Boys Club by Selena
five
Harper Apple
The next morning, Royal’s Rover pulls into the lot, and everyone turns to watch him, the way they always do. Fear, excitement, and danger follows him wherever he goes, and they’re here for it.
We’re here for it. I wish I was immune to this bullshit, that I wasn’t like every other girl out here, but the truth is, I am. I feel a weird solidarity towards them, even though they treated me like garbage until a month ago and only changed when their master commanded it. Under all the expensive clothes and makeup or cheap thrift store finds, we’re the same. I wish I could be different, so Royal could know he’s more to me than a show, but I bet every single one of these girls wishes the same damn thing.
I bet they’re all hoping he’ll say something to them, think that they’re different—special. But they’re not. None of us are. We’re all dumb bitches hanging on his every move. And though my fool heart yearns for some reassurance after the way he treated me last night, I know I won’t get it. I’m expendable to him, just like every other girl out here.
Instead of taking the number one spot in the lot, the one closest to the school, he drives down the center row. Straight toward me.
My heart flips in my chest. Here comes more trouble I don’t fucking need.
Maybe I want it, though. The drama, the thrill and adrenaline—it’s addictive somehow, and it must have gotten its claws into me because there’s a little sense of deflation when I don’t get it.
He doesn’t pull up and start shit with me. He pulls into a spot and parks. A murmur goes through the students in the lot, who obviously know whose spot that is, even if I don’t. I find my feet slowing, find myself waiting along with everyone else. My pulse quickens as I watch a blonde in the passenger seat straighten from grabbing her bag off the floorboards… Or sucking his dick. Who the fuck knows.
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care. He never promised me a goddamn thing.
The blonde says something, leans over, and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Gloria Fucking Walton. That bitch said we were friends, and then she dropped me the second he showed up at her house last night, cutting off our conversation and never answering my last text. Did he spend the night with her?
She turns and opens the door, sliding out of the car and heading for the building. A few people run to catch up with her, her friends crowding around to get the gossip. But I’m still rooted to the spot, still watching Royal. He pounds a fist on the top of the steering wheel, then leans his head back on the headrest, his eyes closed, for a long moment.
My heart caves in on itself. She told me it was nothing.
It’s obviously something to him, though. I want to confront him, but I’m not going to let him know it gets to me. We basically agreed the fun was over. But I’m not some dumb bitch who sees shit go down, jumps to the wrong conclusions, and goes for a month letting a misunderstanding brew and cause unnecessary drama. I want the truth, and I’m going to get it. Turning away just as Royal opens the door to get out, I jog across the lot, pushing through Gloria’s mob of friends to get to her. I grab her elbow and spin her around.
“You said there was nothing going on with you and Royal.”
A couple girls exchange looks, but they hang on every word, waiting for the drama to unfold. I don’t give a fuck. I’m used to being the freak show, and they know Royal has two Dolce girls, so they’ve probably been holding their breath for this moment since he elevated me to that position. Well, I’m ready to give it to them. The showdown they’ve all been thirsting after.
Gloria raises a perfectly manicured brow, as if surprised I’d confront her. “Things change, sweetie,” she says. “Try to keep up.”
“Oh, so he snapped his fingers, and you came running like a bitch in heat,” I say. “And when this blows over in a week, you’ll be back to telling everyone you’re a lady.”
“No, see, I am a lady,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “Unlike some people, I don’t need to spread my legs to get attention.”
She turns and heads inside, and I guess that’s all the answer I need. I hold my head high and walk inside, concentrating on not waddling like a duck because my ass still feels like it got fucked with a knife last night. I go to my locker, anger seething inside me. Guess it’s time to stop fucking around with Royal and get my head back in the game. I got in good with him, but it didn’t do me any good. Sure, orgasms are nice, but I want what Gloria has—his secrets, his trust.
What is her secret, the secret to gaining his confidence?
I’m almost to first period when I see Dixie heading in and grab her arm. “I need to talk to you,” I say, ignoring her protests and tugging her back down the hall and into the nearest bathroom.
A couple girls stand at the mirrors, but I pull a Gloria and order them out, and they obey. I’m a Dolce girl, after all. Might as well use my sway while I have it.
“What’s up?” Dixie asks. “Do you need me to post something about you and Royal? Or your side of the story from this morning? I heard you got into it with Gloria in the parking lot.”
“Already?” I ask in disbelief. Then I shake my head. “No. I don’t have anything for you. I actually need your help.”
