THIRTEEN ARABELLA

THIRTEEN

Arabella

I STOMP into statistics class in my moonboots, feeling silly. The boots are a little awkward to walk in because truly, they are ridiculous. I’m not quite sure what I was thinking when I slipped them on earlier, but I’m feeling no regrets.

Despite the boots, it’s like I’m walking on soft, fluffy clouds because of what just happened between Rowan and me.

Am I really going to his family’s house for the entire week? Like, seriously?

Pretty sure I am. Unless he changes his mind.

I hope he doesn’t change his mind.

Rowan enters the class right behind me and heads for his desk, while I go to mine. I can feel Mrs. Guthrie’s gaze land on me, quietly assessing, and when she finally speaks, there’s surprise in her voice.

“Extremely understated today, Arabella. And you’re in your full uniform.”

I kick a foot out toward her, letting her admire my boot. They’re bright white with pale gray lettering on them and they’re puffy and huge, nearly reaching my knees. I blame my lack of decent REM sleep last night for wearing them. I was definitely not in the right frame of mind this morning when I made this choice.

“I sort of hate them,” I admit to Mrs. Guthrie, making her laugh.

“They’re not so bad.”

“They’re ridiculous.”

“Well, they’re not worthy of being written up so you’re safe today.” Her smile is warm. “I have to admit, Arabella, I do look forward to seeing what you’re wearing every morning when you walk into class.”

“I’m glad I can entertain you,” I say solemnly, meaning every word. At least someone appreciates the work I put into my silly outfits beyond just me.

Someone approaches Mrs. Guthrie’s desk and asks her a question, and I lean forward in my desk, spying on Rowan. He’s got his long legs stretched out in front of him, slouching in his seat as he taps away on his phone. His brows are drawn together and his teeth are sunk into his bottom lip, like he’s concentrating extra hard, and oh my God, I’ve never seen him look better.

I have issues. Rowan Lancaster issues.

My phone buzzes and I check it to see it’s a text from an unknown number.

You’re staring.

I lift my head to find Rowan smiling at me, still clutching his phone.

I immediately add his name as a contact and fire off a text to him.

Me: So are you.

Rowan: I let my mom know you’re coming home with me.

I want to melt into the floor at the idea that he’s telling his mom about me. What is this life?

Me: I’m sure she’s confused by this turn of events.

Rowan: Not at all. She’s glad you’re coming.

Me: You’re just saying that.

Rowan: No way. My mom is a total sweetheart. Unlike me.

Me: You’re a sweetheart.

Rowan: According to who?

Me: According to me.

My heart leaps to my throat the second I fire off that last text. I probably shouldn’t have sent it but I’m feeling reckless. And what he’s done is very sweet, inviting me to his home out of the kindness of his heart. I can’t figure out what his ulterior motive could be so I’m assuming he doesn’t have one. Is that dumb on my part? Perhaps.

I’m just going to live in my delusion and believe he actually wants me there because he likes me.

We have a test in statistics so the moment I’m finished, I leave class because Mrs. Guthrie doesn’t care. I make my way to the bathroom, stopping short when I find Lydia inside with her mean friends, all of them surrounding her as they stare at her phone screen. The moment they catch me in the room with them, they all go silent, still wearing sly smirks on their beautiful faces as they watch me.

“Arabella! We were just talking about you,” Lydia greets warmly.

Her voice drips with kindness and my defenses rise. I don’t trust this snake as far as I can throw her. “All bad I assume.”

Lydia is slightly taken aback by my reply. Good. I want to keep her on her toes. “Not all bad.”

“Uh huh.” My sarcasm is thick.

“We just found a photo of you,” adds one of her friends. I don’t know her name. She’s in the grade below us, and I realize all of the girls surrounding Lydia are younger. Meaning Lydia doesn’t have many friends who are seniors because she’s so awful.

“From a long time ago,” another one says.

I rest my hands on my hips, contemplating all of them. “Are you guys for real right now? You’re all hiding out in the bathroom laughing over old photos of me? I’m sure I look just as awkward as you all did back in the day.”

They are silent, shocked by me essentially calling them out. Seriously, I’m so tired of this sort of thing. We’re almost out of high school and will be considered adults. I turn eighteen in a matter of days. This type of behavior is beyond immature.

“I think I’ll use another bathroom,” I announce before I turn and leave, letting the door shut behind me.

Unfortunately, I hear it slam shut again within seconds of me escaping and Lydia’s unmistakable screechy voice calling my name.

I don’t slow my steps. I pick up my pace instead but the girl is determined and next thing I know she’s in front of me, making me stop. I’m not that fast anyway thanks to the stupid boots I’m wearing.

“You’re really completely unbothered by me, aren’t you?” I don’t think her mean little brain can fathom this.

“I am utterly unbothered by you.” That’s not the whole truth. She bothers me some but I can’t let her know it. “You really need a hobby or something. This mean girl business isn’t a good look for you.”

Lydia arches a brow. “You think you’re better than me?”

“I never said that.” I shake my head. It’s obvious she wants a fight.

“Then what exactly are you saying, hmm? You may flaunt all of your designer clothes when you add them to our uniform. We all know your parents are rich, you don’t need to show off.” Her gaze drops, and she sneers at my boots. “We all know the truth anyway—that you’re just a lonely little rich girl who’s been abandoned by her parents. Is that why you’re always looking for attention?”

I keep my expression as impassive as possible because wow, her words sting. She’s not far off of her assessment of me, and I hate that.

I also kind of hate her.

“And the way you follow after Row everywhere he goes is pathetic. Do you really think he’s interested in you? If he was, he would’ve done something about it a long time ago. Truthfully, I sense he enjoys having his little fangirl trailing after him,” she continues, her lips curving into a gleeful smile.

