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CHAPTER ONE
CASSANDRA
No,no,no.Nottoday. Come on, Betty, we’re nearly there, don’t do this to me now.
I hear some sort of hissing and I think a pop, and my heart starts to race. I pull to the side of the road just as my car gives up and stops completely. My body crumples over the steering wheel, already defeated.
Glancing down at my wrist, I notice my sports watch flashing. My pulse is racing. I knew it would be, I was already on high alert this morning with such a massive change ahead today. My car breaking down is the last thing I need.
I close my eyes, taking a second to center myself with a deep breath. Falling apart on the side of a downtown street is not an option. I can handle this. It’s only seven-thirty. When I sat down yesterday and planned how today would run, I'd endeavored to be enthusiastically early for my first day, but that’s not looking possible now. Still, there’s time to make a good impression if I can work out what is wrong with my car quickly.
I shove open the door and go around the back of my old VW Beetle, popping open the hood. More steam streams out, and I cover my mouth and cough, waving my other hand around to clear the air. That’s not ideal. This car probably should have been retired many years ago, but I love her. She's pretty and sky blue and has been driven by all four of us sisters at some point in our lives, and me, being the youngest, have held on to her.
I glance over the complex-looking engine, wishing I had paid more attention the last time I had to call my dad to save me from a similar situation. But that time I was distracted by the level-one ballerina dance routine I had running through my head. Their first exam was the next day, and like I always do when my students have a big performance, I was hyper-focusing on every little detail. My parents say I live with my head in the clouds, and I guess that is probably a pretty accurate assessment of me. But honestly, I would prefer to be living in the dream world in my own mind than dealing with my reality.
I kick off my new heels, wishing I had chosen more comfortable footwear, and search over the foreign sight of Betty’s engine again. The smoke has cleared, but it’s still no use. I have no idea where to even start. I could google, “what to do when smoke is pouring out of your car” and see if some results help, or there’s always YouTube. Surely there is someone on there teaching chicks like me how to get themselves out of a pickle. I probably don’t have time for that kind of mucking around this morning, though. Guess I better get my cell and call old reliable Daddy to get me out of this one. I was hoping with the start of my new job I would be able to gain a little more independence from my parents, but I guess I haven’ttechnicallystarted yet, so I can allow myself this one last call for help.
As I bend over the front seat, trying to reach for my phone, I hear another car pulling off to the side of the road behind me. Glancing in that direction I see a driver in a matte-black Maserati killing their engine and flicking off their lights. My eyes roll involuntarily, already knowing exactly the type that is about to step out. We have plenty of them around this area. Cocky, rich assholes who think they’re better than the rest of the world because they drive an expensive car. I'm not impressed, but I guess I shouldn’t be so cynical since he stopped to help me, not just sped on past, showing off.
I reach for my phone regardless and close Betty’s door, wandering back to her engine. I’m about to call my dad when the driver comes into view. And I think I must be high off the exhaust fumes because I’m surely having a hallucination. The face smirking back at me is one I haven’t seen in a very long time. And when our eyes lock, fear sweeps over me, settling in my chest with a bottomless ache. I gawk back at him, a deep panic steeling my voice and rooting my feet to the dusty concrete below. There is no time to look at my watch but I’m sure my pulse is off-the-charts out of control. What is he doing back in town?
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? Sweet little Shortcake having car trouble?” His deep voice travels to my ears, sending the tiny hairs on my neck prickling up. It's been so long but it still has the same hold over me. I won't let it, though. His tone might be playful and light, implying we're old friends, but I have to wonder why this particular asshole would think this little redhead would be happy to see him. My only conclusion is that too many knocks to the head from opposing players must have left him with permanent brain damage.
He rakes a hand through his dirty-blond hair, giving his head a scratch like he is waiting for me to say something, or maybe he’s confused that I’m not sharing his enthusiasm for our reunion. But I will never share anything but distance with this man. Brandon fucking Lewis. Star quarterback for the Los Angeles Chargers. I glare at him instead, making my detest at the sight of him obvious.
What, is he lost or something? He doesn’t belong in this town anymore. And he gave up all rights to use that nickname for me years ago when he took off and didn’t look back. “I don’t need your help.” I push the words through clenched teeth, wishing I didn't have to talk to him at all. I lean back over the car like I know what I’m doing, hoping he might get the message and just fuck off back to his stupid fancy car so we can both avoid this awkward situation, and I can go about my day, pretending this never happened and that he doesn't exist.
