Chapter 6
“I don’t knowhow that got there.” I wince, hearing my words.
An officer in uniform appears by my side. “Care to come with us, Miss Everett?” he asks.
“Come along, Ember.” Dean Patel doesn’t even acknowledge what I said. The walk of shame to her office is long, students whispering and snickering as I”m sandwiched between the dean and an officer. This is exactly what they think of me. A delinquent.
A criminal.
And Mac McDick gives them the ammo to justify it.
Greta stops in her path as she sees me and for a minute the tightness in my chest dissipates. But she doesn’t say anything. She just puts her head down and walks away.
So much for camaraderie.
That feeling settles in again as an invisible bubble comes around me.
Isolated.
Alone.
“Here’s what we’re going to do Miss Everett,” Dean Patel says as we stand in front of the big red doors to the main office. “We’ll take the medal back and revoke your acceptance.” She dangles the medal by her middle finger, that name taunting me as it glistens under the light. “We won’t press charges but you will vacate the school immediately. We want our students to feel safe and that can’t happen with you here.”
“Oh…” My throat closes in and that familiar burn comes to my nose.
Stand up for yourself.
“So, that’s it? The first time you have someone in your school who actually wants to work hard and you kick her out the first chance you get?”
“You’re a thief, Miss Everett.” Dean Patel leans forward, a smile that’s far from friendly on her face. “We have the evidence. Cameras show the medal falling out of your bag. You can’t deny that.”
Fighting the tears in my eyes I take a deep breath. I’m stupid for thinking this was a good idea.
Malcolm McKinsley steals my future. Again.
“That’s where that went!”
A croaky voice comes from behind me, a woodsy floral smell coming with it.
“Excuse me, Mister Laval, we’re in the middle of something.”
Turning around, that boy from Sun House stands with three medals hanging off his hand. Beau? Was that his name? He flips his pink hair before reaching for Mac’s medal. “I’m meant to be polishing these for the Crowns. Thought I lost one.”
Dean Patel pulls the medal back, glancing at the cop who looks as confused as we do. “Turns out Miss Everett had it.”
When he glances at me, heat hits my cheeks. Are all the guys here supermodels? Is that what privilege gets you? Smooth skin and perfect hair?
“Of course, she did,” he says with a smile, his teeth glimmering under the light. “She was helping me.”
“Is that so?” Dean Patel doesn’t sound convinced, tilting her head to the side. “Miss Everett doesn’t seem to recall how it got there.”
“Hm…weird.” Beau sounds like he’s thinking.
“I was distracted,” I chime in.
Dean Patel narrows her eyes before an arm wraps around my waist. Beau pulls me close, heat swirling around me. “I hear the Lavals can be quite the distraction, isn’t that right, Sandra?” Did he just call Dean Patel by her first name? Ballsy.
“You weren’t the one to call it in,” she says, her eyes narrowing further. “Explain that.”
“Was it Mac?” Beau laughs. “Well, we can”t trust his theatrics can we?”
“Why would he call it in if he told you to polish them?”
He shrugs, “Why was your car parked outside my house at five in the morning?”
Well, damn.
Dean Patel’s cheeks redden as she clears her throat, “I—you…”
The cop sighs. “If this is a misunderstanding, I have more important things to get to.”
“Looks like it is, doesn’t it?” Beau’s shit-disturbing smile grows as Dean Patel’s face tightens.
“I’m sorry for wasting your time, officer.” She straightens up, glaring at Beau before she turns to me. “Get to class, Miss Everett and remember the code of conduct here. There will be no tolerance.” The officer walks away as she turns to her office.
A breath of relief escapes me.
A cold sweeps over me when Beau lets go of my waist. Turning to him, he smiles. “No need to thank me. There’s no way I was letting a girl like you get kicked out on the Crown’s behalf.” His eyes wander my frame, my arms wrapping around me. They’re bright. A light blue. Mesmerizing in the way they offset his suit as if he planned it all. He looks at me like some sort of art piece, reminding me how different I look to everyone here. “But I’m curious, why has Malcolm McKinsley set his eyes on you?”
