Broken Beautiful Hearts(34)
I’m not sure which is worse—the possibility that she and I will never be friends again, or the chance that I won’t be the same when I get back on the soccer field.
It doesn’t matter. Choosing one loss or the other isn’t an option.
I’m stuck with both.
CHAPTER 14
High School and Hardcore Crushes
A STAMPEDE IN the hallway outside my bedroom jerks me awake. I slept most of the day on Saturday and used unpacking as an excuse to dodge my cousins’ invite to hang out with “everyone” at the diner. Aside from the conversation with Owen, my Black Water debut at Titan’s party was an epic fail.
The sounds of clattering pans, cupboards slamming, and shouting downstairs mean three things, none of which I’m happy about.
It’s Monday.
The Twins are up.
And I’m starting at a new school.
I hate change, unless it involves turning the tide during a soccer game.
By the time I shower, get dressed, and apply mascara and lipstick-blush combo, the noise coming from downstairs starts up again. The stairs slow me down, but not enough to avoid the wrestling match taking place in the kitchen.
The Twins toss each other around with no effort.
“Boys. That’s enough,” Hawk warns from his seat at the table.
“Cam needs a workout. Didn’t you see how slow his reaction time was on Friday night?” Christian grabs his brother around the waist and plows him into the wall.
I make a mental note that Christian is the one wearing the gray Warriors football T-shirt.
Hawk turns around in his chair. “If you put another hole in my kitchen, you’ll both be dry-walling and painting this weekend.”
“Yes, sir.” Christian grins at Cam, who knocks off Christian’s baseball cap the moment he looks the other way.
Christian picks up the hat and shakes it off before putting it back on. “Keep it up. You’re taking your life into your own hands.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
The Twins eat their weight in eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Watching them scarf down plates of scrambled eggs kills my appetite.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Cam asks when he notices I’m not eating.
“Not anymore.” I push the bowl of oatmeal away and stick to coffee until the human garbage disposals finish breakfast.
Christian grabs a handful of bacon on our way out. “See ya later, Pop.”
“I hope Black Water High treats you well on your first day, Peyton,” Hawk calls after me.
I’m hoping the same thing.
*
High school sucks.
It’s a universal truth.
Forcing hundreds of teenagers to spend ten months together is a fundamentally bad idea. Throw in a gym class, school dances, teachers on power trips, and a crapload of homework, and it increases the likelihood of disaster.
The same scenario is even crueler in a high school this small, with fewer kids to distract the predators from the weak and wounded zebras in the pack. The zebras at Black Water High are easy to spot from the parking lot, because other students actually follow them down the sidewalk, taunting them like a scene from an antibullying video.
Mom warned me that Black Water is small, but I think my middle school was bigger than this place. How many students could possibly go to school here?
Two hundred? Maybe three?
At a school this size, there’s no way to blend in, which was my original plan—keep my head down, work my ass off in physical therapy, and go back to my uncle’s house.
Things just got a whole lot harder.
I take a deep breath.
“You all right?” Christian asks as he opens the door.
I’m not confessing my insecurities to the Twins. “I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. I’m a little light-headed, that’s all.”
Christian frowns and pulls the door shut. “We’ll hang here until you feel better.”
A group of girls walks in front of the truck, talking and passing around a tube of lip gloss. The Twins check them out, discussing the candidates in the running to replace April.
I shove Christian. “You’re both disgusting. Do you actually think those girls are interested in you?”
Christian flashes one of his admirers an I’m-the-bad-boy-of-your-dreams smile. “Pretty much. And if they aren’t interested, I just need twenty minutes.”
“Exactly twenty minutes? Not fifteen or twenty-two? What miraculous feat happens in that twenty minutes?” I realize the kind of response he’ll probably give me. “Don’t answer that.”
Christian grins. “You sure? ’Cause I’ve got some good answers.”
Cam reaches behind me and smacks his bother in the back of the head. “Don’t talk about dirty crap in front of our cousin.”
“I meant good answers like funny ones, you dope.” Christian rubs the back of his head.
Grace walks by and peers at the truck through her curtain of black hair.
“Isn’t that your friend?” I ask, hoping to shift their attention away from me.
Christian lays on the horn, and the girls jump. A tube of lip gloss flies in the air and lands on the ground.
A tall blond glares at him. “What’s your problem, Christian?”
He leans out the window, acting innocent. “Sorry, ladies. My bad.”