"That's four games in a row!" Zack crowed, raising his arms triumphantly in the air and nearly jabbing Parker in the eye with the pool stick he was still holding in his hand. "Who's the man?"
"Whatever, Perry," Parker said, tossing his golden brown hair out of his eyes. "I guess you're paying me back for what? The Six thousand times I've beaten you before?"
"Yeah, right," Zack retorted, his spirits not seeming the least bit dampened by Parker's reminder that he usually was not the Michael Jordan of pool, to say the least. "You're just mad because you owe me your custom Rolex."
Parker laughed. "Dude, I don't care about the Rolex. I have a dozen of those things. My grandparents send me one every Christmas."
"Still." Zack set his pool stick on the ground and leaned his weight against it, glancing at the opposite end of the lounge. Carlo was lounging on the couch, deeply engrossed in Grapes of Wrath, his favorite book. Roman was standing in front of the dartboard, where a cluster of darts neatly punctuated the center. There were so many they spilled out of the bull's eye and into the surrounding ring.
Zack couldn't see Roman's face, but he was pretty sure there was an angry scowl on it.
Like anything else is new.
"Hey, Rome, you wanna play? We can do doubles," he called out hopefully.
The four of them had spent all day hanging out in Roman's game room, one of the dozen or so rooms that made up his wing of the Fiori mansion. They had started off hashing and rehashing last night's shocking events, with Roman getting progressively redder and angrier each time, until Zack, Carlo, and Parker all threatened to jump off the balcony if they didn't talk about something else.
From that point on, Roman had alternated between sulking in the corner, no doubt planning the demise of that poor girl, and venting his anger at the dartboard. The other three had amused themselves with the endless entertainment the game room provided, but it was hard to enjoy themselves when their friend was being such an obvious downer.
Roman didn't answer; instead, he ferociously hurled yet another dart at the board. It went whizzing through the air and precisely pierced the tiny area between two other darts.
Parker and Zack exchanged glances.
"Maybe we should start drinking," Parker half-joked, even though it was barely four in the afternoon.
"I'll get the vodka," Zack offered helpfully. He started to make his way over to the fully stocked bar in the corner.
Before he could take two steps, Roman turned and stormed over. As Zack had predicted, he was scowling.
"Who does that girl think she is?" he demanded to no one in particular. "To have the nerve to talk to me like that? Doesn't she know who I fucking am?"
Parker yawned, bored. He'd already heard this rant at least thirty times by now. "She's hot," he commented, completely ignoring Roman's previous statement.
Zack nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
"I mean, she can't possibly fucking think she'll get away with that," Roman continued. "I need to teach her a fucking lesson."
"I'm kind of surprised I haven't noticed her before, though," Parker mused thoughtfully, obviously a little put out that a cute girl had slipped past his radar like that.
"Maybe you're losing your touch," Zack offered innocently.
"When I'm done with her, she'll regret the day she ever stepped foot in this town!" Roman rambled on. His monologue seemed to be making him feel better, since his face was no longer a fire-engine shade of red, but his eyebrows were still drawn together so fiercely he could probably re-kill an army of zombies with just one look.
"That'll never happen," Parker stated confidently in response to Zack’s remark. "I think I've found myself a new goal."
"You mean conquest."
Parker looked offended. "I do not have conquests, I have…fleeting girlfriends."
"Euphemisms," Zack scoffed.
Neither noticed that Roman was now glaring directly at them.
"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?" he roared so loud Zack swore he saw the glasses at the bar rattle a bit.
There was silence as his friends stared blankly at him.
"No, not really," Zack finally answered earnestly.
Before Roman could fly off the handle again, Carlo spoke up for the first time. "Why are you getting so worked up?" he asked, not even looking up from his book. He was leaning leisurely against one arm of the couch while his feet were crossed on top of the other arm. "Just do what you usually do."
"But he doesn't usually do anything," Zack pointed out.
"Exactly."
The meaning behind Carlo's words had obviously already registered with Roman, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You're right. Why would I trouble myself dealing with her when I can let everyone else do it?"
