King of Hawthorne Prep Page 12

  As we arrive at my brother’s locker, the stench becomes almost unbearable. The guys are all laughing, trying to contain their giddiness. A punchline is coming and I’m afraid of what it will be. More than that, I’m afraid Austin will lose his shit and go berserk.

  Even though my brother’s face is an inscrutable mask, he understands how this will go down. He flicks his wrist left, then to the right, before twisting left again and arriving at the number twelve. When he yanks on the handle, the door pops open.

  My hand flies to my mouth as an avalanche of manure tumbles out of the locker onto Austin before landing on the floor. The locker has been jampacked with it. The blazer he’d left hanging in there last night is ruined along with his books.

  A battle roar erupts from deep in Austin’s chest before he spins around and lunges for Jasper. As soon as he does, the blond boy throws his books to the floor and meets my brother halfway before they collide. The surrounding crowd erupts into chants of—fight, fight, fight.

  In the blink of an eye, all hell breaks loose. Austin’s fists fly with an amazing amount of velocity. Grunts soon follow. I’m not sure if the sounds originate from Austin or the other guy. When it becomes apparent that Jasper isn’t thrashing my brother with ease, a few more football players join the fray.

  Fuck!

  There’s no way I’m going to stand here and allow them to beat the crap out of my brother. With so many players throwing punches, he’ll get pummeled and these assholes will stand around and watch. I drop my backpack to the floor and advance toward the group of grappling boys when strong fingers grip my arms and yank me backward until I land against a muscular chest.

  “Let me go,” I yell, struggling against the tight hold.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” a voice growls against my ear.

  Kingsley.

  His arms band around me, making escape impossible.

  “Please, I need to help him.” Even though it’s futile, I twist and turn in his arms.

  “No.”

  It seems like forever before a couple of teachers poke their heads out of their classrooms and jog down the hallway when they see the ruckus taking place.

  “Hey!” Mr. Timmons yells, “Break it up right now before everyone gets suspended!”

  “Get to class!” another man bellows.

  Now that teachers have appeared on the scene, the crowd splinters apart. I search the sea of faces for Austin. He’s on the ground, wrestling with Jasper. The two male teachers wade through the football players before prying the two boys apart.

  “Both of you get to the headmaster’s office!”

  I jerk out of Kingsley’s hold and rush toward my brother. His face is more swollen than when we arrived fifteen minutes ago. With a growl, I swing around and shove my hands against Jasper’s chest.

  Not expecting the attack, he stumbles back a step as hatred materializes across his face. “Someone needs to teach you a lesson, you little bitch!”

  Even though there are adults in the vicinity, he takes a menacing step toward me. I stand my ground, straightening to my full height. If he thinks he can hit me and get away with it, let him try. It’ll be that much easier to get his ass expelled from Hawthorne.

  “Morgan!” Kingsley barks and Jasper stops, turning toward him with a snarl. The dark-haired boy shakes his head. “Don’t even think about touching her.”

  My eyes flare at the power Kingsley wields.

  “Mr. Morgan and Mr. Hawthorne,” my AP psychology teacher snaps, “get to the office. Now.”

  Then he turns to Kingsley and me, who I realize are the only other students loitering in the corridor. “Both of you get to class before I write you up.”

  I shake my head and step closer to Austin. “I’m going to the office with my brother.”

  Mr. Timmons purses his lips but doesn’t argue before turning to Kingsley. “Mr. Rothchild, get to first hour.”

  Rothchild?

  With wide eyes, I swing toward Kingsley.

  He’s a Rothchild?

  He was talking about his great-great-grandfather?

  Even though a small piece of the puzzle has fallen into place, it’s not enough to have a clear picture of what happened and why everyone in this town hates us. Unfortunately, I can’t think about that right now. Something tells me we’ve got bigger problems to occupy us.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Austin and I sit silently across from the headmaster in his office.

