Cruel Truths (Eastern High #2)

Chapter 1

Sam

Every time I walk the halls of Eastern High, I remind myself this place is just a stepping stone. I turned eighteen at the start of the school year. I keep my grades high, my dreams higher, and my mouth shut when the whispers follow me down the corridor.

“Virgin tease.”

I hear it every time. Nicole doesn’t bother whispering it anymore.

I shift my books higher in my arms and keep walking, my boots clicking against the tiles. They’re scuffed and beaten-up, nothing like her designer knock-offs. She’s got another sucker on her arm today. Some junior with hopeful eyes and a hard-on.

She leans in with fake sweetness, her eyes fixed on him as if he’s the only one that matters. But she’s already scanning the hallway for someone better, someone bigger, someone who will give her the attention she truly desires.

That’s Nicole’s game.

When she’s not turning it on for the boys, she turns it on me.

The second their attention drifts or someone prettier walks past, she sharpens her voice and points it at my throat.

Petty digs in the hallway. Backhanded compliments that sound sweet until you actually listen.

Snide laughs shared with whichever girl is standing closest, always just loud enough to be heard.

She doesn’t need a spotlight to feel powerful—she only needs someone to burn.

And for as long as I can remember, I’ve been her favorite.

Red hair means fire crotch. Not having a boyfriend means something must be wrong with me. Talk to a guy and I’m a tease. Don’t sleep with him and I’m a prude.

It doesn’t matter what I do. They’ve already made up their minds. And there’s no version of me that ever comes out clean.

I turn the corner, and my stomach twists—just like it always does when he’s around.

Reece Wilson is pressed against some girl at his locker.

Her back is arched, lips parted, and his hand sits low enough on her waist to make it clear he’ll get whatever he wants.

His grin is lazy and dangerous, the kind that makes a girl forget her own name.

He doesn’t care who’s watching. He never does.

He’s one of Noah’s boys, and around here, that makes him untouchable.

Rules don’t apply to them. Hearts aren’t off-limits.

And Reece? He breaks both without flinching.

I hate that I notice the way his fingers graze her hip, slow and possessive. I hate that he leans in, lips brushing her ear, not kissing her but close enough to make her legs go weak.

And above all, I hate that he catches me staring.

His eyes lock onto mine. Blue. Sharp. Full of heat he never even tries to hide.

He smirks, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Hey, Red,” he calls out, loud enough to make heads turn.

Nicole’s laugh pierces the hallway, shrill and fake—her way of pulling the spotlight back onto herself. It’s always the same game with that bitch.

I roll my eyes at the sound of his voice and pick up my pace. My cheeks burn.

Reece Wilson will never get under my skin.

Not again.

Jace, the asshole next to him, leans against the wall like he’s God’s gift to women. His mouth is already moving. “Looks like your little ginger’s got it bad.”

Reece doesn’t look at him. He lets out a rough laugh, the kind that gets under your skin. “She wishes.”

I don’t give them the satisfaction of reacting. That’s the rule. If you flinch, they win. So I keep my face blank, shoulder-check the nearest doorway, and slip into class without a backward glance. My heart’s doing its usual traitor routine—too fast, too loud—but I pretend it’s just the caffeine.

Reece Wilson is chaos in ripped jeans and last year’s sneakers.

He’s all crooked smiles and fuck-me eyes, the kind of boy who can ruin you with a look and never lose sleep over it.

He doesn’t keep trophies. He flirts, he conquers, he forgets.

And somehow, every time he glances my way, I’m the one left standing in the wreckage.

Every single time.

They all think I’m immune.

Liz with her color-coded calendars. Lola with her snack stash and her laugh that echoes through walls. And Aubrey, so in love she floats when Noah’s near.

They look at me and see control, poise, and intelligence before boys—red hair and rolled eyes. They think I don’t care.

Maybe that’s my own fault. I built this armor. I perfected the polished smile. I made sure no one could see how much those throwaway lines sting, how much the heat in Reece’s voice turns to ice when he uses it on someone else.

They don’t know it gets hard to breathe when he looks at me and laughs, all teeth and heat, like I’m the setup to a punchline he never finished. Or when he throws out that one word… “Red” as if it means nothing to him and everything to me.

They don’t realize that every time Nicole calls me a tease, a prude, or a virgin, it sinks into my skin and stays there.

I keep my chin high and my voice steady, pretending none of it ever lands. I tell myself their words bounce off, that his laugh doesn’t hit bone. But I feel every bit of it. And then I bury it deep where no one can see.

