Low: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Suffolk Academy Book 1) Read online

  Not one of my best ideas, I grant you.

  My boyfriend was the one who found me—correction, ex-boyfriend. He wanted to know why I’d ignored his texts. I made him think I was having a bad day, which wasn’t out of the ordinary from our usual little spats.

  But I mean, what else was I supposed to do? How could I tell him my mother was dragging me to Florida and I’d never see him again? Forget that. I didn’t have the energy for the drama.

  Instead, I broke up with my boyfriend on purpose. I found a petty reason to make him mad at me, and he fell for the bait.

  Looking back, though, it was too easy. I guess that means our relationship had it coming.

  I wanted him to ask me what was wrong. I wanted him to tell me he would love me forever, or come after me, or something… but he didn’t do any of that. He fucking kicked me out of his house and out of his life—‘forever,’ he said.

  Forever is a long time.

  ∞∞∞∞∞

  “This is one of the best schools in the state,” Grandma says, coming to a stop at a red light.

  I roll my eyes as I lean my head on the window.

  “Your eyes will roll right out of your head one of these days, young lady,” Grandma quips. “I know that’s what you’re doing over there. I’m tired of seeing that same old look on your pretty face.”

  I sigh at her ridiculous warning. I’d like to see that happen. At least then I wouldn’t have to look at this blaring sun and fake happiness for one more day.

  “I saw your mother wear the same expression for too many days to count when she was just as pretty as you are now,” she says with a bemused smile. “Just wait, though, you’ll be fine. And your grandpa and I are thrilled to have you, I promise. Let your mom have her adventure, and you’ll have yours.”

  I don’t bother responding, but I do think about her backhanded compliment. Everyone says I look like my mother. I’ll take it because I think my mother is beautiful. I don’t know if I look like my father because I’ve never seen him in all of my seventeen years. Mom never wanted to talk about him, so I stopped asking.

  He helped create me, but that’s about all he ever did for me; as soon as he found out I was coming, he left her—and me. We weren’t good enough for him to stick around and bear the responsibility of raising a child. My mother was so hurt over him leaving her, she couldn’t even bear to tell me about the selfish bastard.

  “Oh wow, I love this gorgeous campus!” my grandma exclaims, sitting up in her seat as we turn into the school’s entrance.

  I shake my head at the sight of it, because suddenly this whole thing is a lot more real than it was just an hour ago. “Just take me back to my school in New York, please….”

  As expected, she ignores me, and I stare out my window at the art déco buildings. They look like a young architect tried to design this place to make the school look like a fun adventure. The buildings are all tan with light blue, coral, and light green accents. They’re all three stories, spread out on both sides of the drop-off loop.

  In front of the main entrance, there’s a large, tan stucco archway that all of the students walk through, Suffolk Academy written across the top.

  I study the tall palm trees swaying back and forth in the wind. Clearly, they were planted to be the perfect distance away from each other. Nothing about this place is accidental—except maybe my entrance, of course. Below the palms, I notice tan cement planters with red and purple flowers that look happy to greet us.

  “If only I could get my flowers to look as pretty as those!” my grandmother says as we inch closer to the drop-off point.

  “Probably fake, anyway,” I mutter.

  “Pick one for me and wear it behind your ear for the day, Aleta. Let me know if they’re real or not,” she says, patting my hair. “A purple one will look so pretty on you with your new green and white uniform.”

  I sigh and look down at this thing I’m wearing.

  Back home, the only time I would have worn something like this was Halloween.

  The green-and-white plaid pleated skirt stops right above my knees. I glance down further to my white calf-high socks stretched above my black Mary Janes. At least the dress code allows me to wear my old shoes. Grandma thinks they look perfect with this stupid get-up.

  The white polo shirt has a silly green school symbol—an eagle with a crown above its head—on the left side.

  “Keep your shirt tucked in because you want to look nice and neat at S.A.,” Grandma reminds me now.

