Crush

By Niki Keith

Sometimes being the new girl can be deadly.

 

Phoebe is finally ready to move on from her troubled past. When she starts Richmond High, she joins the cheer squad and the volleyball team. But Phoebe is thrilled when Laura welcomes her into her elite club, the Pink Ladies.

 

Everybody wants to be like Laura. She's crazy rich, hosts the hottest parties, and gives the most expensive gifts. But as Phoebe's popularity grows, so does Laura's jealousy. In Laura's eyes, there's room for only one queen bee. And she'll do anything to keep her spotlight, even if it means destroying the new girl.

 

This twisty girlhood thriller is perfect for fans of Jessica Goodman, Kara Thomas and Netflix's Dare Me series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Niki Keith
• Release date: Sep 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985055948

Book preview

Crush

Niki Keith

Copyright © 2022 by Niki Keith

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

For my little-big bro. Thanks for always believing in me!

1

Phoebe

Coach Thorne died a week ago, and Giselle Fischer (everyone called her Miss G) still followed up with me about it as if I were a basket case ready to break. No offense, but I knew nothing about Coach Thorne except she was a middle-aged, wound-up volleyball fanatic who hated my guts.

I can tell you don’t eat, sleep, and breathe volleyball, she used to say, scowling like she smelled shit on me. At least her intuition didn’t lie. I sucked at volleyball, but Laura and Mimi were on the team, and, well, I had to get on it, too.

Sighing and pressing my hands together, I sat in Miss G’s office, patiently awaiting her return—and by patiently, I mean counting the seconds until the oil diffuser on her desk changed colors and poofed a lemon fragrance out into the air. Seventeen... Eighteen…

I’m so sorry about that, Miss G said, bursting into the office with an exasperated sigh. Principal McGee can be a scatterbrain. She rolled her eyes while shutting the door. Okay, where were we? She paused a beat to smooth her hands down the white pencil skirt she wore with a red and white striped mock-neck top. She looked sexy in a classy, sophisticated way.

I really admired Miss G. Since I came to Richmond High a month ago, she’d been my confidante. Miss G was the guidance counselor and cheerleading coach. But she was easier to talk to than any shrink I had. She was so down-to-earth, and no matter the circumstances, she always greeted me with a warm smile. She reminded me of a young Charlize Theron with her curly blond bob framing her heart-shaped face.

She clapped her hands. I remember, she said, hurrying behind her desk, heels clicking across the wooden floor. She shuffled around in a drawer and produced a teal fur-covered journal with a matching pom-pom pen. Ta-da. She held the items out.

Huh? I squinted at her. "A gift? I thought you wanted to discuss Coach Thorne."

Miss G nodded. "We’ll get to that. Right now, I want to congratulate you on all your accomplishments. So, take." She shoved the book at me.

I accepted it with a shaky hand, admiring its color. Teal was my favorite. It’s beautiful.

Good! Miss G chirped, settling into her chair. "The idea is for you to document your journey. You’ve achieved so much in the past few weeks. You’ve gotten those grades up, made the volleyball team, the cheerleading squad." She gave a little dance, making me smile. And finally, you’re off your medications. There is just no stopping you, Phoebe. I love it! Her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at me, searching my face.

But damn. When she put it like that, I sounded like some driven overachiever. Yet that was hardly the case. Yeah, I’d accomplished plenty. But whenever I reflected on my life before, I felt embarrassed.

Miss G smiled sympathetically. How do you feel about everything? she asked, practically reading my thoughts.

I shrugged, nibbling on my bottom lip, forcing my breaths to stay calm. As I gathered my words, I stared out the small window behind Miss G, at the trees rustling slightly. I had to be careful with my word choice when speaking with Dr. Landry. After all, he possessed the power of diagnosing me whenever he pleased. But that was Miss G. I didn’t have to lie to her.

She leaned into my view.

I hung my head, eyes lowering to my lap. "I’m still ashamed of my past. I mean, I thought he was real, you know. Everywhere I turned, I saw him—alive and well—and the feeling felt so good that I just wanted to grasp onto it and clutch it tight. I peeked at Miss G and caught her troubling expression. Forcing a laugh, I straightened my spine. But of course, I understand it was only a figment of my imagination. That shit is done." I waved my hand, trying to be nonchalant. But like I said, that was Miss G. And though she was cool and all, she still read me like an opened book.

