Page 2 of Defiant Beta

“Fifty!” I wrench a muscle in my neck, twisting to face her. “Shit. I thought she was thirty.”

“It’s all Botox and fillers. Good on her, I say.” Cheyenne nods approvingly. “If my husband took off with a waitress and I melted half my face off, I’d want to show him what he was missing too.”

“How’d you know she was married?” I ask.

“Oh, Lucia told me. She heard it from Meghan, who might have gotten it from Traci, whose cousin’s sister went to the same tennis club her parents did.”

We all stare at her.

“So, someone just made shit up and decided to spread it, huh?” I ask dryly.

Cheyenne sniffs. “I’m just telling you what I heard, that’s all.”

Ms. Huffman and whoever else was in the science building get the fire under control far sooner than I would like.

She returns at a trot in her pink, matching sports set with white tennis shoes, her cheeks flushed from her run, her long, straight blonde hair barely out of place. "Come now, girls, pickup your rackets. We will be perfecting ourserves.” She beams as she makes her announcement with more drama than the moment warrants.

I roll my eyes and grab my tennis racket from a large white bag near the nets. It’s only the best for a Haven Academy girl, so these rackets aren’t cheap. "To beat an alpha?"

"Beat him!”Her hand flutters to her chest. “Good lord no. You will not embarrass yourself on the court when you invariably lose. And you will lose with the grace of a Haven Academy girl that makes your alpha lookgood."

That’s Ms. Huffman for you. Overly fond of dramatics.

Someone sets a building on fire, and she shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. I suggest beating an alpha at tennis, and the woman is a heartbeat away from fainting.

I toss my messy auburn braid over my shoulder. One day I will perfect the art of the French braid, but it is not this day. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if we?—”

“We are not here to havefun, Miss Farrow,” she interrupts, glaring at me. “We are here to impart important life lessons you sorely need.”

“Like how to lose gracefully?” I ask sarcastically.

When she looks at me like she doesn’t see a problem, I mentally sigh.

Curious if anyone else is buying this horse crap, I turn to the nine girls gathered on the tennis courts this morning. The answer is a resounding yes.

Seven girls resemble bobbing head toys. River is one of the few frowning instead of eagerly nodding along to Ms. Huffman.

With the science building no longer in danger of exploding, we return to our tennis lesson.

“Excellent, Mary,” Ms. Huffman calls out as she walks up and down the tennis courts behind us.

“Not too energetic, Stacia.”

“No, Tina. Horses stomp; Haven Academy girls are light on their feet. Light as a feather. You arestillstomping.Light.”

River hits the ball over the net. It soars across the court at the perfect angle for my blistering backhand, which strikes the chalk line, sending up a small puff of white powder before the ball slams against the fence.

“What was that, Delilah?”

I look around before I realize Ms. Huffman is talking to me. I’m not Della Jackson here. I’m Delilah Farrow, the newest omega student. “What was what?”

“That backhand.”

“Match point.” I grin.

She starts to say something but then steps closer, the corners of her eyes creasing in what could be a frown. Given all the work she’s apparently had done, it’s hard to be sure.

“Is thatsweaton your upper lip?” She stares at me with the barely concealed disgust of someone who just willingly rolled in dog shit.

---