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)
“Oh no!” she’d cried. “You found out that I lost my virginity in a threesome to those two seniors from Ballard? You’re right, Marissa, I am a slut, and I’m sooooo embarrassed and—oh wait.” Jaz grinned. “That was you.”
Then she took my arm and we left, leaving a stricken Marissa to backpedal with her wide-eyed friends. I asked Jaz if that story was true, and she’d nodded in confirmation, saying one of the boys in question was her older brother.
The girls at St. Vincent’s fear her. Funny enough, I think they’re also a little scared of me now. Ever since I snapped at Ainsley, I’ve heard the way their tone has changed in the cafeteria when they whisper about me. They’re not laughing anymore. They avert their gazes when I pass, and I’m not going to lie—I kind of like it. I didn’t know it could feel like this.
“Attention is a weapon,” Jaz tells me when she sees me noticing the change in everyone’s demeanor. “Girls like them…” She nods at Ainsley and Bree, who are walking up to the lunch line as we claim an empty table. “They always made fun of me too. There was this trio of witches at my old school who made my life miserable freshman year.”
“Really?” I can’t imagine someone as confident as Jazmine getting bullied.
“Oh yeah. They trashed my fashion sense. My makeup. Kept telling me to get back on my raft and paddle back to Cuba.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re from Puerto Rico, assholes. Anyway, it got to me back then. I used to hide. I’d take my lunch to a bathroom stall or eat in the art room with my teacher because I was terrified of them.”
“Is that why you changed schools?”
“Fuck no,” she says adamantly. “I transferred here in sophomore year because my dad got a new job and had to relocate. But about halfway through that horrific freshman year, I had my come-to-Jesus moment. Which, ironically, didn’t happen at a Catholic school.”
Laughing, I set my tray down and take a seat.
“I realized I could keep hiding and let them make me ashamed for the rest of my life, or I could turn that attention against them. Become so conspicuous, they’d be afraid to look. The best defense is a good offense, Tresscott.”
“I’d say it’s working.”
“Damn right it is. And you know what? The moment I legit stopped caring what they thought about me, the better I felt about myself. Matter of fact, I love me a whole lot more.”
I’m starting to understand what she means. There’s real power in controlling our own narrative. So when Ainsley turns from the lunch line with her tray to stare at me, I stare back.
Why choose to be the wilting flower when I can be the thorn?
“Look at the freak table.” Ainsley wears a haughty smirk when she and Bree approach us. But there’s a slight shake in her voice. She’s unnerved by my eye contact. Good. “You two giving each other matching tattoos with sewing needles later?”
“Ew,” Bree groans. “That’s, like, how you get pink eye.”
Ainsley gets a laugh from the girls at the neighboring table, but it’s forced and hesitant and recedes as soon as Jazmine glances in their direction.
“We’d invite you,” I say apologetically, “but I wouldn’t want our plans to conflict with your dick-eating contest.”
The answering gasps and laughter from the cafeteria startle me. I notice the forks paused midair and phones raised. It’s a sick sort of endorphin rush, and I know I like it more than I should.
“What?” Bree pouts at Ainsley. “You said we were on a diet.”
“It’s keto,” Jazmine says, biting her lip to keep a straight face.
I almost snort.
“Speaking of dicks, Casey, how many of them did you suck when you were locked up in the mental institution?” Ainsley’s comeback silences the room.
“Just one,” I tell her. “It was the day your dad came to visit me.”
“What the hell, you stupid bitch!”
Ainsley launches her tray at me. I dodge, and her salad flies off her plate and onto the floor. Jaz and I take our cue to bolt among an eruption of noise and camera clicks. We dash out of there, nearly dizzy with laughter.
“That was fun,” Jaz says when we come to a skidding stop near our lockers. “Do it again tomorrow?”
I’m still giggling. “I think she wanted to hit me.”
“Would you hate me if I said it would have been kind of funny?”
I shrug. I’ve never been in a fight before. Fenn used to talk about them at Sandover, and it always made me curious what it feels like to throw a punch.
As if he knows I’m thinking about him, my pocket buzzes. He’s been texting all day, as per usual.
“What’s that face?” Jaz asks.
“Nothing.”
“Who keeps texting you? That guy still?”
“Yup.”
“And you’re still over it?”