Filthy Foreign Exchange(10)
My mother worries I’m missing out on the “best years of my life” by being a social introvert. I prefer to think of myself as socially selective; less than a handful of people, fellow students or otherwise, make the cut. My father, on the other hand, loves that I am focused and have never dated a single guy. Sebastian’s even more delighted about that latter fact.
I suspect that’s a big part of the reason I’ve always been friends with Savannah: I never have to worry that the spotlight may accidentally fall on me when she’s around. Except when I perform, of course—that’s the place I’d like to think I shine, but not for the audience as much as for myself and my family. It’s what I was born to do.
“Am I about to be gob smacked by some amazing trick that only your locker performs?”
The unmistakable accent is accompanied by a captivating laugh, and I glance over my shoulder to find Kingston standing directly behind me.
“What in the hell are you doing here? And what are you talking about?” I slam my locker shut, then whip around. “You have classes…at another school…don’t you?”
My brows knit together. Sebastian always had a full day, so I just assumed the same would go for Kingston. Yet I’m about to head to lunch, and here stands a college guy in my high-school hallway. Not your everyday occurrence.
“I’m on lunch and don’t have another class for an hour, so I accepted your lovely principal’s invitation to come tour an American high school.” When I say nothing, my eyes honing in on him questioningly, he chuckles again. “Right. I thought it odd myself, but then I couldn’t help wondering what you were up to, so here I am. You’ve been staring at your locker for over five minutes. I’m anxiously awaiting the show that must be coming.”
My brows slide lower, my glare now as scathing as my retort’s about to be. “I was thinking. I’d suggest you try it sometime.” I step into him and poke at his firm chest. “Like, before you’re tempted to snoop through my room ever again!”
His eyes brighten, as does his smile. “Couldn’t help myself. But please, feel free to peruse any and all of my private—”
“Mr. Hawthorne!”
Principal Callaway greets Kingston excitedly as she rounds the corner, halting his next words in the process.
“There you are. I was just speaking with our football coach, who’d like to meet you. His grandfather lived in London for a short time years ago, and—”
“After lunch, perhaps?” Kingston interrupts, but smoothly enough that she doesn’t seem to mind. “I’m curious as to the cafeteria setup on this side of the pond.”
“Oh, of course. Just stop by my office when you’re done, then.”
“Really?” I quip as soon as she’s gone. “You want to check out the cafeteria?”
“Is it worth a look?” A patronizing stare is my only reply, and he grins widely. “No, I’ve little interest in the cafeteria, nor do I wish to hear about your coach’s grandfather. So tell me, what is worth a gander in this place? Besides you, of course.”
“The exit, which you’re welcome to use at any time.”
I spin on my heel and start down the hall.
He’s relentless, suddenly at my side and walking in step beside me. “Come, now, don’t you have anyone you want to introduce me to? I’m sure you have a few friends—”
“Very few. And you don’t need any introduction—they’ll find you, trust me. So as long as you’re here, feel free to pretend you don’t know me.” I lean in closer, ensuring he can hear my blatantly honest tone clearly. “Won’t bother me a bit. I promise.”
“I hear your brother ruled this high school,” he replies, completely disregarding my request. “At least, that’s what his mates tell me. So if I were the infamous Sebastian, what would I do with my hour here? Check up on my dear, wee sister, I presume.”
I continue our face-off with a deepening scowl. “Let me remind you, again: You’re not Sebastian, and I’m far from wee, so how do I say…” I tap my chin to feign deep thought. “Oh, yes—bugger off! That’s the British term, right? What’s with the ‘wee?’”
He laughs, admiration in his eyes. “Very impressive, Love. A slip of the tongue from my summers spent in Scotland. Still applicable, though.” He winks.
“Kingston!” I hear Savannah squeal as she skips toward us, no doubt having overheard his scarily accurate summation of my brother—who would, in fact, check up on me if he returned to this school.
“Morning, Echo,” she greets me when she reaches us. “Kingston.”
She’s oddly compelled to repeat his name, this time in a purr, and...she may have something in her eye? Lashes shouldn’t flutter that rapidly for any other reason.
And before I even realize or can do anything to escape it, there’s a full congregation surrounding us. I take a silent inventory, and if I’m correct, we indeed have the entire cheerleading squad in our presence—exactly what I knew, and was dreading, would happen.
This day just keeps getting better and better.
And the cherry on top is Camden Whittier among our new company who, ironically, is wittier than no one in the entire history of human life. How he plays football—as the quarterback, no less, which I’m guessing means he has to remember how to do more than one thing at a time—has always baffled me.