“What? The comment about how we’re walking skyscrapers that bulldoze down the halls and destroy everything in our path?” Noah asks with a cute smirk.
“Something like that,” I murmur.
“Nah, it was funny, plus totally worth seeing someone other than us rip on Aiden. Especially a teensy little girl like you,” Mason replies with a chuckle.
“I was getting sick of listening to his bullshit,” I say.
“He isn’t a bad guy, really.” Noah chuckles. “And he’d feel horrible if he knew he’s the reason you’re going to the hospital right now.”
“It’s not his fault, I’m not mad at him. Annoyed by his attitude, sure, but I get that he didn’t mean to hurt me,” I confess. “If my ribs were normal, I would’ve just gotten up, gone to class, and called him a slew of bad words the next time I saw him in the hall.
“Plus, I’d rather this stay between us,” I tell the two gorgeous boys beside me. “No one needs to know about my injuries, okay?”
The boys share a look, and Noah studies me. “How did you break, what was it, three ribs? And bruise another three?”
“Broke three, bruised two,” I say, purposely not answering his question.
“Right, so how’d it happen? The classic singing in the shower and then slipping?” Mason jokes.
Memories of that dreadful night make me shiver, and I think about the dead, brown eyes that still haunt me—he’s the reason I had to move states, again.
“No, honestly, I’m just accident-prone,” I say, trying to get them to drop it.
“That must have been a pretty bad klutz moment,” Noah chuckles.
My mom pulls up in front of us, sparing me from having to respond. The disapproving look on her face makes me immediately tense. Crap, I should’ve fought harder to make these boys go to class. I’m going to get a lecture from my mother now. All five foot four of her gets out of the car, and she lifts her sunglasses to the top of her head, pushing back her shoulder-length brown hair as she glares at Mason and Noah. “Thanks for helping her, boys, but I can take it from here. Get back to class.”
They look at each other hesitantly, but I reassure them that I’m fine, and thank them for keeping me company.
“Really, Amelia?” my mom says as she tears out of the school parking lot, her fingers tight on the steering wheel.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“It better not be. Do you really want to move again?”
I grind my teeth to stop myself from shouting at her. I know. I know all of this. I don’t need her to remind me.
“No.”
“Then remember what you promised. No boyfriends. No social media. No teams or clubs. You’re allowed to go to the gym and practice your jujitsu. I can’t stop you from making friends, but you need to be responsible.”
We’re silent for the rest of the ride to the hospital. I know what needs to be done. I have to keep my head down, at all costs.
2
Two weeks and a whole lot of painkillers later, I find myself back in the crowded halls of King City High School.
With basically nothing to do while I recovered from my newly bruised ribs, I made a point to decode the school map that, to me, seemed to be written in hieroglyphics. With freshly found confidence about where I’m going, I strut through the halls like I own them. I toss my loosely curled strawberry blond hair over my shoulder so that I’d look super hot if this were being filmed in slow motion.
As I’m walking down the hall, I feel a lot of eyes on me. I’d like to think it’s because of my cute outfit, but deep down, I know it’s not.
My fellow students are either looking at me because (1) technically, even though it’s mid-October, I’m still the new girl, and seeing as I didn’t even make it to my first class on my first day, many of these people still haven’t seen me, or (2) the less likely reason, and I’m praying it’s not this one, is because they’re still talking about my Aiden incident. But in a school this big, I’m sure more interesting things are bound to have happened these past two weeks.
I make it to room 341 and take a seat near the middle of the history classroom. There are a couple of other people here, but most students are still loitering in the halls, savoring their last few precious moments of freedom before suffering through mass education.
I pull my notebook out of my bag and occupy myself with dating the top of the page. I try to underline it in red pen but the ink doesn’t come out. Stupid pen. Doesn’t even work when I scribble on the side of the page. I’m so immersed in trying to get the pen to write that I’m taken off guard when a pair of hands slides over my eyes. Everything goes black for a moment.
It all happens so quickly, and I react automatically. My hands grab the wrists connected to the hands covering my face. Yanking them with a twist, I apply pressure, knowing that I could snap them if I twisted a little bit more. Jumping up out of my seat, I turn around and stand to face my assailant.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” Familiar chocolate-brown eyes. I quickly release his hands.
“Damn woman, no need to go all Karate Kid on me,” Mason says while rubbing his wrists.
“Sorry!” I tell him, embarrassed. “Next time don’t sneak up on a girl.”
Luckily the bell hasn’t rung yet, so only a few people are giving me curious glances; most of the kids in class are totally preoccupied with their phones anyway.
“You seriously have an iron grip. That’s so weird because you have such cute, teensy, little hands,” he teases, clearly being a good sport about it all.
I don’t really know much about Mason, but the kid’s kind of starting to grow on me. If only he wasn’t BFFs with jerk-face Aiden; I would’ve considered being friends with him. The bell rings, and instead of replying I stick my tongue out at him and turn around to sit back down in my seat.
“You could do way better,” a voice to my immediate left says.
A really pretty girl is sitting in the desk next to mine, giving me a disappointed look with her bright-blue eyes.
“Excuse me?” I ask, confused.
