Crown of Thorns

6

“Have you seen him shirtless? Dear God, you could wash laundry against his abs. His body is fucking perfect.”

I tug in a sharp breath through my teeth that Margaret doesn’t seem to notice as she prattles on and on about her newest obsession: Phoenix. She’s been talking about him for at least five minutes straight, and I’m about on my last nerve. I glance at Gia, who’s sitting on the other side of Margaret and looking just as a

This is part of our regular routine for the day. We meet up before class starts just to talk—at one of our lockers or in the campus courtyard. Since it’s warm out this morning, we’re outdoors, huddled together on one of the concrete benches and watching our classmates filter in and out of the main building. Normally, this is one of my favorite parts of the day because it’s my chance to be around people that I genuinely like.

It’s not so much fun, though, when Margaret won’t shut the hell up about a guy who is clearly an asswipe and also not interested in her.

“Harmony Dorsey shouldn’t even bother to try,” Margaret continues, not looking up from her English homework as she furiously scribbles an answer. “Like he’d go for someone so obvious and desperate. Did you see how she practically threw herself at him at lunch yesterday? The nasty bitch sat in his lap, right there in front of everyone. I could tell he was pissed.”

Honestly, I hadn’t noticed, but an image of Phoenix after Spanish yesterday flashes through my mind. I think he was just pissed, period, which isn’t exactly shocking since fury seems to be one of his two primary emotions. What is shocking, however, is Margaret. She never pays attention to what other girls are doing around guys she’s interested in, so it’s odd for her to eviscerate Harmony like this.

“Since when do you shit-talk the competition?” Gia’s voice cuts in my thoughts.

Margaret’s head snaps up from her notebook and she stares at our friend like she’s sprouted an extra boob. “I’m just saying. Harmony’s at least better than Sydney, I guess. She has gym with us, and I swear if she rolls her shorts up another inch, I’m going to lose my shit.”

I steal a peek at her plaid skirt that seems to get a little shorter each day and arch a brow. “But it’s okay for you?”

“Are you serious? Jesus Christ, whose side are you on, Joss?” She slams her notebook closed and shoves it inside her backpack. Shooting to her feet, she points a manicured finger at me. “You do remember that these are the same girls that called you fat whenever you looked at them the wrong way, right?”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter.

Her blue eyes roll toward the sky. “Fuck, Joss, you know what I mean, I…”

Honestly, I zone out as I share another look with Gia. She’s twisting the tail of her long braid around her fingertips, her brown eyes flashing with concern. I almost want to say aloud, “Same, girl. Same.”

Focusing on Margaret again, I say, “No matter what those girls used to call me, your boy is still shit. You see how he uses and humiliates everyone around him. Is that what you really want?”

Margaret does the dismissive rich girl wave. It’s so Kallista-esque that it turns my stomach. “He’s just misunderstood,” she insists, plopping back down on the bench. She nudges my shoulder. “It can’t be easy being in his position, knowing everyone wants a piece of you because of who you are and how much you have. I’m sure he’s just cautious and keeps everyone at a distance so he doesn’t get hurt.”

I almost snort at her ridiculous assumptions. Phoenix Townsend isn’t misunderstood. He’s exactly the kind of person he presents himself to be. Cold, unfeeling, and a borderline sociopath. I don’t understand what’s going on with Margaret. She’s not naïve, and she’s always realistic. What is it about Phoenix Townsend that makes her act so stupid?

Good looks can only go so far.

Grinding my teeth, I glance away from her, needing a moment to gather my thoughts before I go in for round 9,439. As if our conversation has summoned him, I spot Phoenix coming out of the fitness center. He cuts through the courtyard, Alaric and some other hot, muscle-bound guy glued to his side like the loyal lemmings they are. They don’t even glance our way as they pass, and I roll my eyes at the arrogance that oozes from them. The sad part is, I don’t remember feeling that from Alaric when I met him at the music store back in June.

I wouldn’t have sucked face with him had I known he was a closet douchebag.

Every time I think about it, I want to kick myself. I’m usually a much better judge of character than that. So far, the only real positive thing I’ve heard about him is that he’s supposed to be this superstar football player, but I can’t even confirm that since I haven’t seen him play and have zero plans to watch.

Whatever. Neither guy is my problem. I don’t matter to them, and there’s no reason they should matter to me.

Fortunately, the first bell rings. “I’ll see you at lunch,” I quickly say in lieu of goodbye, my legs already moving in the direction of the main building because every last inch of me is grateful to be able to extract myself from such an infuriating conversation.

Second block is easily my favorite part of my school day. Choir. It’s the only class where I can enjoy my deep passion for music without having to pay for lessons. Even though we have several new teachers this year due to the consolidation, Miss Olsen is still our choir director. She’s one of those teachers that really gives a damn, and it shows in the music she picks out for us. There’s only one thing I can’t stand about the class, and it has nothing to do with the subject.

Gideon Townsend.

A part of me is hopeful that he’ll turn out to be a decent human being, that maybe Phoenix is an anomaly in the family. So far, though, that’s not the case. Gideon’s only in the class to fuck-off with his entitled prick friends and for an easy grade. Like with his brother, I do my best to avoid and ignore him when I can. He’s not worth the headache.

But today, just as I’m reaching the choir room, I run into the headache himself. With his unruly hair and tall frame, it startles me every time I see him how much he looks like his brother. He’s slimmer than Phoenix, and his eyes are more blue than green, but the smirk that splits his perfect features is almost identical to his brother’s.

Almost.

“Excuse me,” I grumble.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then he freezes, his brow furrowing. Suddenly, he looks … stu

“Stop blocking the door, Townsend! You can eye-fuck the bitch inside,” someone snaps from behind him, and it’s only then that I realize we’ve been standing in front of the classroom doorway for several moments.

Gideon seems to snap out of his daze, blinking rapidly at me. Under his breath, he mutters, “Nice earrings.” Then he ducks into the classroom, leaving me standing in the door.

I reach up and finger one of the tiny roses in confusion. What the actual hell?