All the Little Lies: A High School Bully Romance Read online

  All the Little Lies

  S.J. Sylvis

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by S.J. Sylvis

  Stay up to date

  Acknowledgments

  All the Little Lies

  Copyright © 2020 S.J. Sylvis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This work is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published: S.J. Sylvis 2020

  [email protected]

  Cover Design: Taylor Danae Colbert

  Editing: Jenn Lockwood Editing

  Author’s Note

  All the Little Lies is a full-length standalone high school bully romance intended for MATURE readers. Please be aware that it contains triggers that some readers may find bothersome.

  Chapter One

  Hayley

  I stared down at my hand-me-down uniform. Plaid. Blue-and-white checkered fabric skittered along my skirt, hitting a few inches above my knees. The white stockings weren’t as white as they were when they were first worn—I’m certain of that—but at least the worn holes were on the soles of my feet and not running up the sides of my calves. The white dress shirt was undoubtedly supposed to fit snug, but on my angular frame, it hung loose, making me appear childish—even more so with the girly bow-like tie that was tied around my neck. If only it’d just strangle me all together.

  The gargoyles in front of the school stared at me with demonic eyes, and I almost shivered in my spot. I’d most definitely been in worse places, and everyone here, in all their ritzy glory, would realize that quickly when they got one good glance at my face. On the way here, I wondered if anyone would remember me. If they’d recognize me. If a certain somebody would recognize me. I was going to stick out like a sore thumb with the yellowing bruise on my eye and the healing cut on my lip. But I was a different girl now. My once glossy and long, ember-colored hair was now cut to my shoulders and dull—as if the life was sucked out of it, too. I was skinnier now, and although I went through puberty, my curves were almost nonexistent due to lack of nutrition. My stomach actually growled at the thought. All I had to do was make it to lunchtime so I could eat.

  And by eat, I meant steal an apple or something when no one was looking at me. It wasn’t as if Jill or Pete were going to give me any lunch money or pack me a nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a little love note in the shape of a heart that read Have a great day at school! I learned just what kind of people they truly were with a backhand right to my face last night. Great couple. The best. Definitely an A-plus for them as foster parents.

  With a hesitant hand, I latched onto the willowy brass handle on the school’s entrance. I was supposed to wait for Ann, my social worker, but I preferred to do this alone. If I’d learned anything in the last few years, it was that no one was going to look out for me as much as I’d look out for myself. Ann wasn’t going to scowl at the group of catty cheerleaders when they snickered at my unfit clothing, and she wasn't going to stand her ground when a rich, preppy boy tried to cop a feel. It was all on me.

  If I wanted to count on anyone in this world, all I had to do was look into a mirror.

  “Hayley! Wait up!” Speak of the broad herself. Ann hurried up the cobblestone steps in her clacking heels, her auburn hair blowing in the early autumn breeze, and her coffee was literally spilling over the edge of the Styrofoam cup. My mouth watered at the sight of it, and she must have sensed that, because she gave me a half-smile and thrusted it in my direction.

  I basked in its warmth as the creamy taste of hazelnut landed in my empty belly. I was so grateful for the coffee I almost thanked her, but then I put up my shields and remembered that I wasn’t exactly pleased with her. I know. Typical. Foster kid mad at their social worker. But as I glanced up at the skyscraper-tall prep school, I got angry all over again. It had been years since I’d attended English Prep Middle. My friends—and really, I meant Christian—had replaced me by now. We were seniors. He probably didn’t even remember me from middle school. Not true, and you know it. I surely remembered him. And I’d have been lying if I said there wasn’t a teeny, tiny part of me that longed for him to welcome me with open arms.

  I understood why it was crucial for me to be here at English Prep. Ann pulled some major strings, and with the help of my stellar GPA, the headmaster allowed me in on a scholarship. I should have been behind everyone else here because I’d been to three different high schools in the last four years. It would take me a little while to catch up, but school was literally the only thing I had. If I wanted any chance at surviving and getting the hell out of this town, this vulgar place, I needed to get a scholarship to attend a great college. I needed out. I had to make it out alive. I had to.

  “How were Jill and Pete last night? They seem like a really nice couple. Did you sleep well? How does your uniform fit? I tried my best to get you the size you needed. It goes against HR policy for me to use my own money to pay for things for you, so I had to get everything from the headmaster.” I continued to stare at Ann as I gulped more coffee down. She was talking a mile a minute, eyes darting all around. “So? How was it? Do you like Jill and Pete?”