“Thank you so much. But I have to go.” I’m not wasting another minute on McKinsley drama, I’m here for much more than that. I have a second chance and I’m grabbing it.
“Intro to Painting?” My brows furrow and he laughs. “You’re clearly not here for any of the stuffy shit like business or economics. Your appearance gives me more artist than musician and well, let’s say it takes an artist to know one.”
“You’re an artist?”
“Performance art mostly, but I’m doing this for the same reason everyone else here is.” He pulls me close, my cheek pressed to his as he turns me around the room. “Status, prestige, networking. Another reason to yell I’m better than everyone else. Anyway, we’re really late. Need an escort?”
My brows lower. “What do I owe you?”
Beau laughs again, a warm chuckle closer to Greta’s, warmer than Mac”s. “I’m owing you back. Seeing Mac and Hannah’s faces when they realize you’re still here will be worth it.” He’s right. I’m still here. And right now, that’s the biggest revenge. Beau holds out a hand. “Shall we?”
Taking it, a smile graces my face.
Maybe I’m not so alone after all.
“Beau.How nice of you to join us.”
I stall once I get to the door, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.
It’s not because the shiny wooden floors spread across the open space scattered with easels. Or how the sunlight bathes the room in soft, natural lighting from a window overlooking the garden. This room is as stunning as the rest of SBU, the high ceilings and cushy stools adding to the luxury. But what floors me the most is who stands in front of the class.
Echo Riviera in the flesh.
Five hundred thousand followers. A thirty under thirty. Exquisite brushwork. “We were just having a chat with Dean Patel,” Beau explains.
“I’m sure you were, Beau.” She beckons us in, her beige shawl falling over her shoulder like the effortless artist her social media page shows her to be. “You’re almost an hour behind. You need to get to work, you only have two hours left on this project.” She raises her voice to the class. “This is a reminder that this assignment is worth twenty percent of your grade. Make today’s inspiration matter.” Her catchphrase.
Wait, how much?
“No way.” That voice makes my shoulders rise and I’m thinking the same thing.
“Hannah’s in the arts too?” I ask, leaning closer to Beau.
“She’s delusional about joining the fashion industry,” he whispers.
Moving towards Professor Riviera, my tongue pops out at Hannah like we’re two children on a playground. If she wants to be childish, I can be too.
“Yes?” Professor Riviera asks when I reach her sleek, glass desk. She doesn’t look up from her work, scattered across the glass.
“Does this assignment apply to me?” I ask. “I just started here.”
Her eyes move from her work to me like a curtain drawing open before they wander my appearance. I don”t know if I’ll get used to how people here look at me, but I didn’t expect this from her. “You have the chance of a lifetime, honey. I challenge you to take it. I won’t be giving you a free pass. Adapt.”
Someone grabs my hand and before I can pull away, that woodsy-floral smell falls over me, my muscles relaxing. “Don’t bother fighting with Professor Riviera,” he whispers loud enough so she can hear it. “She’s just here for a paycheck and doesn’t give a damn if we live or die. But don’t worry, I got you.”
Beau walks me towards a wooden door, his hand reaching for the brass handle. My jaw drops when he slides it open, the smell of oil and pigments seeping out.
As my eyes dance around the supply room, I’m reminded how lucky I am to be here. The space is as big as our classroom. Polished shelves hold paintbrushes with ivory and ebony handles, way different than the cheap wood I’m used to. Even the bristles look expensive. Ornate wooden chests sit below them, overflowing with tubes of paint. They sit beside rows of shiny wooden easels, primed canvases beside them.
“Abstract expressionism.” Beau’s voice breaks my awe. “Your painting should use gesture, emotion, and the intuitive use of colour.” Placing a canvas in my hand, he moves out of the room. “You got this, Ember.”
Beau’s right. I was born for this.
“Oops!”
As I turn to leave the room, the world around me disappears, something cold splashing over my head.
I gasp and for a second it’s hard to breathe as something thick pours over my nose and mouth.
It’s not until I open my stinging eyes that I see Hannah feigning surprise. “Didn’t see you there.”
A snort of a laugh comes from someone within our class before laughter resounds around me. Blue paint slides down my skin as I glance at Professor Riviera.
