Page 16 of The Sweetest Cruelty: Hudson (A Sawyer Brothers Story #1)

At first, Hudson’s expression suggested he was shocked to see me.

Then it twisted into something else, sending a ripple effect through my gut.

It was almost like the thumbs up / thumbs down gesture that signalled live or die in the movie Gladiator.

And I had been given a clear thumbs down—and in front of a cafeteria full of students, swarms of kids; a sea of unfamiliar faces.

I imagined Hudson was popular, and I was a nobody.

Either that or the guy wasn’t all there?

Great.

I was reeling and found it difficult to process.

The way Hudson had walked away, the muscles in his neck flexing, was borderline aggressive.

His too-cool-for-school posture had filled the entire space.

I was surprised he hadn’t shoved past me like I had feared he would.

He was so strong that I would have fallen instead of just my dinner tray.

I also didn’t appreciate how his friends had tried to intimidate me.

I wildly flipped my head towards the doorway they had left through. What did he say about sucking his cock? OMG, my face must have been bright red.

“Out of my way, new girl ,” he’d snapped. The way he said ‘new girl’ was like a curse. Then he’d left the cafeteria with his entourage, students scattering out of his way like terrified birds at the sight of a cat.

He said something about his brothers, but I doubted that would have been those guys with him. They looked nothing alike, and one was black, so go figure.

Even Storm looked shocked. “Oh dear. That doesn’t bode well,” she’d whispered, stepping away. The girl looked at me like I was suddenly contagious. She did not attempt to help me collect my dinner from the floor either.

“What do you mean?” I questioned, attempting to recover from Hudson’s contempt as I straightened.

What had I done?

“You’ve just been sentenced, I’m afraid. Our fearless leader has made his decision. Well done, day one and you’re already on the shit list, although I must say being who you are, you had it coming.” She said the latter sentence almost to herself.

What the hell was the girl banging on about? What fearless leader? Hudson?

“Look, I’ve done my bit now. You know the drill. Have a nice life. Ta ta.” Storm then breezed away, leaving me standing at the edge of the lunch queue with a ‘what the fuck’ expression on my face.

It felt like a scene from the movie Mean Girls.

I shouldn’t have been surprised by the popular girl quitting after I’d been reduced to a social pariah in two minutes flat; how predictable.

Knocking my lunch tray down my front was also a dick move.

Why the heck were there never any teachers about when that sort of shit happened.

The dinner ladies hadn’t paid any notice at all to the attack on my person.

After chucking my ruined lunch in the bin, I shuffled back towards the counter. I kept my head down and away from the direction Hudson had left. Talk about heat. The other two burly boys had flanked their leader as they had strode over, all watching me with that same expression.

Butterflies were still raving in my stomach. Where was the boy that I met in the library only hours earlier?

And then it sank in, like fingernails digging into my skin.

He didn’t know who you were. And now he does.

The only positive feelings I’d had since moving to America that previous week had been with that one boy, and now, they were gone, cruelly ripped away, possibly because of my father’s position at the school.

Hudson’s face had dropped when our eyes clashed across the lunchroom. His entire frame pulled taut as aggression rolled off him. We’d stood closer in the library, but when he’d stalked over, he appeared larger, like a big, threatening giant.

His face said that he hated me. And from the expression on the faces of his friends, so did they.

My mother was a teacher at my last school before she died, and so I was used to people being mean because I had a parent who was on the staff.

But my father was in an even higher position as the Head of this school, a man who rubbed students the wrong way.

Would I be bullied there, too? Was my fresh start ruined already ?

As Hudson and his pack flashed before my eyes. I swallowed a lump of fear. I imagined their level of bullying would amount to more than writing shit about you in the toilets, social media shaming, or giving you a wedgy.

Misery bled into me as I smiled weakly at the staff behind the counter. My appetite had vanished, but I bought a ham sandwich, knowing I needed something to get me through my next lesson—gym class.

