Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Keep it moving.
One foot in front of the other.
I’m almost out of here.
With my hands clutching the strap of my backpack, I weave through the parking lot. Students congregate in pockets. They stare, but no one says a word as I rush past. I keep my gaze averted until I’m a row away from where Austin parked the G-wagon this morning. With a sigh of relief, I lift my gaze and grind to a halt as my mouth falls open.
Dozens of broken eggs dot the black paint. Cracked white shells mixed with bright yellow yoke cover the hood. It looks like a bunch of angry birds dive bombed the Mercedes. A white gloppy mess resembling shaving cream covers the windshield.
Are you freaking kidding me?
Giggles explode from around me. I swing toward the sound, glaring at the students, some doubled over with laughter.
Anger erupts from inside me like a geyser. “You’re all a bunch of assholes!”
“Take the hint and go home, Hawthorne!” comes a shout from the crowd.
“No one wants you here!” another person adds.
As more people pipe up with comments, I grapple with my backpack and pull out the keys. My fingers tremble as I click the locks and slide behind the wheel. I toss my bag onto the seat next to me and shove the key into the ignition before starting up the engine. I white knuckle the black leather steering wheel and stare blindly at the windshield but can’t see a damn thing because a thick coat of shaving cream covers the glass. Tears sting the back of my eyelids as I fumble with the buttons until the wipers slide across the glass, pushing away enough of the mess to make out the parking lot. Heat slams into my cheeks when I realize that everyone is still standing around gawking as if I’m the paid entertainment.
Inhale and exhale.
Don’t lose it.
I shift the car into reverse and pull out of the parking spot. Once I’m able to put the SUV into drive, it takes everything I have inside not to stomp on the gas pedal and squeal out of the parking lot. Instead, my fingers strangle the steering wheel as I fall in line with the other high-end cars before driving through the gate and turning onto the main road.
Now that I’m away from school, fury swirls through me. I’m halfway to the house before realizing that I can’t show up with the Mercedes in this condition. Not unless I want to explain how shitty my first day at Hawthorne Prep was and how godawful these people are. I wouldn’t put it past Mom and Dad to call the headmaster—or worse, pay him a visit—and then I’ll be known as a snitch on top of everything else.
I ease the vehicle over to the side of the road and search my phone for the nearest place to clean the SUV. Once I have an address, I set it for turn-by-turn directions. Since the town is small, it doesn’t take long to find the one and only carwash. The attendant gives me a funny look when I roll up and hand him my credit card before asking for the premium wash and wax.
I stay in the G-wagon, squeezing my eyes closed, as it moves through the different wash cycles. It’s sad that this is the most enjoyable part of my day.
When the two guys are done wiping off the SUV, I dig around in my wallet for a couple of bucks and roll down the window before handing over the bills. “Thanks. It looks great.” Better than it did this morning.
One of the attendants scratches the side of his head. “You’re lucky the egg wasn’t on there for long. It would have taken the finish right off.”
Fuckers.
“Yeah.” I force my lips into an anemic smile. “Lucky.”
I stew the rest of the way home. As I pull into the drive, I notice that my parents are both home. I was hoping they would be at Hawthorne Industries and I’d have a little time to collect myself before having to put on a show.
Had an amazing day!
So glad you moved us here!
Everyone was so warm and fuzzy!
I park behind the Volvo and grab my backpack before exiting the vehicle. It takes everything I have inside to paste a smile on my face as I let myself in through the front door.
“Hello,” I yell, dropping the backpack onto the floor. “I’m home.”
“In the study, sweetie!” Mom answers in a cheerful voice. “How was your day?”
Complete and utter shit.
I want to move back to Chicago.
Is homeschooling a viable option?
“It was fine,” I say instead.
“Just fine?” she asks with a tilt of her head.
I step over the threshold into the study before screeching to a halt. Yesterday, I’d thought all the dark paneling lent a lavish, cozy feel to the room. Now it only reminds me of Hawthorne Prep. I back up a step, not wanting to move any further into the space.