Brutal Boy by Selena
nine
Harper Apple
“It all started when the Dolces showed up,” I say. Colt’s told me this story.
“No,” Dixie says, shaking her head. “On Homecoming night. Which, ironically, is the night I first slept with Colt.” She sniffs and wipes away fresh tears. “Royal was kidnapped. They said it was the Darlings, but here’s the thing. Before Crystal died, she sent a letter to the police—Officer Gunn. He was a friend of the Darlings. I don’t know exactly what it said, but for a while, he was trying to investigate Mr. Dolce because of something she said. Like, maybe they faked the whole thing.”
“Why would they fake a kidnapping?”
“To frame the Darlings,” she says. “They framed them for lots of stuff since then. But anyway, Officer Gunn eventually gave up, I guess. I don’t really believe it, anyway. There’s no way Royal could fake what happened to him. I mean, sure, his dad could have beaten him up and put him in the school basement, but that wasn’t the big thing. Royal didn’t used to be like that. They found him, but it’s like… Did they really?”
“What do you mean?”
“They found someone. Someone in Royal’s body. But he wasn’t the same person after that.”
My heart is pounding hard in my chest. I remember some rich kid going missing my freshman year, but I didn’t attend much school that year, so I missed most of the gossip. Even so, I remember a conversation or two about it on the day or days I was at school during that time. I remember Zephyr saying if he disappeared, the cops wouldn’t be looking. They’d say good riddance and be glad for the decrease in graffiti. We all laughed because he wasn’t wrong, and the truth would be too painful if you didn’t laugh about it.
“Their sister wrote a letter to the police turning her dad in?” I ask, because that’s the part that’s new in all this. I already knew Royal got kidnapped, though I should probably search some local news articles from two years ago to get all the details.
“That was the rumor, anyway,” Dixie says. “And if you’d met Crystal, you’d know it’s the kind of thing she’d do. She always wanted to do the right thing, you know? Even when she didn’t know what that was, she tried.”
“You knew her?”
Dixie laughs quietly. “Yeah. She was my first friend at Willow Heights. My best friend.”
“Wow, I didn’t know,” I say, again overwhelmed by just how much history has gone down in the past two years.
“Yeah,” she says. “If it weren’t for her, I’d never have had the courage to go out for dance or start my blog. She used to blog, too. They found her log-in and stuff when they were searching for her. I still sometimes check, just in case she posted again.” She gives a little self-deprecating laugh.
“You think she’s still alive?”
“No,” she says. “Not really. I mean, if she was alive, she would have contacted her family. She loved them so much. Especially Royal.”
“Everyone talks about her like she was a saint,” I say. “They barely mention the guy.”
“Really?” she asks. “Who were you talking to? Devlin was, like, the darling of Faulkner. The whole town adored him. When he fell, all of Faulkner fell with him. People reminisce about him like he was a god.”
“Like Royal,” I say, remembering Colt saying they used to be like the Dolces.
“Nothing like Royal,” Dixie says, her face darkening. “I mean, yeah, he kept people in line at school. But the Darlings were, like, regular small-town football gods. They got lots of girls and had money. Before I started here, when Devlin was maybe a junior, I remember running into him at a restaurant and my dad honest-to-god asked for his autograph.” She shakes her head. “They were loved. The Dolces are feared.”
“Did anyone ever check if something happened to her because of that letter?”
“Yeah, they investigated the Dolces and the Darlings both,” she says. “Mr. Dolce’s crooked as a dog’s leg, but he loves his kids. He’s a single dad. They’re all he has. And the Darlings loved Devlin, like, a crazy amount. In the end, nobody could believe either of them would sacrifice their kid to get rid of the other kid, so…”
“Just seems weird that she wrote a letter incriminating her dad, and then mysteriously disappeared. If he’s mafia, maybe the mafia got pissed about her snitching.”
