Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
I’m well aware of my limits.
“Right. You. Yes, of course. Which song did you pick?” Miss Umber sounds flustered as she drops her bag onto the tiny desk.
She’s far too old to be a Miss, she should have at least switched out to be a Ms. by now.
Her startlingly white hair is chopped off into a severe-looking bob with bangs, and her glasses are too large for her face.
On a teeny runway model, it would look fashionable, but on the aging teacher it’s just unflattering.
I’d much rather sit here and pick apart her appearance than start my assessment.
When Miss Umber turns to give me a look, I remember what the hell I’m here to do and get to it.
“Pompeii. By Bastille,” I croak.
Not a good sign of my vocal abilities for the day.
“Good choice! Do you need music or are you going to play an instrument?”
I hold up my phone to show her the instrumental song I have prepared.
I’ve taught myself a handful of songs on guitar, this one included, but I don’t want to tempt fate by putting too much pressure on myself.
I run through the warm-ups under her watchful eye, and I realize this is the most amount of attention she’s ever given me.
This is definitely the first time she’s ever heard my voice, because I always hide among the other students in class.
Once I have the phone set up and the music starts, I slip my noise-canceling headphones on and then I sing.
My eyes slip shut and I forget Miss Umber is even in the room.
For the first time, I can focus on the feeling of singing, the rush of my body working hard at something that isn’t entirely physical, and I lose myself in it.
I sway and swing my arms for emphasis, the way I’ve watched Blaise do a thousand times before.
I can hear myself, but the headphones tone it down just enough that I can immerse myself fully into the act of singing rather than the sound.
It’s incredible.
I feel like a piece of me that I lost years ago has come back.
It’s healing to think that the damage done to me at the hands of the Jackal and the Game could be undone.
I can someday be a whole person again. I feel the tears prickling at the back of my eyes, and I know the second I open them, they will fall.
If I can stay at this school and survive everything being torn down around me, I can pull myself up and out of the world I was born into.
I can make something of myself through sheer will and perseverance alone.
When the last word slips from my lips, my chest is heaving and my heart is pounding wildly in my chest. I give myself a second before I open my eyes, just a moment to collect myself so I don’t fall to my knees and sob like a child.
When I pull the headphones off, I hear clapping and I grin at Miss Umber.
She’s looking at me the exact same way she looks at Blaise when he sings, like I’ve exceeded all her expectations and dreams as a teacher.
“Miss Anderson! I’ve never—you are a rare talent!”
She grips my hand tightly in hers and tugs me into a hug.
I try not to freeze or flail awkwardly, but I’m not hugged often enough to be comfortable.
I can't actually remember the last time I was hugged.
As she lets me go, I turn and see Avery standing in the doorway, her jaw damn near hitting the ground.
She heard me sing.
I feel exposed. Worse even than my 911 call. I feel like she can see inside me. I gave up singing so long ago that not even Matteo has heard me. Only my dead mom has, and she took the memories of my singing to the grave with her.
I break away from her slack-jawed stare and turn back to our teacher, a flush staining my cheeks. I don’t know what to do with myself, and I nod along dumbly as Miss Umber gushes over me.
“I can’t believe I’ve missed your voice so far this year! Your range rivals Mr. Morrison’s. Has he heard you sing?”
Oh, God. There is no way I want him to ever hear me.
“I don’t think so. It’s not… I’m not interested in performing. I’d rather stick to the group sessions.”
Once she’s finished marking my rubric, I take the page and flee the room.
Avery hasn’t moved from the doorway, and I have to brush past her to leave. She doesn’t move to let me pass, and when I look down at her fist, I see the pages I’d slipped under her door crumpled in her hands.
Hannaford prides itself on ‘encouraging’ its students to excel by posting all grades publicly.
It’s never bothered me because I always have the top spot, or occasionally second, if Harley beats me.
I would feel bad for the other students here who land closer to the bottom, if I didn’t already know they were going to be millionaires the moment they turn eighteen and get their trust funds.
The first time I decide I hate this system is when the choir marks are posted. That’s when I learn Blaise has never come second in this class in his life.
I’ve beaten him by a fraction of point, the smallest of margins.
I take my usual seat with Lauren, Jessie, and Dahlia, and I try to ignore the eyes that are on me. Lauren leans toward me and then stops dead as Avery and Blaise walk in. I had expected Avery to tell Blaise about my singing, but one look at him makes it pretty clear she didn’t.
“What. The. Fuck.”
He whips around to look at me, and I glue my eyes to Miss Umber so I can keep ignoring him. The students around us start to murmur and gasp, but I don’t let my gaze waver. Miss Umber claims first place in my list of favorite teachers by starting the lesson before Blaise can confront me.
“Mr. Morrison, Miss Beaumont, if you could both take your seats so we can begin! Please start our usual warmups, and then we can start discussing what each student can be working on to improve before our next assignments.”
There is no way I want to discuss my singing with the whole class, but short of faking an illness, there is nothing I can do to get out of it. And then Miss Umber tumbles back down to the bottom of the list by ruining my life.
“Miss Anderson, can you please swap groups? I’d like you and Mr. Morrison together, where I can monitor your progress accordingly.”
Every eye in the room is on me.
I flush scarlet and pray that a stroke takes me out.
There is no justice in the world because my heart continues to beat.
I’m forced to collect my bag and move across the room.
Miss Umber holds out a seat for me, and then I’m sitting right next to the devil herself.
Blaise is still trying to catch my eye, but I will not play his game.
Once the warmups are finished, my hands are trembling and my stomach is a roiling pit.
