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“Don’t.” I startle at the force in his voice and the change in his easygoing demeanor. “Don’t do that. It’s cool. Can we still be friends?”
“Yeah, of course.” I smile in relief that he understands. “I’m sorry we didn’t work out as something more.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re too pretty for that.”
I have no idea what to say to that. Awkwardly, I end the call after saying goodbye and drop back onto my yoga mat. One of the many weights on my chest evaporate, letting me breathe a little easier.
Thrown off from my meditation zone, I end up drifting over to the window to open it to let in fresh air. I reach for the latch and freeze.
A painfully familiar matte black Charger is lurking at the end of the street. Unease sits in my chest as I wonder if he’s watching my house now.
Isn’t there anywhere I’m safe from him?
Seven
Fox
Watching Maisy search through her bag three times the following week for the assignment due makes me want to laugh. It’s a big one, a research paper worth a percentage of the grade. She’s putting on a good show of appearing calm, but I can see the gears turning in her head going from confused to frantic.
Look all you want, it’s not there.
I shredded that shit, then stashed it in the shiny white Audi Q7 she drove to school today. She’s in for a nasty surprise when she discovers the gift I left her. It was child’s play to swipe the research paper from under her nose this morning when she was pretending to pay attention to her preppy boyfriend’s recap of what he plans to pick for his fantasy football league.
The teacher, a pinch-faced older woman who always looks like she just caught a whiff of dog shit, stalks back and forth along the front row of desks. Maisy tucks her head lower as she goes through her bag for a fourth time while I stretch out in my seat beside hers, swiping a hand over my mouth to hide my amusement.
“I know I put it in here,” she mumbles.
A vicious streak of satisfaction shoots through me. I’m still angry she showed up at the tree last week. Finding Holden’s car parked there as I turned down the road made me furious, but when I saw her long honey-brown hair blowing in the wind I saw red. She deserves this and more.
Our teacher stops in front of Maisy’s desk and raises her brows. “Are you prepared for class, Miss Landry?”
“Yes.”
“Then hand in your research paper. Everyone else is prepared. You’re holding us up and I don’t have all day to wait for whatever excuse you’re going to give me next.”
A round of titters sounds through the room. Maisy’s shoulders hunch at the weight of their eyes on her. She’s not familiar with being under a negative spotlight from the teacher and it shows in the discomfort radiating from her.
She drags her teeth over her lip. “Right. I just…seem to have misplaced it. Maybe it’s in my locker.”
The teacher rolls her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one a thousand times in forty years,” she mutters, crossing her arms and leveling Maisy with an unimpressed look. “This certainly isn’t behavior I expect from you. Just because you’ve already been accepted to colleges doesn’t mean you should slack off. Your final class rank and GPA will reflect in your transcripts.”
Whispers break out among the other students in the class and Maisy shifts in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. All this humiliating attention is getting to her, showing who she is behind the curtain—not the girl at the top of the class who seems perfect in every way. The corners of my mouth tip into a callous sneer.
“I know.” She rifles through her things again, brow furrowed. “It was really here, I swear.”
As Maisy grows flustered over her mysteriously missing research paper, she catches my smirk while I play with a pen. Realization dawns on her face and the curve of my mouth sharpens.
“I’ll print off a new copy and turn it in tomorrow,” she says in quiet defeat.
You can try.
I fiddle with my phone when it vibrates with a text I’ve been waiting for.
Colt: Hard drive is toast, nice and crispy [GIF of a marshmallow roasting over a fire]
A quiet huff of triumphant humor leaves me. It catches Maisy’s attention and she flashes me another accusatory look, her hazel eyes burning. There’s nothing she can do but take what I dish out to her. Even if she tried to get back at me for this, the faculty wouldn’t touch me. She has no way to fight what’s coming to her.
It almost makes me feel bad. Almost, but not quite. Because all I see when I look at her is my childhood best friend at eight, with her eyes bright and cheeks flushed as she fucking promised—
