Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
From the intel I’ve gathered, there’s talk of a get together tonight. A couple of hotties from the football team will be there. And blondie has a thing for one of them. She also yammered on about a dried-up old English teacher named Ms. Pettijohn. I’m almost tempted to follow them through the store to hear more. They seem like an endless fount for Hawthorne gossip.
What I’m wondering is if these girls attend Hawthorne Prep or the small, public school in the next town over. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask. They look to be around my age. How nice would it be to meet a few people tonight instead of walking into school cold tomorrow morning? Who knows, they might ask me to tag along to the party they’ve been dishing on.
As I work up enough courage to introduce myself, the blonde flicks her blue gaze to mine before pinning me in place. “Stare much?”
I blink, thrown off-balance by the blunt question.
Holy shit. Is she talking to me?
When I remain silent, a nasty glint enters her eyes as she waves her hand with exaggerated movements in front of my face. “Hello? Is anyone in there? Or are you deaf and mute?”
The girl at her side giggles as a rush of heat floods my face. All I want to do is melt into the floor.
“She’s probably slow,” the dark-haired girl says, sounding bored as if she isn’t talking about me right in front of my face. “How tragic.”
“I’m not mute or deaf,” I mutter, forcing out the rest, “just shocked at your rudeness.”
The blonde’s sculpted brows rise across her forehead. “Well, I’m not the one who was gawking like a weirdo.” She smirks before flipping her hair. “Let me guess, you’re into chicks.” Her gaze flickers over me before she wrinkles her pert nose. “No thanks. Not interested.”
My mouth falls open. Who talks like this to a perfect stranger?
The other girl snorts. “There’s no question about it, you’re strictly dickly.”
The blonde laughs. “I know.”
“I wasn’t staring,” I mumble, cutting into their conversation. “I was wondering if you go to Hawthorne Prep.”
I wince. How could I let the question slip free? Now, I’m hoping the answer will be no. I don’t want to be anywhere near these two mean girls.
“Of course, we do.” The blonde’s upper lip curls into a sneer as one of her hands settles on her hip. “What do we look like, townies?”
Great.
This time, I keep my lip buttoned. There is no way in hell I’m going to tell her I’ll be starting at the exclusive prep school tomorrow. I have no idea how many students attend Hawthorne, but I’m hoping that I don’t run into this nasty girl and her sidekick any time soon.
When her gaze flits over me for a second time, I become aware that I’m still wearing black capri yoga pants and an obscure band T-shirt that has seen better days. This is what comfortable travel wear looks like.
“From the regrettable state of her outfit, it’s obvious she’s a townie.” Blondie makes a frowny face. “So sad.”
Humiliation burns through me as I throw the calculator into the shopping cart and rush away. The two girls barely wait for me to turn the corner before bursting into peels of laughter.
Holy crap, where the hell have my parents moved us to?
In a small way, I was kind of excited to start school tomorrow, meet some new people, and settle in. Now?
Not so much.
If these two girls are in any way a reflection of the student population at Hawthorne, senior year will be a living hell. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Chapter Seven
With my gaze trained on the ceiling, I lay awake in my bed. I’ve spent the last hour tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. Those two beastly girls from Rothchild’s keep popping into my head. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered such rude people, and I grew up in Chicago. I’ve experienced rude. Hundreds of times. That was like a whole new level.
Now I’m nervous about tomorrow.
There is no way I’ll be able to fall asleep. And if I do, my nightmares will be filled with bitchy and bitchier.
Another spasm of agitation slides through me, leaving a thick coat of restlessness in its wake. Lying here for another moment is out of the question. With a huff, I toss off the covers and pad to the window before pulling back the curtain and staring through the screen. My gaze drops to the illuminated patio below. It’s still unfathomable that we own such a kick-ass pool. Dad plans on calling a company tomorrow to service it so we can get it up and running. There’s a heater and we’ll be able to swim until October. It could snow by then, and we could be outside swimming.