Big Haired Bitches - 9. Tomorrow, When the War Began

The night before my first day back at school wasn’t unlike the night before my first day at Summit Hill, almost two months before. It felt like a lifetime, but I still remembered the feeling of fear mixed with anxiety and excitement. It was like being a poor kid on Christmas Eve. What was under the tree could truly be an amazing gift that had stretched your parent’s wallet to the max, but they bought that bike because they loved you… or it could be something god awful like a used paint set with several of the colors missing. It could go either way, and so could my re-debut into Summit Hill society.

As per the doctor’s orders, I spent a full week at home after they popped my shoulder back into place, holding it together in a sling that Steven swore was fetching. After that week, I was chomping at the bit to get back. Two weeks away and this cat was ready to play.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go back?” my dad asked. He’d been more than happy to pay Steven to keep me up to date on my assignments, acting more like a private tutor than a boyfriend until my dad went to sleep.

“Dad, I’m fine. My bruising is gone. My shoulder is fine. I’m just falling more and more behind the more I stay in bed and not go to class,” I said. He knew it was a lie. Steven was a great tutor, and totally respectful of the time my dad was paying him for. I couldn’t even convince the guy to give me a casual handy j between English readings until he clocked out at eleven.

“I just want to make sure you aren’t going to get into any more trouble,” my dad said with convincing concern.

“Dad, I think I learned my lesson,” I assured him. “Things are different, and the girl who did this is far, far away.”

“I certainly hope so, son,” he said. He kissed me on the forehead, pushing my hair back in his passive/aggressive way of indicating I was overdue for a haircut, and he left my room, closing the door with a click.

A second later, Steven popped his head through my window and climbed through.

“The coast clear?” he asked, getting better at the sexy smile thing.

“The coast is so clear,” I replied, pulling him down on top of me and kissing him intensely. It was our nightly ritual and we had perfected it over the course of the week. Steven would come over after rowing and a shower at six. He’d eat dinner with my dad and me, on the clock of course. At about 6:30, we’d go to the living room and study until I was done dishing on Sister Carrie or trying to understand the importance of a Punnett Square.

He’d say goodnight, shake my father’s hand and then leave, driving his car around the block and sneaking back in from the side.

I would tell my dad goodnight. He’d follow me up to make sure I was in bed okay, and then by 11:15, my dad would be in his room, and Steven would be back in mine.

“Mmm,” he moaned into my mouth. “Don’t forget your signed doctor’s notes tomorrow or your absences won’t be excused.”

I nodded and pulled his face back down to mine. I pushed up with my hips and created a strong friction between my cotton clad dick and his. I loved that he was almost always hard from the minute we started kissing. It was like he had a fluffer out on my balcony to get him ready for the main show in my room.

“Mmm,” he moaned again, lifting off my mouth. “Don’t forget that you have to turn in your Sister Carrie paper topic tomorrow.”

“Okay, I got it,” I said, slightly annoyed. I usually let him get away with three or four of those before I snapped, but that night, I was too on edge at having to go back to school. I needed him to fuck the anxiety away, not add to it.

I rolled him over so that I was on top. This time, I kept my lips planted firmly on his as I undressed us, not allowing him to speak until I sat up, reached behind me and rolled a condom over his dick.

Steven always got this gleeful look in his eyes just before he slipped his dick into me. It was like he was a kid about to enter a candy store and he could already taste the delectable delights that awaited him inside. I was his Juicy Fruit.

The more he practiced, the better Steven got. I knew my investment in him would pay off. At the beginning, I used to amuse myself as he pumped away sloppily by rubbing my hands on the world’s flattest stomach or caressing his chiseled arms. By Friday, his technique had improved, with substantial coaching, to the point where I enjoyed most, if not all, of the penetration situation.

My coaching method was simple. I would moan and groan when something he did was effective. If it wasn’t, I would wince. Even if it didn’t hurt. I would wince to let him know not to do that again. Other than that, I encouraged him to try new things, and eventually, he got good at some of them.

His stamina improved tenfold as well. It was a wonder what a dollop of KY warming cream and a tight ass could do to a guy, but those first few sessions were embarrassing by any standard. Still, I stuck with it, and by Wednesday, he was plowing away for a solid ten minutes before the cream got too warm or the ass felt too tight.

