Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
What else don’t I know about her? What else is she hiding?
So yeah, Salem Salinger deserves my wrath.
She deserves my anger for barging into my life like a storm.
For being a rulebreaker, and I absolutely fucking hate rulebreakers.
She deserves my wrath for affecting me the way she does.
Mrs. Miller, my guidance counselor, heard what happened on the soccer field yesterday.
During our first session, when she tells me that I need to clean her apartment for the next few weeks, I’m not surprised.
My new friends told me that this is what Miller does. She abuses her power in small ways and no one says anything to her. Because Leah is always busy with her conferences and so she has given Miller – who lives on campus by the way – the full rein of this place.
I should probably keep quiet and leave Miller’s office now that we’re done.
I’m not her favorite person and rightfully so.
I created a scene on the soccer field. And on top of that, I played wrong and got put in my place.
For which, I’m not at all mad at Arrow. I’m not.
I mean, he didn’t have to be such a jerk but he was right. I wasn’t trying to play for the team. I was trying to play for him and that was wrong.
So the best course of action is to leave. But I don’t.
Because I want to say something first.
“You know, I know you hate me. I know you think I’m trouble and I don’t blame you. I get it. I’m here, aren’t I? But Leah and Arrow, they wouldn’t treat me any differently just because I lived with them.” I lick my lips. “I just thought you should at least know that.”
Miller looks up from her desk. She already has a notebook open and an old-fashioned-looking ink pen poised in her hands.
“The fact that you called your principal and your coach by their first names tells me everything that I need to know.” Her eyes are narrowed. “A lot of people here don’t care about what the students did before they were sent to St. Mary’s. They’re ready to give these girls a second chance. But I’m not one of them. What you did and the reason you’re here define you. And so I’ll be watching you very, very carefully.”
And then she goes back to her notebook and I get up from my wooden chair – she has special chairs for her sessions with the girls – and leave the room, with things even worse than they were before.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
I just wanted to make sure that she didn’t blame the Carlisles for any of my bad behavior. But lesson learned. I’m not going to say unnecessary things now. Not in front of Mrs. Miller.
And I’m going to learn to call Leah and Arrow by their proper designations. I’m going to fucking remember that she’s my principal now and he’s my coach.
My coach. My coach. My coach.
Hours later, I’m still repeating that in my head as I climb up the ladder to retrieve a book, all the way in the back of the library.
And maybe because my focus is on my new coach, my foot slips on my way down and my book plunges, crashing down on the floor with a thump, and I know that I’m going to be next.
I know that in two seconds I’m going to fall and break my neck and I clench my eyes shut and grab the rung of the ladder hard, squealing and oh my God, I…
Out of the blue though, everything stops moving, and I feel a hand – a big, giant hand – on my lower back.
A warm hand.
No, wait. There are two hands.
Yes, two of them, one on the small of my back and the other on my front – my stomach, stabilizing me and the ladder.
With my chest jerking up and down, I pop my eyes open and dip my head to look at them, the arms grabbing my tiny body and keeping me from falling.
They are bronzed and dusted with dark hair, darker than the dirty blond hair on his head. There are taut veins lurking just under his sun-kissed flesh.
God, they’re muscled and thick, his arms. And it only gets better from there.
His arms only get stronger and more curved and flexed the higher up I go, toward his shoulders, bursting out of his gray t-shirt.
And I realize he caught me. He caught my fall.
At the thought, my eyes whip up and land on his face to find him staring at me.
“You caught me,” I repeat my thought on a broken, panting whisper.
His dark eyes flare. “You were falling.”
I was going to thank him but something else slips out of my mouth. “I didn’t…”
“You didn’t what?” he rasps.
“I didn’t know that your eyes could do that.”