Pretty Reckless

“What does that mean?” Dad growls.

“I think you know exactly what it means.”

With that, Penn spins in place and gives me a close-lipped smirk.

Those eyes saw me naked. Those lips were on mine this afternoon.

Then they told me to get lost.

I remember Via was gorgeous, which bothered me, of course, but I don’t remember her being that pretty. No guy has ever affected me like him. Ever. Even if I take all my encounters with hot boys and combine them, it still doesn’t match the feel of just one measly look from Penn. He grew up from a dirty duckling to a dark swan.

“Chicken,” Penn hisses, his lips maneuvering into a smile that is too calculated for a teenager. He tosses the unlit cigarette into a nearby trash can, his eyes still on mine. Where did he learn to be so sophisticated?

“Excuse me?” I arch a threatening eyebrow.

“Thanks for the chicken, sis.” He walks over with the beer in his hand, snatching the tray of marinated chicken from me. He is taunting me with this sister BS. I bite my inner cheek because Dad’s here, and his big thing is thinking before acting.

“No problem. Anything else I can do for you?” I smile sweetly.

“I think you’ve done quite enough,” Penn says. I look over at Dad’s back, and his shoulders are shaking with laughter. I think he’s relieved we’re not flirting.

“I see you’ve already met.” He stacks the steaks onto a plate.

“Oh, yeah,” I retort. “Penn has seen quite a bit of me.”



At dinner, we all sit at the table and eat as though the world is not ending. As if Penn is a legitimate part of our family. I push my food around. Mom and Dad introduce Penn as a family friend to Bailey and me, and I snort while she shakes his hand over the salads and crystal diamond water pitchers. Tasmanian rain, if you must know. Expensive and pretentious, just like us.

Penn is open and kind even though he talks like a boy from the hood. His speech is lazy and confident and mesmerizing. He makes a point of ignoring me. His eyes and cheeks are still a nice shade of purple, but I can tell that in a few days, the bruises will fade, and then his stunning, immortal god face will haunt me on a daily basis. No one talks about the unfortunate state of his body or why he is here until Bailey raises her head from her plate.

“What happened to your face?” She covers her mouth to hide her braces as she speaks.

“Bailey,” Mom scolds at the same time Dad groans and shakes his head. Penn flashes her an easy smile. I stare at him, seeing what I don’t want to see. That when he’s not dealing with me, he’s not a douchebag.

“I punched a door.” He throws a Brussels sprout into his mouth, chewing.

“You did?” Bailey’s eyes widen as they assess his knuckles.

“Swung right back and punched me harder.”

“It looks awful.” Mel states the freaking obvious, pushing a forkful of sautéed spinach into her mouth.

“You should see the door.” Penn leans over to catch Bailey’s gaze. Then everyone but me bursts out laughing, and I can practically hear the crack of the ice as it breaks around the table. The only problem is, there are two icebergs. They’re on one, and I’m drifting away on another, far away from them.

Penn clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t have the best summer, and I needed an outlet. The door turned out to be…tougher than I thought, but it led me here.”

I roll my eyes, stabbing a piece of chicken and dragging it in white sauce.

“So since we’re addressing the subject,” Mel says, carefully placing her utensils on her plate, “Daria, Bailey. Penn’s been going through some dark moments recently. We thought it would be a good idea to have him here during his senior year before he goes off to college.”

“His senior year? It’s my senior year! And don’t you mean if he goes to college,” I add, throwing all caution to the wind. He’s been horrible to me, so why shouldn’t I be horrible to him? I get that I hurt him. That we both did something terrible four years ago. But he didn’t even give me a chance to apologize or explain. All eyes snap to my face, other than Penn’s. He digs into his steak, chewing on a juicy piece.

“Based on his grades and performance on the football field, I can assure you that Penn is on his way to Notre Dame on a scholarship.” Melody sends me a tight, this-is-not-how-Followhills-conduct-themselves smile. She hates it when I’m Hulky and spiteful.

“What happened?” Bailey makes a face to Penn.

“My mom passed away,” he explains. Bailey shoots her gaze to me as though I’m the one who killed her. Consequently, I want to die.

“At any rate”—Dad’s eyes narrow on me—“should you girls like to voice any concerns or issues, our door is always open.”

Bailey looks over at Penn, then down at her lap.

“I always wanted a big brother. Is that what you’ll be?”

I choke on my water, spitting some of it onto my plate. Is she freaking kidding me? She is thirteen. Who talks like that? Bailey. Bailey talks like that. She’s goodness and sunshine wrapped in a pink bow. A straight-A student and her mommy’s beloved ballerina. She and Luna volunteer to clean beaches and fold secondhand clothes for charities every summer break.