She reached across the desk and gave my shoulder a squeeze. It’s hard to say goodbye, I get it. Losing someone dear to you is the most tragic event one can experience. But remember, we all handle loss differently, Phoebe. There is nothing to be ashamed of. We—everyone who cares about you—aren’t suggesting that you move on. We’re simply telling you to move forward and be involved in all the great things life has in store for you. So, that’s the purpose of this journal. To document the journey as you take back the reins of your life, while still keeping the loving memory of your father right here. She placed a hand over her heart. No one can erase him from you.

I brushed my fingers across the soft journal and flipped through the blank pages, a surge of excitement pulsing through me at the thought of filling them with words. My story.

Do you think you’re ready to forgive your mom? Miss G asked suddenly, toying with the pens in the cupholder.

I scowled—fuck no—on the tip of my tongue. "I wouldn’t say I’ve come that far."

You shouldn’t hold a grudge against her forever. Acceptance is a part of moving on, too, you know.

Like hell it is. I rolled my eyes. Miss G tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, and the sparkling diamond on her finger caught my eye.

I gasped. Is that what I think it is?

She pulled back and glared at the ring as if seeing it for the first time. Cheeks reddening, she nodded. Yes. My fiancé, Chuck, finally popped the question. We’re getting married next spring.

Congratulations, Miss G! Chuck is one lucky dude.

Her head tilted. No, it’s the other way around. Chuck is super amazing. But while we’re on that subject, will you include a journal entry about love? She rested her chin on both hands and batted her lashes at me.

Love? Yeah, right. Dating was the furthest thing on my mind at the moment. But playing along, I grinned at Miss G devilishly. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?

She waved her finger at me. Okay. Kiss and don’t tell, I see. She giggled like a schoolgirl. Her giddiness made me smile. Well, I tell you what, she said, reaching across the desk to grab my wrists. Her thumbs gently grazed across my raised scars. These are a reminder that your life is not over. You’re a fighter, Phoebe. And whenever you’re feeling weak or vulnerable, just look at them and remember you survived because you have a purpose on this earth. I’m a hundred percent sure your father would be so proud of you.

I blinked rapidly, gazing at the tattoos on my wrist—my go at masking my suicide attempt. I had LOVE written on my right wrist, and LIFE written on my left. Dad taught me patience and the willpower to overcome obstacles. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, he used to say. Yet, I’d went and slit my wrists. If anything, I’d disappointed Dad. I knew Miss G was only trying to be helpful, but that was a reminder of how much I’d fucked up.

I gently slipped from her grasp. I better get going, I said, trying to keep my voice light while getting to my feet.

But Miss G rolled back in her seat and stood, too, studying me. Was there something else on your mind?

Nope. I turned quickly, clutching the journal to my chest, and started for the door when Miss G stopped me again.

Okay, and about Coach Thorne?

I considered that a beat. All good, I said, glancing over my shoulder. It sounded awful, I knew, but it was true. I was sorry she passed away, but thoughts of Coach Thorne ended there.

Miss G gazed at me. Satisfied, she lowered back into her chair and rifled through her work. Okay. Same time tomorrow, she said, as she always did when our sessions were over.

You bet. I opened the door to leave and collided with a guy, who raised his fist to knock. He staggered backward, his black-framed glasses crooked on his face.

Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry, I said. Are you hurt? I tucked the journal under my arm and grabbed his shoulder. He was Black—about my age with a thick and curly faded mohawk.

I’m okay, he said. Rubbing his temple, he straightened his glasses and frowned at me. Is that the principal’s office?

No, it’s upstairs. I can show you if you like.

He peered at me with the hugest brown eyes I’d ever seen. When he didn’t reply, I offered a smile. Several seconds went by. Clearing my throat nervously, I shifted my journal to the other arm.

As if a bolt of lightning struck him, he jerked and blinked at me. Sure. Of course. He forced a laugh. You must think I’m a complete idiot.