As the words leave my mouth, I shiver despite the warm sun. I snitch on the Dolces every fucking week. If they ever found out…
“Actually, I don’t think they got the letter until she’d already disappeared. So, like, it hadn’t gotten out that she’d accused her dad. People still like to pick it apart, and lots of people have theories that they’re still alive, like they’re Tupac or Elvis or something. But in the end, I just accepted it for what it was. A horrible tragedy that took my best friend and tore apart the town.”
“Sounds like it really just tore the Darlings apart.”
“Same thing,” Dixie says with a shrug. “I mean, I’m not saying they’re saints and the Dolces are the devil. The Darlings are a mixed bag. And it’s easy to say Devlin was good and Preston was evil. But everyone’s got their dark side, you know? If anyone knew half the things Colt did to me, they’d say I was crazy to love him. But I knew what he was going through, and I forgave him.”
“You love him?” I ask, feeling even more guilty about that last afternoon I had with him.
“Well, yeah,” she says, like I should have known that. “Since the first moment we met. One day, I always thought he’d love me back. Now, I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “After Halloween, he said we were done. He’s said it before, so I just respected that. But now I think maybe he knew this was coming, and he didn’t want me to get caught up in it.”
“That’s what I meant earlier,” I admit, swallowing a lump in my throat. “When I asked if you knew why they did it. I meant this time. Because I know. They did it because we hung out that day.”
She nods, looking so sad it breaks my heart. “I figured as much.”
She’s a smart girl, so I’m not surprised. I am surprised that she sought me out. I hung out with her guy. And then I got him beaten to within an inch of his life.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “If I’d known… I mean, I should have. I just didn’t think they’d go that far.”
“Colt’s a big boy,” she says. “Maybe you should have known, but he for sure did know. If he wanted to play with fire again, that’s on him.”
That’s what he said to me when I asked about his hand—that some people liked to play with fire. Maybe once before, he’d fought back in his own way, and they hadn’t liked it.
“Well… Thanks for being cool, I guess,” I say. “Most girls in your position would have it out for me.”
“Maybe I’m not most girls,” she says.
“I know.”
“People underestimate me all the time,” she says. “Like because I’m fat and have a soft voice, I must be this timid little mouse. It used to bother me, but not so much anymore. There are lots of ways of being strong. Crystal taught me that.”
I think of the stiletto-wearing, street-racing, head cheerleader queen bee finding me about to leave school and challenging me to stay.
“I thought I was strong,” I say. “But now I’m not so sure. They’ve really gotten to me.”
She nods solemnly. “That’s what they do. They don’t start with a beatdown like they gave Colt. They start small, and they slowly but systematically destroy you. What they did to Colt, that was the grand finale for him. I thought it was his finger, but I guess they had more in store. This time, I’d bet money they never bother him again.”
“Unless he plays with fire again,” I say with a shudder, remembering the sound of Royal’s fist connecting with Colt’s face, how it didn’t crack like bone anymore. I have to squeeze my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. I was strong when I started here, but they’re breaking me down. They’re making me doubt myself, question whether I was ever strong to begin with. But I know I was. I still am. I’m losing it, though, and that scares me more than anything they’ve done.
Dixie’s right, though. It all adds up and wears me down, exhausting my energy.
The bullying, made worse because they got everyone on board with it.
The blowjob, made worse because it was all for nothing when they broke their promise to give me something in return.
The video, made worse by the fallout and the constant barrage of sexual harassment when I walk down the hall.
And witnessing the horror of what they did to Colt, made worse by the guilt and the threat that they’ll do it again if I dare to talk to another guy.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” I say to Dixie. “The Dolces have it out for me. If they’re going to destroy me, I’m not taking anyone else down with me.”
Dixie gives me a long, calculating look. “I already offered, but I just wanted to tell you again, that I’m here if you need anything. I know I’m a gossipy bitch and some people don’t like the blog, though most of them still read it. But I know things, Harper. I’ve been here the whole time.”
I nod. “Thanks, Dixie.”
