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His rehab program is only 30-days. He’s halfway there now.
“Thanks for the homework,” he mutters begrudgingly.
“Hey now, we can’t have you failing any classes,” I joke half-heartedly.
We say our goodbyes, and then I’m grabbing my earphones and getting the fuck out of here. I walk out of the main building, and instead of following the path to the main gates, I cut through the trees. It never snows in Malibu, but it’s mid-January and slightly windy even with how sunny it is right now. Cole mentioned that there’s a small cherry and clementine orchard right behind the main building. Cherries are a spring and summer fruit. But clementines are harvested in late fall and early winter. If I’m lucky, there might still be a few on the trees.
The orchard is reserved for the residents of St. Lucas Rehabilitation. I’m just a visitor, but I have a weakness for clementines. And Cole, with his knowing smirk is aware of that. Of course he was baiting me. Asshole.
Sweet and tangy clementines; my mouth waters at the thought.I’ll steal some and then I’ll leave. It’s not like anyone would sue for some stolen fruit. They probably won’t even notice if I’m careful enough.
But, then again, stealth is my game.
Walking past the thick pine trees, I spot the small orchard and make my way there. When I’m close enough, I halt in my steps. Looks like I’m not the only one thinking of clementines today.
I recognize her instantly. But then again, who wouldn’t.
She’s a popular face of Berkshire Academy. Was a popular face — she’s now just a sad reject. Someone easily forgotten. An outcast that doesn’t belong anymore.
A fallen princess.
Riley Johnson lost the war and was forced to crawl on her bleeding knees — to watch her kingdom burn to ashes at her feet.
She sits cross-legged on a neatly-folded blanket, under a fruitful clementine tree. With a book in her hand. She’s wearing a short yellow dress, with thin straps and a lace bodice. Her waist length blonde hair is untied, and the cool breeze keeps blowing it in her face. Her gaze never wavers from the page of her book as she tucks her wayward hair behind her ears.
She turns the page, before biting into another piece of clementine. Her tongue peeks out, swiping over her lower lip to catch the remnants of the juices.
My heart thuds in my chest.
Riley Johnson sits there, looking like a ray of fucking sunshine.
And I don’t know why — but it pisses me off.
I quietly edge closer to her, and she doesn’t notice me. Riley is in her own little world, reading and eating clementines—the same ones I’m supposed to steal.
Leaning against the tree, I stand behind Riley and peek down at the book she’s reading. The Great Gatsby. Since we were forced to read it in freshman year, I’ve hated that book. The It’s supposed to be some kind of famous classic, but while I can appreciate some intelligent and beautiful writing, I find none of the characters likable. In fact, none of them are even dislikable. They are just merely despicable.
And frankly, I never understood Jay’s pointless obsession over Daisy.
“The ending to this one isn’t very good,” I drawl.
Riley is easily startled and she snaps the book close, before looking back over her shoulder at me. “W-what?” she stammers, but when she notices who has sneaked up on her — her eyes sharpen into a glare.
“Bennett,” she says under her breath, whispering my last name like it’s a damnable curse.
Yeah, we don’t get along. Not that we’ve ever interacted with each other before. She’s a junior, and I’m a sophomore. But Riley Johnson and I have lifelong animosity.
It’s nothing personal between us — but our fathers have been feuding for as long as I can remember. Henry Bennett and Thomas Johnson have a personal agenda against each other. They were rivals in high school, and now both are running in the gubernatorial elections, for the same state. I even heard about how Thomas slept with my father’s long-term girlfriend in college. In revenge, my father burned down Thomas’s vocational cottage. But then again, those are just rumors. To say they have a strong dislike for each other is an understatement.
I think it’s petty, but our feuding families automatically make Riley and me — enemies.
Our fathers would have a stroke if we ever ended up as friends.
But then again, I don’t have any intention of befriending the “fallen” princess of Berkshire Academy. She’s a nobody now — a disgrace and an outsider in the social circle of the wealthy and corrupted.
My father likes to say that we have an exceptional reputation, and that we do not associate ourselves with public scandal.
And damn it all, Riley has scandal written all over her petite frame.
