I only just successfully manage to hold in a snort. Rough? Is that her idea of rough? Damn, I would hate to know what she considers tragic.
"You are the senior student body president and that comes with responsibility."
"Well, about that-" I cringe, adjusting myself in the uncomfortable chair.
"No, Hailee." She puts up a hand to stop me, "You already quit the cheer squad. You are not stepping down as senior president. You were elected, and that still stands. You're a leader in this school and the younger students look up to you, you need to give them someone to be proud of."
Conceding defeat at having been put back in my place I hang my head in shame. She's absolutely right. I used to pride myself on my school spirit and especially the program we created to help the freshman transition into high school. I can't turn my back on that.
"Plus," she continues knowing she's won, "you need this on your college applications. Now, to why I actually called you here. We have a new senior starting today."
She stands to show that all discussion about my presidency is over. "She has a lot of the same classes as you, so I thought you'd be a good match to show her around today."
That's just wonderful, because today isn't already hard enough, I need a charity case to look after.
"Hailee, this is Isobel. Isobel, this is Hailee." She gestures to a girl sitting in the waiting room, just outside her office.
I can't help but do a double take because her appearance is uncanny, it's almost like looking into a mirror. If I had platinum blonde hair, that is.
"Hey," I say and offer her a little wave as Ms. Evans watches me closely.
"Hi," she replies shyly, picking up her bag.
"Don't forget what I said, Hailee!" Ms. Evans calls as I walk out of the office to continue my already hellish first day of Senior year.
Livin' the dream, Hailee.
Chapter 3
The bell signaling the end of fourth period vibrates through school, causing a tidal wave of kids racing towards the cafeteria for lunch.
Ms. Evans wasn't exaggerating when she said we have the same classes. Except for two subjects and a spare, our schedules are almost identical, which makes us fast friends, apparently.
As much I want to flee to the library by myself and pretend I’m studying and not just avoiding everyone, I stick with Isobel. This girl is new and even though it feels like a lifetime ago, I haven't forgotten what that was like. Hope saved me on my first day, so it's the least I can do for Isobel.
"So, where are you from?" I pry as I pay the cashier for my crispy chicken wrap and water.
"Seattle." She answers, twisting her soda can between her hands.
I wonder if she's normally this nervous and fidgety or if it's just a first day thing.
"Wow, so you must have loved moving across the country to our little town?" I mock sarcastically.
"You have no idea! It's all I've ever dreamed about." Isobel says with a faux southern accent.
I can't help but laugh – I think I'm going to like this girl after all. As I said earlier, she could easily pass as my twin with a few up-close notable differences. Her skin is a shade or two lighter – but I live in the sun, so that puts me at an advantage – and Isobel has brown eyes whereas I have a mixed shade of blue and green.
Oh, and there is also the angry pink, three-inch scar that runs along my hairline just above my left eyebrow. The only physical reminder of the tragedy that struck three months ago but might as well have been yesterday.
Running a sweep over the already packed cafeteria, I motion for Isobel to follow me. Silently we weave through the packed rectangle tables, my focus on the large glass doors that open to the lush green lawn scattered with picnic tables.
"What's wrong?" I ask, noticing the confused and surprised expression etched on her face.
Her eyes widen with a deer in headlights look. This girl is an open book with her facial expressions. Poor thing, that would suck big time being unable to hide your inner thoughts. I'd be screwed that's for sure. Not that I can talk, I've mastered my 'resting bitch' face as of late.
"Sorry it's just – and please don't think I'm a paranoid, crazy person – but people here aren't shy about staring, are they? It's like they've never seen a new girl before."
A loud sigh escapes me as we sit down. "Don't stress, it's not you. They are probably just wondering when I was released from the psych ward."
Credit to Isobel, because she doesn't even flinch.
"Oh, is that all?" she simply states and starts unwrapping her homemade sandwich. For the first time in a while, I feel the need to explain myself.
"I wasn't actually in the psych ward."
"I wouldn't care if you were." She shrugs placidly.
"But I wasn't!" I insist just to make myself clear.
"Hailee, I've seen crazy and you my new friend are not it." She deadpans before biting into her homemade sandwich.
"Um thanks, I think." A cautious smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
"Anytime." She laughs. Isobel seems to have sensed my shift in attitude towards her and starts telling me more about why she moved. Her dad works away heaps, so she came here to live with her aunt.
Once she gets going, I realize she's not the shy charity case girl I first assumed. She actually seems pretty cool. I think Hope would have liked Isobel. Her infectious, optimistic personality reminds me of her a little.
"Wait! Hold up!" She pauses mid-way through recounting a tale about how when she was twelve, she was trying to impress the hot camp lifeguard, but she couldn't swim so needed to be rescued in true mortifying fashion.
"Who is that?" she whispers, leaning towards me over the table. I follow her line of sight towards the glass doors.
The person she is referring to has just walked outside, carrying a lunch tray and flanked by a group of guys wearing the same varsity football jacket. Isobel isn't the only person he is drawing glances from as his face scrunches up and his head tilts back laughing at something.
