The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels Series Book 1) Read online

  “You are treating him like he’s a PlayStation, Alex. Despite how you may feel, Ben is not an object or a piece of property that was confiscated from you. You don’t deserve to have him handed over to you once you meet the barest of criteria, just because you share a mother and a father. That is not how this works.”

  Oh, god. If I even part my lips right now, I am going to fucking explode. I grind my teeth together as hard as I can, but the rage doesn’t subside. I have to look away from her, back out of the window and onto the winter landscape beyond as I silently fume.

  Inhale.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Exhale.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Inhale.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Exhale.

  Rhonda huffs—she’s obviously having trouble letting go of her own anger. Her voice is much calmer when she speaks again, though. “At the end of the day, a stuffy old man is gonna review your case. He’s going to take into account your age, and the way you’ve chosen to decorate your body, and the fact that you ride around on a fucking deathtrap, and he’s gonna form an opinion real quick. And then, he’s going to look down at your file in front of him, and he’s going to read that you were Tazed in an open grave ten days ago, while you were pissing on a dead man. What do you think he’s going to say about that?”

  I can already feel my hackles rising again. I do my level best to keep my shit together as I return my gaze to her. “I don’t know. Maybe the old bastard will have a sense of humor. Or some sense of justice?”

  Rhonda slowly pushes away from the table, sliding back her chair. She gets to her feet and crosses her pokey office, collecting her purse from a hook on the back of the door. “I like you, Alex. I really do. You’re a smart kid. Your grades are…” She throws her hands up, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. “If you wanted to go to college, I do not doubt for one second that you’d get a scholarship based on your grades. I’m not going to bother wasting my breath trying to lead a charge on that campaign, though. Instead, I’ll give you some sound advice. You need to fix your attendance. You need to start building up some extra credit. You need to create a stable, clean, safe home environment. You need to get a job—”

  “I have a job.”

  “Shut your mouth and listen to me for five minutes. You do not have a job. You bus tables at a dive bar until the early hours of the morning, which is nothing but a huge, giant black check mark against you. Have you thought about who’s gonna be there to watch Ben while you’re out until two in the morning on a school night? No. Uh uh, Sweetheart. You need a proper job, with reasonable hours, and the potential to build a career for yourself out of it. If you want to stand a cat’s chance in hell of becoming Ben’s legal guardian, then none, I repeat, none of this is negotiable. You have seven months to accomplish all of that. You think you can handle it?”

  My tongue is stuck to the roof of my fucking mouth. I feel like smashing every stick of furniture in Rhonda’s office into kindling, but instead, I calmly stand, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair. “I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

  5

  SILVER

  “You need to be home by four to watch Max, Sil. I have to work late, and your dad’s in Spokane for some conference. Neither of us will be back before midnight.” My mom’s in a rush, frantically sifting through her bag in search of something. I stab a knife into the butter dish, absently smearing some onto my toast. “Can you give him dinner, Honey? And I don’t mean pizza. A proper meal that has at least one green thing in it. There’s forty bucks on the mail stand if you wanna go grab some groceries.”

  This is becoming more and more frequent, this palming-off of Max. Could be that all seventeen-year-olds end up playing stand-in parent once they get old enough, but my parents would never have dreamed of asking me to cart him around or feed him at the beginning of last year. It feels as though something’s changed, and not just all my shit at school. There’s been some kind of dynamic shift inside my home that feels distinctly unpleasant. Barely noticeable, but wrong.

  “I’m teaching tonight. Gregory and Lou. Every Wednesday, remember?”

  She stops what she’s doing, her hands falling slack, the open-heart surgery she was performing on her purse suddenly forgotten. “Shit. Uhh…” She closes her eyes; the cogs inside her head work overtime for a moment as she tries to come up with a solution to this problem. “I’m sorry. How much do they pay you again? Fifty bucks? I can just give you the cash instead to make up for it.”

  “The money’s not the problem. Dr. Coombes drops them here so he can visit their mom. She’s still at St. Jude’s. I can’t just cancel at the last second.”

