Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Hell, she probably just did me a favor. Saved me from having to come up with an authentic-sounding breakup speech.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, only half meaning it.
Then I grab my shoes and duck out the door.
Leaving Amy’s room, I let out a breath heavy with relief and head toward the stairwell. A door opens halfway down the hall and a familiar face greets me. A dusky complexion and big, amber-colored eyes.
Mila Whitlock.
Before Casey’s accident, Mila was Sloane’s best friend. Hot too. Tonight, she’s in a pair of tiny boxer shorts and a black sports bra that shows off her high, perky tits and tight abs. She’s got a great body.
A slow, amused grin spreads across her face when she notices me walking with my shoes in my hands.
“Have fun?” she says.
I shrug. “Think I just got dumped.”
Mila laughs in my face. “Good for her. ’Bout time she showed a little backbone.”
“Yeah, thanks for your support.”
“Sorry not sorry.” The curvy brunette waves at me over her shoulder as she saunters off. “Sweet dreams, Silas.”
CHAPTER 20
CASEY
A FUNNY THING ABOUT CATHOLIC SCHOOL: MOST OF US AREN’T even Catholic. Our parents dump us here for the structure or arguably “superior” academics. For the sanctity of an all-girls institution. In my case, it was a matter of geography, the result of my dad’s job landlocking us to Sandover and its immediate commutable radius. But then, there are the girls who genuinely hail from religious families. That’s how you get a girl like Jazmine. Her devout parents living the immigrant American dream, sending their daughter to an exclusive private school in the hopes it strengthens her faith and good, moral character.
So far, it doesn’t seem to be working.
Jazmine sits next to me in class now. After she witnessed me snipe at Ainsley in the hall last week, she decided we were fated to be friends, told me to call her “Jaz,” and is now my constant companion at school. I still don’t know what I think of her, but I can’t deny she’s fun to be around. She’s fluent in sarcasm. Smart as a whip. Her main goal in life is to become a famous actress, much to her parents’ dismay. They wanted an obedient Catholic girl who’d find a respectable job and husband, and instead, they got the total opposite. Jaz insists she’s moving to New York or LA after graduation and never getting married.
“Hey,” she greets me as she slides into her seat. “How’s Silver?”
I look up from my physics notes. We have a unit test this morning and I’m ill-prepared. It’s been an exhausting few days. “Still alive. Miraculously.”
When I brought the baby rabbit home four nights ago, none of us expected she’d live through the night. Sloane, who knows how quickly I get attached, keeps reminding me that something like less than 10 percent of orphaned rabbits survive. But my little gal has defied the odds so far. Well, I don’t know if she’s actually a gal, since it’s impossible to tell yet. I picked a gender-neutral name, but I like to think it’s a female.
“Has she opened her eyes?”
I bite my lip in concern. “No,” I admit.
Which tells me Silver couldn’t have been older than a day or two when I rescued her. Baby rabbits usually open their eyes when they’re about ten days old. Silver’s are still squeezed shut.
She’s fighting to stay alive, though. I feed her kitten milk replacer with a syringe twice a day. Keep her hydrated. Make sure she’s warm and cozy in her shoebox. But I know the chances of her surviving without her mother are slim.
Sister Margaret stands from behind her desk and claps her hands sharply. “Quiet down, ladies. Georgia, please pass out the test papers. And keep them facedown, everyone!” She points at the clock over the door. “Pencils cannot touch the page until the clock strikes nine.”
“Because God forbid someone gets a one-minute head start,” Jaz says under her breath.
The test is easier than I expected, and I turn it in to the sister with ten minutes to spare. Afterward, we head off to pre-calc where Jazmine gets detention after she cheerfully informs Sister Mary Alice that the next time the nun hits Jaz’s wrist with that ruler, Jaz is going to hit back. The sister is outraged, face redder than Jazmine’s sore wrist as she screeches, “Detention, Ms. Reyes!” while the class laughs into their hands.
When it’s time for lunch, we fall into step with each other on the way to the cafeteria, Jazmine’s obscenely short skirt drawing frowns from several girls, all of whom are wearing their skirts at regulation length. She remains oblivious to the stares as she tells me about some movie she watched last night.
Best thing about her is she sincerely doesn’t give a shit what people think about her, which is a valuable weapon when you’re a teenager. We were walking down the hall last week when some girl coughed the word “slut” under her breath. Totally unperturbed, Jaz stopped in front of the lockers and pretended to look devastated.