In previous cases, of course, the other Valesca students had taken it upon themselves to get rid of anyone who offended the Scions. There was no reason this time would be any different.
Roman's lips curved up into a small, triumphant smirk. "She won't last a week."
* * *
Well, D-Day was here. Surprisingly, it didn't feel particularly different than any other day as I trudged toward school, basking in the warmth of the sun against my skin and letting it comfort me. But then again, that could be because I dreaded going to school every day anyway.
As I neared the school, however, my calmness left me little by little. I could feel about 10,000 butterflies fluttering away in my stomach, my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest, and I might even possibly throw up. It didn't make it any better that Venice had contracted the flu over the weekend and wouldn't be able to come to school today.
Although, now that I think about it, it might be better if she wasn't here for the carnage that was about to ensue.
When I arrived at school, the parking lot was empty. This might be due to the fact I've arrived a full hour and a half early.
Ok, fine. I'm still a bit of a coward, but what else can I do? I've used up all my courage for the month Saturday night, and now, I wanted nothing more than to hide away in a place where no Valesca student would ever, ever go to: the library.
I stepped cautiously into the building, relieved but unsurprised to find the halls empty save for a lone janitor. It was the earliest I'd ever come in here, and I was suddenly struck by how beautiful the interior was when it uncluttered by the masses of students.
The floors were pure, unveined Italian marble, decorated with the giant forest green-and gold falcon school crest in the entrance hall. The "lockers" were built into the walls and looked more like high-tech cabinets; instead of clunky, ugly combination locks, they were secured by a small biometric pad where you press your thumb, making it quick and easy to get into the precious space (considering the extravagance of the items some kids threw in their lockers, 'precious' takes on a whole new meaning). Above them hung oil portraits of the school's many illustrious alumni, and enormous, glittering crystal chandeliers took the place of fluorescent lights.
Suddenly realizing I was in a bit of a stupor, I shook my head and mentally kicked myself for buying into Valesca's superficial perfection, even if it was only for a second.
I made my way into one of the wood-paneled elevators and pressed '3', staring at myself in the mirror.
I was wearing the female version of Valesca's uniform: a short-sleeve, white button-down shirt under a fitted green blazer with the school crest on the upper left side, a green and gold plaid skirt, and my own black ballet flats. The school's handbook never specified a specific shoe for the uniform, except that it had to be black, brown, and 'appropriate,' whatever the hell that meant.
The guys' uniform was the same, except with more masculine tops and green slacks instead of skirts. They also had to wear green-and-gold striped ties. All the uniforms were custom-made by Ralph Lauren, but I hated them. They made me feel constricted, conformed, and the last thing I wanted was to look anything like my classmates.
Of course, the only students exempt from the uniform rule were the Scions. And Adriana, I added silently, thinking about the gorgeous dress she'd worn yesterday. I still hadn't quite made up my mind about her yet. She was obviously cut from the same mold as her brother and his friends, and indulged in the same ridiculous privileges, but she also seemed…different, somehow. I just couldn't quite put my finger why.
The elevator let out a low, musical ping, announcing the arrival at my destination. As the doors slid open silently, I took a deep breath and pushed all thoughts of the Scions out of my mind. It didn't really matter if Adriana was different or not. It's not like we'll ever be friends. We just didn't come from the same world.
Since the library, which contained practically every book you could ever think of, dominated the entire third floor, I could enter it directly from the elevator. I stepped into the giant, hushed, bookworm's paradise, the silence enveloping me like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. I breathed in the comforting smell of leather-bound books, and managed to muster up a smile to flash at the elderly librarian.
I beelined past the checkout counter and bank of computers toward my favorite nook in the back, which consisted of a simple armchair and small table but had a picture window that provided the best view of the school's undeniably gorgeous, landscaped grounds.
I settled comfortably into the chair and pulled out my favorite book, Grapes of Wrath. I've literally read it a hundred times but I never got tired of it.
