Part One
Then
One
Gineva
First day of senior year. The home stretch. It’ll be intense with all the college courses I’ve crammed into my schedule, but having most of my general classes out of the way when I start college next year will be worth it.
I slip into homeroom, keeping my head down, and focus on making myself invisible. Getting dumped by the star quarterback one week before school started has, by the looks of things, put me in the loser category faster than the dickhead could announce his new girlfriend.
I should be grateful I found out the way I did. Walking in on him screwing her in his bedroom was the reality check I needed.
I knew he was drifting, tired of waiting on me to decide if I was ready to have sex, but secret shame continues to plague me. I had gone over there specifically to give him my virginity. To hand over what he wanted so I wouldn’t lose him, or the security our relationship gave me.
Thank God I didn’t offer myself up a day sooner.
Who even gives a shit? Right? Not me! I remind myself that that’s my new motto.
Even my friend Darla decided to stay Team Rick the Dick. But that’s okay, I’m looking right past this year and focusing on the long haul. I’m going to bury myself in the books and not worry about the who’s who in high school. Maybe if I say it over and over again, I can will my self-esteem to get on board.
I plop down in the front row of my English class and notice the seats on both sides of me remain empty as everyone else fills in the room. The bell rings, and just as the announcements start, our principal walks in with a new kid in tow.
Man, that would suck to be in a new school your senior year. Especially in this little town.
I try not to stare in order to give the guy some dignity, but when he plops down in the chair next to me, I glance over to offer him a quick smile. But holy shit. This guy doesn’t need my sympathy nod. Nope. I can tell by one look that he won’t have any problems fitting in here. His blond hair is thick and shaggy, framing blinding eyes that are the same shade of blue that shoots out the end of a blow torch. I’m willing to bet those eyes heat up every girl who looks at him.
I attempt to shake from my limbs the heat he’s caused and try to focus on class instead of peeking through my peripheral vision at the distraction sitting next to me. Even though I catch him glancing my way a few times, I resist the urge to make eye contact. He doesn’t realize it yet, but by lunch, he’ll get the message that hanging with Gineva Derosa is now classified as social suicide.
The bell signaling the period has ended is like a gift from the heavens. I head to my locker and quickly switch out my books. Electric Eyes stops at the locker next to me. Shit.
He fiddles with the combination a bit, struggling to get the beat-up tin box to work. “Fuck,” he huffs, then tries again.
I can’t let the poor guy flounder. It’s just not in my DNA. “Need some help?”
I’m thanked with a set of white teeth surrounded by full lips. His insecure smile makes him look even more ridiculously good.
“That would be great.” He hands me his combination.
When it doesn’t work the first time, I realize the little bitch is jammed, so I do it again, then hit the locker before pulling the lever. A little trick we’ve all picked up over the years.
“Damn, girl, you’re small but mighty.” He opens the empty locker and sticks in his new English book. “Thank you…” He raises his eyebrows in question.
“Gin.”
He cocks his head to the side and studies me. “No shit?” The glare from his cocky smile nearly blinds me. “I’m Juice.”
I search his ocean-filled eyes for a second, trying to determine if this guy is funny or just a grade-A douchebag who likes to make fun of people. Then decide I don’t give a shit because by lunchtime, he’ll never be speaking to me again. So I go with my gut.
“What the fuck ever, dude. Have a nice life.” I slam my locker shut and head to my next class, so done with pretty faces and cocky grins.
***
The August humidity makes my skin tacky with sweat, but it really doesn’t matter if I smell like a goat since no one is coming around anyway. I park my ass on one of the retaining walls, thankful for a momentary break from reality. I soak up the solitude for a second, relishing the moment of bliss. No sooner do I pull my protein bar out of my bag than the infamous Juice decides to help himself to the seat next to me.
“Seat’s taken.” I dig out my water.
“Did I do something to offend you?” He plops down as though he couldn’t give two shits that I don’t want him there.
“No, Juice.” I drag out his mockery to my name. “Why would you think that?”
“What?” He shrugs. “You’ve got a kick-ass name. I was hoping to get in on the action.” He takes a bite of his poorly made PB&J, jelly oozing out the side of smashed bread, and for a second I wonder who made this guy's lunch.
“And what sort of action is that?” I give him my best bitch face. “Make my life a living hell?”
“Shit, girl, no.” He shoves the sandwich back in his bag and shakes his head. “I’m the new kid, I don’t know a damn person here, and from the outside looking in, you look like you could use a friend too, but then you open that fucking mouth and…” He stands and walks away, muttering, “Fucking bitches are all the same.”
“Stop.” I fight the urge to curl in on myself when his words hit their mark. I’m not a bitch by nature, but it seems to be my go-to reaction when I’m feeling vulnerable. “Come back.”
He looks over his shoulder, visibly debating what to do. Then he finally sits back down next to me, his long legs stretching out in front of him.
“Hi.” I stick out my hand in an attempt to start over. “I’m Gineva Derosa, but you can call me Gin.”
He studies me for so long that I wonder if I have something on my face. “Jarrett Dean.” His warm, calloused hand wraps around mine, causing flutters in my chest. “But you can call me Juice.”
This time, I laugh at his Snoop Dogg reference, deciding to cut the new kid some slack. “You’re an idiot.”
He laughs back. “Pretty much.”
And that was how I met my best friend.