He walks out of the room. I hustle to throw on some clothes and grab my backpack all while thinking of that kiss. I can’t tell if I’m trembling from having to hurry or if it’s from the kiss. Or the fact that I mentioned killing someone. As I open the door, I groan at the pouring rain. Pulling the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, I jog out to my car.
When I arrive at school, I go to the office to snag a late pass. My heart does an unexpected flip once I see Vincent. God, he’s cute.
“Good morning.” His lips turn up into an easy smile and there’s a slight redness to his cheeks.
I smile back and remove my hood. “Morning. I need to check in.”
“Sure. Just fill this out.” He points to a sheet of paper on a clipboard. “You sure you aren’t being late on purpose?”
It’s my turn to blush. “Maybe I am.”
“It’s fine with me. It’s the only time I get to see you.” He tears off a sheet from a pad.
I smile. “Thanks for this.” I hold up the slip of paper and turn toward the door.
“Megan.”
I look back and he winks. “I can’t wait to call you.”
“Me either.” I leave but feel weird. I can’t stop thinking about that stupid dream with Casper. Why do I keep having them?
After class ends, I make my way to my locker, stopping mid-stride. A guy bumps into me and the other students grunt, annoyed that they have to go around me.
Casper’s tall, lean body casually leans against my stormy gray locker. My whole body freezes, except for the insane pounding of my heart. I don’t know what he wants, and I really don’t want to talk to him, but he does look hot.
Maybe if I talk to him, he’ll leave me alone.
I want to leave, but his brown eyes catch mine. I decide to play it cool and amble to my locker.
“Excuse me,” I tell him with a cutting tone. “That’s my locker.”
“Can we talk?” Casper asks. His voice is smooth, and it reminds me of the sweet voice in my dreams. “I had a dream about you.” He lowers his voice. He isn’t flirting like I’ve seen him do with other girls. His face is grim. He is a good actor.
“Is that what you tell all your conquests?” I ask, keeping my voice strong. I don’t want to dwell on the fact that he is obviously messing with me. I also don’t want to think about my dream while he stands here either.
“No. I really had a dream about you.”
“Awesome,” I say sarcastically. “You wanna move? I need to get my books and go to class. I’m running on a time limit here.”
He moves and crosses his arms in front of his chest, flexing his lean muscles in the process. I’m sure it works for other girls. “Did you get my note?”
“Look, whatever this is, just stop, okay?” I spin the combination lock, trying not to let him see my hand shake. He stands a little too close for comfort. I open the locker and block his face from my view, but he moves to the other side of me.
I take out my book and slam the door. “What do you want?” I snap. When I look up, genuine confusion and what looks like hurt flashes in his eyes, but maybe it’s my mind playing tricks.
“Nothing,” he finally says and walks away without looking back. I don’t know why I feel guilty for how I acted toward him. But I do. Maybe it was his solemn demeanor. I’ve never seen him act like that or knew him to be that way. I am somehow known as an emo kid so maybe he thinks I’m into that as a way to mess with me. I shake my head. He’s just playing a cruel joke.
When I get home, Ron is there, feigning sickness. He annoys me. He never works. He always goes in late, leaves early, or takes two-hour lunches and anytime he needs money, he goes running to his parents for it. All while demanding my paycheck to help pay for my car, they say. With the constant battles between my mom and dad over child support, money is always a messy subject with my parents.
Unfortunately, because I’m grounded and I am off work, Friday nights are torture, and on this particular night, it worsens when Mom comes home. She opens my door and greets me with a look I know all too well that tells me I’m in trouble. Her lips are pressed tightly together, and she stares at me with a hardness that intimidates me. My mom used to be cool, but ever since she married Ron, she changed. He feeds her lies to get me in trouble and she believes every word.
“What?” I ask softly.
“Were you going to cut class all day today?” She folds her arms across her chest.
“No. I overslept. I think I forgot to turn on my alarm.”
“Ron says you had planned on staying home all day.”
Of course, he said that. I don’t get the appeal of lying. Is he trying to make himself look good? “I didn’t say that. He woke me up and I left.”
“Did you go to school?”
“Yes. They would’ve called—”
“I saw your car at the mall,” Ron interjects.
I laugh. “It wasn’t mine.”
“I saw a silver Volvo.”
“Really? Am I the only person who drives an ancient, silver Volvo?” I probably am, but that’s beside the point.
“Megan,” Mom warns.
“I know it was yours because I know your tag number.”
“What were you doing at the
