Chapter 16

Sixteen

IZZY

T he last thing I want to do is return to school and face the firing squad. Gouging out both of my eyes with a rusty spoon sounds significantly more appealing.

Ansel must see the derision on my face—or maybe he just hears my huff of annoyance—because he tosses me a glance after putting the car into park.

“You doing okay?” His long fingers tap against the steering wheel.

I focus on that, on the repetitive tap-tap-tap instead of his penetrating gaze I can feel burning a hole in my head.

“Not really.” I blow out a breath. “It’s times like this when I wish I were smart enough to get my GED and forget about school.”

“You are smart,” Ansel interjects automatically, his tone colored with something akin to indignation on my behalf.

I offer him a smile—my first genuine one in the last twenty minutes. “Can you just promise me that I won’t have to face any assholes today?”

His fingers stop their incessant tapping. “Unfortunately, that’s not something I can promise.”

“Dammit.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened with the guys to make you so pissed? What exactly did they keep from you?”

I open my mouth, shut it, and then open it again. I don’t know what to tell Ansel. Obviously not the truth. But I also don’t want to lie to him.

So instead of saying anything, I just smile sadly and slip out of the car.

The air’s cold, slicing at my skin like keen knives. The chill is tempered by the sun just beginning to rise in the distance.

Why does school have to start so damn early? Don’t people know that our brains don’t start working until noon? I suddenly wish I were fast asleep in Grayson’s bed, nestled in his arms.

“You ready for today?” Ansel moves to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel his body heat.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold works its way through me.

“Remind me again what the penalty is for committing murder?”

“Life in prison,” Ansel responds dryly. “Maybe a nice, old-fashioned execution.”

“Do we even have the death penalty here?” I muse, tapping a finger to my chin.

“Do you want to find out?” He gives me the side-eye, and I huff dramatically.

“Nooo. Fine. No murder.” I pause to consider something. “What about a little light maiming?”

“That’s allowed.” He tosses me a smile that makes my breath catch.

And when he reaches down to intertwine his fingers with mine? I swear the butterflies in my stomach riot.

How can I feel this way about Ansel after everything that happened with Grayson? I love Grayson. I truly do, yet…

Those damn butterflies refuse to settle down.

“Let’s go inside, little psychopath.” He chuckles. “We’re already late enough as it is.”

He tugs me into the school.

And I swear my skin continues to tingle long after he releases me.

The first member of the “asshole club” I see is Ethan. He has his back to me, moving in the opposite direction, yet he tenses as if he senses my presence. The muscles in his back flex and ripple.

And I, being the mature young lady that I am, immediately beeline down a different hallway, moving as fast as my legs can carry me.

Not today, Satan. Not today.

The next person I see is Emery, who’s waiting by my locker while absently fiddling with his lip ring. Just like with Ethan, his entire body goes rigid even before I’m in his line of sight. Slowly, he turns his head in my direction, his nostrils flaring.

I promptly decide that I don’t need anything from my locker and pivot on my heel, returning the way I came. All the while, my heart pounds erratically in my chest and my hands are clammy. My blood feels tainted by battery acid.

I can’t avoid all of them forever, however, no matter how much I wish I could.

Third period is chemistry, the one class I share with Ethan, Emery, and Desiree. The only saving grace is that Ansel is in this class as well.

A strange, prickling heat invades my body as soon as I step through the door of the classroom. I can feel numerous pairs of eyes on me, but I purposely ignore them all as I claim my seat near the front of the classroom. Ansel is already here, no surprise, and is busy organizing his supplies.

“You doing okay?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth, straightening his mechanical pencils.

“Are they still looking in my direction?” I ask just as softly.

Ansel not so subtly looks over his shoulder and nods once. “Yup.”

“Damn.”

“Izzy!” a familiar voice chirps.

Mimi moves to stand in front of my desk, a wide, beguiling smile on her beautiful face.

Mimi is one of Desiree’s best friends and someone I’ve gotten to know over the past few weeks. Her wheat-colored hair gives her an angelic look. Paired with her heart-shaped face and narrow chin, she’s an absolute knockout.

“Oh my god! I was looking for you everywhere yesterday!” Mimi continues in her high-pitched, trilling voice. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present!”

“My present?” I frown at her in confusion.

“Of course, silly.” Mimi pulls her backpack off and begins to dig through it. She releases a satisfied hum when she procures a beautifully wrapped package complete with a bow. “Happy belated birthday, girl!”

“Oh.” My face feels like it’s on fire, mainly because I can’t remember the last time anyone cared enough to give me a birthday gift.

Except for Grayson, of course.

Hesitantly, I take the gift from her outstretched hands. I almost don’t want to rip the paper. How much time did it take her to wrap it?

“Are you just going to stare at it?” Mimi places a hand on her hip and cocks it to the side. “Or are you actually going to open it?”

Before I can do just that, Mr. Holter moves to the front of the classroom and clears his throat. “All right. That’s enough, children. Take your seats.”

“Later,” Mimi mouths with a wink as she moves past me.

I nod and gently place the present in my backpack.

I feel…strange, and I’m sure my red cheeks reflect that.

To be completely honest, I’ve never had a lot of friends. It was hard to build and maintain relationships when I knew I would be passed to the next foster home as soon as my current family got sick of me. I pushed people away because it was the only way I knew how to protect myself. If I allowed no one into my heart, then it was impossible for me to get hurt.

Yet everything has changed. I have friends who care about me now. Who remember my birthday and buy me gifts. Who text me to check in. Who arrive late to school just to give me a ride.

I’m not used to this.

At all.

As I watch Mimi take her seat, my gaze collides with Desiree’s. She looks as immaculate as ever in a perfectly ironed white blouse. Her brown curls cascade loosely around her face, stopping just below her shoulders. She opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, desperation etched across every line of her face, but I immediately look away.

Whenever I stare at her, I see Ashton bending down to kiss her. Emery hovering over her in a darkened classroom while Ethan watches on.

God, I feel like an idiot.

I refocus on the teacher as he drones on and on about electrons and protons and molecular mass. It’s hard to focus on him, though, when I can feel Ethan’s and Emery’s gazes on the nape of my neck. They’re directly behind me, so close that I can almost smell them, as creepy as that sounds. I wonder if it’s a “mate” thing.

And I wonder if they know yet that I know.

Halfway through class, something whacks me across the back of my head. I frown at the rolled-up piece of paper but ignore it.

Ansel, however, reaches for it. He arches an eyebrow at me inquiringly, and I nod once, giving him permission to read it. He smooths out the piece of paper and frowns down at it. I can’t help but peek at the hastily scrawled words out of the corner of my eye.

Izzy. We need to talk. After school?

If I had to guess, I would say the handwriting is Emery’s. It’s messy and chaotic, just like he is.

Ansel smirks as he grabs one of his pens and writes in big letters, FUCK OFF. When Mr. Holter is distracted, Ansel throws the piece of paper over his shoulder.

Someone releases a growl.

When class finally ends, I’m the first one out the door.

I don’t look back.