Page 554 of Filthy Elites

“The harpy?” Bella isn’t in AP bio, or she would have guessed immediately. Harpy perfectly describes our teacher.

“Leyland,” I answer. “She graded my test, and asked me if I cheat because I always get one hundred percent.”

Fucking bitch.

“Do you?” Oscar mutters.

I’ve seriously had it for today. I don’t even think. I grab the salad I’ve just started, and chuck the contents of the bowl at him. He’s lucky I’m don't throw the bowl, too.

Both Bella and Rose gasp, looking between the dickhead and me as I stand. “You don’t speak to me. You don’t look at me. You keep your judgmental, spoiled micro-nose out of my face for the rest of your life, or I’ll show you just why you should be afraid of Westside kids. Understood?”

They are not empty threats. I’ve always kept my hands and my nose clean, but things were different at Thorn Falls West. The students of Riverside Academy might be just as toxic, but their idea of a bad day is a failing grade and their pocket money being reduced. I could give them a taste of the real world. It’d be a kindness, really.

I take my tray and make my way out to the terrace, where there's a dozen tables set up for sunny days. As it’s raining again, no one’s out there today. I sit at the closest one, down my food, and take my tray to the disposal area.

Now that I’m no longer starving, I accept that poor Oscar isn’t at the core of my anger and frustration. I shouldn’t have turned into the Ice Queen for his benefit, when there’s only one person who deserves my wrath.

My eyes fall right on him, lording over his court of sycophants. Four tables have been put together to accommodate all the jocks, and he sits at the very center, Camden, Rhys, and Roman at his right, Jade and her posse on his left. Their boisterous group’s constantly laughing, booing, clapping each other’s backs, and generally bringing as much attention as possible to themselves. I know the kind. Iwasthat kind, before Vince. I don’t miss the backstabbing, the posing, the cheating and fake friends.

I do miss the power, though.

Time to do something about how vulnerable I've been for far too long.

Chase’s gaze gravitates to mine and doesn’t let go. I hate my reaction; a mixture of desire and defiance. If he’d been Oscar, I would have dealt with him months ago, but I’ve always had a weakness for pretty faces.

On my way out, I pull my phone out of my bag. It charged up nicely with my portable battery during class. I place a call.

“Yeah?” Morgan replies on the third ring, half yawning.

I wasn’t sure I’d get through. We must have the same lunch period.

“Get your butt to my house tonight. I need help.”

“I’m working. Starting at eight all week.”

I should have seen it coming. “Saturday? I’m free all day.”

“You got it. I’ll text you the time.”

Good. This weekend, I’m taking Chase Archer down a notch or two.

ChapterThirteen

Erica’s beenon my mind all day. More than normal, that is.

I usually see a peek of tits or ass, or legs, and immediately compare them to hers, finding any other woman lacking. How can I not? Erica’s assets are spectacular. Not even our stupidass school uniform can hide them. Her fitted white shirt strains against her breasts, threatening to let them spill out. Her endless, ridiculously toned legs would look good in anything, even the thick pleated skirt the uniform requires. The rest of the women here look like Girl Scouts to her nubile porn star.

I don’t really think about her tits, or her sinful mouth, or even her legs today, as much as what I saw in her eyes through the morning.

When I woke her up, she was defiant, and then confused by my offer to take her with me, like she was trying to understand what bargain I might have tried to strike, analyzing my motives. I like that about her. I like that she’s smart enough to look for traps and tricks.

There’s no mystery to my giving her a ride, though. She skipped class yesterday morning, and I didn’t like it. My motives were purely selfish.I wanted to see her at school more than I wanted her to feel miserable.

Something’s changed since then, though I can’t pinpoint exactly what. Erica doesn’t let much get to her, not even me, but she was downtrodden in calculus, hunched over her books, not even raising her head once. She likes to smile smugly at the teacher behind her textbooks, like she knows the subject better than Ms. Santos does—and she might, she tops this class. Not today. Then, when the bell rang, she was out like a flash, down the corridors before I had time to gather my things.

The show in the cafeteria didn’t escape my notice. I’m dying to know what happened, what made her snap. She doesn’t usually lose it at anyone—anyone except me. I like it that way.

I glare at the back of the gangly nerd who still has a lettuce leaf in his greasy hair. How dare he get under her skin? That’s my prerogative. If she’s to suffer, it’ll be by my hand.Mine.

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