Page 628 of Filthy Elites

I have two and a half hours before the school day ends.

Then I’ll see Chad and hear his decision.

* * *

As the school bell rings,I rise from my chair. The teacher, Miss Bell, is saying something about a pop quiz, but that’s all I hear. Nothing more.

My brain is on autopilot, and at this point, I could either be a mindless zombie or a robot.

I walk with the other students when they move to leave the classroom. I follow the crowd out to the hallway, and I don’t even bother going to my locker.

Today has been just awful, and I thought I’d had worse days. The truth is, I have. This is not the worst, but the weight of worry feels the same.

I get to the parking lot, and I find Chad near where I parked the other day when he slashed my tires .

He’s leaning against a black Mustang that looks like it belongs in one of those films about fast cars.

In his leather jacket and the badass vibe oozing from him as he drags on what’s clearly a joint, he fits right into the image.

The rebel. No one else I know would openly smoke on school grounds, let alone a fucking joint.

There’s no one else around, but still.

My back goes ramrod straight when I get closer. By the time I reach him, I feel like all the connecting bones in my spine are going to snap.

That haughty, menacing smile fills his face revealing the dimples, and he tilts his head to the side, allowing a lock of hair to fall over his eye.

“Hello, Miss Billie. Did you wear that for me?” He puts out the joint and tosses what’s left, then scans over my skater dress.

It’s one of my oldest dresses and not my nicest, but he’s looking at me as if I just stepped onto the red carpet at the Oscars in some haute couture gown.

“Is that the kind of clothes you plan to wear at UCLA? The apartments you were checking out were all by the beach.”

I was right; he’s watching me. And he wants me to know. That’s why he keeps dropping hints.

“How are you watching me?”

“That’s for me to know and you to try to find out and fail.”

His lips arch into a sensual smile that stirs memories of the way he kisses—it’s reckless and maddening, just like him.

“You can hack a system.”

“Obviously.”

But he won’t tell me how. So far, he seems to have hacked and tampered with things in a way that no one knows he has.

“Why are you watching me? What kind of sick game are you playing?”

“It’s not a game, believe me. Games are all about pretending. That’s not me, not my style. I don’t pretend anything. I tell it like it is and do what I want to do.”

“Like how you kissed me?”

“I’ve done worse.”

I’m sure he has. “Can we please just cut to the chase? You made me wait all day.” There’s no reason he couldn’t have told me whatever it is he wants to say this morning, or fuck it, even last night.

He just wanted to show his power over me and drag this out as long as possible, so I’d suffer while I waited and worried .

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