Chapter 11
ELEVEN
From the outside, I’m sure none of the other students can see the danger that is brewing inside of me.
I woke up on the first day back from the three-day break, and went about my usual routine as if I hadn’t downed an entire bottle of whiskey the night before, neat and at room temperature because desperation is how I was raised.
After two hours of my most challenging stances and drills, every inch of my body aches and the piping hot shower hasn’t helped.
My uniform is perfect, my plate is stacked high, and I’ve already started reading for the senior AP classes I’m planning on taking next year.
I also have a headache that can be chalked up as a hangover, and in no way am I in the mood to deal with Joey’s bullshit. Tolerating his presence is off the table and, to be honest, hearing his name is enough to send me into a rage-fueled haze.
I’m clearly too good at hiding my anger because I’m only halfway through my pancakes when Harlow saunters over to me.
She walks through the dining hall like she’s aware that all of the guys’ eyes follow her around.
She’s definitely getting off on their attention.
I wonder if she understands how insecure she must be to value their adoration that much, but she’s chasing Joey like he’s the ultimate prize, so she’s clearly too fucking stupid for that sort of self-awareness.
She stops before me and strikes a pose, cocking her hip and pushing her chest out for maximum effect. “Joey wants to see you in the chapel after the assembly.”
She smirks down at me, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching, and it’s clear she’s egging me on.
I stare her down, violence in my gaze, until she finally gets the picture and stomps off.
Her exit is a far less graceful performance, and she shoulder checks one of the freshmen so hard the girl hits the floor.
None of her friends help her up.
This place is nothing but a snake pit.
I’m still seething on the inside when I hear Blaise’s voice down the table from me.
I’m proud to say I can now listen to it without wanting to die, but looking him in the face is still off the table.
I glance over and see that he’s only a couple of seats away, surrounded by other students in our grade.
The three nightmares aren’t around, but I think that’s the only reason the others have been able to get this close to him.
As soon as I clock his voice, I can’t tune him out even if I try.
“My parents are pissed at my scores, but what’s new? My dad wants me to spend less time touring and more time in New York. My mom is guilt tripping me over it hard, I’ll never hear the end of her heartbreak over me going to Europe without asking her first.”
The group around him laughs, and I can hear the fake tones from where I sit.
How awful it must be to have to entertain all these kids who are just trying to gain social status by sitting with you.
I’d feel bad for him but he’s a rock god with millions in the bank, a recording contract others would kill for, and an established career with hundreds of thousands of fans clawing at him for every morsel of genius he produces. He doesn’t need my sympathy.
“Shouldn’t she be happy you’re already successful? My mom would be falling all over herself if any of her kids did what you have—”
I roll my eyes at the pandering, but I’m not the only one seeing through it, and another girl cuts her off.
“Your parents would nut themselves if any of their kids graduated high school. Isn’t your family responsible for the percentage point loss against Hannaford’s perfect record?
Your brother dropped out because classes cut into his drinking time and your sister got knocked up sophomore year.
Hopefully you make it through, Annabelle. ”
Oof.
That girl isn’t holding back. She wants Morrison to herself. Real bad.
He cuts them both off, his voice way too amused. “Dad is pushing me to go down the business path so I can take over Kora for him someday, but the man just can’t understand why I have no interest in technology and manufacturing. I’m not going to pull my grades up just for his dreams.”
Stupidly, I glance up and our eyes collide.
His are guarded and sharp, so different to his tone, and I can’t keep his gaze for longer than a second before I’m back to staring at my textbook without reading a single word.
I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but the information he’s freely throwing around gets stored away in my vault of a brain regardless.
I already knew that Kora is the name of his family’s business.
His dad became a billionaire in his twenties by manufacturing computer parts during the first big technology wave.
“At least you’re doing better than me in algebra. Maybe you should study more and mess around on your guitar less.”
Damn me to hell, I glance over again just in time to see something pained dart across Blaise’s face, but he recovers quickly, smirking effortlessly, and Annabelle doesn't seem to notice. For a girl desperate to gain his approval, she’s not exactly paying attention to him.