The next hour and a half flew by, and all too soon, the bell signaling the start of class rang shrilly, rudely jolting me from my book. A tight, familiar knot instantly formed in my stomach, and I felt myself freeze in my chair. I knew I should get moving, but my muscles wouldn't listen to me. It was like I'd been spontaneously paralyzed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the librarian cast a half-curious, half-disapproving glance in my direction, but I was so immersed in my panic I didn't care. I know everyone who hadn't witnessed my showdown with Roman Saturday night—and that number was small—would've definitely heard about it by now, and I wasn't looking forward to their harassment, which, judging from past cases, was inevitable.
I placed my book into my backpack and reluctantly trudged toward the elevator. My finger hesitated over the down button, until I pressed it firmly, quickly, before I could change my mind. The doors immediately opened, suddenly looking like the gates of hell.
By the time I reached the second floor hallway, it was fairly empty, and I was relieved to find that, despite the frequent dirty looks and whispering, no one outright confronted me.
When I burst into my English class a few minutes later, the teacher, Mrs. Lavinsky, was in the middle of instructions for our end-of-the-term paper.
"—minimum fifteen pages, double-spaced—" She broke off when she saw me. "Miss Lindberg, you're late," she said pointedly.
"I'm sorry," I apologized, blushing. "It won't happen again."
"I certainly hope not." She signed and waved me towards my seat. "I'll let it slide this time, but next time I'll have to give you a written warning.”
I nodded meekly, embarrassed. I've never gotten a written warning before, and Mrs. Lavinsky was actually my favorite teacher. I knew she didn’t have an easy job. The rest of my classmates, while smart, were always giving her attitude. I hated having to disappoint her, too.
I slid into my seat and instantly felt something cold and sticky on the back of my skirt and thighs.
What the—I stood up hastily, or at least tried to. I was pulled down instantly.
Oh god. Please don’t tell me someone put glue on my seat!
I yanked myself up again, putting in more force this time. Unfortunately, I didn’t think about the consequence beforehand—namely, half my skirt ripped away.
The rest of the class burst into laughter. Mrs. Lavinsky looked horrified.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Maya, why don’t you go to the office—“
She hadn’t even finished talking before I was out of there, my face flaming with humiliation.
Those jerks, I seethed silently as I raced toward my locker, where I kept an extra uniform. They’re going to have to do better than this. How immature could they be?
I furiously jammed my finger on the biometric pad, and the door unhinged with a soft click, the loudest sound in the deserted hallway. When I swung it open, however, a shrill scream pierced through the silence.
It took me a moment to realize the scream had come from my own mouth, as I stared, horrified, into the cold eyes of the coiled-up snake in my locker.
* * *
Adriana sat cross-legged in an overstuffed armchair in the library, Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment lying open in front of her. She'd decided to grab sushi for lunch and had come back sooner than expected, so she'd decided to get some reading in. She'd read Crime and Punishment before, of course, at boarding school, but she'd enjoyed it and didn't mind paging through the long novel again.
Usually, she would've been hanging out in the lounge with Zack and the rest of them, but she was too disgusted right now.
A small crease formed on her smooth brow as she thought about this morning's events. She'd heard about the glue, the snake, the shredded gym clothes, and the tossing of Maya's math notes into the toilet, among countless other 'pranks'. Other than the snake—which had been deemed the non-poisonous kind, thank God—they were all relatively harmless, childish tricks, but that didn't make them right, nor did it make them any less distressing.
Adriana was kind of pissed none of the guys had said anything yet. Of course, she knew they rarely—no, scratch that, they never interfered with Roman's power trips, but still. She knew Parker had at least some interest in the girl, so wasn't that some incentive to at least attempt playing knight in shining armor?
Adriana’s frown deepened as uncrossed her legs and slipped her feet back into her flat, jeweled Giuseppe Zanotti sandals, a personal gift from the designer himself.
Of course, Parker wasn't exactly the knightly type. Knights didn't exactly go around seducing innocent—or not-so-innocent, in some cases—girls. They certainly didn't sleep around so much they had to go to surrounding towns to avoid the possibility of a second-night stand, which might be construed as, God forbid, a "relationship" in Parker world.
