The Other Girl: Black Mountain Academy Read online

  The Other Girl

  Trisha Wolfe

  Contents

  Quote

  Prologue

  1. Induction

  2. Intake

  3. Fixate

  4. Devotion

  5. Influence

  6. Judgement

  7. The Fire

  8. Villain

  9. Victim

  10. Birds of a Feather

  11. Entropy

  12. Cosmic Karma

  13. Return to Sender

  14. Of Light and Dark

  15. Delusion in Her Eyes

  16. Verity

  17. To What End

  18. Fate

  19. Twisted

  20. Fault in the Mind

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Cruel

  Also by Trisha Wolfe

  About the Author

  I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.

  ~Margaret Atwood

  Prologue

  Ellis

  No one survives the pass on Devil’s Bluff.

  It’s one of the first things I learned after arriving at Black Mountain Academy.

  A flat plateau that overlooks a scenic view of the lake, the bluff hovers below a rocky outcropping that rises up amid skinny pines and foliage known as the Devil’s Tooth.

  It’s as terrifying as it sounds.

  A breathtaking, chilling landscape so vastly different than the flat and unexciting terrain below. Farther out, an orange glow emits from a peak tucked behind tall trees and wiry, coarse green wilds.

  That’s where lovers meet. Fires stoked to keep bodies warm while intertwined as they create their own heated friction.

  You have to climb an unsteady, rock-strewn path off the main trail to reach the pass. Hike through boulder debris. Wind a path up the side of the mountain. It’s a treacherous venture to reach the top of Devil’s Tooth.

  My toes curl over the sharp ridge of rock. Tiny fragments break loose and tumble down the ravine. Blackness so absolute surrounds me, the sky absent of light, as if I’m standing on the edge of the world.

  I used to believe in angels.

  Now it’s the devils I know are real.

  With their ethereal, pale-blue eyes, and whispered professions of love, their trickery. They are devious creatures, the boys of my youth.

  You know the stories: good boy is seduced by sexy girl. Good boy cheats on good girl, his girlfriend, the girl-next-door type. Sexy girl becomes too attached and she torments good boy. She’s the villain of the story, by the way.

  Oh, but good boy learns his lesson.

  Back with good girl he goes to run off into the sunset, leaving the villain to suffer for her crimes.

  Bullshit.

  How come the cheating prick gets off so easily?

  There’s a moment in life when you make a decision, a choice, for who you’re going to be.

  Good—or the villain?

  My choice led me to the edge of this cliff.

  I thought I was brave as I took life by the reins on a new path. Brand new career. Brand new school. Brand new life.

  Brand new boy.

  I became Ellis Montgomery, and Ellis vowed to be an angel. I was meant to save him, protect him. Love him.

  A fiery ache builds in my chest cavity, like I’ve swallowed acid. The physical pain registers only slightly above the psychological anguish that burns my soul. Hell fire for the damned.

  Everyone is responsible for their own choices. And as I’ve answered for mine, she has to answer for hers.

  “It’s time.”

  My voice echoes back at me against the stone. The cavernous basin below swallows my cry.

  I grip the hilt of the knife, my hand shaking.

  The truth belongs to whomever tells the story first. Their version of it. Someone else always knows the story. No matter how hard you wish it, nothing is ever secret. If you want your truth to be known, make sure you’re the first to tell the story.

  I know the truth of what happened. I know our truth.

  Carter Hensley fell for me. We fell for each other. Everything was beautiful…until it wasn’t.

  Here’s the sad reality: I am a trope. I’m the tired cliché. I am the scorned lover, used, tossed aside and forgotten like a bad penny. There are books and movies that describe my place in all this, and that girl is always depicted as the crazy one. Obsessive. Psychotic.

  But no one ever gets to hear her side of the story.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be labeled so harshly otherwise.

  I look down into the darkness of the ravine. From here, with the night and the silence and no judgement, the fall doesn’t feel that far.

  He’ll choose me this time.

  But the maddening voice inside my head won’t cease: it’s her. Her. Her. Her.

  Her with the cinnamon hair, and perky, innocent smile. The good girl. The fucking saint.

  I can never be her.

  I’m the other girl.

  Induction

  Ellis

  Einstein had once believed the universe was static. One of the greatest minds to ever exist in our world believed that space had reached its limit—that gravity, with the help of his cosmological constant, held the universe back from expanding.

  Everything in existence was in existence.

  Think about that for a moment.

  How does it make you feel?

  To know that you have a grasp on the universe, that it’s far-reaching, yes, but tranquil, serene, the cosmos floating in the heavens, just waiting for us to explore.

  One issue with this theory, however—not to knock the great mind of our time—was his own deduction of gravity.

  If gravity was the proverbial Stop sign for creation, then the force of the universe’s own gravitational pull would cause it to collapse. The universe would reverse and implode in on itself in one giant crunch.

