A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(22)

Something that’s never been brought up again, which is fine by me. Maggie hasn’t confirmed it, but I heard recently that she and Franklin are done for good.

That’s probably best. I hope our teacher had nothing to do with their breakup, though deep down, I have a feeling he did.

If only I had actual proof—then I would say something. But I can’t go to anyone with only a suspicion. What if I was wrong?

I startle the girls when I plop down at their table uninvited, but not a one of them actually says anything to me. Instead, they all smile in my direction before resuming their conversations.

I start eating the salad I purchased in the lunch line, eavesdropping on their nonstop chatter. Hoping to hear a tidbit about Crew I could take back to him during psychology class today.

After walking out on him yesterday, he completely ignored me in Honors English earlier. He wasn’t even waiting in his usual spot at the front entrance like he does every day. I actually missed my morning scowl courtesy of Crew Lancaster.

Not that I think he’s always waiting for me, but it sort of feels that way most of the time…

I quietly eat my salad, not really engaging in any of the conversations around me until Lara asks me a direct question.

“What’s up with you and Crew Lancaster?”

I pause in my chewing, the lettuce turning to mush on my tongue. I choke it down, take a sip of water and clear my throat before I answer, “Nothing.”

“Oh. Well, he’s been asking about you.” This comes from Brooke, who is Lara’s best friend.

My fork drops with a clatter into my nearly empty salad bowl. “What do you mean?”

The best friends share a look before Brooke continues.

“He was asking questions about you. About your family. Your past.” She shrugs.

I hate that he was digging for information. Why didn’t he just come to me and ask? “What did you tell him?”

“What could we tell him? We don’t know a lot about you, Wren.” Lara’s tone is a little snotty. She’s always acted like she has an issue with me.

This is why I don’t bother arguing with her.

“Why is he asking about you anyway?” Lara stares me down.

“I don’t know. We’re working on a project together,” I admit. “In psychology. He’s my partner. Skov assigned us.”

“Ahh. I didn’t take that class this year.” Lara actually sounds disappointed.

“Me either. We should’ve, just for the chance to possibly work with Crew,” Brooke says, right before they both start giggling.

I wish I could tell them how God-awful it is working with Crew, but neither of them would believe me, so I keep my mouth shut.

“He is so incredibly sexy,” Brooke says when the giggling has mostly stopped. Lara nods her agreement. “Last summer, I heard he was seeing that one girl who’s TikTok famous, with like a trillion followers. The one who made a movie?”

“Ugh, I remember. She played all coy and never confirmed it, but I swear I saw photos of them together. She’s disgustingly gorgeous. Of course, he dated her.” Lara rolls her eyes before glancing down at herself. “I could be so lucky to be as thin as she is.”

I take in Lara’s figure as discreetly as I can. She’s very fit. I don’t know why she’s complaining.

“I hear he likes older women,” Brooke says, but I assume she’s only heard gossip about Crew and his supposed preference for older women. I mean really—how does she know? “I can’t remember the last time he was dating a girl who goes here.”

“Freshman year maybe?” Lara nods her agreement.

“What about Ariana?” I say.

They both study me, eerily quiet.

“He went to prom with her last year,” I remind them. “Weren’t they a thing?”

“Oh please. She was a total drug addict. She went to rehab over the summer.” Brooke wrinkles her nose. “He was probably with her to get in good with her dealer.”

Lara laughs, slapping her best friend’s arm. “Brooke!”

“What? It’s true. I know Crew Lancaster likes to partake on occasion.”

How she knows this, I’m not sure, but whatever.

“And like I said, he prefers older women. He definitely doesn’t like girls who go to Lancaster, that’s for sure. Not anymore. Maybe it’s the uniforms?”

I tune them out, glancing down at my uniform skirt, how it drapes over my knees, covering them completely. I hear my father’s voice in my head, always so old-fashioned with his remarks about my appearance. Reminding me I need to keep my skirts at a modest length. No need to show off excess flesh. I’ve been sheltered my entire life, especially after that one painful incident when I was twelve.

When I was young and gullible, and believed everything I was told.

My gaze drops to the stupid shoes on my feet. I remember feeling like they made me seem so stylish, and for a while, I was. The girls here at school considered me a total trendsetter for wearing these shoes.

Now I look at the Mary Jane’s and realize that I look like a child. A little girl with white socks, my bare legs exposed to the chilly air because of “fashion.”

What sort of fashion is this? I look ridiculous.

I am ridiculous. No boy will ever notice me when I look like this.