Page 8 of Uppercut Princess

Before I head to bed, I throw away the cookies Brawler’s mom made. I smile when they thunk one-by-one into the trash. He wasn’t kidding. His mom can’t cook. He probably saved me from chipping a tooth.

Him walking away also saved me from getting involved in something I shouldn’t. I have one focus and one focus only while I’m here.

4

The swelling in my face has gone down the next morning. Heavy makeup hides some of it but it’s still noticeable that I got my ass beat yesterday. It’s a fine line I’m trying to walk, actually. I want to seem demure, but at the same time, I can’t become a target. If I become a target, they’ll stop at nothing to take me down. People prey on the weak. It’s just the hierarchy of things. It’s like the food chain. The lions eat the smaller animals and the smaller animals eat the even smaller animals, plus plants and shit.

I can’t be a plant. Or shit.

I hike my bookbag up my shoulder as I fall in line with the other kids who live in my building who are now making their way toward school. The back of my neck heats. I have no doubt several people stare, wondering why the hell I’m even bothering with school today. Though rough, Rawley Heights isn’t that big. Everyone knows I’m the new girl, and everyone knows Oscar made that declaration about me only lasting two days. Maybe they’re trying to find a way to make that happen. Everyone wants to get on the good side of one of the Heights Crew.

I run my hands through my hair and casually look over my shoulder. Instead of seeing some sharp-eyed bitch making plans for me, I find Brawler. He’s not looking at me. In fact, it’s like he’s making a point not to look at me, which makes me think he was definitely the one giving off the vibe that I was being watched.

His attention unnerves me. It’s what I want—what I need—to accomplish what I’ve come here to do, but I think I’ve gained his attention in a way I didn’t mean to. I should’ve known better than to show my attraction to him, but it was literally impossible to deny. He basically personifies my entire wish list—and he’s in the flesh, not just in my head.

I move to the edge of the sidewalk and slow down, pretending I have to tie my shoes so he’ll pass me. He turns his head to glare at me, and I give him a disinterested look as I kneel. He walks past, and I get a glimpse of his threadbare shirt that’s doing a terrible job of covering up his sinewy muscle. His jeans hug his ass with perfection, and he strides like he’s a runway model though he’d kill anyone who made that reference. It’s the confidence in the way he walks that gives me that vibe, not a flare for the dramatics. He owns himself. People part for him because of who he is, but also the way he carries himself. When he gets to the next street, he stops to lean against the pole littered with rusty, leftover staples, a representation of party fliers from the local bar and clubs.

I know that because that’s where I did my research. That’s where I learned about the Heights Crew. It’s amazing what you can pick up by standing in the shadows of a disgusting bar, watching and listening. Drunk girls have no filter, so it was easy to listen to the names I needed. From there, it was just putting the faces with the names.

A few weeks ago, I witnessed Brawler fight. Well, I witnessed himalmostget into a fight which was scary as fuck—and a turn-on. The anger that washed over him crept out of nowhere. Even now, I don’t understand his trigger only that it had something to do with a girl. A girl I don’t even think Brawler is seeing. From what I’ve heard, he’s one of the unattainables. He’s like the guy every girl wants to fuck but can’t get because he always has a girlfriend. With Brawler, there’s no girlfriend, but there’s that same air ofdon’t even bother. No one gets close enough to him despite rampant attempts by desperate girls.

Before I know it, we’re walking side-by-side on the way to school. Actually, he’s even dropped back a few steps to the same position he was in before I stopped to tie my shoes. I clench my jaw. He must be playing at something. He must be paying just as much attention to me as I am to him, or how would we have ended up thereagain?

Worry seeps into me. Kids from the Heights are cutthroat. This could be about anything. Brawler could be setting me up. Sure, he didn’t seem all that bad yesterday when he delivered his mother’s terrible fucking cookies to my apartment, but that was outside of school, outside the crew. Family shit doesn’t have anything to do with gangs. They’re two separate entities. A gang banger could do a drive-by and then go home to his kids, reading to them before bed. Does that make him less of a killer?

No.

“Your neck’s all red,” a gruff voice remarks.

The tenor makes my joints lock up. “I’m hot,” I lie. It spews from my mouth on its own accord. I sigh, wanting to take it back. Right now, I’m supposed to be scared Kyla. I should’ve told Brawler the second day at Rawley Heights doesn’t sound appealing to me, but instead, my real personality came out.

He casts me a sideways glance but looks straight ahead again. With the look on his face, I would think he’d be going back to ignoring me, but that’s not the case at all. Brawler’s like a silent killer. Unless he’s in full-on fight mode, of course. When he’s out of the ring, he’s more like me. He’s aware of his situation. He doesn’t boast or talk just to hear the shit that comes out of his mouth. People know he’s a threat because of his past actions, not because of the threats that pour out of his mouth over every little thing. It’s people like Brawler you need to watch out for.

Brawler walks just behind me until we get to the metal detectors in front of the school. There’s a back up this morning, and I realize I’ve gotten here a little later than I wanted. I might not have enough time to switch my lock out before first period.

When it’s my turn, I drop my bag on the table. It thunks, and the security guard raises his eyebrows at me. “What the fuck are you packing?”

I don’t answer, preferring to let him look through my bag himself.

He smirks as he pulls out the head of the bolt cutters. He shakes his head while turning his gaze to me. “No weapons in school.”

“It’s not a weapon. It’s to cut off the broken lock on my locker.”

He makes a humorless noise in the back of his throat, clearly telling me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Without uttering another word, he pulls the bolt cutters out and starts to chuck them in the trashcan next to him.

I stare him down. There’s no way I thought they’d give me trouble for these. It’s not like I’m packing a knife or a crude shiv. “Look,” I say. “It’s not a weapon.”

“Sorry, Princess.” The guard winks at me.

My hands turn to fists. I glare at him as he moves the bolt cutters over the trash. He looks to Brawler with a smirk, like he should get extra points for this, but instead, his lips thin. My body tenses as the large expanse of Brawler’s chest crowds me. “Those are fine,” he says.

The guard looks from the bolt cutters to Brawler again. “You trust this chick with these? I heard she gave Nevaeh a hard time.”

“Nevaeh shouldn’t start fights if she’s worried about someone stopping them.”

The guard shrugs like he could give a fuck and places the cutters back in my bag slowly, deliberately, like he’s doing what Brawler told him to do, but he’s not very happy about it. When he’s done, I snatch my bag out of his hands and walk away. My skin’s flushed. My mind is whirring. Why would Brawler follow me to school and then vouch for me over the bolt cutters? He has no idea what I’m going to do with these, and now that I think about it, hitting Nevaeh upside the head with these is a really good fucking idea. It would teach her not to attack from behind.

Footsteps thud behind me. They stay there until I get to my locker and stop when I stop. I spin on my heel, facing Brawler. I’m about to open my mouth to tell him to back off, but he’s already ripped and roaring to go, effectively shutting me up. “The Heights isn’t like wherever you came from.”

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