By Friday, twelve minutes was the lucky number. I must have been doing something special by being on top on Sunday because after a few minutes of riding him like a dirty little cowboy, Steven reverted back to his slightly premature ways; he bucked up and shot his load right into the pointy tip at the end of the condom before I could rev up all cylinders.

Proud of my man, if not slightly disappointed, I stroked myself and came a few minutes later, right onto his chest.

A quick clean up and a goodbye kiss sent him repelling down the side of my house and off to his own Summit Hill mansion.

I spent the rest of the night counting sheep to no avail. I knew that when I stepped foot inside Summit Hill High School in less than eight hours, everything would be completely different.

I had a killer outfit planned for my re-debut, in case anyone was still confused about who was in charge. I wore a pair of brand new Seven jeans, a simple red J. Crew sweater, and an off-the-market Marc Jacobs khaki cropped trench coat with an oversized collar and blue piping. It cost more than the majority of my closet combined, but the good thing about being on medical house arrest is that online shopping was the one of the only sanctioned forms of exercise.

I parked my rental BMW in my faculty spot and hung out until the first bell. First to join me was of course the ever loyal Taylor. He had been keeping the fort safe in my absence, delivering progress reports via text every morning. I had instructed him to keep the buzz up about when I would return, and he had done so brilliantly.

Also on his task list was to keep an eye on Eric. I didn’t expect Satan’s next of kin to go down quietly, and so Taylor was tasked with keeping tabs on him. In a report I didn’t totally trust, it appeared Eric had thrown himself into lacrosse after his sister left. I filed him under Dormant Dragons and moved on.

Finally, Taylor was supposed to stay up to date on Tori intel. Her returning suddenly was my biggest fear and it actually kept me up at night, in a paralyzing, recurring dream sort of way. Taylor’s progress reports included information on the bitch’s whereabouts, and as far as I knew, she was in Pennsylvania, sipping on lattes and soaking in cedar.

“Why, look who it is,” Taylor said, striding towards me in a stylish red and blue outfit of his own. A new regime required new colors. And solidarity.

“You look sharp,” I said, channeling my dad in a way that surprised me. “How is everything?”

“Excellent. No one expects to see you. People are getting comfortable. It’s time to shake things up and remind folks what the social order is.”

“First on the agenda?”

“I will say that following her win, Alexandria Pekov has been getting real smug. I saw her eyeing center court last week like it was a badly needed carb,” he said in rapid fire. “She thinks since she’s the prettiest thing next to Tori, popularity too should follow Tori’s exile. I say you remind her that that is not necessarily true.”

“Noted,” I said, surveying my domain behind my Armani shades. I kept my cool on the outside, but inside I was quaking. I had no clue how to be a Queen Bee. I barely had a clue how to be around the Queen Bee before I became the Queen Bee. I was a walking work in progress.

Luckily, my rock and my shield showed up shortly thereafter to take my mind off things. I didn’t talk cliques around Steven because I knew it annoyed him. He tolerated my obsession with the in-crowd like one tolerates Ewan McGregor’s mole. We’d all rather it not be there, and as long there’s no lasting close up, everything is fine.

“Ready for class, babe?” he asked, scooping me close and kissing me on the forehead. I leaned up and gave him a real kiss. No one knew that the world’s sexiest rower was my secret weapon, but indeed he was. And with him by my side, I was ready.

The whispers began as soon as I stepped foot into the quadrangle and walked a straight path to the junior hallway. I didn’t acknowledge anyone as I crossed through, including the dethroned Whit. Instead, I let them stare at Taylor, Steven, and I as we sauntered through, all eyes on us.

As soon as we rounded the corner, the pin-needle silence erupted into a whirlwind of whispers.

“I heard he killed her. Plain and simple.”

“He had her sent to a cult compound.”

“No way. She’s still in her coma and he’s paying to keep her there.”

“Was he always that gorgeous?”

“I heard he’s parlaying all the media into an MTV reality show a la The Hills. I hope I can be his Lo.”

And so forth and so on until I was neatly tucked away in my morning Calculus class.

It turns out in a crafty move, Steven had actually tutored me ahead of the class, allowing me to spend the déjà vu lecture thinking of my first big move as Queen.

It was clear that I needed a girl in my group. Getting rid of Whit had changed the social dynamic quite a bit. Girls envy other girls much more than they envy gay guys. Having a girl in tow would give them that little bit of hope that they could be in, but at the end of the day, they went to bed knowing their chances were slimmer than Kate Moss on a weekend coke diet.

