Things I Wanted To Say (Lancaster Prep Book 1)

THE FRIDAY before break and Lancaster Prep drops all pretense of being a place of learning. Half the student body is already gone, many of them on a jet to an amazing trip, all of them wanting to get an “early start of it.” I woke up at seven and stared out my window at all of the cars in the nearby parking lot as they came and went, parents picking up their children with smiles on their faces. Some of them scowl. Some of them send servants in place of themselves, a few of them escorting sulky girls and annoyed boys into gleaming black Mercedes.

I press my hand against the glass, wondering where they’re all going. Wishing I could leave too.

Then I remember I am leaving, and it’s a giddy, blissful feeling, mixed with swirling dread. Escaping this campus for a week sounds like a true vacation.

Spending the entire week with Whit and his family?

Absolutely terrifying.

This is the dumbest thing I think I’ve ever done in my life, and I’ve done a lot of dumb things. I tried to tell Sylvie it was a bad idea, but she was persistent. She didn’t want to go home alone, and she reassured me Whit wouldn’t be around much. I’m sure once he realizes I’m there, he’ll believe I accompanied Sylvie to be close to him, when that isn’t true.

I’d rather face Whit’s fury than spend the holiday week alone at Lancaster Prep, depressed and feeling abandoned.

It’ll be okay. I can handle spending the week with the Lancasters. I’ll have Sylvie. She says their house is so huge, I probably won’t even run into Whit.

Perfect.

There’s a knock at my door and I frown, checking the time on my phone. It’s barely seven-thirty. I go to the door and unlock it, then slowly crack it open.

It’s Sylvie, perfectly dressed in her uniform, not a hair out of place, and a smile on her face. “Happy Birthday!” she says, holding a white bag in front of her.

“Thank you,” I say with a faint smile, opening the door wider so she can come in. “What do you have?”

“Open it and see,” she says excitedly, handing over the bag before she walks into my dorm room. She stops short, glancing around. “There’s still nothing in here.”

I open the bag to find a donut with pink frosting and sprinkles inside. “Thank you. And what do you mean, there’s still nothing in here?”

“On the walls. On your desk.” She gestures. “No photos. No candles or plants or knickknacks. It’s like you don’t even live here, and you’ve been in this room for months, Summer. It looks like a prison cell.”

“It’s only temporary, my being here,” I say with a shrug as I reach into the bag and pull the donut out, taking a big bite. It’s sugary sweet. The crunch of the sprinkles makes me want more. I devour it in four bites, wishing I had something to drink.

If my mother saw me right now, she’d probably have a coronary.

Sylvie’s not even paying attention. She’s wandering around my room, touching everything. The iPhone charger cord draped across my bedside table. My backpack sitting in the desk chair. My light blue comforter, the bed still unmade. I try to see my room through her eyes, and realize quickly she’s right. It’s boring. Plain. No personality.

“Swear to God, it looks like you’re staying in an institution,” she says, spinning in a slow circle in the middle of my room. “Not even a calendar on the wall with the days marked off by a giant X.”

I know she’s trying to make a joke, but I’m instantly defensive. “I have, what? Six months left here? What’s the point of trying to make it cute?”

“So it’ll feel like home,” she says, emphasizing the last word.

Before I came here, I didn’t feel like I even had a home anymore. There was nothing for me to bring, and Mother suggested nothing. She bought me new bedding, and looking at it now, I realize Sylvie’s right.

“Did you like the donut?” she asks, changing the subject.

“I already ate it all,” I admit, feeling gluttonous.

Sylvie laughs. “You’re welcome. We’re going out to dinner tonight as a family to celebrate Whit’s birthday. Wait until you see the menu! It’s my favorite place to eat.”

Oh God, this all sounds incredibly awkward. “Are you sure it’s really okay that I’m coming with you?”

She makes a face and waves her hand, as if I’m making a big deal out of nothing. “Trust me, it’s fine. I already talked to my parents. Daddy loves when I have friends over. He’s always worried about my social status. Afraid that I’m too isolated because of my ailments.”

Her father is probably right. She doesn’t have a lot of friends, much like me, but her reasons are different than mine. A little more foreboding and gloomy.

“What about Whit?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I rarely say his name out loud in front of Sylvie. It almost feels like an invocation. His name passes my lips and the spirits will rise. The devil will swirl in the air before lunging for me.