I returned his smile. Come on. I lead the way to the staircase. Are you new here? His cheeks colored while bobbing his head. I stuck out my hand. So am I. I’m Phoebe, by the way.

His grip was warm and gentle. Ethan.

Once on the landing, I turned to him. Are you in trouble, Ethan?

He burst into laughter. What makes you say that?

I don’t know. You’re going to see the principal.

He craned his neck to eye me. No. I’m not in any trouble.

I waited for him to elaborate, but we walked the rest of the way in silence. Here we are, I said, stopping outside the office door.

So soon?

No worries. I’m sure you’ll get lost again.

He bit his bottom lip, considering the idea, his eyebrow raising. What’s your number? You know, in case I get lost.

I sucked my teeth. Pretty smooth.

What? he asked in fake innocence. Before either of us could say anything further, Principal McGee swung his door wide and ushered Ethan inside.

I stuck my tongue out at him just as the door closed. Laughing, I hurried back to the staircase. Laura and Mimi must’ve been going out of their minds over my absence. True to my suspicions, Laura and Cassie—both on the cheer team with me—were waiting for me at the lockers.

We did visual arts together. They’d taken the class for extra credit, but art was my passion—sketching, painting, photo editing, whatever. I was all in.

Why’d that bitch keep you so long? Laura Preston demanded.

Frowning, it took me a moment to realize she meant Miss G.

Bitch? I thought Miss G was cool, right? I glanced at Cassie for support. Cassie Lang was our flyer. She was, without a doubt, the star of the cheerleading squad. Blond, short and petite, she was easiest to lift and throw. Her sea-green eyes remained riveted on Laura, awaiting her opinion. When neither girl replied, I shook my head. Anyway, where’s Mimi? Any other day, she conjoined Laura’s hip. But I spotted her in the corner, talking to...

I squinted to be sure I saw it right. "What’s Mimi doing with Mr. Diggs?"

Cassie gasped beside me, noticing them too.

Mr. Diggs was the creepy janitor. Rumor had it he sometimes hid in the girl’s bathroom to spy on us. Geoff Diggs was pushing fifty, scrawny and short, about an inch shorter than me. Kids called him Mr. Greasy behind his back because he had some sort of sweating condition that left his grey jumpsuit stained permanently. From behind his dirty dark strands, his beady eyes took in every bit of Mimi.

I shuddered while turning away, my insides quivering. I’d be sick if he looked at me like that.

Well, he does, Phoebe, Laura said. Don’t you know he has a crush on every new girl?

What? I sputtered, my eyes widening.

Cassie nodded. Yep. It used to be me before you came along. Thank God.

I swallowed. How do you know when Mr. Diggs has a crush on you? What does he do? Laura and Cassie snuck each other glances, leaving me in suspense. Come on, guys. What the hell? My heart pounded ten beats per second. Mr. Diggs was such a creep.

Laura spoke in a low, sinister voice. "He comes up behind you and whispers in your ear how he’d like to tie you up in his cellar. Oooh." Cassie joined in, the two of them flicking their fingers at me.

Giggling, I swatted them away. Y’all are so lame.

They slapped each other five. Alright, seriously, what did Miss G want? Laura asked and folded her arms. Cassie stared at me, too, waiting to hear.

My mouth opened, but I struggled to find words. I wasn’t ready to tell them about my sessions with Miss G. They knew nothing about my past either, so they really wouldn’t get it. We—she wanted to know how I was doing because of the Coach Thorne thing.

Laura scoffed, tossing her dark curls over one shoulder. "Coach Thorne-in-Our-Ass? So what it was her time to go. We all have to someday. I can’t believe she kept you to talk about her."

Who kept what, what? Mimi butted in, approaching in a short-pleated peach-colored dress. Mimi (short for Mila) Sanchez had long, flowing, ombre brown hair. Everyone thought she was the spitting image of Ariana Grande. She even kept her hair back in Ariana’s signature ponytail. She pointed a glitter clustered nail at Laura. Who are you disgusted with now?

Miss G-string. Laura rolled her eyes.

Laura! My jaw hit the floor. Cassie clamped a hand over her mouth.

Smirking, Laura shifted her weight, tilting her head at us. Stop pretending you guys can’t tell she’s a slut.