“Sure,” she says, glancing at the door. “I know the gossip. But I already told you not to get involved with the Dolces. You saw what they did to Colt, and he’s far from the first person they’ve fucked up. I don’t know how else I can help.”
“I need to know how Gloria got close to him,” I say.
“Well,” she says, licking her lips and glancing at the door again. “I’m not exactly unbiased. You know how I feel about Colt. And Lo is good people, Harper. You might be pissed about her and Royal, but I’m not going to say anything bad about her. She’s my friend.”
“I’m not asking for dirt on her,” I say. “I just want to know what’s going on with them.”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “They have some weird, toxic relationship. Off the record, she’s told me they’re just friends. But I know she’s set on winning prom queen, and he’ll be her date. He was her date to everything their junior year and homecoming this year…”
“Wait, you think she’s just setting it up to look like they’re together for the fucking prom?”
Her eyes widen. “Prom queen is a big deal here, Harper. You have to campaign. It looks good on college applications, and if there’s one thing Gloria wants, it’s to go to a good school. Like, Ivy League.”
I relax a little, leaning back on a sink. “So, they’re just trying to look like a couple so people will believe it and vote for them?”
She twists her lips to one side and checks the door again before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Okay, I like Gloria, but as you can imagine, people don’t share all their dirty little secrets with me. I’ve heard different from… A source.”
“That they’re not just friends?” I ask, my chest tightening.
“I heard they go to Hockington Hotel, like, a couple Sundays a month. I don’t know any details, but my source works across the street and has seen them going in together, like, five times.”
“The hookup hotel,” I say, slumping back and closing my eyes. That explains all the hotel receipts I saw in his drawer when I snooped in his desk.
Of course, I’ve never been to the Hockington, since it’s Faulkner’s only fancy hotel, but everyone’s heard the name. They hold proms and other dances sometimes, which is probably where it got the nickname the hookup hotel, though it’s also called the Hookington and Hooker Hotel by kids in town. Still, there’s no reason for two local kids to get a room there unless they’re hiding it from their parents—obviously her parents, since his dad didn’t seem at all fazed by my staying the night.
Like Royal said, you don’t fuck a respectable girl on the side of the road. Apparently, the backseat of his car is too good for Gloria, too. He’ll fuck me there all day long, but for Gloria, it’s the nicest hotel in town. He told me Sundays weren’t good for him. He didn’t tell me he had another hookup on those days. Am I supposed to be grateful that I get him two or three days a week, and she only gets him once?
Because that’s not going to happen.
“I’m sorry,” Dixie says. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. I don’t even know if it’s true. You know he doesn’t date high school girls, and people have seen him around town with other girls, like, older girls. So maybe it’s not what you think.”
“But he’s never dated anyone at Willow Heights, right? In the last year and a half, he’s only gone out with her. Does he hook up with other girls?”
Dixie’s brow wrinkles as she thinks, her eyes moving to the corner of the ceiling. “I don’t think so,” she says slowly. “The twins are total manwhores. They jumped right in freshman year, when they moved here, and started hooking up. But Royal’s more elusive. He’s never dated anyone since he came to Willow Heights. Gloria’s had him on lockdown for all the school functions since she got here, even though they’re not officially dating. I know a few boys are hoping he’s gay, but he’s never seemed really interested in anyone. Until you.”
“What about Mabel?”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening. “No way. She’s a Darling. I mean, they went after her and, like, tortured her. I heard that they made some agreement with her to leave Colt alone, and that’s why he still goes here. But they definitely weren’t dating her for real.”
I remember the way the twins went all psycho when I wore Mabel’s clothes, and I think there’s more to that story than Dixie knows. But that’s not my story to tell, so I keep my mouth shut about it.
“Thanks,” I say. “This was really helpful. Let’s get to class.”
The bell rang a while ago, but I still have my Dolce girl privileges until revoked, so the teacher lets it slide. I sit in class thinking about what Dixie said. What Gloria said. Was Royal’s sudden change last night because he was already getting ready to dump me, and he had to get the message through my thick skull? For all I know, my shitty attitude made him seek out something easier, something uncomplicated that he can get from a trusted friend.
And what does she know about him that I don’t? She made it sound like he liked me, like I could hurt him in a way she couldn’t. But he obviously doesn’t trust me—as he shouldn’t. Is it just because I was friends with Colt? Or because I won’t fall in line and obey his every command? And then there’s the possibility that he knows I’m up to something. That he or one of his brothers is Mr. D. But the more time that passes, the more I doubt it. They’d have stopped me by now, knowing I want to destroy their family.
