Page 3 of Spite

Chapter Two

The principal wanted to meet with me, but he didn’t have time now, so the secretary just gave me my schedule and sent me on my way, which I was more than fine with. Sitting down with the principal, hearing him go on and on about how this school was my new home, was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d rather try to pick up a feral cat than sit across from anyone and listen to their bullshit. Because that’s all it was—bullshit.

Everything teachers said. Everything parents said. I’d learned it was all bullshit from a very early age.

The halls were mostly empty, which I used to my advantage. I’d never been in River High before. It was a two-story building with expansive halls and shiny new coats of paint on everything. Nothing remarkable. Nothing special. Just like every other high school on TV. I found my locker, stuffed my backpack into it, and with my notebooks in my hands, I wandered the halls, noting where my classes were later in the day.

Getting lost when I should be enacting my revenge plot? Not something I wanted.

The halls steadily grew full. Kids I didn’t recognize, from freshmen to other seniors, started to pack in like sardines. It was just another day to these students; some I noticed wore their pajamas. I didn’t think myself drop dead gorgeous, even with the makeup and nice clothes, but compared to these kids? I was a fucking goddess.

Hmm. Maybe this wouldn’t be as tough as I anticipated.

I made it to homeroom, and of course, the teacher made me stand up as she introduced me to the class. The high school teachers didn’t know me from my jaunt here from kindergarten to sixth grade, and for that I was thankful. I didn’t need anyone asking me if I was okay, if I’d gotten better. The truth was that I hadn’t—who could ever truly get over feeling like they wanted to die?

The other students around me watched me with eyes too large and expressions so curious and obvious it took all my willpower not to roll my eyes. Yes, I wanted to say, I’m Elle Payne, and I’m back with a vengeance. Yeah…don’t think they would’ve taken it well.

Each and every class I had, I scoped out the students. If any of them were in my classes, it would be based on sheer, dumb luck. It might make things a bit easier for me, too. I’d get to watch them, study them, think up the perfect ways to break them down and make them feel like they were no better than the gum sticking the undersides of the desks in the classrooms. Did it make me a bitch, wanting them to feel as worthless as they’d made me feel all those years?

From fourth grade to the middle of sixth—I had been the subject of their mocking. It was before all the classes joined together and we had more than one teacher per subject, so there were at least twenty-seven other kids who deserved some kind of retribution, too. But I’d get to them later. The three who deserved it most would be my primary focus.

There were a lot of kids I didn’t know, but I supposed it came with the territory. After all, the entire grade had combined when they entered high school, so the thirty kids I’d spent kindergarten to sixth grade with were among a sea of many. I’m sure some of them moved, too. Alec, Xander, and Christian—if any one of them moved, I’d just have to find out where.

The math teacher was a kind-looking older woman named Ms. Hovanec. Her grey hair was cut short, thin-rimmed glasses sitting before her brown eyes. If my plan was going to work, I had to be a good, studious student. I had to participate in class and try my hardest with my homework and ace my tests. I had to be up their asses, basically, just in case I ever needed them on my side. Couldn’t have too many allies when you were stuck in a war of wills.

So I smiled at Ms. Hovanec when I rose my hand to answer her question about whatever equation she had written on the whiteboard. Math, it seemed, was one class where technology didn’t help out too much. It’d take way too long to type in all those extra numbers and equations. And, call me weird, but I kind of liked old-fashioned chalkboards. My handwriting on them sucked, but that was neither here nor there.

When the bell rang and the other kids filed out, Ms. Hovanec called me to her desk. I couldn’t spend much time talking with her since I had to drop off my new math textbook in my locker, but it wasn’t like I could ignore her, either.

“I’m glad to see you’re adjusting well here,” Ms. Hovanec spoke, smiling at me, wrinkles around her eyes and her lips. “You were livelier than the rest of the class put together.” She chuckled.

Well, that was because I’d already been up for hours doing my hair and makeup to look like a killer queen, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable in this class? If you want, I can talk to Mr. Gregory, see if he can take you in advanced calculus.”

Being put in any advanced classes was the last thing I wanted. More work, harder to get good grades, and I highly doubted any of the three boys I was trying to find would be caught dead in an advanced class.

All I said was “I’ll let you know,” even though letting her know was the last thing I wanted to do. Being thrown into an advanced class, getting dumped with loads of homework? No thanks. I’ll pass.

But Ms. Hovanec seemed happy with my answer, so I spun and walked out, hurrying through the halls to my locker. After depositing my math book, I went to my next class upstairs in the literature hall. Most of the other students were already seated, and I nearly froze when I saw the person sitting against the opposite wall, leaning his back on the concrete instead of his chair, his legs spread out in the walkway like he was some awe-inspiring god.

And maybe he was. Dirty blonde hair, cut short but messy all the same. Match his blonde locks with his blue eyes, his chiseled cheekbones and his Roman nose, not to mention his muscular frame, and he was every girl’s dream boyfriend. A jock, based on his Letterman jacket. I would know him from across any room, no matter how far he was or how close.

Christian Moore. Target number one. Head honcho. The ringleader. Honestly, I could go on and on, but I wouldn’t. Mostly because he’d stopped talking to the other boys around him and was now staring straight at me, his mouth hanging slightly agape. I could tell he recognized me, at least somewhat, but he didn’t know who I was. He’d learn.

Clutching my notebook against my chest, I headed to the teacher’s desk, my eyes falling to the small wooden plaque that said her name. Or, part of her name, maybe? Apple. It said Apple. Was her name really Apple? I looked up at the teacher, who’d turned away from her computer with a smile. I made sure to cock my hip, giving the class a good view of my ass. Christian was watching. I knew he was.

She was nowhere near as old as Ms. Hovanec was, and she looked a little weird, to boot. “You’re our new student,” she spoke. “I’m Mrs. Appleton, but everyone calls me Apple.” Behind me, a few stragglers made their way into the room, narrowly missing tardiness as the bell rang overhead. “We’re currently working on—well, I’ll explain it to you later. Let me introduce you to the class.”

God, if I could go the rest of the day without being introduced to anyone else, I’d be a happy camper.

“Alright, settle down,” Apple spoke, and instantly the class quieted. She moved around her desk, setting an arm gently on my shoulder. I was slow to face them, eyes roaming the rows of desks until they landed on Christian.

Inside my chest, I felt my heart flutter. Damn, he’d grown up hot. So hot ice melted when it was in the same room as him. If I wasn’t myself, I’d probably be drooling over him. Christian Moore was sexy and he knew it. I knew it, and I hated him. It was a sad waste of such good looks; a person so nasty, so downright vile and mean, didn't need them.

“Class, this is Elle Payne. I trust you’ll make her feel welcome and help her catch up with our lessons,” Apple spoke, and I watched as the recognition fully flashed across Christian’s blue eyes.

His eyebrows went together, a crease forming between them. His posture went rigid, and his hands folded on top of his desk. If he didn’t know who I was before, he sure as shit did now. Christian looked kind of upset.

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