Never His Girl: Dark High School Bully Romance (Kings of Cypress Pointe Book 2)
Never His Girl: Chapter 5

BLUE

Bloody nose.

Torn shirt.

And I’m seeing red as I watch Scarlett nurse a busted lip with a bag of ice.

By the time I got to her, the kids who chased her into hiding were long gone. That’s probably a good thing, because with the mood I’m in, I might’ve done serious bodily harm.

We sit in silence, waiting across from Principal Carpenter’s assistant’s desk. Every now and then, she peers up over the top of the counter that separates her desk from the reception area, but she says nothing.

I remember when I got into it with Loren Pete last school year, this same woman sat in that same seat, giving me the exact same judgmental stare.

Her line trills and she answers on the first ring. Then, after hanging up, Scar and I have her full attention again.

“He’ll see you both now,” she announces, eyeing us as we walk past.

I thought I was done with this place, but apparently it isn’t done with me.

I close the door after we enter the large office, decked out with floor-to-ceiling paneling, straight out of the sixties. Place hasn’t gotten many upgrades since then and it shows.

Principal Carpenter peers up from the sheet of paper he’s filling out, but only long enough to gesture for Scar and I to take the two seats across from his desk. Then, without a word, he finishes what he was doing before Scar and I walked in. So, we sit here, staring at the top of his balding dome, and also the huge mustard stain on his tie from lunch. Eventually, he deems us important enough to meet our gazes and I breathe deep.

“Ladies,” he says in greeting.

“Afternoon, sir,” I answer for both me and Scar. She hasn’t said a word to me since I showed up. Not even to tell me who did this to her or why.

Principal Carpenter levels a disapproving glare on me. “Well, imagine my surprise when I got the call from security that they spotted an intruder walking my halls.”

I can’t help but feel confused that this is his concern. “Where was security when my sister was getting chased through the halls and jumped, sir? Isn’t that what we ought to be discussing here?”

He’s clearly unmoved by my question. I can tell as much when he casually grabs a piece of chocolate from his candy jar and pops it into his mouth.

“We’ll deal with that in a moment, but I’d first like to know what possessed you to saunter through the front doors of my building without permission, Riley. In this—”

“With all due respect, Principal Carpenter, I think the more important issue is what you’re planning to do about the kids who hunted down my sister.”

He stares expressionless, breathing deeply, like he’s just run a marathon from his seat or something. When he shifts his gaze toward Scarlett, I relax a bit.

“Who was after you?” he finally asks.

I look at Scar, wondering if she’ll tell him what she wouldn’t tell me.

“There were … too many of them,” she answers. “I didn’t see faces.”

Bullshit. When she glances toward me, it’s because she knows I’m not buying that.

“Hm,” Principal Carpenter groans. “Well, since you miraculously were unable to see who attacked you, do you perhaps know why they attacked you?”

Again, she glances at me, but then lowers her head. “It was about the video. And … The Pink List” she adds, causing my heart to sink. “They were saying shitty things about—”

“Language, Scarlett,” Carpenter warns.

“Sorry.” She takes a breath and starts again. “They were saying nasty things about Blue and I didn’t like it, so … I mouthed off a little bit.”

Mouthed off. I know my sister. She threw the first punch. Not that I blame her. She was smart to tell Carpenter this version instead of the truth, though.

He’s quiet a moment, studying Scarlett. “I can’t issue suspensions without names, so my hands are tied unless you talk.”

“This is important, Scar. You don’t have any reason to defend these kids. Tell him who’s responsible.”

I manage to get those words out, but I’m choking on my own guilt, knowing she went through this because of me. I’d seen the abuse online, but had no idea it would turn into something physical. This triggers a thought, though, and I peer up at Principal Carpenter.

“There were kids bullying her on social media after … after the um … incident,” I say quietly, hating that we even need to have this conversation.

“It’s fine,” Scar cuts in. “It wasn’t the same group.”