She doesn’t look up.
Hannah lifts her chin all the way back to her seat, relishing in my humiliation.
“So you’re just gonna let her bully me?” I ask, squinting through the paint at Professor Riviera. She’s not who I thought she was.
“Channel it into your art,” she says, waving her hand.
“Hey, Hannah,” Beau calls. “Tell you what, you leave my friend alone and you can have my custom box of Ladurée macarons.” Lah-doo-what? “Straight from France. I hear these are Dean Patel’s favourites. Shame to let them go to waste.” Hannah’s head whips our way, her eyes moving from me to Beau. They narrow as if she’s reading our insides. “Suit yourself,” Beau moves to push the contents back into his leather backpack.
“Wait a second.” Hannah tilts her head towards Beau. A student next to her gets up to retrieve the pastel-coloured box. “I’ll accept your conditions for the rest of the day. I’m not surprised you”re taking up for the vermin, Beau, but do yourself a favour and think about which side you want to be on.”
For the rest of the day.
Hannah’s words linger, reminding me whatever relief I get is only temporary.
“Next time I see you, you’ll be making those sounds on my cock.”
“Hannah, I’ll never be on your side,” Beau says. “But deal.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, turning to Beau as I squint through the paint still burning my eyes.
Beau chuckles, “Let me help you there.” He gets up and grabs a cloth from the stone sink at the side of the class. When he returns, he presses the cloth to my face, the coldness soothing the burn as he wipes the paint out of my eyes.
My vision clears to a smooth face and round eyes. “I mean it, Beau. Thank you. You’re like, the only one here looking out for me, you know?”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He taps his brush against my canvas. “Now, get to work.”
Turning to my canvas, my shoulders drop as Beau’s ramble of the assignment runs through my head. I don”t know what’s more painful: the prank Hannah pulled or my lack of inspiration.
You shouldn’t have come here, Ember.
Shaking my head, my eyes focus on the canvas again.
I will make you beg.
Shaking my head again, I can feel the hay rolling through my brain when I wish his words away. It’s the only thing coming to mind and it makes my skin heat. Picking up a brush laid in the tray, I move it against the board. Pushing it against the canvas, I try to focus on broad strokes.
Plead.
Beg.
I. Will. Break you.
Crack!
“Hey, Ember,” Beau’s voice brings the room rushing back. “Watch this.” Looking down, my hand grips to each end of the paintbrush, snapped in two. Beau doesn’t notice, nudging me again. “Hannah’s about to explode.”
Hannah’s hand bolts into the air, her face much redder than before. “Professor Riviera?”
Professor Riviera’s eyes don’t move off her desk as she answers with a bored, “Yes?”
“Can I be excused?” Hannah squirms in her seat, glancing at the door.
“Do what you want, but you’re not getting this time back.”
Hannah lowers her shaky hand, hesitating before moving it to her brush. She squirms some more, a hand coming to her stomach.
“I can’t believe it worked,” Beau whispers.
“What worked?” My eyes shift between Beau and Hannah.
Squeeeak.
Beau stifles a laugh next to me, one hand on his brush, the other over his mouth.
Squeeeak.
Some students near Hannah giggle before her chair topples over and she’s out of her seat. Hannah bolts for the door, her hand on her stomach.
Slam!
The door swings shut, finally leaving me in a Hannah-less classroom. The tightness in my chest subsides.
“Thank you, Laduree,” Beau says. “She won’t be back to class.”
“Beau, what did you do?” I ask.
“Those Ladu-laxatives were for Mommy. She made me third wheel her date with the guy from that Marvel movie… again.”
“Those were for your mom?”
He smiles. “Happy to use them for a better cause than angst.” Or psychosis. Is insanity is a prerequisite for this place? The smile taking over my face tells me I might just fit that requirement.
As we paint, Beau rambles about his mom. She starred in a teen movie in the early 2000s and never got over being cast-typed as The Milf. “That’s why I got the job at Sun House,” he says. “I obviously don’t need the money but Mommy guilt-tripped me about having it easy. Between you, me and all of Paradise Hill, she just wants access to the town’s bachelors.”