  “Gail’s in a coma, Silver. She’s not going to notice if David doesn’t show up tonight.”

  “Mom! Jesus Christ!”

  She reacts to my tone, her head jerking around, finally looking at me with wide eyes. She looks like she’s about to yell at me, but then she stops herself. She pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers, taking a deep breath. “God, I am…that was really insensitive. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me this morning. I’m sorry. Of course David needs to go and see Gail. And yes, you need to take the twins. Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out while I’m at work.”

  I say nothing. When I tear a chunk out of my toast, it feels like I’m biting into a healthy slice of guilt, though. I drop my cold breakfast onto my plate, pushing it away. “I’ll pick Max up before the boys the arrive. He can play Halo while I do the class. I’ll take him with me to the store afterward.”

  My mom nearly sags with relief. She slides across the kitchen in her sock feet, wrapping her arms around me, enveloping me in a Gucci scented hug. “Silver, you are officially the freaking best. I’m sorry to lay that on you, but I do appreciate it. Your dad and I are gonna do better at making sure one of us is always here in the evening from now on, okay? This was just an unavoidable situation.” She plants a kiss on top of my head, squeezing my shoulder, and then she’s back at her bag, singing under her breath as she rummages, the entire thing completely forgotten about.

  Gregory and Lou’s mom was T-boned at the intersection by Costco a month ago, and she’s been in a coma ever since. Before the accident, Gail used to be the one who brought the boys over for their guitar lesson, and she and Mom—best friends since high school—would sit in the kitchen at the breakfast counter and drink glasses of Sauvignon Blanc until the class was over.

  Mom cried for three days straight after Gail’s accident. A black cloud descended on the house, and no one could breathe a word in Mom’s direction without causing a fresh barrage of tears. After the third day, when Gail looked like she wasn’t going to die, but everyone was unsure when, or if, she was going to wake up, Mom just…stopped crying.

  She hasn’t been to visit her once.

  It’s been a while since I put any real thought into what I wear to school, but for the past few weeks, ever since Alex Moretti showed up and ruined everything, I’ve been making changes. Every day, there’s been some small concession made. It started with matching socks, even though no one was going to see them. Then matching underwear. A pretty hair-tie. Lip balm, and then actual lip gloss. Last week, I pulled my favorite Billy Joel shirt out of rotation because it was looking a little threadbare and ratty.

  Today, though, I’ve done something unthinkable. As I walk through the entrance to school, my head down, I feel incredibly self-conscious in the strappy black top with the lace trim I’m wearing underneath my hoodie. It was fucking stupid to wear something that doesn’t completely cover my skin. Extra, extra stupid to wear it for Alex Moretti’s benefit, when he hasn’t even looked in my general direction for the past two weeks, and I decided on day one that I didn’t want him to notice me, either, but…

  When I was eleven, there was a full solar eclipse, and everyone warned me not to look up at the sun without wearing the special glasses they gave out to us at school. I knew it woul
d potentially damage my eyes, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to take a peek.

  I am that person.

  And now here I am in a strappy black top, hoping rather recklessly that Alex might actually see me today, even though…

  “Well, would you look at that. Parisi bothered to look in a mirror before she got dressed this morning. Boys, is…is she wearing makeup?” Jacob Weaving’s voice calls from across the hall. I can feel his eyes crawling over me, and I have to fight the urge to throw up inside my locker. As always, he’s hovering with Cillian and Sam in front of his locker, joking and rough-housing—they’re like a bunch of fucking Neanderthals, guffawing and shoving one another as if they’re somehow impressing the rest of the school with their brainless antics.

  “Wonders will never cease,” he continues. “Honestly, I was beginning to think you were gonna start showing up in a garbage bag. Are the short skirts and the knee-high socks gonna be making a comeback, too, Silver?”

  I press my lips together, biting back the cutting retort that’s just begging to be unleashed. This is nothing new. I’m used to the taunting and the sly digs he sends my way across this hallway. Some days, ignoring him is harder than others, though.

