“Suit yourself,” Parrish says, and then he shifts gears and reverses out of the open garage door in just such a way that my body slams back against the seat and then flies forward when he hits the gas to head toward the front gate.
It slides open automatically, and we just barely clearly the edge of it as it continues opening along a track. Reporters duck out of the way, snapping pictures of the car as we go.
Chasm and Parrish share a look and then Chas leans forward to turn up the volume on some CORPSE song that I vaguely recognize.
Leaning my head back against the seat, I try to be grateful that they’re ignoring instead of taunting me.
My eyes close as I struggle not to go back to that moment, to Tess’ reddened face. Why are embarrassing moments so sticky? They cling like cobwebs to the corners of your mind, latching onto any stray thought until they’re at the forefront and you’re forced to live them over and over and over again.
With a groan, I swipe both hands down my face and then lean in between the two front seats to turn the music down.
“You might’ve told me those pastries were for your dad’s work,” I growl out, turning to look at Parrish as Chasm chuckles on my other side.
As if in response to my question, Parrish slams on the brakes and sends me flying into the back of my seat with a grunt.
“Maybe you should’ve asked?” he counters, hitting the gas again and taking off with a squeal of tires. I struggle to get my seatbelt on, cursing my new stepbrother all the while and hating his stupidly gorgeous best friend with the crazy hair and the whiplash smile.
Nevaeh and Sally would be in boy heaven. Feels like I’m in boy hell at the moment.
“Is Tess always so …” I struggle to find the right word as Chasm turns the volume back up on the music, but not quite as high as it was before.
“Uptight?” he queries, and then gives another barking laugh as Parrish shoots him an evil look. “Yeah, pretty much. Why? Let me guess: it was all puppies and kitty cats back home?”
His voice straddles the edge between playful teasing and mocking derisiveness, leaving me unsure how to respond.
I regret saying what I did to Parrish last night, but at the same time, I’m not about to let these two bully me.
“If you mean, did my grandparents love me unconditionally and show it through words and actions? Then yeah, it was puppies and kitty cats. Seeing as you’re always at Parrish’s place”—not about to call that sterile asylum home—“I’m guessing your homelife most certainly isn’t.”
Chasm flinches at about the same moment that I do. Shit. And there I go again, saying awful, awful things that I don’t really mean and feeling guilty about it.
“Little Sister is a real bitch, isn’t she?’ Chasm asks, and then he cranks the stereo up to ear shattering levels, leaving me to sit hunched in the back seat with my palms pressed over my ears as I grit my teeth.
I started off wanting to make friends; I usually try the nice route first. But these guys are not making it easy.
About thirty minutes later, just as I’m starting to become convinced that my eardrums are about to explode, we pull up to a massive, filigreed gate with the words Whitehall Preparatory Academy arched over the top.
Shit.
“We’re at the school?” I choke out, staring down at my bare feet and then looking back up and out the front window as Parrish follows a narrow road that winds around the back of the school. There’s a parking garage, half-buried in the hillside. This is where we park, and then the boys are up and out of their seats, taking their book bags with them.
“What am I supposed to do with no shoes and no phone?” I call out, leaning my head out the door as Parrish and Chasm start up a winding ramp that leads to the top floor of the garage.
Parrish glances briefly back at me, a cruel edge to his lips that makes fury burn bright and hot inside me.
“I have no idea. I’m just a shitty, wannabe artist and Chasm here is just an unloved scamp, am I right?” He turns away and the two of them share a cruel laugh while I scramble around inside the car, looking for any spare shoes. He’s a teenage guy, right? Like, he must have some spare gym shoes or something in here.
Only … there’s nothing, and I forgot to bring my phone. Faced with the idea of sitting in Parrish’s car for eight hours alone or wandering the fancy-pants academy sans shoes, I choose the latter.
I’ve always been a bit of a risk taker.
