Page 11 of Unloved

Meanwhile, I’m plastered to the seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs and wishing I hadn’t worn a skirt.

As if the shifting in my seat has drawn his attention, Tyler eyes me up and down, his gaze flickering from my ruffled short socks to the lavender bow pulling half my frizzy curls off my face, disapproval evident in his eyes.

“Thought you’d grow out of that look by now,” he mutters under his breath.

My face flushes and everything feels too tight. I feel ridiculous, hating how easily his words get to me. I’ve loved Tyler for years, andIknowhe hates when I dress like this. Buthe’sthe one who decided that we aren’t together.

Why can’t I just ignore him?

I stand without preamble and shove back from the table, nearly tripping as I grab my backpack.

“Whoa, where are you going?” Rodger asks, scooting away in his rolling chair to give me space.

“I—um, the bathroom. It’s my period,” I say, lying. “Just go over the plan with him and tell him to meet me next week. Same time, same place, okay?”

I’m gone before either of them can respond, nearly running toward the hallway with the bathrooms, my phone in my hand to text Sadie—

—before slamming into a brick wall.

That wall being Matt Fredderic.

“Sorry,” I sputter, backing up and nearly tripping over my own feet.

“You’re good, princess.” He smirks, winking a little as he picks my phone up off the ground and checks it. “Not a scratch. You’re in luck.”

“Clearly,” I blurt, only serving to make myself blush further. My hands fumble for the phone, nearly dropping it again. “I’m—I have to go. Thanks.”

I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast in my life.

CHAPTER 4Freddy

My hands flex a little, eyebrows furrowed in light confusion as I watch the leggy brunette sprint like an Olympic track star for the exit. Someone rolls a desk chair into her path and she dodges it—though she’s got the legs, height, and speed to hurdle it—but clips a wall hard with her shoulder.

I watch, with arguably too much focus, the swish of her white tennis skirt, loving how tan her long limbs look in contrast—she’s tall, with curls bouncing down her back, loosely tied with a pretty bow.

A pulse of something warm has my feet shifting, body turning like I might follow her.

Focus.

Right. I’m here for a reason, and I’m already—I check my phone—ten minutes late.

I’m unintentionally latea lot. Which might be the reason I received a late-night email from my current assigned tutor, Rodger, that I needed to see him prior to the semester start to meet my new tutor.

People might know me as the school slut, a man-whore, but I cycle through tutors far faster than girls. Which I wouldn’t mind so much if it didn’t mess up my routines so much. It’s hard enough for me to keep track of my school and hockey schedules—add a newdate and time, new location, every time I switch tutors? It makes it harder to remember and to go to the right place at the right time.

Walking to the back table where I usually meet Rodger, where I’ve met with him all summer, I come to a dead stop.

My stomach sinks, nauseous at thesightthat greets me.

Tyler Donaldson stretched out in the chair next to Rodger.

I’ve had the distinct displeasure of knowing Tyler Donaldson for two years now. He started as my tutor at the end of sophomore year and continued through most of my junior year. Before handing me off to Rodger last spring—screwing me over before my finals with the sudden switch. He also has never once helped me with accommodations or tutoring. I started to assume he didn’t know, that maybe my file was still as incomplete as it had been since freshman year.

But then Rodger started attempting some of my accommodations for this summer, to help me pass my second try with biology, and I realized I’d been royally fucked over by the asshole Donaldson.

Even now, he watches me with that same sneer—like he hates that I exist. To piss him off, I smile a little wider, obnoxiously sauntering their way.

“Rodger.” I nod. “Who’s the preppy kid?”

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