Crown of Thorns by E.M. Snow
11
“Where were you Friday?”
My eyelids twitch at Margaret’s question. We’re standing in the hallway, having just met up before class starts. I’ve been so distracted keeping an eye out for Phoenix, whom I thankfully haven’t seen any sign of yet, that I haven’t paid much attention to what she’s been saying.
She barely texted this weekend, so it’s a lot.
My fingers toy with my bracelet as I give her the smallest shrug. “Sick.”
That’s the explanation that makes the most sense since Gia texted earlier to let us know she has a stomach bug. Still, I feel like shit for lying to Margaret. I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve been dishonest with her, and all have been within the last few months.
“You never get sick,” she points out as she checks herself in the mirror inside her locker. She scowls at a non-existent blemish on the tip of her nose and dabs concealer over it. “You’re not contagious or some shit, are you?”
I tuck in my upper lip then release it. “No. Probably the same thing Gia has.”
“Hmm.”
The thing is, I understand her skepticism. I never miss school, and I rarely get sick. “Good genes,” Margaret’s always complained because her immune system is terrible.
Her blue eyes clash with my reflection in her tiny mirror. “So … did you ever find out what Phoenix wanted last week?”
Ah, there it is. Phoenix.
To be completely honest, I expected that to be the first thing out of her mouth this morning. Fortunately, she was more interested in telling me about a dorm party she went to with some of the other cheerleaders on Saturday night. I hadn’t cared that I wasn’t invited, only that she didn’t bring him up. It’s not like I don’t know I’ll have to face him at some point today. It’s inevitable, especially since he sent Alaric to my house this morning like a hot, glorified chauffeur.
I’m just hoping for a little calm before the tsunami, is all.
“It was a Spanish assignment—” I start, but at that moment, I spot him coming down the opposite side of the hall with Harmony trailing a few inches behind him like a lost puppy. They stop close enough to Margaret’s locker that I can smell his cologne as Harmony all but mounts him. His arms remain by his sides when he leans down to whisper in her ear. Whatever he says makes her toss her blond hair and giggle.
He’s not laughing.
He’s watching me, his green eyes narrowed in a death stare that sets off grenades in my chest. Margaret pivots around to see what’s captured my attention.
“What are you … oh, them.” She faces me again, her arms crossed, and her upper lip curled toward her nose like she smells dog shit. “We’ll see how much the bitch is laughing once Kallista’s done with her,” she says in a low voice just as the bell rings and saves me from having to respond to her questions or cattiness.
Thank. God.
Since I won’t have to face either of the Townsends or Alaric until later, my first class—Comparative Government and Politics—will be somewhat of a reprieve from all the drama swirling around me. I’ve no idea how Phoenix is going to treat me in front of everyone, and I’m not really looking forward to finding out. In the meantime, I’m going to do my damndest to act as though nothing is wrong. That this is just a regular day.
It takes me all of two hours to discover that I’m delusional and regular is no longer an option for me. Not now that I’m involved with the Townsend family.
Before heading to choir for second block, I stop in the bathroom. I genuinely have to pee, but mostly, I’m killing time so that Gideon won’t have a chance to talk to me before class starts. As I make my way out of the stall toward the row of sinks, the entrance door swings open, and two girls walk in—Kallista and Daphne. They’re both toting frothy iced lattes from the overpriced and underwhelming coffee shop across the street from campus.
I shoot them a wary look and go back to washing my hands.
When I glance up in the wide mirror above the sink to check my reflection, though, they’re standing mere inches behind me. Like a scene out of a horror movie. “I’m sorry, do you—”
“Oops,” Kallista snarls.
Even though I know what’s going to happen and move quickly, she still lands plenty of coffee down the front of my pale gray sweater vest. It’s such a typical, mean bitch move, but it’s enough to take my breath away.
“What the—”
She slams the rest of her coffee on the floor, and I flinch when some of the icy liquid splashes my ankles. “Stay away from him.”
The sickly-sweet scent of vanilla and whipped cream wafting up from my chest makes me want to gag, but I somehow manage, “Who?”
“You know who and what I’m talking about, Slumwhore. Phoenix. Specifically, you, disappearing into classrooms with Phoenix. Who the fuck do you think you are?” She gives me a moment to respond, but I suck in my cheeks. I will not cry in front of this girl. The last thing I’ll do is let her see me break again. “I’m sure that somewhere along the line some horny idiot’s fed you some empowering line of bullshit to get into those size tens, but I can assure you that he isn’t fucking interested.”