  Like that’s going to happen. I will say I’m thankful they don’t require the green blazer attire from their brochure. They have enough common sense to realize nobody can keep anything like that on in this Florida humidity.

  Grandma reminds me again that she’ll pick me up right here at the end of the day, and I pull my fingers through my dark brown hair. It’s just long enough to fall over the crest of the school’s silly logo. I’ve left it down for now—partly for this reason—but packed a black scrunchy in my backpack for later. This is Florida, after all; I’ll want to pull it up in a low ponytail when the heat gets to me, especially since it’s so thick. I smack my lips to make sure the lip gloss I applied is still holding on, keeping my lips moist. I like to wear eyeliner and mascara, but went without the eyeliner for today.

  No need to draw attention to myself until I get used to this place. And anyway, they don’t deserve to see my best face. Considering how rich you have to be to attend this school, I have to assume the students are just as fake as the landscaping design.

  “Give them your best, dear,” says Grandma, unlocking the doors to let me get out.

  She pulls me over for a side-hug.

  “Suffolk Academy, ugh,” I say into her silver hair.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine here,” she says, easing back into her seat and letting me go.

  “Yes, I’m good anywhere, but I’d be even better back in New York,” I can’t help saying, grabbing my lightweight backpack from the back seat. I know it’s not her fault, but now that the reality of this is setting in, I can’t help being bitter.

  “If only we could have sent your mother to a school like this, she would have turned out so….” Her voice trails off.

  I look over at her to see a lone tear falling down her cheek.

  I turn away fast, not ready to deal with her emotions about my mother. I have my own problems with her to deal with later, and an even bigger issue with this new school at the moment.

  Grandma can save the tears for when she’s home alone in her room, reminiscing about all the problems she had with my mother.

  Believe me, I get it. She’s disappointed. I’m disappointed now.

  Mom hurt her by leaving when she got out of school, barely to step foot in Florida again, and then abandoning her all over again today. I get it, but I’m hurt now.

  “I will not make you feel sad on your first day at this elite school!” she says, wiping her cheek. “Go on and make your mark.”

  I get out and stand on the sidewalk for a moment as my grandmother honks the horn at me for emphasis on the goodbye.

  “Go on, dear!” she yells out of the passenger side window.

  I walk off, hoping nobody’s paying attention. Students are drifting around and toward the entrance, so I move with the crowd to enter a courtyard just beyond the stucco arch. Around me, kids are greeting friends who they haven’t seen over the summer.

  Suffolk Academy is for grades seven through twelve. I’m coming in at grade twelve, and I don’t know any of these people. I walk slower so I can take in the crowd. Everyone appears to be happy to see each other and happy to be here.

  I’m not. I just want classes to start. At least then I won’t look like a loner walking around here. Deciding I’d rather get to class early than wander around by myself, I break for the main entrance.

  Might as well get this over with.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “G

  ood morning! I’m Katelyn, but let m
e guess—you’re new here?”

  I jump at the greeting and turn to see a tall girl walking alongside me. She has almond-shaped hazel eyes, red pouty lips, and a short black bob. Her slender frame makes her look like a supermodel.

  I thought I was being inconspicuous, but apparently not.

  And, beyond that, shouldn’t she be walking the runways of Milan and Paris?

  With her looks, though, I get the feeling she doesn’t fit in, either. Everyone else looks like they’ve been lying on the beaches all summer, and we look like we just came from the cold, city skyscrapers.

  “I hope you don’t mind me talking to you,” she says with a sweet smile. “You remind me of how I was two years ago when I was the new girl on campus.”

  “Yeah, I am new,” I agree needlessly, forcing a smile that I hope looks more friendly than awkward. This girl even talks with an accent I can’t place, but I know she’s not originally from south Florida. She stops beside me and clasps her hands together. “Yay, you’re a New Yorker! I just love New York, and I love your accent.”

