“Charlotte, if you wanted to attend as a girl, that's fine. It doesn't make any difference to me, but there are things at this school that you don't understand.”
I narrow my eyes and purse my glossed lips, tearing my arm from his grip and returning his panicked gaze with a glare of my own.
“Right, like Jenica, like Eugene, like Jason.”
“Exactly like that,” Dad whispers, eyes wide with fear. “And little publicity stunts like these don't help.”
“Somebody wants to kill me,” I blurt back at him, and he cringes. Cringes. My dad, Archibald Charlie Carson. It's enough to make me take a step back.
“Yes, Charlotte, somebody does.”
A long pause follows with us staring at one another, my eye twitching in the same way his does. Nature or nurture, I got it from him.
“Wait, I'm sorry, what did you just say?” I ask, tugging on the little diamond stud in my ear, a fifteenth birthday present from Monica. “Pretty sure I just heard you agree with me.”
“Charlotte,” Dad starts with a sigh as the first bell rings, and I glance over to see the boys waiting for me at the front entrance to the school. We're all late now, but so what? This is bigger than class (although I really am trying this year since, you know, Tobias teased me with Bornstead University and all). I'd love to go to college with my boys.
My cheeks flush bright as I realize what I've just said.
My boys.
Mine.
Ugh.
Told ya I'd fall in love with every boy. I'm a sucker for romance.
“I've already said too much. Get to class and we'll discuss this later.” Dad stands up straight, glancing over at the school and the cluster of Student Council members with his mouth in a flat line. “Is this some sort of rebellion thing?” he asks me, and I realize after a moment that we've switched topics, from murder to boys. Based on my dad's face, I'm guessing they hold about the same weight in his mind. “Pretending to date them all like this.”
“Uh, believe it or not, my dating them has nothing to do with you,” I snap, frowning hard. “And don't think I'm just going to walk away and let this whole thing go. You know someone's trying to kill me, and you're not going to do anything about it?”
Dad looks back at me, and I can tell by the expression on his face that he's scared for me, really and truly terrified.
“I'd give my life to protect you, Charlotte,” he says, and then he takes off in the direction of the administrative offices, leaving me standing there dumbfounded behind him.
“Are you alright?” Church asks as the boys join me near the woods, and I turn a worried face their direction.
“Pretty sure my dad just admitted that someone's trying to murder me,” I hedge, and we all go quiet for a moment. It's one thing to suspect something, and it's another to have it confirmed. Fantastic. Senior year, in a skirt, five boyfriends, three murderers on my tail.
This should be fun.I barely make it through two classes before Mark is schmoozing his way over to me with his football buddies in tow, cornering me just outside of math, the one class in the day where none of the boys are close by.
He cuts me off in the middle of the hallway, but I'm not concerned. I wasn't afraid of him while I was wearing pants, and I'm not afraid of him in a skirt.
“Well, well, who knew Chuck Carson was actually so fuckable underneath those ugly glasses?” He reaches out to touch my hair and I smack his hand away, making him and all of his stupid friends laugh. “What's the matter, Chuck? I thought you liked dick. You're already screwing five different guys, so what's one more?”
“Nice to know that you're a homophobe and a sexist pig,” I snap back, narrowing my eyes. My fingers are just itching to pull out that pepper spray and let loose with it. “Now get the hell out of my way.”
Mark just sneers at me again, this violent edge to his behavior that's only getting worse by the day. He was insufferable last year. This year, he's a total nightmare. I'd love nothing more than to kick him in the balls—if he has any, that is.
“What if I don't want to get out of your way?” Mark asks, stepping closer to me, trying to intimidate me with his size. Too bad. I'm not afraid of him. Without even stopping to think, I reach out with both palms and shove him as hard as I can, knocking him back several steps and into his football buddies.
“Girl or not, I'm kicking your ass,” he snarls, shoving off his friends and coming for me.
He doesn't make it very far.
Mr. Murphy steps between us, forcing Mark to stumble to the side to avoid doing whatever he planned for me, to our teacher.
