Page 29 of Jerk

“You have a lot of nerve,” she says, glancing back at the boys again. “You think you can last in here by talking to me like that? I’ll make sure you get sent right back to Mexico.”

“Colombia,” I correct, moving past her. “Where I’m from, girls like you aren’t taken seriously. And I do think I can last here. Your beige act just isn’t inspiring.” I wiggle my fingers to say good-bye, moving past them.

Looking over my shoulder, the girls watch as I walk up to the table in the middle. Right to the best-dressed boy. The one with the long, shiny hair and those sky-high cheekbones. Those dark, mysterious eyes. My heart hammers through my chest, but I keep my head high. This is a risk. A big one that could topple me if it goes wrong. I hope it’s worth it.

He eyes me when I step to him. So do his friends. Like foxes, watching and waiting.

“Careful, Kitten,” he says. “You sure you want to poke the lions?”

I smirk, pushing up on my toes. He leans in, and I press my lips to his.

He doesn’t pull away as the room peels apart, whispers erupting around us. I count to ten like I told him, and it feels like a lifetime before our lips part. It takes a second for me to open my eyes, and when I do, he greets me with a smirk.

When I look over at the girls who bullied me all week, their jaws are so wide I can fit the school in them. With another small wave, I walk out of the cafeteria, like my stomach isn’t grumbling from choosing this performance over a real meal. My theatrics are for a reason. I want them to relish in what happened. I want it to sink in.

I kissed a Crown, and they can’t do anything about it.

Just as I approach the vending machine at the end of the hall, I hear a whistle from the cafeteria doors.

It’s him.

He walks over to me, and before I know it, he's cornering me against the cold glass of the machine.

“We upheld our half of the bargain,” he says, right in my face. “You mention a word about what you saw this morning, and we’ll make sure you don’t survive another day.”

“Sweet Jesus,”I moan, my mouth full of chocolate eclair.

Letting myself sink into the driver’s seat of my Porsche, I savour the buttery sweetness of the pastry. The hotel lights shine into my car, lighting up my face in sheer bliss.

I needed this.

It was way embarrassing trying to rent a room at The Emerald alone. Not as embarrassing as having my card declined while doing it. My father cut me off. I don’t know how long it’ll last. I’m just happy he did itafterI got these pastries.

Taking another bite of an eclair, a hyper-pop song fills the car. This usually helps, but it’s hard to shake this feeling. I’ve been the perfect daughter, keeping myself out of scandals and headlines since my family arrived. All it took was one fuck up and I’m ousted from my own home.

The hotel wasn’t my first choice. When I checked QuickGram, all my so-called friends tagged their posts with @CrimsonChamber once again. Even Marisol made it there, which means getting her arrested hardly made a dent in her day. Of course, her father got her out for something she didn't do, but she's not lying low like I thought.

Phone tight in my hand, I take a second to swallow my ego. The last thing I want to do, knowingmy friends are at the enemy’s party, is to ask them for a favour. But with my accounts frozen, I don’t have much choice.

“Oh, Hi, Hannah,” Zurie answers with as much enthusiasm as going to The Valley.

I cut to the chase. “Can I stay over tonight? I’ve come into…” I stall, not trusting her with this information. If I’m in a war, I have to keep my cards close to my chest. “Some trouble.”

“Sorry, Hannah, I can’t. I have…” She trails off, like she’s dodging the truth, but I already know.

“Rye’s party.” I finish her sentence for her.

“I’m actually not going tonight.” Sitting up, a weight lifts. “I have to finish a project and I need Dad’s yacht next weekend.”

“So, I can come over?”

“Hannah, I can’t be seen with you.”

Her words slam into my chest. I’m so stunned I don’t know what to say besides, “I’m Hannah Alfonso.Everyonewants to be seen with me.”

“Well, not quite.” God, she sounds as cunty as Marisol.

“Did you forget I’ve had The Hill in a chokehold since ninth grade?”