by KE Payne
Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
About the Author
Praise for KE Payne
Other KE Payne Titles Available Via Amazon
Soliloquy Titles From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
For seventeen-year-old Tabitha “Tabby” Morton, life sucks. Big time. Forced to move to London thanks to her father’s new job, she has to leave her friends, school, and, most importantly, her girlfriend Amy, far behind. To make matters worse, Tabby’s parents enroll her in the exclusive Queen Victoria Independent School for Girls, hoping that it will finally make a lady of her.
But Tabby has other ideas.
Loathing her new school, Tabby fights against everything and everyone, causing relations with her parents to hit rock bottom. But when the beautiful and beguiling Eden Palmer walks into her classroom one day and catches her eye, Tabby begins to wonder if life there might not be so bad after all.
When Amy drops a bombshell about their relationship following a disastrous visit, Tabby starts to see the need for new direction in her life. Fighting her own personal battles, Eden brings the possibility of change for them both. Gradually, Tabby starts to turn her life around—and it’s all because of her.
Because of Her
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Because of Her
© 2014 By KE Payne. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-049-2
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: March 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Lynda Sandoval and Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
365 Days
[email protected]
Another 365 Days
The Road to Her
Because of Her
Acknowledgments
Thank you to each and every one of the folks at Bold Strokes Books who make publishing my books such a pain-free journey. To my editors, Lynda Sandoval and Ruth Sternglantz, for guiding me through the editing maze, to Sheri for another amazing cover, and to Cindy Cresap for making sure everything moves along so smoothly. Thank you all.
Thank you, as ever, to Sarah Martin for being such a fantastic beta reader and supporter (not to mention chief advisor on busted knees). A massive thanks also to Mrs. D for your constant encouragement, words of wisdom, and support. It’s truly appreciated.
To BJ: I don’t know what I would have done without you. Thank you for your hours of dedication—even though at times you were so knackered your eyes were crossing—and for frequently saying all the right things to me when I was stressing.
Finally, a huge shout out to all the readers who continue to buy my books and who take the time to contact me. I truly appreciate every e-mail, Facebook comment, and Tweet that you send me. Your continued support is immensely important to me—thank you all so much.
Chapter One
It was 10:32 a.m. yesterday when I first saw her.
The Girl.
I was a week into my first term as the new girl at Queen Victoria’s Independent School for Girls, sitting in my biology class with Libby, both of us earlyish for a change, and in walked The Girl, looking hot as hell, all long hair, beautiful eyes, and sexy walk. She was with a group of other girls, but she stood out so much I didn’t even notice them. As she sauntered past my desk, she flicked a casual look my way, her stunning eyes holding mine in the brief moment when she saw me, and then away again. The quickest of glances, but long enough for me to see she had the most amazing eyes I’d ever seen: grey blue, but piercing, as if they were looking right into me.
And that was it. I was hooked.
I had no idea who she was, and I hadn’t noticed her in my classes the previous week, but all I knew as she wandered past me and sat down was that I had to have another look at her. So I did. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw her towards the back of the room, staring straight back at me. I jerked my glance away and opened my books in a fluster.
“Got a pen? Mine’s finished.”
I turned and looked blankly at Libby.
Libby Coulson. My new friend. I’d met her the first day I started at Queen Victoria’s, along with a lanky, bespectacled guy called Greg Slater, one of only a handful of year-twelve boys who attended the mainly all girls’ school.
Anyway, Libby and Greg had ripped the piss out of me about my strong Durham accent, asked me out for a drink that night, and a friendship had been cemented. They were my lifesavers. If I’m honest, without them, my first week at my up-its-own-arse new school would have been hell.
“What?” My voice sounded strange, I don’t know why.
“A pen?” Libby asked, waggling hers at me. “For writing with? Mine’s empty.”
I handed Libby a pen, wanting to ask her who The Girl was, but not knowing how to bring up the subject. I couldn’t concentrate all through the whole damn lesson after that either. I was aware of her presence in the room and the temptation to turn around and study her, to get another look at those amazing eyes, was all I could think of. Our teacher droned on about photosynthesis or something like that, oblivious to my plight. To be honest, my mind was so puddled, he could have been telling us about photo booths for all I noticed.
