Page 7 of Faux Real
Kennedy’s lip twitches. “What’sabsurdis this entire conversation. Move your motorcycle off the quad.” She points to the ground. “It’s leaking gas all over the grass. People sit here. That’s just gross.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “That’s oil, you idiot.”
Kennedy crosses her arms, her eyes bugging out of her head.
“You didnotjust call me an idiot. That issorude.”
I tap my index finger against my mouth. “Oh, but I think I did.”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Kennedy narrows her eyes. “Just because I’m not well versed in motorcyclegunkdoesn’t mean I’m an idiot. If anything,you’rethe idiot for thinking you can talk to me like this.”
I chuckle.This girl is fucking mental.“Someone’s a little defensive. I take it nobody has ever called you stupid before?”
“Oh, so now I’m stupidandan idiot,” she says, scrunching up her face.
“Semantics, love,” I smirk. “Are you going to get out of my way now?”
Her eyes flicker with fierce determination as she lets go of my motorcycle handles and takes a step closer to me, craning her head up to meet my eyes. “Listen to meBritish-boy, you’reclearlylost. This is Hilton Academy, aprivateschool which means you’re trespassing, so you should get going before I call security.”
I cock up an eyebrow, oddly amused at her assumption. “I go here,” I whisper, looking down at her shocked expression.
“You... are a studenthere?” She almost looks repulsed. “Wow, I guess they’ll accept any Tom, Dick, and Harry these days. And I thought Hilton had higher standards.”
“Well, seeing asyou’rea student here, the standards can’t bethathigh,” I retort. This girl is starting to piss me off.
She blinks, sucking in a deep breath. “I’ll have you know that I have the highest GPA in my class.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?” I ask, leaning against my bike. Clearly, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.
A sly smile captures her face. “Adorable. You think I’m trying to impress you? How presumptuous.”
I shrug. “Why else would you be listing off your accomplishments? Is this perhaps a social norm in America? ‘Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Oliver. My GPA is 3.4 and last year I won thespelling bee’.”
She rolls her eyes. “Wow, yeah, that’s exactly how we do it here. Look at you, assimilating so quickly!”
“Well, you know, melting pot and all,” I reply flatly, wincing as I roll my neck. Fuck, I hope I don’t have to go see a doctor.
Kennedy purses her lips, her eyes scanning my bike and body. “Did you crash or something? Or are you just allergic to soap and water?”
“What?”
She motions to my face. “You’re dirty.”
Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I look at my reflection. Fucking hell. I definitely need a shower now. “I didn’t crash,” I mutter, using the pad of my thumb to wipe the grease smudges off of my face. “I was cut off by an obnoxious Hummer.”
“A Hummer?” she asks softly. “Was it uh—black?”
“Yeah, it was.” I frown. “How’d you know that?”
“Lucky guess...” she says slowly, her gaze flickering over my shoulder toward the parking lot. Kennedy’s face falls, her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw tightening. “No way...”
I whip my head around and follow her sightline. Walking up from the parking lot, a bleach blonde girl under his arm, is a dude that could easily pass as a Ken doll; beige khakis, Polo shirt, and enough hair gel to grease a wheel.
Malibu Ken’s eyes dart toward us, his expression strained yet casual.What the fuck is his problem?When I turn back to face Kennedy, her fists are balled up and she’s almost shaking.
“Oi, you alright there?” I ask, slightly confused by her change in demeanor. “Are you having a stroke?”
Kennedy closes her eyes for a second, turning toward me eerily slowly. As soon as her eyes snap open, I know I’m in deepdeeptrouble; glowing in her irises is a hint of devilish mischief and a very faint trace of sadness. What is going on right now?! Why is she staring at me like that?