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I left you here stranded on the side of the road at this time of the morning? I know a bit about cars. Let me take a look.” His eyes roam over my body, assessing me. And there is a definite hint of amusement as he registers my bare feet. Does he think it’s funny that I’m having car trouble, or just that it’s me? “You obviously have somewhere to be. I’ll have you back on your way in no time.”
I glare daggers back at him. Looking him over the way he just did me, my eyes slide from head to toe then back again, but there is no hint of a smile on my face. I have my stone-cold-bitch expression firmly in place. I would like to say he hasn’t changed a bit, but he has. Every inch of him exudes money, from his expensive-looking haircut to the brand-name clothes.
The metallic tang of blood hits my taste buds, and I realize I’m biting into my bottom lip so hard I’ve drawn blood. I do have somewhere to be, and if my dad comes, it will take a lot longer. I’ll probably end up late on my first day, and that would suck. But I don’t want to ask him for any favors. “We both know you're no gentleman,” I mutter matter-of-factly before turning away from him and back to my car.
He comes in close to my side, shoving me out of the way so he can assess the situation below the hood. It’s the first contact I’ve had with him in so long, and somehow, him shoving me aside seems so appropriate that it sends a jolt of pain to my chest. The memory of the way he made me feel when he ditched me stings more than it should. I was no one to him.
“We could always just leave your car here and I could drive you wherever you’re going?” he suggests, not looking up from the problem in front of him.
My muscles tense, and the tightness in my chest becomes almost impossible to bear. He has to be kidding me. “Nope, not going anywhere in that thing. I'll call my dad. He got Betty going last time this happened.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, the amusement gone. “Won’t be necessary,” he grumbles. Walking back to his vehicle, he returns with a bottle of water. “When was the last time you topped up her coolant?” he snips like I'm an idiot.
I shrug, feeling a little silly, because I really have no idea. I know these things should be higher on my priority list, but they’re just not. There is a lot going on up there. I don’t have time to think about stuff like this as well. I have more important things to focus on, such as, if he knew what the problem was, why did he offer me a ride?
He shakes his head, looking at me like he's disappointed somehow, then fills the canister, dropping the hood back down when he’s done. Without even checking with me if it’s okay, he hops in the driver’s seat and turns the key. Betty coughs and splutters to life. “The water is a temporary fix. Make sure you top her up with coolant.”
I say a silent prayer that I don’t have to spend another second with this asshole, and that I will make it to school on time. He slides out of the driver’s seat smoothly, a stupid, smug expression on his face like he has just won. What prize he’s looking for, I don't know, and I'm not sticking around to find out. I scoop up my shoes and jump in. But as I go to slam the door, he gets in my way, leaning down so we’re eye to eye. My breath catches, and a strange but familiar tingle runs through me.
He gives me a disapproving look, the way someone older looks at a naïve teenager. “Most people say thank you when a Good Samaritan goes out of his way to fix their car for them.” His expression is stern; he always was bossy in an arrogant way.
I shove him back so I can close my door, then wind down the window. He has to be kidding me. “Yeah, well, I’m not most people.” I take off up the road, hoping I covered him in a spray of dust as I went, but I don’t care enough to bother looking in my rear-view mirror. Real mature, I know, but when it comes to Brandon fucking Lewis, I don’t care. All I can hope is he was just passing through town, here to visit his ma, and as long as I live, I never have to see him again.
Theflutteroffirst-daybutterflies dances around my unsettled belly. Car trouble was just a small setback today. Things can only get better now that I’m here, I try to assure myself.
Not all that long ago, Palm Springs High was my school.I know this place, it’s not that big of a change,is my message on repeat this morning. My older sister Jasmine is a psychologist and assured me at breakfast that I need to have just a few little mantras I can tell myself when I start to feel overwhelmed, and I will get through today just fine. I hope she’s right, because at the moment, I feel like I could puke.
I have had four somewhat turbulent years at college finding this new version of myself, and now I’m back with a teaching degree and a new lease on life. Well, kind of. The number-one thing on my list for this year is focusing on being positive and pushing myself out of my comfort zone. We'll see how long it lasts. I used to be the most upbeat person there was. That was before my life was destroyed, and I went from being Cassandra Harper aspiring ballerina to Cassandra Harper mental case. I guess I can now add high school dance teacher to that title and get back a slither of my dignity. Yay for me.
Everything looks the same but different, smaller somehow, or maybe I’m just bigger. I've seen a little more of the world since I was here last, had my eyes opened to so much more than just ballet and school. I can honestly say I’m a completely different person than I was the day I left this place as a high school senior, and that’s a good thing.