  “Come on, Sil. We all miss those thighs of yours. I’m getting bored of diving into the spank bank every time I wanna jerk off. You used to love putting on a show for us.”

  “Gross, Jake. Why would you even bother with that hag when you have me to tempt you now?”

  The cool, mocking voice belongs to none other than Kacey. I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror I have glued to the inside of my locker door, and I see the spite in her eyes as she stares at my back. Her hip is popped, jutting out to one side as she leans provocatively against the bank of lockers next to her new monster of a boyfriend. She’s pouting, her lips heavily glossed, her demeanor confident and commanding, but I recognize the jealousy in her gaze. She hates me; she hates that she just caught Jake talking about my body even more.

  I huff out a breath of bitter laughter under my breath as I grab my calculus book for first period and slam my locker door closed. There will come a time when she won’t be desperate for that sick motherfucker’s attention…

  “Ahh, don’t get precious on me now, baby,” Jake croons. “She’s got nothing on you. You are one hundred percent right. Why would I want Second Place Silver when you are first place gold?”

  This seems to pacify her. God, Kacey was never a straight-A student, but she was never this stupid either. I sling the strap of my backpack over my shoulder, peeling away, hurrying down the hallway, making sure to keep my eyes on my shoes; I’m almost past them when Jake’s voice echoes above the chatter of the other students.

  “Hey! Hey, man. Alex, right? Has Coach talked to you about trying out for the team yet?”

  God, do not look up. Do not look up.

  At some point, Alex has arrived, and he’s standing somewhere behind me. I quicken my pace, not wanting to witness the moment when Jake makes his move, trying to induct Raleigh’s newest student into his entourage, but my progress is halted when a hand lands on my shoulder. My instant response is to whirl around, fist raised, ready to defend myself—

  —but then Alex’s voice is in my ear. “Steady there, Argento. My street cred’ll be in ruins if my first fight at this shit hole is with a chick.”

  He places a hand in the small of my back, setting pace beside me as he urges me away from Jake and the others. I look up at him disbelievingly, daring a glance out of the corner of my eye, and there he is, dressed in black, looking like the devastatingly handsome villain of a story that I can feel being written even as he ushers me toward the women’s bathrooms. He gives me a shove, and I stumble through the door, a protest already on my lips. “Dude, you can not be in here. Karen’ll have a fit if she finds out—”

  “Who’s Karen?”

  “Darhower’s assistant.”

  “All right, well fuck Karen. I don’t care about Karen.”

  I spin, so mentally turned around that I dump my bag into the wet sink beside me without thinking. Against my own better judgment, I’ve wanted to speak to him again. I didn’t think he’d be shoving me into the bathrooms before first period this morning, though.

  The black long-sleeved sweater he’s wearing pulls taut across his chest; he’s not as built as some of the guys on the football team. He’s broad in the shoulders, though, and his biceps are defined. His jeans hang low on his hips, tight enough to be fashionable, but not that tight. His white sneakers are Adidas—Stan Smiths if I’m not mistaken. The green flash on the tongue gives them away. For the first time since he showed up at Raleigh, I really see the tattoos on the backs of his hands. On the left, a huge, intricate, black rose with vines snarled around it, thorny, winding their way around his wrist and his fingers; on his right hand, the face of a wolf, or a lion, baring its teeth in a savage snarl. I can’t really make out which—

  “You done?” he asks, voice hard. He slides his hands into his pockets.

  “Done what?”

  “Picking over me like I’m standing in a fucking line-up.”

  “I was just looking at your tattoos, asshole.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “They’re hard to miss.”

  “Try harder.”

  “Try not to make yourself stand out from the crowd so much. Try not to cover your skin in artwork that invites people to look.” I throw my hands up in the air. “You asked for people to stare at you when you did that to yourself. Don’t get on my case because I’m a fucking normal, curious human being.”

