Page 1 of Take Care, Taylor
PROLOGUE
AUDREY
Ionce heard someone say that “our hair holds memories,” but I desperately wished mine clung to grudges. If it did, maybe my curls would’ve jumped off my scalp and suffocated Taylor Wolff the second he stepped onto the bus today.
Instead, they hung docile and blissfully unaware that he was sticking wads of his disgusting chewing gum in them.
So, here I was, for the third time this month, sitting under the harsh bathroom lights with tears in my eyes as my mother hovered behind me. Her scissors clicked like tiny jaws, salvaging what was left of the strands Taylor ruined.
“Repeat after me,” she said, snipping another curl. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but?—”
“He called me a fugly bitch with buck teeth,” I cut in. “He said it in front of the entire class, and everyone laughed.”
“The principal suspended him for an entire week.”
Ugh, whatever.I groaned. His suspensions never did anything except make his return ten times worse.
And I’d never done anything to him to deserve his vitriol.
At least, I didn’t think so…
“I’m in the business of words, trust me.” My mother smiled at me in the mirror, motioning for me to smile back.
I refused.
“Words only have power if you let them,” she said. “Now, finish it. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but what?”
“Words will never hurt me,” I muttered.
“Perfect!” She washed my hair and styled it, and when she was done, I avoided looking in the mirror to assess the damage.
Her expression—and the oversized yellow glitter bow she slid into my hair—told me everything.
“Now, let’s make it even better.” She crossed the room to the bookshelf. “We’ll reread a scene fromJane & The Bully Boy, so you can get your confidence back!”
I folded my arms and braced for another unwanted book-club session.
As a bestselling children’s author, my mother never knew how to separate real life from fiction. She got so wrapped up in her characters she swore they lived among us, and she thought I was as obsessed as her readers.
I really freakin’wasn’t, and any of her books that I’d read were against my will.
“When Jane was being bullied by Johnny, she didn’t take it personally.” She flipped through the pages with a little hum. “She knew it came from his inner dark trauma, right?”
“Right…”
“Slowly, they shifted from fighting to understanding, and they became enemies to lovers.” She squealed like one of her fangirls. “Now, of course you’re way too young for the details, but I think you and Taylor have potential to shift from enemies to friends. Or maybe even?—”
I mentally muted the remaining words that fell from her mouth.
There was no point in buying into any of her fictional hopes because I’d known the truth since we first moved here: Taylor Wolff was a fucking bully.
And it wasn’t because of some bullshit “trauma.”
He was born as Satan’s spawn, and it was simple as that.
He hated me, and I hated him.
End of the story.
