A STAMPEDE IN the hallway outside my bedroom jerks me awake. I slept most of the day on Saturday and used unpacking as an excuse to dodge my cousins’ invite to hang out with “everyone” at the diner. Aside from the conversation with Owen, my Black Water debut at Titan’s party was an epic fail.
The sounds of clattering pans, cupboards slamming, and shouting downstairs mean three things, none of which I’m happy about.
It’s Monday.
The Twins are up.
And I’m starting at a new school.
I hate change, unless it involves turning the tide during a soccer game.
By the time I shower, get dressed, and apply mascara and lipstick-blush combo, the noise coming from downstairs starts up again. The stairs slow me down, but not enough to avoid the wrestling match taking place in the kitchen.
The Twins toss each other around with no effort.
“Boys. That’s enough,” Hawk warns from his seat at the table.
“Cam needs a workout. Didn’t you see how slow his reaction time was on Friday night?” Christian grabs his brother around the waist and plows him into the wall.
I make a mental note that Christian is the one wearing the gray Warriors football T-shirt.
Hawk turns around in his chair. “If you put another hole in my kitchen, you’ll both be dry-walling and painting this weekend.”
“Yes, sir.” Christian grins at Cam, who knocks off Christian’s baseball cap the moment he looks the other way.
Christian picks up the hat and shakes it off before putting it back on. “Keep it up. You’re taking your life into your own hands.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
The Twins eat their weight in eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Watching them scarf down plates of scrambled eggs kills my appetite.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Cam asks when he notices I’m not eating.
“Not anymore.” I push the bowl of oatmeal away and stick to coffee until the human garbage disposals finish breakfast.
Christian grabs a handful of bacon on our way out. “See ya later, Pop.”
“I hope Black Water High treats you well on your first day, Peyton,” Hawk calls after me.
I’m hoping the same thing.
* * *
High school sucks.
It’s a universal truth.
Forcing hundreds of teenagers to spend ten months together is a fundamentally bad idea. Throw in a gym class, school dances, teachers on power trips, and a crapload of homework, and it increases the likelihood of disaster.
The same scenario is even crueler in a high school this small, with fewer kids to distract the predators from the weak and wounded zebras in the pack. The zebras at Black Water High are easy to spot from the parking lot, because other students actually follow them down the sidewalk, taunting them like a scene from an antibullying video.
Mom warned me that Black Water is small, but I think my middle school was bigger than this place. How many students could possibly go to school here?
Two hundred? Maybe three?
At a school this size, there’s no way to blend in, which was my original plan—keep my head down, work my ass off in physical therapy, and go back to my uncle’s house.
Things just got a whole lot harder.
I take a deep breath.
“You all right?” Christian asks as he opens the door.
I’m not confessing my insecurities to the Twins. “I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. I’m a little light-headed, that’s all.”
Christian frowns and pulls the door shut. “We’ll hang here until you feel better.”
A group of girls walks in front of the truck, talking and passing around a tube of lip gloss. The Twins check them out, discussing the candidates in the running to replace April.
I shove Christian. “You’re both disgusting. Do you actually think those girls are interested in you?”
Christian flashes one of his admirers an I’m-the-bad-boy-of-your-dreams smile. “Pretty much. And if they aren’t interested, I just need twenty minutes.”
“Exactly twenty minutes? Not fifteen or twenty-two? What miraculous feat happens in that twenty minutes?” I realize the kind of response he’ll probably give me. “Don’t answer that.”
Christian grins. “You sure? ’Cause I’ve got some good answers.”
Cam reaches behind me and smacks his bother in the back of the head. “Don’t talk about dirty crap in front of our cousin.”
“I meant good answers like funny ones, you dope.” Christian rubs the back of his head.
Grace walks by and peers at the truck through her curtain of black hair.
“Isn’t that your friend?” I ask, hoping to shift their attention away from me.
Christian lays on the horn, and the girls jump. A tube of lip gloss flies in the air and lands on the ground.
A tall blond glares at him. “What’s your problem, Christian?”
He leans out the window, acting innocent. “Sorry, ladies. My bad.”
Grace smiles sheepishly and waves. If Christian doesn’t know she likes him, he’s clueless. “Are you coming in?” she asks him.
“Not yet,” Christian says.
“Go ahead. I’m fine.” I motion for him to get out.
“I’ll stay,” Cam says, suddenly grouchy.
I nudge Cameron. “I’m okay on my own, Cam. Seriously.”
He leans back against the seat. “I’m good with waiting.”
Christian hops out, grabs his backpack from the truck bed, and slings his arm over Grace’s shoulder. “Change of plans.”
Grace beams.
“That just made her day.” It feels good to do something nice for someone else.
“Yeah. Christian is a real prize.” Cam slips on a flannel with a quilted lining that looks more like a coat than a shirt, and messes with his hair. I can’t put my finger on what it is yet, but there’s something different about Christian’s and Cameron’s eyes.
“You should go with them,” I say, but Cam doesn’t move. He’s not going anywhere unless I give him a reason. “I just need a few minutes to myself.”
“I’ll meet you in the office.” He gets out and points at the main entrance. “It’s straight through there. Miss Lonnie probably forgot you were coming.”
Cam taps on the hood and takes off.
I slouch deeper into the seat and watch the students filter inside.
Senior year wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. Tess and I spent most of last year mapping out every detail, and now she won’t even speak to me.
My gaze drifts past the empty parking spaces to an SUV. A woman around Mom’s age sits at the wheel, her face creased with worry. She’s arguing with someone and gesturing frantically.
A guy is sitting in the passenger seat, and I recognize his profile and dirty-blond hair. Owen’s broad shoulders hang slack as he stares at his lap. The woman must be his mother. At the barn party, when Owen said his mom was the person he’d been arguing with on the phone, I wasn’t sure if he was serious.
Why is she so upset? And why does he look like he’d rather swallow nails than stay in the car for another second?
The conversation between them grows more heated, and Owen’s mom bursts into tears. She buries her face in her hands, and he slumps against the passenger door. I shouldn’t be watching them, but his expression looks so familiar.
It’s the same one I see in the mirror all the time now.
Regret.
Owen says something and squeezes his mom’s shoulder, but she doesn’t stop crying. She stares straight ahead like a zombie.
He looks past her and catches me watching them.
My cheeks heat up. I turn to look away, but his eyes find mine.
A knock on the window scares the crap out of me, and I yelp. Cam waves, and I reach over and unlock the driver’s-side door.
“Are you going to stay in the car all day?” he asks, clueless that he scared the hell out of me.
“I’m coming.” I open the door and get out carefully.
My eyes flicker to the silver SUV. Owen’s mom is backing out of the parking space and he’s already across the street, walking up the sidewalk. He opens the door to the building, and at the last possible moment, he stops and looks back.
It’s two seconds. Maybe less.
But when a boy looks at you like he’s drowning and you’re the only person who saw him fall in, it feels like forever.