So dramatic but every time I think about Halloween night, it leaves me quaking.

“What about him?” Her tone is overly innocent.

“Have you told him I’m going home with you?”

“No.” She laughs when she sees the horror on my face. “Don’t worry! He’ll be fine. You two might have secret, clandestine meetings while you’re there, you never know. It’ll be fun! I know he’s still interested in you.”

She shouldn’t get my hopes up with stories of clandestine meetings. “He is not. He has a new girlfriend.”

And please. The last word I would ever associate with Whit is “fun.”

“His eyes follow you everywhere you go when you’re in the same room together,” she says.

I tilt my head, frowning at her. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say. He watches you, Summer. All the time. And Whit doesn’t care about anyone—at least none of the girls at our school. Caitlyn is a ruse. I don’t know why he keeps her close, but he has his reasons. The only people he worries about are his friends and they’re usually all that matter to him.”

“I’m sure it means nothing that he looks at me,” I say dismissively, refusing to get my hopes up. “He hates me now. Don’t forget he turned the entire campus against me at one point.”

“Right, and now they leave you alone. And you basically admitted to me you two had something going on. Now you don’t. What’s the deal?” she asks, her eyebrows shooting up. “Is it because of what happened with Bryan?”

My face flushes hotly at the memory. Everyone knows Bryan practically tried to rape me before Whit beat the shit out of him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Uh huh.” The knowing look on her face makes me even more embarrassed. “Well, whatever happened, I doubt Whit hates you.”

“He definitely still hates me,” I say way too quickly.

By the look on her face, I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “Sure. Though I get what you’re doing. And you’re probably right. You shouldn’t get your hopes up over Whit anyway. It’s such a shame.”

Sylvie’s expression is incredibly sad.

“What’s a shame?” I ask, hating how I always want every single detail I can get about Whit. She mentions his name and I lean in, always eager for more.

“That he doesn’t have a heart.”

I enter my first period class, Mr. Figueroa sitting behind his desk, chatting away with girls, as usual. They always surround his desk before class starts. They flirt with him, batting their eyelashes, laughing too loudly at his jokes, and they’re not that funny. I’ve heard him tell a few and they’re corny.

As usual, I walk right past them, headed for my seat when I hear him call my name.

Slowly I turn, my gaze questioning. He makes a gesture, indicating he wants me to come talk to him, so I approach his desk, while the two girls—they’re not even in our class—stare at me with unmistakable disgust. I don’t bother looking at them, keeping my focus on Figueroa, who’s faintly smiling at me, his expression open. Friendly.

He’s come a long way from that earlier hostility he’d felt at having me forced upon him the first day of school.

“Summer,” he says my name, his tone pleasant. “Do you have a moment?”

I nod. Don’t bother replying. He glances at the girls, sending them a look that sends them out of the classroom without another word. Once we’re alone, he clears his throat, a faint smile curling his lips.

“I really enjoyed the last essay you turned in,” he starts out, his compliment surprising me. “You have a particular way with words that makes everything come to life.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. “Thank you.”

“Honestly? When you were first here, I thought you wouldn’t be able to keep up with this class, but you’ve proven me wrong.” His smile stays in place. “I notice you have a free period after lunch.”

“I do,” I say, frowning slightly. Was he checking up on me? How does he know my schedule?

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in being a TA during that period. I need some extra help organizing assignments and the like. Nothing too strenuous,” he promises with a warm chuckle. “What do you say?”

I want to immediately tell him no, I’m not interested. I don’t really like him, and I definitely thought he didn’t like me either. But I’m guessing this is an opportunity I probably shouldn’t turn away.

“Can I think about it?” I ask, scrunching up my forehead like I’m confused.

“Of course,” he says easily. “Take the break and think on it. Let me know if you have any questions over break. I’ll be available. You have my email, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say with a nod. “And thank you for the opportunity.”

“I don’t offer this position to just anyone,” he says, his voice lowering. “But I see something in you, Summer. Something special.”

Unease slips down my spine at his words. Something special. They’re vaguely creepy, especially coming from my teacher who has to be at least in his late thirties or early forties, and I literally just turned eighteen.

“Thank you,” I say again before I turn away from him, running smack into someone who’s just entered the classroom.

Whit.