I’m not sure what’s worse—the coffee sticking my blouse and sweater to my chest, the fat jokes that are two years too late, or the fact Kallista thinks I’m after Phoenix.
“I’m not pursuing your sister’s ex-boyfriend,” I say, relieved that I’ve finally found my voice but hating that I’m having to use it on him.
She must have forgotten about Kristyn because she goes pale. “Avery Hill saw you go into a classroom with him last week. Why? What were you doing?”
I don’t have an answer. There isn’t shit I can say to justify why I went into a classroom with him last Thursday, so I say nothing. Instead, I reach around Daphne—who’s observed this whole fucked-up exchange alternating between fluffing her red hair and taking dainty sips of her coffee—and grab a handful of paper towels from the dispenser.
“Excuse me,” I mutter.
I shove past them and hurry out the bathroom, desperately scrubbing at the coffee. It’s useless. Not only does it make the stain worse, but it also leaves little brown flecks of paper all over my sweater. Rage courses through me, though I’m not sure if I’m angrier at Kallista or myself. I should have said something. Did something. At least then I wouldn’t feel so damn powerless.
Stepping into class, I cautiously scan the choir room. A small breath escapes me once I see that Gideon isn’t here yet. Good, maybe I can snag a seat and he won’t get here in time to—
“Hope you’re ready,” a low voice murmurs at my ear.
I yelp and spin around, clutching the wad of wet paper towels to my chest. Gideon’s expression is amused and also annoyingly condescending. He leans closer to me and sniffs, and I lift my chin as high as possible.
“Ready for what?” I demand before he can get a word in about the overwhelming stench of coffee.
He just chuckles and shakes his head before moving around me to his seat among the baritones. I watch him walk away, my teeth grinding in frustration. Is he just playing with me? I figured Phoenix was the only actual sociopath, but maybe he and his brother have more in common than I thought.
I sit as far away from him as I’m able to, and he doesn’t attempt to speak to me again throughout class, or even after, when the bell rings and we make our way back into the hall. It’s a small miracle that I’m both grateful and suspicious of as he disappears into the crowd.
After AP English, I head to the cafeteria to meet Margaret for lunch. My stomach is in knots because I know Phoenix and Alaric will both be there. Our lunch block is staggered, so seniors get to eat first, followed by juniors and sophomores. I grab a tray of food and wander among the tables, keeping my eyes open for Margaret. When they land on the two people I’ve dreaded running into, I freeze.
Phoenix and Alaric are at their usual table, surrounded by their usual flock of drooling kiss-asses. I wait, terrified they’ll look up at me at any moment. There’s no way they haven’t noticed that I’m here. I don’t think anything would escape Phoenix’s notice, and especially not his perceived new toy walking around in the same vicinity as him. To my surprise, though, neither of them even glance my way.
Thank God.
They probably don’t want to be associated with someone like me, which I hadn’t considered before. I’ve been too caught up in my panic to think clearly, but it actually makes sense. In private, Phoenix can torment me all he likes.
In public, though, I’ll be a broken stain on his reputation. Meaning the coffee situation this morning was a one-time thing because I’ll no longer be on Kallista’s radar.
Yeah, it makes perfect sense.
* * *
I’m an idiot.
Phoenix Townsend will show me no mercy, no matter where we are.
I discover this in fourth block, right after lunch.
I walk into class, feeling the tiniest bit better about my chances of making it through this whole ordeal with my sanity intact, and take my usual seat on the far side of the room. I don’t pay attention to the rest of the class as I unpack my bookbag and get ready for the lesson, but the hairs on the back of my neck jerk to attention when the scent of his cologne washes over me. The blood rushes from my cheeks as my eyes collide with Phoenix’s. He’s walking right for me, one eyebrow shifting toward his hairline as he takes in my soiled sweater.
“Miss your mouth, Luna?”
“Your girlfriend did. Or rather, your ex-girlfriend’s crazy sister.”
He tilts his head, a dark lock of hair tumbling into his eyes. He pushes it back, then pushes past me. “I won’t miss.”
That sounds like a promise. And for some reason, it sends my thoughts scattering everywhere and burns my cheeks. Because he’s clearly proud of himself for making me blush, he smirks and then takes the seat directly behind mine.