I weighed my options. I needed someone strong but sheepish. Someone with humor but who wasn’t talky. I wanted someone I could stand but not grow attached to. By the time the Calc lecture wrapped up, I settled my sights on a beautifully unassuming girl whose family came from old oil money. Her hair was blonde and big and choosing her would make Alexander Pekov lime green with envy. Claire Montgomery.

I spotted Claire as soon as I stepped foot into the hallway. It was almost like lesser students cleared a direct path for me. As I walked slowly, I gave a few people the eye and the nod as if I was about to address them. I didn’t. I walked straight towards Claire.

“Where you eating lunch, doll?” I asked in a voice I wouldn’t have recognized as my own. She looked at me startled, and then quickly got her bearings back.

“You tell me, Logan,” she replied with a knowing smile. The friends she was standing with, including Alex P., gazed on in wonderment.

“I’ll see you on the bench under the big tree,” I said. “Toodles.”

I walked away with entitlement laced with authority, swearing I could hear the girls giggle and squeal behind me.

If I thought the whole day would run smoothly, I was more than mistaken. The quick assent to the top of the heap came with a few drawbacks. My biggest one was Eric.

I sat down in my usual spot in English class, ignoring the stack of books that were already there. A mousy kid came in shortly after me and I gave him my best chilling smile. He moved his books and sat clear across the room.

I wanted to be next to Eric during the class, if for no other reason than to show him that I had no intention of keeping bad blood between us. He was a good guy. He’d just attached his star to the wrong wagon.

He came in, saw me smiling at him, and walked clear across to the other side of the room. He literally couldn’t have been sitting further from me. I followed him with my shaded eyes, both pissed off and disappointed.

The discussion on Sister Carrie began and I quickly zoned out. Instead of paying attention, I wrote a simple note, put Eric’s name on it and passed it slickly behind me.

Let’s talk. Before lunch by the columns?

I didn’t watch the note travel there or turn to see his reaction when he got it. Instead, I raised my hand and answered the question on the floor.

“At the end of the day, you can’t blame Carrie for doing whatever it took to advance her career and her social position. It’s how we’re wired as humans. Everyone strives for social mobility.”

“Mr. Chancer has a good point. Would anyone like to counter?”

“There are more important things in life than who you hang out with, go to the theater with, and eat lunch with,” Eric’s voice boomed from the opposite end of the room. “Carrie whored herself to the top and destroyed several lives along the way.”

I could feel the heat coming from his glare, but I refused to turn around. A second later, I got the note back. I casually opened it.

Not in a million years.

I filed that away under lost causes and moved on.

The dynamic at lunch was completely different than I anticipated. Sitting on the bench in center quad was drastically different than sitting on the floor. It was like I could lord over people, even those sitting higher than me. Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of someone staring and I’d stare back until they quivered just a little.

When you send the most popular girl in school into a coma, I realized, people are fascinated with you. Nervous, but fascinated. And it surprised me that a simple twist of my head had people scurrying in all directions.

“We need to have a party this weekend,” I said, interrupting whatever it was that Claire was saying. It wasn’t important, I surmised. She could have been sharing nuclear codes and I would have surmised the same thing.

“Mm, I agree,” Taylor chimed. We both looked at Claire. She needed to go, I decided.

“We can have it at my place,” she said. She could stay.

She explained the layout of her house, the dimensions of her pool, and then we hammered out the details. Friday night from nine to whenever. She’d deal with her parents. Taylor would front load the finances and I would executive produce the entire thing. I instructed them not to say anything to anyone about the party until Wednesday. It was my only big announcement for the day. After declaring I wanted a party, I sat back and remained mostly quiet for the rest of lunch.

      **

When I got home that evening, my dad was waiting for me, eager to see how I was doing. I told him I was aces.

“Your pain meds didn’t make you drowsy?” he asked.

“No Dad,” I replied. I weaseled my way around him and to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Like the father he was quickly learning how to be, he followed me through the living and into the kitchen.

“Does your arm feel okay?”

“It feels fine,” I replied.

“Good,” he said. “Oh and an Eric Perse called.”

My head shot up at him. I couldn’t control my face, and my big eyes must have given it away.

“What did he want?”

“He said he was responding to your note,” my dad replied. “I told him you’d be home soon and he said he was going to stop by.”

I looked at my dad for a second, licking stray strawberry jam off my finger.

“On second thought those pain meds are making me a little drowsy, Dad,” I said evenly. “When he gets here, tell him I’m taking a nap.”

