She breathed deep and slow, letting her body settle itself. Why couldn't it be this easy to relax her mind? Even though she'd planned to break it off with him, it hurt to know he'd throw her away without so much as a word. That didn't matter, though. She was free for the first time in months. She should focus on that. She could do what she wanted when she wanted, even if that was to come up to the studio and dance until her toes ached.
Warmed up, she went to her dance bag to pull on her pointe shoes and put on some classical music. When she grabbed her phone, though, a long, long string of texts from Violet showed on the home screen.
V: Are you okay?
That one was from last night. She'd left the party after calling her mom to pick her up. Mom hadn't made a big deal out of it, thankfully, but had seemed happy to know Cameron was out of the picture. Once Faith was home, she'd shoved her phone into her bag and gone straight to bed for a good cry and a long sleep.
Now, though, she realized she should've checked in, because the next few messages were alarming.
V: That bastard! Do you even …
V: He's telling everyone he dumped you. Shit on a shingle! I'm going to kill him.
That was bad enough, but an hour later, it got even worse.
V: Girl, he just told five football assholes that he dumped you because, and I quote, "She was a coldhearted bitch. Couldn't warm her up to save my life."
V: I kicked his ass out after that, but … oh God, girl, the damage is done. Everyone is talking about it. Hell, Holly's bragging that she's "no little girl" like you. I kicked her out, too.
Faith sucked in a breath. Cameron was telling everyone he dumped her … because she hadn't slept with him? A hand flew to cover her mouth and her stomach churned around the granola bar she'd eaten for breakfast. He was telling the whole school she was a bitch?
That asshole.
She dialed Violet's number, then savagely tied on her pointe shoes while it rang.
"Hello? Faith?" Violet sounded worried.
"Tell me this is a nightmare. That he's not going around trashing me."
"I can't," Vi said. "I want to wring his neck, but I can't because my hands are too little and his neck is too thick, the bastard."
Faith growled in frustration and stood. She wanted to whirl around this room like a dervish, then drive to Cameron's house and kick him in the balls. "First he cheats on me, then he decides to tell his friends I'm a bitch?"
"Yeah. I don't know what to say, girl." Violet cackled. "Except to get revenge."
"Well, obviously, but how?"
"Sleep with the first guy you see."
She made an impatient noise. "Not possible since that'll be the janitor at the studio. Besides, I'm waiting on Mr. Right."
"There's no such thing, but you be you." Violet chuckled darkly. "You need to make a statement, though. It doesn't matter if you're still a virgin as long as no one believes it. Make them think-rightly-that he was the problem."
Was that even possible? Faith raised herself up en pointe, considering. A thousand girls in black leotards and pink tights wearing her face stared back at her in the mirrors covering the studio walls, each one uncertain, all angry. Would anyone believe it if she did what Vi said? Could she act that well?
She'd just landed the lead in the school play. Of course she could.
"You're right. I need to do something."
After they ended their call, she punched up some Tchaikovsky on her phone and did pirouettes until her head was dizzy. It was the only way to drown out the rage-and humiliation. She had to find a way to get back at that bastard. But how?
The hour passed before she came to an answer, and she hurried to pack up her gear and pull shorts over her leotard as the noon tap class started to filter into the studio. Whatever she was going to do, it had to be big.
By the time she made it home, took a smoothie from Mom's outstretched hand, and went upstairs to shower, six Snapchat notifications, all from different people, had popped up on her phone:
A sad-faced Skye: I'm so sorry about last night. I should've warned you. I feel awful.
An angry Piper: I'm at the mall and there's some asinine shit coming out of Cameron's mouth right now. Should I punch him?
A gossipy Fiona: Is it true that Cameron dumped you?
A sneering Mitchell: You as cold as Cam says?
A dumbfounded Katrina: Holly is telling everyone at the mall that she stole Cam from you because you don't put out. Want me to dump a Slurpee in her hair?
A smirking Jackson: My car overheated. I heard you could cool it down for me. How about it, ice queen?
Tears of rage filled Faith's eyes, especially when a new Snapchat chimed: Cameron, sending her a picture of Holly sitting in his lap at the party last night. The message read: Trading up.
