Elle
No matter how fucked up life gets, I’m still going to eat.
We know, I can already hear the voices of my old classmates and dance instructors chanting in the recesses of my mind.
Madame included.
I can almost see her face in the garnishes floating in my lobster bisque. Quickly, I dunk my French-dipped sandwich to disturb the pieces, but her face, forever frozen in death, still creeps into my mind’s eye.
It’s strange, remembering how awful she was to me, and yet, my brain’s suddenly churning out excuses for her now that I know she’s gone.
Maybe she was once a little Elle whose dreams and self-esteem were also crushed by a bitter instructor before she found success.
Maybe she thought in her own cruel way, that she was genuinely helping to save me from a world of pain and disappointment.
Maybe.
Maybe…
The problem is, that wasn’t her place. Her place was to instruct me on how to improve.
I sigh, biting into the sandwich that’s so delicious my soul damn near transcends up into the cathedral-like ceiling of the dining hall to join Madame in the afterlife.
I choke on the intrusive thought and gulp down a mouthful of sparkling lemon water. What the fuck is wrong with me?
How can Gant believe that I’m truly sorry he’s motherless when I told him verbatim that I hated her? When I can’t even think about her for one minute without crossing back to her negative traits?
All that aside, when was the right time to tell him that I truly was sorry for sending the email? For inadvertently pinning the leak on him? Given what he did to me in the auditorium, I’d rather eat shit, but if something is wrong, it’s wrong, right? And I was wrong, regardless of what he did. Aria and Stassi said to wait, but how could I just prance around as if nothing had happened? As if nothing is happening?
This morning, I’d taken their advice, but the day’s only half over, and I’m already on the verge of cracking because Aria was right. Gant Auclair is in every single one of my classes. He’d watched me like I was the best show he’d ever streamed. But he didn’t approach me. Didn’t speak to me. It’s like I’m some silent entertainment, a punchline everyone’s waiting for.
That’s the worst part. Not being the joke, nor the constant, overwhelming feeling of being watched, and stalked. No, it’s the wait.
We were all waiting. But what’s he waiting for?
For me to open my mouth? For me to come to him first?
My phone buzzes, and I nearly splash soup onto my bowtie because my phone never buzzes.
My mind flies to some freak accident or emergency surrounding Mum, and I click the notification with my heart pounding in my ears…but it’s not Mum. It’s Beaussip who apparently has everyone’s number because a uniformed chorus of buzzes and chimes reverberates around the hall so loudly that I’m surprised the gorgeous stained glass windows don’t rattle.
My stomach bubbles and a wave of queasiness washes over me as I read the headline, 5 Things to Know about G.A’s Target. Suddenly, I feel like all eyes are on me, but no one’s paying me any attention. Of course, they aren’t. They can’t see me behind the rows of tall rubbish bins encased in some elaborately carved wooden holders.
I’m hungry, not stupid. I don’t need to make myself more of a target than I already am by sitting up front and centre. Until Gant and I can come to a compromise—
Unreasonable sons of bitches, Aria’s earlier descriptor of the boys echoes in my ear, interrupting the thought.
…or no compromise…
Buzz... Buzz...
I squeeze my eyes shut before blinking down at the screen and facing what I already knew was coming.
I’m featured on the front page of Beaussip’s website, with a POV between Gant’s legs. His dick is out of view, but the urine streaming onto my face plays repeatedly as a GIF.
5 Things to Know about G.A’s Target.
There’s a clip of me dancing at my last school production on a loop. My stomach sinks as I watch just how messy my fouettes are. I kept travelling as opposed to staying in the same spot.
My cheeks warm as I watch it at least seven times. I knew I wasn’t great at it, but I was the best in my class, able to complete at least twenty-two in a row. Seeing it now, my embarrassment blooms twofold, not just because the clip is spreading around the school, but because… in hindsight, after knowing Beaulieu never really accepted me, maybe Beaussip is right. The word delusional pulses in my brain like a bad beat.
Looks like her golden shower wasn’t enough of a hint to GTOF.
So let’s give her more clues to find the exit.
Remember, G.A.’s word on campus is sovereign.
Get her ladies.
At the end of the article is another gif of Gant’s boot mashing my face into the floorboards. I look like a tomato-red fish, with my drooling squished lips and my bulging eyes.