“Sun House won’t even look at me,” I remind him. “I applied for your job.”
“You want it?”
“Your job?”
“After careful consideration, I’m not planning on making my shifts.” His brush flows across his canvas with ease. “My mom can take away the Porsche. I still have the Rover.”
Blinking at Beau, I can’t tell if he’s joking. “You heard me say they won’t look at me, right?”
“Come with me after classes.” He turns to me with a smile so I wide I think he’s inhaled too much paint. “I’ll get you sorted. But first…” His hand reaches towards my face, a strand of blue hair falling between his fingers. “We need to do something about this.”
Walkinginto Sun House with Beau is a contrast to walking in on my own. But something tells me it’s not just because the son of Pamela Laval is on my arm.
Beau swapped my tee and cutoffs for a black pantsuit with a blazer. Cucinelli, whatever that means. There’s no way I could afford this otherwise. It fits my curvy frame, hugging my body better than I thought it would sitting on the rack. I feel great in this, the fabric way softer than my usual thrift finds. Beau’s stylist, yeah I said stylist, pulled my hair into a poofy low ponytail. Sleek. Sophisticated. Far from The Valley. Greta’s scrunchie sits on my wrist for safekeeping.
People smile when I pass them on the way to the lounge. No one twists a face or looks down at me, they all act like I’m meant to be here. Funny what an outfit can do to a gal.
“Beau? Where on earth have you been?” The woman meant to interview me hurries over to us in a white blouse as silky as her skin. She wears a white pleated skirt to match. She stalls, looking me over before she actually acknowledges my existence. “Hello.” Her eyes wander my appearance before she lowers her frames. “Have we met before?”
“Charlotte, this is Ember, my replacement.” His hand lands on the small of my back, pushing me forward.
“Ember.” Charlotte drags out my name as if she’s trying to place it. Then she shrugs. “Beats me.” She tugs at my blazer. “Cucinelli. Brava.”
“We’re good?” Beau asks.
“Well, since you dropped the ball, I need the help. Can you start right away?” She looks at her smartwatch. “In five minutes?”
A smile spreads across my face. A win. I needed this. “Absolutely.”
“Great, take the podium at the front,” Charlotte directs.
Wait. “The front front?”
Beau smirks. “It’s about time you have some power.”
Charlotte pushes me towards the booth the blonde girl stood at the other day. “Look over the list when people come in. Don’t ask their name but make sure they’re a member. Can you handle that?”
Beau follows, confirming on my behalf. “She can handle anything.”
“Good. Here comes your first guest.” Charlotte turns away. “Bonne chance.” She’s gone before I even know what to do with the equipment in front of me. A wide screen shows a list of members with contact information. There’s also a book with the same info next to a golden phone with a thousand buttons.
“Hello, you’re new.” A voice comes from in front of me and when I look up, I don’t think I’ll need a list for this after all.
“Bella Shonin.” I smile, greeting the renowned fashion designer in the flesh. “Welcome back.” A quick glance at the map next to the phone and I direct her towards the welcome drinks.
“Oh I know, I’ll have many.” She winks. “Nice blazer.”
My head lifts with that smile sticking and… maybe Beau is right. Maybe I can handle this.
The next few guests are easy. I know them all from the internet or television and it takes little time for me to get comfortable with my new job. My new job! This Valley Girl is going places.
“Psst,” a whisper comes from behind me. Turning around, Beau grins. “I’m heading out but you’re doing great. See you tomorrow?”
“Thanks, Beau.” I don”t know how I’ll do it yet but, “I owe you.”
“No you don’t.” His eyes wander my frame in my new position. “Did I mention you look spectacular in that?”
“Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only girls from The Valley that put my credit card to good use.”
A gust of air comes into the foyer as the door swings open, aiding the heat on my cheeks. Straightening my blazer, I’m ready to welcome another member. “Welcome to—” My voice fades as quickly as my smile.
“Shit.” Beau reads my mind, my heart dropping to my gut.
A smirk spreads across that chiselled face, one that’s not nearly as welcoming as the others. “Well, hello Butterfly.”