Unwritten
Hattie Jude
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Unwritten
by Hattie Jude
Copyright © 2021 by Hattie Jude
ISBN-13: 978-1-7335137-7-7
Cover by Jena Brignola
Editing: Christine Estevez
hattiejude@gmail.com
Chapter One
It’s a fresh hell every time I step foot into the halls of a new school. In the past, everyone has known who I am before I ever get there, and they already have a preconceived idea of who they think I’ll be. I’ve been called every name in the book: snot, brown-noser, suck-up, stuck-up, fuck-up, bitch, slut, fake, princess, fake princess…insert foul name here. I’ve been in three public schools, a brief stint with homeschool, and we’re giving an elite private school a chance this go around.
What makes it different this time is that I’m across the country. We said goodbye to our home in sunny Las Vegas and are trying out Long Island. I didn’t expect my parents to agree on anything after their divorce, but my dad owes me, and as long as he stays far from me and my mom and pays for Longlake Academy, I’m okay.
I frown as I put on the new uniform. It’s not the most flattering thing I’ve ever worn, but it’ll be nice not to think about what to wear every day. Seems like the most elite school on the East Coast could’ve come up with something better than this navy and green pleated skirt, white shirt, and navy blazer.
If this uniform helps me blend in though, I’m all for it. A new school in a new town has me nervous enough. Having parents in the porn business is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. You’d think with the highest grossing director in the porn industry for a father and the highest paid female porn star for a mother, they’d be lenient with me, but it’s the opposite. Since the divorce and my mom’s retirement, my mom is more controlling than ever. She’s on some twisted quest for me to have a more wholesome upbringing. Too little, too late, Ma.
I’m willing to put up with it a little longer as I count down the days until I get into Columbia.
If I can just get through senior year at Longlake.
Fingers are crossed that no one will know who I am.
A girl can dream.
There’s a stretch of time that I call Before…before I had my parents’ utmost trust…before I lost my virginity…before I naively thought one of their coworkers actually had feelings for me…
Before.
Everything since Luke is After.
And the After has been a roller coaster. I thought with my father out of the picture, things would improve with my mother and me, but she’s driving me crazy working overtime in the parental department.
She’s in the kitchen with an egg-white omelet with vegan cheese and hot sauce on the table for me. She frowns when she sees me and I know it’s coming. The rants will be starting extra early now that I have to go to school at the crack of dawn.
“Little heavy on the makeup, Jos…I mean, Gabriela. You need to wash off about ninety percent of that. This isn’t Vegas.”
“How about you leave your makeup advice for one of your old co-stars and let me look how I want for my first day of school?” I take a few bites of the food and push back. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“Aren’t you going to finish that?”
“What and get fatter than I already am, according to you? I think I’ll save that argument for another week.”
“Gabriela.” She sighs heavily like she’s the grieved one, but we both know I can’t do anything right with her these days. My hair, my heavy makeup, my attitude…last week, she yelled at me for breathing wrong. Apparently, I was huffing a little too much for her satisfaction and she was fed up.
Ever since I got out of rehab, she’s been equal parts proud and ashamed of me. She praises me for my accomplishments but rips me apart for my appearance. I’m just trying to get through the day without turning to the vodka I know she still keeps locked in the dining room cabinet.
I do like our new McMansion. It’s way too much house for the two of us, but we can go an entire day without running into each other. Small victories. As I do the loop around our circular driveway, then head down the rest of the long pavement, I admire the trellis of flowers on the side fence. I was sad to leave my succulent garden in Vegas, not to mention the warm weather, but a part of me is excited to have seasons and the challenge of growing things in a different environment than I’m used to.
I pull out of the gate and my stereo makes a loud, staticky sound that makes me jump. The honk puts a holy fear in me and I screech on the brakes, coming this close to hitting the car backing out of the driveway next door.
Things suddenly screech to slow motion. Speaking of breathing wrong, I think I just lost my air. The person in the other car is the most beautiful guy I’ve seen even with the rage he clearly feels toward me right now. I take a deep breath and mouth Sorry with a wave. When his expression doesn’t change, I motion for him to go ahead. Since we’re this close to one another, with me pulling forward out of the driveway and him backing out of his, I can see his jaw tick. His eyes are the color of a Siberian husky—that weird shade of icy blue-green—and when he glares at me, he looks like a fallen angel.
Maybe this is what all hot guys look like in Long Island, vicious and sculpted. I appreciated the guys in Vegas, but they didn’t look like they wanted
