Page 8 of The Sweetest Cruelty: Hudson (A Sawyer Brothers Story #1)

MOLLY

Pinch me, pinch me now. My heart was fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage. From all the scenarios I had envisaged for my first day at my new school, meeting a boy like that hadn’t been one of them. Even his voice had the power to turn my knees into jelly.

Up until that point, my morning had been lame. I hadn’t expected a red carpet or a welcome banner, but the lady in reception hadn’t been expecting me until the following week. She was about as unprepared as you could be.

After frantically scrabbling with the various forms I had to fill in, she spoke about my schedule.

When I looked at her blankly, she translated ‘schedule’ to ‘lesson timetable’ and the penny dropped.

The woman was harassed, especially when a queue started to form behind me.

I was then ushered to the library to have my picture taken and collect my school ID badge.

After an unhelpful discussion with the librarian, Mrs Dobbs, I decided it would be useful to grasp the differences between British English and American English sooner, rather than later.

Hence, the decision to tackle the bookshelves (aka the stacks) and maim another student (although that bit hadn’t been part of the plan).

And what a student. He was stunning , beautiful in every way. The attraction I experienced was instantaneous. He was also nice, as well as charismatic. The best-looking boys at my last school were all arrogant arseholes.

“Hudson,” I spoke his name out loud, tasting it on my lips.

“What did you say?” a sharp voice bit in beside me, and I turned, grabbing hold of the straps of my backpack. The stance I adopted made me feel safe. If I didn’t have something to do with my hands, I felt awkward.

A girl of model height, with long black hair and slate grey eyes, was leaning against the wall outside the library, her arms folded over her chest. She was drop-dead gorgeous and had that all-American look.

Mentally slapping myself out of my boy-shaped daydream, I raised my chin and smiled, “Nothing, sorry. I was just lost in thought. ”

I wondered if she was the buddy I had been assigned who would take me on my tour. The details were written at the top of my schedule.

Tour with Storm Summers , it had said in blue pen, almost like it had been added as an afterthought.

I wasn’t sure that was even a name, but if this was my guide…

it suited her. That contradiction of those two names together was an eye-opener.

As was the female standing before me. She wore the same uniform as I did, but hers looked like it had been custom-made; it fit her curves perfectly, and the skirt was much shorter.

It showed off her long, golden to-die-for legs.

Storm tilted her head to the side and regarded me down her perfect beak. I noticed she had a diamante nose stud in.

“I take it you’re here to meet me?”

She pushed off the wall and stepped towards me, “Well, with that voice, you have to be Mary-Ann Miller.”

“Yes, although I prefer to be called Molly, and you’re Storm? Storm Summers?” I said, my eyebrows raised. It was quick, but she looked me up and down; a treatment I was used to from members of my sex.

“The one and only, and before you ask, yes, my parents hated me. Hence the name.”

I smiled, “I like it. It makes me think of passion and dancing in the rain,” I blurted before I could stop myself, dropping my hands to my sides.

Her lip curled, and her expression switched from broody to intrigued. “Tell me more?”

I motioned toward her, “Well, storms are unpredictable but inevitable, a thing of beauty but something you should never underestimate. Your name’s unique, and it resonates. I like it.” I wasn’t a suck-up; that’s exactly what her name generated in my mind.

“Oh, you’re good,” she enthused with a huge grin. “Let me guess, English major, right?” Storm said, making the gun gesture with her fingers and pointing at me.

“I would say I’m better at maths, but I do love english lit, especially poetry.” Shit, did I just highlight how much of a dork I was on day one? Luckily, Storm didn’t comment.

“Ooh, Mrs Landry is going to love you. Anyway, sorry, I should have introduced myself in a cooler way. Yes, I’m Storm and yes, I’ve been assigned to show you around this shithole.”

“OK, well, nice to meet you. ”

Storm popped the gum she was chewing before saying with a sweep of her arms, “Welcome to America, Molly, and your prison for the next two years.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Storm Summers moved beside me and slid her arm through mine. “Let’s do this, then. Your accent is so fucking cool.”

As we walked through the halls, another bell went to signify the change in lessons, and droves of students burst from classrooms on either side of us.

I was stared at, and of course, I would be, I was fresh meat.

