“What is her problem, anyway?” Evelyn asked as we crossed the outdoor cafeteria. “I’ve been nothing but nice to her.”
“She does her own thing.”
“Well, she doesn’t have to be a bitch about it.”
I started to defend Shiloh, but we’d arrived at Holden Parish. He watched us approach, casually pulling a sleek package of cigarettes out of the pocket of his pea coat with Djarum Black embossed
on the front in gold.
Evelyn flashed him her best smile and tossed her Ariana Grande ponytail over her shoulder. “I’m Evelyn, this is Violet. We thought we’d come over and say hi, since you’re new and all.”
“Am I?” Holden heaved a sigh. “It’s only noon, and it feels like I’ve been here for ages.”
He tucked a cigarette between his lips while his eyes—a stunning peridot green, clear and light—took us in from under sandy blond eyebrows. He flipped the lid on a gold Zippo and those brilliant eyes narrowed as he inhaled deep and blew it out; the air between us was filled with the pungent scent of cloves and tobacco before wafting away in the afternoon breeze.
Evelyn gave him an appreciative glance. “This is California, not Paris. There’s no smoking allowed at school.”
Holden crossed his arms, the black cigarette held elegantly in his slender hands with ink-stained fingers. “I’m sure there isn’t,” he said and took another drag.
“There’s a spot under the bleachers on the north end of the football field,” Evelyn said, her smile turning coy. “Good place to smoke or do other things you don’t want anyone to see.” She cocked her head, her lip gloss shimmering in the sunlight. “Care for a tour?”
Holden eyed her up and down, a smirk on his lips and cunning intelligence in his eyes. But they were heavy too. Shadowed. He hunched against the pole, as if taking shelter from a cold wind only he could feel.
An old soul maybe, I thought.
“As enticing as that sounds, I’ll pass. Raincheck, princess?”
Evelyn Gonzalez—two-time homecoming queen and designated ‘Hottest Girl in School,’ who usually had guys eating out of her hand, took the rejection in stride.
“Definitely. There’s a party Saturday night at Chance Blaylock’s house. A back-to-school thing. Should be pretty epic.”
Holden’s green gaze flickered to me. “What do you think, Violet?”
“I think smoking is bad for your health and those around you.”
His eyes widened, pleasantly surprised. “So it is.”
Evelyn elbowed me in the side. “Don’t mind her. Violet is going to be a doctor, so she’s anal about stuff like that.”
Holden shot me a wink. “So am I.”
After a short moment of awkward, Evelyn turned her smile up another watt. “Anyway, if you want to come to the party, give me your number and I’ll text you the address.”
I had to hand it to Evelyn—when she wanted something, or someone—she didn’t waste time.
Holden smiled a lazy smile. “Oh, I think I can find my way.”
“Cool. But if you change your mind about a tour, I’m around.”
“Yes, you get around,” said a voice from behind us. Chance and River Whitmore approached with Frankie Dowd tailing after the football players like a scrawny puppy tagging along with the alpha dogs.
“Fuck off, Frankie.” Evelyn punched the lanky red-headed guy in the shoulder.
River’s glance flickered to me, and he smiled before turning to Holden. I watched the guys size each other up. If Holden was intimidated by the two jocks and a skater punk surrounding him, he didn’t show it.
“I was just inviting our new friend to your party, Chance,” Evelyn said, recovering her poise. “Guys, this is Holden.”
“Good to meet you, man,” River said, offering his hand.