She blows out a breath, puffing out her cheeks, and then stands. “You know, they told you to stay away from guys,” she says. “We can still be friends, Harper. You’re going to need them. No one can survive a Dolce targeting alone. Having friends doesn’t make you weak. It makes you stronger.”
It may not make me weak, but it makes me vulnerable, and that might as well be the same thing. But I’m not going to convince her, so I just shrug. “Look what happened when I made a friend.”
“You made friends with their enemy,” she says. “With the only Darling left in this school. The one person that would piss them off the most.”
She’s right, of course. I didn’t do it intentionally, not at first. But I kept going after they told me to stop, when all along, Dixie was right here, offering the same information Colt had. I could have walked away from him, but apparently I have a soft spot for lonely rebel boys, and there he was. Or maybe it’s the tortured souls that pull me in, and that’s why I’m drawn to Royal even as I despise him.
I stand to go in with her. I’m not going to skip classes all day. I’m lucky I’m still here, but I’m sure eventually, even the admin will find out about that video, and they’ll probably kick me out for tarnishing their reputation. Until then, I’m going to get as much out of this opportunity as I can.
“Hey, Dixie,” I say as we start for the main building. “I know it’s a little late to say ‘off the record,’ but can you just keep this conversation off the blog?”
“Of course,” she says, looking hurt. “I’m not a total bitch, you know.”
“I know. I just… Seem to end up in there a lot.”
“Look, the way I figure it, people are going to talk. If it’s something people saw, it’s going to get around school. I’d rather get first-hand accounts and sets the record straight before the gossip gets all twisted around. If anyone doubts something, they go consult the blog. It helps rumors from getting out of hand. That doesn’t mean I don’t have my own private life. I’m not a reality show.”
“Sorry.” It’s true that a part of me doesn’t like the whole blog thing Dixie has going, even though it’s useful as fuck to an outsider like me. I can imagine how helpful it is for people coming into the school as a freshman, who want to climb the social ladder or even just survive. I probably should have scanned through it more than I have, just skipping anything about me, but it sits funny with me.
I know that makes me a complete hypocrite. I spill the fucking tea every week to Mr. D, including this weekend after I got my laptop back. That’s no different than what Dixie’s doing. Sure, I have a reason for it. I need this scholarship, and that’s how I’m paying for it. But maybe that makes it worse. Dixie doesn’t hide what she’s doing. She’s sharing gossip with the whole school, making it public knowledge, helping out newbies who find themselves suddenly navigating the dangerous waters of WHPA.
I’m sharing personal information with one person who wants to ruin the Dolces. I do it in secret like a rat.
When I think of what happened to the last person who ratted on the Dolces, my skin gets cold all over again. The cops didn’t do anything. Colt says they’re paid off. Which means that even if they find out who attacked Colt, they probably won’t do anything. That comes as little surprise to me. No one on my side of town calls the cops. We know not to expect them to serve and protect us. The only thing they serve in my neighborhood is warrants, and the only people they protect are those on this side of town from people like us.
The gangs deal out justice in my neighborhood. If you don’t join a gang, you’re on your own. No one has your back.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight injustice on my own terms. Just because I can’t have friends, that doesn’t mean I can’t have allies. Colt told me there were people in this town who still supported the Darlings. And once, I thought Dixie couldn’t help me just because she couldn’t protect me from the Dolces. I don’t need protection, though. I need allies who have cultivated their own protection already, who aren’t a liability and who won’t be hurt by their association with me.
She might know more Darling allies as well. In fact, I already have one. A guy who has a shitload of money and the same goal I do—taking down the Dolces.
Maybe it’s time I become more than a spy for him. Maybe it’s time I become a soldier.
*
The Monster
The monster under the bed
And hiding in the basement shadows
Watching in the hotel shower
Crouching in the closet corners
Isn’t the beast they make him out to be.
He didn’t intend to rampage through the palace halls
And terrify the kingdom.
He came to protect
The Little Royal.
