Unlike with me, she doesn’t toy with Jax, turning away and hurrying toward her car.
“Please tell me she’s kidding,” Zay says as he steps up beside Jax.
I sigh heavily as I step outside to head to school, like I was planning to before I ran into the wicked witch. “Unfortunately, she’s not. At least the job doesn’t sound too awful.”
Jax’s cocks a brow as he walks out behind me. “Anything that has to do with our fathers is bad. Besides, we have our own jobs we need to take care of.”
“I know,” I mutter, dragging my fingers through my hair and sighing.
Zay sighs, too, as he walks out and shuts the front door behind him. “What’s the job?”
“We’re supposed to get intel on the new sheriff,” I explain as I dig the keys to my baby blue 1969 Camaro out of my pocket.
“There’s a new sheriff?” Zay asks as he locks the front door and pockets the keys.
I shrug. “Apparently.”
“So, we’re basically finding out if he’s corrupt,” Jax states, slipping on a pair of sunglasses
I nod as I make my way to the driveway. “Pretty much.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad, then,” Jax states as we reach the car. “Well, unless he’s some sort of saint.”
“Yeah,” I agree, crossing my fingers he’s not.
Otherwise, the information we gather on him might be the start of his death certificate.
4
Raven
I decide to take a little detour before I enter the school and sneak out by the dumpsters to take a few hits. It’s a risky move, for sure, since I’m not familiar with how this school works, but I need my calm.
I smoke until my mind is hazy. I smoke until I can’t feel anything but sedation, numbness. I smoke until I can’t think about much of anything.
Emptiness. Just how I like it.
Once I’m good and blazed, I spray some perfume on, put some eye drops in, and then head inside the school.
Last night, my aunt told me that I’m supposed to stop by the office this morning to pick up my schedule. I expect to see Dixie May in there and plan on giving her the stupid, sparkly case then, but by the time I enter the office, she’s either already picked up her schedule, or she decided to spend the morning trying to find a clique she can dictate.
The secretary sitting behind the front desk looks up at me as I wander in, eyeing my outfit. After seeing how most of the people in the hallway are dressed, I kind of expected that.
Preppy is the word that came to mind when I noted the outfits almost everyone is sporting. Not that I believe everyone is preppy here, but there are an awful lot of Polo shirts and khakis.
Once the secretary is done scrutinizing me, her lips move, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.
Shit. I forgot I had my earbuds in.
I tug one out. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Can you repeat that?”
She gives me a wary look, and I wonder if she suspects I’m high as a mothereffer.
“I said, can I help you with something?” she asks with mild tolerance.
I do my best to focus on her and rest my arms on the counter. “Yeah, I’m new here and need to get my schedule.”
She turns toward the computer. “What’s the name?”
“Ravenlee Wilowwynter.”
She starts typing then pauses. “How do you spell the last name?”
I spell it for her, and she types it in, briefly smiling. “That’s a beautiful name. Does it mean anything?”
I could tell her the reason my parents named me after the cursed bird, tell her the prettier part of the name, but nothing about me or my life is pretty anymore, so I answer her with honesty instead. “Yeah, bad luck. Or, well, Raven does, which is what I go by, so …”
She glances up at me with her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Raven, the bird, represents bad luck,” I say with a shrug. “Which is what people call me.”
She blinks. “Oh.” Then she starts to look back at her computer.
Awesome, Raven. She definitely probably thinks you’re on something.
I’d probably be more worried, but that numbness I love so much has settled me.
Calms me.
Calm.
“They also symbolize wisdom, knowledge, creativity, mysteriousness, and unpredictability,” a guy who looks to be around my age says as he steps up beside me.
I start to turn my head, wondering how the hell this guy knows what ravens symbolize, and then I blink, sure I’m seeing things.
He seriously might be the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen, with chin-length blond hair, long eyelashes, and bright blue eyes. And just by looking at his pretty face, I expect him to be dressed in an outfit that goes with the preppy theme around here. So, I’m surprised he’s wearing a black shirt, matching jeans, and boots. He also has a chain dangling from his belt loop and leather bands covering his wrists.
The strangest part about him is the way he’s smiling at me. I can’t even remember the last time someone smiled at me, let alone some pretty guy with eyelashes so long I swear he could be wearing mascara.
“Are you real?” I ask, blinking again.
His forehead creases, yet the corners of his lips quirk. “Yeah. Are you?”
I nod, pulling my head out of my ass.
Did I just ask this guy if he’s real?
Dude, I smoked way too much this morning.
“Good morning, Mr. Hathingford,” the secretary greets him with what can only be described as a somewhat tolerant, somewhat amused look. Still, the look lets me know this pretty guy is totally real. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence today?”
He rests his arms on the counter and gives her the same charming smile he tried to dazzle me with. “Now, what’d be the fun in just telling you? Let’s make a game out of it. I’ll give you three tries to guess, and if you guess wrong, I get to walk out of here, free and clear.”
