Hostile(9)

We’re prep-school kids. It’s not like we depend on scholarships to go to college like at some other schools. But we were a damn good team.

Crystal is pissed at me from the party and made a point at lunch to make out with Chad, while sitting on his lap, keeping her eyes on me the entire time. Like I’ll somehow start wanting her if I see her tongue down some other dude’s throat.

And then last period, I had to stay back to talk to my calculus teacher because I missed one fucking answer on a test, which was so unusual, she wanted to make sure I’m okay. No, I’m not fucking okay.

I feel like I’m drowning here. Letting everyone down, even though I’m doing everything their way. I’ve applied and been accepted to my dad’s choice of school for me. I played football all four years and brought them to state my junior and senior year. I tried to let Crystal down easily. I studied for the calculus test and still got an A.

But none of it matters.

That’s why, when I walked out of school and saw it was pouring down rain, I wasn’t even bothered, even though I was drenched by the time I got to my car. It seems like the perfect end to the day.

As I turn out of the parking lot, I see a figure walking in the pouring rain with a black hoodie pulled up over their head, but that’s the only thing protecting them against the downpour. As I get closer, my lips turn up slightly when I see who it is.

I pull up next to him and crack my window slightly. “I know you have a car.”

I have his attention. His eyes are angry and showing annoyance as he approaches me. “I walked today.”

I look up at the dark gray sky. “Not a great plan.”

“Fuck off, Lancaster.”

Something about his ever-present animosity really does it for me. “Get in.”

“Fuck. Off.” He starts walking again, and I’m glad no one is behind me because I slowly creep next to him.

“It’s pouring. Are you really this stubborn?”

“Yes. Go. Away.” I pull up a little farther and then park the car, leaving it running when I get out and walk over to him, ignoring the downpour.

“Just get in the car.” A loud crack of thunder echoes around us just after lightning ignites the sky, but he doesn’t flinch.

“What the hell is your deal?”

“My deal?” I’m soaked now, just like him. But neither of us move.

“Yes. Your deal.” He pokes my chest with a bony finger, dripping with animosity. “You stare at me. All the goddamned time. We never speak. You’re a preppy motherfucker.” He nods toward my vehicle—the one my parents paid for, though I’m not naïve and do realize it’s worth more than most people’s annual salary. “And I want nothing to do with you. So why are you stopping and offering me a ride?”

I step closer to him, the sky sluicing down in punishing rain, and look into those bright green eyes I can’t stop thinking about. “Because I stare at you a lot.”

He pulls back, clearly not expecting that answer. “What?”

I shrug. “I watch you. I know you have a car. I know you have a brother and a sister who also have cars. And yet . . .” I thrust my hand out, palm up catching the rain. “You’re walking in the rain. So maybe I’m curious about why that is when you could be driving or have asked someone to give you a ride.” I bring my hand back down to my side and step closer to him, continuing, “About why you always look so damn sad and why you have that blank stare on your face. About why, for someone who seems to have it all, you refuse all care.”

“Fuck you,” he spits with so much venom, I feel it viscerally in my soul.

“You asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to stop, nor did I ask you to stalk me like some creep.” He pushes past me and starts walking again but stops when he hears me following behind him. He points toward my car. “You’re just going to leave that fancy, shiny car back there, running?”

I shrug my shoulders, unbothered because honestly, who cares. “Unless you get in. Yeah.”

“Why?” He walks closer to me, anger spewing from him. “Why do you care? You don’t know me.”

“But I want to.” The admission slips from my lips, but I don’t reel it back in. He already thinks I’m a crazy-ass stalker, and he seems to have picked up on me watching him a lot. Something I should worry about others picking up on if he has—but I don’t. Because again—who cares. I’m past caring, and everyone around me is so oblivious, I know deep down they have no clue.

He stares at me like I’m insane and then huffs, walking toward my car and surprising me when he yanks the passenger-side door open and flops down on my leather seats. I smile to myself and climb behind the wheel, feeling oddly triumphant.

“Hope your daddy doesn’t mind the muddy feet and the wet seats,” he scoffs as I pull back onto the road.

“I don’t care if he does.”

“Ah. Feeling rebellious, huh? Is that what this is? Getting back at daddy?”

He wants to rile me up, but that’s not the way to do it. I’m indifferent when it comes to my parents. I don’t hate them, but I don’t care enough to try to piss them off either. “No. He won’t see the damage, if there is any.”

He leans his wet head against my window and stares outside. “Oh, so you’re not getting enough attention at home?”