  It’s more than self-serving to envision our universe as static; it’s comforting.

  The truth is far more complicated. And violent.

  See, there is nothing static about the universe. It’s not just expanding, it’s expanding exponentially, at a more accelerated rate than ever before. Every minute, second, creation is taking place—the result of a violent explosion that is forever rippling outward.

  More so, this acceleration may eventually overcome the fibers that hold the universe together and tear all matter apart.

  Think about that for a moment.

  How does it make you feel?

  Like you’ve suddenly lost balance and gravity doesn’t exist? Like you’re flying through the cosmos at supersonic speed and there’s no end?

  I know. I’ve felt that way before. It’s frightening to learn how insignificant and fragile we are—that nothing is in our control.

  Einstein eventually adopted the model of an expanding universe, but he couldn’t explain it. Even decades later, the phenomena still had no clarification. Eventually, astrophysicists would learn there was some mysterious anti-gravity force—much like Einstein’s cosmological constant—that was causing this frantic expansion.

  Dark energy.

  This unknown force makes up the majority of our universe. Yet, how can you believe in a thing that you can’t feel, touch, or see?

  How can something that can’t be observed be so powerful as to dominate and change the course of a whole universe?

  I believe, even though some would vehemently disagree, that what these men of science were preaching was faith. The ultimate scientific conundrum and hypocrisy.

  “Welcome to your enlightenment.”

  T
he boy sitting across from me in his red-and-black academy uniform blinks. “It’s just college.”

  I roll my shoulders back and lace my fingers together on my desk. I may have gotten carried away with my choose your path metaphor. “Yes, well, the point is, you have options, Mr. Thomas. You don’t have to settle for a state college…if you can bring up your grades.”

  “Sure. That sounds great.” He peeks down at his lap, where he not-so-discretely slips his phone from his pocket and proceeds to check a notification.

  “What I’m saying is, this is in your control—”

  “Listen, my parents already have this figured out,” he interrupts.

  I press my lips together. “Right. Of course.”

  He’s seventeen years old. Nearly an “adult” by society’s standards. His eyes have that glazed-over, foggy look, as if he’s the epitome of boredom. He’s heard my type of lecture before. Maybe not to the extent that I took it—but he’s biding his time until I set him free.

  He has no worries, because his parents will buy him into an Ivy League.

  As the new school psychologist, young Randall Thomas is my first case—although case isn’t technically the correct terminology—at Black Mountain Academy.

  I try not to take offense when I’m referred to as a school counselor, or the ancient, somewhat demeaning guidance counselor. In my field, we refer to that as the G-word—a type of insult. To become a school counselor, all one needs is a certificate by the state department of education.

  I received my masters in Developmental Psychology at Boston. I chose to specialize in the field of adolescent educational development, though my degree also allows me to counsel and assess adolescents in cognitive and psychological development.

  Hence why Black Mountain Academy selected me out of all the other applicants.

  The prestigious private school wants to nurture their future leaders of tomorrow. They don’t just want a school counselor—and definitely not a g-counselor—they demand to have the best their wealthy parents’ money can buy.

  I can hear the sarcastic tone of my inner monologuing. Not healthy. I can’t let one lethargic student taint all the hard work I’ve devoted over the years to get here.

  I chose this school, not the other way around. It’s perfect for my needs. I can deal with a bit of pretension, and I can even handle bored, spoiled students, so I refocus my attention on the one seated across from me.

  “Is there anything you’d like to ask me, Mr. Thomas?”

  He shrugs, uncaring. “Not really.”

  I want to correct him: not really, Ms. Montgomery. But I remind myself that one: I’m new here, and two: I don’t look like a Miss anything. As I graduated high school early at sixteen, I completed my masters by age twenty-three. I’m not that much older than the seniors at BMA.

  What does set me apart is my drive. I’ve always been determined. I grab hold of what I want, and relentlessly pursue it until it’s mine.

  Unlike the student in my office, who seemingly expects the world to hand him everything.

  Relax. I take a breath and smile.

  “All right. Good.” I look over at the laptop screen and click a checkmark into place on Randall’s file. Pre-college assessment complete. “Please schedule a follow-up session with Miss…” I blank on the office assistant’s name.

  “Jansen,” Randall supplies.

  I sweeten my smile. “Thank you. Please do so.”

  He exits my office with as much enthusiasm as he entered. Zero.

  I tap my phone to check the time. Nine-eleven. Wariness settles over me. This is the third day in a row that—whenever I check the time—it’s read 9:11. It’s like a warning. Some future, unforeseen doom just waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Don’t be ridiculous. I try to shake the ominous feeling. It’s just a coincidence. One of the singularities that always interested me in psych was the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. And that’s all this is; I’m subconsciously checking my phone at this particular instance every day. I simply don’t notice when it reads some other random number.

