Page 1 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

Tilda

The sky is a sickly yellow, like an old bruise or a rotten apple about to burst. I raise my free hand, not the one clasped in Elly’s, to flutter it through the electric air. Everything smells, like damp pavements and mugginess. My whole body tingles.

‘Storms do something to me,’ I sigh.

Elly hums, eyes high on the spires of Hazelhurst Castle.

On the centremost is a woman, clawing from the stone.

She’s too high to make out any features, just a lonely silhouette.

No one knows who she is. First time I saw her, I thought it was someone readying to jump.

If lightning was going to strike anywhere, it would be there.

‘If our hair starts standing on end, we’re bailing. ASAP.’ Elly raises our joined hands, kissing mine. ‘Shit weather for tonight, not gonna lie.’

‘Yeah.’ I wrinkle my nose, feeling the first spate of raindrops. Waterproof mascara or nothing tonight.

We walk across the centre of campus, through the giant arch, once the castle drawbridge, to the courtyard beyond. The front doors are open, but with the sun being on the other side, the gaping mouth looks like a void. We enter anyway, our voices joining the echoey cacophony within.

Students walk the stone stairs, feet scuffing over the foyer. It’s always dim in here, the ceiling lights and wall sconces only offering paltry light. The quad is brighter. We keep to the cloister, the grass boggy from all the rainstorms we’re having.

Elly leans in and kisses my temple, heedless of the people all around us.

It still thrills me. It’s like when I had my first boyfriend, aged ten, Year Six.

How we held hands on the bench in assembly, hidden between our two thighs.

Does everyone know I’ve never done this with a girl before?

Probably not; they don’t care. I don’t care. It’s still just new. Lovely, but new.

She’s in her corduroy jacket, the blue one I finally gave back. I like that I’ve worn it too. It’s like I’m hugging her every time she wears it. I squeeze her hand in both of mine, riding that wave of affection, my chest all tight and giddy.

She smiles at me, that bashful, twinkly-eyed one. The one I first mistook for shyness or overwhelm. It’s neither, just her, just Elly. Her hair’s a little longer in the front these days, tousled over her forehead. It only adds to her cute, roguish look.

I keep her warm hand clutched. It’s not as close as I want us to be. I slept in my own bed last night, alone apart from the ghost of the kiss she delivered whilst pressing me into my bedroom door. I’m always a little thirstier on those mornings, missing her touch.

And, god, do I love touching her—running my fingers through her tufty hair, stroking her soft belly, pressing my lips to her warm neck, feeling her pulse, her vitality. Always so hot, eager for any morsel I give her.

Tuesday night, I tongued her nipples, tracing the blue veins of her boobs. I thumbed the edges of her boxers, her skin damp and feverish. She’d writhed and gasped, pressing herself closer to my hand, wordlessly begging for more.

If we hadn’t been interrupted, if Haz hadn’t barged in looking for her phone, I would have slipped my fingers inside, finally sampling her heat.

Haz hadn’t left straight away, of course. A smile emerged at the sight of us tangled on the bed. She closed the door, leant against it, bade us to continue. Elly told her to fuck off, put on a t-shirt, and that had been that.

I remained on the bed, naked under the covers. Was it regret I felt? Had I wanted to carry on, to let Haz watch?

Whatever.

All I know is, the next time Elly and I fuck, I’m touching her. All of her. I’ve made us wait long enough.

I flit my eyes over the cloister. ‘Where’s the other one?’

‘The dark and demonic one?’

A smile tugs at my lips. ‘I meant Haz, not Nic.’

Elly tuts, nudging me. ‘So did I. And I dunno. Maybe she’ll meet us in the theatre.’

The sun, just a weird white globe in the sky, looking more like the moon, disappears into a swathe of orange-grey cloud. It’s like night’s descended in one fell swoop, making me shiver with more than just the cold. Damn, I love storms. And it’s not even started yet.

I step over a crack on the path, careful not to crush the tiny blue flower there, a harbinger of spring. I hear a hiss to my right and then a hand grabs me, pulling me into the shadows. Severed from Elly, a heavy body follows, pushing me into the stone.

A mouth descends on mine before I’ve even glimpsed who’s kissing me. I know it’s Haz though. I know her by her smell, the weight of her, how she pulls my hair, just this side of painful.

‘Fucking missed you,’ she says when we part. Always so intent when she says stuff like that, gauging my reaction, making sure I know how serious she is.

I move a black strand of hair off her face, falling into those severe eyes. ‘You saw me literally an hour ago.’

