The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(15)

He looks at me, and I want to smash my fist into his face. “I mean it. Get out,” I snap. “It’s better for you if we’re not seen together anyway.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’ve only been here one day, so I’m sure they’ll forgive the faux pas. I’m the pariah of Raleigh High. Sitting anywhere with me is the quickest, most efficient way to commit social suicide. I am broken, Alex.”

To my surprise, he actually gets out. When I try and lean over to close his door, he catches hold of me by the wrist. “It’s okay to be broken. You have every right to be. Just don’t let them keep on breaking you. That’s not how you win this particular game.”

I wrench my hand free. “This isn’t a fucking game.”

Looking around the parking lot, as if he’s seeing his surroundings for the very first time. “Of course it is,” he says. “This is high school, Silver. This is the biggest game there is.”





4





ALEX





Two weeks later





Let me be clear. Silver Parisi is not my type.

The oversized shirts and the frayed jeans aren’t really sexy, per se. The Chucks make her look like a tom boy. She doesn’t do anything with her hair as far as I can tell, and the touch of eyeliner and mascara she wears is hardly worth mentioning.

In the past, I’ve been drawn to women who take care of themselves. Girls who spend time making sure they look their best before they step foot outside the house. Recently, though, the barbie doll look hasn’t been doing it for me. I used to find tight skirts and heels a turn on, but the past year or so I’ve found myself seriously fucking irritated by the vanity and shallow nature of the girls who’ve flocked around me. Sure, they might look good, but nine times out of ten they’re dumber than dumb, void of any personality or opinion, and boring enough to reduce a guy to fucking tears.

Silver Parisi, on the other hand…

I felt her watching me in that hallway with Maeve and the Deputy. I felt her eyes on me and knew I was being judged. The way she refused to tell me her name in Cline’s class, and the fierce defiance that blazed in her eyes when she ordered me out of her car made me really notice her. Now it’s two weeks later, and I haven’t been able to un-notice her ever since.

I’ve done everything in my power to avoid thinking about Silver. Difficult, though, when she’s in at least one of my classes every day, and we usually end up seated side by side at the back of the classroom.

I haven’t said one word to her since I got out of her car. Not one single word uttered. I’ve observed her plenty, though. There have been times when it’s looked like she’s preparing to talk to me, planning out what to say, but then she seems to think better of it and disappears into the crowded hallways without even opening her mouth to me.

In fairness, no one really speaks to me during my first few weeks at Raleigh. A black cloud hangs over my head, my temper ready to flare at any given moment, and the other students make a point of keeping their distance.

I’m pissed that I’ve been transferred from Bellingham. I’m pissed that I have to skate on such thin ice at precious, pretentious Raleigh High, and I’m extra pissed at myself that I can’t seem to get my fucking head screwed on straight. See, I can’t stop thinking about the girl with the baggy t-shirts and the scruffy high-tops. I can’t get her unruly golden-brown hair and her intense, penetrating blue eyes out of my head. Whenever I’m walking from one class to the next, I make a point of not looking, but I always know where she is.

And, most fucked up of all, the more rumors I hear about her…the angrier I get. The girl’s fierce. She’s baring her teeth at the world every time I see her, head held high, a threat in her eyes, like a wolf backed into a corner, ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

I’m getting used to holding my breath around her. Wherever Silver goes, an oppressive tension follows her; you can feel it prickling against your skin like electricity. Without even knowing why or when I made the decision, I’ve realized I’m waiting for something to happen, for a match to strike or a fist to be thrown in her direction…and I’m preparing to raze the whole fucking school to the ground in her defense.

It’s so fucking stupid.

I shouldn’t get involved.

It’s none of my fucking business.

I should walk away and let her deal with her own shit.

Because, as far as I can tell, from all of my silent watching and waiting, it’s pretty clear that Silver Parisi hates me.

“Alex? Hello? What day is it today, hon? ’Cause according to my schedule, it’s Monday, and Mondays are not on your visitation roster.”

Goddamnit. I shake Silver out of my head, trying to focus on the woman in front of me instead, but it’s difficult to really see the social worker. They’re all the same. This woman, Rhonda, is wearing a flamboyant pink shirt with flowers printed all over it, and her earrings are so big they’re resting on the tops of her shoulders, which does separate her from the other clones I’ve had to deal with in the past. At least Rhonda has some sort of personality, which makes for a change, but at the end of the day, she’s still an administrator. A glorified pencil pusher, ticking boxes, thinking in the straightest of lines, unwilling to bend even the slightest amount to accommodate someone else.