Before I can torture myself by reading the comments, something thick and warm pours over my head as the strong fragrance of garlic fills my nostrils.
“Whoops!”
Rin.
She’s staring down her nose at me, her glittering headband making her look exactly like the Queen Bitch she is. She smiles smugly, feigning sympathy as she unwraps a manicured finger from the handle of an insulated cup, another signature of hers, and points at the rubbish bins beside me. Her other hand’s holding her now empty tray, but remnants of buttery, garlic mashed potatoes still cling to the porcelain plate. “I guess I just missed it. I didn’t realise anyone was hiding back here. ”
A blonde girl beside her shoulder giggles, but I only have eyes for Rin because the word ‘hiding’ triggers something deep inside me that cuts off my snippy reply.
I wasn’t hiding. I was being smart.
I wasn’t cowering. I was biding my time.
Or was I?
Before I can react, two things happen at once.
Now that I’m standing, I have everyone’s attention, including the royal table just behind Rin’s back. Stassi’s nestled between Hale and Zedd, who are giving me their full attention with crooked smirks. She’s gone pale, but Aria, who’s midway through French braiding Bae’s hair, is staring at me like I’ve just officially been crowned and won my title all over again, Miss Dumb Bitch Universe.
I can already hear the question forming on her lips. Why the hell did you come to the dining hall to be slaughtered like a little piggie?
Because I was a piggie. I was hungry. What am I supposed to do? Never eat?
Aria’s look told me yes.
But it’s Gant’s eyes I find next. He’s staring at me over the rim of his red juice with a twinkle in his eye. He’s probably envisioning that it’s my blood.
But he’s quickly blocked out as a quarter of the students stand in perfect unison. All girls. All seniors. All carrying trays.
The blonde to my left, in knee-high boots, clicks closer, the sound of her heels filling the deathly quiet hall. Then more heels join her. Some hollow, some rubber, some squeaky as they edge towards me in a synchronised formation, filling the hall with a chilling harmony.
I gaze over my shoulder, but I already know my mistake before I see it. A corner.
I’d backed myself into a corner.
Dread climbs my spine like an eight-legged creature made of ice as I turn back to face Boots. No, Gant, who’s just visible again over her shoulder.
I straighten, locking my eyes with his and setting my jaw.
Don’t cower.
Don’t run.
Come what may.
I squeeze my eyes shut just as Boots mutters, “Oops.” and flips her plate over my head. Immediately the hall’s filled with hysterical laughter and banging on the tabletops that rattle the window panes this time.
I don’t get a chance to wipe the gnocchi from my eyes before puttanesca, boeuf bourguignon, and clam chowder rain down on me in quick succession, soaking the only uniform blazer I own.
“Whoopsies!”
Ballet flats.
“Didn’t see you there,”
Round toe pumps.
“You were in the way.”
Ankle boots.
“My bad.”
Pointy slingbacks.
Steam rises from my drenched shirt and my skin beneath it prickles and burns in protest. Sauces and sparkling waters seep through my socks and into my loafers, but I don’t move or scream. I won’t give them more of a show, or double my humiliation by trying to duck and dodge them and make their little game that much more fun.
Tray after tray. Girl after girl. Fake apology after faker apology, I remain rooted to the spot. I remain fixated on Gant, who only has eyes for me.
That’s until I can no longer see him because my head is smothered, to the point that I fear inhaling the thick liquids and suffocating. My sticky eyelids feel permanently glued shut beneath the weight and even my ears are filled, muffling the shrieks of laughter.
But I don’t move. I don’t let on that I can barely breathe. Or that my face and neck are tingling from the lukewarm soups, or that my feet have gone numb from all the ice cubes and drinks that have fallen on them. I don’t shake or tremble to let them know that I’m about to have a panic attack from the claustrophobic sensation of being covered head to foot in moist viscous sludge like I’ve fallen into quicksand.
If nothing else, I hope my frozen position dampens whatever satisfaction Gant’s getting from it.
The fact that he can get off on seeing so much food go to waste tells me all I need to know about him and every other student here. Mum was right. I don’t belong. I don’t live in a world where lamb can be tossed out like expired milk and I don’t want to.