You’re just jealous because her tits are bigger than yours, Mimi said.

Laura cupped her hands beneath her boobs. At least mine are real. Then her dark eyes flashed. What you wanna bet Principal McGee paid for Miss G’s? They’ve been having way too many unnecessary meetings, if you asked me.

But we didn’t ask you, Laura, I said, unable to mask the venom in my words. I didn’t get it. Why was she suddenly talking shit about Miss G?

Each girl turned to me with curiosity gleaming in their eyes. What? I cried.

I didn’t know you had a thing for Miss Thang, Mimi said, playfully shoving me. Welcome to the lesbian club.

It isn’t like that at all, I said, heading to my locker to put away my journal. Miss G is happily engaged. So, I just think you’re wrong about Principal McGee.

Mimi turned on Laura, cackling. Ha! She told you.

Laura, smile frozen on her face, kept silent. But after a beat, she reached into her palazzo pants and presented a diamond-clustered brooch shaped like a B. She held it out to me. Congratulations. You’re officially a Pink Lady.

I stared at the brooch, and then Laura. "You’re joking—right? Right?" My excitement meter exploded as Laura leaned in and pinned the brooch on my collar. I waved my hands, squealing like an idiot. The Pink Lady Club was such a big deal I couldn’t even get pissed my brooch was a letter B. Miss G oversaw the club, but Laura was the president and diamonds were her latest trend.

PLC, was a small group of girls, particularly the ultimate overachievers—enrolled in advanced classes, volunteering within the community, socially and athletically involved. Basically, the smartest, most respected girls in school. It’d barely been a month for me at Richmond High, and I made the club. I tentatively felt the brooch, Miss G’s words, coming back to me. Perhaps Dad would be proud if he could see my accomplishments.

Mimi hooked a thin arm around my neck. Congratulations, girl.

Thank you, guys, really.

"How come I don’t have my brooch yet?" Cassie asked, whipping to Laura.

Laura glared at her impatiently. Haven’t I told you already? Cassie nodded. "And what did I say?"

Cassie wrapped and unwrapped the end of her hair around a finger. That my brooch is in the jewelry shop having more diamonds placed in it, she answered in a monotone voice.

Laura’s neck craned Cassie’s way. Do you want your brooch to look like a knock-off? Cassie pouted and shook her head. "Well, then knock it off and congratulate Phoebe like the Pink Lady you are."

Cutting an eye at me, Cassie chewed on the inside of her cheek, her face flushing with embarrassment. Welcome, Phoebe.

I pulled her into a hug, inhaling her floral-scented hair. I’m glad to be with you guys.

Good. Everyone’s happy, Laura said, flashing her pearly whites at me just as the bell rang for third period. We have important shit to discuss at lunch, so be on time. She tapped her wrist.

Before class began, Principal McGee came in. Principal McGee was Black, six-foot, and well-built. Some claimed he played pro football twenty years ago, yet he didn’t look a day over thirty.

As you all know, we recently lost Coach Janice Thorne. It’s confirmed that she suffered from an aneurysm.

Surprised gasps rang out. Somebody started a rumor that Coach Thorne had died from steroids. But I never believed that. Considering my last encounter with Coach Thorne—her screaming at me at the top of her lungs, what a back-row did—a brain aneurysm was highly likely. Still, it sounded like a painful way to go, though.

"…posted news of her funeral on the bulletin board. We will hold a candlelight vigil tonight." Principal McGee said something else about grief counseling when someone interrupted him.

What’s going to happen to the volleyball team?

That’s a good question. Principal McGee glanced over his shoulder and waved someone inside.

Entered was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. I lifted from my seat for a better view. His shoulder-length dreads were back in a ponytail. Colorful tattoos covered both of his brown arms. He was lean, with muscles in all the right places. He scratched at the short stubble on his broad, handsome face, his brown eyes carefully taking us all in.

Class, welcome Mr. Little, your Visual Arts teacher—and new volleyball coach.

Laura whistled behind me, making the rest of us girls giggle.

Please, call me Liam, he said.

No, no, Principal McGee said. We at Richmond acknowledge authoritative positions. I better not hear first name bases, he