I glance at the secretary, expecting her to get annoyed. Instead, she shakes her head and cracks a small smile. “I’m not going to guess, because I already know. And I’ll give you the pass for today. This is the last time, though. I swear, the next time you come and ask me for one, I’m going to give you a detention slip instead.” Then she pushes back from the desk, stands up, and walks off toward the back of the room.
Grinning, the guy leans over the counter, steals a sucker out of a bin on her desk, and then pops it into his mouth.
Okay, I guess it’s going to take a while to get my schedule.
I start to lift my earbud toward my ear, preparing to go back to my Zen state, when the guy smiles at me.
“So, girl who’s most definitely real, are you new here?” he asks, rolling the sucker in his mouth. “I haven’t seen you around.”
I could just answer him—it’d be the polite thing to do. I could try to be nice and see if I can make a friend, but that’d be pretty naïve of me. And while I may be a lot of things, I’m not polite nor naïve. So, I let out a quiet sigh and lower my earbud. “Do I really need to answer that?”
Amusement sparkles in his eyes as he angles his head to the side in confusion. “Yeah … Why wouldn’t you? I mean, I did answer you when you asked me if I was real.”
True, but still…
I cross my arms on top of the counter. “Yeah, but this school has a total of what? Like two hundred people? So I’m pretty confident you know you’ve never seen me around before and already know I’m new.”
His confusion fades, amusement taking over. He pulls the sucker out of his mouth. “That’s an excellent point.” He gives a glance around before leaning toward me. “Want to know a little secret? I really did know you are new. I was just trying to find an opening to start a conversation with you.”
I struggle not to smile. “As flattered as I am, I can totally assure you that, come lunchtime, you’re going to pretend like I’m invisible.”
His amused smile remains, but his brows pull together.
“And why’s that?”
“Because you’re an FH,” I reply with a half-shrug.
His amusement doubles. “Do I want to know what that stands for?”
I shrug. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”
His grin widens. “Maybe you should just tell me now and spare me the headache I always get when I think too much. And while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me something about you? Like, what grade you’re in, where you moved from, if you have a boyfriend …”
Wait … Is he flirting with me?
It’s not like I’ve never had a guy flirt with me before. I have a couple of times, but it usually happened at school, and Dixie May always found a way to ruin whatever allure I had toward the few guys who gave me more than a second glance. And, while I’m totally flattered that the prettiest guy that I’ve ever seen is semi-flirting with me, I know that, when Dixie May spots him, he won’t ever smile at me again. Because she will spot him. The guy is way too pretty for her not to notice. And, while style-wise, the two of them don’t look similar, their pretty faces will go well together on those shotgun wedding invitations.
“Nah, I’d rather not,” I tell him, figuring he’ll back off, but he only grows more intrigued.
“Oh, come on; just a little bit of information. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Nah. I think I’m going to hold on to my mysteriousness for now. Make sure I’m representing the symbolism of my name to its truest form.”
He chuckles softly. “Hate to break it to you, but you already messed up with that, because you just gave me a little bit of info about yourself.”
“Um, no, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“How?”
He grins, pointing the sucker at me. “You let me know you’re amusing.”
“Oh, I’m not,” I assure him. “I’m being totally serious.”
“I have no doubt you are, but it’s still amusing.” He gives a short, considering pause. “And I also think you’re a little bit stubborn.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t determine that after talking to me for, like, thirty seconds.”
He throws a dramatic glance at the clock. “Actually, it’s been a little over a minute.”
“That’s still not enough time.”
“Says who?”
“Says the person who determined the time length required to be able to give an accurate analysis of someone’s character.”
He cocks a brow. “And what’s this person’s name? Because, as far as I know, no one has ever come up with such a thing.”
“His name is Jerry.” I make up a name then decide to make up a story. “And he lives somewhere in Switzerland where there’s no internet or cell service, so he hasn’t been able to publish his findings yet. But I met him once while I was on vacation, and me and Jerry had a good, long chat about his theory on the time it takes to get to know a person. And he told me that you have to know someone a lot longer than a minute to determine what kind of person they are.”
He stares at me confoundedly, and I wait for him to back off, to realize I’m a weirdo that he doesn’t want to know. Instead, a grin takes over his face.
“You and I have to be friends,” he insists.
I shake my head. “Sorry, but that can’t happen.”
“Why not?” He sulks, jutting out his lip, pouting. He looks adorable when he does it and seems like the kind of guy who knows it.
“Because it just won’t work.” Again, I struggle not to smile, but I’m totally gonna blame it on being buzzed.
He shakes his head then grins. “I think it totally will. In fact, I think we might be the perfect match.”
“Trust me; I know it won’t work.” Because Dixie May will make sure of it, even if she has to tell you about how I might be a murderer.
“There’s no way you can possibly know that.” He gives me a curious look. “Unless you’re a psychic.”