She squeezed her phone in her hand. What was she going to do? She had half a mind to tell Kat to pour that Slurpee down Holly's shirt and Piper to punch Cam in the throat. But that wouldn't solve anything. Not at all.
No, she needed something bigger. Faith wandered to her window to stare outside and organize her thoughts. Except when she caught sight of the ripped, shirtless guy in her backyard, she forgot what she'd been thinking about.
"Who's that?" she whispered, touching the glass.
His back and shoulders flexed under tanned skin. A black tattoo-was it a bird?-was on one of his shoulder blades. There was a bruise on his side, too, but she couldn't make herself wonder about it. The guy's dark hair was in his face as he tugged hard at a holly bush, yanking it from the ground.
Look at those arms. Faith stared, her mouth open. Who was he?
The holly bush gave way and he tipped back, dirt flying. Faint laughter drifted up through her window as he climbed to his feet with his prize, and she caught a look at his face.
She gasped. Holy crap, that was Kyle Sawyer. The stories she'd heard about him were numerous, and if a quarter were true, he was not the kind of guy she'd want to talk to. He shoplifted, vandalized buildings, drank, hung out with college students-girls. College girls. And rumor had it he ran illegal street races with his Charger.
So why did he look like he was having a blast ransacking her backyard? He had an awfully nice smile for such a bad boy.
A thought exploded in her brain-wait a minute … bad boy. Kyle was the one guy at Suttonville High who'd seen enough action to have his own lore. His exploits were darker than sin, and being with him was an instant reputation-killer for any girl at Suttonville.
This was it. Kyle would be her revenge.
Chapter Seven
Kyle
That holly tree hadn't wanted to leave the ground, but he conquered it. Sure, it had gone down fighting, scratching his arm with one of its barbed leaves, and he still won. Grinning at the mess-his chest was speckled with dirt, and he probably had some in his hair, too-he broke down the branches and tossed it into his mulch pile.
He wiped a hand across his forehead and went to gulp down water from the thermos he brought from home. It was after noon from the position of the sun, and his stomach growled. He needed to clean up a little and go grab some lunch. He'd made a good start, though.
The back door banged shut and he turned, expecting Mrs. Gladwell to be checking on his progress. Instead, a tall, slender girl with huge brown eyes and brown hair up in a bun walked his way.
No, she didn't walk. She glided. A dancer-her movements would've told him that, even if she hadn't been wearing a black leotard with shorts pulled over it. And she was headed straight for him. Hurriedly, he brushed the dirt off his chest. It smeared with his sweat, leaving streaks of mud across his pecs. Great. Just awesome. Now he couldn't even put on his shirt to cover it up without using a hose.
"You're Kyle Sawyer," she said, no trace of doubt in her voice.
Based on her wary expression, his reputation preceded him. "Yep. And you are?"
"Faith. Faith Gladwell."
She frowned, but she couldn't hide the quick glance at his chest. Was it the dirt that had her attention? Or was it him? He bit back a smile. Maybe he didn't need the shirt after all.
She blushed when she noticed him watching her and pointedly looked around at the holes dotting the ground. "Why are you tearing up my backyard?"
"Your mom asked me to," he said. Yeah, because that wasn't a stupid answer. Dumbass. "I'm fixing it up for her."
Faith walked over to peer at the pile of branches and dug-up plants. "Really? Because it looks like an F2 tornado went through here."
He shrugged. "Sometimes you have to make a mess to fix one."
"You're telling me," she muttered.
"What?"
She shook herself. "Nothing."
But it wasn't nothing-he could tell by the way her jaw was clenched. This girl was on the verge of tears. He knew pain when he saw it. "Something wrong? Or are you worried I might be vandalizing your yard?"
She laughed, then looked stunned by it. "You're funny."
He couldn't help smiling. It wasn't often a girl told him that. "I try. You okay?"
"Not really." She bit her lip, and he found it mesmerizing. Faith was a pretty girl, he had to admit. She caught him looking, and a little smirk twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Actually, I came out here to ask you for a favor."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you." She sat down on the patio steps and motioned for him to sit next to her. "I have a problem, and you might be the solution."