Friday is the last game of the state playoffs, and everyone is too focused on that to notice that I’m not as tight with Royal, that he doesn’t hover possessively around me in the cafeteria line or between classes. And he’s too busy to boot me from the Dolce girl squad or even harass me into coming to his game, which is in Little Rock. For the first time since Thanksgiving, I skip the game and go to Femme Fight Friday at the Slaughter Pen. It feels weird and empty without Dynamo at the gate charging admission and cleaning up after the fights. Again I get that shivery feeling, like his ghost is watching.
But I don’t fight for him. I fight for me.
Tonight, I fight hard and long, landing a shitload of punches. Every time my fist connects, I picture Royal’s face and Royal’s body taking the abuse. I pocket a fat stack of bills for the win and walk out smiling. My knuckles are busted and bloody, every inch of me feels bruised, one eye is halfway swollen shut, and my lip is cut to shit on the inside.
I’ve never felt better.
When I reach the parking lot, I’m zero percent surprised to see Baron Dolce standing against the side of his sleek little Tesla, a sucker tucked in his cheek. I think about ignoring him and walking off, but I don’t want to make a scene in front of my workplace. Not that anyone would care. They’d all stand around cheering, excited for an extra match they didn’t have to pay for. But I’m a professional.
I also know it’s not worth running. I did that the other day, and it got me nowhere. I wouldn’t put it past Baron to do the same thing here, in front of a crowd. And frankly, my ass couldn’t take it. Days later, I’m still so sore I would have skipped the fight if I wasn’t such a masochist.
“Get in the car, Jailbird,” Baron calls, motioning lazily for me. “We’re going to a party.”
“I’m awfully sweaty,” I say, but I saunter over anyway. I’ve fought enough tonight.
Even though it’s Baron’s car, Royal is in the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t look our way. Baron crosses his arms, moving his sucker from one corner of his mouth to the other with his tongue. He watches me watching Royal.
“Whatever you did to him, undo it,” he says when I meet his eyes again.
“Me?” I ask, cocking a brow. “What about what he did to me?”
Baron studies me, though I can’t see his eyes well enough to read his expression through the reflection on his glasses. “What did he do to you?”
I snort. “Not going there.”
These are the kind of guys who will call me a slut all day long, but the minute I’m upset about a little anal, suddenly I’m a frigid little prude. Hell, he and Duke have probably done it more times than I’ve had regular sex. They wouldn’t understand that it’s not about what he did, it’s about the way he did it, the way he treated me.
If he’d asked me, given me a say in the matter, I could have been convinced. It’s not like I think anal is something to freak out over. I’d just like to be in on the decision to have it. With a little sweet talk and coaxing, Royal could get me to do just about anything in bed. He’s good at it, and I’m as adventurous as the next girl. But he didn’t bother. He wanted to show me where I stood, and he sure as shit did a good job of it.
“Make it right,” Baron says, the tone in his voice a warning. He opens the back door, and I slide in. I’m instantly engulfed in a cloud of marijuana smoke and beer fumes.
Baron slides in next to me, and Royal puts the car in drive and slams on the accelerator, throwing us all back against the seats. Duke whoops and holds up a beer bottle. It clatters against the window when he tips over as Royal turns out of the lot, squealing the tires and spitting up smoke like he’s street racing again.
“Hold on to your titties,” Duke yells. “Shit’s about to go down!”
I glance at Baron and mouth, “Is he okay?”
He catches my nod at Royal and shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Ask me what?” Royal asks. The car lurches forward and then streaks along the street so fast it makes my stomach drop out.
“So this is your game?” I ask. “You get your hooks in me, reel me in, and make me think something could happen, and then you pull the rug out from under me. Rinse, repeat, and maybe throw in a few attempted murders to make it more fun.”
“Is that your game?” he asks. “Because you’re real fucking good at it.”
“Well, if you’re going to kill us both in this car, you might want to let your brothers out. I’m sure they deserve it, but you probably don’t agree.”
“I know how to fucking drive.”
“I honestly don’t know what you’re pissed about,” I say. “I did what you wanted the other day.”
Duke pops the top off another bottle of beer and turns it up, chugging half of it before belching loudly. “I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight,” he says, then bursts into laughter, not seeming to notice that he’s the only one laughing at his own joke.
