Good.
I grin and give him a little wink before settling back in my chair. He jerks in his seat before swiftly turning away and keeping his back to me the rest of class. I chuckle to myself.
It’s not nice to play with your food.
But since when have I been nice? I’m the bitchy, hard-shelled slut from the trailer park, right? I’m Darlene Tucker’s daughter, and this little escape into a world of lemon-waxed floors and kittens and snickerdoodle cookies at bedtime isn’t real despite how much some stupid, soft-under-bellied part of me wants it to be. Dad’sjust running a con on that nice lady Helen, anyway. There’s no point in any of it.
Note to self: Don’t get distracted by gorgeous, blue-eyed boys.
FOUR
CALEB
I smirkdown at my phone and text Kevin back with a laughing emoji, agreeing that Derek was beingextraduring student council last period. I check the send time—3:48. Good. Not 3:47 or 3:49. Odd numbers make my brain itchy. I tap the screen four times to lock it, then adjust my messenger bag so the strap sits evenly across my chest. Derek’s my only real competition for valedictorian, and I’ve never met anyone more competitive.
Well, except maybe for me.
But unlike Derek, winning to me isn’t just about my ego. It’s about leadership and bringing people together to create a strong team. Like with debate. I’m a peacekeeper between robust personalities and good at encouraging different talents forward in balance so the team as a whole is stronger than its parts.
At least that’s what I wrote in my college essay.
Derek wouldn’t stop pestering all of us about who had already put their early admission applications in for Harvard. His family is Princeton legacy, so naturally, he’ll only feel validated if he gets into Harvard instead. Hard eye roll.
I’ve wanted Harvard ever since Mom talked about walking on the campus one time when she was a kid. She always dreamed about going there, but of course, never got to. She was smart enough, but she met my asshole dad instead.
I’ve got a real shot, though. And I’m determined to give that woman everything she ever dreamed of, even if it’s just vicariously through me.
Or is that just another lie I’m telling myself? The same way that I call being a peacekeeper justthe coward’s way of not taking a side?
I frown to myself. That new girl’s words have been stuck in my craw ever since fourth period.Coward.The word loops in my head, and I keep replaying the exact curl of her lip when she said it. It didn’t help that the most pointed critique of my character in years came out of the lips of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in real life.
After enough years, life at Westfield Prep has started to feel… monotonous. Don’t get me wrong. That’s how I like it.
I hate change.
I’m one of the few students wholikesthe fact that we all wear uniforms. I get to wear the same thing every day and wake up at the same time—6:44 a.m., exactly—and eat the same four-egg omelet and hang out with mostlythe same kids I’ve known since second grade, year after year.
Then, suddenly, it was like a supermodel walked out of the pages of a magazine and perched herself lazily at the back of my high school classroom. And she sparkled in such vivid, shockingcolor.
There I was, just minding my own business and trying to avoid McKenzie’s touchy advances. Dear God, I’m afraid she’s finally set her sights on me for the part of boyfriend-for-the-year in the play always on stage in her head, a fate I’ve avoided thus far by deliberately friend-zoning myself every fall and wearing non-designer shoes. And also not driving my own car yet. I’m still waiting on a part to come in for the Mustang.
But as soon as McKenzie started sparing with the new girl, who I couldn’t see yet, I went into peacekeeper mode like I always do. Conflict is nails on the chalkboard to me. And knowing how vicious McKenzie can be when anybody scores any points against her?—
But then the gorgeous new girl proved she can more than stand up for herself. To McKenzie… and to me.
Coward.
I wince again as I push through the outer doors, aiming for the benches to wait for my ride when?—
Speak of the devil.
New Girl is out there in the parking lot, perched incongruously on the hood of a Honda Civic, and I squint. Is she playing with acat? It’s fifteen minutes past the last bell. Did she have car trouble or something?
And where the hell did the cat come from?
Before I realize what I’m doing, my feet carry me in her direction.
“Stalking me, Boy Scout?” she asks with a small smile when I get close, never looking up from the cat in her lap.