“Times up,” he whispers, his voice sliding over me like a serpent, coiling around my neck until I feel like I can’t breathe.
I shiver, and with horror, I realize it’s not with pure disgust. “I-I know,” I manage.
“And what did you decide, Luna?”
I think of Jasper’s message, and a quivering breath escapes my lips. “I’ll do it.”
I grip the edge of my desk when his warm breath skates across the nape of my neck. “Such a good little sacrificial lamb, aren’t—”
“What’s this?” a sharp voice suddenly slams into me and cuts off Phoenix mid-taunt.
Startled, I turn to find Harmony, her hands on both hips as she stares us down. Phoenix shifts behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see that he’s now lounging back in his chair.
“Yes?” he drawls.
She gestures wildly toward me. “You and Josie? Seriously?” What is it with girls losing their minds to the point of treating other girls like garbage over this asshole? “You know, I heard a rumor—”
“All rumors are at least a little true. Right, Josslyn?” At least he corrects her on my name, but I cringe because it’s so weird to hear it fall from his perfect lips.
And because I know he’s about to do something horrible.
Our classmates have gathered around us, as if this conversation is somehow noteworthy and entertaining. Which, to them, I guess it is. Drama always won when this was just an all-girls school, but it’s even worse now. Messier.
Phoenix absolutely revels in it.
“Luna here’s working for me now,” he announces, scanning his audience. His shoulders lift slightly when he corrects himself, “Well, for my family. One can never have enough good help, and with her family’s background in the service industry...”
This slimy bastard.
I stare at him, mouth agape in shock. I already agreed to this ridiculous scheme, so what the hell kind of game is he playing? He just holds my gaze and smirks while the rest of the class buzzes with excitement and curiosity. Before he can add more gasoline to the fire, Mrs. De León walks into the room toting a stack of graded papers and orders everyone to their seats. I turn from him, relieved to be out of the spotlight for the time being, but I realize something.
I’ve never really hated anyone before. I only thought I did, but I never quite understood true hatred until recently.
Not until Phoenix Townsend.
* * *
When class ends,I rush from the room ahead of everyone else, my gaze pointed toward the speckled tile floor. I don’t even care that it looks like I’m running away, which I totally am. All that matters is that I get away from Phoenix before he has a chance to further humiliate me.
As I scramble through the halls toward my locker, though, I notice a lot of people turning their attention on me as I go by. Shit. I already know that gossip rules around here, but how could it possibly spread this fast?
“Slut,” some girl coughs under her breath.
“Gold-digger.”
“Really so desperate you’ll fuck your way into a paycheck?”
I try not to let their sharp words get to me. After all, I’m used to dealing with bitchy girls. They don’t like me, and I don’t like them. That’s been an established fact for a while now, and the fact Kallista pulled a Glee on me this morning is more than enough proof.
What I’m not prepared for are the lewd comments from the guys.
“You can come work at my place—if you’re freaky enough.”
“Too bad I’m cut off,” another says, and I swallow hard because he’s the guy from Phoenix’s party who was searching for Molly. At least he’s not addressing me directly, though that doesn’t make it any better. “Bet she cleans the bastard’s room naked. I’d give my left nut to see her naked.”
My face burns so hot that it’s a wonder I haven’t burst into flames.
“You’d give your left nut for a hotdog, dumbass,” his friend teases.
“If she’s in my room and eating it. Dude, I hate Townsend. That stupid fuck probably gets to…”
My skin crawls and not just because their words are so vile. Why would anyone assume that’s what was happening between me and Phoenix? He just said I was working for him—unless he’s been saying other things behind my back. The very thought makes me want to vomit.
Folding my arms over my chest, I keep my head down as I stalk to Margaret’s locker. If anyone can make me feel even a modicum better right now, it’s her. She’ll tell me that the cruel remarks and blatant stares don’t matter, that it’ll all die down soon, just like she did when I was teased after that talent show three years ago.
Only, Margaret’s not at her locker.
I pull out my phone to shoot her a text, my hands shaking so violently that it takes me a few extra seconds.
3:32 PM:You okay? You didn’t get sick, too, did you?
I’m so distracted wondering about Margaret, praying that the gossip hasn’t reached her before I can come up with an explanation, that I don’t notice Kallista strutting right up to me. She’s already dressed for cheer—in a tiny pair of shorts and a strappy sports bra—and she slams into me. I go careening into the lockers right by the entrance to the gymnasium.