His hands automatically go to my shoulders, lightly shoving me away. “Watch it,” he snaps automatically, his expression softening when he takes a good look at me. I don’t know what my face must look like, but his fingers tighten on my shoulders instead of letting me go, his head cocked to the side as he contemplates me. “You all right?”

I gape at him, thrown by his question, the gentle concern in his gaze. The fact that he’s still touching me after he’s all but ignored me for the last almost…three weeks? It feels like an eternity the last time we were face to face.

I don’t understand him. Will I ever?

“I’m fine.” I offer him a brittle smile and he lets me go. I decide to test the waters. “Happy Birthday.”

He frowns. “How did you know?”

“Sylvie told me. It’s my bir—”

“Whit. Summer. Please find your seats,” Mr. Figueroa says, his voice full of annoyance.

Whit sends him a withering look, then turns and heads for his desk.

I’m left with no choice but to do the same. I walk on air the entire way though, my feet never seeming to touch the ground. For once, Whit didn’t treat me awfully. He actually sounded like he was concerned for me and…

I’m probably reading too much into it.

It’s hard for me to pretend he isn’t in the classroom though, which is what I normally do. As Mr. Figueroa begins to lecture, pacing the front of the room, talking to only ten of us instead of the normal twenty, it’s as if I can feel Whit’s eyes on me, boring holes in my head, my back. Watching me.

Figueroa talks and talks, and every time I look up, I feel the weight of his gaze on me, his dark brows drawn together, as if he’s trying to figure me out too. Maybe I stumped him by asking if I could think about being his TA. Good. All the other girls just fall at his feet, wanting a piece of him, a moment of his time, a laugh, a lingering look. They’re starved for his attention, and I understand how they feel, though he’s not the one I’m hungry for.

As subtly as I can, I angle my head to the left. Practically rest my cheek against my shoulder for a long moment, waiting there. Feeling like a fool. I lift my lids, my gaze seeking Whit out, finding him immediately.

He’s already watching me, a pencil between his lips. I stare, fascinated as he rubs the pencil across his lips, almost as if he’s kissing it. I even catch a glimpse of his pink tongue when he opens his mouth.

I turn away, my breaths short. My head spinning. I’m confused. Why is he suddenly acknowledging me now? He doesn’t know I’m going with him to his house. I’ll be there for a week.

With him.

Finally, the bell rings. Class is over. I take my time gathering my things, hating how Figueroa stands by the door, wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving as they leave. I just want to make my escape without any acknowledgement.

Whit leaves his desk at the same time as I leave mine, the both of us meeting at the door and Figueroa doesn’t even look at him.

His eyes are only for me.

“Think about it,” he tells me mysteriously. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, Summer.”

“You too,” I say, shooting through the door as fast as possible.

Whit is right behind me, his fingers curling around my arm and stopping me from getting away from him. “What the hell was that all about?”

There are hardly any people in the hall, but he’s still touching me in front of others, which is shocking. “How is it any of your business?”

“Don’t play games with me, Savage.” His fingers lock around my wrist and he drags me behind him, turning right down a short hallway, until we’re tucked away in a quiet alcove with no one else around us. “What was Figueroa talking about?”

My pulse throbs beneath his touch. Can he feel it? Does he know how much he still affects me? God, I’m so weak. I should be pissed at him. Instead, I’m all amped up, hoping he won’t stop talking. “It was nothing.”

Whit steps closer, his chest brushing mine, making me suck in a sharp breath. “Tell me,” he practically growls.

“He wants me to be his TA,” I admit, wondering why he’s acting this way. “It’s no big deal.”

“He’s a perv who tries to sleep with his students. They almost always start out as his TA,” he says, disgust lacing his voice. “It’s a big deal.”

My mouth drops open. “You’re kidding.”

“Would I really lie about that?”

“Why doesn’t someone stop him?” Like you, I want to add, but I don’t.

“No one’s actually ever caught him in the act. And none of the girls he’s been with tell on him,” he explains. “Anytime someone brings it up, he’s always got a story. An excuse. Same with the girls. He never gets with them when they’re underclassmen. It’s almost always with senior girls. It’s this well-known secret that no one ever really talks about.”

“You could do something about it, you know. Your name is on the sign out front. You can make people disappear,” I remind him, thinking of Bryan. And Elliot.