  I want to ask her why isn’t she working for a big modeling agency in Manhattan—because she is definitely model material, right down to her too-cute mannerisms—but I don’t want to come across as weird.

  “Thank you, I guess,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “I hear an accent in your voice, too, but I don’t know where it’s from.”

  “Oh, me? I’m from New Zealand, and I cannot wait to go back!” she laughs.

  “New Zealand?” I ask in a high-pitched voice. “I’ve never met anyone from New Zealand. I barely know where it is in the world.”

  “Well, now you have, and it’s on the other side of the planet. I’m the only one here from New Zealand, so you won’t meet any others at S.A.”

  “S.A., right. My grandparents drilled that into me,” I tell her, trying for a joke.

  “Yes, we call Suffolk Academy ‘S.A.’ A shorter way to say it. You’ll be saying it soon, too.”

  I nod, but notice kids are passing by us and we’re blocking traffic. She’s so friendly, but I don’t know what to say, and I’m suddenly very conscious of the fact that she’s this focused on me. It’s nice to not be alone, but I don’t want anyone’s pity. “I don’t want to keep you from catching up with your old friends,” I tell her.

  She shrugs, and even that move looks elegant on her. “The only friend I had at S.A. moved away over the summer,” she says. “The office secretary told me there was a new girl in my grade when I went by for my class schedule, and I volunteered to keep an eye out for you. If you want, I’ll show you where your classes are located? I remember what it was like to find my way around this place. I hope we have some of the same classes,” she adds. “Can I see your schedule?”

  A little bit shell-shocked, I snag my schedule out of my backpack’s pocket and hand it over. “Sure,” I say. I don’t know what kind of school keeps an eye out for the comfort of new kids, but I can’t help being thankful to whoever sent this girl my way. Having someone volunteer to help me out like this is a hell of a lot better than wandering around and consulting a campus map, which was the plan until now. If I can make my way around New York City, I can surely find my way around this place, but I won’t turn down the help.

  “What a pretty name. Aleta, Aleta Saunders,” she says, smiling. “What does Aleta mean?”

  “My mother said she named me after a Greek goddess, Aleta. She remembers reading about her in school. She says it means ‘the spirit of truth’.”

  “So, you’ll always tell me the truth, huh?” she asks.

  “You got it,” I say.

  “Even when I’m having a bad hair day?”

  I laugh, finding myself really liking this girl. With any luck, maybe we’ll be friends for more than today. “How could you with a sleek bob like yours?” I ask. “And what about you? I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Oh, it could happen, you never know,” she says with a giggle. “And, I’m Katelyn. So, you can just say, ‘Katelyn, please go brush your hair already,’ okay?”

  Grinning, I take my schedule back and pocket it. “Got it, Katelyn.”

  “Perfect! And now we’ve both got new friends to get us through the year at this place! Aleta, consider me Katelyn McNeil, your new friend. Come on, let’s get your first day started.”

  Following along with her, I learn we have some of the same classes, including our first block, so that’s another gift. Senior year at this place is starting to look up already, and although I’m not used to hanging around someone who’s quite so cheerful as Katelyn, she’s so easy to talk to that this feels like a pretty good start.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  W e make our way to the hall where our first class is located just as the morning bell rings out. She assures me it’s just a warning that class will start soon—mostly for the benefit of students lingering outside—so we’re still okay on time.

  The wide hallway becomes filled with more upperclassmen talking and laughing among each other. These rich kids don’t seem so bad to me now that I have a friend among them. And the uniform even helps, weirdly, since I blend right in for the most part.

  Maybe my grandmother was right, and I can make my mark here.

  Katelyn and I are stopped at her locker when the hallway chatter dies down. I glance up to see the crowd parting for three boys entering the hall from a nearby doorway. Everyone stands off to the sides of the hallway as if making a new walkway for their group to stroll inside, like the whole space really just belongs to only them.

