Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Tessa giggles, then waves. “Hi guys, as you know, I used to go to school here. I finished my credits early and wanted to get in on my TA credits so I could graduate college even earlier. The school board was more than happy to let me back in, and I’m so thrilled to be back at my alma mater.”
I almost roll my eyes. Isn’t that what they call your old college? Or is it the same way with high school? Either way, I’m instantly annoyed.
Her red lipstick looks stained against her lips in that perfect way that makes her lips look dewy yet full. I would bet money that if I tried to wipe it off, it would stay.
Ugh.
See? Annoying.
And why am I letting this bother me? I don’t know their drama or history; all I know is that something about her is off, and something truly went down that I know nothing about.
I randomly look over at Quinn.
His hand is gripping his pencil so hard his fingers are turning white, and his face looks relaxed, but I can tell something’s not okay with him. As Tessa and Mr. Dekker talk, I slowly lean over until I’m in his personal space and whisper.
“You good?”
His jaw clenches tighter. “No.”
“Do I need to pull the fire alarm?”
He actually smiles now, releasing a bit of the tension in his aristocratic-inspired face. “I don’t think that would fix this.”
He keeps holding the pencil, then starts tapping it against the desk over and over again like he’s more than just agitated—almost like he’s afraid.
“What would?” I ask, trying to distract him.
He glances from me to the front of the class and then back to me. “A reset. Got any time travel devices in your fancy bag over there?”
“Fresh out.”
“Damn. And I was so optimistic.”
“Seems to be the theme with you, optimism.” I throw out, then smile. “You know, it’s okay to feel things, but don’t ever feel them because someone forces them on you. Choose to be sad, happy, choose to be angry, but don’t allow another power to make that choice for you.”
“Ah…” His smile is slow. “So she was a philosopher in another life?”
“She clearly was because she’s brilliant.” I wink.
He stops tapping his pencil and then looks up at me just in time for Tessa to walk between our desks. “Something interesting back here?”
Quinn grips the pencil again so hard I’m almost afraid he’s going to stab her with it. He glances at me, then leans back and smiles like it’s just another day. “Sorry, was flirting, she’s super-hot, and I wore red today, so I was feeling myself. That a problem?”
Her nostrils flair. “Pay attention in class.”
“Yes, Miss Tessa.” His legs are bouncing a bit, and I can tell he’s not just enraged, he’s terrified. “I’ll make sure to pay really close attention. After all, details are everything, wouldn’t you agree?”
Her lips part open, and then she turns away from us. “Sure.”
I’m ready to ask what just happened when Mr. Dekker starts talking about another pop quiz. When Tessa stops by my desk, she not only drops the paper onto it only for it to fly off but steps on my bag.
I hear a crunch and want to cry.
“Oh, sorry!” She’s so fake I want to smack her as she picks up the bag and puts it on my chair. “Remember, bags go on the chairs, not on the floors. We wouldn’t want anything to break.”
It’s probably a bag of chips or my sunglasses that I’ve had for the last five years, one of the only things I kept from my favorite foster mom when I saw them at Wal-Mart, and while it may sound dumb like they’re not Louis Vuitton so who the hell cares. I care.
Because I treasure small things.
Small things are all I have.
And she took that away with one look and a footprint on my designer satchel. I think maybe, looking back, I’d laugh that I couldn’t care less about the designer bag but the sunglasses that cost my foster mom maybe five dollars. They were my first pair.
Shaking, I reach for my bag after she passes my desk and starts talking to other students or helping while Mr. Dekker lectures.
The bag is a cream leather, beautiful Prada. I reach into it and then down. I’m afraid to look in, so I just feel while attempting to pay attention. Quinn’s watching me from the right like he’s not sure what to say or how to react. He’s dealing with his own demons.
My hands hit the potato chips first, they’re good.
And then, they shakily reach for the black sunglasses.
The lenses are both completely gone from the glasses, but both sides are intact, so I could at least put them on if I wanted to.
No shield from the burning sun, not that it ever really mattered… I’ve been getting burned my entire life, what’s two lenses? I tell myself this as I grab the glasses and clutch them in my hand.