Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Nausea rises in my throat until I can practically taste it in my mouth. This is so reminiscent of the first day of school that my body breaks out into a cold, clammy sweat. I fold my arms around my middle, trying to calm the nerves that prickle beneath the surface of my skin. Whatever is going on between us has to be a misunderstanding. There’s no other explanation for it. As soon as we can talk, I’ll clear it up and everything will be fine.
When the quiz lands on my desk, I stare at it blankly. My brain refuses to compute the words on the paper. By the time Ms. Pettijohn collects them ten minutes later, I have no idea what questions were asked, and I certainly don’t remember what I scribbled down in response. My guess is that I bombed it in spectacular fashion. I’ve never failed anything in my life, let alone a quiz on a book I’ve read so many times that I could recite it in my sleep.
The bell rings and I jump from my seat, beelining for Kingsley. As I step in his direction, Ms. Pettijohn summons me to the front of the room. The dark-haired boy doesn’t even glance at me as he slips into the hallway with Duke.
His cold dismissal has my heart crashing to the bottom of my toes.
It’s like I don’t exist.
For a moment, I hesitate, staring at the doorway. I’m tempted to ignore her and go after him. Except...I already know that it won’t be worth the trouble I’ll find myself in. My feet drag as I head to the front of the room where Ms. Pettijohn waits with her arms folded across her chest.
“Can I assume there was a problem today with your attention span, Ms. Hawthorne?”
I dip my head. “Sorry, ma’am.”
She arches a severely penciled in brow. “Let’s not make a habit of woolgathering in my class.”
“I won’t.”
“Very well then.” By way of dismissal, she shoos me away with a flick of her fingers.
I don’t need to be told twice. Her hand hasn’t even fallen to her side and I’m shooting out the door and swinging into the hallway. Even though I search the immediate vicinity, I don’t see Kingsley anywhere.
Not that I thought he would wait...
Okay, so maybe I did.
Everything in me deflates as I expel a breath and head to my locker before gathering my books for second and third hour. The rest of the morning passes by is if in slow motion. I feel the tick of every second. Every millisecond. It’s excruciating. I sit in class, foot tapping, staring at the clock, waiting for the fifty-minute period to draw to a close. And then I spend the next five minutes scouring the halls for Kingsley. Normally, I see him in between classes, but so far this morning, he remains elusive, almost as if he’s deliberately avoiding me.
By the end of fourth hour, I’m a complete mess. The thought of trying to choke down my lunch makes me want to hurl. Out of habit, I grab the bag from my locker before meeting up with Everly. Not wanting her to suspect there’s anything wrong, I plaster a smile across my face. This isn’t a situation I can delve into with my new friend.
As we head to the cafeteria, I keep an eye out for Kingsley. It’s like he’s vanished off the face of the earth. What has become disturbingly clear is that he’s avoiding me, and I can no longer fool myself into believing otherwise.
The moment I step into the cavernous space, my gaze falls upon the table Kingsley and his friends have claimed as their own. Already football players are crowded onto the long stretch of twin benches. They’re talking and laughing as if everything is normal and my world isn’t slowly being tipped upside down. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not to find Kingsley conspicuously absent. The last thing I need is a confrontation with him in front of the entire school. When we finally have a conversation, it needs to be in private.
Unaware of the thoughts that circle through my head, Everly beelines for the table packed with athletes. Reluctant to explain why I’m hesitant to sit there, I trail halfheartedly behind her. Instead of buying lunch like she did yesterday, Everly holds a brown paper bag in her hand.
Tension fills me as we settle at the far end of the table. From the corner of my eye, I glance at Kingsley’s friends, half-expecting them to rip me to shreds. It only makes me realize how precarious my situation is and how much protection Kingsley afforded me. It’s almost frightening how easily I forgot what it felt like to be hated by these people.
A few of the guys acknowledge our presence with a chin lift before going back to their discussions. Football season is well underway and most of the conversations consist of the team they’ll be playing on Friday.