The earliest he could get me in was next week.
Father of the fucking year.
Having your father as the dean would make one think I had more pull; if anything, it might actually have the opposite effect.
The only time my father likes me is when I’m competing and winning; then he at least deems me tolerable. By the gods, if I lost, though… I might as well pretend he isn’t even there; it would be better.
He’s never been my biggest fan, and that’s fine. I’d rather avoid him altogether if I can.
I texted my mother last night about this, and she just messaged back a fortune cookie phrase.
Some things must be done.
Super fucking helpful all around.
Then she’d messaged me a list of ways I could make Wren like me, things I could do for her that she no doubt wishes Father would do for her.
As if I want her to like me.
No, I get the feeling that liking Wren would be simple. Gavin doesn’t get along with her because she’s able to beat him at his one thing, but she doesn’t seem bad, and she smells delicious. I’d use Julez's quick taking to her as an example, but honestly, he could fall in love with a fly if it tickled his fancy.
The way he loves is the way Titus hates: instant and all-consuming. That’s why them together is so funny.
No, I would much rather Wren not like me; I get the feeling that will be the safest, if not also easiest, option.
Gavin would lose his mind if I felt anything but hate for her…
No, bad idea. I shake the thought away; we all have more than enough going on. Throwing a girl into the mix, especially Gavin’s human rival, isn’t going to help anyone.
I make my way downstairs, dressed and ready for the day, to find that most everyone else is already here. I grab a banana and move toward the door. The best thing to do is to stay away and pretend she doesn’t exist until I can talk to my father.
Wren is the only one I don’t see, neither on the couch nor at the table. It doesn’t take a genius to guess where she is. A moment later, the bathroom door swings open and she walks out in a freshly pressed uniform, her cheeks burning bright.
It takes me a second to understand why she’s so red. That is, until I see her try and fail to discreetly yank at the hem of her skirt. They aren’t short; hell, a lot of girls roll them, but even falling to mid-thigh and her socks nearly up to her knees, she seems embarrassed.
“Fuck me, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that uniform look so good, Pookie,” Julez practically purrs as he stands and makes his way over to her.
If you’d asked me a moment ago, I would have sworn it wasn’t possible for her to turn any redder, but she found a way.
That stupid-ass nickname he seems to have given her makes me roll my eyes because there are so many other better names, and he chose Pookie….
Whatever, not my problem.
I see the change in her eyes, though, as they harden when they land on Julez, and I don’t know what he did, but I think I have a minute to spare to find out.
“You don’t talk to me,” she hisses, stomping toward him and making him stop in his tracks, brows high on his head.
Julez isn’t used to being called out, ever.
He’s pretty and a flirt, which means he gets what he wants. The girls usually fall all over him for just a chance to be the object of his affection.
Apparently, that isn’t Wren’s style.
Points for her, but I guess that just depends on how long she can stay strong. I’m almost sure she’ll cave before breakfast ends.
“I know I locked that door this morning. I made sure of it.” She pokes a finger into his chest, hard, and I can’t stop the smile that pulls at my lips when his eyes go wide with surprise.
Maybe I underestimated her.