I closed the two slices of bread together and waltzed upstairs.

“When should I tell him to come back?” my dad called after me.

“Let’s go with never…” I replied with more attitude than I intended.

      **

“We have an issue.” The ball dropped out of Taylor’s mouth on Thursday. By then, everyone who was anyone knew that Taylor and I were throwing our first party under the new regime. Claire had proven her salt beyond simply annoying white noise by securing her amazing home and getting her parents to spend the night at a downtown hotel. Taylor’s parents were more than eager to finance the party since he was ‘feeling down at losing his best friend’ and with my name attached, everyone would be there to see how He-Who-Overthrew-Tori would get down.

With a simple glance, I asked Taylor what the issue was. I wasn’t keen on being stressed out during lunch. Not when all eyes were on me.

“Sydney Yuki is throwing a party tomorrow night,” he said. “At first, I didn’t think it was an issue, but I heard some of the football guys talking about possibly going. Apparently some of Sydney’s older sister’s friends from Rice will be there… they’re Tri-Delts.”

In the four days since I had moved up the social ladder, I had learned a couple of things, including how to control my face in the eye of bad news. It was a skill that had to be practiced. Facial control was key. If I panicked, my team would know we were in deep shit. So I kept my cool.

On her own, Sydney Yuki wasn’t a big threat. Sure she was gorgeous with adorable pacific islander features, long sun streaked hair—always adorned with an adorable flower—and a caramel complexion that was a gift from whatever God ruled her native Hawaii. And sure she was a star athlete, the setter for the volleyball, a three time letter winner and a shoe-in to play volleyball at the university of Hawaii.

But she wasn’t cutthroat.

Whatever she was planning, however she intended to take advantage of this lame duck period, I couldn’t let her succeed. On her own, she was nothing. But in the midst of all a regime change, the right power move could have elevated her status significantly.

It was obvious that if Sydney Yuki’s party was a success over mine, my reputation as an effective Tori replacement would be shot. I needed to show the bitch that not only did she make a mistake planning an event opposite me, but I needed to show everyone else that that kind of behavior would not be tolerated.

“I’ll handle it,” I said coolly, a minute later, Claire returned to her yapping ways and I quickly zoned out.

Steven asked me about the party plans after he crawled through the window of my room that night.

“Everything is going great,” I said, letting my guard down during the only time of day that I could. He put me at ease in a special way, and lying in his nook, I wished he didn’t have to sneak back out soon and mission impossible his way home.

“You don’t sound great about it,” he said. His lips were close to my ear and his body was so incredibly warm behind me.

“It’s just… it’s… you don’t want to hear about it,” I said. I knew that my scheming and plotting got on his nerves. He preferred to see the relaxed, calm side of me, and I didn’t want to bring my stress to the bedroom.

“Tell me about it,” he replied. “Maybe I can help somehow.”

“Okay,” I said, sitting up and facing him. I pulled a sheet over my naked bottom half. “It’s Sydney Yuki. For whatever reason, she decided to plan a party on the same night as my inaugural bash. And it wouldn’t be a big deal, only she got the entire Tri-Delt sorority from Rice to come, meaning every guy worth anything at Summit is going to go to her party in the hopes of getting some college pussy.”

By the time I was done, I was out of breath.

“Okay, calm down,” Steven reassured. “You’re resourceful. What can you offer that Sydney can’t?”

“I don’t know… better blow jobs?”

“I’d rather you not blow all of the popular guys at Summit.” He smiled.

“I have nothing.”

“Okay… then how can you take away what she can offer?” he asked in a tone that surprised me. I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Level the playing field.”

“Are you getting into this?” I asked with a smirk.

“I just… if you’re going to go head to head with someone I want you to win,” he said, lifting up onto one elbow so that we were almost face to face. “I can’t be falling for a loser.”

I smiled down at him and gave him a kiss. I spent the rest of our time that night making out and thinking how I could cut Sydney down in one day.

      **

The plan was simple. No bells and whistles, no elaborate plots, and certainly no public humiliation. Sydney Yuki had the ace of spades. I somehow needed to take away her deck. For that, I simply ran two Google searches and then directed two phone calls.

First, I had my resident mouthpiece Claire call the Dean of Greek Life at Rice University.

