CHAPTER1
Erika Armstrong. It's not my real name, but it's what rolls off the tongue.
The receptionist at Elk Grove Academy doesn’t bat an eye. I play it cool as I hand over the paperwork she’ll need as well as a forged transcript. Her fingers fly over the keys, and she doesn’t seem to think anything’s amiss. A few dyed blond strands work their way out of her bun as she types, her glasses falling down on her nose. She can’t be more of a cliché if she tried.
In a few moments, she prints out my schedule and hands it to me. “There you go, Erika. I hope you have a wonderful first day here!”
“Sure,” I mutter, unable to even attempt a fake smile.
It's January, not late August, so my first day is going to be hell. I just know it.
I turn around and walk straight into a wall. Not a literal wall, a wall of muscle. I look up and up and up to see a stupidly tall guy with dark hair, a leather jacket, some stubble, and shades that he lifts to the top of his head.
“Watch it,” he snaps.
“Hey, now, be nice,” the receptionist admonishes, and she rises a notch in my book, but then she plummets all the way down when she adds, “Brett, I called you down here so you can show our newest student around.”
My stomach is in my feet or maybe even below the tile. “Oh, no, thanks. I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can find my—”
“Don’t be silly. It’s a large school, and it’s easy to get lost. We always have a student help out the new ones.” The receptionist smiles, not at all realizing how badly she’s making me want to sink into the floor and disappear.
Because if people spend time with me, they’ll ask questions.
If they ask questions, I won’t be able to answer them.
They’ll start digging.
And I can’t let them find any answers.
I'm not just any old runaway. I mean, how many runaways take the time to forge documents so they can finish out high school? It might be easier to just get a GED, but I've been on my own for two weeks now, and I can't stand the quiet, the isolation. Even if I don't want to talk to anyone and just keep my head down and my nose in a book, at least I won't be alone.
“Really, Jess?” Brett asks, not moving at all, and cheeks flushing, I realize that I’m still standing too close to him.
I scamper back a step and glance over my shoulder at the receptionist, who seems rather flustered as she grabs a stack of papers and tries to straighten them.
“Brett, you shouldn’t call me by name,” she whines and then bites her lip.
Great. She paired me up with the male whore of the school who preys on older women. Well, if he would rather have a late twenty-something, then he should leave me alone.
Should.
Hopefully.
Maybe he won’t bother to ask me any questions after all, and everything will be fine.
Yeah, right. My life has become a clusterfuck, shattered into a million pieces that I’m not bothering to try to put back together. No, I’m rearranging them, fashioning myself into someone I want to be, not the person others want for me.
I won’t be used anymore.
I am my own person.
No one will dictate my life except for me.
Well, and my teachers, I guess, to some extent.
Brett shrugs, a cocky smirk twisting his lips that most likely caused most girls and maybe women, too, to want to suck on them, lick them, kiss them, bite them. I’m not affected, though, and just roll my eyes.
He winks at Jessthe receptionist and then proceeds to yank my schedule from my hand.