The classroom’s half-full, sunlight slicing across chipped desks and half-dead posters peeling off the walls.

I see Liz near the back, phone in hand, typing with the kind of fury that means someone’s about to get a very aggressive reminder to attend Student Council.

She looks up from her phone. “Please tell me that flustered look is because you tripped over your own shoelaces and not because Reece winked at you again.”

I sigh as I settle into the seat. “Yeah. You know. Just another Monday where I question all my life choices.”

She doesn’t pause. “Ah yes. Monday. Where Nicole calls you a tease and Reece decides the hallway is his personal strip club. Very peaceful.”

I snort. “You missed the part where Tia tried to kill me with her eyes. I’m pretty sure she’s still manifesting Aubrey’s downfall so she can steal Noah back.”

Liz finally looks up, unimpressed. “Tia’s just bitter Noah fell for someone who didn’t spend two years fake-tanning and terrorizing freshmen.”

“And Nicole?” I ask.

Liz shrugs. “Oh, she’s bitter no one’s fallen in love with her yet.”

Right on cue, the classroom door swings open.

Aubrey walks in with that flushed, just-kissed glow she probably doesn’t even notice. Her hair’s loose, falling over her shoulders, an effortless beauty that doesn’t need a filter. She heads toward us, her hand already reaching for Noah’s. He catches it without missing a beat.

Noah used to be a fuckboy. Cold smile, hot hands, and a reputation that followed him into every room. He played girls the way Reece and Jace still do—easy, careless, never sticking around for the fallout. All sharp edges and zero apologies. He used to be untouchable. Unreachable.

Until Aubrey.

Now he walks beside Aubrey with his hand wrapped around hers, and you can see the shift in him. The way his eyes never leave her. The way his body moves in sync with hers, ready to shield, ready to strike. Now he bends for her.

And when he looks at her, it isn’t soft. It’s brutal. Possessive. The kind of look that imprints itself into memory and refuses to fade once the moment’s over.

It says touch her, and you’re dead. Cross that line, and he won’t hesitate.

They sit down in the seats across from us. Aubrey raises her hand and waves. I wave back, relaxed, casual, pretending the knot in my chest isn’t tightening.

I really am happy for her. I am. She deserves it. After everything she’s been through, she fucking deserves this peace, this love, this boy who would torch the earth just to keep her warm.

But still... something twists. It lingers there, just behind my ribs.

It’s not envy. Not exactly.

It’s that quiet, unbearable ache that hits when you see someone else get everything you act like you don’t want. It’s wondering what it would be like if someone looked at me the way Noah looks at her, as if she’s already home. Like the war’s over and she’s the reason he made it through.

To be truly seen and still be chosen.

Not for the way I look. Not for the red hair or the body they think I haven’t given away yet.

But for me.

Lola charges through the door as if she’s late to her own drama. She holds a half-eaten muffin in one hand, her bag barely hanging on her shoulder, with crumbs trailing behind her like confetti.

“Don’t ask,” she groans, dropping into the seat in front of me. “I stepped in gum, spilled my coffee, and got hit in the face by my locker door. The universe is out for blood.”

“You’ve always been cursed,” Liz mumbles, still glued to her phone. “Today’s just extra.”

Lola spins around to face me, eyes narrowing. “Alright. Spill. Did Reece finally grow a soul and make a move, or is he still acting like the emotionally stunted man-child we all know and love?”

I exhale through my nose, the tired kind. “Still playing.”

She beams. “Love that for you. Nothing says romance like unresolved sexual tension and deep-rooted trauma.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” I roll my eyes at Lola’s comment as Tia walks into the room.

She’s alone.

No backup dancers. No smug parade of cheerleaders snapping gum at her heels. Only her, and the flick of her eyes, scanning the room for one person.

Noah.

She spots him easily, seated next to Aubrey with their heads close. But it’s not him that hurts, it’s Aubrey. The girl who shattered Tia’s perfect little world in two. The one who didn’t back down, even when Tia charged at her claws first.

Aubrey didn’t just steal Noah; she stole the entire narrative. Now, because of that, Tia walks in without anyone bowing. They just watch.

It’s strange to see Tia like this—quiet. This is the same girl who used to own hallways like a runway, whose laugh could turn heads and ruin reputations instantly. The one who once had girls begging to sit at her lunch table and boys lining up just to be ignored.

Now?

Nobody looks up. Nobody gasps. Nobody even blinks.