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She sniffed and left me alone, and I purposely stayed up another two hours to spite her, unpacking some of my boxes.
Besides, when I finally did lie down and close my eyes, dreams were the last thing that came. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t lie still, couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen in less than eight hours when I saw Ryder Yates again.
Chapter 5
New school.
Couldn’t breathe.
The winter chill didn’t help. Neither did the restless three hours of sleep I’d managed to snag.
It had snowed overnight but not enough to cancel school, unfortunately. When I exited my room yawning that morning to head toward the shower, I spotted Mom at the kitchen window, a steaming mug of something in her hands as she stared outside at the white-covered backyard.
“Still upset I’m not letting you drive twenty-five miles through this weather today so you can go to Hillsburg?” she asked, keeping her back to me.
She sounded so smug; I didn’t answer, merely directed a dirty glare at her back and continued toward the bathroom. Truth be told, I would’ve rather been in a nice, heated car than walk those eight blocks to school through the frigid weather. It wasn’t just snow either, I discovered as soon as I stepped outside. A layer of ice hid under all the cute, puffy white stuff. It was slippery and miserable, and I cursed my mother the entire trip.
I entered Southeast High School, feeling as Hester Prinn from The Scarlett Letter must’ve felt the first time she had to go grocery shopping after getting her nifty letter A pinned on. Make that a frozen Hester Prinn. Everyone had to be staring and thinking I was the lowest of low. Not that I was wearing a Hillsburg letterman’s jacket or anything—I didn’t even own one—but I was so certain everyone could see some invisible V—for Viking, Hillsburg’s mascot—etched on my forehead every time they glanced my way.
I was such an outsider.
As soon as I stepped into my new life, my guts knotted into a queasy ball of nausea. The wretched cold froze my extremities, the lack of sleep left me with a pounding headache, and every nerve in my body spiked out of control.
I managed a few uneasy grins, but I probably looked more constipated than I did polite.
Two boys leaning against the wall paused talking to stare at me. One girl sitting on the floor with a book propped open on her bent knees even glanced up to momentarily glance my way. It was the most unnerving sensation. The only people inside the spacious commons area not paying me a lick of attention were a pair of chatty cheerleaders decked out in their skirts and leggings as they strolled past.
The dainty, shorter one with her pale hair pulled up high into a perky ponytail brushed by me so close, her shoulder caught my book bag I had hanging off the crook of one elbow. As the strap wrenched my limb around, scraping painfully across the inside of my arm, the cheerleader paused to whirl back and glare at me.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” she railed.
“Sorry.” I readjusted my bag to hook it more securely over my shoulder.
I almost missed the number forty-two painted in purple on her cheek. I faltered and did a double take, catching sight of the two digits again as she turned away, dismissing me, and continued down the hall with her friend.
My mouth fell open as I stared after the two girls, watching the way their pleated purple and white skirts swished back and forth.
Forty-two, my mind kept repeating. Ryder Yates. The only student from Southeast who’d ever talked to me. And that foul, petite, beautiful cheerleader sported his jersey number on her cheek. The juices in my stomach churned so hard my belly actually hurt.
Oh, no.
He had a girlfriend.
My skin suddenly fit all wrong. My scalp prickled and my cheeks heated. My knees went loose and wobbly. A shock wave reverberated through my arms and legs.
I wish I could’ve been all blasé and passed off the inner commotion as anger. The lying, cheating, gorgeous jerk had hit on me barely three weeks ago, and he’d had a girlfriend the entire time? I should’ve been fuming.
Instead, I felt more like bawling.
Despite what I’d claimed so fiercely to my friends, I too had secretly hoped something magical might come from attending Southeast. Something magical that involved a certain boy who bore the number forty-two on his stupid basketball jersey.
I told myself I was probably jumping to conclusions. Just because I’d seen one girl wearing his jersey number on her cheek didn’t mean he was dating anyone. Maybe they were just friends. I’d have worn Adam’s number if he’d been in any kind of sport.
Or maybe the cheerleader had a huge crush on him and wanted to let him know about it. Totally possible, given how dreamy he was. Or maybe, maybe she was his sister and had to wear his number out of family obligation, though her small frame, super blond hair and facial features bore no resemblance at all to Ryder Yates.
Okay, so he more than likely had a girlfriend.
Shake it off. There was one concern gone. I didn’t have to worry about whether he was going to try hitting on me again.
