The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(8)

“Okay! Crisscross. Clap, clap, clap!”

Once class was over, Faith went to the barre and did some stretches. She had an hour before the next class came in, and Madame Schuler let her use the studio to practice after she was done teaching for the day. Lifting her leg onto the barre, she bent her body from side to side, arm up and curved over her head. Her back loosened up and her calves stretched in a satisfying way. For the first time since catching Cameron last night, she felt a little less wound up.

She breathed deep and slow, letting her body settle itself. Why couldn’t it be this easy to relax her mind? Even though she’d planned to break it off with him, it hurt to know he’d throw her away without so much as a word. That didn’t matter, though. She was free for the first time in months. She should focus on that. She could do what she wanted when she wanted, even if that was to come up to the studio and dance until her toes ached.

Warmed up, she went to her dance bag to pull on her pointe shoes and put on some classical music. When she grabbed her phone, though, a long, long string of texts from Violet showed on the home screen.

V: Are you okay?

That one was from last night. She’d left the party after calling her mom to pick her up. Mom hadn’t made a big deal out of it, thankfully, but had seemed happy to know Cameron was out of the picture. Once Faith was home, she’d shoved her phone into her bag and gone straight to bed for a good cry and a long sleep.

Now, though, she realized she should’ve checked in, because the next few messages were alarming.

V: That bastard! Do you even…

V: He’s telling everyone he dumped you. Shit on a shingle! I’m going to kill him.

That was bad enough, but an hour later, it got even worse.

V: Girl, he just told five football *s that he dumped you because, and I quote, “She was a coldhearted bitch. Couldn’t warm her up to save my life.”

V: I kicked his ass out after that, but…oh God, girl, the damage is done. Everyone is talking about it. Hell, Holly’s bragging that she’s “no little girl” like you. I kicked her out, too.

Faith sucked in a breath. Cameron was telling everyone he dumped her…because she hadn’t slept with him? A hand flew to cover her mouth and her stomach churned around the granola bar she’d eaten for breakfast. He was telling the whole school she was a bitch?

That *.

She dialed Violet’s number, then savagely tied on her pointe shoes while it rang.

“Hello? Faith?” Violet sounded worried.

“Tell me this is a nightmare. That he’s not going around trashing me.”

“I can’t,” Vi said. “I want to wring his neck, but I can’t because my hands are too little and his neck is too thick, the bastard.”

Faith growled in frustration and stood. She wanted to whirl around this room like a dervish, then drive to Cameron’s house and kick him in the balls. “First he cheats on me, then he decides to tell his friends I’m a bitch?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what to say, girl.” Violet cackled. “Except to get revenge.”

“Well, obviously, but how?”

“Sleep with the first guy you see.”

She made an impatient noise. “Not possible since that’ll be the janitor at the studio. Besides, I’m waiting on Mr. Right.”

“There’s no such thing, but you be you.” Violet chuckled darkly. “You need to make a statement, though. It doesn’t matter if you’re still a virgin as long as no one believes it. Make them think—rightly—that he was the problem.”

Was that even possible? Faith raised herself up en pointe, considering. A thousand girls in black leotards and pink tights wearing her face stared back at her in the mirrors covering the studio walls, each one uncertain, all angry. Would anyone believe it if she did what Vi said? Could she act that well?

She’d just landed the lead in the school play. Of course she could.

“You’re right. I need to do something.”

After they ended their call, she punched up some Tchaikovsky on her phone and did pirouettes until her head was dizzy. It was the only way to drown out the rage—and humiliation. She had to find a way to get back at that bastard. But how?

The hour passed before she came to an answer, and she hurried to pack up her gear and pull shorts over her leotard as the noon tap class started to filter into the studio. Whatever she was going to do, it had to be big.

By the time she made it home, took a smoothie from Mom’s outstretched hand, and went upstairs to shower, six Snapchat notifications, all from different people, had popped up on her phone:

A sad-faced Skye: I’m so sorry about last night. I should’ve warned you. I feel awful.

An angry Piper: I’m at the mall and there’s some asinine shit coming out of Cameron’s mouth right now. Should I punch him?

A gossipy Fiona: Is it true that Cameron dumped you?

A sneering Mitchell: You as cold as Cam says?

A dumbfounded Katrina: Holly is telling everyone at the mall that she stole Cam from you because you don’t put out. Want me to dump a Slurpee in her hair?

A smirking Jackson: My car overheated. I heard you could cool it down for me. How about it, ice queen?

Tears of rage filled Faith’s eyes, especially when a new Snapchat chimed: Cameron, sending her a picture of Holly sitting in his lap at the party last night. The message read: Trading up.