Page 2 of Naked or Dead
“And white apparently,” I mutter and then snort, “Well… fuck.”
“What is it?” Loki asks cautiously.
I don’t reply, instead I burn the name to memory and mentally curse that my first target is the only minority in the school. That’s a racism charge if I ever saw one. Fuck.
Never mind. I have shit to do. I don’t care who I upset.
“Did they teach you respect in your last school, Miss Deville?” Bromley barks at me, annoyed at my ignorance and chatter. “Because in our school we wait until we’re on our own time to speak to our friends.”
Silence is my answer. I put pen to paper and scribble my name all over the lines in different types of handwriting. It at least looks like I’m doing something.
“Anybody else you can think of that stands out as an arrogant asshole?” I ask just before the bell rings but neither of them answers.
Never mind, I have my starting point.
Nokosi Locklear.
His reputation precedes him.
Now to find him.
A task easier than I anticipated I discover, after second period during first break, when a small riot breaks out in the halls, right where one hall joins another.
Students charge past me, eager to follow the crowd, teachers blow whistles and an alarm sounds overhead as security tries to get to whatever is happening just before the next bend.
“NOK! NOK! NOK!” they all chant and the sound of something or somebody slamming against a metal locker echoes over their heads.
I can’t be bothered to squeeze through so I toss a metal trash can upside down, letting the contents spill all over the floor and grab the shoulder of somebody nearby for leverage before standing on the flat bottom of the can.
I see a brown fist connect with a white cheek, and as though a filter of slow motion takes over my eyes, I watch a spray of blood fly through the air. White cheek guy hits the floor with a thud and does… not… move. Nobody steps forward, everybody freezes. But then he groans and tries to get up and the roar of the crowd is deafening.
The guy who I assume to be Nokosi grins at them all, making the cut on his lip bleed worse. He raises the fist he just KO’d the guy with and kisses his bulging bicep.
This guy is a piece of fucking work. He’s also extremely beautiful. He also knows it.
I’ve never seen such a sharp jaw, and longer hair on a guy never once appealed to me. It does now.
Long, black hair, tied back with a single hair tie.
He has a tribal-looking tattoo on the arm he just kissed and it is almost as stunning as he is. So intricate, patterned, perfect. I pull out my phone and try to get a picture of it but it’s grainy at best. There are too many bodies between us. Too much space.
As though sensing my eyes on him, or my camera, he looks up, his dark eyes narrow and land on mine, penetrating through my façade and startling me for just a second. His smile fades, his arm lowers. Nobody else seems to notice the exchange between us and that suits me just fine.
I almost shy away but I’m not that kind of person, not anymore. I hold his eyes, reading him, seeing into him. My dad was right, eyes do communicate more than a thousand words and there’s one word in particular that keeps repeating itself as our gazes remain locked.
Damaged.
Nokosi is damaged. Damaged people can always tell.
I need to make myself known to him, because if he’s as arrogant as I believe him to be, he’ll seek me out soon enough.
I have a feeling this school has a hierarchy and I have an even stronger feeling that this guy might be King.
Lakeside prep is the prettiest-looking shithole I have ever come across.
The teachers have sticks up their asses thinking they’re some fucking privileged pricks because they work here. And I learned all that before lunch, first day.
Really this place is just an academy for stuck-up shits that have more money than sense and parents that don’t give a fuck about them. I will admit the food is good. Normally I don’t eat lunch, not because I’m worried about my figure but because the cafeteria is just not a place I want to be. But I need to be here today.
I need to study everybody and everything. This school is nothing like my last school. Or the school before that.
Its files are locked tight, its students watched closely.
I couldn’t get much more than a list of names and seating charts before I arrived and fuck it if I didn’t try. They’ve got some well-funded systems here.
I take my tray, surprised by the food choices. My last place served patties likely made from maggots and the tears of failing students, this place serves bagels with almond butter and organic jelly.