I’m all kinds of fucked up. I know that. Wrongs and rights have never made sense in my world, and I’m a product of that.
None of it matters, though, because I don’t give a flying fuck about any-damn-thing.
Never have.
Never will.
CHAPTER 4
I push my breakfast around on my plate, staring at the empty seat across from me where Jensen is supposed to be. Water whooshes through the pipes above. By the sounds of it, I’d say he’s just now finishing his shower.
We need to leave in five minutes. If he’s not down here by seven-thirty, I’m leaving without him. I’ve never had a tardy in my life, and I’m not about to get one for him. Summer can drop him off in the freshman lane, for all I care.
Loud thumps coming from the stairs a minute later direct my gaze to where Jensen is running down two steps at a time. His finger combs his dark hair into place as he rushes through the kitchen. He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and slips a backpack over one shoulder.
“Ready?” The green apple fills his palm, and he takes one giant, crisp bite. The juices run down his chin, but he wipes them away with the back of his hand.
“I thought you didn’t eat breakfast.” I rise up and grab my bags.
“Jensen,” Dad says from the head of the table. “Missed breakfast, buddy.”
My dad calls him “buddy” like they’re a couple of old pals. He’s trying to make an effort. I just wish Jensen would try, too. It’s not like my dad to give people multiple chances or to tolerate flippant attitudes, but he’s doing it for Kath’s sake.
“My alarm didn’t go off.” I know he’s lying. “My bad.”
It’s seven thirty-one now. My heart sprints. I hate being late. I hate risking losing my favorite parking spot in the front row of the senior lot. It’s the entire reason behind why I need to arrive at school at precisely seven forty-eight each morning. I get my spot, head to my locker, grab my things, drop off my jacket, and head to my first period class where I find my favorite seat by the window in the third row with a little extra time to spare. If I’m a minute late, it throws off my entire morning.
What makes matters worse is that today, I have to find time to show Jensen to the counselor’s office to grab his schedule, and I’m sure I’ll get roped into showing him to class, too.
I pull in a deep breath as we head to my pearly white Jetta. I’m trying so hard to be positive. Good AUB girls don’t have opinions or complain or get upset. We “keep sweet,” as my father always instructs.
I’m a good AUB daughter. At least, on the outside.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jensen snorts as he plops into my passenger seat.
“We’re going to be late because of you.” I start the car and let it run for a few seconds before checking my mirrors, buckling up, and shifting into drive. He reaches for my radio, messing with the stations. “Hey. Don’t do that.”
“God, are there any decent radio stations out here?” He twists knobs until some classic rock song blares from my speakers. The singer’s screechy voice and wailing guitar hurts my ears.
“The polite thing to do would be to ask if you could turn my station.” I place my hands at ten and two after adjusting the volume using the steering wheel.
“Sometimes you have to forgo politeness when you’re trying to save somebody.”
“Save me from what?”
“From yourself. You need to loosen up. I’ve never met anyone so tightly wound.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a good person. I don’t need to be saved.” My blood boils. I can’t go to school all worked up like this.
I momentarily close my eyes when we approach the next stop sign and suck in a cleansing breath like my life depends on it. If I don’t collect my nerves, I’m going to have to kick him to the curb and make him walk the rest of the way.
“You look in the mirror and see a good girl,” he says. “I look at you, and I see someone who’s so molded and shaped she doesn’t know who the hell she’s supposed to be. You’re like one of those Stepford wives. You’re a Stepford daughter. Everything about you is too perfect. It’s fucking creepy.”
I slam on the gas and turn the radio off. “Stepford?”
“Never mind.”
He grips the handle above the passenger door as I slide into a parking spot in the back of the senior lot far away from my usual spot. Jensen climbs out and slips his bag over his shoulder. For someone heading into their first day at a new school, he doesn’t show a lick of apprehension. His eyes are a lot less swollen, his gash is virtually gone. The plastic girls are going to eat him up with his dark hair, golden eyes, and those permanently upturned corners of his smug little smile. I can practically hear them scrambling to secure dates with him before the rest of the school catches wind of what just rolled into town.