4. Kinsley #2
I step right into his personal space, a place the two of us are all too familiar with in such a short time. “Don’t go there, asshole. Just don’t.”
I don’t know if I’m speaking up for her or reacting to the leash comment. Both piss me the fuck off.
Without giving Edge a chance to respond, I burrow past him and through the gawking crowd. My nerves buzz as I fake my cool. I walk down the hall without knowing where I’m going, hoping Eden follows me. But after seeing the way she cowered back there, I’m probably on my own.
Chatter resumes as I pass. It was probably there all along. I just didn’t notice during my encounter with my new enemy. It’s all nonsense and barely audible until I hear phrases like “There she is…” and “She’s the one…”
I try to ignore them like they’re not talking about me, but I know better.
I get to the end of the hall and can turn left or right.
The left is lined with doors, and the right has an exit to the outside.
Yep, this school is way more challenging to navigate than I thought, in more ways than one.
I’ve entered the den of vipers and have officially become their prey.
Eden catches up to me. She’s silent for a beat, then says, “You shouldn’t have done that.” She turns left, and I follow.
I hike up my backpack. “Done what? Stick up for myself?” Or you? I want to tell her she should have stood up for herself, but she’s obviously still shaken and unable to listen to that sound advice right now.
“Listen, I know it’s your first day and all, but those guys, Venom— the Vipers?—”
“Aren’t we all Vipers since that’s the school’s mascot?” I question.
“Yeah, but they’re the Vipers. Like you don’t want to mess with them.”
That’s exactly what I plan on doing until I bring justice down on them. “Or else what?”
“They will find a way to make your life a living hell.”
She has no idea that they already have. I push away the unwanted feelings of remorse and pain slithering just under the surface of my unfazed facade.
Shrugging, I say, “So, I’ll park somewhere else tomorrow, no big deal.”
By the look on her face, she’s not convinced that will fix the damage I caused in less than fifteen minutes. Man, I work fast. Fuck, it would be impressive if the circumstances weren’t so dire.
“You know it’s not that simple, right? You challenged them in front of everyone. Edge, the one all up in your face, won’t let this go that easily. The others won’t go as hard, but you still need to watch your back.”
There were a ton of rumors in my high school about the Vipers, but I thought it was just a bunch of bullshit or at least about Monarch as a whole—newsflash to me. All I know is I may have found precisely who I’ve set out to destroy, and all before my first class.
I glance at my schedule to find the room number. I’m not even close when I realize the class numbers we’re passing. I stop and turn to face Eden. “Look, I know you’re trying to give me some great advice, but I just want to get to art right now. Will you help me or not?” I expect her to say no.
Surprisingly, she sighs out a defeated breath. “It’s this way.”
We take another left in the next hallway and out of the building through double doors.
The uneven stone path, lined with tiny purple flowers, has got to be hell to walk on in heels.
Thank God for Docs. At the end of the walkway is a building older than the one we just came from.
Vines crawl up its walls like thick green webs surrounding tall wooden doors.
“This is the arts and music building,” Eden says.
“What class do you have?” Since she came after me, even if it was to warn me, I should show some interest if she has a class near here.
“Photography.”
With genuine curiosity, I ask, “Cool. What do you like to shoot?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “People mostly, candid, natural shots, or sometimes, the complete opposite, when the subject looks directly into the lens. I like those kinds of pictures. You can’t hide anything.
They’re real, every freckle, every flaw, every scar, all of it.
I get to see that person exactly how they look, feel… Sorry, I get carried away.”
“Hey, no, it’s all good. It’s awesome to be that passionate about something.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She fidgets with one of the studs lining her ear.
I follow her down another corridor, finally reaching a classroom with room number S24. Jesus, will I be able to find this place on my own?
Eden stops just outside the open door and touches my arm. I can tell it’s entirely out of character.
I narrow my eyes on her. “Why do you look like you have something to say and I’m going to hate hearing whatever it is?”
Her face scrunches before she blurts, “Gunner is in this class.”
I have no idea what that means or why it’s relevant to me. “Who is that and why do I care?”
She sighs. I’m sure she’s internally cursing herself for ever getting involved with me.
It doesn’t help that my bitchy personality is in high gear right now.
I’m not here to make friends, but I also don’t want to push away the only person who’s been nice, or at least has tolerated me so far.
At some point today, I need to apologize to her.
And just maybe she’ll share more about what goes on in this school and more about Venom, which is someone I could use in my corner right now.
“The guy with Edge, the one with the crazy hair,” she explains.
As the words leave her mouth, I know exactly who she’s talking about.
Dread pools at the base of my spine. I’m always ready for a confrontation, but hell, I just came face to face with the bad guys.
It never occurred to me that any of them would be in art class—or any of my classes, for that matter.
“He’s part of Venom,” she unnecessarily adds.
I purse my lips and nod. Shrug off the news like she just told me it would rain later and not that my new nemesis and I would be confined to a room together for the two hours. “Thanks for the heads-up and for walking me here. I guess I’ll see you later.”
Eden points down the hall from the direction we came in. “Your next class is in the Armstrong Building. Go out the way we came in, and it’s just on the other side of the courtyard.”
“Thanks.” The courtyard? Did we pass that? Fuck, with my head so full of Venom and Edge, I noticed little on the way here except purple flowers and clinging vines.
Without another word, she takes off down the hall to her class. Taking a deep breath, I walk into art class, more specifically, painting. There’s no doubt I’m in the right class with all of the easels propped up around the room and a platform in the center of the large space.
Painting isn’t one of my strong suits, but since I applied so late, I wasn’t left with many open options. Plus, how hard can painting be?