Adriana let out a small huff, slightly disgruntled. Come on, Adri, get back to the task at hand, she ordered herself.
She tapped one foot thoughtfully on the ground, the sound muffled by the plush Persian rug, and resumed analyzing the situation at hand.
Adriana knew she could always do something to diffuse the situation, though granted, no one except Roman could stop the abuse completely. In fact, she was already trying to come up with a way to make life a little easier for Maya. She liked the girl, for some reason. Adriana definitely admired her for standing up to Roman like that. It proved Maya was no shy wallflower, and that she actually had some sense in her head, unlike most of the preening, air-headed socialites Adriana was constantly in the company of.
As she scrolled through the ways she could help, a sudden thought occurred to her. Adriana sat up straighter, her eyes lighting up. God, it was so obvious! With a little triumphant laugh, Adriana decided to not do anything. Yet. While it may help in the short run, in the long run…
Just as ideas scrawled themselves across her mind so quickly she barely had time to comprehend any of them, the elevator doors pinged open, and Adriana looked up, surprised. She'd thought she was the only one who ever came into the library.
Her perfectly shaped brows rose in interest when Maya burst in. Well, wasn't this an intriguing coincidence.
Maya was dressed in an egg-yolk-stained uniform. Actually, her top definitely had more than egg yolk stains—there was some red stain that was probably tomato, and some darker blotches. Her glossy dark hair was disheveled and she looked absolutely furious, but underneath the anger Adriana sensed the slightest bit of weariness.
When she saw Adriana, though, she froze. There was a beat of silence. Finally, Maya spoke up.
"So, what are you going to do?" she asked, her jaw set.
"I'm going to continue reading my book," Adriana replied matter-of-factly, without batting an eye. She didn't let so much as a hint of her interest show.
"If you're going to throw anything else at me, you might as well do it now," Maya spit out. "The lemmings are on a roll."
Hmm. Feisty. "Did you just call me a lemming?" Adriana asked rather interestedly. Now, that was a first. She tried her hardest not to laugh.
"As far as I know, anyone who's at Roman Fiori's beck and call would be classified as such," Maya replied coolly, with far more dignity than anyone else who had just been socially crucified would have.
Now Adriana was slightly offended, though you could never tell from looking at her.
"I'm Roman's friend, but hardly at his 'beck and call,' as you call it." Her eyes swept over Maya. "Besides, even if I did choose to join in this little…game everyone else is so actively engaged in, I would be far more subtle." Her tone was wry but truthful.
"So are you?"
Adriana cocked an eyebrow.
"Part of the 'game,'" Maya clarified sarcastically, placing air quotes around the last word.
Adriana smiled slightly, returning to her book. "You would know if I was," she said, not looking up again. A moment later, she felt Maya take the seat across from her. The two stayed there in a simultaneously comfortable and awkward silence until the bell rang a little later.
Adriana leisurely stood up and gathered her belongings. Maya was already halfway to the elevator, though Adriana didn't know why she was in such a rush. She certainly didn't have anything to look forward to.
"Don't let them get to you," Adriana advised almost off-handedly as she slung her purple Miu Miu tote over one shoulder. "I know you're strong enough to get through this."
She almost winced at the cheesiness of it. Good going, Dr. Phil, she thought, but she was much too confident to be embarrassed. Besides, it was true. Her instinct was almost never wrong.
Maya stopped, her back still facing the blonde. "You don't know me at all."
"Maybe not," Adriana agreed lightly. "Nevertheless, it's about time someone stood up to Roman."
This time, Maya spun around. "I thought he was your friend," she pointed out almost accusingly.
"He is." Adriana gave a carelessly elegant shrug. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to see him taken down a peg or two."
Or ten.
"Well, that makes two of us."
Adriana's delicate, bell-like laugh tinkled through the library. "I'll be honest. I like you Maya, and I can tell you that if you can withstand what those…lemmings—" Here, she let a smile escape. "—are dishing out right now, you'll find it'll be worth it in the end."
