Reality can smack me in the face tomorrow.
She frowns a little, but thankfully complies.
I force a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Swallowing a spoonful of rice laden with kare-kare, I tell him, “It tastes great, Dad. You’re really getting so good at it.”
He beams at me, looking happy to hear the compliment.
Mom would be so proud of him.
A familiar ache settles in my chest as the memory of Mom busying herself in the kitchen flashes through my mind. I loved watching her cook as a kid, marveling at her meal preparations, eager to provide assistance whenever needed. "My little assistant," that's what she always called me, pinching my cheek with a warm smile on her beautiful face.
God, I miss her every day.
Dad adjusts his black rimmed glasses. “So, what do you girls want to do today?” He addresses Avery. “You won’t be heading out until tonight, right?”
Avery arches a brow. “What, you’re not going to spend the day holed up in your writing cave?”
He smiles. “I can take a day off.”
I exchange another look with Avery.
Dad is taking a day off from writing? Well, that's new. He spends almost every single day writing—even when he's in the kitchen cooking meals or in the living room watching TV. I don’t know how he does it sometimes.
But he's really good at it—writing, that is. He's a worldwide bestselling author of over a dozen young adult fantasy books. In fact, half of the student population in Holy Oaks Prep—as well as the teachers—are fans of his works.
And I can honestly say that I am, too. Every time he publishes a book, I'm always quick to download it on my Kindle and read it. Not to be biased or anything, but my dad is a truly awesome writer.
“We can binge-watch Breaking Bad again. We haven’t done that in months.” It's Dad’s favorite show, which eventually grew on me and Avery, too.
“I’ll pop the popcorn,” Avery volunteers.
Dad looks between us then smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”
We converge in the living room an hour later, and while Dad flicks through Netflix to find the show, I turn my phone back on. Unsurprisingly, I have a ton of unread messages. I even have a few voicemails—all the ones from Liam, I delete without listening. What did he even have to say? That it had been a mistake and he was drunk? I don’t want to listen to his lies.
Meanwhile, Brayden and Quinn’s voicemails are laced with worry and concern. I almost laugh when I listen to Quinn threatening to call the police if I didn’t answer. Seeing that no one turned up on the front door, she failed to follow through with that threat.
After reading my friends’ frantic messages and listening to their voicemails, I text them both to assure them that I'm doing fine and that we’ll talk tomorrow at school. I need this whole day to myself.
I don’t even bother opening up my social media accounts, ignoring the notifications flooding my phone. I already know what they are about, and I don’t want to deal with them right now.
Tomorrow. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.
CHAPTER 4
Sawyer
Hushed whispers and stares follow me as I walk down the school halls come Monday morning. But I ignore them, keeping my head down until I reach my locker.
It's not that I'm ashamed about what happened. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one they cheated on, not the other way around. I just want to go through the day without any drama. God knows I already had enough of that this weekend.
But unfortunately for me, this is high school and everyone thrives on drama. They feed on your misery, uncaring that all you've ever wanted is to be left alone.
“Shoo! Mind your own business,” Quinn’s sharp voice sounds behind me before she comes into view, leaning against the locker next to mine, looking preppy in her white and blue cheer uniform. “Hey, S. How are you doing?”
I force a smile. “I’m fine.”
A frown of concern wrinkles her forehead. “Are you sure?”
“Really, I’m fine.” Fishing out my books, I close my locker. “Come on, we’ll be late to class.”
“I’m going to kill that girl,” she sighs, falling into step next to me.
I choke out a laugh. “No, you won’t.”
“Just say the word.” She winks. “I know someone.”
I know what Quinn is doing. She's trying to cheer me up. To make me forget about the gravity of what happened even for a little while. And I appreciate her efforts. Really, I do.
But I wish it's that easy. I wish I could make myself forget. But every time I close my eyes, I see them together in that bed, and they're laughing at me, mocking my ignorance about the whole thing.
As if my thoughts made her materialize, I see Peyton standing in front of her locker, causing my steps to slow.
Quinn grips my arm. “Keep walking.”
But it's too late. I've already stopped.
Something like regret crosses her features when our eyes meet, but it's gone before I can dwell on it. Her expression hardens as she lifts her chin up, walking away as if she didn't do anything wrong. As if she didn't betray me.
“Unbelievable,” Quinn exclaims. “Did she look remorseful to you? Because she didn’t look the least bit remorseful to me.”
I open my mouth to answer, but hurried whispers at my back draw my attention, making me look over my shoulder.
Parker.
Everyone is staring after him as he stalks through the hall. He doesn't pay them any mind, but I can tell that he's pissed. There's a deep scowl on his face. He doesn't want this drama any more than I do.
Before I know it, my feet are already moving toward him.
"Sawyer, where are you going?" Quinn calls after me.
“I’ll see you later," I shoot back without glancing over my shoulder.
