He cocks a brow, fully aware of my disdain for the woman to birthed me. “And you’re going?”
“Hell no!”
The bell sounds, echoing in the confined stairwell. We have two minutes to get to our next class. Cooper puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a sideways hug.
One Mississippi.
Ever since Rex transferred to St. A’s back in January, he’s made it clear he’s a lone wolf. He doesn’t do commitment or second dates, only one night fun fucks. Lunch and free period are spent in the gym working out. And while he throws the best parties since the Harris New Year’s Bash, don’t expect to be acknowledged beyond the white vinyl fence that surrounds his yard.
All of this I know because of the three girls who insist on sitting with me at lunch this semester. They ramble, nonstop, about mindless crap no one gives two shits about. If it wasn’t for the five star cuisine that puts half the restaurants in town to shame, I wouldn’t even come to the cafeteria. Besides, it’s not like these girls are my friends. They, and a revolving door of others over the years, sit at my pity-party-for-one table because at some point during lunch one if not both of the Harris twins will join me.
“You’ll never guess who I went home with last night.” Melody, head cheerleader and world class bitch, boasts setting her tray down across from me. Her clones, Sarah and Rachel—bleached hair, too much makeup, and scraps of fabric that violate the dress code—sit down with her.
I stab a plastic fork at the truffle macaroni on my Styrofoam tray. My Dollar Store earbuds are hidden beneath my hair, a dark purple cord attached to my phone the only indicator that they’re in. But today there’s no music because my wannabe smart phone’s battery is almost dead and I forgot my charger.
“Please don’t tell me you let Logan do you in his car again,” Sarah whines. “You deserve so much better.”
Melody wrinkles her nose. “Ew. No. That was a one time lapse in judgement.” She pauses, “Okay, twice.” Sarah arches her brows in that knowing way moms do. Melody sighs. “Okay fine it was three times, but that’s it. I swear.”
I bite back a laugh. Everyone knows Melody’s not so secretly in love with Logan. Has been ever since freshman year, back when she had braces and the coordination of a toddler learning to walk. This year she came back to school a new woman. New boobs. New nose. No braces. And a whole new attitude.
“Something funny, Slut?” Melody asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
I pull my ear buds out and wrap them around my phone. It’s not like I could listen to anything even if I wanted to. Might as well give up the rouse. “Besides your face? I mean really, Melody. All that money and the doctors couldn’t do better than that?”
Over plucked, penciled in eyebrows arch, nearly jumping off her forehead. “Excuse me?”
I tuck my phone into my bag and lean on the table, giving Melody a “sorry dear” smile. The doctors actually did a good job on her face. She’s beautiful in that California clone kind of way. But no matter how pretty she is on the outside, her cold black heart and rotten soul will always shine though. If Logan took Melody to bed, which I highly doubt, I’m sure he’s kicking himself for it. “If anyone had a lapse in judgement that night it was Logan. Try all you want; you’ll never replace her.”
Melody grips her plastic fork. Shit brown eyes betray her, spilling her pathetic plan to stab me somewhere boring. Like my hand or arm maybe. I’m not worried, Melody doesn’t have it in her to hurt a fly. Raised by a couple of doctors without borders parents and a pot smoking hippie for a nanny, she’s about as tough as a marshmallow. Sarah on the other hand looks generally concerned—for Melody, not me— and she rests her hand on Melody’s arm easing her off the ledge. “Let it go, Mel.”
Melody glares, her beady brown eyes trying to intimidate me. It’s comical. And then, like magic, her attitude shifts. Red lips pumped with filler curl at the corners. She sits up straighter, puffing her chest and batting her glued-on lashes. “Hey, Logan.”
Logan Harris, foster brother number two, ignores Melody and sits on my side of the table, facing me. His tattered black skinny jeans and unbuttoned shirt violate dress code. But at this point in the year, our teachers are picking their battles. He steals Rachel’s untouched fork off her tray and swipes my last bite of Mac and Cheese. “You good?”
I force a smile and nod. Logan and I have a strange relationship. I moved in with the Harris family the summer of my eighth birthday. Cooper and I clicked instantly, but Logan was standoffish. It took a full six weeks for him to talk to me. I think it was a mix of nerves and embarrassment. He
used to stutter. Still does when he’s nervous sometimes.
Flash forward to the middle of our freshman year when the Department of Children and Families pulled me out of the Harris home and forced me to live with bio-mom again, which by the way sucked. Logan pulled away. The fragile relationship we’d formed over the years seemed to dissolve the minute we were no longer family. If things hadn’t gone down the way they did this summer, and I hadn’t moved back in with them, he’d probably still treat me like a stranger.
“Have you thought about prom?” Melody asks, sticking a straw in her coke. She eyed Logan seductively as her lips curled around the plastic. “I vote we get a limo.”
Rachel gasps, “Really? I’ve never been in a limo.”
Rachel’s here on a cheerleading scholarship. While our sports teams are shit, our cheerleaders are nationally ranked. Everyone who was on our team in the last five years went on to cheer at Ivy league schools and many furthered their careers into the NFL.
How do I know?
Because Principal White has their headshots plastered on the sports trophy walls with details of their life accomplishments. It’s supposed to motivate our team to do their best. I think Principal White just likes to fluff his own feathers. I’m rambling. The point is that even though Rachel is here on a scholarship like me, she’s accepted because she has purpose.
I’m considered a waste of space.
Melody flashes a bless-your-heart smile and turns her attention back to Logan. “Should we add your address to the pickup list?”
Logan pulls a pack of Reds from his shirt pocket and sticks a cigarette between his lips, knowing we’re a tobacco free campus. With the flick of a contraband Zippo, it’s lit, adding more tar to his already struggling lungs. He takes a drag then exhales, blowing a tuft of white smoke in Melody’s face. “Hard pass.”
Melody waves her hand, pushing the cloud away and glares at me again. “You got something to say.”