It would have made me uncomfortable, but Storm helped redirect a few lingering looks by giving off the deadeye.

From everyone's reaction to the female beside me, she had to be one of the popular girls.

Storm told me some history of the school and how the entire main block had to be rebuilt after a fire destroyed most of the building four years ago.

I had done my research and knew that the school was contemporary in appearance.

I remember Googling it after I’d learned I was being sent to live with my father.

The large glass building looked so shiny and new, fresh compared to my old school, which was full of stone buildings and looked like a cheap version of Hogwarts.

As she led me through the corridors, kids made their way towards their next classes.

People kept stopping us to speak with Storm, and after the first couple of instances, she stopped introducing me.

At one point, I stood there feeling like a spare part as she flirted with a large, good-looking black guy.

He was wearing sports gear and was clearly athletic.

I didn’t miss how he kept glancing at me while Storm spoke about an approaching test. His name was Michael, or it could have been Micah.

After she’d shown me all the most important areas, she moved on to slagging off the teachers.

After she’d slated most of the staff, Storm then started name-dropping and giving me details about the students and which cliques they hung out in.

I looked for the boy from the library, Hudson, but never saw him.

She was not interested in me as the new girl, Storm asked me three questions, two about my father, which I couldn’t answer. And one about my hair being my natural colour.

In a fake apologetic way, she did explain that Dad wasn’t well-liked by the kids, which didn’t surprise me. Who was going to respect the head of a school? And in turn, who would like the daughter of that head?

As a group of guys who looked like the jocks you saw on High School Musical leered and wolf whistled as we passed them, Storm asked if I had a boyfriend, which I didn’t .

It was all very overwhelming and then my feet started to hurt; new shoes were always a bitch.

As we turned a corner, a girl of a similar height to me charged into us and dropped her bag, the contents of which went everywhere. She had bright ginger hair, blue eyes, and freckles all over her face. She would have been a pretty thing if she hadn’t been scowling so hard.

“Fuck,” she blustered, squatting down.

I moved to help her as Storm remained standing, her glare at the other girl intense.

“Watch where you're going, runt ,” Storm said unkindly, and it caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I hated bullies.

As I scanned the stuff that had spilt from the girl’s bag, I grabbed a couple of mobile phones and held them out to her. She snatched them from me and shoved them into the bag with a glance behind her.

The pretty redhead was a skittish little thing.

As she collected some papers and hastily pushed them inside the backpack, I saw a peek of what looked like more phones in there. How many mobiles, or should I say cell phones, did a girl need? Maybe it was an American thing. I shook off the thought and gathered up more of her stuff.

“Here you go,” I said, passing her the last of the books she’d dropped. She glanced up warily towards Storm, who now had her hands on her hips, her body language showing she had little tolerance for clumsiness.

“Thanks,” the girl said, shoving the books into her tatty rucksack.

Pushing to my feet, I watched her scurry away as Storm threaded her arm back through mine again. After what she had said to the redhead, the gesture annoyed me, and I wanted to shake free.

Storm had looked down her nose at the other girl and considered her lacking (regarding social status, anyway). My sense of self-preservation kicked in before I could pull away.

Don’t piss off the popular girl on day one, you’ll only regret it.

Clearing my throat, I asked, “Who was that?” There were lockers on one side of us, and clusters of kids huddled around. They were either in groups, talking on their phones or getting their books out .

“Who?” Storm said as we approached the open door of a classroom at the end of the hall we’d travelled down twice now. She was stalling for time. An indication that she didn’t want to go to her next lesson.

“The red-haired girl,” I prompted as we stopped, and she turned towards me. The crease on her brow vanished.

“That was Harper Radcliffe, she’s a sophomore. She’s also one of Ma Sawyer’s new charity cases. You don’t have to worry about her. She used to live in a stone ender across town until she got kicked out.”

I didn’t have a clue what a stone ender was, but I didn’t say anything. The bell went again, and Storm asked for my schedule.

“Let’s see. AP calc first, and then you have a free period, so I’ll meet you here, at the bubbler.” She pointed to a section of the map which was printed on the back of my timetable. I noted her long, fake french-tipped nails. Harbor Heights’ rules were nowhere near as strict as my old school.