“Hi! Welcome to painting,” a smiling woman with a bright purple and pink braid says.
“Thanks.”
She wipes her fingers on her apron, which is splattered with a palette of every color. “Sorry, breakfast.” The other half of the hard-boiled egg lies on a napkin. I’m Chelsea Bray. Call me Chelsea. And you must be Kinsley West.”
“Yeah, how did you know that?”
She drops her head to look peer over the rims of her turquoise glasses.
“Because you are the first new student I’ve had in…
” She bobs her head from side to side. “Since forever. Monarch doesn’t get a lot of new faces.
” Picking up her egg, she says, “Anyway, there are a couple of empty seats in the back. You can take one of those. Once class starts, I’ll call you back to discuss a few things with you. ”
“Thanks.” I weave my way through easels, stools, small tables topped with cleaned pallets, tubes of paints, and brushes until I find an available seat.
Sliding off my backpack, I set it on the floor in relief, then plant my butt on the stool.
For the next hour, I plan to stay in this little corner of the world and just breathe.
“Damn, girl, you have a way of sliding into places that have already been claimed.”
I’m not shocked that the husky voice belongs to Wild Hair from the back seat of the Jeep. This must be Gunner. The sly, know-it-all grin splayed across his tanned face should be put on a warning label. Danger! This smile may induce you to make stupid decisions.
“Sorry, love, that seat is mine.”
Groaning, I pick up my backpack. As I study him a little harder, I realize there’san actual style to his sun-bleached, unruly locks.
A small wave is tattooed on the side of his neck, peeking out just above his shirt collar.
I try to remember the details of Python and the tattoos on his body—if he had any on his neck.
Frustration blooms. I was too frantic that night to notice anything more than the snake tattoo on the side of the killer’s torso.
Gunner’s chest skims the front of my blazer as he passes. Without breaking eye contact or the curve of his dangerous smile, he plops down on the stool. Patting his thigh, he says, “This seat is available.”
His chuckle follows me as I ignore him and head to the opposite side of the room.
An easel propped against the far wall, a small rickety table, and a too-short chair are calling my name.
Without the skills to paint even a stick figure, this setup fits my level of experience perfectly.
The big bonus is that it’s as far as I can be from Gunner without leaving the classroom.
I toss my backpack on the floor. Falling into the squatty chair, I let out a long sigh. It’s not even eight in the morning, and I feel like I’ve been handed my ass, tossed to the wolves, and eye-fucked. I just want to collapse onto my bed and sleep away the rest of the day.
“No need to wait for an invitation. If you’re here, get your canvas,” Chelsea announces.
Unbeknownst to me, my seat is right in front of the closet where everyone needs to go.
I fumble to get up and out of the way to avoid getting trampled.
When the last of the crowd leaves, I sit back down.
Then, before I can take in the whole situation, it’s too late to move out of the way before Gunner looms over me.
He’s way too close. If I were to take my gaze off him and look straight ahead, I’d be eye to eye with his?—
“Kinsley?” Chelsea calls for me to approach her desk when most of the students are settled.
Saved.
Jerking my head away from the surfer’s zipper, I say, “Coming.”
Shit! I realize too late that’s the wrong word to use.
Gunner offers me a lopsided grin like he knows exactly where my mind just strayed. “Dirty girl. I like it.”
There’s no way I’m even going to respond to that comment.
“You know, if you had taken my available seat, you wouldn’t have been in the way.” Reaching around me, he withdraws a large canvas, then swaggers back to his seat.
“If I had taken your so-called available seat, you’d be dick-less right now.” I head to the front of the class before he can get a word out.
Chelsea turns so that her back is to the class. “Listen, Kinsley,” she starts, lowering her voice, “I just want to let you know that if you need someone to talk to or anything, I’m here. Sometimes this school can be a little challenging.”
“Thank you.” I doubt I’d go to a professor for anything I’m dealing with, but the offer is nice. However, it’s the last part of her speech that catches my attention. “What do you mean by challenging?”
She looks like she may regret saying that. But she doesn’t dismiss my question. Her voice drops to a whisper. “The students here are used to getting what they want. And that’s all I’ll say on that,” she says, then drags her hands down her apron like we didn’t just have a cryptic conversation.
I nod like she just spilled top-secret intel. Of course, they do. They’ve been raised that way since birth. I can only hope there’s not much more to deal with at Monarch than wealthy, bullying murderers.
“Okay, on to the stuff I get paid for.” She tucks loose purple strands behind her ear and smiles.
“The assignment we’re working on is about self-expression.
So, since you’re a little behind the rest of the class, why don’t you walk around the room to get an idea of what others are doing?
Have the supplies listed on here by the end of the week.
” She hands me a syllabus. “That gives you a few days to think of an idea for your canvas.”
Oh, joy…not. It’s more like a dilemma. Dilemma. Dilemma. And here, I thought art would be an easy A.
As I turn to leave, two girls, giggling and whispering, prance through the open door. The stench of their expensive perfume fills the air like an invisible fog.
“I know we’re late, Chelsea, but don’t get uptight. We had to help Mikayla with her lashes. Her mascara was?—”
“I don’t care, Brielle, you’re late. As are you, Peyton,” Chelsea says. “Get your canvas, then get to work.”
With a huff, the girl with bleached blond hair, Brielle, abruptly turns and stops dead in her tracks when she sets her sights on me. The other girl, Peyton, runs into the back of her, a gold pen and lip gloss falling out of her sequin mini purse that can’t hold much more.
“Brielle, what the?—”
Brielle stands stone-still. Her hand tightens on the strap of her red designer bag. “You must be her .”