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“No, it’s fine. I get that you must be new to this. First, let me ask you what Cal is like.”
I bite the inside of my lip as I wonder how to answer. “He’s nice. He… takes care of us.”
Isabelle smiles. “Well, then I imagine him to be like my father. So the answer is that life can be weird sometimes, but it’s good. I like knowing I belong to people who can protect me, but I guess that’s down to my past.”
“Your past? What happened?” The moment I say the words, I want to take them back because I am definitely prying with that question.
“My mother was killed.”
My hands fly up to my mouth. “Oh, Isabelle. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you.”
“It’s okay. It’s common knowledge.” She nods, and her eyes cloud. “We were all born into that life. I can’t exactly escape it, so I have to live with it the best way I know how. You might not feel the same way because you got dragged into it.”
I nod thoughtfully, taking in her words, which are distracting me from my more pressing issue.
“Yes. What about Raventhorn University? Are you going?”
“I am. They have an amazing art course. I wanted to study in Italy at first, but I get the best of both worlds at Raventhorn because they try to tailor the course you want if they can. So I’ll be spending my second and third years in Italy.”
“That sounds good.”
“It is.” Her phone beeps and she frowns. “Time to go back.”
Yes, time to return to my hell.
I have two and a half hours before the school day ends.
Then I’ll see Chad and hear his decision.
As the school bell rings,I rise from my chair. The teacher, Miss Bell, is saying something about a pop quiz, but that’s all I hear. Nothing more.
My brain is on autopilot and at this point, I could be either a mindless zombie or a robot.
I walk with the other students when they move to leave the classroom. I follow the crowd out to the hallway and don’t even bother heading to my locker.
Today has been just awful, and I thought I’d had worse days. The truth is, I have. This is not the worst, but the weight of worry feels the same.
I reach the parking lot and find Chad near where I parked the other day, when he slashed my tires.
He’s leaning against a black Mustang that looks like it belongs in one of those films about fast cars.
With his leather jacket and the badass vibe oozing from him as he drags on what’s clearly a joint, he fits right into the image.
The rebel. No one else I know would openly smoke on school grounds, let alone a fucking joint.
There’s no one else around, but still.
My back goes ramrod straight when I get closer. By the time I reach him, I feel like all the connecting bones in my spine are going to snap.
That haughty, menacing smile fills his face revealing the dimples, and he tilts his head to the side, allowing a lock of hair to fall over his eye.
“Hello, Miss Billie. Did you wear that for me?” He puts out the joint and tosses what’s left, then scans over my skater dress.
It’s one of my oldest dresses and not my nicest, but he’s looking at me as if I just stepped onto the red carpet at the Oscars in some haute couture gown.
“Is that the kind of outfit you plan to wear at UCLA? The apartments you were checking out were all by the beach.”
I was right; he’s watching me. And he wants me to know. That’s why he keeps dropping hints.