  Did I like Jill and Pete? Ann had no idea how badly I wanted to say yes. She didn’t have even an inkling as to how much I wished they were a nice couple like they seemed on the outside. But I was sure she knew as well as I did that there was much more to people than met the eye. And Jill and Pete? They had a little hell running in their veins.

  “They were fine,” I lied. There was no point in telling her they were spiteful, ugly people. I’d been with them for twelve hours, and I had already learned so much about them.

  Jill catered to Pete. He whistled when his plate was empty or when he needed a beer, and she would come scurrying over the yellowing shag carpet to do whatever he wanted. I went ahead and excused myself last night when he asked her for a blowie—as if their new foster daughter wasn’t sitting three feet away.

  I couldn’t complain too much, though. It beat the la
st foster home—and juvie.

  Ann gave me a warm smile, and I almost caught myself latching onto it for dear life.

  “Shall we go in?” Ann opened the clad door, and I realized I was holding my breath. Little black dots danced around my vision before I exhaled. The giant entryway was empty and smelled of cleaning supplies. The tile floor looked as if it belonged in some ornate gallery or museum. The ceilings were at least twenty feet high with large windows cut out, letting in the natural light. Pristine was the word that came to mind as I gazed into the large opening in front of me. Tall stone pillars were to the right of us, which I assumed, by the way Ann’s heels were clacking in that direction, was the headmaster’s office.

  A small part of me was excited. What a breath of fresh air it would be to go to a school that prepared you for college, offering classes like British Literature and Astronomy instead of mundane classes consisting of how to use the proper grammatical form of the words to, too, and two. It’d be a change of pace to be around students who weren’t trying to get you to join their gang or selling drugs behind the graffiti-covered bathroom stalls during lunch. Not only did I have to watch my back at whatever home I was currently in, but I also had to watch myself at school, too. Once you were labeled the “foster kid,” a certain group emerged, and they tried their hardest to drag you under right with them. They thought you were just as broken as they were—and maybe I was. But that only made me run faster.

  Keep your head down, Hayley. Keep to yourself, Hayley. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t make eye contact. Keep your mouth shut. The times I had mentally told myself those lines were far too many.

  Ann cleared her throat as I tried to pull my skirt down. It was loose around my waist, so thankfully, it came down another half inch.

  “Hello, I’m Ann Scova. I have a meeting with Headmaster Walton.”

  A small, dainty, older woman peeked up from her rich, oak desk and pulled her glasses down to the tip of her tiny nose. “Yes, one moment please.”

  Ann looked over at me with her glittering eyes and gave me a hopeful smile. You and me both, sister.

  As soon as the door swung open, Ann rushed forward, and I followed after her. Once I stepped into Headmaster Walton’s office, I fought the urge to let my jaw drop. His office was bigger than any bedroom I had ever had. In fact, I was pretty sure it was bigger than foster home number three—the one with the tiny orange bathroom. I could barely pee without my knees touching the shower curtain.

  “Hello, Headmaster Walton. My name is Ann Scova; we talked on the phone a few days ago, discussing Hayley Smith.” Ann stuck her hand out and shook the short, plump man’s hand. He glanced at Ann, then to me, and then back to Ann.

  “Yes, our scholarship student.” He flipped through a file as he sat back down in his leather-backed chair. “Transferred from Oakland High, is it?”

  Ann raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows at me. I cleared my throat as she and I both took a seat in the Cadillac-like chairs placed at the foot of his desk. “Yes, Oakland High.”

  “Mmmm.” Headmaster Walton continued to read through my file, and I suddenly felt extremely self-conscious and vulnerable. I could only imagine what was in my file. “And I see you’ve attended a few other high schools in surrounding areas, yes?”

  “Yes, sir.” I held my tongue before I called him Your Honor. I kind of felt like I was back in the courtroom.

  He clasped his hands after shutting the file, looking me square in the eye. Naturally, I wanted to cower, but I was no longer that girl. I didn’t hide from confrontation; I pulled my shoulders back and held his stare confidently. “We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence, Ms. Smith.” I swallowed, holding my tongue. “Although you come highly recommended by the staff at Oakland High, I worry our curriculum will be tough for you, considering your upbringing at local high schools. I’m well aware of your SAT scores, and of course of your situation, so I’m going to say this once and only once: if you fail to follow the rules in our school, you will be asked to leave. Your scholarship will go to the next willing student. You are smart. I’ll give you that. But you may find that you don’t fit in here.”