“He’s never actually done anything criminal yet—that he’s been caught for. He’s just creepy.” Whit releases his hold on me and takes a step backward, as if needing the distance. He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. Frustration with me? With himself? With Figueroa? I’ll never know, since he would never tell me. “And why am I bothering trying to explain this to you? Just—watch out, okay? His motives aren’t pure.”

Says the boy with the most impure motives I’ve ever seen in my life. “Are you giving me a warning?”

“For your own safety,” he clarifies. “I’d do it for my sisters.”

“So now you think of me like a sister.”

He scowls. I smile.

“Absolutely not,” he says irritably. “I don’t want to fuck my sister, thank Christ.”

My skin goes warm at his admission, and I decide to change the subject. “Did you know we share the same birthday?”

“What do you—it’s your birthday?” He sounds confused.

I nod. Reach out and rest my hand on his chest, tugging lightly on his tie. “Eighteen and finally legal.”

“Same,” he says with the barest smile.

I don’t release my hold on his tie. I don’t understand where all this boldness is coming from either, but I’m going with it. I think about telling him I’m going with them for Thanksgiving break, but I decide to not push my luck. He’ll find out soon enough, though I’m sure he’ll be pissed when he finds out, no matter when. “We haven’t talked in forever.”

He snorts, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. “After what happened Halloween night, I thought it best I avoid you. Figured you’d prefer it that way.”

I just stare at him, my emotions conflicting. Warring with each other. “You saved me from Bryan, Whit. He was going to rape me. And then you got rid of him from campus. Just banished him as if you’re the king and you can make people disappear.”

“I can,” he says with a menacing grin. “Keep finding yourself in trouble, Savage, and I can make you disappear too.”

“You would never,” I tell him, noting the flicker in his gaze. A sign of weakness? “You’d miss me too much.”

“I have Caitlyn keeping me warm,” he taunts. “She’s not as depraved as you, but she’ll do.”

I frown, unable to stop it. “You pretend it’s me when you kiss her?”

“I pretend she’s you when I kiss her, when I eat her dry little pussy and when I fuck her,” he says, making me flinch. He laughs. “Keep believing what you want, Savage. I’m enjoying it.”

His words confuse me. I blink at him, unsure of what to say next.

“No flirtatious comeback? Or are you really worried I’m fucking Caitlyn every night now that you’re out of my life?” He chuckles. “She follows me everywhere. She begs me to let her touch my dick, but I won’t let her.”

“Why not?” I snap.

“She’s too eager to please.” He shrugs.

“I thought you liked us submissive.”

He grabs hold of my arm, yanking me to him. “I prefer them argumentative, so then I can put them in their place. Like you.”

My skin warms at his words, at the way he looks at me. “You know,” I say, reaching for his tie once again, running my fingers down the length of it, as far as I can reach. “You never did give me my journal back.”

His gaze darkens, turning stormy. “Is that all this is about? You rubbing all over me, in the hopes I’d return your journal?”

My jaw drops. “I’m not rubbing all over you.”

He glances down and I do the same, noting how close our bodies are. I’m practically standing on top of his shoes. “I’d beg to differ,” he mutters, returning his icy blue gaze to mine.

I yank on his tie extra hard before I take hurried steps back, anger suffusing me. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Not a fucking thing,” he retorts. “Like I said, I’m trying to avoid you.”

His words hurt, and I don’t know why. “You have something I want.”

“I’m not giving it back to you,” he says with deadly finality. “So quit asking.”

None of this is about the journal, and we both know it. “Why do you want it, huh? What does it matter? Just give it back to me. Please.” I’m practically begging him, and I feel stupid. “Think of it as a birthday present.”

“I’d rather give you something else for a present,” he says, his tone low.

Dirty.

Frustrated, I turn on my heel and start walking.

He storms after me, his hand catching the crook of my elbow, turning me around to face him. I stare at his coldly handsome features, my lips parted, ready to call him an asshole, but he swoops in, his hands cupping my cheeks as he presses his mouth to mine.

My arms fall at my sides, helpless to the drugging power of his kiss. He devours me, his tongue sliding into my mouth, his fingers gripping my face firmly. He groans when my tongue meets his and we stand there, not touching at all, save for his hands on my cheeks and our mouths connected.

Whit ends it first, his breathing harsh as he lets go of my cheeks and slowly backs away. “Happy fucking birthday to me,” he says.

I stand there, shaking, unable to speak. What would I say?

He stares at me for a moment longer, just before he turns on his heel and leaves.