I used to think he was gorgeous with his brownish red hair, that he was forever sweeping back from his crystal blue eyes and those lean but broad shoulders that hint at confidence and strength. But nope, not anymore. All I see is red.
"No one worth knowing" I mutter with obvious disgust, turning back to my lunch.
“Okkkkay." She turns her body back to face me. "I know we just met but there's a story there, so spill.”
"It's a long story," I say dismissively, shaking my head.
"Well, give me the debrief now and you can tell me the full version later." She leans forward, elbows on the table with her chin resting on her hands, waiting expectedly.
I sigh. She is going to find out, it's not exactly state secrets.
"That is Nick Marshall. Player, asshat and all-around douche."
"So, your best friend then?" She humors me.
"Don't forget, he is also our amazing quarterback and co-captain of the football team that we all just love and adore," I say the last bit in my best southern accent mimicking Isobel from earlier.
"And here I thought southerners were supposed to be nice and mostly sarcastic free."
"I'm from LA. I only moved here freshman year."
"Well, that explains why I like you then," she chuckles, "and he is the reason people think you're crazy? Did he do something to you?" She narrows her eyes full of concern. It takes me a few seconds to pick up on her double meaning.
"What! No! I actually attacked him at a party over the summer in front of everyone. Just verbally but even I'll admit it was bad."
I shudder as images of the night flashback.
"Ahh, a feisty one." She gives me an approving nod. "So, everyone thinks you're crazy now because you went all mental patient on their QB?"
"You got it, sista." I wink at her. "Plus apparently, I'm also a heartless bitch for breaking the school golden boy's heart."
"And so the plot thickens." She laughs evilly, rubbing her hands together.
/> Chapter 4
My eyes shoot open and I bolt upright, gasping as a shiver runs down my spine. It was like that night all over again.
Everything from what I felt, to what I saw or in last night's case didn't see. I swear, I didn't think they could get any more vivid. Clearly, I was wrong.
Thankfully, I didn't wake up screaming again. I may have told Dad the nightmares had stopped when he started suggesting I should see a therapist. He wouldn't hesitate to jump back onto that bandwagon again if he heard me screaming in my sleep. Like hell, I will lie on a couch talking to a stranger about my inner thoughts and shit. I run, that's my therapy.
Anyway, why would I want to remember everything about that night? Losing my memory is a blessing.
"Hailee! You awake?" Captain Sullivan 'Sully' Munroe or just Dad to me calls up from the kitchen in his deep commanding voice.
Arghh finally, it's Friday.
Eventually, after a long hot shower, I trudge downstairs in the outfit I carefully laid out last night. A short black denim skirt, a white tee tucked in and the sleeves folded so it's not baggy and finished with my favorite black ankle boots. I'm a notorious oversleeper, so setting out my outfit the night before saves me most days.
"Mornin' Captain." I put on my most charming southern voice as I enter the kitchen and pull up a stool at the breakfast bar. I love our kitchen. It was the first thing I liked about the house when we came to the inspection. It's sleek and modern with white gloss cabinets, dark gray stone tops, and a cozy breakfast bar. Mom would have been in her element here. She loved to bake, and that was one thing she missed most when she got sick. Not that she ever let on.
"Mornin' Miss." He tips his head and mimics my accent.
This is kind of our thing. Which probably explains why I clicked with Isobel. We have the same sense of humor and mocking. Dad is a pilot and has been for over twenty-five years with the same company. He travels a lot lately and can be gone for up to a week at a time if he's on a European flight.
Despite this, I consider us to have a damn good relationship. I guess we had to when mom died. We only had each other to rely on. It was breast cancer. I was only ten when my world crumbled down around us.
Since mom's diagnosis he's only ever done day flights, however last year he started the international flights again. The nights he was gone I used to stay at Hope's.
Don't cry, don't cry, I chant to myself, trying to block out the memories that plague me.
Thoughts of us never having another sleepover and staying up so late, we literally can't keep our eyes open any longer. Watching movies, talking about boys and eating enough sugar to put us into a diabetic coma.
"What's on your mind, kiddo?" Dad leans back against the opposite bench, cradling his mug with both hands, a concerned look crossing his face.
"What do you mean?" I snap back to reality and attempt a usually convincing 'I'm fine' smile.
"Well, there's bacon and you haven't even made a pass for it." He nods to the pile of bacon sitting right in front of me.
Damn, he's good.
"Hope." I concede before reaching for the coffee pot and pouring it into my gold travel mug, which has 'Coffee is life' printed on it. I will need this today, after the way I just woke up.
"Life sucks and just isn't fair sometimes," he comforts and takes a sip of his own coffee.
See, that's what I love about my dad. As much as he lives for the inspirational speeches, he also knows a thing or two about grief and knows not to say stupid things that don't help or even make sense like, 'It will be all right' - Um, no it won’t, someone just died or 'it's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved' – fuck off, no it's not.
He's been my one shining star over the past three months when I've done nothing but hate on the world. If he can get through losing his soul mate, then I can get through this.
"I have a flight to London today, with a day layover, which means I'll be back on Monday, but I can see if I can get it covered...?"
