The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy, #1)

by C.M. Stunich

“Micah!” a voice shouts, and then there's laughter and scrambling. The shower stall next to mine opens, and I hear more fighting. “Screw you, you fucking prick!” “No, screw you. I'm going to poison your coffee.” “Hah. You would die without me, you codependent asshole.” “Please. You're like a growth I can't seem to get rid of. A tumor, hitching a ride on my ass so you can spend your whole day kissing it.”

What if a bunch of guys are hanging out in here? What if they find me? I hate living in a shitty misogynistic world where girls can't walk alone, but … it's kind of a reality, isn't it? I shouldn't have to try to avoid being raped—guys shouldn't rape. But there's the world we should live in, the world we wish we lived in, and then there's the nightmare of reality.

“I make a motion to charge Chuck Carson with one day of detention, and a week of after-school janitor duty,” Church says, smiling at me as he leans back in his chair. It's actually a fairly nice looking smile, like either he really is a nice person who just hates me or … maybe he's a psychopath who's really good at imitating human emotion?

I settle in with my book—some story about a half-angel who summons ghosts called Spirited—and decide I'm making a stand here.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask finally, and Church slides his amber gaze over to mine. “Because I'm the Student Council President, and that's my job: to help others.” “I think you're a sociopath,” I blurt, and his smile gets a bit wider. “I think you mean psychopath. Sociopaths have trouble controlling their emotions, and are prone to emotional outbursts. Psychopaths don't feel human emotion per se, but are extremely skilled in imitating it.” He grins at me, and I frown. “But I assure you: I'm not either.” “Oh, wow, that's so convincing,”

“Now start whisking together the dry goods: sugar, flour, cocoa, dry milk, salt, baking powder and baking soda. I'll take care of the wet stuff,” he says, and my entire body goes hot at the word wet passing between his lips. “The oil, eggs, and vanilla. After that, we'll combine the two bowls. Takes about fifty strokes to make it nice and smooth.” Wow. Has baking always sounded so damn sexual?!

We finish up mixing both the dry and the ... wet ingredients in different bowls, and then pouring them together. “Let me show you how to beat it properly,” he says, and then we both pause and Ranger laughs, this smooth, dark sound that works its way into all the crevices of my brain. Why are all these Student Council pieces of shit so hot and swoon-worthy? I have a weakness for cute boys, remember? “The cake, I mean. You’re a dude, so I’m sure you know how to beat other stuff just fine.”

“What do you want, Chuck?” he asks, but he sounds playful enough. I wet my lips briefly as both Cody and Monica glare at me. I should probably preface my question with something like I know we don't know each other very well, but … or I'm sorry to bother you. Except … I don't want Cody and Monica to know anything about my relationship with the twins. “Can you come pick me up? When I got here, my now ex-best friend was sucking my now ex-boyfriend's dick.” I swallow hard as the line goes silent, and then after a moment, Micah chuckles. “Assholes. Want us to beat them up for you?” “Monica just shamed me for shopping at Target because she thinks her family's wealth makes her superior than people who have to buy clothes on a budget. Can you guys come get me, so I can get the hell out of here?” “Is that key for bring the Lambos and show this bitch how rich she really isn't? Because if so, I'm down.” There's some noise on the other end of the line, and a girl's voice that makes me frown hard. Why is there a girl there with them? I'm suddenly in a panic, and I don't even know why. Maybe the twins have girlfriends? Or … a girlfriend? I mean, for all I know, they might. In reality, I know nothing about them. “Yes, please,” I whisper, “I'll text you the address.” And then I hang up.

“Did you just run over my cheating ex-boyfriend?” I ask, still blinking through the shock. Tobias smiles cheerfully, hands firmly on the wheel, and glances over at me. “I sure did.” He holds up a single finger. “But don't forget: I punched him first.”

“If you think that'll get me to like you, you've got another thing coming!” I shout as Spencer takes off down the hall with his hands tucked into his pockets. He turns around and grins, still walking backward. “I'm not trying to get you to like me, Carson. I'm just trying to get you to suck my dick.” He

“You've totally fucked-up my German chocolate, Carson.” He lifts his eyes up to mine, but I'm too focused on the Jenica tattoo across his chest. “Eyes up here, asshole. I know you're bi, but even if I were a flaming rainbow unicorn, I wouldn't date your ass. You're a pathetic, sulking loser.”

I settle in my room with a book called Broken Wings, curled up in my bed until darkness takes over the sky outside my window.

“Damn it, Church,” they say in unison as Tobias moves to grab my robe from the hook. “You're such an idiot,” Micah tells him as Tobias offers up the robe, and I slip into it, belting it at the waist. “I told you: it's not Charlotte's fault. We told her about Jenica.” “Charlotte …” Church whispers, reaching up to push some of his blond hair from his face. “Charlotte.” “Yes, Charlotte,” I say, lifting my chin up in defiance. “Are you happy now? You were right: I do have a micropenis. It's called a clitoris, and it has ten times as many nerve endings as your tiny dick. Now get out.”

“I'll talk to my parents, too,” he says, watching me carefully. “But Ranger learns nothing about this. Is that understood?” “Aye, aye, Mr. President,” the twins say together, and then everyone turns to look back at me. “What? I don't take orders from you,” I murmur, and Church sneers. “For fuck's sake, Carson. You're as dumb a girl as you are a boy. Trust me when I say you don't want your secret to get out. There's old money here, and they won't like the idea of a woman in their boys' club.” “No shit,”

“Now pick out some food, so we can order.” “I know what I want,” I declare, lifting my chin. “Scrambled eggs with ketchup”—all three boys cringe and groan, and Church even sloshes some of his precious coffee on the table—“plus an orange juice, and some French toast with hot sauce.” “You're a strange individual, Charlotte Carson,”

“If you all believe Jenica was murdered,” I mumble, sucking down some sugary goodness, “then who do you think murdered her?” The boys all exchange a look before glancing down at me. “We have our theories,” Church says, watching me carefully, “but no real answers.” He sighs and sets his coffee down. “Just … don't trust anybody.” “Not even you?” I ask, quirking a brow. Slowly, so very slowly, Church turns to look at me, and all the emotion drains from his face, leaving him a beautiful but scary looking statue. “Especially not me,” he says, and I shiver, turning back to my orange juice. Not sure if that was … terrifying or sexy. It should most definitely not have been both. Something must be wrong with me.

“Dear JR, I think they know about us. There's not much left I can do. If you want to meet me, you know where to find me. I'll be waiting with the angels. Love, J.”

“I wasn't joking about the sex part. Hit me up if you change your mind.”