It was all downhill from then on. I was about as athletic as a banana as I attempted to grasp the reality of dodgeball.

The answer was in the name, of course. In a nutshell, fellow students full of bloodlust threw balls as hard as they could at your head, and you had to make sure they didn’t hit you.

The balls were spongy, but getting caught in the face was no picnic .

I became friendly with a boy on my team called Mark Roberts, and I subtly asked him questions about Hudson and his cronies.

It turned out that the boys who had been with him at lunch were his brothers, odd, even the black guy.

When I questioned this, Mark said they were foster brothers, which made more sense.

I filed away their names: Phoenix Carter and Micah Mehari (I vaguely remembered meeting the black guy Micah in the hall with Storm).

Mark also explained that there was another brother called Reed Prescott. But he hadn’t been in the lunchroom.

They were known as the Sawyer Brothers, having been fostered by a lady called Bethany, aka Ma Sawyer, since their early teens.

From what Mark said, Hudson Gage was the leader of the pack.

Feeling extra sweaty, I gathered my bags, said goodbye to Mark and a couple of girls on our losing team, and left.

Mark explained that the smaller gym was used for dodgeball, netball, and tennis, but the main sports were held in a large, purpose-built leisure centre at the back of the school. I remember seeing that building from the bleachers on the other side of the football field.

I steeled my spine as I went into the main corridor towards the lobby.

Storm was a senior, and I guessed Hudson and his brothers would be too.

They were older, so, in theory, I probably wouldn’t run into them every day.

When it came to Hudson, that thought made me feel sad, even though he’d just treated me like shit before the entire student body.

After a lame day, I wanted to return to my father’s house and lick my wounds.

When I came to America, I told myself I would no longer be a victim, and I needed to stick with that plan; find some strength after my mother’s death. Make her proud, as she looked down on me from heaven.

Although it wasn’t what I had wanted, this was my life now and the perfect chance for a fresh start.

I refused to screw it up over something so silly. That something so silly was thinking I’d had a connection with a boy like Hudson. An almost love at first sight scenario? What a load of crap. I was clearly still vulnerable.

You can do it. Mum’s voice whispered in my memory as I left the school and went to stand in the car park (or parking ‘lot’ as Dad had called it—weird) .

The bell went, and the school started to haemorrhage kids of all shapes, sizes, colours, and cliques.

They were wired after finishing their first day after the holidays. How I wished I had their energy.

Eventually, after waiting twenty minutes outside, my father pulled up in his Toyota. Dad’s expression was warm and friendly. It thawed part of the frostiness I’d felt.

The conversation in the car on the way home flowed quite well. We had something in common now, as we’d spent the day in the same place, so we spoke about school.

When we got to the house, I went to my room for a shower. My father said he was low on groceries. He didn’t cook much, and we went out to eat. Something we had done many times since I had arrived there.

We went to Lang's bowling alley, which was within walking distance.

Dad chose BBQ ribs, and I ordered a garden burger, aka salad in a bun. I had seen Bella Swan, a character in the Twilight movie, order it and always wondered what it was. Funny, the things you remember.

Halfway through our meal, I saw the girl who had bumped into Storm and me that day. She was with a group of boys and girls who wore different uniforms to the Harbor Heights one. I wondered which school they went to.

As she laughed at what a tall boy with dark hair had said, our eyes locked, and I remembered her name: Harper. The group she was with was small, and they were playing video games and joking around.

Harper’s expression showed she was uncertain of me, so I smiled warmly.

After a second or two, she did the same, her eyes lighting up, and we both gave each other a little, unsure wave.

Storm had said she was a sophomore, which meant she was a grade below me.

That would mean she was fifteen going on sixteen.

My father drew my attention away as he asked if I wanted another soda. Fuck, would I ever get used to Americanisms?

As I watched Harper gather her bag, clearly going to leave, I had a niggling feeling. I remember Storm telling me her name after she’d called the girl a runt .

But why did I get the feeling I’d heard the name Harper before that?