He comes around the bench and places a strong hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
See how awesome he is? He would call off work for three days, so he didn't have to leave me if I wasn't all right. Dad of the century right here, folks.
"I'm fine Dad. Honest." I vow, hand on my heart.
"You owe me though."
“The usual fee?" He laughs, erasing all signs of the previous Dad frown.
"The usual fee." I agree, smiling back at him.
Which isn't money, it's something a million times better. An assortment box from Coco. Coco is a Belgium chocolatier with a shop at Heathrow. Their truffles are out of this world good and he brings me back a box whenever he goes to London.
"Okay, I better get going, otherwise I will be late and I don't want to incur another Ms. Evans pep talk."
I reluctantly slide off the stool and give him a hug. He laughs,
"I'm sure she means well kiddo."
"I know, I know. Have a good trip and no funny business!"
I point a finger at him seriously.
"Hey, that's what I'm supposed to say! Love you, kiddo!" He calls out.
"Love you, Dad!"
I close the front door, running down the steps to where my gorgeous shiny black Jeep Wrangler awaits me. Without sounding super materialistic, I will never tire of admiring her beauty. She is my baby. When all the other girls were getting VW Beetles or sporty looking cars in various shades of red and silver, I was laser-focused on her. She's tough and strong, everything I want to be.
Friday, just like the past week speeds by in a grateful blur. Isobel has really grown on me and we have plans to hang out tomorrow night.
As the week went on, I discovered we have a lot more in common than just our class schedule. Probably the biggest thing being, she also lost her mom when she was younger.
It was a car accident though.
Five p.m. and I am free. Why our first school council meeting for the year was scheduled for a Friday afternoon is beyond me. I have, however, vowed to correct this serious oversight, and make sure it doesn't happen again.
In saying that, the Halloween dance is only seven weeks away, and we needed to get started. Today we locked in the big details; a date – it wasn't hard. It's always the Friday closest to Halloween because that's when the football team always has their bye game, and the venue – again easy, the school gym.
This year it actually falls on Halloween, which will be neat. We decided not much else at the meeting. There were lots of opinions, which then became lots of arguments about those opinions, so I gave up and called the meeting.
Ain't nobody got time for that on a Friday afternoon.
Surprisingly, the first week back has been relatively event and drama free and by that, I mean no more unwanted run-ins or awkward conversations with quarterbacks or exes.
I have, however, been thinking a lot about Ms. Evans' advice from Monday. 'Don't let it define the rest of your life,' she had said.
I know she is only trying to help, but how can it not define the rest of my life? Although, I think maybe she is right about the giving up part? I'll be the first to admit, I have shut almost everyone and everything out. My current popularity and friend status are, mostly, self-imposed. Maybe it's time to re-evaluate that?
I can just picture what Hope would do if she was walking beside me right now. In her serious voice, she would turn to me and say 'HB, you need to get back out there! You are in your prime, it's your Senior year and you need to make it epic!'
So, having mostly decided to embrace Ms. Evans' advice, even with how cheesy and cliché it is, I create my new mantra.
‘I, Hailee, will stop shutting myself off and hating on the world. I vow to get back to doing the things I used to do and start living again.’
Not exactly poetic or anything, but it works all the same.
I push through the heavy double doors of the main school entrance and the unusually warm fall sun hits my face instantly. I stop for a mi
nute, closing my eyes to bask in it. It really should be illegal, having to spend these rare glorious days holed up in a classroom.
After my much needed vitamin D fix, I wander toward my car. I take a few moments before I realize that someone is leaning against the front grille, arms crossed over their chest, clearly waiting for me.
Nick.
Come on, can't he just take the hint already.
Okay, I think to myself, I'll just ignore him and hopefully, he'll fall under my Jeep and I can run him over. Yep, that sounds good. Excellent plan Hails.
I smile internally to myself at the twisted thought. Not that I actually would, I'm not that sick.
"Le- I mean Hailee," Nick corrects himself when I let out a little growl at the use of my nickname.
Smooth, so much for ignoring him.
He shifts his gym bag to his opposite shoulder and the way his biceps flex doesn’t escape my attention, no matter how unwanted it might be.
"We need to talk," he hesitates, before taking a step closer.
"No, we don't," I say desperately searching my bag. Where the fuck are my keys?
Yes, there they are! Thank you, baby Jesus! Now just to get past-
"Come on Hailee, you need-" he pleads and steps forward, blocking my path, but not aggressively.
“I don’t need anything from you, Nick! Now MOVE!”
My voice cracks slightly and my hands are trembling as I reach for the door handle. He must notice because he steps aside and puts his hands up in defeat.
I jump in and speed out of the carpark, before he can see how truly shaken and upset I am. He isn't allowed to see me vulnerable. Not anymore.
My new mantra might be to stop hating the world, but that one hundred percent does not extend to Nick Marshall.
Chapter 5
“So, there's a party tonight." Isobel not so subtly mentions for what feels like the millionth time since getting to my house three hours ago.
Just a Little Complicated: A Highschool Sports Romance (SANCTUARY COVE Book 1) Page 2
