Private School Kings

A Royal Reception: Part 2

The thing about life is I don't understand it. One second I was home alone, trying to figure out where my next meal was coming from, and the next I was at an elite private school trying to seduce the leader of a weird-ass almost cult.

And the lights were spinning.

And I was in a bathtub. What was a bathtub doing in the middle of this random old building? Actually, it wasn't the middle. It looked like a bathroom. I didn't know how I'd gotten there, but it seemed I had escaped the rest of the party. Hopefully, I wasn't on my way to "misfortune", as  Tim had put it earlier.

Misfortune. I laughed at the thought, and then I laughed harder at how I was laughing to myself. Crazy. Everything was crazy now. Uncle Oliver should have left me where I was. I was fine really, and now everything was crazy.

Bang

The bathroom door burst open. Whoever it was just looked like a shadow shrouded in light. A wavy shadow.

They didn't see me. They just turned and shut the door. With the backlight gone the silhouette came into focus.

It was Tim.

Tim Watson, king of Pruitt.

Thoughts swirled through my brain, but I couldn't catch one. Not for the life of me. Everything was slower now, smoother. Happier too. Things were not going according to plan.

Tim was looking in the mirror, his crown resting on the sink. He ran his hands through his hair almost desperately. It was like he was trying to fix it, but it was perfect. It was always perfect. It was Tim Watson. It couldn't not be perfect.

He was taking deep breaths now. In, out, in, out. Hair flopped over shaking hands. I felt very strange all of a sudden, like I was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. Only, I couldn't remember where I was supposed to be.

Tim's reflection looked stretched. Like he was looking into a funhouse mirror. Like he was the guy from the scream painting.

I laughed again.

Tim wheeled around, spinning like a top. "Holy shit!" He was jumping back, pushing against the sink like he was about to be attacked. Then his eyes found me. "Who the hell are you?"

I met his gaze, pulling my mouth into an O, just like his. "One of you," I answered, repeating Connor's words from earlier that night.

He cocked his head in a familiar way. It reminded me of the face my brother would make when I was going on about something he didn't quite get. "I miss him," I said, thinking of my brother, Charlie.

"Okay," Tim said, clearly done with me. "You have fun with that."

He turned, but I couldn't let him leave. I wouldn't.

"Tim!" He stilled with his hand on the doorknob. "You need to work on your aim."

"What?" He asked, incredulous.

I struggled to find the words. "Lacrosse." That was right, I would give him advice, and he would like me. "You've got good athleticismssss. But your stick skills..." It came out thickly slurred.

He was looking at me now, with his full attention, but he didn't look happy. "You-" His voice was loud.

"Cradling, aim on your shots," I interrupted. "Stick skills. You rely on strength not sk-" I paused. "What's the word... scool? No. That's not it." I thought for another moment, and Tim watched, almost amused. "Scool! Oops. I went with the same word."

Miraculously, Tim laughed. He actually laughed. "What makes you qualified to be giving advice?" I had him. He was intrigued.

"Haven't you heard?" I asked. "I'm the scholarship kid." I tried to throw my hands up in the air. They didn't move.

"You are?" He leaned back on the sink, raising an eyebrow. That was good. He was settling in. "Which one?"

"Murphy Monroe!" I said, but it came out muffled.

"Nice to meet you, mumbo jumbo." Tim said, mocking my jumbled words. I didn't laugh. Gently, he pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and perched it on his full bottom lip.

"That's really bad for you," I told him.

"Yeah." He said, grabbing an old fashioned matchbook. "But I'm guessing nowhere near as bad as whatever you're on." With a flourish of the wrist, he lit his cigarette. Even with the absinthe twisting his features he was startlingly handsome. Too handsome to be this close to. Like he wasn't real. Then I remembered the way his cold eyes had scraped over Heather, the way he'd barked at Lexi. This wasn't a boy to idolize. This wasn't a boy to laugh with. This was a target. "Tell me, scholarship kid," He said. "How do you like the party?"

"It's weird," I answered. I instantly regretted it. The absinthe was rendering my filter nearly nonexistent.

"That's certainly one way of putting it." He sighed.

"How do you like it?" I parroted back.

He was quiet for a long time. "I don't know." He finally answered. I didn't have a response to that. He sighed. There was a finality to it. His hand still shook as he lifted his crown, but less now. "This gold shit is fucking heavy."

And then he was gone.

Everything got very blurry after that. I think I laid in that tub for a while, watching the ceiling twist and shimmer, but I can't be sure.

The next thing I really remember is standing outside, trying to find my way back to school, and stumbling in the dress that Heather had loaned me. I'd lost the matching shoes at some point, but I didn't know when.

Every now and then I'd hear a rustle in the bushes. I didn't know if it was real or imagined. The whole world was kind of starting to feel that way, imagined.

"Murphy?" I lept at the voice. It came out of nowhere, low and rumbling. Just like my brother's.

"Charlie?" I asked, squinting into the darkness.

"What?" From behind the thick trunk of a tree, a boy emerged. He was familiar, but he was not my brother.

"Fletcher," I breathed, stumbling over the T. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped towards me, shadows dancing across his face and twisting his serious eyes into the darkness. For a moment he looked like a monster. "Madeline called you." He said, raising a hand like he wanted to reach out and touch my cheek. He didn't. I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed. "She got worried when you didn't answer." His eyes flicked to my bare feet. "Seems like she was right to worry."

For a second I was so angry. Angry at all of them. Him, Heather, Madeline, Tim. They all wanted to control me. They all thought they should be allowed to control me. That's what money gets you, an ego problem... Still, I was only angry for a moment. Then I just got dizzy.

The dirt floor of the forest came up at me fast. Then Fletcher's arms were on mine, keeping me upright. "You okay?" His eyes flickered with something almost like concern.

"They took my phone," I said.

"What?"

"That's why I didn't answer."

"They didn't used to do that." He said, scowling. How did he know what The Lords used to do? I thought. Fletcher was still keeping me up. I tried to stand, but my feet slid against the dirt. He tightened his grip like he was worried I'd slip away. Maybe I would. "Are you alright?"

I managed to raise my head and look at him. His face was so pale in the dim light, standing out against waves of dark hair and a smattering of freckles. As I watched, those freckles started to melt. My legs fell out from under me, and the world went dark.