Page 11 of Filthy Little Pretties

Motherfucker.

“Pretty remarkable, wouldn’t you say?” the driver remarks.

“Yeah. It’s definitely a statement and incredibly unexpected,” I answer, pulling my cell from my bag.

The building looks old and well-kept like the money that funds it. It’s stately and elegant, with bricks full of intimidation and history. There are only four schools that matter in a world like mine: Red Oak, Madison, Burr, and the almighty Hillcrest.

Almighty, because it’s housed at least fourteen presidents and every big CEO and leader of industry in the world. It’s not just a school; it’s a breeding ground for legacy and fortune. It’s also the one place I can’t blend in or hide. Too many people will know my family’s history and maybe even their secrets because, in a place like this, secrets are like fucking currency.

My heart is beating quicker than I’d like as I dial my dad. I listen to the ringing, growing angrier as he doesn’t pick up.Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

“Make it fast. I’m busy.”Hallelujah.

“Hillcrest? I’d hoped you had a small amount of love for me.”

“Get over yourself, and stop being dramatic. Face your shit, then learn from it. Hillcrest is the best school. I won’t coddle you like your fucking mother.”

I almost laugh at the idea. Coddle? Is he kidding?

“I’m not sure either of you has ever known anything as nurturing as coddling.”

“Is there something important you need, Donovan?”

My teeth find the inside of my cheek as my eyes stay cast down. Staring at the pattern of my skirt, I don’t know what to say. But this is the most we’ve spoken in what seems like forever. Right now, my nerves are starting to rattle, and I wish he’d just, I don’t know, be my dad.

But I know better. Weakness is for the weak.

“Nope. Consider this conversation my suicide note. Then again, you’re the one throwing me to the wolves, so I guess it’s more like my murder.”

“Goodbye, Donovan.”

The line dies, and I drop the phone next to me, letting out a breath. I could’ve used a break, life. Thanks for nothing, you cruel bitch.

Our car slows to a stop, and I see what I presume is the dean standing and waiting for us at the curb. Jesus, this gets better and better. He’s going to schmooze me to ensure my father’s support. I’m of no help, buddy.

Gathering my things, I smooth my blazer, finally noticing the damnHin the logo, and roll my eyes, but another thought pops into my mind.What are the chances I see… No. But maybe. Doesn’t matter—there’s no turning back now. My door is opened, and I throw out a leg, steeling myself ready for what’s to come. If this is the test I’m forced to take to get my life back, then so be it.

Keep it coming, karma. You aren’t knocking this girl out for the count just yet.

Grey

THE DEAN’S NEED TO HEARhis own drivel makes me want to take a dirt nap, right here, and since his office is the size of an expensively furnished coffin, it would be fitting.

“I expect you to be my ambassador on this, Grey. I want you to make a fine impression today. Hillcrest is not merely a high school. We are an institution that breeds…”

For fuck’s sake. Shut the fuck up.

I’ve been stuck in his overrun-by-paper, piece-of-shit office for the last ten minutes listening to his “do me a favor” speech.

Normally, I wouldn’t entertain him, and he wouldn’t dare to ask, but he has something I want, and he knows it. Unfortunately for me, he holds the authority to allow the rowing team to compete in a “friendly” match with our rivals on school property.

I want that match. And I want it on the books. Because it makes the humiliation that much more visceral for them, so I’ll sit here and listen, pretending to give a fuck, if it ensures my interest.

The dean’s been dragging his feet, withholding approval, for too long now. He was made aware of this race over the summer, and I expected his acquiescence by now. I know the holdup is because he knows the competition isn’t friendly at all, and that’s not a good look for the school, so far as he’s concerned. I couldn’t care less about his opinion, but I’ll be sure to give it to him if he forces my hand.

This race is more than kids playing with boats, at least that’s what everyone above his pay grade understands. It’s tradition. I suppose I can’t fault him for misunderstanding a world where he plays the role of a bystander. But I will, anyway.

Hillcrest’s hatred for Red Oak is legendary. That animosity’s been nurtured, coddled, and coaxed over generations. It’s the kind of rivalry that rich and powerful kids indulge in as practice for our future boardrooms.