Dirty Little Secrets

14.

SUMMER'S POV

A powerful, furious voice shattered the commotion. I froze. Kingsley stepped into the center of the crowd, his face dark with anger as he glared directly at me. "Let go of her! You are not a child!"

The words felt like a bucket of ice water poured directly over my head. My grip on Dira's hair loosened, my fingers slipping away as I slowly let go and stepped back, totally dumbfounded. My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. He had been in the classroom all through the outburst. He had seen exactly who started it, seen that she had attacked me first, but he chose to publicly humiliate me.

Dira smirked triumphantly, smoothing down her clothes as her friends hovered over her.

I knelt down on the cold floor, my hands trembling violently as I picked up my scattered notebooks from the tiles. I stood up, casting one last, burning glance at both of them.

"He is standing right in front of you now," I hissed bitterly at Dira, though my eyes never left Kingsley's suddenly guilt-stricken face. "You can have him."

I turned and stormed out of the classroom, the heavy door slamming behind me.

Why couldn't my life just be simple? Why couldn't it be like the fairy tale stories I used to read when I was a innocent child—where the brave prince always saves his princess from the darkness? But I hadn't even found a prince yet, and my life was already completely messy, ruined, and drowning in shadows.

"Summer! Summer, wait up!" I heard Kingsley shouted my name down the crowded corridor, his running footsteps chasing after me, but I chose to completely ignore him, accelerating my pace.

I finally arrived at the secluded music studio at the back of the campus. I could no longer go to the library to study, thanks to the dramatic spectacle Dira had caused. I slammed my books onto a wooden table, my breathing heavy as I tried to force back the tears stinging my eyes.

"Summer," a gentle voice spoke from the corner of the room.

I jumped, turning to see George sitting on a piano bench. He must have taken the shortcut through the courtyard.

"George, don't!" I snapped, raising a hand to stop him before he could start. I wasn't ready to listen to any excuses. George had been there in the lecture hall too; he had witnessed the entire thing. I sat down heavily in a chair, pulling my manuscript paper toward me, determined to work on the song lyrics we would be singing for the Orientation Showcase.

"You know, he didn't mean it that way," George said softly, stepping closer and trying to apologize on Kingsley's behalf. "He was just trying to stop a public fight before the dean saw you both."

"I do not care!" I replied sharply, keeping my eyes glued to the blank sheet music.

"Summer!" George snapped suddenly, his tone dropping into a firm, commanding register that sounded exactly like a strict father scolding his stubborn child.

I snapped my head up almost immediately, shocked by his bluntness. The sheer intensity of his serious facial expression almost made me laugh despite my misery.

"This is not the time to be cranky and prideful," George lectured, crossing his arms over his chest. "The Orientation Showcase is in a week's time. You haven't chosen a song, talk more of practicing a single note together. You do realize that this performance directly impacts your GPA, right? You've worked too hard to let this session slip away."

I just froze, the laughter dying in my throat as the brutal reality of his words hit me. My music degree was my only real ticket out of the club life.

"Whatever childish beef that is currently between both of you, settle it right now—for your grades' sake!" George commanded sternly. He cast one look toward me, turned around, and walked out.

Not long after the door clicked shut behind George, it slowly opened again. Someone quietly walked into the studio. Judging from the heavy, hesitant rhythm of the walking steps, I already knew exactly who it was: Kingsley.

"Summer," he called out softly. His deep voice was incredibly gentle this time—sounding exactly like a guilty child who knows they’ve done something terribly wrong and wants to apologize.

I slowly turned my chair toward him, masking my hurt with a cold, professional exterior. "How may I be of help to you, Kingsley?" I asked formally.

"Summer, I swear to you, I didn't mean it that way in the classroom," he pleaded, stepping closer, looking like a sinner confessing his worst transgression. "Dira’s friends were already pulling out their phones to record. If a video of you fighting leaked, the administration would have you suspended. I was just trying to help protect you..." He paused, his shoulders sagging as he lowered his head, unable to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry. I handled it completely wrong."

I let out a long, slow breath, George's lecture echoing in my mind. "I do not need you to constantly save me from my own mess, Kingsley. I am more than capable of handling myself. When I say stay out of my business, I really mean that you should stay out of it! Not everything revolves around you and your protection!"

"I understand," he said slowly, his voice laced with genuine humility. "I will try to be more careful next time." He hesitated, taking a small step forward, his eyes searching mine. "So... am I forgiven?"

"I don't know!" I muttered, turning my back to him and pulling my manuscript closer. "But George is right—the Showcase is in a week, and we do not have much time left for practice. What song do you suggest we sing?" I asked, instantly shifting into the mood of a serious student.

Kingsley let out a visible sigh of relief, grabbing a nearby wooden chair and sitting down beside my table. "I would suggest Rewrite The Stars from The Greatest Showman," he offered, his eyes lighting up with technical interest. "The vocal arrangements fit our ranges perfectly. Or... what do you think? What's your opinion?"

"What about Intentions by Justin Bieber?" I countered, tapping my pen against the table. "We could strip it down, do an acoustic, soulful version on the piano."

Kingsley smiled a genuinely. "Is it possible that we can actually sing the two? Connect them into a medley?"

I blinked, thoroughly impressed by the musical choice. "Both are absolute masterpieces," I admitted softly. "We can ask Professor Finerty before the day ends, but I do think it should be possible."

Bzzzz.

The sudden vibration of my phone on the table cut our conversation short. "Excuse me please," I murmured to Kingsley, pausing our rehearsal brainstorming.

I picked up the device and opened the incoming message from an unknown number. The moment the screen illuminated, my blood turned to absolute ice.

It was yet another anonymous message. Attached was a clear, photograph of Kingsley and me, wrapped tightly in each other's arms. The background was unmistakable—the front of Saint Peter's Hospital. The only time I had ever hugged Kingsley like that was during Clyde's medical discharge, when the relief had briefly broken my walls down. Someone had been standing across the street in the shadows, watching us.

Beneath the photograph, a line of text stared back at me like a venomous snake:

"Enjoy your lovey season while it lasts!"

My breathing completely hitched. The walls of the music studio felt like they were collapsing inward, suffocating me. I just froze, my fingers trembling so violently the phone nearly slipped from my hand.

"Summer? Summer, are you okay?"

Through the roaring panic in my ears, I heard Kingsley's voice call out to me, his hand reaching across the table to touch my arm.