Broken: Winchester Academy, Book 3 Read online

  “Fuck, man, I don’t know. I mean, Anastasia’s got the cute innocent blonde thing going on, but Waverly Owens?”

  He whistles.

  “Shit, I love me some red hair, man,” he grins.

  “Anastasia’s taken anyways,” another guy pipes up.

  The first guy frowns. “By who?”

  “Some older guy I heard. Doesn’t go to Winchester.”

  The first guy rolls his eyes. “Whatever sounds like bullshit. She’s still fair game.”

  Fair game.

  My hand clenches into a fist. I don’t even know the girls they’re talking about, but guys like this make me want to hit things.

  “And Waverly Owens? Fuckin’ seriously?” The third guy snorts and punches the second guy in the arm. “Bro, the Vice Principal’s daughter? Are you high?”

  “Whatever man. You seen her at a swim meet? Hell yeah, I’d get a piece of that!” His buddies cheer around him, and I grind my teeth.

  “Yo, how about Ramona Weiss?”

  Yup, that’s it.

  I turn around completely and clear my throat.

  “Hey, shithead.”

  The jock bros pause, turning slowly to glower at me.

  “What the fuck did you say, trash?” the first guy spits at me.

  “I said hey shithead.”

  I stand, flexing my full height and clenching my hands to fists.

  “How about you jerkoffs spare us your dipshit fantasies about girls who I’m pretty sure wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

  The group glances at each other before the first guy snorts and flips me off.

  “Fuck off, trash. Go back to the trailer park or something.”

  For whatever reason, he’s going with “trash.” Maybe it’s the tats, or the scruffy look even in the lame uniform. I doubt he knows my family’s history of coming from nothing into the fortune my dad has built today. But also, I really, truly don’t give a shit what these meatheads think of me.

  “Gladly, but first, you’re going to stop talking shit about those girls.”

  “The fuck do you care?” the second guy mutters. “You even know them?”

  “Ramona Weiss is going to be my stepsister, so, yeah, I do. And I’m asking you nicely to knock it the fuck off.” I smile thinly at them.

  “Anyways, enjoy your lunch and jerking each other off.”

  I turn and sit, picking up my burger and taking another bite as I ignore the muttered insults at my back.

  “Yo, but what about teachers?”

  I hear the first guy chuckle.

  “Shit, you wanna bang some MILF-y teacher ass?”

  “Hell yeah, bro! And not even MILFs, man. You know who I’m talking about.”

  “Who?”

  I hear a low whistle.

  “Dude, Ms. Hayes.”

  There’s a round of hoots and catcalls around the jock table, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my fury rising and the blood thundering in my ears.

  “Oh shit, bro!”

  “For real! And, you know how art chicks are. You know she’s down to get freaky. Shit, I bet she’d take us all—”

  I’m up and whirling on them in a second, heat blazing through my veins like diesel as I snarl.

  “Hey,” I hiss. They all turn, almost surprised to see me again.

  “What do you want now, trash?” the first guy sighs.

  “I want you to shut the fuck up, before I shut your mouth for you.”

  The guy pauses, his eyes narrowing at me as he swallows.

  “And how you gonna do that, gutter trash?”

  “By sticking your head up his ass,” I say flatly, nodding at the second guy.

  The table goes quiet as they all glance at each other.

  “Good talk,” I hiss.

  I start to turn, and that’s when the French fry hits me in the face.

  “Hey, trash. Guess what.”

  I turn and see the first guy grinning smugly at me from the other side of his table.

  “I’m gonna talk about whoever the fuck I want, okay? So, if I wanna talk about how I want to get my dick all up in Ms. Hayes, you’re gonna sit there and shut your fucking—”

  He doesn’t finish that, because that’s when I lunge right across the table and tackle him to the ground.

  Oh, and now it’s on.

  I slam my fist into him, roaring as I feel the rest of them pile on like the pussies they are. Fists and feet rain down on me, but I don’t let off on the guy I’ve got on the ground. I just keep hitting him, and snarling in his terrified face until suddenly, I feel hands grabbing me and hauling me away from the whole pile.