Maya smiled grimly. "Why, is there a prize waiting for me at the end of all this?"
Adriana's smile was imbued with mischief, matching the twinkle in her aqua eyes. "That depends on how you define prize."
* * *
Roman was very, very pleased. Things were going exactly according to plan. That girl didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of surviving the rest of the week. And that bit with the snake, that had been genius, especially since it turned Maria or Martha or whatever the fuck her name was, was deathly afraid of snakes.
He twirled a glass of whiskey absentmindedly around in his hand as a self-satisfied smile tugged at his lips. One of the best things about being a Fiori was you got everything you wanted without having to do any of the dirty work.
"What are you so happy about?" Parker asked, leaning back in one of the lounge’s plush couches and propping his feet up on the slate coffee table, which had been imported from Barcelona just in time for the start of school. The hottest interior designer of the moment was hired to overhaul the Scions' school sanctuary every summer; this year's had gone for rustic but sophisticated chic.
Roman himself didn't give a shit whether the fireplace should be marble or brick, or whether or not the throws were Ralph Lauren, of even if there should be any throws in the first place. Parker was the only one out of the four who seemed to give a shit, so he was usually the one who handled all the arrangements.
"Nothing," Roman responded automatically.
Parker didn't say anything; he just waited.
As predicted, Roman elaborated a moment later. "Just thinking about how that girl's faring," he admitted smugly. "The snake was genius."
"You, my friend, have a serious case of schaudenfreude." Parker motioned to the bartender, who immediately hurried over with an ice-cold soda. Unlike Roman, he didn't believe in drinking in the (early) afternoon.
Roman was so delighted that Marisa (Maria?) would be out of his sight and sufficiently punished that Parker's wry tone didn't even dampen his unusually high spirits. "So?" He downed the rest of his whiskey. "You say it like it's a bad thing." He looked around the room, finally noticing the conspicuous absence of his other friends. "Where's Carlo and Zack?"
Parker shrugged. "I'm not their babysitter, but if I had to guess, I would say Adriana's giving them an earful right now."
Roman smirked. He'd known all about Adriana's plan to scope out a suitable candidate for the challenge Saturday night; unfortunately for her, he'd already heard about the party and only pretended not to. Besides, Carlo had been oddly distracted that night and didn't put up much resistance when Roman decided to go to Stan's house.
He settled comfortably into his seat, secure in the knowledge that he was, after all, Roman Fiori, and nothing significant happened in his town without his knowledge or consent.
* * *
A week passed by—the longest, most miserable, most paranoid week I had ever endured. By the third day, I had developed an almost masochistic attitude towards the other students' abuse. I no longer went to school early, nor did I hide out in the library. I also refused to take pity from the few teachers who tried to discreetly help me.
Instead, I went about my business as best I could, even though there was never more than a five-minute break between the harassment. It happened everywhere and at any time: in the classroom, the DC, the halls, the bathroom, during school assemblies and morning announcements and even while taking tests. Just the other day, I had been accused of cheating and had gotten my math test taken away.
That had been hard to swallow. I had always prided myself on my grades, but my concentration was slipping. That wouldn't do. I suffered the abuse because it actually made me feel better for the cowardliness I'd been cocooned in the past year.
I could tell my resistance was baffling to the others, who had never had much trouble driving everyone else away.
Still, at least it was Friday afternoon, which meant there would be two days worth of reprieve until it all started again.
I bowed my head, letting the warmth of the sun wash over me even as a slight chill signaling the arrival of fall floated through the air, gentle but crisp. It was getting hard hiding everything from my parents. I hadn't told them what happened, of course—I didn't want them to worry—but despite my best efforts to clean myself up before I went home, they were getting suspicious, and my excuses were growing flimsier and less believable by the day.
Suddenly, I felt a vibration in my bag, and with a small frown, I pulled out my cell phone. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen.
I was confused. No one ever called me except for my family and Venice. I communicated with my old friends solely through emails, Facebook, and text messages, though those had become few and far in between.
