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“I wasn’t whining. I’m not a baby.”
“You were definitely whining,” I correct her. “So, if that’s what babies do, then hello kettle, meet pot.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” I respond on a laugh and kneel down in front of her. “Climb aboard, Winnie.”
She smiles like a girl who just won a battle of wills and doesn’t hesitate to climb atop my shoulders. Once I’m certain she’s secure, I stand up and proceed to finish walking the last two blocks to my high school.
I’m not surprised to find that the massive building looks exactly like it did when I walked out the doors the day before summer break.
The same red bell tower.
The same light bricks.
And the same smell of impending doom.
Ha. I’m kidding. Sort of.
“Are we getting Flynn’s stuff, too?” Winnie asks, and I laugh.
“Hell no. Flynn can get his own shit.”
“Remy!” Winnie exclaims and slaps one hand on the top of my head. “Those are bad words! I’m going to tell Mom!”
“If you tell Mom I say bad words, she’ll never let you hang out with me.”
That shuts her up.
“Fine. I won’t tell,” she mutters. “But I still think we should get Flynn’s stuff.”
“Even if I wanted to do that, I can’t. Since Flynn is a freshman and I’m junior, our pickup days are different.”
“When does Flynn have to go?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“You trying to plan another getaway from the house?”
“No.”
“Liar.” I smirk and walk inside the entrance doors of the building, heading straight for the main lobby area where I know the pickup table is located.
“Your school is so big, Remy! I hope I get to go here when I’m all growed up!”
I want to tell her high school isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but I bite my tongue in the name of keeping the younger generation optimistic.
“Name?” a lady with glasses the size of Coke bottles and a brown perm asks from her seat once I come to a stop in front of the pickup table.
“His name is Remington Winslow,” Winnie answers for me, still perched on my shoulders. “He’s all growed up. Sixteen years old. He plays football and can drive, but he doesn’t drive that much because we live in the city. Though, I really think he should’ve driven today. My feet hurt.”
The woman smiles up at my baby sister. “And what is your name, sweetheart?”
“Winnie Winslow. But I’m not in high school. I’m only six years old and will start first grade this year. I’m the youngest in my family, and I have four brothers. Jude is in fifth grade. Ty is in seventh grade. Flynn is gonna be a freshman, and this is my oldest brother, Remy.” She continues to tell this poor woman her whole life story as she pats the top of my head. “He’s gonna be a junior this year.”
Already knowing it’s a useless endeavor to get Winnie to stop talking, I just stand there, smiling knowingly at the lady.
“Oh my goodness,” the woman responds, and she flashes an amused smile at me before looking back up at my sister. “You know, I swear, I thought you were at least fourteen.”
“Nope.” Winnie giggles. “Only six.”
“Well, you sure are a gorgeous, smart girl. And it’s very nice of you to help your brother today,” she tells my sister and then meets my eyes again, amusement still in place on her face. “Give me one minute, Remington, and I’ll get your things.”
Out of her chair and toward several shelves the staff have set up, she searches for my packet and books. And the entire time, the chatterbox on my shoulders doesn’t stop moving her mouth.
“Do you know that man standing by the lady getting your books?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a teacher? He looks like a teacher.”
“Yes, he’s a teacher, Win.”
“What about him? The guy with the bright-red hair talking to that lady over there?”
“That’s Freddy Harrison.”
“Why aren’t you saying hi to him?”
“Because I don’t know him that well.” And because he’s an asshole.
“What about her, Remy? Do you know her?”
“Who?”
“That pretty girl over there.”
Pretty girl? Say what?
Instantly, I look up to meet Winnie’s eyes and then follow her little finger that’s stretched out toward the other end of the room.
Dressed in jean shorts and a tank top, my sister wasn’t wrong, the girl in question stands at another pickup table and is definitely pretty. Truthfully, she’s way more than just pretty. Long brown hair, tanned skin, and the kind of big, warm eyes that make guys like me stupid, she’s downright gorgeous.
And I’ve never met her before. Which is crazy because I pretty much know everyone who goes to Hidden Hills High.
Damn. Who is that? Is she new?
“Do you know her, Remy?”
“Nope.” But I certainly want to.
“I think she has a little sister like you do. See that girl with her? I bet that’s her sister.”
My observant baby sister doesn’t miss a beat. Standing right beside the mystery girl of my dreams is a shorter, younger version of her. She can’t be older than nine or ten.
