’s. I’d be impressed if I gave a fuck about grades.

  I grab my pencil, shoving it in my back pocket as I get up from the desk. The seat makes a loud squeak as I stand up, no doubt relieved that my 200-pound ass is finally done with it. These desks were made for small people, and I have entirely too much muscle to be considered small. I’m pretty sure it’s genetic because I’m not out pumping iron every day like some of the guys here. I don’t have time for that when I’m just trying to survive.

  One long step brings me to Ambers desk. She’s hunched over, frantically scribbling away at her test like the world is going to end if she gets a single question wrong. She’s funny, but such a tight-ass. I chuckle at her.

  Amber looks up, his face in a serious frown. “I’m not giving you any answers,” she says in a hushed voice, using one arm to cover her exam papers.

  I wave the stack of creased green papers I hold loosely in my hand at her. “I’m finished,” I reply, but stand next to her for a moment longer just to make her uncomfortable. If she’s going to act like an ass, then I’m going to treat her like one.

  “Would you go away?” she asks, glaring at me.

  I study her bruised face. Whoever got her, got her good. She’s pretty, even under those marks. I’ll give her that much, but she needs to chill the hell out. This is a school, not a prison.

  I shrug, leaving her alone before the teacher has a problem with me.

  The air in the room is stale and musty, like always, as I stroll up to the teacher’s desk and lazily toss my completed exam onto the one that’s already sitting there. I don’t bother to look at the teacher or any of the other students before walking out of the classroom. This was my last class of the day, and now I’m free to leave.

  The second I step foot into the dimly lit hallway, I hear Blake calling my name. Jesus, the guy doesn’t relax for a second. He was probably waiting outside the classroom for me. I turn around to greet him.

  “Yo, you ready?” Blake asks, jogging up to me with a skateboard clutched in his hand by the metal truck that holds the wheels in place.

  “Just about,” I reply. “I gotta go to my locker and get my board and my bag.”

  “You still sleeping by the creek?” Blake asks.

  I shrug. “Until Dean jumps off a bridge, yeah, I guess I am.” I refuse to call my stepfather by anything other than his first name, but Blake already knows that.

  “We could jump him,” Blake suggests as we walk across the hall to the lockers.

  “He’s twice your size,” I reply, laughing at the image that pops into my head. Blake is like a bundle of wires, while Dean is a porky man with a bad attitude and a short temper.

  Blake scoffs at me. “Dude, there’s two of us, and you could probably bench press that loser. What are you scared of?”

  “He pays the rent. I gotta think about my mom, so can you shut up about it already?” I reply, yanking the bag that’s stuffed in my locker out along with my skateboard. My bookbag is full of essentials for outdoor survival. I have a sleeping bag, a bit of food, and a wicked sharp knife in case any punk wants to fuck with me. I don’t play.

  “All that weed you smoke hasn’t calmed you down one bit,” Blake points out. “Maybe you should give it to me.”

  I laugh, turning around and punching him lightly in the chest. Any harder and I might break his brittle ribcage. “I ain’t giving you shit.”

  “I’ll just buy my own then,” he replies, pulling out a crumbled pile of cash from his front
pocket. He seems proud to show it to me, but it’s only about ten bucks.

  I raise an eyebrow, reaching behind me to close my locker. “You expect me to be impressed by that?”

  He frowns and shoves the cash back into the pocket of his ripped jeans. “You were wrong about Mr. Leeson’s stuff, but the way. I sold a quiz cheat sheet to some sucker in the bathroom a minute ago. But get this, it’s for last week’s quiz.”

  I shake my head. “You’re going to get your ass kicked doing that shit.”

  “Nah, I sold it to some skinny guy.”

  “Skinny guys can tote guns too, my man,” I reply.

  Blake’s eyes widen. “You think he’d shoot me?”

  I laugh. “Let’s go before it gets too dark out. Nobody can afford a gun here anyway.”

  “You had me worried for a second,” Blake says, following after me as I make my way down the hall.

  We walk to the exit, stepping through the metal doors that shut us inside of Blackstone High for eight hours a day. We’re greeted by the warmth of the sun across our faces, and the gentle hum of cars in the parking lot as students begin to leave for the day.

  A gust of black fumes sweeps past us. At first, I write it off as the usual diesel exhaust sputtering out of the yellow-orange school buses, but it smells more like a fire. I look over to the parking lot to see a group of cheerleaders throwing burning rags into the broken windows of a vandalized car. They’re going to set the whole lot on fire that way.

  “Hey,” I yell at the cheerleaders, my voice deep and agitated. People here are poor, and I doubt whoever’s car has been smashed up is going to be able to get it fixed up so easily.

  Edyth, the head of the cheer squad looks over at me with her trashy entourage mirroring her movements. They drop the flaming rags, probably concerned that I might report them, and scatter like cockroaches in the light. They’re opportunistic in their delinquency and would never square up one-on-one with anyone, much less try to come up against someone as big as me.