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My father studies me, his gaze kind, despite the hint of disappointment I see there too. He just wants what’s best for me. We’re all each other has, and I know he wants me to continue pursuing my education and become someone he can be proud of. That’s all I want too.
Slapping a boy and getting suspended isn’t the path to success. I need to remember myself around Arch Lancaster, and not give into my impulses. Impulses I didn’t even know I had until I actually spoke to this boy.
“Have you gone outside and tended to your roses? They looked a little thirsty last I checked,” Dad says, gratefully changing the subject.
We had a few rose bushes in our backyard that were originally planted by my mother, whose name was Rose. A couple of years ago, I got into helping my father maintain the rose garden on campus. One, because they remind me of my mom, and two, because I actually enjoy taking care of them. There’s something so rewarding about watching a rose grow and bloom into something so beautiful, and so fragrant. Dad even planted a row of roses just for me next to his garden and they’re my own little project.
A project I might have to neglect here and there, thanks to my school load. Soon fall will be fully upon us and the cold weather will sweep in. With that, the bushes will go dormant for the most part until spring.
But right now? The branches are still heavy with blooms as they usually are late into summer, and I should probably go clip them.
“Might help take your mind off your troubles,” Dad adds, like he knows I needed to hear that.
A sigh leaving me, I rise from the couch and go to my father, bending over and dropping a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Dad.”
“For what?”
“For not being mad at me.”
“I think you’re mad enough at yourself already, sweetie.” His smile is gentle and I rush out of there before I do something silly.
Like burst into tears again.
Once I’m outside, the heat hits me like a furnace. The temperature has been extra high lately and it’s awful. Thankfully, I’m in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, my hair still in a now messy braid, bright pink slides on my feet. I grab my bucket and clippers and wander over to the rose bushes, smiling when I see the deep red blooms wave in the gentle breeze.
My dad was right, I think as I concentrate on clipping off the dying roses, dropping them into the empty bucket. This was just what I needed to clear my head. Being outside—despite the heat—taking care of the roses my father planted just for me. The flowers that make me feel close to my mom. I have homework waiting for me, but I’ve got plenty of time to work on it. Besides, I needed this. My ugly thoughts are slowly leaving me with every breath I take.
I’m so into my little clip and toss rhythm, I don’t even notice someone approaching until I hear a voice.
Hisvoice.
“Hey.”
I lift my head, tightly clutching the clippers in my fingers when I see who it is.
Arch.
He shouldn’t get too close. I might want to lunge toward him like Cadence did, but I have the advantage. A weapon in my hand.
“What do you want?” My voice is as cold as I’ve ever heard it. I could tell Arch he’s on our property but that would be a lie. We don’t own this patch of land within the Lancaster Prep campus.
Arch’s family does.
He stares at me for a moment, quiet for once in his life and I realize that he looks…distraught.
Oh please. I must be reading him wrong.
“I tried to get Matthews to relax on your suspension but he wouldn’t listen to me,” Arch says.
“I slapped you. I deserved to be suspended,” I say flatly, repeating what Matthews told me. I know what the headmaster said is true, but it still hurts.
A lot.
“I provoked you.” Arch shakes his head. “I went too far.”
Notice how he doesn’t apologize. “I think that’s a trend.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