The lyrics I’ve listened to and sung over the years that he wrote come to me all at once.
Living a lie, wearing a mask, walking alone.
None of these kids understand him. No one here really knows what it feels like to have melodies creep into your subconsciousness while you sleep and steal your soul.
None of them have listened to the same words over and over again until they’re burned into their being.
None of them understand what it means to be Blaise fucking Morrison.
If you had told me three years ago that I’d be listening to him have this conversation at school one day, I wouldn’t believe you.
“Never mind. Obviously, you’ll do what your father wants.”
Blaise gives Annabelle a look, and I realize I recognize her.
She’s the girl I saw in the woods that night with Harley.
A blush begins to crawl along my cheeks as I think about the white streaks that painted her pretty face.
She’s stroking Blaise’s bicep possessively.
He doesn’t pull away from her, even though he’s obviously pissed.
“Why would I give up my music, Annabelle? I’m already successful. I’ve made my own money independently. Why would I give that up for the stuffy, corporate life?”
Annabelle laughs again and the muscle in Blaise’s jaw ticks, but he still doesn’t move away. Is she his girlfriend? Is she cheating on him with one of his best friends? I can’t imagine Harley doing that. Maybe I don’t know him at all.
“Your parents are worth billions. You don’t give up money like that for some singing and dancing.”
I snort. I can’t help myself; it just happens. Breakfast has wound down enough that Annabelle clearly hears it and looks over at me. I’ve never noticed her before, but she knows all about me. Everyone at the school knows about the Mounty charity case among them.
“This is a private conversation. Inferior Mounty trash isn’t welcome.” Her voice is sweet and her face a mask of placid joy. If I’ve learned anything about the human race, it is that the quiet ones are usually the worst. Best to nip this in the bud.
“Inferior? You’ve both just said you’re flunking the lower math class, and you’re not in any of the other top classes with me. Clearly, I’m not the inferior student.”
Annabelle doesn’t flinch. She just flips her long, mousy brown hair over her shoulder and looks at me like I’m nothing. I consider slamming her pretty face into the table, but I rein myself in. I don’t need another rich kid hating on me. I need to learn to shut my mouth and keep my head down.
I have got to stop feeling all these emotions for gorgeous rich boys.
Blaise is sitting there surrounded by people he’s probably known his whole life, and yet none of them understand how badly he needs his music.
None of them have looked past his handsome face and his bank account balance to see the real guy underneath it all.
I’m not stupid, I know he isn’t just his musical talent, but I’m certain that I know more about him than this Annabelle girl does.
She’s vapid, shallow, and hungry for the immense wealth that being with Blaise would give her access to.
Annabelle smirks at me, blind to anything but her goal of gaining Morrison’s approval. “You could be the smartest girl on Earth, and you’ll still never be someone worth our time.”
She laughs and looks around at the others they’re sitting with to make sure they’re laughing too.
I do not need the trouble opening my mouth will bring me. But I do it anyway. My temper is going to get me killed someday. Matteo tells me that all the time. I should really listen to him. The Jackal has killed people for dishing out less honesty than I’m about to unleash.
I scoff at her. “I’d rather be poor and smart than rich and brainless. You’re so stupid you can’t even tell how much you’ve pissed off Morrison.”
I don’t look away from my breakfast, but I can see her eyes narrow at me in my peripherals. Blaise doesn’t say a word, and I wonder again if she’s his girlfriend. She lets him go and turns to me, but I snort at her derisively and tuck back into my breakfast.
She snaps back, “Well, that just shows you’re a stalker and that he should start sleeping with one eye open at night. I did hear you’re obsessed with him. Don’t you sleep in one of his band tees?”
I try not to blush, but I fail. Avery fucking Beaumont and that damned photo she took of me in my pajamas. Of course she’s shared it around.
I glue my gaze to Annabelle so my traitorous eyes can’t flit over to Blaise. “Actually, it shows I like his music and not just his reputation or his face. But what am I saying? At this school, all the girls just like how much money a guy has.”