You’d think that would make me popular somehow. A local celebrity, perhaps. Wrong. My family is pretty much the punchline of all Clary jokes. We’re the town’s outcasts. The laughingstock of generations of Clary residents.
With the wrought iron in sight, I slow my bike. Just as I’m about to make the turn onto campus, a silver Audi screeches past me, its brakes slamming to make the turn. As if by some cosmic joke, the clouds darken at the same time, turning the whole scene into a horror movie. Before the first tentative splat of a raindrop falls, a deluge of water hits me square in the chest, followed by cackling laughter.
I blink. My wet shirt clings to me, and I come to a wavering stop against the brick pillar that holds Saint Clary’s gates, scraping my knee against the rough surface. I narrowly avoid the water bottle turned weapon that’s tossed back at me, but the laughter that follows haunts me. The bangs on the car door sound like tribal war drums, calling out the fact that they think they’re top shit and I’m nothing.
Typical Clary bullshit.
It’s easy to target my family. I get it. Never any money, but dreams as big as the world. My father was a recluse at best, but he was a damn good man. Me? I’m not, nor was I ever, like the normal girls in school. I don’t wear makeup or dresses. I’m more apt to show up in dusty overalls without my hair brushed. Not my fault. I have corkscrew curls. As a kid, my father gave up when mornings turned into a never-ending battle of wills, and I was winning. Now, I’m better at taming my hair, but it still seems to always look wild instead of polished.
I glare at the brake lights of the Audi as it hangs a left into the school parking lot, still driving entirely too fast. It could be anybody, so chasing after it while I’m on two wheels to give them a piece of my mind isn’t happening. Plus, I’m just so fucking tired of it all. The more I fight back, the worse it gets.
As soon as I push off the brick, the fact that the bottled water got me first doesn’t matter. I don’t make it in time to miss the rain. For a moment, I’m barraged by raindrops, soaking straight through to my skin. I ride my bike to the rack, taking my time to lock it up because there’s no use in trying to avoid getting wet now. It already looks like I’ve taken a shower in my clothes and headed to school afterward.
I slip the lock on and walk toward the main doors. Oddly, Saint Clary’s is as gothic as this old west town gets. It’s probably not even considered as true gothic architecture, but when your whole life looks like a western movie, something even a little out of the ordinary is going to stick out.
Honestly, I love the place. It’s just...different. And I like different. It takes me away.
By the time I climb the stone steps to the main entrance, the rain has already stopped, and the sun is once again out in full force. My soggy, wet shoes make a slurp sound as I cross over the marble tile of the foyer. I pause a moment to look in the glass that leads into the administration offices to catch my reflection. The desert climate has never helped my curly hair, but the fact that it just got pummeled with rain is about to make it a thousand times worse.
My shoulders deflate as the frizz is already out of control. I pull the hair tie I always have on my wrist around my hair, piling the curls at the top of my head like a wild top knot. I keep moving down the hall when the Admin door opens right in front of me, and I have to skid to a stop before I faceplant right into it.
The university secretary noses her way out, looking both directions down the hallway with a frown. It isn’t until I come out from around the door to step around her that she pulls back, her hand over her heart. “Miss Wilder.” She breathes out a sigh. “I thought I saw you there.”
I give her a smile, thinking about how she almost maimed me with the door. Well, of course I’m right here.
“This came for you in the mail.” She hands a stark, white envelope to me like it’s gold bars on a platter. “We weren’t sure what it was, but we thought maybe...” She trails off on purpose.
I don’t even bother looking at the return address. If she thinks it’s about my dad’s disappearance, she’s wrong. I tear it from her grip, pull my book bag around, and stuff it in the front pocket. “Thanks,” I say with probably too much sarcasm.
She doesn’t call me out for being rude, she just tells me to have a nice day as I make my way down the hall in wet shoes. Is there anything worse than wet shoes? I’m announcing where I am with every step I take. The back of my neck heats. At least there aren’t many students in the hall right now, but as soon as I walk into History, that will change. You’d think I’d be used to being gawked at as one half of the town crazies, but it’s been a whole different story since my dad went missing. Now, I’m the only crazy, and there’s something very lonely about that.
Despite my father always telling me that normal is boring, normalcy sounds like icing on the cake right now. Normal people don’t have to worry about the piling up of bills and the stepmother who ran away with what money there was and the—
I turn the knob to open the door into History class where a familiar figure stands at the front. His gray-blue eyes dart to me, and a wicked grin spreads his perfect, bow-tie lips. He finishes talking while holding my gaze. A few people notice where his attention is, and they turn toward me. Snickering erupts. My fellow students start making snide comments, hiding their lips with their hands as if that will stop the law of sound and somehow keep me from hearing their petty words. Even more, however, go back to staring at Stone fucking Jacobs. After all, I’ll always be the weird girl, but Stone? Standing at the front of class like he’s top shit, Stone is a one-percenter. One of the most drop-dead gorgeous guys I’ve ever laid eyes on. Too bad he’s also one of the biggest jackasses I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. He knows it too. So, when it comes to who the world places their attention on, it’s Stone one hundred percent of the time. Not me.
It only takes a moment to figure out what the scene before me means. The book bag slung over his shoulder. The forest green polo paired with his dressy jeans. The dumbass professor standing just off to his side, smiling and nodding.
Motherfucking shit. Stone Jacobs is in my History class. He’s transferred...here?
“What the fuck?”
The adoring gazes and snide remarks turn into jaw drops and unrestrained gasps. I have the whole attention of the room now as I stare at one part of my family’s archenemies. He crosses his arms in front of his chest as he stares me down, but the stare isn’t a normal one of mutual hatred and disrespect amongst those who dislike each other. It never was. His is one of complete distaste, like he could wipe me from this earth and not care one iota.
That’s Stone Jacobs for you, and I’m completely fucked.
2
“Dakota!” Mr. Burns chastises.
His rebuke barely registers. Stone’s steady smirk and bright eyes stay on me as the titters of my classmates chirp like surround sound. He holds my gaze until he takes a seat near the front.Myseat, to be exact. I always sit in the front. He places his bag next to him and slowly unpacks it like he has all the time in the world. A pen. A notebook. A piece of chewing gum. All the while, I can’t stop staring.
“Jesus, Blue’s Clues. Sit your ass down. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I shift, looking straight into the eyes of Meghan Tanner. Mean girl extraordinaire, who happens to look like she doesn’t belong anywhere near Clary. Maybe on Rodeo Drive in California. Or Broadway in New York City. Not near these parts where everything looks dead, and if it’s not dead, it’s deadly.
Her eyes widen as she takes in my still unmoving body. She lowers her voice. “Get a clue, Dakota. You’re trash.” She sneers at my soaking wet outfit like she’s just realized I’m standing here soaked straight through to my skin. The air conditioner kicks on behind me, and goosebumps skitter over my suddenly chilled body. It has to be the sudden appearance of Stone that I’m responding to. Out in the mountains, we’re even. I like to think I top him even. In the real world, though, I might as well be the shit on the underside of Stone’s shoes.
A boy behind Meghan, who’s always trying to flirt with her, looks up. He does a double-take, stare plastered to my chest. “Damn, Blue’s Clues, I’ll take some of those nips.” He sticks his tongue out, furiously flicking the air in short strokes.