Page 18 of The Beginning and End of Everything
I pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, then shoved the note into my pocket for safekeeping.
After a dry piece of toast and a hug from my dad, I grabbed my backpack and met Connor at the street corner. He nudged me. “Are you scared?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Not really.” But I could tell he was nervous from the way he rocked back and forth on his heels. Connor checked his shiny new watch. “He’s gonna be late.”
Just then, Brandon strutted around Mrs. O’Malley’s overgrown rose bush, whistling. Connor mumbled, “What in the…”
Not only had Brandon combed his hair, but hiscleanshirt wastuckedinto his jeans. The bruise on his jaw gave him a certain bad boy vibe I knew the girls at school would find appealing—because, at that very moment, I found it appealing.
He whacked Connor on the back, then glanced at me with a wry smirk. “Why are you looking at me all funny, poss?”
A sting of heat swept over my cheeks and chest, and I swallowed. I hated that my best friend could fluster me in ways a best friend shouldn’t, and it seemed to be becoming a regular occurrence.
Brandon talkedabout the new Star Wars movie on the way to school while I barely managed three words before we reached the schoolyard and stopped. Older kids brushed passed us with confident strides and backpacks slung over their shoulders while we stared at the massive, red-brick building looming in front of us.
Connor touched a hand to my shoulder, ducking his chin to come eye level with me; I hated that they were both getting taller than me. “It’ll be okay, Poppy,” he said.
“Yeah, poss. It’ll be grand just like…” Brandon’s voice trailed off. His gaze honed in on a group of girls in short skirts prancing past.
The thing was, their eyes were on Brandon, too. They grinned, then giggled with blushing cheeks before they walked off. The way they kept glancing over their shoulders to catch another glimpse of him made me mad.
“Told you, Con.” Brandon nudged Connor with a grin. “Short skirts.”
“Gross,” I muttered under my breath.
“Hey! I’m not wearing a skirt. Don’t mind looking up them, though.” He laughed and strolled backward toward the building. “Have a good first day, possum. I gotta go see cousin Billy, but I’ll see you at lunch.”
Something inside my chest crumpled when Brandon turned and disappear among the other students. I was nervous—or maybe scared of what new friends may mean for the three of us.
Connor walked me to my class, promising everything would be fine and that I would see him and Brandon at lunch.
I took a seat at the front of the classroom and pulled a notebook from my bag, placing it on the desk. The kids in the class were already grouped in their clichés, whispering and talking, and I slouched a little in my chair.
I’d just scribbled the date at the top of my paper when a girl walked past. All I could see was a bare leg. Davie Logan whistled, and I glanced up from my paper just in time to catch the leggy redhead shoot an angry glare at Davie. She dumped her bag onto the desk a few seats over from me, then rolled the waist of her skirt over once more, making the skirt dangerously short.
Her gaze met mine, and I instantly looked away. Girls like that—I’d learned not to mess with.
Other kids entered. Some I knew, others I’d never seen. Then, Neive Kirkpatrick and her minions of friends strutted in. She stopped beside my desk and cocked her hip. “If it isn’t the mankie measch.”
“Go to hell, Neive.” I glared at her, a little swell of pride rising in my chest at the thought of how proud Brandon would be at me for cussing at Neive.
Her jaw dropped for a second before her shocked expression was replaced with a nasty smirk. She swatted my notebook to the floor, stomping on it before she pranced to her desk.
I snatched it with a grumble. The redhead pushed her chair back, the metal legs screeching across the tile when she rose to her feet. She smoothed a hand over her skirt, then made a beeline toward the back of the room.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said. “I’m Hope McGrath.”
Of course, she was. I almost rolled my eyes. An heiress to McGrath Whiskey, the girl was every bit as loaded as she looked, which meant her and Neive would most likely join forces in ruining the lives of those of us who weren’t as fortunate.
“I know who you are,” Neive said, and Hope laughed.
“You may have been Queen Bee at whatever crappy little school you went to before, but you sure as shit aren’t now. Don’t make me ruin your life.” I found the certain cheer to her tone more than amusing. “And, I’m taking this, cunt.”
The class gasped at her crass choice of words.
Seconds later, Hope dropped into the chair beside me, and a glittery, purple notebook skidded across the desk. “For you. Since yours has cheap shoe prints on it.” She turned in her seat, glaring back in Neive’s direction.