“Dean Wilson, this is Caitlyn Knapp with the National Panhellenic Board, and we have a few concerns regarding some rush practices at Rice. It’s been brought to our attention that a number of sororities are participating in illegal rush, hazing practices, underage drinking, and the targeting of high school students before their rush eligibility begins. As you know, these charges are serious and we would hate to have to pull Rice’s National Panhellenic Charter. We trust that you’ll take care of this matter and save us the trouble of coming to Houston to investigate; it’s just an incredible amount of paperwork.”

She read off the script like an old professional. I couldn’t have been prouder. Within minutes, the dean would be sending out emails to every house on campus. Minutes after that, each house would be put on strict notice. Although I was certain Tri-Delt’s little field trip would be cancelled shortly after, I couldn’t take the chance. Hence, phone call number two.

“Patricia Yuki?” Claire asked into the phone after looking up the Tri-Delt social chair and discovering, conveniently, that she was none other than Sydney’s older sister.

“This is Patty,” the girl on the other line replied.

“Patricia, this is Caitlyn Knapp over at Nationals. We just got an interesting phone call from the Dean of Greek Life at Rice speculating that a few sororities planned on participating in an illegal rush event tonight,” Claire’s srat voice was so spot on, I could have died listening to it. She was a natural.

“Um, I’m not aware of any registered event,” Patty replied coolly.

“Patricia, poodle.” Perfect, I thought. “We all know that there are those events that aren’t always put into the books. Especially when mommy and daddy are paying for them and not our social fund. Now, we here at Nationals would hate to think that some sisters are using illegal rush tactics like socializing with high school students in order to increase their bottom line in future years. It’s a very serious infraction, and one we would rather not want to investigate.”

“Um… okay,” Patty replied, clearing losing some of her luster.

“To be frank, with you, Sister Yuki. Cancel the event tonight or Nationals will be on your ass faster than Ryan Seacrest on a bottle of hair gel, do you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good, poodle. I’m sure there are plenty of fun things to do on campus tonight. Toodles.”

Claire hung up the phone and looked me with a grin. I gave her an approving smile, and together, we proceeded to the quad for lunch.

      **

The last I heard, as I watched the who’s who of Summit stream into Claire’s house later that night, Sydney Yuki had had to back peddle to everyone she told about Tri-Delt coming to her party. The girls hoping to snag some early favor with the sorority were pissed. The guys hoping to get laid by the notoriously slutty girls were even more pissed. By mid-afternoon, ours was once again the only ticket in town.

I spent a few minutes mixing and mingling downstairs, enduring the rumors and stares and basically playing up the fact that it was I who overthrew Tori. Once that got old, rather quickly to be honest, I found Steven and pulled him to Claire’s upstairs bedroom for a quick make out.

“You pulled it off,” he said with a smile as I straddled his lap. I didn’t know how I felt about him being proud of me. It felt bizarre. Up until his sudden interest the night before, it had felt as though a part of me was still grounded in him. I couldn’t afford for him to get tainted, because I was sure if he did, I’d lose myself into the Summit Hill universe forever.

“I did it, babe,” I said. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Of course,” he replied. We went back to kissing, which he did oh so well. I tried my best not to touch his boner because there was no way we were having sex in Claire’s bedroom. Even I had my decency limits.

Just as we were getting too hot and heavy to sustain, the door opened. I turned my head to see a girl I was sure I had seen but had never met before. My intuition told me she was a senior.

“Well, well,” she said in a high pitched, bordering on shrill voice. She was remarkably short, even in four-inch heels, and her hair, of course, was the size of Galveston. “If it isn’t the coup d’état himself.”

I pulled myself off Steven and turned to face this mystery gal.

“I’m sorry, we’re sort of in the middle of something. Can I help you?”

“As a matter-of-fact you can, Logan,” she replied with wide eyes. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your skills in handling the Sydney Yuki disaster. You spotted a threat and you neutralized it. Good job.”

“Um, thank you,” I said, forcing myself to keep my cool. I wished I knew who this woman was, but all I could do then was speculate.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said with a chill in her voice that made Tori sound like a melting snow cone. “You didn’t think you’d automatically rise to the top just by overthrowing Tori, did you? Come on, Logan. Even you’ve gotta be smarter than that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ask your butt buddy Taylor why I left Summit last year,” she said, her voice freezing me over in a way that petrified me. For such a tiny girl, she was one scary big haired bitch. “And then tell him that the bitch is back.”

Without offering me anything else, she turned and clacked her way out, leaving both Steven and I feeling chilled to the bone.