"Hello?" I asked warily.
"Hi, is this Maya?" a rather familiar voice asked.
I hesitated. "Yes?" It came out more like a question than I would've liked.
"Hey, this is James."
My eyes widened in surprise. James? The same James I'd met all that time ago? Actually, now that I thought about it, it had barely been a week.
God, Stan’s party felt like forever ago.
"Oh, hi," I said, even more confused. Why was he calling me now? "Um…how did you get my number?" I immediately wanted to take back that stupid question. Though it was a perfectly reasonable one, it also sounded kind of rude.
James, though, apparently didn't think so. "I got it from my friend who knew Venice," he admitted sheepishly. "I hope that wasn't too forward."
"No…no, it's ok." I cleared her throat. "So…" I trailed off, hoping he would indicate why, exactly, he had called.
Luckily, he did. "Listen, I just wanted to apologize," James said quickly. "For Saturday night. I let my temper get the best of me and…well, I kind of feel like you're only in this predicament because you wanted to—protect me?" His voice lowered a bit at the end of the sentence, uncertain.
I pondered this a bit. I was surprised to find his conclusion was, in fact, right. I had wanted to protect him, because he'd been so nice and down-to-earth, which was ironic because I felt like he had wanted to help me by going toe-to-toe with Parker. At the same time, though, I had been motivated by other factors to ream Roman out. "You don't have to apologize," I assured him. "Trust me, it's not your fault I—" I stopped. Something he'd just said finally registered. "Wait, what do you mean by my 'predicament.'?"
James took such a long time to answer I thought he'd hung up. Finally, reluctantly, he said, "Well, what's happening to you in school right now would be considered a predicament…" His voice trailed off.
"How did you know about what's happening?" I didn't bother trying to deny it. What was the point?
"Some of my friends told me."
Yeah, and they've probably participated, I thought, feeling bad even as I thought it. It wasn't James' fault Valescans were such assholes.
"Yeah, well, I'll survive." I shrugged, even though I realized he couldn't see me. "I mean, it's not—"
I broke off when I noticed a distinct black-and-electric-blue Ferrari pulling up beside me. I was so shocked I didn't even notice when my phone slipped out of my hands and crashed on the sidewalk, the back cover and battery promptly spilling out.
This was what I got for still using an old-school Motorola instead of an iPhone like everyone else.
I just stood there, stunned and paralyzed, as the window rolled down and Roman Fiori's irritated face, half-hidden by dark designer shades, emerged.
"Get in," he ordered gruffly.
I just stood there, mouth agape, wondering what the hell was going on.
Noticing my lack of response, the irritation on his face grew. "Get in!" he repeated, more forcefully.
This time, I had recovered enough to muster up a fairly strong and defiant, "No way in hell!"
Before I could say anything else, Roman, obviously exasperated, got out of the car, gripped my arm, and dragged me into the passenger seat.
The residual traces of shock were still in my system, slowing me down, and everything happened so fast I barely had time to think before Roman peeled away from the curb.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I demanded angrily, having finally found my voice. "Let me out right now!"
He didn't even look at me, that bastard. "Or what?"
"Or…or…or I'll call the police!"
He snorted, making a sharp right turn. I let out a small shriek as I slammed into the passenger side door. Deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, I immediately buckled my seatbelt.
"You and what phone?" he asked, casting a pointed glance at my empty hands. "Besides, it sure looks like you're making yourself comfortable in here."
"I am not making myself comfortable, I merely do not want to die," I snapped. "Now stop this car this instant! I don't want to be here!"
"Too bad," came the detached reply. It was followed by pounding rock music that drowned the car and nearly deafened me, and I noted with resentment that Roman controlled the sound system on his steering wheel. No way would I be trying to manipulate those, not unless I wanted us both to die.
As we sped through town at breakneck speed, however, it finally dawned on me that I was essentially being kidnapped by the heir to the most powerful family in the world, and there was not a damn thing I could do about it.
Have I mentioned how I really, really, really hated my life?