After the lesson had finished, I deliberately stayed at my desk, knowing that The Girl would have to walk past me to get to the door. I wondered if she’d make as much o
f an impact on me as my first glimpse of her had. She did. Big time. As I made a show of packing my stuff away, she slid past me again, still with the same group of girls. I looked up from my books just as she crossed parallel to my desk, secretly hoping she’d catch my eye like she had on her way in, but she was mucking around with one of the girls, laughing and joking, pushing her as they both tumbled from the room.
I watched her for as long as I could before she disappeared from view.
“Gotta let everyone know they’re around, haven’t they?” Libby scraped her chair back and frowned.
I looked up at her.
“Who?” I asked innocently.
“That lot.” She tossed her head towards the door they’d all just gone through. “Love the sounds of their own voices, they do.”
“Who are they?” I rose from my chair and hitched my bag over my shoulder.
“Bunch of prima donnas, that’s who,” Libby muttered. “Think they own the school, you know?”
“Right.” I nodded.
But who was The Girl?
“They’re a proper little clique, very tight-knit,” Libby said as we left. “And, my God, they really think they’re something special. It’s just been the three of them since year nine, and they show no sign of ever falling out with each other or growing up.”
They walked together down the corridor, a little way ahead of us. My eyes were still drawn to her. “Mm-hmm,” I said. “Names?”
I don’t care about the others’ names—just give me her name.
“Hmm, okay. You’ve got Beth on the left there.” Libby waved a hand to the left. “She really thinks she’s it. She’s in a band and seems to think she’s going to break into the big time, like, tomorrow.”
“Beth, okay,” I repeated.
“Then next to her there’s Gabby—man mad and she’s the gobbiest of the lot. Total loudmouth. To be avoided at all times,” Libby said. “For Gabby, read Gobby.”
“Gabby, gobby. Okay.”
The Girl was walking next to Beth.
“And her?” I lifted my chin towards her.
“That’s Eden,” Libby said. “She’s okay, actually. Probably the best out of all of them.”
Eden.
I said it to myself slowly. I liked the way it sounded, and as I repeated it to myself, the letters of her name appeared clearly in my mind. Eden lodged herself in my brain as if she was meant to be there.
“Eden what?” I found myself asking.
Libby shrugged. “Palmer, I think.”
Eden Palmer. Nice.
“She’s the same age as us, I take it?” I asked.
“Yuh-huh. Seventeen.”
“Do you know what other subjects she does?” I blurted, before I’d realized what I’d said.
Libby looked at me strangely. “No idea, no. I only do biology with her.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Anyway, what are you doing for lunch?”
Libby’s question stirred me from my thoughts of Eden and her lovely name.
“Shall I see you at the canteen?” I asked. “Same time as yesterday?”
“Fab.” Libby hooked her bag up higher onto her shoulder. “See y’later.”
*
He’d finally done it. My father, that is. And I was in London, hating every second of it, purely because of him and his burning desire to make something of himself. Screw everyone else, that was his attitude. He’d been headhunted, so he’d proudly told us a few weeks before over dinner, by a company in the City, 280 miles south from our modest but happy existence in the northeast of England. It meant a six-figure salary, two company cars, and all the corporate parties a high-flying financier like him could handle.
It didn’t matter to him that moving down south would upend not only my life—tearing me away from my girlfriend Amy—but my mother’s and my brother Ed’s as well. He didn’t seem to care. He knew I’d always hated change, but he just went ahead and did it anyway. I was shit-scared at having to start over at a new school, but my tears fell on deaf ears. I tried to appeal to his better nature. He didn’t have one. As long as my father was okay and could now scramble up his greasy ladder to success, then the rest of us could just fall in with his plans, and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it.
