Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
We’re about ten minutes from halftime, and my throat aches from screaming and laughing with Hazel. That’s when I catch sight of Shannan at the bottom of the stairs. She looks up and waves, and judging by the movement from the row behind us, I can only assume we’re sitting directly in front of her friends.
Lucky us.
I ignore her, my gaze shifting back to the game, only when Shannan breaks away from the group of cheerleaders at the bottom and races up the stairs, my stomach sinks.
Shit. There’s no way I’m going to get away from this without something happening in front of Hazel. I wanted to shield her from all of Shannan’s taunts, but I suppose I just ran out of luck.
I keep my gaze locked on the field, watching Noah as he expertly catches the ball and scans the array of players, looking at them like toy soldiers he can manipulate to do his bidding. As Shannan scooches along to the row behind me to reach her friends, I stop cheering. I don’t want to draw any unwanted attention to myself, but I don’t dare tell Hazel to stop. It’s not fair to ruin her fun just because the nasty cow behind me has forced the fear of humiliation into my soul.
The girls behind us squeal and laugh, and I hear a lot of OMG’s and like totally’s, but I zone them out. Only when a disgusted scoff fills the air, my back stiffens. “Look at this bitch wearing Noah’s jersey like a desperate whore.”
No fucking way did she just say that about my sister. An eleven-year-old girl. An innocent little girl who’s only here to support someone she’s always looked up to.
Hazel’s hand tightens in mine, and she stands as still as a statue, clearly having heard Shannan, but I squeeze her hand. “Ignore her,” I urge. “She’ll go away soon.”
Glancing at Hazel, I see the way she clenches her jaw, and her eyes fill with tears. I don’t doubt that she’s had her fair share of bullies, every girl has, but I can guarantee that at eleven years old, she’s never had a senior high school cheerleader call her a desperate whore.
God. I’m so fucking angry.
“Oh my god. It all makes sense,” Shannan says. “The whore is with the trash. Why am I not surprised to find them together? Both of them pining over what they can’t have. God, that’s so embarrassing.”
I close my eyes, trying to count to ten, waiting for the bullshit to fade away. Hazel is tall, and I’m sure if Shannan knew it was a child she was currently calling a whore, she’d be horrified by herself, but that’s absolutely no excuse.
The bullshit keeps coming, and the snickering at Hazel’s back makes her tears overflow and streak down her cheeks. She hastily wipes at her eyes, and my heart breaks for her. She should never have been exposed to this. She’s too young.
The insults keep coming, one after another, and when Hazel’s bottom lip wobbles, I clench my jaw. I’ve had more than enough. It’s one thing for this bitch to call me trash, but bringing my sister into it? She’s got another thing coming.
I whip around, and the explosive anger in my chest threatens to cripple me. I’m more than aware of just how quiet Tarni is beside me. A smirk settles over Shannan’s face, clearly seeing how she’s affected me. “What the hell is your problem?” I spit. “Are you so desperate for Noah that you have to tear down everyone who might possibly stand in your way?”
Shannan scoffs. “Are you implying that you think you could ever be standing in my way when it comes to Noah Ryan? Look at you, Zoey. You’re a joke. Fucking pathetic. You don’t stand a fucking chance with him, so take yourself and your little slutty friend and get the hell out of here. No one wants you here.”
I gape at her, unable to comprehend how she could possibly be so vile. “That little slutty friend you’re talking about, the one you’ve been calling a desperate whore for the last ten minutes is—”
Hazel whips around, her head held so damn high I almost don’t recognize her. “Noah’s eleven-year-old sister,” she finishes for me, slightly changing how the end of my sentence was supposed to go.
Shannan’s face falls. “Wait you’re—”
“A child? Yeah,” Hazel spits. “Now, I don’t know about you, but my brother probably isn’t going to be too happy when he learns about this. I can only imagine what he’s going to say. You know, he’s very protective of me.”
Shannan blanches and even goes as far as to look at me for confirmation, but there’s no way in hell I’m about to clear this one up. Besides, growing up, Noah was always like a brother to Hazel anyway, so I suppose there’s some level of truth to it . . . kind of.