In my gut, I know this is a lie. Maybe she’s protecting them because she fears it’ll only make things worse. Honestly, she’s probably right about that.

I swear. Life seriously sucks.

Carpenter grabs a sheet from his drawer and jots something down.

“I’ll need to hear from your parents on this,” he concludes.

“But I’m eighteen. Isn’t it good enough that I showed up?”

He eyes me, shaking his head. “Not unless you’re a legal guardian.”

I fall silent and he glances up with suspicion heavy in his eyes. “Will it be a problem getting in touch with your parents? Perhaps I should send someone to your residence to check on you girls.”

He’s so good at pretending to care. What he really means is that he’ll send CPS to our front door to tear me and my sister apart.

“No, sir,” I rush to say. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll have my mom call tomorrow morning.”

Translation: I’ll call in the morning.

A lingering look settles on me, then he writes something else on the sheet of paper before sealing it inside an envelope and handing it over.

“I’ll excuse Scarlett from the rest of her classes today, but she’s expected to return in the morning. Also, this needs to be signed by one of your folks, in addition to that call I’ll be expecting first thing tomorrow, Ms. Riley.”

I nod. “Of course. I’ll let Mom know.”

The next second, I have Scar’s arm, urging her to stand from her seat before Carpenter can say more. We stop at her locker briefly to grab her coat, which reminds me that, in my haste to get here, I left mine at school.

We leave in a hurry and trudge across the lot toward my car. I don’t slow my steps until we get there, but it’s at that moment that reality comes rushing in. Like so many other things, I can’t see past this being my fault. Falling for West’s shit has not only turned my life into a living hell; it’s also affecting my sister.

Standing beside my car in the freezing cold, I can’t even bring myself to open the door. Instead, I lean against it, doubled over, trying to catch my breath. I feel broken in places I didn’t even know existed, beaten down from the inside out.

Beside me, Scarlett is motionless and quiet, but then her hand lands on my back and it’s the closest thing I have to comfort. Kid’s consoling me when she’s the one who had the bad day. Then again, when I consider being named number one on the Pink List, and dealing with West’s shit, I suppose we’re sharing that title this time around.

“This isn’t on you, Blue,” she finally speaks up. “Those kids were being stupid. I should’ve known better than to let them get to me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Scar.”

“Maybe not. But neither did you,” she says. “Being with a guy doesn’t make a girl a slut. Especially not a guy she cares about.”

My eyes fall shut hearing those words, hearing that she knows the truth I hate myself for. I do care for West. Or at least I did. Before …

“We have to be careful,” I rush to say when a thought occurs to me. “What Carpenter said in there… he might not be bluffing. From here on out, we both have to stay on the straight and narrow. The last thing we need is Child Protective Services knocking at our door.”

My own words are hard to swallow. The part about being careful. That’s a tall order right now, considering the fire burning inside me. If I had it my way, so many would feel my wrath for what’s happened, but I have to try and contain it.

Too much is at stake.

More than usual.

What I don’t say to Scar is that I have real, tangible fear her principal will send someone to our home. It felt like more than a bluff. If that happens, they’ll see how we live, see the state of perpetual drunkenness our father is in, and realize our mother’s been M.I.A. for months now.

“I know,” Scar answers solemnly.

When she adds nothing else, asks no follow-up questions, it’s safe to say I’ve gotten through to her.

“Let’s get you home.”

I straighten my posture and lean into her for a hug. She doesn’t let go quickly, which means she needs this as much as I do.

“I need a drink,” she teases.

I laugh a little and shove her away.

“Shut up and get in the car.”

She walks to the passenger side and hops in, where I join her and start the engine.

“We’ll stop at Uncle Dusty’s diner and sweet talk him out of some hot cocoa mix and whatever cake he has on hand. Then, we bring it all home, lock ourselves in my room for the rest of the day and pretend all our problems went away. Sound good?” I ask.

She peers up, busted lip and all, smiling. “You had me at hot cocoa.”