“How come you have kittens in your backpack anyway?” I ask, panting, as we zero in on the one she called Pansy earlier. Pansy is currently hiding in asunken corner by the gutter, making the most heartbreaking little mewling sounds.
“Our cat just had them about a month ago.” Marie’s brow furrows as she crouches down, holding out her hand and cooing softly. “Dad said he’d drown them if she had another litter after the last one. He’s an asshole.”
The wordassholesounds funny coming out of Marie’s petite little mouth, especially with that serious expression on her face.
“Yeah.” I squat beside her, keeping my voice low so I don’t spook the kitten. “I’ve got one of those, too. An asshole dad.”
The kitten finally crawls up into Marie’s hands, and she smiles at me as she lifts it back to her backpack with the other two. “I hid them under my bed, but he found them this morning.” Her voice goes small. Defeated. “I thought maybe I could give them away today.”
She looks up at me with those big eyes again. “You want one?”
“Oh, I—” I start shaking my head, ready with my excuse about how I can’t take care of a kitten when I’m trying to figure out how to escape back to Selbyville, but before I can get the words out, she’s already reached into her bag and plucked out Sox—the little gray one with the white feet—and plopped her against my chest.
The kitten immediately starts purring, booping my chin with her tiny nose like we’re old friends.
I lift an eyebrow down at the little furball. “Not fair.”
Marie giggles. Actually giggles. “Who can say no to a kitten? I figured if I could just let peoplemeetthem, I could find them homes.”
“Why not just take them to the shelter?” I stroke the kitten’s head with one finger, and Sox leans into the touch, purring even harder.
“Mom’s too busy with work and Dad—” Marie looks at the ground. “Well, yeah. I told you about him.” She picks at the hem of her skirt. “I’m on scholarship. You should probably know that before you hang out with me. It’s not good for people’s reputation to be seen with me.”
I bark out a laugh that’s sharp enough to make Marie flinch. “Sorry. That’s bullshit.”
I slip Sox into my backpack—carefully, making sure there’s an opening at the top—with a little smile and roll of my eyes at Marie. Can I afford to take care of a kitten right now, especially when I’m trying to find a way back to Selbyville and Z? Absolutely not. But Helen looks like all she’s missing in her perfect little suburban life is a kitten to round out the family portrait. And besides, this little furball deserves better than being drowned by some asshole.
“Fuck these cunts, right?”
Marie’s eyes light up like I just handed her permission to be real for the first time all day. “Yeah!” Her voice gets louder, braver. “Fuck these cunts!”
AP English is after lunch,according to the color-coded schedule the guidance counselor shoved at me this morning. Room 207.
The little gray kitten—Sox—is snuggled in my backpack, being miraculously quiet. I can feel her tiny warmweight against my spine through the canvas. Hopefully, she stays asleep through English. Last thing I need is to explain why I’m smuggling a contraband kitten into class on my first day. Then again, I don’t plan on being here long, so who gives a shit?
I push open the door and immediately want to turn around and walk back out.
Because there’s McKenzie, perched on the edge of some guy’s desk like she’s posing for a catalog shoot. Strawberry lip gloss. Hair up with those stupid ringlets. Leaning close enough to some poor bastard that her tits are practically in his lap.
And the guy?—
Fuck. I pause.
Fuck.
The guy is gorgeous.
Like, stupidly, offensively, shouldn’t-be-legal-in-high-school gorgeous.
Dark hair that looks professionally styled but probably just air-dried like that. Sharp jawline. Broad shoulders filling out a button-down and the ugly blazer in a way that makes it lookgood.
And his eyes. Even from across the room, I can see they’re this intense blue.
I slide into an empty desk in the back corner—my preferred location in any classroom. Easier to observe. Harder to be observed. Plus, if I need to sleep or text Z, the teacher’s less likely to notice.
My eyes drift back toward the hottie that McKenzie’s draped all over. He’s gotta be her boyfriend.
Although… he hasn’t looked up at her once. He’s bent over a notebook, pen moving in neat, controlled lines like he’s writing a manifesto instead of doodling before class.