“Oh, I don’t mean anything by it,” she says, pushing curly, shoulder-length brown hair with caramel highlights over her shoulder. “Someone who’s as pretty and with as good fashion sense as you could do better than stooping as low as that player.”
Mason’s at the back of the room talking to Noah and some other boys. Almost every girl in the room (excluding the girl beside me) is gazing lovingly in their direction, seemingly in a trance.
“Oh, well, thanks. But me and Mason? Ew, like never. I don’t want anything to do with him and his jerk-face friends, especially that Aiden asshole.”
She looks at me and her blue eyes light up with recognition. “Oh my God! You’re the girl who told off Aiden a couple of weeks ago! I knew there was a reason I liked you when I first saw you, other than your cute shoes.”
“You saw?”
“I didn’t have too! Everyone was talking about it. What happened? Rumors were going around that you dropped out of school and moved to Antarctica out of fear he’d retaliate.”
“Please, I’m not scared of that asshole. Annoyed? Yes. Aggravated? Definitely. But scared? Never,” I reply.
“I think we’ll be great friends.” She smiles at me. “I’m Charlotte, by the way, and no, you may not call me Charlie. Char? Yes. But I am not a man and therefore do not call me Charlie.”
“Amelia.” I laugh.
“Let me see your schedule. Maybe we’ll have some other classes together!” She squeals. “We have chemistry together third period and then we can go to lunch!”
“Sounds good.” Genuinely smiling for the first time in a long time, I push down the echo of my mom’s voice reminding me that I’m not supposed to be making friends.
A man in his early forties walks in and sets his briefcase down on the teacher’s desk,
and we can’t chat anymore as class begins. After first period and promising a very energetic Charlotte that I’d sit with her in chemistry, I find myself sitting near the front of my second-period class: calculus.
I’m so excited! I’m going to have so much fun in this class! Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.
Just as the bell rings the asshole himself waltzes in, talking to a boy with dark-brown-almost-black hair—the fourth walking-tree BFF.
Neither Aiden nor his friend see me, and they take seats near the back on the opposite side of the class. Sliding farther down in my seat, I pray that I get through my allotted torture without him noticing me.
Class goes by without any problems, answering all my prayers. Wanting to get out of here, like, ten minutes ago, I quickly shove everything back into my bag, but I’m in such a rush that my notebook falls to the floor.
“Shit,” I say under my breath.
Just as I’m about to grab it, a large hand gets to it first. I stand up and come face to chest with the breathtakingly handsome Aiden, who is holding my notebook in his hands. This moment is so cliché I’m tempted to roll my eyes.
His gray eyes are indecipherable, and I take my notebook from him without breaking eye contact and without resistance on his part. I stand there, looking into his eyes with my own questioning ones, and then turn around and walk out the door and toward third-period chemistry.
That was weird. And what’s he doing in calculus anyway? Isn’t it, like, illegal to be gorgeous, physically fit, and smart if you have a horrible personality? Wow, I want to speak to whoever decides who gets what genes—this is seriously unfair.
I get to chemistry early and see Charlotte sitting at a desk made for two people near the middle of the classroom. She enthusiastically waves me over, so I take a seat next to her.
“How was calculus?” she asks, as if she already knows how much I adore the subject.
“Oh, you know calculus, it’s always fun! But Aiden and his friend are in my class.” I try not to sound bitter.
Her eyes widen. “Did he say something? Do something? And wait, which friend?”
“Well, it wasn’t Mason or Noah, because I know them. This one was tall, muscular, and pretty handsome, I have to admit.” What I don’t tell her is that he’s not as cute as Aiden. What? I’ve got eyes! I can’t help what they’re attracted to! “He’s kind of pale, dark-brown hair, almost black,” I continue.
“That was Julian,” she informs me. “Look, let me tell you how things are around here.”
She lowers her voice, even though barely anyone is in class yet. “So, there’s the group of guys: Aiden, Mason, Noah, and Julian, and yeah, they’re, like, really close, BFFs. They are notorious for their cocky, egotistical attitudes. Everyone loves them. Guys who don’t wish they were them want to be friends with them, and don’t even get me started on the girls.”
“They’re players?”
“Please,” she scoffs. “They don’t keep girls around long enough to be considered players. Noah and Mason can get whatever girl they want, but they’ve never been in an actual relationship. All the girls basically pine after Aiden, but he barely gives them the time of day. He kind of had a thing with the Queen Bee of the school, Kaitlyn Anderson, for a while, but I’m pretty sure he’s done with her. She’s a major bitch, so I’m surprised he kept her around for as long as he did.”
“Huh. I just keep finding more and more reasons to like these guys.”
Charlotte just laughs, but I’m still curious.
“What about Julian? The one I saw with Aiden in my calc class?” I ask.
“He used to be as bad as Noah and Mason, but I think he changed his ways. He’s been with the same girl, Annalisa, for about four months now, and they seem to be going pretty strong,” she answers.
“What’s your problem with them?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the only girl besides me not drooling over them.”
“I don’t doubt their gorgeousness. The one thing they actually have going for them is their looks, and even I can’t deny it.”
