Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
And what would be the point?
The season will be over in less than a month.
Summer rises from the bed before heading to the door. As she crosses the threshold, she turns and meets my gaze with a steady one of her own. “Just remember that my door is always open if you want to talk.”
Unwilling to allow this exchange to backslide into dangerous territory, I smirk. “Except when it’s locked because Kingsley’s in there.”
Color seeps into her cheek as her eyes widen. “Shut up. I’m trying to be nice to you, you big jerk.”
A grin curls around the corners of my mouth before I eat up the distance between us and tug her into my arms. “I appreciate it.” Then, I drop a kiss against the crown of her dark head. Summer is a solid eight inches shorter than I am. “You’re the best sister anyone could ask for.”
She presses closer. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
My gaze settles on the windowpane again and the scenery that lies beyond it. “I know.”
A second ticks by before she sniffs. “No offense, but you stink.”
With a snort, I set her free. “None taken.”
She retreats a few steps before jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes for dinner.”
I nod as she slips into the hallway. The moment she disappears from sight, the smile fades and my earlier thoughts of revenge rush back to fill my brain.
Delilah might think she’s won this battle, but I’ll be damned if I don’t win the war.
DELILAH
My belly churns as we slowly roll through the iron gates of Hawthorne Prep. It won’t take much for me to vomit all over the place. Mom slept through her alarm this morning, and now we’re running late. The parking lot is already filled with expensive SUVs and sports cars. Heads swivel as Mom slides into the last row. Most schools are set up with staff parking located near the entrance of the building, while kids are in the back if there’s enough space.
That’s not the way it is here. I suppose that tells you everything you need to know about HP and who really runs this place.
I shrink away from the intense scrutiny before glancing at Mom. She hasn’t said much since the blowup Saturday morning. Whenever our gazes collided, a look of disappointment would flash across her expression. There were so many times I wanted to explain the circumstances, but didn’t, knowing it wouldn’t make the situation better. I have no idea how to repair the damage that’s been inflicted on our relationship. Part of me wonders if it’s even possible. Or is this the way it will forever remain?
Once the engine has been killed, she gathers up her purse and thermal lunch bag before exiting the vehicle without a word. My gaze reluctantly slices to the clusters of students loitering outside the building. Already, I can feel their speculative gazes aimed in my direction. I didn’t think it was possible for my life to jackhammer to a lower point.
I was wrong.
This is so much worse.
Paralysis takes hold as I stare out the windshield. It’s so tempting to slide over to the driver’s seat, start the engine, and gun it out of the lot. For just a second or two, I squeeze my eyes tightly closed and pray the situation isn’t as bad as I assume.
Deep down—
“Delilah,” Mom snaps, standing in front of the old Honda Civic, “get a move on or you’ll be late for first period.”
My eyelids fly open before slicing to hers through the glass. Her lips are smashed together, and irritation shimmers around her in suffocating waves. I grab my backpack from the floorboards and pop open the door before scrambling to the pavement.
“Any day now,” Mom mutters, tapping her foot.
“Sorry.”
Before I can reach her side, she swings away, stalking to the entrance of the sprawling stone building. We pass pockets of students talking and joking with one another. My face heats as they turn and glance my way. Smirks simmer across their faces as they point and stare at their phones before flashing the screens at their friends and laughing. A couple guys shoot sly looks my way before elbowing the person next to them.
I haven’t taken more than a handful of steps on school property and already I know every single student at HP has salivated over the photographs.
If I didn’t realize it before, I do now—today will be a total nightmare.
Mom’s brows pinch together as she frowns. From the side of her mouth, she mutters, “Is it my imagination, or is everyone staring?” One hand flutters over her skirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. “Do I have something on me? Is my hair sticking up?”
“No. You look fine.”
There’s no way I’ll make it through the morning without someone bringing the pictures to her attention. And then…