  “Hey! Hey!”

  I’m still struggling to break free of the hands holding me back when another arm goes around my neck and tightens just enough to let me know whoever it is knows what they’re doing. I growl, snarling at the punk-ass bleeding on the floor, but I hold back.

  “Easy, Scott!” an older voice barks into my ear, bringing me back to earth. I turn and realize it’s Principal Kane holding me back, along with some guy in a football letterman jacket. Across from us, Coach Kirby and some other guy in a football jacket are holding back the other players.

  “This is over!” Principal Kane booms over us all. “Is that understood, gentlemen?”

  The other guys nod.

  “Is that understood, Mr. Scott.”

  I glare at the guy on the ground and nod.

  “Yeah, it’s over.”

  “My office,” Principal Kane growls, his dark eyes fuming and his strong jaw clenched.

  “Now.”

  * * *

  “He’s just bent out of shape that I made a joke about his girlfriend.”

  Derrick Maybach, the little bitch I knocked down, scowls at Principal Kane before turning to glare at me. Behind him, sitting on the small sofa in Principal Kane’s office, is one of the football guys who helped break up the fight, this guy Beckett Truman who’s apparently the star quarterback. I don’t recognize him as being part of the “who would you bang” bullshit.

  “Who was he talking about, Mr. Scott.”

  I shrug. “A bunch of girls. They were being crude and disrespectful, and it fucking got to me.”

  Principal Kane glares at me. “Let’s try and watch the language, Mr. Scott.”

  I just shrug.

  “He got his panties all twisted up about Ms. Hayes,” Derrick snorts, glancing at me. “You got widdle cwush on your awt teacher, trash?”

  My hand closes to a fist under the desk, but Principal Kane gets to him first.

  “Knock that shit off, Mr. Maybach.”

  Derrick looks shocked.

  “Whoa, what happened to watching our language, Principal—”

  “Derrick.”

  Coach Kirby, who’s been standing in the corner of the office leaning against a book shelf, suddenly opens his mouth, and we both turn to him.

  “Shut up.”

  I see a half smile creep over Principal Kane’s mouth before he stifles it.

  “Thank you, Coach Kirby. Now, gentlemen, we have a strict zero tolerance policy around here on fighting.”

  “He was being a douchebag,” I growl. “So, I put him in his place.”

  Principal Kane arches a brow at me.

  “We don’t put people in their place around here, Mr. Scott.”

  “Yeah? Well maybe more of the students around here would do well to be put in their place.”

  I can hear Beckett snort behind me, and I glance up in time to catch a small smirk on Coach Kirby’s face. He even winks at me when he realizes I’ve spotted him, but then he hides it away.

  “That’s not for you to decide, Mr. Scott,” Principal Kane growls. He sighs and sits back in his chair, shaking his head.

  “I hate to do this, but you’re on suspension. One week.”

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  Derrick grins.

  “Enjoy your vacation, tra—”

  “Mr. Maybach,” Principal Kane gr
owls, turning to glare at Derrick.

  “So are you.”

  Derrick’s jaw drops.

  “What? No fucking way! Principal Kane, I’ve got football! There are going to be scouts at next week’s game—!”

  “Not my problem,” our principal growls. He nods at Beckett, who stands.

  “Mr. Truman, please straighten this crap out.”

  “Beck! Bro! Tell him this is bullshit! Tell him—”

  “No.”

  Beckett glares at Derrick.

  “You fucked—” he clears his throat, glancing at Principal Kane. “You messed up, Derrick. There’s no place for that shit on this team.”

  Derrick’s lips pull back in a snarl.

  “Fuck you, man. You’re supposed to be my bro.”

  “I told you to watch that temper, Maybach,” Beckett growls. “Take the week, and when you come back, that attitude better be fixed or I’m giving your starting spot to someone else.”

  Derrick snarls, but he turns away from Beckett to glare at me.

  “This isn’t over, trash,” he mutters as he stands.

