Page 9 of We're At It Again

Hudson nudged me with his elbow, snapping me out of my spiral of anxious thoughts.

“Relax, Snow.” He said. “It’s not a big deal.”

I groaned and rubbed my temples. He doesn’t get it.

“It might not be for you, Hudson,” I said. “But this could ruin my chances of getting into Stanford.”

His eyes widened in shock, his initial surprise giving way to anger.

“Since when was Stanford part of your plan?” He asked. “What happened to Parsons?”

The principal’s office creaked open, interrupting our conversation. My heart leaped into my throat as I rose from my seat, my legs trembled with nerves.

“Take a seat.”

Principal Quinn didn’t waste time with formalities. Hudson slouched in his seat, but I sat alert and tense. Principal Quinn removed his glasses and rubbed his temples with closed eyes. He released a shaky exhale.

“I expected to see Mr. Wilder today, but not you, Ms. Delgato.”

“In my defense,” I said. “I feel he’s gotten more annoying over the summer.”

Hudson snickered and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Sir, I am a victim.” He said. “She attacked me unprovoked.”

“Knowing you, Mr. Wilder, there is more to the story.” I snorted. Hudson just got schooled by the principal. “And you, Ms. Delgato, you wouldn’t want Stanford to hear about these incessant indiscretions.”

My smile fell.

“Of course not, sir.”

“I’m going to let you both off with detention.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. “This is your last chance. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Hudson said with a careless shrug.

I nodded, relieved that this wouldn’t get back to Stanford.

“You’re both excused. Be in the detention room straight after school.”

I tossed my backpack strap over my shoulder and pushed past Hudson, resisting the urge to punch him in the jaw. Again.

?

6

Hudson

I TOOK MY TIME GETTING INTO DETENTION. It’s not like I would be missing much. I entered the room and spotted a few familiar juvenile delinquents. Including my closest friend, Eli. I nodded in his direction before glancing around the room to spot the outlier. With a smirk, I sat next to her, handing her the rose I plucked from the garden on the way over. I offered her my most charming grin as I placed the flower in her line of sight.

“What is that?”

“A rose.”

“I can see that. Why is it in my face?”

“It’s for you,” I said. “To apologize.”

She opened her mouth, but an all too familiar voice spoke up.

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