  I put the unease out of mind, then drain half my travel mug of coffee. “Who’s next on the roster…?”

  Carter Hensley. Eighteen. He’s new at BMA this year also. He was held back his senior year. According to his file, he got into trouble involving fighting, and was expelled from the public school he attended.

  Two words stand out on the screen: violent tendencies.

  Interesting. There’s a police report in his file. I click it open and skim the details, pausing when I read the words attempted murder.

  My heart rate quickens as I scroll down the page. Carter was charged preemptively, but the charges were dropped. The arresting officer lacked the proof of intent. The victim’s parents didn’t pursue a case, either. I close the report.

  As Black Mountain Academy is a private institution, the admissions department can decide to accept or decline student applications based on any factor they choose. Which—as I scan over the rest of Carter’s file—I’m curious as to why they accepted him.

  Money. And there it is. At the bottom of the file, a note about the parents. Carter’s father owns a branch of banks in town. He might even have paid a hefty sum to get his child enrolled.

  It’s also noted in his file that Carter’s enrollment was contingent on his willingness to participate in school counseling sessions. He’s mandated to one meeting a week.

  I inhale a deep breath. I knew I’d have challenges when I took this position. I just didn’t think a challenge this sizable would be the second student to walk into my office.

  My grip tightens on the mug. Stop it, Ellis. I know better than to judge a person by their file. Carter Hensley has a past. Who doesn’t? I’m doing exactly what everyone else does. What everyone else did to me.

  I’m better than this.

  I set my coffee down and peek into the camera of my phone. Check my mascara. Tease my long, caramel bangs with my nails. I’m…primping. I’m nervous. This is absurd.

  I set my phone aside and shake my head, letting a tight laugh slip free. Ever since I walked through the glass doors of this academy, I’ve been on edge, waiting for old haunts and wary feelings to resurface of my own high school days.

  I’m not that girl anymore.

  I drain the last of my coffee, deciding it’s time to establish myself here and now. What kind of counselor am I? What do I want to be for these kids? It’s no secret—according to my file—that I had some troubles in my youth. It was when I was helped by someone in the field who cared that I decided to aspire to do the same work—to help other kids get on track.

  Only, as Randall just proved, reaching teenagers today is going to be difficult. They just look so much younger than I remember them…and more oblivious. Sure, the self-centeredness hasn’t changed. The world belongs to them.

  Maybe I should let them call me Ms. Ellis, or just Ellis, or Ms. E—like the cool, down-with-the-kids principal who simply goes by Mr. D. No, that’s a bad idea. Considering my age and the fact that I look younger than my twenty-four years, I need to try to gain as much respect and authority in my position as possible.

  A knock sounds at my door, and I call out for them to enter. I’m satisfied with my newfound confidence and ready to dive into Carter’s case…until the devil himself walks into my office.

  All resolve evaporates like a wisp of smoke in a rainstorm.

  Air is snatched from my lungs. I can’t breathe; I can’t force a breath past the constriction in my throat.

  All five senses take him in at once. The sight of his familiar, alarmingly blue eyes as they stand out against his black-and-red uniform. Dark hair that flops haphazard. I can still feel that soft hair threaded between my fingers… The defined, lean muscles carved against his white dress shirt. It’s rolled up just below his elbows, exposing solidly cut forearms.

  Of all the senses, the sense of smell is the most powerful. It can awaken dormant memories of the past. Stir str
ong, visceral emotions. Catch you unawares. Grab you by the throat and choke your airway…leaving you gasping in its wake.

  When my body finally demands air and I take a breath, the rich aquatic scent of his cologne engulfs me. A hot ache plunges through my rib cage like a searing iron. My nostrils flare as I fight back the sting in my eyes. My heart thunders in the hollow of my chest.

  I grip the edge of my desk, forcing my body to stay seated. But my eyes can’t be commanded so easily. They trail every inch of him and settle at his lips. Lips I can still taste…

  “Ms. Montgomery? Are you all right?”

  I swallow hard. His voice is distinct but different, drawing me out of the agonizing past and pushing me into the present. It’s not him. That would be impossible. I shake my head. “Yes. I’m sorry. You just look…” I exhale a breath. “It’s nothing. Have a seat.”

  A slow smile curls his lips into a devilish smirk. “I have that effect on women.”

  A prickling sensation webs across my skin. His energy is alive and real and dominates every molecule in this room. I can feel it pressing against me…this invasive force, tearing at me from the inside out.

  Carter Hensley is a field of dark energy ripping my universe apart at the seams.

  Intake

  Ellis

  It’s taken nearly eight years, but a ghost from my past has finally resurfaced to torment me in the form of a beautiful boy with pale-blue eyes and sinful lips.

  Polarizing emotions war within me, tearing me in two. Part of me wants to touch him, feel that he’s real. The other part is screaming to run—leave Black Mountain behind and all the toxic memories of the past.