It wouldn’t matter if Gant hadn’t targeted me. I have no interest in being friends with anyone who thought such a waste was okay. Not just the waste of food, but the waste of the staff’s efforts to prepare it. A waste of the slaughtered animals. A waste of time to have everything cleaned up and reset for dinner. A waste of money they’d never care about because they’ve always had too much of it.
More than pain, hurt, and humiliation, I feel raw, unbridled disgust.
When the bell rings and the last tray tops my head off like garnish, or rather what must be the cherry on top, Rin’s voice, somewhere to my left, says sweetly, “Next time don’t stand so close to the trash. It’s camouflage for someone like you.”
I want to reach out and trap her in a bear hug.
I want to soil her pretty uniform and fuck up her blowout, but I know nearly nine hundred students are dining in the hall. There are less than thirty staff members, all of whom disappeared into the kitchen the moment the attack started.
If I touch Rin, the untouchable, I’m even deader.
The pop of a top sounds and it takes me a second through all the thick layers of food to feel it.
Hot liquid.
Scalding liquid from Rin’s bedazzled cup, she lugs around all day. It splashes onto my blazer, a big drop soaking through my thin uniform shirt. It burns like hell.
But I don’t give her a reaction. I don’t attempt to shake away what drops I can.
Whatever her reaction is, I don’t get to see it. I just hear her heels click clacking away, followed by hundreds of feet drifting past me like a stampede. But even as the last straggler exits through the massive double doors, I know there’s someone still seated.
I can’t hear him. Or see him. But I know he’s there and I know he’s watching me.
Is this what he was waiting for? Now that it’s done, could we get past the bullshit?
I spit then blow chunks of food through my nostrils unceremoniously.
“So?” I ask, still completely blind. “How was it?”
No response.
“Are you satisfied now?”
Time ticks on, the only sound being the occasional plop dripping off my blazer and skirt.
I scrape the gunk from my eyes but I still can’t open them. The concoction of food is so viscous that I’m barely making any headway. I’m just smearing it around. Blindly, and I’m sure to Gant’s utter amusement, I slip and slide in my loafers, my feet making squishy farting noises as I search for the nearest table. They all have long runners in the school colours draped down the middle. When my fingers wrap around a tassel, I pull, using the heavily starched, stiff fabric to wipe at my eyelids.
I blink through the burning haze at the high table, ready to face Gant Auclair, but it’s empty.
The entire hall is empty.
The bell rings again, causing me to jump, but then I freeze as I take in the swamp of food surrounding me. I hadn’t done it, and yet guilt bubbles within me as I eye the exit. Beaulieu had a strict policy about skipping classes without a written pardon. Would Miss Trix give me one? Or would she ignore me like all the staff, including the dining hall workers who emerge from the kitchen with cleaning supplies?
Before I can attempt to help, I’m ushered outside by an annoyed-looking petite woman carrying a shovel. “Go on,” she hisses before slamming the massive double doors shut behind me.
I flinch at the force. I don’t know what I expected from the adults.
I don’t know why I expected anything at all.
As the sound of scraping shovels fills the air, and I bank around the hall to head towards Maple House, I’m hit with a bigger dilemma than a possible detention.
Hale Perriot.
He’s blocking the pathway… with a cricket bat.
Unreasonable…
Sons of bitches…
I trip over an invisible pebble at the sight of him, a pit forming in my stomach despite his easy smile and seemingly innocent blue eyes that sparkle in the sunlight. He just needs to lift the bat onto his shoulders, clench his sharp jaw and gaze off into the distance to land himself in a black-and-white cologne ad. Bonus points if it’s shot at a low angle.
“Sorry. This pathway is closed.”
I eye the bat and swallow as he twirls it around in his palm effortlessly.
“I thought you did ballroom.” I don’t know what convinced me to say it, but it comes out sassily like I’m not afraid of him swinging that slab of wood against my head. But I am. Gant showed me he’s moralless. His friends can’t be any better.
Hale doesn’t look affronted. “I do a lot of things. Cricket is one of them.”
“Congratulations.” More sass and I have no idea where it’s coming from. Maybe it’s sinking into my pores from all the food crusting over me like a shell.
“I lost my Kookaburra though.”
I lift a brow. “Your bird?”
Why am I asking?
Go!
“My balls.” His smile broadens as my stomach drops.