Her words are like tiny knives, carving into my sensitive heart, and I remain still. I can’t falter. I can’t let her see how much her words hurt, and how accurate she is when she describes me. If her goal is to bring up all those insecurities I try to keep at bay, then she’s successful.

“We’re friends,” I say, my voice stiff. I’m terrified it’ll start shaking, and then she’ll know she has an effect on me. I refuse to let that show.

“Please.” Lydia makes a dismissive noise. “He merely tolerates you.”

“Lydia, leave her the fuck alone.”

We both turn at the familiar male voice to find Rowan standing there, glaring at Lydia. The relief I feel at seeing him is brief though because I’m also a little annoyed.

I wanted to fight this battle on my own. I don’t need him running to my rescue.

“Rowan! How are you?” Lydia’s entire face brightens. Even her body language shifts as she thrusts her chest out. Like she wants him to check her out.

I roll my eyes, not caring if she sees. And she calls me pathetic?

“Stop with the bullshit,” he continues, stalking his way toward us. He’s not even looking at me, and if he did, he’d see I’m irritated by his interrupting our conversation. Again, I can handle this. Handle her.

It’s obvious he thinks I can’t.

“I’m not doing anything. Am I, Arabella?” Lydia’s narrowed gaze lands on me.

“We were talking,” I say, my voice cool. He still won’t look at me. All of his anger is focused on Lydia, and I can practically feel him vibrate with the emotion, he’s standing so close to me. “Privately.”

That word gets his attention. He glances over at me and I see the questioning in his gaze. I wish I could telepath to him that I’ve got this, but I don’t think he’d get it even if I could.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Lydia asks him, completely ignoring me. “My family and I are going to Lake Tahoe.”

“I’m going home and spending it with family.” Rowan slips his arm around my shoulders, tugging me firmly into his side. “And with Arabella.”

Lydia’s jaw about hits the floor at his response and I almost want to laugh. Almost. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about that?” His voice is calm, his fingers gripping my shoulder, and I let myself enjoy the moment. The way his warmth seeps into me. How solid and muscular he is. He’s tall, the top of my head doesn’t even reach his shoulder, and he makes me feel small and protected.

Which I also can’t help but find annoying because I was trying to stand on my own two feet here in my little argument with Lydia.

Lydia’s gaze shifts to me and there’s something different glowing in her eyes. Respect? No. I doubt that. More like curiosity. She’s struggling with the idea that Rowan isn’t interested in her and she probably can’t believe I’m her competition, which is the furthest thing from the truth.

“You two have fun then,” she murmurs before she leaves, heading straight into the bathroom she was just in. Her friends never came out so I’m sure she’s giving them all the tea on my going home with Rowan.

Great.

The moment we’re alone in the hallway I slip out from under his arm and give him a light smack on the chest. I keep doing that. Maybe it’s my signature move. “You shouldn’t have told her that.”

“Told her what?”

“That I’m going home with you for Thanksgiving.”

“Got her to leave you alone, didn’t it?” His voice is a challenge and I decide to challenge him right back.

“I am perfectly capable of handling Lydia on my own.” Ooh I sound snotty but I can’t help myself. I am not a defenseless princess who can’t take care of herself. I’ve been on my own pretty much my entire life. I need no one to fight my battles for me.

“I’m sure you are.” He backs down somewhat. I can sense he’s a bit confused. “Just wanted to help.”

“I don’t know if you running to my defense helped at all. Now that she knows what we’re doing, she’s going to tell all of her friends. She loves spreading gossip,” I say.

“What friends?” He scoffs. “No one likes her.”

“She has friends with her in there.” I point at the bathroom. “That’s where I ran into them a few minutes ago.”

I am not going to tell him how awful they were to me. That encounter doesn’t count anyway. I stood up to them and it felt good. It was Lydia’s cruel words from only moments ago that got to me.

“Are you sure they’re her friends? Because, seriously, no one likes Lydia. She’s the worst.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “How’d you do on the test?”

“I probably failed it.” I did great. I knew every answer.

“I might’ve too.” He shrugs. “It’s fine though. I always feel like we can make it up in class. Guthrie is pretty good about giving us extra credit.”

“She is,” I agree as I pull out my phone and check the time. “We still have fifteen minutes until our next class.”

“I know.” He smiles, and oh I hate when he does that. He could say anything in this moment and I’d readily agree with him. He could suggest we go murder Lydia with our bare hands, and I’d say yes without hesitation.

We start walking, our steps slow, and he keeps his head bent, though I can see the faint curl of his lips as he studies my boots. As if he might be smiling. “You wear those to make yourself feel like me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re moving slower and I’m sure it’s thanks to the boots. I know what that’s like.”

“Oh. Yes.” I’m nodding, going along with his suggestion. “That’s exactly why I wore them. I wanted to shuffle around campus like Rowan Lancaster.”

He’s full-blown smiling now, aiming it right at me, and I glance around quickly, making sure I’m not going to walk into a wall. “I have a doctor’s appointment early next week. If all’s well with my ankle, they’ll let me take off the boot.”

“That’s great news!” I know he’s been miserable wearing it.

“Yeah. Trying not to get my hopes up though. What if it’s not healed?”

“It’ll be healed,” I say with authority. “I’m positive you won’t be wearing it by Thanksgiving.”

“I hope so.” He aims that smile of his right at me.

I smile back, absently reaching for my locket, rubbing my thumb across the top of it. We’re not actually flirting. Nor are we arguing, bantering, whatever you want to call it. We’re having a real conversation and it feels like maybe we could be friends. Maybe we already are.

But could we be more?

Earlier this morning I would’ve said no. Now I’m starting to wonder …

Maybe we could.