I can’t half-ass it now. I’m stuck under Miss Umber’s eye, and Avery is watching my every move.
I sit on my hands so she can’t see how badly I’m shaking.
The moment Miss Umber starts to write out notes during her explanation of the correct breathing methods we should be using, Blaise leans over Avery so far that he’s practically in her lap.
“Since when can you fucking sing?”
I take out my notebook and start doodling. I never take notes in choir, but it’s a good excuse to ignore him. He’s not an easy guy to get away from. “Mounty, how did you get a higher mark than me? Are you fucking the teacher?”
I snort and keep writing, not sparing him a glance as I reply.
“If anyone is fucking Miss Umber, it’s you.
Why would I take this class if I can’t sing?
I told you I liked Vanth for your voice.
Did you think I was lying? You really thought I was just some desperate fan?
Well, maybe now you’ll believe that I was just a singer who admired the talent of another. That’s it. Get over it.”
Avery pushes Blaise back into his own seat and off her lap.
I’m a little wary that she seems to be helping me, but I know there’ll be an ulterior motive.
Blaise is mumbling under his breath. Avery slips her hand into his and that’s when I know I’m in trouble.
That I’m about to be tormented by them again.
Avery Beaumont is always the calm before the storm.
While her brother and his friends get angry and loud about it, Avery is silent as she efficiently makes her moves to destroy me.
I shake my head at her and go back to my notes.
When the class finishes, I leave without looking at Blaise again. Classes are done for the day, and when I round the corner to walk back into the main building, I hear the footsteps right behind me.
They’re both following me.
It’s taco night, and I’ve already missed the last two because of Beaumont bullshit, so I head straight to the dining hall for an early meal.
I give them both a warning look when they sit across from me.
Neither of them have bothered to grab anything to eat, so we sit in silence as I start to eat my tacos.
They're good, but I can't enjoy them with a hostile audience watching my every move.
I break the silence.
“What are you planning on doing to me because I got a better mark than your little friend?”
Blaise’s eyes narrow at me, and then he hesitantly glances at Avery.
She’s staring at me down her nose like Ash does, and it sends my blood boiling.
I’ve grown accustomed to being the poor little foster kid.
Even at Mounts Bay people looked down on me for my drug addict mom, but no one makes me feel more like shit about it than the Beaumonts do.
“Did you take the photos of Rory and Harlow together?” she asks, completely monotone, like she’s not discussing her cheating boyfriend.
I nod and drink my juice. I’m distracted enough by the conversation that I don’t think twice about it.
Blaise is staring at her, his eyes slits of rage, and his cheeks have deep red patches.
I’ve assumed, this far, that they’re all so close they don’t keep secrets, but now I see I was wrong.
He runs a hand over the back of his neck and blows out a frustrated breath.
I wonder how long it will take before Ash is publicly beating the life out of Rory. Or will it be Harley this time?
“Why didn’t you send them to everyone? You’re convinced I sent out your nudes. Wouldn’t that be the best revenge for you?”
It’s a trap, but I know no matter what, she’ll hate me.
Why not tell the truth? “I believed Ash when he said you didn’t have anything to do with that.
It doesn’t matter, though. Even if you did, I wouldn’t have sent them out.
I don’t do that shit. If I want revenge, I go straight to the source and do it properly.
I’m not good at this social hierarchy stuff.
I’m at this school to make a better life for myself.
Whatever you guys do to me, it’s nothing compared to what’s waiting for me in Mounts Bay. ”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. Why does this girl rile me up so badly?
I’m giving her answers and she still wants more.
I should tell her to go fuck herself. I should tell her to choke or jump off a cliff, or go and hide among the beautiful boys she hangs around and leave me the hell alone. I don’t.
“Rory is a fucking scumbag. I’m not one of these brainwashed bimbos who thinks it’s funny when other girls are treated like shit by guys.
I think he’s a dick, and I think you deserve to know where he’s sticking his.
Plus, I didn’t see a condom in use so, you know.
He’s probably caught something truly heinous from that bitch, and you should get tested to make sure he hasn’t passed it on to you. ”
As I lift my juice to my lips, I see a flash of regret pass over her face.
I've never seen that sort of human emotion out of her before, and it makes me feel another pang of sympathy for her.
We were both born into cages. Mine was poverty, drugs, the threat of gangs and violence.
Hers is a gilded cage, but the bars work just the same.
She's trapped by her name and lineage. I wonder, not for the first time, what her parents are like.
Are they as beautiful as their children?
Are they loyal and caring like the twins, or did Joey come by his cruelty honestly?
I should really take a closer look into them, maybe use a favor to dig up some intel for me.
“For the record, none of this is because of what you did to Harley. It’s not eye for an eye anymore.
If you stay here, Joey will kill you. He likes to break things.
You're not shattering the way he wants; you're proving to be too strong.
He doesn't let strong things survive.” She's warning me.
What has she put into place, and what will I have to survive this time? I swallow.
“It's okay. I'll make it through whatever it is you’ve done, and then I'll survive your brother too. I have no choice.”
She nods sharply and bumps Blaise to get him moving. He's not happy. He's watched our entire exchange with a frown on his face, and I do something entirely out of left field.
I smile at him.
Just a tiny, sad lifting of the corners of my lips, but he stares at me with heartbreak in those stunning green eyes of his.
He's in on whatever she's done, and he's torn about it. He probably convinced himself to help because I’m a stalker fan in their eyes, but then I got that higher mark.
The last thing I remember thinking is that he wears heartbreak so fucking well.
But really, my mind knows nothing.