We turn onto the road that goes by the school, and for a second, my mind flashes to that basement. But the parking lot is full of cars all waiting, their lights on, like school just let out and they’re on their way out. We skid to a stop in a cloud of burning tires, and Duke rolls down the window and lurches most of the way out, waving to the car in the front of the line—Gloria’s Mustang.
She has the top down, the seats filled with her sisters and friends. They all scream like they just had a rock star sighting when they spot Duke. Gloria waves back and honks, her blonde hair wild the way it is when she’s at her realest. Just about every car in the lot starts honking after her.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“A surprise party,” Baron says, flashing an excited smile. “No one knows where it’s going to be until we take them there.”
“Including the hosts,” Duke says, howling with laughter and slapping his knee. It’s almost midnight, and he must have been drinking since the game ended to get that wasted already. “Suck it, Preston!”
“He won’t be there,” Baron says. “He ran like a festering pussy the second he got out of here, and he won’t come out of his little wormhole for anything.”
“Bullshit,” Royal says. “We’re going to get him this time. He won’t get away with this.”
“With what?” I ask.
“Someone’s been fucking with our cars,” Baron says. “He wrecked the Rover tonight.”
“Oh, shit,” I say. “Is that why you’re so pissed, Royal?”
“Fuck you,” he says. “Don’t pretend to care.”
“He keyed their cars last month, like a little bitch,” Duke says. “What kind of dude keys a car? That’s some petty-ass shit right there.”
“How do you know it was Preston?” I ask. “I’m sure you don’t get where you are without making enemies.”
“It had to be a Darling,” Baron says. “No one else would dare fuck with us.”
I bite my lip, not about to fess up on that one. Not when Royal’s in a rage, and Baron’s actually being semi-decent tonight. In the commotion the day I keyed their cars, I forgot all about it. They nearly killed Colt, and then me, and a little scratched paint was the last thing on my mind. I know I’m being a coward, but I don’t know this Preston guy or owe him any loyalty. Dixie pretty much said he was evil, and I’d rather them trash his house than my face. I know when to shut my mouth and live another day.
A few minutes later, we pull up to a fancy neighborhood on the north side of town, though nowhere near the Dolce neighborhood. This one is all big modern houses, unlike the antebellum style in the Dolce neighborhood. Royal punches in a code to enter the gated community with a big stone sign reading Windemere Estates. Damn, these people are rich. Even their neighborhood sounds posh as hell.
We enter on a narrow asphalt road, Gloria’s car right behind us, and behind that, a parade of cars as far back as I can see.
“I’ll text Cotton to park in the road,” Baron says. “We don’t want cops getting through.” His fingers fly over his phone as he texts. He starts explaining to me without looking up from his phone. “Everyone who can’t get into the neighborhood will park in the road, blocking both lanes, so no one can get in. These pussies will squeal like pigs the second we show up.”
There must be a hundred cars behind us, so there’s no way the cops will be able to get through if everyone parks on the shoulders and then in the road. It’s pretty brilliant, in an evil genius kind of way.
Royal pulls up a winding drive to a mansion that’s even bigger than the Dolces’, since it’s not constrained by trying to look antique. It’s three stories high, with huge glass windows, grey stone siding, and wooden supports and trim. It’s a pretty house, if ostentatious, the kind of mansion little kids dream of when they still think that when they grow up, anything’s possible. It even has a fountain out front, and I can see a blue glow behind it from a swimming pool.
“Let’s wreck this bitch like the pussies who live here,” Duke shouts, throwing open the door and stumbling out.
The other cars are screeching to a halt behind and beside us, filling the entire narrow drive and blocking us in. The lights in the house go on, as well as outdoor lights on the top two floors. I spot a security camera above the door and a sign saying they have an alarm system, and my instinct is to get the fuck out. I played enough Ding-Dong Ditch to know you don’t mess with the houses that can identify you later.
Duke stumbles up to the porch and starts clowning in front of the camera. The three of us get out of the car, and Baron jogs over and boosts Duke up with his hands. Duke yanks the camera off the wall with a rebel yell that must wake the whole neighborhood. Beside us, someone else hollers, and I turn to see Cotton and DeShaun swinging a keg back and forth between them. They let it loose, and it sails like a battering ram through the picture windows with a splintering crash.
The Dolces don’t give a fuck about consequences.
Of course they don’t. They’re above consequences.
The inside of the house is suddenly flooded with light, but no one is deterred. Duke throws himself at the door with the abandon of a drunk who can’t feel pain. Other partiers smash windows, and a stream of people climb over the landscaped flowerbeds and onto the bushes to dive through. In under a minute, it’s utter chaos.
