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It takes me several seconds, but I meet her gaze.
“Who else would it be from?”
Walking into school is far less exciting than the start of senior year should be.
Maybe it’s because the year of possibilities and wonder that helps pave the path that follows is pointless for an eighteen-year-old girl who has the next decade fully mapped out for her.
As an honor student, like a solid eighty-seven percent of this school as well as my last, I have only three required classes, so the rest of my time is filled with pointless extracurriculars to help fluff my portfolio—again, pointless.
It does, however, help pass the time, and with the way summer got old fast, it’s better this than that. Or at least that’s the speech I give myself throughout the day, each and every time the desire to chop my own head off seeps in.
“Cali, what happened at your last party?” Amy asks, a bit of an edge to her voice.
My eyes snap to her.
“You were there, were you not?” Cali glances up from her phone briefly.
“I left early,” she snaps.
Cali only shrugs, setting her phone beside her on the tabletop.
“People said there was a blackout,” Amy pushes further. “And guess who has been staring over here for the last twenty minutes?” She seems as equally annoyed as she does pleased. “I wonder why that would be?”
Cali’s fork hovers over a slice of cucumber, her head jerking in the direction Amy indicated, and most of us around the table, including myself, follow.
Sure enough, there they are, tucked in the corner near the door.
Ransom is leaning back against the table, his legs lazily stretched in front of him, knees bent; Beretta straddles the bench seat at his side, and Arsen sits on the opposite side.
All three wear a frown of some sort, all three pointed this way.
Are there others around them? Sure, but they aren’t the focus right now.
Beretta’s eyes meet mine. While the frown stays strong, he delivers a quick wink, and I turn back to find Amy staring.
She quickly flicks her dull brown eyes away, but I don’t. I wait her out, and her attention comes right back, this time with a frigid smile curling her bright pink lips.
The thing about Amy is... well, she’s a bitch. She likes to state the obvious to make people uncomfortable, pretends her conversations are all random, so she can make sure others are aware of whatever it is she chooses to share, the kick her while she’s down type. She likes gossip, loves attention, and loathes competition, not that she sees me as hers.
She’s the kind of girl I make a point to avoid.
Pretty little pretenders’ stakes are always razor sharp, within reach, and more often than not, shooting for the spine.
“You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”
All heads snap toward me and Amy blanches.
“What?” She slowly straightens.
“You want to know why they’re staring...” I lift a single shoulder, bringing my latte to my lips. “Ask.”
“Ask.” Her head has a bit of a roll, going for sassy, but her frustration is unmistakable, and she knows it. It only irritates her more. “You’re the one who ‘bumped’ into them at Dojo, you ask.”
My eyes narrow. “If I cared, I would.”
A loud, mocking laugh slips past her lips, but when mine doesn’t follow, the edges of her eyes tighten the teeniest bit. “Yeah right...”
I cut a quick glance around the table. It’s the same people from summer, plus or minus a few who returned earlier this week from Paris. Curiosity draws their future Botoxed faces tight.
How will such a conversation end?
They can’t read me, and I find that entertaining.
My lips begin to quirk, and not a moment later, a loud scoff leaves Scott. He glances from Dax to Amy to me.
He shakes his head, eliminating the space between us. “Man, fuck them.” He throws one leg over the seat, his knee now knocking with mine under the table. “Let them have their fantasies,” he says as if they could never fit in the world these people live in.
Amy and I meet eyes again, and the doubt flickering in hers pisses me off, but not as much as the inquisition behind them intrigues me.
What is it you’re searching for, Miss Priss?
I hold her gaze for longer than she’s comfortable with, then slowly draw mine to the boys of the hour and wait.
It takes several seconds, seconds I’m convinced are purposeful, and then Ransom’s eyes are pinned to mine.
With a flick of my finger, I call him over.
“Oh my god, what are you doing?” Cali’s panic is hidden behind her hand. “Jameson, he’s going to cover you in your coffee.”
I’ll admit, my pulse jumps at her words; she knows him better than me, right? Still, I don’t take my eyes off Ransom’s.
No one knows about our few, short meetings, other than the five seconds they saw us speak at the club, which I covered up, and the people I met mere hours ago have no sense of what I’m about, so, yeah. I’m sure I come off every bit the overconfident girl their twisted brows insinuate they see me as in this moment.
