Boys Club by Selena
Excerpt from Bully Me
BLURB:
My name is Crystal Dolce, and I’m anything but sweet…
It’ll be easy, my father said.When we move to a small town in the south, we’ll own it, my brothers said.After all, my family is rich as sin and used to getting whatever they want. How hard could it be?Except when we arrive in Faulkner, someone already owns this town.The Darling family.They’re every bit as wealthy as we are, and they’re not happy with our new money moving in. The three Darling cousins, each one more cruel and gorgeous than the last, rule the halls of Willow Heights the way my brothers ruled our prep school in Manhattan. None is worse than Devlin Darling, who makes it his personal mission to ruin his new rivals.The Darlings see my brothers as a threat. They want them gone.It doesn’t take them long to find my brothers’ one weakness.Me.
Crystal
I lie in bed the night before our first day of school, listening to the big house settling around us. Daddy’s still at the office, working late to get everything in order for the new branch he’s opening here. I can’t seem to sleep in the new, strange house. Foreign noises invade my consciousness—the crickets and other insects so loud I can hardly go outside after dark, the wind through trees making eerie sighs like restless ghosts in the hot night.
Tonight, another sound that I can’t identify rouses me from my half-sleep. I check my phone. It’s midnight, and Daddy’s car still hasn’t turned into the white gravel drive. Outside, an irregular slapping sound catches my attention. I snag a silk robe from the back of my closet door and step outside, cinching it around my waist. A gust of hot wind sweeps over me, and I think I must have heard a loose shutter banging somewhere.
Twack!
The sound is somehow familiar, though I can’t tell what it is. I peer down into the bright moonlight that lights up the entire yard in an eerie glow. The balcony runs all the way around the top floor of the house, though my room is on the far back corner. To reach the stairs, I’d have to walk past Duke’s windows on one side and then King’s windows on two sides since he has the front corner room. I’m pretty sure they set it up that way on purpose.
From the balcony outside my room, I can see the back yard, the side yard, and the row of lilac bushes that forms the boundary between the houses. According to the new housekeeper who came with the house, they’re quite impressive in springtime. Beyond the lilacs, a slice of the neighbor’s backyard and one side of their house are visible. A handful of looming shade trees toss in the heat and wind as I wait for the sound that disturbed my attempted slumber.
Suddenly, something small and dark races between the lilacs and into the moonlit yard. I gasp, startled into thinking it’s a varmint for a second. But then it rolls to a stop in the dewy grass, and I see that it’s something much more familiar than a yard pest. A football.
I blink at it, not sure if I’m dreaming. The light on the dew gives everything a silvery, dreamlike quality. Then a tall, blond guy steps between the lilacs. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of drawstring sweats hanging so low on his hips that I can see more of him than I should want to. His body is slicked in sweat, his tan skin glistening in the moonlight. I swallow, my eyes raking from his tattooed shoulders, over his washboard abs, down to the V of muscle that dips into the waistband of his pale grey sweats, which he’s cut off at the knee.
It’s not like I’ve never seen a guy in nothing but shorts before. My brothers spend half their time dressed that way. But this boy is not my brother. He’s thinner than my brothers, less bulky, but every bit as muscular in a more lean, ropy way. The kind of muscle you might get from working instead of working out. His skin is more golden than the olive tone my Italian brothers have, and his tan is concentrated on his shoulders and arms, like he got it from being outside. I can see so much of him, and yet, seeing doesn’t illuminate. Each thing I notice is a mystery, a question instead of an answer.
He jogs across our lawn, picks up the ball, and draws back like he’s going to throw a long, spiral pass toward his house. Just before he completes the pass, he hesitates. Lowering the ball, he turns slowly. My body freezes, but my heart races. Every part of me knows that I should duck back into the shadows on the balcony, that I shouldn’t let the careless-driving, football-tossing insomniac neighbor see me watching him.
And yet.
For one reckless moment, I want something other than what is. I don’t want to be Crystal Dolce, darling daughter of a possible mob family and coddled sister of four very dangerous boys. I don’t want to be the mean girl who did a terrible thing, or the one who’s off limits to every boy if they want to live. I don’t want to be the Queen B or cheerleader.