“As awesome as that would be, I’m just a normal girl,” I assure him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
He stares at me in a way that makes me squirm. “I really doubt that. In fact, I think you might be one of the most interesting people I’ve met in a long time.”
I tug at the sleeve of my jacket, a self-conscious move I always do to make sure my scars are hidden. “Do I really need to tell you again about Jerry and his theory?”
“Yes, theory,” he stresses. “Not fact.”
“Did I say theory?” I smack the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I meant fact. Stupid me, I always get the two mixed up.”
His grin is as shiny as a goddamn black diamond ring and just as pretty. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to be friends.”
I’m racking my brain for a good protest when the secretary returns with a pink slip of paper in her hand. She smiles as she hands the paper to the guy. “This will get you out of last period, and last period only, which I noted multiple times on the slip. And in permanent marker,” she warns. “Do not try to pull any of that funny business like you did last time when you erased the date and gave it to all your teachers to get out of all your classes.”
He presses his hand to his chest and dazzles her with a grin. “You have my word. No more funny business.”
She sighs tiredly. “One of these days, I’m just going to tell you no.”
“But today’s not that day.” He winks at her.
The bell rings then, announcing class is about to start and that I was right when I guessed I was going to be late.
“Just get to class,” she tells him then sinks down into her chair.
He salutes her then turns to me. “I’ll see you around, mysterious Raven. And when I do, I expect some more details about you. You know, so we can start establishing our beautiful, impending friendship.” He winks at me then pops the sucker into his mouth and strolls out of the office.
“That one is a handful,” the secretary remarks as she types a few things onto her computer.
I focus on her. “Yeah, I can tell.”
She clicks the mouse. “He’s a good kid, though, especially considering what he’s been through. It’s also probably why I have a hard time telling him no.”
I want to ask her so many questions, like why she gave him a slip to get out of class, or what he’s been through or, better yet, what his name is since all I ever heard her call him was Mr. Hathingford. But doing so would mean I have an interest in him and would put me a little bit closer to knowing who he is. What would be the point in that?
Like I said before, by the end of the day, he’ll have no desire to be friends with me anymore.
5
Hunter
So maybe this day isn’t going to be as shitty as I thought. Sure, I still have to do that job for my dad, and school isn’t my favorite place ever, but basketball is starting up today, which I’m on the team. Planning offers me a couple of hours of peace from the chaos that is my life.
That’s not the only thing that’s gotten my mood elevating. It’s the new girl. I’m going to call it total luck that I met her in the main office on the start of her first day. Although, according to her, she’d probably call it bad luck.
She’s amusing, she really is, and freakin’ gorgeous. That was the first thing I noticed when I walked into the main office to get a pass to miss last period so I can have time to meet Diane at the diner and still make it back to practice.
That long, wavy hair that reminded me of the color of raven feathers, those long legs and that ass … It was a really nice view. But nothing compared to when she turned and looked at me. Those eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes that carry so much pain in them. I could see it. This girl had been hurt by something or someone. And in those eyes, I saw a bit of familiarity, probably because the hurt looks so similar to what’s in my own eyes and my friends’.
And, being me, I flirted with her. It’s what I’m known for. But usually, it’s just an act.
This … This felt real.
I wanted to
flirt with her.
What made it even more amusing is that she seemed completely unimpressed by my charm. That was definitely a first.
By the time I exited the office, I’m sure I had a dumbass grin on my face.
“Dude, what’re you smiling about?” my younger sister, Harlow, asks as I near my locker where she’s waiting for me.
She looks similar to me—blonde hair, blue eyes. When we were younger, she used to wear dresses all the time and curl her hair. Around the end of middle school, though, she decided to reinvent herself for who the hell knows why. Now she wears a lot of torn jeans, black T-shirts, sneakers, and has a shit ton of piercings.
“There’s this new girl—”
“Isn’t there always?” she cuts me off with a roll of her eyes.
I give her a hardy har look. “Very funny.”
She grins, leaning against the locker. “Fine. Tell me about this new girl.”
“Well, she’s new, like new to Honeyton,” I explain as I spin the combination to my locker.
She crinkles her nose. “Oh God, please don’t tell me that’s her.” She points down the hallway.
I turn and spot a blonde girl I’ve never seen before walking down the hallway. She’s shimmying her hips and smiling like she’s some sort of beauty queen on display.
“No, that’s definitely not her.” I open my locker.
“So, there’s another new girl starting today?” Harlow remarks. “That’s kind of weird.”
She’s right. Honeyton isn’t very big, so we don’t get a lot of new students.
“Maybe they’re sisters.”
“Doubtful.” I grab my English book and close my locker.
Harlow arches her brow at me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the girl I met earlier looks nothing like her.” I nod my head at Beauty Queen.
“Siblings can be totally different,” she reminds me. “Or they could be half-sisters. Or step-sisters.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say as we start down the hallway. As the bell rings, I turn toward my classroom. “Did you need something? Or did you just do a locker stop to give me shit?”
The Art of Being Friends Page 3
