“How did you know Sam was my prom date?”
If she really wanted to leave me and this conversation, she would’ve done so already. She almost did.
“It’s a small school, and we’re a small class. Everyone knows everybody.” I hesitate, my gaze drifting down the length of her. The blazer and button-up shirt completely contain her tits, and what I remember from seeing her in the fairly demure dress she wore to the dance, the girl is stacked. “Do you remember who I went with?”
“Ariana Rhodes,” she immediately says, biting her lower lip the moment the words are out.
“See?” I incline my head toward her. “We know what everyone else is doing at all times.”
“I only knew because I was friends with Ariana,” she says.
Poor Ariana. She left the country after our junior year, banished to England to a finishing school in the remote countryside out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. She was a broken girl with a talented mouth, who had a minor drug problem that blew up into a big one last summer. Her parents got her the hell out of here before it became worse.
“Well, maybe now we could become friends,” I suggest, sounding like a goddamn villain, even to my own ears.
“I don’t think so. Like I said, I’m talking to Ms. Skov after class.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder. “Be prepared. You’ll most likely be partnered with Natalie tomorrow.”
“I’ll miss you, Birdy,” I call after her as she walks away.
She doesn’t bother saying anything. Doesn’t even look back at me.
Whatever she thinks she’s going to say to convince Skov we shouldn’t be partners, isn’t going to work. I know Skov—and deep down, so does Wren. Our teacher’s mind has been made up. This is how it’s going to be.
Whether Wren likes it or not.
FIVE
WREN
I wander through the empty halls of school, trying to hold back the tears that threaten, but it’s no use.
They’re streaking down my face, and I wipe them away as best as I can, irritated with myself. With my teacher. With the entire day.
Thank God no one is really around to see them, since school let out almost thirty minutes ago.
I stayed after class, just as I told Crew I would, and spoke again to Ms. Skov, trying to plead my case. She wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t mean about it, but she refused to listen to my reasoning as to why I couldn’t work with Crew. It didn’t matter to her that he was vulgar and said crude things to me to get a reaction. That he didn’t care about the project and just assumed he’d get a good grade because he’s a Lancaster.
He didn’t necessarily say that, but when I asked him about it and he didn’t deny it, I can only assume.
Something I hate doing, but I did anyway—and mentioned it to Skov too. Her skeptical look told me she wasn’t falling for it, but whatever. I was trying to think up every reason imaginable why I didn’t want to work with Crew.
And I’m still stuck with him.
Stuck with his hateful attitude and his mocking gaze. His disgusting vocabulary and the way he looks at me. Like he can see right through me.
I hate that most of all.
I dash away another streak of tears, sniffing loudly.
“Wren!”
Turning, I spot Mr. Figueroa standing in the open doorway of the faculty room.
“Oh.” I come to a stop, hoping that I don’t look too terribly upset. “Hi, Mr. Figueroa.”
Slowly he approaches me, his brows lowered in concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I smile, hating how my chin wobbles. Like I’m going to burst into sobs at any second. “I just—had a rough afternoon.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
I shouldn’t. He doesn’t need to know about my problem with Crew, or with Ms. Skov. But the moment he asks, showing that he cares, I start talking.
And don’t finish until I’ve told him everything that happened during seventh period, leaving out some of the more embarrassing parts. Like Crew asking if I’ve ever been kissed.
As if it’s any of his business. Besides, the answer is no, and if I told him that, he’d laugh at me and then would go and tell all of his friends. It would spread like wildfire that it’s been confirmed—Wren Beaumont has never kissed a boy. Has never kissed anyone.
Though everyone probably already thinks that. They know how I feel about sex and relationships. I wear my virgin badge proudly, because why not? Societal pressure is too strong on girls. It’s downright crushing. And we need to take ownership of our bodies in any way that we can.