I want to be seen. I want to be a girl standing in a silk robe in the moonlight, with disheveled hair streaming in the hot midnight wind and the moon making me luminous. I want to be a mystery to him, too. I want him to see me and want to solve this mystery.
His eyes settle on mine, and he stills. For a long moment, no one moves. The see-saw music of the crickets falls away. The shimmering moonlight disappears. The suffocating heat of the night dissipates, and the wind dies. There is only us, suspended in time, in place. I sink into the ocean depths of his eyes, plunging deeper and deeper below the surface until nothing else exists.
The crunch of tires on gravel invades our world, the one we built for only us. Headlights sweep across the front of our house, and I glance that way to see Daddy’s car pulling into the drive. When I turn back, the boy is gone, leaving me to wonder if I dreamed the moment with him.
*
“Crys, what are you doing?” King asks, banging on my bathroom door.
“I’m changing my tampon, what do you think?” I yell, shoving my phone into my pocket.
“Let’s go,” he says. “It’s time.”
“Time to dominate,” Duke yells, thudding a fist against my door.
I take one last look at myself in the mirror. For a minute, I considered changing my image. But I’ve been this person so long, I don’t know what else to be. Maybe it’s who I really am. Pretty. Spoiled.
Mean.
At any rate, I look the same as I’ve always looked. I don’t dare change my image. I thought, for a minute, I might be a girl who wore slouchy sweats, oversized T’s, and messy buns. But my brothers wouldn’t let me out of the house like that. We have an image to uphold. Dolces take care of themselves and each other. Looking the part is half the battle.
I run a brush through my dark locks, straightened to perfection after an hour of work. Collecting my hair into a long, low pony, I drape it forward over one shoulder. After smoothing on a thin layer of product to enhance shine and tame flyaways, I head out of my bathroom.
My brothers step back and look me over. They’ve all gathered outside my door wearing slacks and buttoned shirts to fit the dress code. I feel bad for them, having to wear pants and long-sleeved shirts in this heat.
“Is that lipstick too dark?” King asks.
“It’s what I always wear,” I tell him, making a kissy-face. “My signature.”
“Is that skirt shorter than your uniform at our old school?” he asks, eyeing my hemline.
I’m excited to be able to wear real clothes here, since Willow Heights has a strict dress code but no uniform. “Stop looking at my legs, perv,” I say, pushing past them and out of my bedroom.
By some silent agreement, we all climb into Royal’s new Range Rover, a “gift” from Daddy that was more like a bribe to come here without making a fuss. I’d expected them to each take their own car to show off, but maybe my brothers are as nervous as I am.
They’d never show it, though.
“Look at this pathetic little town,” Duke says as we pull out of our opulent neighborhood and start toward the school. “We’re going to rule this school the second we step through the doors.”
“Not me,” I say, my voice sounding light though I was too nervous to even think about breakfast. If I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s that power can be a dangerous thing. I don’t want to rule anymore, and I told my brothers as much. They don’t get it, but they’re trying to be understanding. They’ve never wanted to be normal. They love the power.
I have to admit, I loved it, too. I loved it until the moment I saw what it could do. Until the moment I lost control of it. But here? No one knows me. I could be normal. Have a friend who didn’t know the worst things about me, our shared guilt hanging between us like a noose. Maybe I could even have a boyfriend, someone my brothers actually liked instead of one they allowed to escort me to some function and then promptly dismissed like a servant.
Things will be better here, like Daddy promised. A new start is just what we all need.
We pull into the parking lot, and my chest tightens, my resolve crumbling. How easy it would be to march down the hall like I put the B in Queen B. I’ve been that girl so long, it’s my default. But no more. Here, I’ll be different. Better.
“Ready, Crystal?” Royal asks.
“What if I’m not?” I whisper, meeting his pure cacao eyes when he twists around in his seat.
“Relax, would you?” Baron asks, shoving my shoulder. “This school is a joke. One day here, and everyone will be eating out of our hands.”
“Or licking our shoes,” King says, glancing at us in the rearview mirror.
“I got something else the hot ones can lick,” Duke says, grabbing himself for emphasis.