‘Longest hour of my life.’

She palms my hips. My chest feels tight, stomach too. She’s so much, buffeting me with her sheer presence.

We don’t have nights, Haz and me, she just calls on me when she wants, dangling that black ribbon threateningly.

I know the drill by now. Skimpy pyjamas, minimal speaking, bound to her bed.

One thick arm lying heavily over me. She knows I won’t have it any other way.

These girls have turned me into a cuddler. They have to reap what they’ve sown.

As exhilarating as those nights are with Haz, they never culminate in anything more.

I try it, of course I try it. I want those lips on mine, those hands under my clothes.

All those things she used to taunt me with.

I don’t understand her hesitancy. I don’t think it’s for my benefit.

I mean, shit, she deepthroated me twenty feet underground. She’s not that merciful.

It makes me want to do something to induce another punishment. I don’t want to manipulate though. I just want her to want me.

I tip my face up, kissing her square bottom lip—a token of my desire for her.

‘Gonna be no t-shirts left if we don’t get on,’ Elly calls, watching us from the path. She has her hands in her pockets, sounding huffy. But it’s there in her twinkling eyes, the smile she’s trying to smother; she can’t deny she enjoys watching us.

‘Then what are you motherfuckers waiting for?’ Dropping me, Haz emerges into the light, a ball of barely suppressed energy. ‘Let’s go get fucking wrecked!’

Because it’s not just the air that’s electric tonight.

There’s a crush of students heading for the St Juliana lecture theatre, as instructed by the email we received earlier.

The angels glower at us from their pillars, unhappy with what’s going on under their eye.

The stage holds a number of trestle tables, each piled high with neatly folded white t-shirts.

I spot the company’s logo on them, and a thrill goes through me.

Anarchy, Hazelhurst’s infamous club crawl had been cancelled last year. Too many incidences, the mainland bemoaned. Monuments pissed on, property destroyed. One girl even went missing and still hasn’t been found.

We really like fucking things up for ourselves, but the mainland, always so quick to offer us another chance, agreed to let it go ahead again this year. One final chance. One final time, more like. Judging by the atmosphere in here, Hazelhurst hasn’t learnt its lesson.

Students line the edge of the stage, eagerly pressing in for their t-shirts, our ticket for the event. A lone figure holds us at bay, leaning against a table, arms folded. Margot Savage glares at us from stern eyes. I flick my nails restlessly, eager for her to hurry the inevitable lecture along.

She waits until the swell calms, checking the doors for late arrivals.

Then, drawing in a visible breath, she straightens. ‘Alright, kiddies, I’ll make this quick, but I want you all to listen.’ She runs her gaze over us, holding eye contact with as many of us as possible. ‘Okay?’

I half-expected it to be Zaccaro up there.

I’ve developed a slight fascination for the seldom seen figure ever since visiting his long-dead relatives.

His daughter’s here, up on the stage, already picking through t-shirts.

Her leather jacket shines as she moves, as do the chains around her neck, the silver rings on her fingers.

Margot doesn’t reprimand her. As severe as the woman is, it’s clear Fina holds more sway around here. The little nepo.

She tosses down three shirts. One to Blakely, one to an orange-haired girl I don’t recognise. With the third, she waits until she’s hopped down before shoving it into Aurelie’s face.

Aurelie catches it, smooths back her hair, puts her attention back on Margot. No acknowledgement to Fina. I’d have kicked the hell off if someone had done that to me. I like Aurelie, but her coolness is disquieting sometimes.

Haz snorts when Margot mentions a police presence tonight. ‘Shouldn’t have called it Anarchy then.’

She’s stood behind me, one arm wrapped securely around my torso, as steadying as it is arousing. I’m not listening much to Margot. In a sea of bodies, all I feel is Haz. Elly stands with her arms folded beside us, looking ready to fight her way to the t-shirts.

I feel so full, almost greedy whenever I’m with the two of them like this, both dousing me in their affection and protection.

They have no idea how much they complete each other.

They’d probably scoff to hear it. But it’s true.

There can be no day without night, no sun without the moon.

I could never be made to choose between them. Thank God I don’t have to.

The crowd stirs as Margot wraps up. ‘One final word. I’m sure you’re tired of me bleating on.’

She gives a small, wry smile. It unnerves me. She makes a good show of someone who toes the line, but how many here know of her unscrupulousness? Everyone who frequents the Vaults or just the select few, the lucky ones like me?