“You got a problem?” a deep voice says.
Well, fuck.
He’s standing mere steps away, his gaze dark and his face unreadable.
“Excuse her. She’s new. She doesn’t know,” I word vomit.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, analyzing Winter intently.
“What’s your name?”
“Winter.” She falters.
“She won’t do it again. I’m so sorry.” I hate that I’m such a little bitch.
“I’m not talking to you.”
That’s Winter’s snapping point.
“Who the hell do you think you are, jackass?”
The whispers stop abruptly. Haze looks stunned, shocked.
“What did you just say to me?” He moves closer to her.
I grip her arm. “Winter, don’t.”
She looks back at me, defiance glowing in her eyes as she brings her focus back to the six-foot-something bully in front of her.
“You heard me.”
It’s all so sudden my brain needs a second catch up. Haze fills the distance between them, and Winter jumps as her back collides with the locker behind her. She closes her eyes like she expects him to hurt her, and a small laugh escapes his lips.
“What are you doing? I’m not going to hit you.” A hint of mockery lingers in his voice.
He leans forward, ever so slightly, and pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. She’s trembling.
“I’m going to let this go because you’re new, love. But watch your mouth from now on.”
Then he walks off.
Just like that.
Winter doesn’t speak for a while, struggling to reconnect with her senses. The color has completely deserted her skin.
“What just happened?” She blinks at me in disbelief.
I curse under my breath and brace myself for the Haze Adams biography I’m about to drop on her. So much for a drama-free first day, huh?
Entering the only classroom that doesn’t make me want to rip my eyes out, I squeeze my notebooks against my chest. I couldn’t wait for last period and the only class I remotely enjoy: art class.
The day elapsed at a painfully slow pace although it went much better than the way it started. Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t have to drive Winter to the airport so she could flee our mad country after what happened in the hall this morning.
Welcome to America, cousin.
Would you like a side of crazy with that?
On a brighter note, I got to introduce Winter to Morgan at lunch. They got along wonderfully, as I expected they would. Zoey isn’t at school today. She said she’s sick. Translation: she’s swiping on Tinder and maxing out her mom’s credit card online shopping.
Morgan and I stop by our table to drop our things. I greet Luke, who’s already seated and getting a head start on his project. We were assigned the same table at the beginning of the year. Bianca Reed’s supposed to fill seat number four, but she’s never here. The girl ditches this class almost as much as she hooks up and gets her heart bulldozered by Haze.
My art teacher tells us we’re continuing last week’s project, but the class doesn’t pay him much mind. We’ve been at this for a month. Word trees is what we call it. Consists of painting trees, finding words that resonate with us, and gluing them on where leaves should be. I don’t speak art, obviously, but I do speak honesty and the truth is that mine looks like shit.
Morgan and I stroll to the front of the class to collect our projects off the teacher’s desk. Morgan is quick to shuffle through the pile, find her tree, and saunter back to her seat.
By the time I manage to push my way through the students, there are only a few projects left. I grab my piece-of-crap project, intending to walk away, but the tree beneath mine roots me in place.
It’s not exceptionally beautiful. In fact, it almost looks… dead? No, what really stands out is the message it holds. The pain radiating from it. My eyes sweep over the words cut out from magazine pages and clumsily glued on.
What if,
Forgive,
Never,
Damn, this guy’s life does not sound easy.
“Enjoying my talents?”
I jerk in surprise and whip around, expecting to find one of the loners of the class staring back at me, but the person I see instead… is the well-liked guy who always wears a smile.
Will.
I forgot I shared this class with him.
I blink at him. “Wait, that’s yours?”
Only then do I realize I’m holding his project. Picked it up for a better look. He must think I’m a weirdo.
He arches an eyebrow. “Might be. Why? That so hard to believe?”
“It’s just so…”
Sad.
“I know. Picasso ain’t got shit on me,” he teases, swiping his project out of my hands and setting off for his table.
Except that his table isn’t his.
It’s mine.
Morgan’s just as confused as I am when Will plops down in Bianca’s seat without a care. I follow, sitting across from him. He notices our perplexed expressions and huffs a laugh.
“Teacher didn’t tell you? I’m a ‘nuisance’ when I sit with Alex. I’m at your table now. Surprise.”
Morgan and I exchange sideways looks.
“What’s wrong, control freak?” His eyes lift to mine. “Are you not happy to see me?”
My cheeks heat up on cue.
What the fuck, Kass?
“About damn time they sent another guy here,” Luke says, and he and Will start up a conversation.
My mind returns to his tree.
I would’ve expected his words to be downright stupid. I mean, that’s Will, the guy who once got so drunk at my brother’s birthday he sang “Hello” by Adele to every guest he saw for three hours straight. He’s the guy initiating “how many hot Cheetos can I put into my mouth without puking” competitions with my brother.
Will is not a tortured soul.
Or deep.
Will is Will, end of story.
Kicking unwelcomed thoughts out of my brain, I focus on my own tree. I swear the harder I try, the uglier it gets.
“Did you get an interview yet?” Morgan asks ten minutes in.
I sigh. “None. And my car’s getting worse. I almost gave a granny a heart attack this morning.”
Morgan chortles. “You’ll find a job. Stop stressing.”
Luke’s head jerks up.
“Sorry.
