Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Suddenly, the sound of the door opening then slamming shut echoes through the locker room, causing us both to freeze, Shayne’s eyes widen with panic. When we don’t hear anything else for a few seconds, I lift her off me, then stand from the bench.
“What if someone saw us?” she whispers.
This right here is why I should stay away from her. No matter how much I want to hate her, no matter how much I want to blame her, my need for her is stronger. Always.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s fine?” she repeats, incredulous, reaching into her locker to pull a shirt over her head. “It’s fine that someone might’ve just seen me naked on top of my ex-stepbrother?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She scoffs, pulling a pair of sweatpants and a jacket from the bag inside her locker.
“Did you take my jacket?” I ask, remembering that it went missing the morning she snuck out of my bed.
She flings her locker door shut, turning to meet my eyes. “I didn’t have much of a choice,” she says defensively.
“I need it back.”
“Fine.”
Shayne
“Is everything okay?” Ms. Thomas asks, eyeing my latest entries as if she’s reading the manifesto of a man who planned to blow up an entire city instead of the angsty teenage ramblings that they are.
“Fine,” I say with false cheeriness. I’ve had a lot to say lately. So sue me. Her eyes linger a little too long on an X-rated page, so I impatiently stick out my palm, clearing my throat.
“Right,” she says, blinking rapidly. So much for not reading my personal thoughts. Gently, she drops the composition book into my hand, and I snatch it back, feeling exposed. “Let’s switch gears,” she suggests.
“Please.”
“College.”
“Or maybe not.”
“Shayne,” she chides, tilting her head. “You have options.”
“I know,” I assure her before she launches into her spiel about scholarships and financial aid that I know I won’t even be eligible for. Everyone here, guidance counselor included, knows I’m not like the rest of the kids at Sawyer Point High. My mom might’ve come from money, but she doesn’t get a dime from her parents. “I’m actually going to tour campuses with my team next week.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, surprised. “Perfect. Anything else you want to talk about?”
“Nope.”
“Then I’ll see you in two weeks.”
I stuff my journal into my bag, then shrug it over my shoulder as I walk out into the hall. Our meeting ran a little late, so most of the students have already gone back to class after lunch, but as I turn the corner, I see Christian and Baker arguing in hushed tones. I take a step back, peeking around the wall. Christian fists Baker’s collar, shoving him up against a locker. For a second, I think he’s going to hit him, but then he releases him, taking a step back. Baker shoves him away, straightening his shirt.
“Don’t forget who made you who you are,” Christian threatens. “You were fucking nothing. I can take you down just as quick.”
“Back at you,” Baker sneers.
All of a sudden, a class door slams behind me, drawing both their attention. Two sets of angry eyes lock onto mine, and I know I’m caught. I don’t bother pretending otherwise. Christian works his jaw, glaring in my direction, and then he’s storming off in the opposite direction. Baker hesitates, pinning me with a look I can’t decode before disappearing into the classroom to the right of the lockers.
What the hell was that about? Their friendship has never made sense to me, and this only adds to my confusion.
I hurry to my last period, quietly slipping into class and taking the empty desk next to Holden, who tosses me a wink. I wonder if he’s in on whatever’s going on with Christian and Baker, or if he’s in the dark like I am. I make a mental note to ask him about it later.
An hour later, the bell rings, and Holden and I walk out of class together. Valen has a cheer thing, and I won’t see her tonight, so we head straight for the student parking lot.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Holden says, stopping short. I stop with him, looking at him expectantly. He reaches into his pocket before producing a small bundle of black fabric, then he’s dangling it from his index finger. “I think these belong to you.”
My cheeks burn when I realize he’s holding my shorts from the other night and my hand shoots out to snatch them from him. “What the hell!” I stuff them into my backpack, looking around to make sure no one else just saw Holden Ames returning what will surely appear to be my underwear to onlookers.
“What?” he asks with mock sincerity. “I found these bad boys stuffed in the couch cushion. Thought you might want them back.”
I flatten my lips, speed walking toward my car, and I hear his chuckle behind me.