That’s how I came to be at Queen Victoria’s. Because of my father and his aspirations. He thought the new fancy school would make a lady of me, whatever that was supposed to mean. Why? Because I was different from other girls. I knew I was different. I just didn’t need every idiot on the planet—including my father—telling me that, and I sure didn’t need some posh private school trying to mould me into something I absolutely wasn’t.
Okay, so I wore my hair short and floppy. I liked having my hair short and floppy! I liked that I could feel the air on my neck, that it hung untidily over my eyes, but most importantly I liked that I didn’t have to fiddle with it for hours before leaving the house. People told me that I was cool but messy, just because I liked wearing scruffy clothes—hoodies with sleeves that hung over the ends of my fingers, that sort of thing. To me, they were just clothes. I felt comfy in them, so what? Why would I wear something that makes me feel uncomfortable, something that I know doesn’t suit me, that makes me walk differently, act differently? Why would I want to look the same as every other kid in this damn school?
Queen Vic’s was considered to be one of the best schools in London. Of course it was. Would my father have put me anywhere else? Founded by Queen Victoria herself in 1886, it sat on a leafy avenue just a five-minute walk from Sloane Square Underground station.
Rumour had it the annual fees were knocking on £7000 a term, but as my father refused to discuss any money matters with me, I didn’t ever get that verified. However much he was paying, I guess he thought it was worth it. It was an impeccable school, but I figured if you were paying that amount, you’d kinda want that standard of perfection, wouldn’t you? As far as I was concerned, the only good thing about the wretched place had been spotting Eden that first time. At least she would give me something to look at while I was biding my time. But if the school—and my father—wanted excellence from me, they were fooling themselves. It was never going to happen. Instead, I knew I was going to do my damn hardest to get the hell away from the school and from London, and on the first train back to Amy just as soon as I could.
Chapter Two
Libby was sitting in the canteen in the spot she favoured most days when I finally found her: central, so she could see everyone coming and going, but slightly towards the window, so she could watch students scurrying back and forth outside. She always told me it was because she liked to keep herself clued-up on what was going on in and around the school. I preferred to think it was just because she was nosy. Not that I’d ever tell her that, of course.
As I walked in, my head still full of the sonnet that Mr. Roberts, my English teacher, had drummed into us for the entire previous hour, my eyes were drawn, as if by magnets, to the far corner of the canteen. Before I’d even seen her, I just knew Eden was there. She was sitting with Gabby, in Gabby’s preferred spot, perfectly positioned for her to admire the view out across the football pitch where the year-twelve boys’ team practised. If a visiting team also happened to be using the pitch, so much the better: twenty-two boys to eye up, rather than the usual eleven.
I bought myself a sandwich from the hatch, then weaved my way through the maze of chairs and tables towards Libby. I plonked myself down just as she was pulling a textbook from her bag.
“You’ve saved me from the misery that is the binomial theorem,” she said, gratefully snapping her book shut again. “I was just about to start reading.”
“The bionic what?” I asked, unwrapping my sandwich.
“Exactly.” Libby grinned. “How was English?”
“From fairest creatures we desire increase,” I said, throwing my hand up dramatically, “that thereby beauty’s rose might never die.”
“You what?” Libby open
ed her can of Coke with a satisfying fizz.
“Shakespeare,” I said. “We did Shakespeare for an hour.”
“Kill me now.” Libby groaned.
I stole a glance over to Eden. “Where’s Greg today?” I asked absently. “I kinda thought he might be here, too.”
“No idea.” Libby narrowed her gaze. “You know he likes you, don’t you?”
“What?” I stared at Libby.
“Greg,” she repeated, “likes you.”
“Has he told you that?” I asked, my brow furrowing.
“Nah, but it’s obvious.” Libby unwrapped the cellophane from around her sandwich and screwed it up into a tight ball.
“Obvious how?”
“How he’s always hanging around us.”
“He’s a friend.” I laughed. “He doesn’t hang around. He’s a friend, so we do stuff together. Like friends do.”
“But he looks at you, like, all the time.”
“He does not!”
“Does so.”
