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)
“Nah.” My stomach revolts at the idea. I’m way too nervous to eat. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee.”
“Are you feeling all right?” With a frown, her gaze roves carefully over my features. “Your cheeks are flushed.”
I turn my attention to the window and the perfectly manicured golf course that lies beyond our property line. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”
The truth of the matter is that I’m far from fine, but there’s nothing she can do to help me.
Mom rises from the chair and walks around the island before laying her palm against my forehead. “Hmmm. You don’t feel warm.” She clucks her tongue. “I really hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“I’m not sick,” I mutter, dancing away to grab a cup before changing it at the last moment to a travel mug and pouring myself some much-needed java to drink on the go. Not that I’m champing at the bit to get to school, but I don’t need her bombarding me with questions. I’m already out of sorts without her adding to it.
Once I screw the lid on tight, I head for the front door.
“Have a good day,” Mom calls after my retreating figure.
I don’t see how that will happen given the new set of circumstances I have to contend with.
“All right,” I say with a wave before walking out of the house with my backpack and sliding behind the wheel of the G-wagon.
The engine purrs to life as I glance at the empty passenger seat, wishing that Austin was here with me. We’re a team. Ever since we were little, we’ve had each other’s backs. Without him by my side, I’m lost.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
It’s a scary prospect.
I try not to focus on those thoughts as I pull out of the driveway and head to school. Every mile of pavement that gets eaten up by the tires has my anxiety intensifying. By the time I drive through the gated entrance onto the property, I have a death grip on the leather steering wheel.
Since I’m early, it doesn’t take long to find a parking spot. Students have already begun to congregate in small groups. Instead of exiting the vehicle, I hang back until there are precisely eight minutes before the warning bell rings, signaling the start of first hour. The plan is to get in, go straight to my locker, and then to class without incident.
I give myself a brief pep talk before gathering my courage and stepping out of the SUV. Even though my hands are shaking, I straighten my shoulders and wipe the fear from my expression. Inside, I might be a tightly wound ball of anxiety, but I’ll be damned if any of them see that. As I cut through the parking lot, I avoid all eye contact. My gaze stays focused on the stone building that looms in the distance. It takes a moment to realize that no one is paying any attention to me.
Which is strange. I expected them to fall on me like a pack of jackals.
My heart pounds a painful staccato as I slip inside the impressive three-story structure and slink through the corridor before arriving at my locker. I hold my breath, as memories of yesterday morning flash through my head.
Discretely, I sniff the air, wondering if the same fate awaits me. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary. People aren’t gathered in the corridor and I don’t detect anything other than the smell of old books coupled with the scent of lemony polish that permeates the air of Hawthorne.
With trembling fingers, I spin the dial and lift the handle. My muscles tense in anticipation as the door swings open. Maybe it would be best if they suspended me along with Austin. My parents would probably go off the deep end if they had to make another trip less than twenty-four hours later to pick me up. Relief rushes from my lungs when nothing happens. Cautiously, I stare into the locker, inspecting it for anything that looks out of place, but there’s nothing. It’s exactly as I left it yesterday afternoon. Some of the tension drains from my muscles.
As I grab my lit book from the shelf, a guy sidles up next to me before settling against the neighboring locker. Steeling myself, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. I don’t know his name, but I recognize him as one of the football players who had congregated around Austin’s locker yesterday morning.
“Hey.” A slow grin spreads across his face as his gaze rakes over me.
I don’t bother to turn and give him my full attention before snapping, “Can I help you?” It’s best to shut this shit down right away before it can get out of control.
“Well, I certainly hope so.”
I almost laugh.
Please, as if...
I’m a moment away from telling this guy to fuck off when he’s shoved aside.