  I just smile and lean back in my chair.

  “Any time, limp-dick.”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Scott,” Principal Kane mutters as Derrick storms out of the room, followed by Beckett.

  “Your suspension begins now. You want me to get your dad down here to give you a ride or something?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll bike.”

  I stand and start to turn for the door.

  “Mr. Scott.”

  I turn back to see Principal Kane nodding slowly at me.

  “When you do come back, this whole thing is going to be erased from your record.”

  I frown.

  “Why?”

  Coach Kirby rolls his eyes and pats me on the shoulder as he pauses on his way out.

  “Hey, Ethan,” he leans close. “Shut the fuck up and say thank you.”

  I half smile as he leaves, looking up to see Principal Kane shaking his head and hiding a small grin.

  “For standing up for the female student body of Winchester, Mr. Scott. Now,” he points a finger at me. “No more fighting. Now, sorry to say but rules are rules. I need you off this campus in half an hour for the next week.

  “Can do,” I mutter. “And thanks, Principal Kane.”

  Outside the office, I bump right into Beckett and the other football guy who helped break up the fight.

  “Now what,” I mutter.

  Beckett just grins and holds his hands up.

  “Nothin’, man. Just wanted to say sorry you got pulled in Derrick’s bullshit.”

  “And to say thanks for putting him in line,” the other guys chuckles.

  “No problem.”

  “This is Carson Lafayette. Our wide receiver and kind of second in command for the team.”

  Carson nods, but I just glance at them blankly.

  Beckett clears his throat.

  “Listen, Ethan, you ever think about playing ball?”

  I snort, grinning.

  “No, Captain America, I haven’t.”

  Beckett brushes off the dig and shrugs.

  “You should.”

  “I’m good.”

  Beckett sighs.

  “C’mon man. Look, I get it, alright?”

  I arch a brow at him and Carson.

  “I sincerely doubt you do.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Star quarterback, blond, probably got some sweet ivy league college all lined up next year. You’re probably dating the head cheerleader too, huh?”

  Beckett frowns, and I hoot out a laugh.

  “Wait, shit, are you really?”

  He nods, and I laugh.

  “See, man? So, no, I don’t think you ‘get it’ at all. I mean how’s that trust fund working out for you?”

  “How’s yours,” Beckett shoots right back.

  I scowl, my jaw clenching.

  “Look, dude, we’re all rich kids here, alright?” He mutters. “Trust me, I get that this place is ridiculous at times. I get that most of these kids are going to go on to drink their way through ivy league schools and sit back on their parents’ money for the rest of their lives doing coke and buying sports cars. And you can do that, or you can do what you’re doing and just fuck around pretending to be James Dean all day—”

  “You don’t know shit about—”

  “Or,” Beckett growls. “Or you use the fact that we’re here to get a huge step up in life. You’re skipping the line, man. You’re in the fast lane here.”

  I roll my eyes, sighing as I clap him on the shoulder. “Thanks for great pep talk, but I’m not playing football.”

  “Fine,” he mutters. He and Carson glance at each other before I turn and start to walk away.

  “Hey, Ethan.”

  “What,” I grumble, turning back to them.

  “You and I both know you’re better than the fist-fighting, zero-shits-given slacker.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks, QB.”

  I start to turn again, but he keeps going.

  “Straight A’s? You got offered an art scholarship to RISD at sixteen?”

  I whirl around, my eyes narrowing.

  “You spying on my record, dick?”

  “Yeah,” Beckett growls. “I did.”

  I tighten my jaw as I step towards him.

  “Why.”

  “Because a six-foot-three, two-hundred-pound dude who looks like he could floss his teeth with most prep school football assholes started at the school where I’m the football captain. And I want you on my fucking team.

  Slowly, a grin creeps over my face. This Beckett dude might actually be an okay guy.

  “Alright fair enough,” I grumble.

  “You’re better than this.”

  I frown. “You’re the second person to tell me that this week.”

  “Yeah? Who was the first?”

