Filthy Foreign Exchange(12)

“Is it worth a look?” A patronizing stare is my only reply, and he grins widely. “No, I’ve little interest in the cafeteria, nor do I wish to hear about your coach’s grandfather. So tell me, what is worth a gander in this place? Besides you, of course.”

“The exit, which you’re welcome to use at any time.”

I spin on my heel and start down the hall.

He’s relentless, suddenly at my side and walking in step beside me. “Come, now, don’t you have anyone you want to introduce me to? I’m sure you have a few friends—”

“Very few. And you don’t need any introduction—they’ll find you, trust me. So as long as you’re here, feel free to pretend you don’t know me.” I lean in closer, ensuring he can hear my blatantly honest tone clearly. “Won’t bother me a bit. I promise.”

“I hear your brother ruled this high school,” he replies, completely disregarding my request. “At least, that’s what his mates tell me. So if I were the infamous Sebastian, what would I do with my hour here? Check up on my dear, wee sister, I presume.”

I continue our face-off with a deepening scowl. “Let me remind you, again: You’re not Sebastian, and I’m far from wee, so how do I say…” I tap my chin to feign deep thought. “Oh, yes—bugger off! That’s the British term, right? What’s with the ‘wee?’”

He laughs, admiration in his eyes. “Very impressive, Love. A slip of the tongue from my summers spent in Scotland. Still applicable, though.” He winks.

“Kingston!” I hear Savannah squeal as she skips toward us, no doubt having overheard his scarily accurate summation of my brother—who would, in fact, check up on me if he returned to this school.

“Morning, Echo,” she greets me when she reaches us. “Kingston.”

She’s oddly compelled to repeat his name, this time in a purr, and...she may have something in her eye? Lashes shouldn’t flutter that rapidly for any other reason.

And before I even realize or can do anything to escape it, there’s a full congregation surrounding us. I take a silent inventory, and if I’m correct, we indeed have the entire cheerleading squad in our presence—exactly what I knew, and was dreading, would happen.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

And the cherry on top is Camden Whittier among our new company who, ironically, is wittier than no one in the entire history of human life. How he plays football—as the quarterback, no less, which I’m guessing means he has to remember how to do more than one thing at a time—has always baffled me.

Camden pushes his way through the crowd to stop directly in front of Kingston. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the new guy in town I’ve been hearing so much about. Why the fuck you here scammin’ on high-school pussy?” He doesn’t give Kingston a chance to reply. “I’m Camden Whittier, quarterback. But I’m sure you’ve heard all about me too.”

Like I said, high-school students really shouldn’t be allowed to speak—or at the very least, not without running their words by someone with a fully functioning brain first.

“Can’t say I have,” Kingston responds, and actual gasps are audible from the cheerleader section.

Are they gasping in shock because someone dareth talk down to their king? Or in hormonal fascination that someone taller, broader in the shoulders, and undeniably more handsome dareth talk down to their king?

Fortunately, I’ve never tuned in to their wavelength, so my jury will be out for a while on this mystery. But I’m betting on the latter.

Camden laughs it off, then runs shameless eyes over the length of me. “Yeah, guess I’d be busy too if I was living with Echo. They don’t make ‘em like that every day.” He licks his bottom lip and holds out a fist for Kingston to bump, which he doesn’t.

Camden lets his hand drop, trying to act nonchalant but failing. “Now that big bro’s away, maybe sweet lil’ Echo will finally come out to play.”

And people wonder why I’m anti-social.

I’m dangerously close to throwing up when Kingston moves to block me from Camden’s view. He takes a step forward and I peek around him, afraid of what I’ll see yet dying to look.

“Sod off, motherfucker, unless you want your arse kicked,” Kingston growls, an inch from Camden’s face. “I’d be happy to sort that out for you.”

“Yeah, Camden!” Savannah chimes in. “If I tell Sebastian what you just said, he’ll kill you when he gets back!”

I give Savannah a grateful smile, then turn to flee the scene as quickly as possible—only to discover there’s no room to escape. I just want to skip lunch, since it’s almost over anyway, and grab the books for my next class from my locker.