King pulls into a parking spot at the back of the lot, halfway under the shade of a towering oak. I know he’s doing it for me, parking back here so we can talk without prying eyes checking out the new guys. Otherwise, my brothers would be parking front and center, soaking up the attention. They’re not exactly the slip-in-unnoticed type. They couldn’t be if they tried, so they don’t bother trying.
“I guarantee you, anything this tiny town has going on can’t even touch what goes on in our old school,” King says, turning to pat my knee. “We’re gonna take this place by storm in a matter of minutes, and you know why?”
“Because we’re the Dolces,” I mutter.
“Yeah we are,” Duke and Baron yelled in unison, pumping their fists in the air. They’re identical, but they’ve taken great pains to distinguish themselves at this school. Baron even wears a pair of glasses instead of his usual contacts, and Duke got his hair cut short, forsaking their usual tousled look.
“Let’s go kick ass,” King says.
I know they’ve reached their limits in dealing with my anxiety, so I take a deep breath and center myself by meeting Royal’s eyes again. He’s the quietest of my brothers, my twin, the one who can always calm me down when I start to lose it.
We climb out of the Range Rover, and I straighten my skirt and smooth my hair as we get into formation. King is the center of our family, the center of our group. Royal and I step up beside him, and my younger brothers each fall in at opposite ends, the first line of defense. I don’t know when we created this formation, but it’s as predictable as a football formation on the field. We’re ready. With a nod, King sets the play in motion, and we start across the lot.
“Thank the baby Jesus the girls here aren’t ugly,” Duke says as we pass a group of girls primping next to a pickup truck. They stop to gawk, and Duke shoots them an inviting smile.
My brothers are, to put it mildly, noticeable. They’re all over six feet and built like the athletes they are. To add to that, they all inherited our parents’ good looks—in spades.
We make it toward the front of the lot, the primo parking spaces designated for the students who want to pay for a spot, each with a big yellow number painted on the asphalt. There, I spot the long, sleek, powder-blue classic convertible that cut us off the day we moved in.
Our neighbor. Considering where they live, it’s no surprise that they have the best spot in the entire lot, right next to the walkway that leads to the door of Willow Heights Prep. They probably paid through the nose for that. Suddenly, I’m glad we parked at the back. We can scout out the school this way. It’s always good to know the ones to watch, even if you’re planning to become the ones to watch.
Three guys stand leaning against the car as if waiting for us. I scan their faces, trying to recognize the boy I saw last night. A blond guy with strong, angular features leans casually against the rear of the car, one foot on the ground and the other propped on the bumper, his hands resting on the edge of the trunk.
Not him.
Beside him, standing straight and tall right behind the car, stands a taller, more muscular version of the same guy, his square, broad shoulders commanding even from a distance. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing a tattoo on golden-tanned forearms, which are currently crossed over a broad chest. He glares at us, his blue eyes icy cold.
A swarm of butterflies explodes inside me. Him.
Oh, fuck. Definitely him.
On his other side, another blond slouches against the trunk of the car, leaning back on it with his elbows while he scrolls through his phone, paying us no mind.
I have plenty of time to take them in before we arrive at the front of the lot. I bring my attention back to our insomniac neighbor, the angry-looking guy. He’s the driver, the center, just as King is ours. And he doesn’t look like he’s here to throw us a welcome party. I glance sideways at King, wondering how we’re going to play this. If he’ll speak first, if he’ll make nice.
“Parking back in the nosebleed with the scholarship kids?” the glaring guy drawls in a smooth, silky voice that sends a little shock of electricity through me. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect that gorgeous voice, like warm honey melting over my bare skin. And I didn’t expect what my body did when I heard it.
“Someone’s in our spot,” King says, nodding to the Bel Air. For a second, no one speaks. The guy on his phone lifts his head, shaking a fringe of shiny blond hair from his eyes. A few people have gathered around, curious about the new kids and ready for a showdown.
“You think this is your spot?” the angry guy asks. He’s good-looking, with a sculpted jawline and a square chin with the hint of a dimple in the center, but his eyes are hard and mean. The guy on his left has sharper features, a pointed chin and a sharp nose along with bright, curious blue eyes, but I peg them as brothers.
“It will be tomorrow,” King says, and he keeps walking, so we keep walking.
