We leave the car at the shop and take a bus back to the Black’s neighborhood. It’s about a mile to their house from the bus stop, and my backpack straps dig into my shoulders as we walk.
My mom leaves it alone for a while, trying to cheer me up by talking about other things, letting her optimism bubble to the surface like always.
But even she can’t totally brush this off.
Later in the day, as we’re in the kitchen cleaning, she broaches the subject again.
“I think I should have a talk with the principal.”
The rag in my hand freezes, and I suppress a groan. “Mom, please don’t.”
“Why not?” She turns to face me, and I can tell this really upset her. Of course it fucking did. I wish I hadn’t had to tell her about any of it. “What they did was awful. Whoever was responsible should be held accountable. And what if it’s something worse next time? You could get hurt!”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think it’ll come to that.”
“Well, it won’t if I talk to the principal.”
Ugh. I wish I could make her understand it doesn’t work that way. Maybe if we knew who did it, they’d face some kind of punishment. But high schools have their own kind of hierarchy, and the principal is never really top of the heap. If I piss these kids off by tattling on them, it’s extremely doubtful they’ll stop coming after me. They’ll just get sneakier about it, maybe move their pranks off campus. And I sure as fuck don’t want that.
“Talk to the principal about what? Is there something wrong at Linwood?”
Samuel steps into the kitchen, his dark brows drawn together. Mom and I both turn at the sound of his voice, and before I can stop her, she launches into a brief explanation of the whole thing.
Mr. Black’s expression darkens. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. And yes, I would absolutely recommend reporting it to Principal Osterhaut. Linwood is a fine school. He’ll deal with the matter.”
Oh yeah? And what if it was your fucking kid who did it?
I don’t voice my thoughts though. And it’s a good thing I don’t, because a second later, Lincoln walks into the kitchen.
“In the meantime, Lincoln can drive you to school,” Mr. Black offers, smiling at me. “You two should’ve been driving together anyway. It only makes sense, since you’re headed the same place.”
“What?” The boy in question stops in his tracks, his head swiveling to stare at his dad.
“Penelope’s car was damaged today. So you’ll drive Harlow to school for a while, won’t you?”
Lincoln’s gaze tracks to me, and for a second, I expect him to tell his dad to go fuck himself, that I can walk to school barefoot through glass for all he cares.
But instead, he nods curtly. “Yeah. Of course.” He grabs something from the fridge and turns to go. “I leave at 7:30 sharp. Don’t be late.”
Once he’s out of the room, Mr. Black beams at me and my mom, as if he’s single-handedly solved all our problems. “There!”
“Thank you, sir. That’s sweet of you.” My mom smiles at him, seeming genuinely touched, and he smiles warmly back.
“It’s the least I could do, Penelope.”
Honestly, I’d almost rather walk to school than accept a ride from Lincoln. I don’t like the idea of owing him anything, and the idea of sitting alone in a confined space with him makes my skin prickle with an odd sort of awareness.
Maybe that’s why I take my sweet time getting ready the next morning.
That, and the fact that I want him to know he’s not the boss of me. His snide little “don’t be late” comment made me want to smack him, and since I couldn’t do that in front of his dad or my mom, I’ll settle for making us both late to class.
I take extra time in the shower, washing my hair twice with my favorite pomegranate shampoo. Then I wrap a towel around myself and head into the bedroom, glancing at the clock on the nightstand as I enter.
7:31. Perfect.
It won’t take me too much longer to get ready, and I’ll be just late enough to piss of Lincoln Black.
I toss my towel on the bed and open the top drawer of my dresser. I’m about to pull out a pair of panties when I hear a noise behind me.
The bedroom door bursts open as I whirl around, and Lincoln stops in the doorway, his hand still on the knob.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. I’m clutching a pair of lace panties to my bare chest, and he’s frozen in place, halfway through the door.
All the oxygen seems to evaporate from the room, as if an invisible inferno has sprung up and consumed it all. The temperature seems to spike too, and my entire body feels hot.
“Close the fucking door!” I whisper-shriek, finally forcing sound past my vocal cords.
He does… but with himself on the wrong damn side of it.
The door slips shut with a click behind him, and he leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze zeroes in on mine, his focus riveted to my face. He’s not openly staring at my body, but it doesn’t matter. Every nerve ending in my skin is lighting up like the fucking Fourth of July.
“I said 7:30,” he murmurs.
“And I said get out,” I rasp.
“No, you didn’t. You told me to close the door. Now get fucking ready before you make us any later.”
This first-class asshole.
He knows exactly what I was doing, trying to make us both late to class. And I get the feeling he’s still pissed at his dad for making him agree to drive me. So he’s using this opportunity to torture me.
Fine. He’s not the only one who can play that game.
“Whatever you say, sir.” I toss the word out like it’s an insult, then slowly lower the scrap of
