Page 20 of The Sweetest Cruelty: Hudson (A Sawyer Brothers Story #1)

MOLLY

The next few days at school were a washout. Hudson’s behaviour towards me in the cafeteria had a ripple effect as the amount of influence he had in the school became clear. I had been outed as the principal’s daughter, and anyone who had beef with my father was out to get me.

Girls dished out dirty looks as I walked the hallways, boys just leered, and even my teachers seemed off.

I was forced to sit alone like a loser in class, and any snickers from my classmates were overlooked.

Someone continued to throw balls of paper at me during history.

I’d ignored them, knowing they would have something mean written there, so why bother?

It was official, my first week had spiralled into a shitshow.

I hated that cold, unbending certainty of failure and not fitting in.

This was supposed to be a fresh start. Thankfully, Lisa, my closest friend in the UK, had sent me some funny TikTok videos one morning, and they had cheered me up.

We messaged each other more than we called, mainly due to the time difference.

Cassius had also been in touch. I missed his warm smile and gentle teasing. American boys were just so different, almost too loud, and raw.

I hadn’t seen Hudson to talk to. I was desperate to ask him what his problem was.

He’d walked past me and bumped my shoulder one day, knocking my bag to the ground.

Everyone in the hallway laughed as the contents fell over the floor, including some tampons.

Someone even stood on one of my books. It still held the footprint, a reminder of how unwelcome I was. And then the whispers started.

Mark, the boy I’d met at dodgeball, was now my only friend.

He was the one who told me I had been targeted on social media.

I only had his word for it as I wasn’t part of any groups.

That meant I didn’t have the chance to read anything.

Mark said it was probably for the best and suggested I ignore it until it blew over.

After a couple of run-ins with the girl, Tate from the cheer squad who called me a desperate whore, things became clear .

Supposedly, I was an English slut. Yep, week one and I had already been labelled. Rumour had it that the principal’s daughter was an easy lay. It didn’t bother me that much, I just hoped that bullshit didn’t make it as far as my father.

The only other person who didn’t give me dirty looks was Harper. The girl I met on day one. The one I then saw at the bowling alley.

One morning, I was waiting to put credit on my lunch account, and I turned and found her standing behind me.

She introduced herself officially as Harper Radcliffe. She was fifteen and started at Harbor Heights at the end of last year after transferring from an all-girls’ school. She didn’t look bothered that I was public enemy number one.

The student I had now officially branded as a mean girl, Storm, spoke to me only when she was forced to by our lockers being so close, but I generally kept my head down.

Thankfully, toward the end of the week, I met a couple of girls in my music class who seemed OK, Lily and Laura.

They were identical twins and finished each other’s sentences, but they were nice and laughed at my lame British jokes.

They made me think of the movie The Shining, but not in a mega-bad way.

I knew Hudson was behind the rumours after his comments in the lunchroom. Why? That was still a mystery to me. I hadn’t ruled out that it could be down to my connection to his principal. Anyway, I had clearly misread that vibe between us.

One day, after a boring social studies lesson, I found a yellow Post-it note stuck on the front of my locker.

What cums after 69?

Mouthwash

As I stood there, feeling weary of the relentless bullying, a group of girls looked over my shoulder, laughing like a pack of hyenas; Tate at the helm.

The boy from the field she fought with that first day was called Cash, and he was still all over me, even more so after the rumours. I knew a jealous bitch when I saw one.

Yep, I had gotten a name for myself in the first week of my new school; now that had to be a record.

I found it rich, considering I’d been called a stuck-up prude at my last one.

It also turned out that one of the football players who would ‘put his dick in any hole’ (so Laura and Lily had reported), was number sixty-nine .

Great. Number sixty-nine’s name was Nash, and he would wink at me whenever we saw each other in the corridor.

Bullying aside, I had started to get my bearings, apart from one afternoon.

I needed to get to the main sports block and change for track and field.

I’d seen one entrance into the building from the bleachers by the sports field, but knew that wouldn’t be the only way in.