  His eyes flashed to the bruises on my face as the last sentence left his rosy lips. My nostrils flared, and I was one second from combusting with anger, but the rational part in my brain was quick to intervene. I knew what I looked like. I was homely looking. My face was ghastly, and my bruises were dark. The bags under my eyes were the color of ash, and the spark in my blue irises was dull. I looked like a troublemaker. My file surely described that—specifically, the last foster home incident. My attitude probably portrayed that I didn’t give a shit, but I did. I actually cared. I wanted to succeed. I needed to succeed. If English Prep was my ticket out of this town and into a college where I could survive, then I’d bite my tongue. I’d swallow the harsh rebuttal that wanted to come out of my mouth.

  “I understand, Headmaster Walton. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m here for an education and to get into a decent college. That’s all.”

  Headmaster Walton pursed his lips as if he wasn’t convinced, but nonetheless, he nodded his head before standing up. Ann and I rose alongside him as he walked us over to the large oak door.

  Ann said goodbye to him and thanked him once again for my scholarship. Before I followed her out, Headmaster Walton very briefly intoned, “I have high hopes for you, Ms. Smith. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

  I swallowed back a lump in my throat. I recognized how pathetic it was that I wanted to cry because of hearing a statement like that from a complete stranger, but it had been a long time since anyone had said something so genuine to me.

  Ann was waiting for me near the receptionist’s desk with a cheery smile on her face as I pulled myself together. “Are you ready for this? I’m actually excited for you. Out of all the times I’ve had to check in on one of my foster kids, this is the first time I’ve actually been hopeful and excited. This school will be great for you, Hayley.”

  A tight smile came across my face.

  Ann’s face brightened up even more, the apples of her cheeks rising. “You’ve got this, Hayley. Go out there and make some normal friends. Try to be a normal senior, okay?” Her warm hands wrapped around my shoulders before she pulled me in for a hug. I stiffened almost immediately. If I thought that Headmaster Walton telling me he had high hopes for me was surprising, this definitely took the cake. I’d had three social workers since going into foster care, and honestly, I had hated every single one. But Ann? She was proving to be okay.

  I wasn’t sure if she actually cared about me, but after a small hug from her, I wasn’t quite sure I cared.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled after she pulled away. My cheeks began to grow warm as I felt my walls falling down a little. Don’t get attached, Hayley. She’s just a social worker.

  Right. Resuming back to my normal keep-everyone-at-arm’s-length persona.

  “Okay, well, I’ll check in sometime this week. Let me know if you need anything at all, okay? It doesn’t matter the time. Call me. You have my number.”

  A tight nod was my response, and she turned on her heel and walked out of the office. I didn’t have the heart to remind her that, yes, I may have had her number, but I didn’t have a cell phone, and there was absolutely no way I was asking Jill or Pete to use their landline. Chances were, Pete would ask for something in return, and ha, sorry, but no thanks.

  After the small lady behind the desk gave me my class schedule and a map to English Prep, she walked me to my first class: American Literature and Poetry. Definitely a step up from Oakland High where we were learning how to write a five-page paragraph essay about a story I read in the seventh grade.

  My heart tumbled in my chest as I blew out a shaky breath. I didn’t think I’d be this nervous. The amount of times I’d walked into a new school should have prepared me for this moment. If I was good at anything, it was putting on a brave face in front of my new peers. Squaring my shoulders and straighten
ing my spine was like second nature to me. But there was a pit deep in my belly. My bravery was wavering. I was standing on a cliff, looking down into the depths of fear and humiliation. Would Christian remember me? Would anyone? I wasn’t popular by any means in middle school, but was anyone, really? We were all awkward and trying to find our footing in the midst of going through puberty. I might not have been memorable from middle school, but my parents surely were.

  I remembered how these families worked. I knew that social hierarchies determined the food chain in this town. Screw the natural revolving of the world—the richest of the rich turned the planet on its axis. I used to be one of them. But now I wasn’t.

  My heart climbed into my throat as the door swung open. The small receptionist pushed me forward and mumbled something to the teacher. I kept my eyes locked onto the green chalkboard instead of swinging my gaze around the room. I reread the words “20th century poets: Sylvia Plath”, but between each word I read, I silently muttered, “If you show them fear, they’ll eat you alive.” And if I looked at any of my new classmates in the eye right now, I’d blow my poker face. I needed to find my footing. The anxious and panicky girl inside of me was trying to claw her way out to find some type of anchor to hold her steady. And that was when I did it. That was when I let my eyes scan the room, and I found him almost instantly.