  Jasper was the first one called in and after five minutes, was sent back to class. I have no idea what was said to him or if he was even reprimanded for the shit-filled locker or the fight. From the smirk he flashed at us on the way out, it’s doubtful.

  Mr. Pembroke, the headmaster, steeples his chubby fingers together as he glares at us. “I’m not sure what kind of school you attended in Chicago, but fisticuffs are not tolerated at Hawthorne Prep. Students are encouraged to reach peaceful resolutions by elevating themselves intellectually with discussions and debates. They do not settle disputes like Neanderthals by using their fists.”

  Is this guy for real? My guess is that he doesn’t have a clue about what takes place in these hallowed halls.

  When it becomes obvious that my brother isn’t going to defend himself as he slouches on the chair, giving Mr. Pembroke a blank stare, I realize that I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.

  As soon as I open my mouth to tell our side of the story, the headmaster turns his attention to me with a scowl. “I was told that you, young lady, attempted to attack Mr. Morgan after the fight had been broken up by Mr. Timmons and Mr. Smyth.”

  Please...I hardly attacked that jerk.

  His beady gaze returns to my brother. “I could suspend you right now for two weeks and the board wouldn’t have any objection to it.”

  I inhale a deep breath before blowing it out, attempting to rein in my frustration. If I don’t get my anger under control, I’ll blow like a geyser. Austin isn’t the only Hawthorne with a temper. It may take more to ignite my fuse, but it can be done.

  “Mr. Pembroke, I did not attack Jasper.” When one of his brows jerks in disbelief, I admit begrudgingly, “I pushed him, that’s it.”

  “That is not the story I heard, my dear.”

  Grrrrr.

  “All the witnesses I spoke with,” he continues, “verified that it was your brother who threw the first punch.”

  “Well, yes—” I say, needing to clarify why that occurred.

  A triumphant smile curves his fleshy lips. “Then we’re in agreement, your brother started the fight and will be suspended for two weeks.”

  “What? No!” I yell, jumping out of my chair. “Austin may have thrown the first punch, but he was provoked into doing it. Jasper filled his locker with cow shi—”

  The headmaster clears his throat and gives me a look chock-full of warning.

  “Manure,” I finish awkwardly, falling back onto my seat.

  “And you have proof that it was Mr. Morgan who did this?” the headmaster questions.

  Other than him loitering in the area and gloating? “Um, no, but—”

  Mr. Pembroke lifts his hands in the air as if there’s nothing more he can do about the situation before shrugging. “Without proof or witnesses, we can hardly say without a shadow of a doubt that Mr. Morgan did anything to your brother.”

  I press my lips together until they feel bloodless before admitting, “Austin’s eye was blackened at football practice last week and then yesterday, he was hit in the nose.”

  The balding man shakes his head. “Football, I’m afraid, is a brutal sport. Participants know this going in.”

  My mouth falls open. “It happened in the locker room, not on the field.”

  Mr. Pembroke’s gaze shifts to my brother. “Is that true, Mr. Hawthorne? Have you been hazed or bullied by your peers?” Translation—are you a snitch who is getting his ass handed to him by the popular kids?

  When Austin remains silent, I elbow him in t
he ribs. “Tell him, Aus,” I plead, needing Pembroke to see that my brother isn’t the troublemaker he has pegged him to be. The blame for this shouldn’t be heaped solely on to him.

  “No,” he grunts.

  The headmaster’s gaze returns to me. I can practically see the satisfaction simmering in his watery blue eyes.

  Grrrrr!

  “Our vehicle has been egged in the parking lot at least four times,” I blurt in desperation. Pembroke is operating under the delusion that Hawthorne Prep is a utopia of higher education and perfectly behaved students.

  It’s far from it.

  More like a horror show.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice fills with faux concern. “I assume you filled out an incident report with Mrs. Baxter. What’s strange is that I haven’t seen a single episode of vandalism come across my desk.”

