Bully (Fall Away, #1)(18)

“Does anyone need a North?” Mrs. Penley interrupted the barbs before Nate could shoot back with something else.

Everyone else was seated, meaning they had all of their partners. I kept my attention on Mrs. Penley, waiting for her to just tell me to find a threesome.

“She can be my North.” Jared’s formidable voice hit me from behind, sending shivers down my spine.

The teacher looked expectantly to me. This couldn’t be happening. Why hadn’t he gotten off his ass and found a North like everyone else?

“Well, Tate. Go ahead then,” Mrs. Penley urged me.

Spinning around, I practically huffed back to my seat without sparing a glanced at my North, and carved “Jared” on my paper…and I think accidentally on my desk, too.





Chapter 8


“So when do you come home exactly?” My Calculus homework was done, and my Government book was cradled in my lap as I video chatted with Dad.

“I’ll be home by the twenty-second for sure.”

Still more than three months away. My dad’s arrival back home would be welcome. My days felt lonely without him to share things with, and after my mom passed away from cancer eight years ago, our home was even emptier without him around. K.C. and I had spent time together, but she had a boyfriend. I was slowly making more friends at school, despite Jared’s latest blow to my reputation, but I’d decided to stay in this weekend and focus on planning for the Science Fair. I’d yet to decide on my research topic.

“Well, I can’t wait. We need a decent cook around here,” I chirped, holding my steaming cup of tomato soup. As light as my supper was, the cascading warmth soothed my body. My limbs were still adjusting to the cross-country practices.

“That’s not your supper, is it?”

“Yeah.” I drew out like “duh.”

“And where are the vegetables, the grains, and the dairy?”

Oh, here we go. “The tomatoes in the soup are the vegetable, there’s milk in the soup too, and I’ll make a grilled cheese to go with it if that’ll make you happy.” My playful air told my dad “see, I’m smarter than I look.”

“Actually, tomatoes are a fruit,” Dad responded flatly, knocking me off my pedestal.

Laughing, I put the cup down and picked up a pencil to continue my outline for the essay we were assigned on Henry Kissinger. “No worries, Dad. I’m eating fine. Soup just sounded good tonight.”

“Alright, I’ll back off. I just worry. You inherited my eating habits. Your mom would freak if she saw the things I let you eat.” Dad frowned, and I knew he still missed Mom like it was yesterday. We both did.

After a moment, he continued, “You’ve got August’s bills all paid, right? And you have plenty of money in your account still?”

“I haven’t blown my entire trust in a week. Everything’s under control.” He did this every time we talked. I had complete access to the life insurance my mom left me, and he still always asked if I had enough money. It was like I was going to go ballistic with my college fund without him looking, and he knew better. Maybe he thought he was doing his job as a parent the best he could from so far away.

My phone buzzed with a text, and I grabbed it off my bedside table.

Be there in 5.

“Oh, Dad? I forgot K.C. is stopping over. Can I let you go?”

“Sure, but I’ll be leaving tomorrow for a day or so. Taking the train to Nuremberg for some sightseeing. I want to chat with you in the morning before I leave and hear about the Science Fair prep you’re doing.”

Ugh, shit. No prep had been organized, because I hadn’t even come close to deciding my project.

“Ok, Dad,” I mumbled, leaving that discussion for tomorrow. “Call me at seven?”

“Talk to you then, sweetie. Bye.” And he was gone.

Closing my laptop and tossing my book onto the bed, I walked to the French doors and opened them wide. School had ended for the week three hours ago, but the sun still cast a radiant glow around the neighborhood. Leaves from the maple outside my doors rustled in the subtle breeze, and a few tiny clouds sprinkled the sky.

Turning around, I slipped out of my school clothes and into a pair of plaid pajama shorts with a white and gray fitted raglan t-shirt. I let out an overly dramatic sigh. Of course, I would be in my pajamas at six p.m. on a Friday night.

The doorbell echoed from downstairs, and I jogged to answer the door.

“Hey!” K.C. breathed, stepping into the house with her arms loaded down. What the hell? We were just doing my hair, not a makeover.

My eyes watered at her perfume. “What’s that scent you’re wearing?”

“Oh, it’s new. It called Secret. You like?”

“Love it.” Don’t loan it to me.

“Let’s go up to your room. I want to have access to your bathroom when we do this.” K.C. insisted on coming over to give me a honey hair treatment she read about in Women’s Day. It’s supposed to soothe sun-damaged hair, which she says is a danger with all of the outdoor sightseeing I did this summer and with the cross-country practice.

Okay, so I didn’t really care. I thought my hair looked fine, but I wanted to catch up with her after the busy first week.

“Can I take the chair to the window? There’s a nice breeze coming in.” The honey would be messy, but the room boasted dark hardwood floors, so it would be an easy cleanup.