  Emily.

  “A friend.”

  “Smart friend.”

  Beckett nods at me, grinning.

  “We practice every day after school. You know where to find me.”

  11

  Emily

  “I heard he might need plastic surgery.”

  There’s a snort, and I glance up from my paperwork to catch the eye roll Ramona Weiss shoots Zara Bateman.

  “Good. And I hope they don’t use anesthesia. Derrick Maybach is a creep.”

  I only half hide the grin on my own face as I watch Zara laugh before she glances back at her clay sculpture of the dove she’s been working on. It’s a project day, so we’re all actually in the studio space next to the main art classroom. Also, Ramona is right. I’ve only had the displeasure of having to deal with Derrick Maybach once, when his father’s lawyer came in and demanded I sign off on his “out-of-class independent art study” to fulfill his arts credit at Winchester.

  Apparently, drawing a fucking picture, once, was too much of a time sink on Derrick’s busy schedule of football and generally acting like a spoiled asshole.

  “Wait so he really beat the shit out of him?”

  “Him and like half the freaking football team,” Zara giggles, pushing her glasses up her nose.

  I wish I could say I keep my nose out of student drama, but please. Are you kidding me? It’s like the best teen drama ever, and it’s not even on TV. It’s live in the hallways of Winchester. Damn right I eavesdrop when I can. Also, Zara Bateman and Ramona Weiss are my kind of girls. Smart, down-to-earth, and sassy. They’re also not the type to get that involved with boy-drama or who wore what, or whose father is making more than whoever else’s father. And at Winchester, I can tell you, that’s a rarity.

  Zara is an art nerd through and through, though her main thing at Winchester is the school band. Well, multiple ones. She’s first chair trumpet in the school orchestra, lead guitar in the jazz band, and she plays the tuba in the marching pep band, which makes her ridiculously cool in my book. The occasional blue or purple hair that I wish was allowed in the
staff dress code here only cements that cool factor for her.

  Ramona and her are friends through orchestra, where she plays clarinet. Romana’s one of those “jack of all trades” types when it comes to school cliques. She’s in the orchestra, and she loves my art classes, which should put her squarely in the “art-nerd, counter-culture” crowd. But then, she’s also head of the debate team, class Valedictorian, and on the varsity cheer team, so go figure.

  Oh, right, and she’s also Celia Weiss’s daughter.

  …Celia Weiss as in Ethan’s new stepmother.

  I blush, quickly looking down at my work as the two girls keep talking.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, they dog-piled on when he and Derrick went at it.”

  “Wow, real tough.”

  Zara snorts. “Seriously. But he was apparently fighting like four of them when Coach Kirby and Principal Kane pulled them all apart.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a big guy.”

  “So is Jamison.”

  My eyes freeze on the page I’m reading as Zara goes on.

  “I can’t believe those two are going to be your stepbrothers.”

  The realization suddenly hits me that it’s Ethan who’s been in a fist fight.

  “Ugh, me neither. At least it’s less than a year before college.”

  “Ethan seems… nice? Or, I don’t know, not a douchebag at least.”

  “No, he’s fine, I guess. Jamison is a total dick though.”

  “I mean, a cute dick?”

  The two of them snort before Ramona scowls and shakes her head.

  “Ew, no. Plus double ew. That’s my stepbrother. My mom is going to flip though about Ethan getting suspended.”

  My head snaps up, and I’m opening my mouth before I can even stop myself.

  “Did you say Ethan Scott was suspended?” I blurt out, cringing the second I do.

  Zara glances up at me and grins.

  “Yeah, Ms. Hayes. Him and Derrick Maybach, for fighting in the lunch room. Why?”

  I swallow, thinking quickly.

  “Uh, nothing,” I mumble. “He was, um, he was supposed to meet up with me later to go over some art school applications.”

  Ramona makes a face. “Sorry, Ms. Hayes. You want me to bring him anything?” Her mouth twists. “I don’t know if you heard, but he actually lives at our house now. Him and his brother, since their dad—”