  When I remain silent, he raises his brows in question. I’m really beginning to hate when he does that.

  “You filed a report in the office, correct?”

  “No,” I ground between clenched teeth.

  “No what, Ms. Hawthorne?”

  “No, I did not fill out an incident report,” I force myself to say calmly. It takes everything I have inside to keep my temper under wraps.

  His eyes widen. “Why ever not?”

  I wince as Austin’s probing gaze settles on me.

  “Did you take any pictures? Perhaps with your phone? You kids seem to enjoy snapping photos of everything and plastering it all over social media. I’m sure you must have at least done that.”

  Heat suffuses my cheeks. Already I can see where this is heading. “No, I didn’t take any pictures.”

  “Without a doubt, you reported the incident to your parents. They must have corroborating knowledge of this.”

  Ugh!

  “No! I didn’t tell anyone about it!” My voice escalates as I strain forward. Any moment, I’ll leap over the desk and strangle this fleshy excuse of a human being. “I was embarrassed! I wanted to forget it ever happened!”

  “Ms. Hawthorne, calm yourself!” Mr. Pembroke jerks on his seat as he straightens his shoulders. “Must I remind you to speak in a controlled manner when addressing a faculty member?”

  I slump on my chair with defeat. None of this is going the way I expected. Or maybe it’s going exactly how I feared it would.

  A timely interruption comes in the form of a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Mr. Pembroke says.

  Mrs. Baxter sticks her gray-haired head in the room. “The children’s parents have arrived.”

  “Perfect timing,” he says with a pleasant smile. “By all means, send them in.”

  As my parents rush through the door, I slouch further onto my seat.

  The headmaster rises from his chair as he ushers them into the small office. “Perhaps the children should wait outside while we discuss matters.”

  I open my mouth to argue when Dad swings toward me with a harsh glare. “Do as Mr. Pembroke says and wait outside!”

  I rise to my feet as Austin does the same and we slink out of the headmaster’s office with our tails tucked between our legs. The door closes firmly behind us as my brother flops onto a chair. My guess is that Pembroke will spin the situation so it appears as if we’re the problem.

  Austin flicks his gaze to me. “Why didn’t you tell me about the eggs?”

  I shrug and stare straight ahead, not wanting to meet his questioning gaze. “I don’t know. There was enough going on without worrying you over a stupid prank.”

  His voice drops, filling with barely suppressed anger. “You shouldn’t have kept it from me, Summer.”

  Wanting to diffuse the thick tension brewing between us, I press my lips together and admit, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

  Instead of dropping the conversation, he growls, “You need to stop hiding crap from me. And while you’re at it, stop trying to fight all my battles. I’m more than capable of fighting them myself.”

  “That’s not what I was doing,” I mumble, shifting uncomfortably on the scratchy fabric of the chair, because when it comes down to it, that’s exactly what I was doing. What I didn’t realize is that he would understand it. I’ve spent most my life in protective mode where my brother is concerned. It’s a hard habit to break.

  Austin’s lips lift into a ghost of a smile. “You might be five minutes older than me, but we’re still the same age. Believe it or not, I’m capable of taking care of myself. You don’t need to treat me like a baby.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t—”

  “Yeah,” he says, cutting me off, “you do. All the time. I might be dyslexic, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot who can’t deal with his own shit.” He winces before raising his voice. “Sorry about the language, Mrs. Baxter.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She waves her hand from behind the desk she’s sitting at. “I’ve heard much worse.”

  Lowering my voice, I whisper, “I don’t think you’re an idiot.” It pains me that he would even suspect that. Being diagnosed with dyslexia has been difficult for Austin and his self-esteem has taken major hits throughout the years because of it. All I’ve ever tried to do is be a good sister and smooth the way for him. Is that so wrong? Wouldn’t he do the same if the situation was reversed?

  He raises a brow. “You sure about that?”

  “Of course! You’re the furthest thing from an idiot. I...”

