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As soon as the bell rings, I get the hell out of here. Like the entire school is on fire. Lila went home early today because of bad period cramps. She didn’t want to miss her last class, but she usually gets horrible pains during the first two days of her menstruation and they leave her incapable of doing anything else but curling up in bed.
So, she went home.
That means, I’m alone in this awful place — the ‘shark tank’ as we like to call it, and I’m not exactly comfortable with that. Lila has been my only pillar, the one keeping me together since I came back to Berkshire Academy last year.
Somehow, she makes me appear stronger than I really am.
I grab my coat and make my way to the parking lot. I easily spot my white Audi R8, the one my father ‘gifted’ me last year for my birthday. Not that my birthday was any celebration. Both my parents would rather forget that I exist. It was my father’s assistant who ordered the gift and made sure it was delivered, like she has done for the last few years.
As per my father’s orders, Sadie has my birthdate on her schedule, with a pretty note that says: Get Riley a gift. So she does just that and tells me with her fake toothy smile “It’s from your parents. Happy Birthday!”
It’s been like that for as long as I can remember. My parents don’t bother getting me any presents themselves. In fact, they don’t bother to even remember my birthday.
To them, I guess it’s not so important.
I was used to it — until Lila threw me a small birthday party at her grandparents’ house. It was just the four of us. Her grandma cooked dinner, Lila baked me a cake, and we spent the night playing Monopoly, before Lila and I fell asleep in her after watching a movie. It was the first time I slept over at her place and the first time I discovered what the true meaning of comfort is.
I make it to my Audi, but then come to a screeching halt when something catches my eye. My tires. Oh shit! I have flat tires.
Upon closer inspection, I see that they have been punctured. Purposely.
Damn it! I kick the tire in frustration. Great, so now I have two flat tires and zero spares.
Bad luck seems to follow me everywhere I go. Whoever is writing my destiny book is laughing at me.
“Do you need help?” a familiar deep voice says from behind me.
I jump, blood roaring between my ears in alarm. “Jesus, Grayson! Why do you keep doing that?” I spin around to face him. He’s so close that I almost smack my face into his chest. Stumbling back a step, I crane my neck up and look at his chiseled face.
Confused, he asks, “What?”
“Popping up out of nowhere,” I tell him blankly. “First at the coffee shop and now here.”
“Oh.” He appears flustered by my statement. “So, do you need help?” he asks again, more awkwardly this time.
“I have flat tires,” I deadpan, pointing at my car.
Grayson walks closer to it and squats down, inspecting my tires closely. His brows furrow, and I see the way his jaw tightens. A muscle ticks in his cheek. “It appears that someone did this purposely.”
Yeah, I know.
“Do you want to report this?” He stands up, his attention focused solely on me. I shift from one foot to the other, feeling anxious under his penetrating gaze. He’s always so… serious and formal. I can’t tell what’s in his head, what he’s thinking. “There are cameras in the parking lot.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s fine.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you want to report whoever did this?” He motions toward my car.
I heft my backpack higher and release the breath I’ve been holding. “Because I don’t want the trouble, and anyway, it’s pointless.”
Grayson is silent for a second, studying me closely before he nods. “Okay then, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Oh no, you don’t ha—
“I want to,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. Like I said before, bossy. But he doesn’t do it in an overwhelming or intimidating way. His bossiness is always accompanied with softness and understanding in his eyes.
