Page 6 of Hired Help

The video burning a hole in my pocket sure makes it seem that way.

“See you in class,” I say, pushing my chair back so abruptly that the legs squeal against the lino. “I’m going for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you,” Everett says, joining me before I can protest. As we leave, he deliberately walks on the side nearest Brooke, sheltering me from her.

I should be grateful, but the love-struck boy inside me who still thinks the world revolves around her beautifully curvaceous arse bristles at the obstruction. The boy who wants to see if she’s as devastated as he is. If he ever meant anything to her at all.

When I do snatch a glimpse, I figure Brooke is reeling from the breakup because the perfect sheen of her nail polish ends in nibbled and misshapen tips.

Last year, she struggled to quit her nail-biting, painting them with disgusting chemicals to stem the urges. I made the mistake of sucking her finger once with it on and—gag—never again.

She fought hard to break the habit and now she’s back at square one.

Good. You want her to hurt.

Except I don’t. What I want is to return to the blissful ignorance when I had no idea of what Brooke had done to me.

Tous.

“You’ve got a fucking nerve,” Floss explodes at me out of nowhere. I hadn’t even noticed her following us out to the lobby. “You know your friend just tipped a soda all over her lap.”

I glance past her, back into the cafeteria and see Ollie pretending to wipe Brooke down while making an even bigger mess. Kaden, Floss’s stepbrother, stands nearby, cracking his knuckles like he wants to punch the boy in the face.

Floss clicks her fingers to get my attention. “And that’s without the shoves in the corridor and the furtive whispers everywhere we go.”

Okay, so my friends have been rather enthusiastic about trying to bring me out of my funk by subjecting Brooke to low-level torment. On the scale of one to fucked-the-chef-and-recorded-it-on-camera, their teasing falls somewhere around not-anywhere-close-to-enough.

“If your friend doesn’t enjoy being teased in school, maybe she should move,” I say in a purposely bored voice. “It’s not like she’s hard pressed for options. Her daddy can buy her a place anywhere she likes.”

“So can yours,” Floss snaps back, dots of crimson flaring along her cheekbones. “And who the fuck deleted her English essay from the submission hub? She had to redo the entire thing from scratch.”

Everett sniggers, letting me know it was him. “If your friend can’t handle the schoolwork, she shouldn’t have enrolled in Kingswood. Go use your charms on Miss Murchison instead.”

“This has to stop,” Floss insists, her voice grower shriller. “It’s bad enough you won’t even talk to her any longer. This bullying needs to stop.”

I catch Brooke from the corner of my eye. She hovers near her table, arms hugging her midriff, the stain from the spilled soda turning her pastel blue dress to navy.

Regret slices through me, spilling out a bout of self-hatred for what I’ve done to her. I can’t stand to see it; the effects of what I’ve unleashed on the girl Ilove.

Then my inside eye watches her pout for the camera and my lips curl into a snarl. “You’re screeching at me in the lobby, but you thinkI’mbullying?”

“No. I think your friends are doing it on your say-so.” Floss’s eyes narrow, the dots of glittering green eyeshadow painted on the inside bridge of her nose making them appear lizard-like. “And the least you can do is call them off. She’s hurting enough.”

And rage explodes from me like orange lava spurting into the smoke-obscured sky. “No, she fucking isn’t.”

My face is only inches from Floss, but it’s Brooke I focus on. From my peripheral vision, I watch her mouth open, dragging in a gasp of air; see her hands clench into tight little fists, displaying the full extent of her ruined outfit for the entire cafeteria to see.

“Nice dress, Brooke,” I call out, needing to vent the building pressure somehow. “You look like you pissed yourself.”

She flinches again, worse than last time. For a second, she bounces on her toes, then strides towards me, face setting with determination.

“You’re kidding me,” Everett says, shaking his head. He stands a little in front of me, giving my own fisted hands a quick glance. “Take the hint,” he says as she reaches the lobby. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Harrison?”

Brooke’s voice is an octave too high, as gaunt as her sunken cheeks. The extravagantly perfect hair and thick makeup cover some of her distress, but it’s still visible. Her sadness, her confusion, is a palpable thing, beating in time with my dismantled heart.

“Hey,” she says in a voice that shakes with need. “Can’t I just speak with you privately for a minute?”

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