  “You what?” he asks, voice sharpening.

  “I just love you, Aus. And I want to help you any way I can.” I shake my head and stare down at my entwined fingers as emotion gathers in my throat. “Being protective doesn’t mean that I think you can’t take care of yourself.”

  “Well, that’s the way it feels.”

  “I’m sorry.” It was never my intention to hurt Austin. He’s the one person I want to see succeed in life more than anyone. If I’ve overstepped my boundaries, it was done out of love.

  “How about from now on, you let me deal with my own problems? You might not realize this, but you won’t always be around to fix everything. I need to do it myself.”

  I bite my lip. The idea of us being separated next year when we go to college is one I try not to think about. What am I going to do without my brother at my side?

  “Summer? Did you hear what I said?”

  A thick lump forms in the middle of my throat as I jerk my head into a tight nod.

  “And,” he continues, gaze piercing mine, “if there are things I need to know about, like people messing with you or our car, I want you to be straight with me.” He pauses, allowing his words to sink in. “I’m the one who should be protecting you. Not the other way around. Understand?”

  “Yeah,” I mumble, “I got it.”

  “Good.” His lips quirk before he reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad we had this little convo.”

  I roll my eyes. When he knocks his shoulder into mine, I laugh and the tension between us dissolves. Ten minutes later, the door to the office swings open and our parents stalk out. Austin and I jump to our feet. Griffin and Eloise don’t look happy.

  “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne. I’ll be in touch with more information after I speak with the board tomorrow morning.” He turns to the secretary. “Mrs. Baxter, will you please give Summer a pass to third hour? She’s missed more than enough instructional time.”

  I gulp and glance warily at my parents. “What about Austin?”

  “For the time being, your brother has been suspended for three days and will come home with us,” Mom murmurs in a subdued tone.

  “What!” I glance at Mr. Pembroke before stepping toward Dad. “But Jasper—”

  “The disciplinary action of another student is none of your concern,” the headmaster reprimands. “What remains to be seen is if your brother will have any further sanctions brought against him and if he’ll remain on the football team for the season.”

  My
mouth drops open. Austin pales but remains silent.

  This is total crap!

  “Summer,” Mrs. Baxter holds out a blue slip of paper, “your pass.”

  With a somber expression, Dad nods. “Go to class. We’ll talk more about this when you get home.”

  I glance at Austin to get a read on his thoughts. He holds my gaze steadily as a silent communication passes between us.

  Go. I’ll handle this.

  I press my lips together in an effort not to argue before straightening my shoulders.

  Fine, I’ll go, but this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. How I’ll fix this mess, I have no idea but there has to be a way. I realize Austin wants to handle his own shit, but this is too important to leave in his hands.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rest of the day passes by with a few sly looks and nothing more. It’s a relief when the final bell rings and I can get the hell out of here. I grab my backpack from the locker and head to the G-wagon. My breath gets trapped in my lungs as I push through the heavy glass door. Weak sunlight struggles to break through the cloud cover. Any moment, the heavens will open up and dump rain on us.

  For once, the crummy weather matches my mood perfectly.

  There are pockets of people standing around in the parking lot, but none pay me any attention as I hunch my shoulders and weave through the vehicles. As soon as the untouched Mercedes comes into view, relief is expelled from my lungs with a burst. Thankfully, there won’t be a side trip to the carwash today.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull into the drive before grabbing my backpack from the passenger seat and hauling ass inside. The house seems quieter than normal. Instead of announcing my presence, I take the stairs two at a time and beeline straight to Austin’s room. I rap my knuckles on the wood before throwing the door wide. I find my brother sprawled out on the queen-sized bed with his hands stacked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.

  Foregoing a greeting, he asks instead, “Any problems?”

  I shake my head, relieved I don’t have to lie. “Nope, none.”

  He blows out a steady breath as his muscles visibly loosen. “Good.”