  His scowl seems to darken the room, even though the stark fluorescent lighting overhead remains constant. “I need a favor,” he rumbles under his breath.

  “Hah!” I cast around, looking for the hidden camera. This guy has got to be joking. “You want a favor. You’ve ignored me for two solid weeks, after breaking into my car and insulting me for no apparent reason, and now you want something? You know, people usually try and ingratiate themselves with someone before they hit them up for something.”

  Alex’s gaze catches on the black lace of my top. His expression remains blank. I find myself straining against the urge to pull my hoodie around myself and zip it closed. “You want me to act fake? Bullshit you?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Then excuse me while I don’t blow smoke up your ass. I need extra credit, but I’m not joining the fucking debate team.”

  “So?”

  “I need you to teach me to play guitar.”

  I reel back, caught off guard. That’s not what I expected him to say. “I don’t think so, Alex. I have a lot of shit going on, and this…this isn’t some kind of ‘bad boy tutored by the outsider, cue cute makeover and the unlikely pair are suddenly an item’ situation. That’s far too fucking cliché. Plus, I don’t need a damn makeover. Or a rebel boyfriend.”

  Oh my fucking god. Why did I even say that? That was probably the dumbest thing anyone has ever blurted out in front of a guy.

  A detached, cold, hard look forms on Alex’s face. There’s a cold, flatness in his eyes that suddenly makes me feel very, very stupid. “I’m not interested in you, Argento. I definitely have zero interest in being your rebel boyfriend. All I want’s the extra credit and none of the fucking drama. If you think you can help with that, then great. I can pay you in cash. If not, no big deal. I’ll pay that Harriet Rosenfeld chick to teach me fucking trumpet instead. Makes no difference to me. Be under no illusions. You’re nothing but a means to an end.”

  If he’d slapped me across the face, I’d feel less scalded right now. I roll back my shoulders, reeling through a mental Rolodex of insults to hurl at him, searching for the perfect one, but then it occurs to me that he’s probably expecting me to be hurt by the words he just flung at me, and I won’t play into his heavily inked hands like that. No fucking way. I grab my bag, pulling my cell phone out of the front pocket, then I hold it out to him.

  “My rate’s si
xty bucks an hour. I have time to teach on Thursdays and Mondays, right after school. Take your pick.”

  “I’ll take both. Has to look like I’m learning fast on paper.” He eyes my phone like it’s an unexploded bomb. “Am I expected to do something with that?”

  “Put your number in it. I have to send you learning materials, and you’re going to text me an hour before our classes to confirm that you’re coming. I’m not going to waste my time, waiting around on you if you’re not gonna show.”

  He curves a dark eyebrow at me but takes the phone and taps his number into it all the same. When he hands it back to me, he catches hold of my wrist, and I fall still. Slowly, he turns my arm so that the back of his own hand is face up, clear for me to see now. He’s showing me the ink I was studying just now—it is a wolf. A fierce, angry looking, feral creature, with anger in its eyes. He drops his hold on me, letting my arm fall, but leans in a little closer, his gaze dipping down toward my black lacy top again. This time I can’t help myself: I instinctively cover myself.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I growl.

  A curved, almost cruel smile lifts Alex’s mouth up to one side. “You asked for people to stare at you when you dressed like that, Silver. Don’t get on my case because I’m a fucking normal, curious human being.”

  He slaps something else into my hand, then spins on the balls of his feet and smoothly exits the girl’s bathroom as if he had every right to be in here. I grimace down at the money he just gave me, then, numb and frankly a little shocked, I follow him out of the bathroom. Jacob and his crew are still standing there, taking up too much real estate in the hallway, acting like morons even though the bell’s about to ring. I watch as Alex walks right up to Jake and stops in front of him, back straight, eyes flashing with sharpened steel. Surprised, I note that Alex stands a good two inches taller than Jake—something that looks like it doesn’t sit well with the King of Raleigh High. Jake laughs under his breath, glancing at his boys as if Alex’s intense stare isn’t unnerving him in the slightest.