“I, uh—” Mr. Hayes leaned over the counter, waving a sheet of paper in the air. “For one Edon MacCuill.”
.Edon snatched it out of his hands and turned around, shooting Mickey a sardonic smile. “And really, Mickey, what skinny fifteen-year-old kid uses the phrase ‘diametrically opposed?’” He shook his head as if Mickey had disappointed him.
My back tensed, his words reminding me of the jeers thrown at Caleb when I was in sixth grade and he was an eighth grader—at least, for the couple of weeks it took to get the district’s permission to move him up to high school. Caleb didn’t know how to dumb himself down back then, and there were more than a couple students who’d picked on him because of it.
I knew Edon MacCuill was trouble, but I hadn’t thought he was a jerk, too.
For a few moments, silence wrapped around us, each in our own thoughts until Mr. Haye’s nervous fumbling with a pile of folders sent them crashing to the floor.
I jumped just as Bridgette grabbed my elbow, her face back to her cheerful normal.
“Thanks, Mr. Hayes!” Bridgette piped up, her voice overly bright as she pulled me out of the office. She didn’t bother to get Mickey to hold the door this time.
“What was that about?” I asked once we were out in the hallway.
“That was Edon,” Bridgette said, her voice surprisingly neutral. “He’s—someone you need to avoid. Always.”
I raised a brow. “And would you know this from personal experience?”
Bridgette’s eyes bore into mine without a hint of a smile on her lips. “Absolutely.”
Message received. Yes, they’d been together. And yes, Edon was a hell of a jerk.
“And the whole ‘backstabbing’ thing?”
Bridgette glanced at Mickey, who seemed content to ignore our conversation, focusing on my schedule instead.
She shrugged. “Sometimes you have to do what’s right for you, not everyone else.”
What a great non-answer. Before I could dig deeper, Mickey smiled and said, “It looks like we have the same first block.”
I instantly forgot Edon, tearing my schedule away from Mickey instead.
“Calculus.” I narrowed my eyes.
His hands came up, placating. “Homeschooled, remember? Not many classes to take after that.”
“I’d like a low-achieving brother for once,” I muttered.
Bridgette linked her arm through mine again. “Oh, Mickey might know a lot, but I’m sure he’s done with the high-achieving thing,” she said, escorting me down the white and gray-speckled hallway.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
Mickey frowned. “Really, Bridgette?”
Bridgette ignored him. “Mickey’s gone for popular girls in the past. He had to find out the hard way why they’re better off left alone.”
Before I could point out she, with the bubbly attitude that screamed cheerleader, was an odd one to bring that up, Mickey said, “I think you mean popular girl, singular. And if you think I was with Ashlyn because of what she was—” Mickey shook his head.
“Well, I didn’t mean—”
“Let’s not talk about this right now.”
Bridgette looked away, a grimace on her face.
I had expected Bridgette to be full of drama from the first second I saw her, but Mickey? Not only had he stolen—or rescued—his best friend’s girlfriend, but he’d dated someone before Bridgette, and it sounded like he wasn’t the one who ended it.
So that left this pile of crap I’d stepped in full of two exes, one best-friend-turned-enemy, one boyfriend that hadn’t gotten over his ex, and a girlfriend who knew it.
Lovely.
Thankfully, I had other things to think about than my foster brother’s troubled relationships—like how to get to my first class.
I looked down at my schedule. “Where’s room 115?”
“Oh, let me see that.” Bridgette plucked my schedule out of my hands and scanned through it.
“We have second and fourth block together.”
“Blocks? You guys call classes blocks?”
“It’s a block schedule,” Bridgette explained. “Day A has one set of classes—the even ones—day B has the odd. Except for your first class. That one’s shorter, but it meets every day. Make sense?”
“Sure,” I said, not really caring.
“Mickey’s in your last class today” —her eyes flipped up, showing her lingering displeasure toward him— “and two of your classes tomorrow. You and I have English Lit and art together.”
“What?!” I snatched it back again. In what horrible universe did I have to spend half of my life stuck in class with an overprotective foster brother? Not that I didn’t like Mickey, but I didn’t like him that much. “So we share Physics, history, and… beginning Irish?” I stared at the paper, waiting for the word Irish to transform into something that made sense—like Spanish.
“Yep,” Mickey said, grinning at me again, back to his cheery self. “People here are a bit proud of their heritage.” He shrugged. “It’s mandatory for graduation. At least the first year is, anyway.”
I took a deep breath again. “And you’re in it, too.”
“Yep. Most homeschoolers don’t study Irish, you know.”
“Of course,” I muttered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you catch up. We’re only a few weeks into the school year, anyway.”
Bridgette rolled her eyes. “You done playing the helpful little brother yet? We’ve got to get her to class.”
Ouch. Was Bridgette getting jealous? Of Mickey paying attention to me? I was so not into this kind of drama.
“Okay, I’m going into class now. How about you guys hang out and talk for a couple minutes? Maybe kiss and make up before next block?”
Mickey froze. Bridgette looked like she swallowed a hot pepper.
“Unless…are you not dating? Wait a second, did you breakup? Or is this the awkward maybe-we-should-get-back-together thing.”
Mickey’s eyes darkened and Bridgette looked away.
“In which case…”
If the tick in Mickey’s clenched jaw was any sign, I may have stomped on a wasp nest.
I cleared my throat. “Oops.”
Bridgette forced her lips into a brittle smile, even though her eyes stayed narrowed into thin, ice-blue slits. “No apology necessary. We have a complicated relationship. You see, we’re together, but I’m not really his type.”
“Bridgette…” Mickey drew her name out like a line, one
