Kellan J: Oh, come on, N.
Kat Rosenfield: Nora is right. What if the #boyfriendstealingbrotherfuckingwhore walks into school with a gun?
Meghan LG: What if the whole kidnapping is just made up and her parents actually sent her away for seducing their son?
Kat Rosenfield: Megan:: OMG, you’re right. She probably was in some military mental place.
Meghan LG: Psych ward for incestuous sluts.
Kellan J: M is using big words. Did you Google that one?
Meghan LG: Fuck you, KELLAN. Start using our full names, or do you need help with spelling like a big boy?
Lisa Bennett: That would definitely make sense. I mean, who would want to kidnap her? She has nothing anyone could ever want. #skinnybitch
Kellan J: Meghan, I’d fuck you any day. Name the time and place.
Meghan LG: OMFG, someone block this asshole!
Emma: I told Sloane we should no longer sit at that table, even with her not being there, but she’s too scared of D.
Nora Ross: Fuck Denielle, she’s probably cheating on Charlie with Wes. We all saw how those two all of a sudden stick together. #theyaresodoingit
I stop reading.Emma, my friend, sided with Katherine. Denielle has a target on her back because of me. My throat starts aching, and I close my eyes for a second to collect myself. None of them would've dared to badmouth my best friend before...I need to get out of here. I thrust the phone at Rhys, who barely catches it, and turn on my heels.
"Calla!"
I don't make eye contact as I climb into the Raptor, put the truck into reverse, and leave him and George standing in Woodland Park.
Pulling into the garage,I expect Tristen to be hovering in the door to the kitchen. I stole his truck, after all.
I gently close the driver's side door, minimizing any sound—not that the roar of the engine isn’t enough to announce my arrival—and hesitantly approach the entrance leading into the house. Voices are audible inside, but I can't make out what's being said. Heather is talking, Tristen is responding, and Natty is laughing. Suddenly, the door swings open, and Tristen halts abruptly. Our eyes meet, and we're locked in a stand-off. When black spots start appearing in my vision, I suck in the breath I was unconsciously holding.
My adopted father lifts something, and I lower my gaze. Oh, he was taking out the trash. Sidestepping, I let him through, and he dumps the white plastic bag into the bin by the roll gate.
On his way back, he pauses and leans in. "Mom doesn't know. I told her you needed to get out for a bit, and I let you take the truck. Don't do it again."
My eyes widen, and I jerk my head up and down.
"Oh, and sweetheart?"
"Yes?" I squeak.
"We are going to talk about that phone."
My pulse is thrashing in my ears, and I murmur, "Okay."
I follow him into the kitchen, and Heather's face lights up. "You're back! How was the drive?"
My cheeks are aflame, and I'm about to reply when Rhys enters through the front door. He must have left the Defender in the driveway. Another quick escape?
I’m not bitter at all. Lie.
All eyes swivel to him, and Heather's expression falls. "I got a call from your coach earlier." She doesn't elaborate, but we all understand the meaning.
Rhys smoothes his features, not letting what went down at the park show. "They deserved it." No excuses.
"I agree with you, son. But next time, don't do it on school property." I whirl around to confirm I'm not hallucinating. Tristen stands slightly behind me, arms on his hips, and levels his son with a gaze I can't decipher. It's something between pride, disapproval, and a smug grin.