“You could stay and help me find them,” he says, stalking closer and casting a shadow over me.
He’s tall, taller than I’d thought and instinctively I step back, stumbling off the pathway and into the beautifully manicured lawn where I fall on my ass. My skirt rides up, and his eyes fly between my legs. Suddenly, they’re the darkest shade of blue.
“Or you could take a different pathway. Your choice.”
For once, that little voice that’s been willing me to not run, to stay and stand my ground doesn’t whisper in my ear.
My body works of its own accord as I scramble to my feet.
“You’re disgusting.”
Once again, Hale only smiles, eyeing me from head to toe. “And you’re filthy.”
I turn on my heel and force myself not to run, as I head for the long route to Maple House. But as soon as the dining hall shields me again, I can’t help it. I run because suddenly the lewdness of Hale’s words, the utter disregard of the kitchen staff, and the smelly food in the blazing sun that’s tightening my skin as it dries down feels unbearable. I need to shower. I need to scorch away the jumble of feelings that are about to overwhelm me and send me free-falling.
But I do fall.
Hard.
My belly burns from the impact, my wrists throbbing from catching the majority of my weight. But all that pain fades into the recesses of my mind as I lift my scraped chin from the pavement and peer up into the honey-golden eyes of a … wolf?
It’s massive, with a long multicoloured coat and white underbelly.
Terror has me in a chokehold as we stare at each other, frozen in time.
But then something above the wolf’s head catches my attention. Movement.
I look up into the crooked branches of the cedar tree shading the wolf and find a matching pair of golden eyes, this time set in a human head. Bae.
Unlike Hale, who should be advertising underwear, Bae looks like he’s going to lure you to your death. And you’re going to enjoy it as you get lost in his honey-coloured eyes. As his long, jet-black hair that moves like fingers strangles you.
The worst part is he won’t come after you. You’ll go willingly to him because he’s that damn alluring.
He’s lounging lazily on a low branch, like a damn leopard, and there’s a shiny, dark red leather ball in his palm. With his free hand, he gives me a little wave, just like he did in the theatre. Then, he lifts the ball, retches his palm back and utters two words. “Zoi. Fetch.”
The heavy ball sails directly towards my head, and I instinctively duck, rolling to my right, right off the pathway and down a sloping, little hill. The ball follows, and so does the wolf-dog.
I don’t know which sound terrifies me more, my body crunching over the grass blades or the heavy, crossbody satchel filled with textbooks ramming into my back with each tumble. The heavy ball that quickly overtakes me or the footfalls of Bae’s dog and its loud, bloodthirsty, excited panting.
As I spin around like the mediocre ballerina Beaussip has deemed me to be, I catch a glimpse of my braking system. The tall greenhouse with its pointy roofs and shiny glass walls. One of which is broken by the red ball seconds before I crash into the fluffy, low bushes lining the greenhouse.
The last thing I see is Zoi’s airborne body as he leaps towards me, teeth bared.
But the impact doesn’t come.
When I open my eyes two familiar leather boots exit the greenhouse and crease as their owner squats by my head. Gant Auclair reaches out his palm to Zoi who playfully tries to wrestle the ball from his fingers.
“There’s a good boy,” he coos, cuddling the beast’s head.
Don’t run. You said you wouldn’t run anymore.
He’s lured you here. Maybe the timing is now. Maybe this is the perfect opportunity to just swallow your pride and apologise for the damage you’ve done regardless of what he’s done to you.
But the moment I take in Gant’s painfully perfect profile, all my bravado flees through my asshole. Those eyes, those black, pitless eyes aren’t going to accept anything short of my demise.
Still, don’t run. Don’t show him how scared you are because you know how unhinged he is.
We don’t cower anymore.
We don’t….
I scoot forward, getting to my bruised hands and knees. My satchel, filled with heavy textbooks, drags in the grass and weighs me down as I attempt to ease along the side of the greenhouse. Fuck that little voice. I’d had enough for one day, hadn’t I?
“Take it back to Hale. He’ll hit it again for you.” I hear Gant say, but it isn’t his dismissal of Zoi, his kinfolk, that makes me once again freeze in terror.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the image of the glistening lake is burned into my brain.
Slow, measured footsteps sound behind me but I don’t bother to turn around.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Apparently to hell.
Because he’s going to kill me.