Untouched (Bay Falls High, #1)(20)

I jumped and cringed.

I looked down at my hand and watched Pres’s spit as it retreated down my middle finger.

“Where is Tinsley Ditkiss?” I heard Principal Jacobson’s voice yell from the hallway.

That was followed by laughter.

I hated my fucking name.

And I was really starting to hate fucking BFH.





“You’re not where you used to live, Ti,” Claire said to me with a grin.

“I know.”

“You don’t need to get right down to throwing punches.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Claire said. “Not for something you believe in. Understand?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Why did you punch her?”

“I thought she had a knife. Or a gun. I don’t know. The more I think about it, the crazier it sounds.”

“But you wanted to punch her.”

“I thought I had no choice. Her and her friend…” I shook my head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I already apologized.”

Which was the most embarrassing thing ever. Sitting there in Principal Jacobson’s office, almost groveling to Vicky as she held an ice pack to her cheek. All the while Blair stood behind her, touching her eyes with a tissue saying it was such a scary thing to see.

We agreed to let it all go, but I knew better.

There was no letting it go.

It was just another power play by someone at BFH.

When the day ended, I left without a goodbye to anyone. Not Beth. Not Gi. Definitely not Iris. I got into my SUV and took off to face the music at home. Which was Claire’s house. Where I was staying as a favor.

All these thoughts racing and colliding against one another over and over.

“You have to remember you’re someplace new,” Claire said.

“I’m well aware of that.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Just try to tone it down a little.”

Her phone rang and she left the kitchen.

A chef came walking into the kitchen. A plump man with a black goatee, he nodded to me and I left the kitchen.

This was normal for Claire but not for me. At least not yet.

And knowing my luck, the second I would get settled would be the second I’d have to leave.

Unless I kept my hands to myself.

Or kept my mouth shut.

Or just told Claire everything. The actual truth and stories. From the second I arrived until now. Just to get her advice and her direction on things.

I had no idea why Barr, Pres, and Kip cared so much about me. Or that I had seen Pres tossing that short guy around in the ocean. The guy wasn’t dead. What did it matter?

I looked at my hand again.

My knuckle was swollen.

But it was the image of Pres spitting on my hand that stuck with me.

It was such a babyish move. Yet it was so bold. It didn’t hurt me but damn did it bother me. Some guy spitting on me like I was nothing? Trying to intimidate me some more?

I grabbed my phone and sat on the edge of my bed.

I sent Beth a text.

Why did pres grab me today?

I couldn’t stand waiting, especially when I saw she was replying. I walked to the window and stood there, looking out to the ocean. A quiet and serene beach. And that was like my version of hell.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Idk - what did he say to you?

I sighed.

Nothing. Just wish they would leave me alone Beth replied with the emoji laughing so hard it was crying.

Then she replied.

Good luck. I’ll help anyway I can. But you can’t get too close.

I paced back to my bed and fell forward onto it.

My thumbs hit the screen.

Whatever. I’ll figure something out. See you tomorrow.

Beth replied again.

C u. Text later if you want.

I didn’t reply to that.

I shut my eyes to think and ended up falling asleep.

When I opened my eyes it was almost three hours later.

I jumped up and ran to the bathroom. The right side of my face was red and puffy from the imprint of the comforter on the bed. My hair was half messy too.

I splashed cold water on my face and fixed myself up the best I could. Not that I really cared. This wasn’t a fashion show. It was home. The plan was to go get something to eat and talk to Claire. And that was a win-win for me. A fresh, home cooked meal by a chef. Score. Talk to Claire and get some info on the guys that were called the Rulz… Double score.

The one thing about a giant house was voices didn’t carry like you think. Or maybe what I was used to. Living in such a crammed apartment with neighbors all around, you heard everything. I mean, there were times I could hear Mr. Warrington using the bathroom above our bathroom. And since wing night was Wednesday down at Dukey’s, I always knew Thursday meant hearing his back end trumpet on the toilet. That’s what Mom and I called it when she was sober. We’d laugh and pretend to play the trumpet as he went to the bathroom.

Dirt poor entertainment.

A far cry from the entertainment I walked into as I stepped into the kitchen.

I froze when I saw the chef standing there, working a knife so fast, it was mesmerizing. A woman stood next to him with a tray in her hand, drinks everywhere.

And then there was a man and woman, dressed so fancy I wondered if I had slept into a different time.