We stride up the set of wide, shallow steps to the high front doors. The building is a huge brick thing with the entire name of the school—Willow Heights Preparatory Academy—carved into a long slab of marble high above the doors. Just over the entrance is a smaller marble inset bearing the school motto: Inis Origine Pendet.
We enter the building and find the office, where we collect our schedules and meet our guides for the day. They’re introduced as the student council, a group of pretty, preppy blondes who look like clones with perfectly straight, smooth, long hair and high heels. As we disperse, I notice my guide, Lacey, gazing after my brothers with longing. Guess she drew the short straw.
“So, what’s the deal around here?” I ask.
Lacey strides ahead we make our way down the hall away from the office. “The classes are hard,” she says. “So if you’re from the ghetto or something, you better expect to spend a lot more time than you probably spent on your classes in Brooklyn.”
There is so much wrong with that sentence that I don’t even bother to correct her. I have bigger things to worry about and limited time to learn what I need to know.
“I’m not worried about the classes,” I say. “Tell me about those guys out front. The blonds in the Bel Air.”
“The Darlings,” she says without hesitation, as if she was expecting that question.
“Brothers?”
“Cousins,” she says. “They’re one of Faulkner’s founding families. Their great-great-great grandfather of so many generations back settled here in the 1700s or something.”
“I’m more interested in the ones that go here now than their ancestry.”
She gives me a pitying look. “This is the south, honey. Family means something here.”
I already don’t like this bitch, but I keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t have to tell me about the importance of family. But I need information, not an enemy.
“Got it,” I say. “So, they’re royalty in this school because of their name.”
“They’re royalty in this town,” Lacey corrects. “They get whatever they want. You’re new, so one of them will probably want to get in your pants.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” I say, sensing her resentment in that statement. “I don’t date.”
“If they want to date you, you’ll date,” she says. “They get whatever, and whoever, they want. Their family pays the salary of everyone who works at this school. Learn the way things work around here, and you’ll be fine.”
“Well, thanks,” I say. “Guess I’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Lacey stops at my class, having pointed out the others along the way. “You want my advice?” she asks, planting a hand on her hip. “Say yes to whatever they want, try to keep your dignity when they’re done with you, and move on. Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re special. You won’t be the first girl to get screwed by a Darling boy, and you won’t be the last. Don’t take it personal.”
“Even less interested now,” I say. “My brothers are protective. They’d never let me date a guy like that, and I wouldn’t want to.”
“You’d be lucky to land one of them. Devlin doesn’t really do the whole dating thing, but the others have a short attention span. If you play your cards right, you could be a Darling Doll. The Dolls are set for their entire time at Willow Heights.”
She’s obviously into the Darling cousins, and she doesn’t care much what I have to say. I’m fine with that. I’m more into listening today. This is a new school, and I don’t want to step on the wrong toes and draw attention. I’ll have to wait and see what my brothers say, find out the game plan. I might end up being best friends with this girl. At a school like this, it’s all about social status, not about deeper connections. If I dated a Darling, I could be in her group. I could have status. I could be a Darling Doll.
The name makes me want to gag, but I don’t show my distaste. I’m lucky she’s laying it out so clearly for me. I’m still not even sure what I want, and if I can have it. I’m not sure I can be a wallflower. It’s not the Dolce way. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be someone different than I was before.
The one thing I know for sure is that I want to be better, to find some way to pay for what I’ve done. But I don’t know how I’m going to do that. I’m okay observing until I figure it out. If helping take down the kings of this school and letting my brothers step into their shoes is going to assuage my guilt, I’ll do it. I know that’s what my family wants, so I’ll probably do it, whether or not it’s what I truly want. Sometimes, we all make sacrifices for each other. That’s what family is all about.
A soft bell chimes, and students begin to appear at the ends of the hallway, coming in for classes.
“Thanks for showing me around,” I say, sliding my schedule into my bag. “I think I’ve got it for the rest of the day.”
“I have one piece of advice for anyone new in town,” Lacey says. “Faulkner is built on tradition. We’re set in our ways, and we don’t like to see those ways disrupted. That goes for your entire family. Don’t make waves, and you might survive.”