  Each one of them is a tall, good-looking young guy who looks like he’s stepped off the pages of a Calvin Klein ad. They’re the kind of good-looking that you see in movies about high schools—not in actual high schools.

  Katelyn grabs my arm and pulls me back to the wall with her, between two sets of lockers. I shift and look at her incredulously--because why on earth are we acting like these guys own the hall?—but she doesn’t even seem to see me. She’s ultra-focused on this group of handsome boys.

  And, okay, I understand they’re nice to look at, but do we all have to stop what we’re doing and give them our full attention? Seriously?

  “Do you like one of them?” I whisper to her.

  “Like them?” she asks, returning the whisper. “You do not like them, Aleta. Trust me. You avoid them if you can, at all costs, and hope they like you enough to ignore you.”

  I raise an eyebrow, hoping she understands that I think this whole thing is a little ridiculous. “I’ll ignore them if they ignore me, you bet,” I whisper back. “I could care less if they see us. I just don’t get the holier-than-thou worship,” I add, watching one of the guys pause to lean in and whisper to some girl he’s pretty much pressed against a locker.

  It’s not my business, though. I’m not looking to be well-known by anyone in this place. I’ve never needed a lot of attention or a lot of friends in my life, and I’m not about to start now.

  I try to pull away from the wall to keep walking to our class, but Katelyn yanks me back.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her, my voice a little louder than I intended.

  “No, hold on, let them go by first,” she pleads with me.

  “Stop, girl—seriously?” I chuckle. “Who are they, some kind of royalty or celebrities?”

  “The tallest one is Lowell Bartlett, and the others are his friends. You follow their rules, Aleta, or else you’re going to pay. I know it sounds melodramatic, but it’s not. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to warn you,” she whispers, “but this is real. They’re not anyone you want to mess around with, and they run this school.”

  I turn back towards them to study their little group.

  They are the best-looking group of boys I think I’ve ever seen in my young life. They’re walking toward us again now, and it seems as if they’re strolling in slow motion and using the hushed tones of other students as their runway music.

  They look good, and they know it.

 
The tallest guy leads them our way, laughing as he moves—and then he turns his head in my direction.

  I’m pretty sure my eyes freeze open on their way to a blink when his eyes meet mine. I have never seen such deep electric blue eyes. They don’t even look real. They look like they were made by hand to fit perfectly in his beautiful face.

  The v of his white polo reveals a tanned chest, and I can see the outline of chiseled muscles underneath as the shirt struggles to hold in his pecks. His hair is darker than mine, that brown shade that appears nearly black, with tousled waves on top and buzzed sides. His features are rugged, too, with a slight bit of unshaven stubble on his chin that gives him a harder edge than the clean-shaven guys around him. And as gorgeous as he, there’s a definite danger here, too.

  For the first time, Katelyn’s dramatics don’t seem laughable, but I can’t seem to look away from this guy. We continue to stare at each other, and I feel like my head may start spinning at any moment.

  He slows to a standstill a few feet from me. He’s stopped laughing, but he keeps smiling.

  Is that smile for me?

  “Oh no, Aleta,” Katelyn whispers, tugging at my elbow. “Let’s try to get to class.”

  When I don’t move right away, she grabs my wrist and pulls me behind other students so that we can start inching our way down the long hallway. It’s enough to have broken my stare with Lowell, and I swallow down whatever spell I was under.

  “I thought we had to wait for them to go in front of us,” I whisper, trying to force a laugh that won’t come.

  “You don’t want Lowell Bartlett looking at you like that,” she says without bothering to look my way. Her hand is still on my wrist, guiding and tugging me through the crowd that’s closing again behind us.

  “Why not?”

  “They don’t call him ‘Low’ for nothing, Aleta, and you don’t want to find out how low he can go. He’s a Bartlett, and they’re part of the family of industries and influences that run this school. He and his friends can do whatever they want here—and nobody tells them to stop being an ass. Nobody.”