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“Psh, hell no.” Ciara fans her hands in the air. “I run a nail polish blog and companies send me their newest colors for free. I take pictures and blog about if I liked them or not. It’s a lot of work, but I’m happy to blow off my school work to get it done.”
“Hey, do I owe someone for my share of the pizza?” I ask, taking a seat on the other side of Ciara. “And do we get pizza every day?”
“No and yes,” Trish says. She throws a thumb over her shoulder. “Mrs. Meadows is the daughter of the pizza empire of Granite Hills.”
I lift an eyebrow and look back at the teacher. She’s been so quiet today I forgot she was even in here. Her strawberry blond hair is pulled into a high ponytail and it bounces when she looks over at me. “My family owns Meadows Pizza,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I swing by and pick these up free of charge each day. So no worries.”
“Thanks,” I say. “This is awesome.”
Mrs. Meadows nods. “How do you think I got so damn fat?” she says with a laugh.
Xavier leans forward, his lips glistening from the pizza grease. “For all you know sweetheart, I’m actually happily dating someone, but I fake it for the delicious pizza.”
Trish punches him in the arm. “You’re not dating anything besides your right hand. And Ms. Meadows,” she says, looking over at the art teacher. “There’s just more o
f you to love.”
Bastian rushes inside the classroom, shoving the door closed behind him. He’s wearing slacks and a long-sleeved button-up shirt with a pocket square. He dresses better for school than I do for church. “Sorry I’m late, guys,” Bastian says, letting out a sigh. He heads to the pizza table. “Mrs. Gertie had me running intervention on one of our other members, but he wouldn’t budge. Refused to come even though he desperately needs it.”
“Who?” Trish asks over a mouthful of pizza.
“Jonathan Silvia.” Everyone except for me nods as if this makes complete sense.
“How many members do you guys have?” I ask, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of more students in here.
“We’re the main ones,” Bastian says, loading up his plate with five slices. He closes the box and turns around to face me. “We have around five or six floating members. They come by randomly because they haven’t yet learned to face their heartache head-on.” He shakes his head. “Some people like living in denial. But you, my dear Isla, are on the way to healing.” He smiles and takes a seat across from me in the circle of chairs. His fingers weave together as he leans forward, his eyes focused expertly on me. “So what good news do you have today? Did you make it an entire twenty-four hours without texting your ex?”
Now is my moment to shine. I take my phone from my back pocket and hold it face up for everyone to see. “I did more than that, Bastian,” I say triumphantly. Behind me is the soft sound of the door opening, but I don’t pay attention to it. “I was avoiding texting him like you requested, and I was doing really good by the way. Then, last night at exactly eight thirty-three in the evening, Nate texted me.”
The club members look exactly as stunned as I’d imagined in my daydreams this morning. “And..?” Bastian says slowly. Hope and positivity are painted across his face.
I shrug as if my restraint was as easy as breathing. “I haven’t even read it.”
“Nice,” Xavier murmurs.
“Damn. That’s some good willpower,” Ciara says, holding out her knuckles to me. I bump my fist to hers.
Bastian smiles, his shoulders straightening. The look on his face says he wants to take all the credit for my amazing transformation over the last twenty-four hours, and I don’t mind. “Grab some pizza and have a seat,” Bastian says, his eyes looking somewhere behind me. “Our newest member just made more progress overnight than you’ve made in all of last year.”
“Is that so?” The voice, low and soft, sends a chill down my spine. I glance over and watch him take a pizza box off the stack and carry it over to an empty desk next to Bastian. He sits and his dark eyes focus on mine. “You’ll have to teach me your ways,” he says, shrugging his hair out of his eyes. The corner of his lips lift into a cocky smile.
The entire room seems to freeze in place and time slows until I can feel the seconds crawling by at a glacier-like pace. My first thought: God, he is so hot.
My second thought is more logical:
Who the hell would break Emory Underwood’s heart?
Chapter Twelve
“You’re heartbroken?” The words fly out of my mouth, disbelieving and accusing all at once. Emory’s eyes meet mine, and he takes a bite of pizza, seemingly unwilling to answer my question. Or maybe he thinks the answer is obvious.
Bastian’s brows furrow and he waves a hand between the two of us. “You two know each other? Emory, I swear to God if—”
I shake my head. “No, we don’t. Not really.”
“We have one or two classes together,” Emory says, focusing more on the pizza than on me. “So what did I miss?”
Ciara holds out her pizza crust between two fingers, carefully trying to eat it without damaging her nail polish. “Isla was about to show us the text from her ex-boyfriend.”