There was no way I was walking down the side of the football pitch whilst the jocks were at practice out there.

It was the only place Storm hadn’t taken me during the tour she gave me, and speak of the devil, I bumped into her in the hallway.

The bell had gone, and everyone else was rushing to their next lessons.

So, it was a case of asking Storm or stumbling around and making my best guess.

I couldn’t go to the reception and ask as it was too near the lion’s den, aka my father’s office.

I would have been mortified if he’d offered to walk me there.

Being seen together was not a good idea.

The jury was still out, but I imagined our connection was the reason behind some of my pain.

After moaning about needing to be somewhere else, Storm ungraciously walked me down the corridor and through the doors into the new sports centre.

I attempted to make idle chit-chat but received only one-word answers. The hallways were dead, and I realised I was almost ten minutes late for class.

“There are still some final works being carried out, and so nothing is signposted, so it’s a good job you caught me,” Storm said, popping her gum. Yeah, like she was my knight in shining armour. Not!

“Thanks again,” I muttered, glancing down the empty corridor. “Where do I get changed?”

A curious expression flickered across her stunning features before she finally replied, “First door on your left.” Storm answered, pointing to a door with one long, fake-nailed finger.

I was surprised she was allowed to have them that length when she was a cheerleader.

Surely there was a chance she could take someone’s eye out?

Batting off the thought, I nodded my thanks and set off, glancing briefly back over my shoulder to see that she was still standing there. Didn’t she have ‘somewhere else’ to be ?

Bricking it about getting a tardy point (which the twins had warned me about), I wrapped my hands around the straps of my backpack and raced towards the changing rooms.

I was too flustered to notice anything around me and embraced a surge of relief as I made my way into an open changing space.

It was quiet and empty of people. Bits of sports kit were draped around, and there was some litter on the floor. High school kids were such pigs. There was a strong smell of recycled mop water.

The main room held rows of benches, separated by metal sheeting with hooks for clothing.

There were lockers down both sides of the room, most of them shut, and to one side was an archway that led to the communal showers and toilets, or so I imagined.

I didn’t have time to explore every corner.

Two large double frosted glass fire doors were halfway down the other wall, and I could see the fire exit sign above it, along with the wording To the Field .

Deciding to check if I was in the right place, I scooted over to the doors and pushed them open. Thank God no alarms went off.

Scanning the vast open sports field with the bleachers now facing me, I could see some girls and boys from my class warming up in the distance at the other end of the field.

There was also a group of jock types, drilling for football, their coach blowing his whistle like a mad man.

From their builds, I would have guessed the lads were younger than the team I had seen practising on my first day. The one Hudson had been part of.

Drawing away, I allowed the doors to swing closed, accepting I was in the right place.

I moved to the benches. There was a bag here and there, and a couple of towels hung up.

Some studded football boots were on the floor beside me, but that was it.

I knew that girls played soccer in the USA, and thought no more about it.

Placing my backpack on one of the hooks, I drew out my sports kit and put it on the bench.

I could hear the noise of a shower dripping, but it was eerily quiet and dimly lit; quite spooky.

I noticed some graffiti on the lockers by a wall with tiny windows at the top; no doubt to let some air into the stuffy space.

I’d removed my tie and had fully unbuttoned my shirt when I heard the main door squeak open from behind me. Feeling self-conscious, I yanked my top together. I had always hated PE when the changing area had no cubicles. It forced students to get changed in front of each other, something I hated .

I managed to hurriedly redo the first few buttons of my shirt before turning around to see who it was.

Hudson Gage strode in through the doors with some other kids, coming to a stop as he noticed me. A cocktail of expressions flittered across his gorgeous face: surprise, curiosity and lastly—a look of perverse satisfaction.

What the heck was he doing in the girls' locker room? Heat stung my cheeks as my fingers tightened on the material of my shirt.

His dark eyes dipped towards my hands. “Don’t let us stop you,” he said with an amused flick of his head. His voice was deep and throaty, a tone that was meant to touch.

Retaining eye contact, my fingers clutched both sides of the cotton.