“Fucking cow.” Resting her manicured hands on her bony hips, she sneers down at the disaster she created on my sweater. She casts a quick look behind me when the gym doors burst open, then she flutters her lashes and says in a sweet voice, “Didn’t see you there. My bad.”
Didn’t see me, my ass.
Before I can react, though, another body wedges its way between us, this one tall and lean with a mess of wavy, chestnut brown hair. Reina. And she looks like the pissed-off, Thornwood version of Blair Waldorf in her puffy yellow headband and matching heels.
“I saw that,” she snaps, jabbing a finger at Kallista, who’s raised her hands in front of herself in defense.
Reina had quickly earned a name for herself last school year by punching one of Kristyn McKay’s friends in the throat. She was suspended for ten days, but I doubt she cared because she’d announced on her way out the building that she would destroy any bitch that came for her.
The look in Reina’s hazel eyes now? It’s the same as it was that day.
“Oh relax, Hartley.” Kallista gives an uneasy laugh and a shrug. “Just having a little fun with your new housekeeper. Might as well get your money’s worth, right?”
“We don’t torture our housekeepers, Baby Bathory.” Reina’s lips curl and she sweeps her eyes up and down Kallista’s skinny figure. “Though I guess that explains why your father gets sued by yours every other year. Just … keep your hands to yourself, you got me? I know it’s difficult and all, but—”
“I get it,” Kallista interrupts through clenched teeth.
“But do you really?” I watch the confrontation, dumbfounded. Reina’s standing up for me. Why is Reina standing up for me? Nobody stands up for me publicly.
Not even my best friend. Who is, once again, missing in action.
And the weirdest part? That Kallista doesn’t seem to know what to do. She’s just staring at Reina, her cheeks twitching and her ears bright red.
“Bitch, be gone,” Reina finally says, turning from Kallista to give me her full attention. “You, come with me.” Grabbing my arm, she leads me down the hall to the bathroom. She shoves us inside and then barks at everyone else to get out. The other girls scramble away.
Once we’re alone, she touches the tip of her finger to the center of her lips and levels me with a questioning look. “Please tell me the rumors aren’t true.”
Where the hell was she when Phoenix was demanding my servitude and her brother was lending a helping hand? When I don’t respond, she puffs out an agitated breath. Now, her expression is just short of accusatory—as if she suspects I’m not quite the innocent victim in all this.
I give her a stony glare. How dare she assume anything about me? She doesn’t know anything about me. “Your cousin hasn’t told you the plan? I’ll be living with you people for the next three months.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You can’t be serious? Jesus, Josslyn ... why? What the hell is going on?”
My blood heats once more as fury roars through me. It suddenly doesn’t matter that she stood up for me, because she’s turning on me herself.
“Ask Phoenix or your brother,” I growl before leaving the bathroom. I don’t slow down until I reach the main doors to the building, and I storm out into the sunny California day. My destination is the bus stop, but as I descend the wide concrete steps, my feet slow as my eyes land on Phoenix and Gideon in various stages of after-school undress. Gideon’s already shed his blazer and tie while Phoenix has taken it a step further by rolling up his sleeves and untucking his white oxford shirt. They’re waiting next to an Aston Martin parked right by the No Parking sign.
Since Phoenix is jangling the keys in his palm, I figure it belongs to him.
The stench of privilege wafting from his long, muscular frame is nauseating.
I come to a stop on the sidewalk once I reach them. “Jesus, how many cars do you own?” I demand.
“As many as I want.” He jerks his chin toward his car, and orders, “Get in.”
Is he kidding? I nearly laugh right in his face. At the same time, I’m tempted to hurl my bookbag at the windshield or kick the stupid car, but then I catch Gideon’s eye. The warning behind his gaze keeps my lips sealed.
I glance back at Phoenix. His scowl makes it clear he’s not going to be patient with me. If I don’t get in that car willingly, who knows what he’ll do to force me inside?
My shoulders slump in defeat. Dragging my feet, I move closer and slip into the car when Phoenix opens the door for me. As it slams shut again, it feels like the key to my own personal prison has been turned, locking me in.
As Phoenix moves around to slide into the driver’s side of the car, I feel an overwhelming sense of doom settle over me.
There’s no way out of it now. For better or worse, for the next three months, I’m at Phoenix Townsend’s mercy.