“Talking about me again, Charlie?” says a good-looking guy with inviting brown eyes who just walked into class and heard the last part of our conversation. He takes a seat in the shared desk behind us.
“Get over yourself, Chase. This is Amelia, by the way. Amelia, this humble jerk is Chase.” She introduces us, scowling at his use of her unpreferred nickname. “She’s the one who told off Aiden a couple of weeks ago.”
His eyes widen as he takes me in, then he laughs. “I so wish I was there.”
“You’re friends with them?”
“Against his better judgment,” Charlotte cuts in.
“Come on, Charlie, you know I’ll always love you more.” He ruffles her hair and shoots her an innocent smile.
“Come on! Not the hair!” She scowls at him.
After chemistry, Charlotte excitedly pulls me through the halls toward the cafeteria, talking animatedly about everything and anything. As we walk inside, we spot Aiden and his friends immediately. They’re sitting at a table with some girls.
“See that blond girl practically sitting on Aiden’s lap? That’s Kaitlyn Anderson. She’s the one I was telling you about before—the queen bitch around here because she’s gorgeous, scary, and her mom’s the principal. She can sometimes be found at their table with them,” she tells me.
“Even though none of the guys like her—they more just put up with her,” adds Chase, coming up behind us.
“Anyway,” Charlotte says, clearly annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of her explanation. “She’s desperately in love with Aiden, extremely possessive of him—”
“Even though he’s told her to eff off more times than he can remember. She just follows him around and brushes off his insults. She has it in her head that they’d make the perfect couple, and is now trying everything to make that fantasy a reality,” Chase cuts in, and Charlotte glares at him.
“What?” He winks. “I’m friends with the guy—I’m just helping put the whole explanation into perspective!”
“Right. As I was saying. She’s a bitch. Kaitlyn and her second-in-command Makayla Thomas, and their Barbie-wannabe followers are ruthless. Just try to interact with them as little as possible.”
Kaitlyn’s holding court at Aiden’s table, talking to some other girls. From what I can see, she’s the classic queen bitch cliché from every teen movie in existence. She knows she’s hot and she works it, although she’d be a lot prettier without the entitled look plastered on her face.
“I think I could take her,” I say, following Charlotte to an empty lunch table. Charlotte and Chase laugh, telling me that they don’t doubt it.
“You gonna eat with us today, Charlie?” Chase nods in the direction of Aiden and friends’ table.
Charlotte makes a face like he just asked her to eat a millipede. “Nope. You go have fun, though. And don’t call me Charlie.”
Chase hesitates but doesn’t fight her, telling us he’ll see us later before heading over to sit with his friends.
As we eat, we talk about teachers and movies and makeup and almost everything.
Suddenly, Charlotte stops midsentence and looks directly behind me. It’s Aiden. He’s walking right up to our table, looking gorgeous as usual. His T-shirt stretches across his broad chest, accenting it and slightly outlining the abs I’m positive are hidden underneath it. As he gets closer, his eyes lock on me for some reason.
He stops, looks down at me, and says, “Amelia.”
I’m slightly ashamed to admit that my heart flutters a little when he says my name. Why does he have to be so damn perfect?
“Hey, Charlotte.” Aiden glances at Charlotte and she greets him in return. Aiden looks back at me. “I need to talk to you, Amelia.”
All sets of eyes in the caf
eteria are on us. Either Aiden doesn’t feel it or he doesn’t care, because he’s just calmly standing there waiting for my reply.
“Oh, so we’re ready to be civil today?” I say it without thinking; it just comes out.
“Already starting with the attitude?”
“Says the guy who snaps at a girl when he walks into her.”
“Look, it won’t take long. Please.”
Interested in what he has to say, and since he seems like he isn’t planning on murdering me, I decide to hear him out.
I glance back at Charlotte. “You okay if I go?”
She nods and smiles, so I shove my lunch back into my bag and stand up. Aiden turns around and walks out of the cafeteria, assuming I’m behind him. It takes every instinct in me not to bolt out of the cafeteria, but I follow him out.
I find him leaning on the wall outside the caf with his arms crossed. “Mason told me what happened.”
“Okay? And?” Mason and his big mouth—his promise not to tell anyone obviously excluded his best friend.
“You’re back at school, so I’m guessing you survived.”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the heartwarming concern.”
“You really should watch where you’re going in the hallway, especially if you’re going to walk that fast with delicate ribs.”
“Was this the reason you wanted to talk to me? To lecture me on my walking speed? Because I’ve been looking forward to lunch all day, and now you’re ruining it with your lack of a point.”
If he called me out here expecting me to apologize for what I said to him in the hallway that day, he has another thing coming. There is no way in hell I’ll apologize—in my opinion, he needed to hear what I said to him.
“Why do you have to make everything so hard and complicated?”
“No, seriously—there’s, like, seven minutes left of lunch and I’m still hungry, so . . .”
“I didn’t know that I’d hurt you. That wasn’t my intention,” he says hurriedly, looking uncomfortable.
Oh. My. God. Is Aiden feeling bad about my ribs? Is this his lame attempt at an apology?
She's With Me Page 2
